Sword and Arrow

Chapter 8

"We'll stop here for the night," Gandalf said with an uneasy glance at the overcast sky.

"It won't rain," Beruthiel assured. "See? The clouds are grey, not black." Gandalf nodded, staring into the stand of trees nearby. "Want me to go in and see if there's a good campsite?" she offered.

The wizard nodded. "That would be good." Beruthiel flashed a grin at the fellowship, then threw her cloak around herself and glided off. Sticking to the pattern that the light fell in, she soon passed out of their sight.

"She's good at that, isn't she?" Legolas said to Aragorn in an undertone. "She's like an elf. I don't think I can disappear like that."

Aragorn nodded. "That's because you haven't tried," he said drily. "She has decades of practice."

Legolas sniffed. "You're forgetting which one of us is two thousand years old."

"Two thousand years of not practicing unseen movement," Aragorn agreed. Legolas snorted and stepped closer to Boromir. "Childish of thee, O Prince of Mirkwood."

"Oh, quit it," Boromir said, already weary of their banter. Legolas, Aragorn, and Beruthiel had kept up a near-constant sarcastic exchange for the twenty days that they'd been traveling. Needless to say, the rest of the company was tired of it- though the hobbits enjoyed it more than the others.

"Dost thou insulteth His Majesty, O son of Gondor?" Legolas said in mock horror, placing a hand to his heart. "Thou dost injure me!"

Boromir narrowed his eyes. "You know I cannot understand you, Legolas, when you go talking in your Silvan dialect."

"Now, that truly doth be an insult," Legolas said with a faint smile. "I speaketh Westron, as doth thee all! 'Tis but only in the tongue of the Sindar that I speaketh in a different dialect."

"I'm getting a headache listening to the lot of you!" Gimli grumbled. "Can't we be done with this? And where is Beruthiel?"

"Behind you," Beruthiel said, swiftly rising to her feet from where she'd been lying down. Gimli, of course, did the only natural thing. He screamed. Beruthiel laughed, turning to Gandalf. "Ze area eez zecure," she said as she led the group toward the trees. "Also, I found a good campsite. Oh, and there's a small river nearby, so you lot can finally wash yourselves." Boromir and Legolas made a strangled sound in unison. "Aragorn first."

"Excuse you," the Ranger said, nudging his friend's shoulder.

Beruthiel eyed him. "Don't deny it, you need it." Aragorn sighed, tucking a long strand of his hair behind his ear. It was true, he was somehow covered in more dirt than the rest of the Fellowship (collectively) and probably smelled worse than a pen of pigs.

"And you don't?" he countered.

"Not as much as you," Beruthiel said, smirking. Aragorn glanced at Legolas and Boromir, who were both hiding smiles.

"Friends," he said with a shake of his head. Boromir laughed.

"Oh, do not pass it off for what it is not!" said the Gondorian. "You have bested by a midget, and you cannot deny it!"

"I am not a midget," Beruthiel said. "And you better mind your tone while talking to your elders."

"Elders?!" Boromir scoffed.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "I would hate to break it to you, friend, but she's probably twice your age."

Boromir missed a step, stumbling forward. "She what?!" He eyed the woman beside him. "You- you can't be..."