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FOR THREE DAYS AND THREE NIGHTS, the broken remains of the Fellowship bounded across Minhiraith. They traveled under the swirling sun and moon... under the shimmering stars and shredded clouds. The night sky seemed darker than usual, but everything appeared as such to the heartbroken princess. She could find no beauty in the rolling hills and grassy planes of the region between rivers. The barren landscape was akin to the emptiness she felt within. The burning light of the sun above reflected the fire in her lungs and the heat coursing through her veins. She would not stop until the Uruks were dead. Every last one.
Aragorn led the three in the pursuit, but each time he looked over his shoulder at the auburn-haired warrior, he worried. He saw the despair in her bagged eyes. Dried blood still coated her temple. Her palms were stained red from clutching Boromir's broken body. Her braids were undone— loose strands of hair draped around her face. Valor was the dam withholding that pain. Soon enough, it would crumble. Aragorn could see that wall beginning to break. With every step, she inched closer to an eruption of grief. But no amount of battle or death would bring her brother back; vengeance could only heal so much.
Elamir felt her boots stumble on the rugged terrain. Wheezing breaths left her lips, as she had never faced such lengthy endeavors as this. The exhaustion was numb, however. She kept a hand on the hilt of her brother's dagger, simply waiting for the moment she could drive it into the heart of the last Uruk in that battalion. That motivation to avenge him kept her going against the sweltering Middle-Earth environment. Legolas ran right behind her, but Gimli trailed a good distance behind the trio. Dwarvish stamina was not nearly equivalent to that of men and elves, as they were people of the Earth. There was no need to run great distances when their home resided in the rock itself.
Elamir searched behind her and saw him in the distance, but when she turned to look ahead once more, Aragorn slowed his pace. His blue eyes searched the sprawling planes, as if sensing a disturbance in the wind. His gaze fell to the grass at his feet and he knelt on the dusty surface. His palms found the dirt, feeling the crevices and imperfections in the growth. The stone held a story that Aragorn pieced together with every observation. Elamir noted the skill with which he tracked. He let his ear fall against the Earth's surface. His eyes fluttered shut. Elamir walked forward, careful not to interfere.
"Their pace has quickened," Aragorn whispered, so softly that the Gondorian princess leaned forward to hear. "They must have caught our scent. Hurry!"
As he stood and began sprinting once more, the ranger let his palm fall against Elamir's elbow, urging her onward. She followed closely behind.
"Come on, Gimli!" Legolas called behind the pair.
Elamir heard the distant grumblings of the dwarf, but she couldn't make out his explicit words over the whistling wind and her own lungs protesting. With that, they were off once more. Beneath the setting sun lied valleys and rivers beyond measurable beauty. This land of men held great history in its pastures. Many battles were fought and won on the ground that they traveled upon. Elamir would have stopped to admire the view— a winding river through two peaks of green... the distant snowcapped mountains and mounds of trees— but there was something more urgent at hand. Rock and stone made her shins ache excruciatingly as they charged forward, but that pain was nothing compared to the loss in her heart.
