Burn Like Cold Iron

Chapter 29: Answers and Meetings

I sat down heavily at one of the long wooden tables in the main hall, resting my chin in my hands.

"Tired, lass?" Gimli settled in beside me, resting his blood-splattered axe on the table with a loud clunk. Across from us, Legolas sent Gimli a withering look, and the dwarf rolled his eyes and moved his axe to the ground before turning back to me.

"Not nearly as tired as y'all must be," I said earnestly—though Legolas, at least, looked as alert and unruffled as ever. "I can't even imagine, after everything last night..."

"I could hardly have imagined such a battle at all," Strider admitted grimly. "Those explosions were unlike anything I had ever seen. I would not soon wish to face combat in your homeland, Beatrice."

"Me neither." I closed my eyes, recalling how the caves had quaked last night, the forces of the modern world unleashed above our heads. Was that the only impression my friends here would have of my home? Despite how violent and destructive the modern world could be, the thought made me frown.

Seeing my discomfort, Gimli coughed loudly and nudged me. "Anyway, lass, I heard you finally had a chance to charm those horse-riders with your violin!"

"Oh! That's right." I nodded, grateful for the change of subject. "I learned a lot of new Rohirric songs, too. Eowyn said the Rohirrim don't write much of anything down, so I'll have to transcribe it all when I get a chance."

"Well then! Seems no one here's afraid of you anymore, eh?" Gimli patted my back proudly.

My smile grew wider at that. I couldn't put into words how happy I'd been when the fear and distrust had vanished from the women's and children's faces down in the caves, when they had shown unreserved enthusiasm for my music, when they'd celebrated with me and embraced me without hesitation when the battle was over.

"It's about time they came to their senses," Gimli went on. "After all, Aragorn and Boromir were never half so skittish around you, eh?"

"Now, Gimli, that is unfair," Legolas began to chide him, but at the mention of Boromir heat rose to my face. Suddenly I was thinking, for the hundredth time that morning, of the warmth in his eyes as he'd embraced me hours ago, the low breathlessness of his voice as he'd called my name and pulled me to him—

I dragged my hands down my face, willing my heartbeat back to a normal pace. But it was no use. "I'll be back in a bit," I said, clearing my throat and getting to my feet.

"Off to check on Boromir again?" Legolas asked casually.

"What? No—well, I mean, yes, but—" I broke off, stammering, at the elf's grin. "I'm just worried about him," I protested. "I haven't been to check on him that often." That was a lie, of course. I'd probably gone to visit Boromir once every ten minutes since the battle ended, annoying the healers to no end. Maybe it was for the best that he'd slept through the morning, none the wiser.

"Let him rest and recover with the other injured men," Strider said patiently, beckoning me to sit back down. "It's a miracle Boromir sustained no new injuries, but his wounds from Parth Galen have reopened badly, and sleep will be the best thing for him. In fact," he added, with a nod to Gimli, who was yawning loudly, "we all should rest while we can. We depart in the afternoon for Edoras—or, in our case, for Isengard."

"Isengard?" I exclaimed, startled. "Why? You can't be thinking of laying siege to Orthanc or something—"

"Hmph! Nothing so rash as that." Gandalf, who had been sitting so deep in thought I'd assumed he was asleep, snorted and brandished his pipe in my direction. "Yet I would speak with Saruman nonetheless, and Theoden wishes to hold him to account as well."