𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 || 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐁 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊

ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

Robb did wish he could have actually looked at his new sword a bit more closely, but steering a boat down the Anduin, he found, was a difficult enough task on its own. As it were, Airilírë sat comfortably at his hip while Robb paddled downstream, following the other three ships steered by Aragorn, Boromir and Legolas.

In front of Robb Pippin sat, for once quiet, admiring his new belt.

Robb let his gaze wander to the river banks where trees stood closely together, providing ample cover to those who wished to observe their Fellowship without themselves being observed in turn.

His lips twitched when he spotted a flash of grey fur through the trees—it seemed Grey Wind had sensed their departure from Lothlórien and was now bounding along, trying to keep pace. However, Robb suspected that despite Grey Wind's size and speed he would not be able to do so for much longer. They were going downriver, after all. To the Falls of Rauros.

Well—that was what Robb had been told. And even though he did trust his companions, both to be truthful with him about their way and to stay on the right path, not having any knowledge of the land irked him.

Which reminded him—

"Ah, fuck." Robb let his head fall back with a deep sigh.

Pippin turned around, eyes questioning. "What's the matter?"

"I forgot to ask for a map again!" Robb drew a hand over his face in despair. "I've been hoping to get one of this place since the moment I arrived and I always forget."

He groaned again. "A month, Pippin! I had a whole month's time to ask for a map—from Thanarwë, Maeniliel, hells, even Aragorn could have procured one from somewhere, I'm sure—and yet! I still have no way of knowing where in the name of the Gods I am, or where I need to go in case we are ever separated."

Pippin giggled, entirely uncaring of Robb's predicament. It was hurtful, really.

"I'm sure that won't happen," he grinned, reaching back to pat Robb's knee, which was the only thing within his range. "But if it helps, Mordor's south-east of here. I think."

Robb huffed a faint laugh. "Ah, yes, thank you, Pippin. I'm certain it will be that easy."

They continued downstream, Grey Wind long out of sight, and stopped only in the evening, when an impassable stretch of rapids forced them to carry the boats over land for a while. Once they were back to safe waters, it was unanimously agreed that a few hours of rest would do them all good.

It was then that Robb finally had the chance to admire his new blade. Sitting down by the fire, he drew it from its sheath, careful to not get in the way of Sam next to him—it wouldn't do to ruin their dinner, after all.

Beyond the winged crossguard and the pommel, both of which shimmered in a colour somewhere between silver and gold, the sword consisted of ordinary steel. The blade flared the tiniest bit near the bottom, but came together again just before it met the crossguard. Otherwise, it was as straight as could be. Robb could make out inscriptions in what he assumed to be Elvish—the more difficult kind?—on the blade.

Legolas took a seat beside him and crossed his legs, graceful as ever.

"Do you know what this says?" Robb handed the sword to the Elf, who spent some moments admiring it before turning his gaze to the runes.
Legolas squinted his eyes like someone trying to make sense of an indecipherable book.

"'Amarië, melda tari, melinyel,'" he read out. "It is… a declaration of love to a lady by the name of Amarië. Finrod's beloved, if I remember correctly."