𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 || 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐁 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊

ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ᴇɪɢʜᴛ

Updating with a long-ish chapter in celebration of my 20th birthday okayyyy let's go
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It soon became apparent that the beautiful appearance of the plain had been at least somewhat deceiving. Before long, the grass reached their knees, then their hips, then their chests. If Robb and Boromir were walking in circles, they would only know when—if—they came across the narrow path of flattened grass they had created for themselves.
For now, the sun was still up and at their backs, confirming they were going the right way, but once night fell Robb would have to depend entirely on Boromir's knowledge of the stars. With the man still wincing in pain every few steps, however, Robb wasn't confident he would be able to stay focused for much longer.

"We should rest for a few hours," Robb called ahead when the sun had disappeared behind the horizon, just loudly enough for Boromir to hear. Just because he had not seen any living being that wasn't an insect in the past few hours did not mean there were none. They were not the only ones capable of hiding in the tall grass.

Boromir sighed, visibly unhappy, but agreed.

They flattened a small circle of grass, just enough to spread out their bedrolls next to each other, and sat. It was silently agreed that they would not be lighting a fire, despite the cool air of an early spring night. The chances of being discovered by Orcs were too high, especially out in the open like this.

Opening his bag, Robb handed Boromir a packet of the bread from Lothlórien—Lembas, he thought it was called—before taking one himself.

His side still twinged, but Robb didn't want to go through the arduous process of taking off his gorget, boiled leathers, jerkin and tunic again. Perhaps he would check later, before they continued on. It didn't feel like the wound was bleeding again, anyway.
Instead, when they had both finished their bread, Robb checked over Boromir's injuries. It was far easier, since all Boromir was wearing were mail, a tunic and a surcoat on top of his undergarments. Then again, Robb mused, if Boromir had worn any kind of plate armour, there might not have been injuries to check.

As it was, it seemed Aragorn had done an incredible job of patching him up. The makeshift bandages were still clean—as clean as possible, anyway—and no blood had seeped through. Not wanting to mess the bandages up and ruin Aragorn's work, Robb left well enough alone.

"Well, I'm no maes– no healer," Robb said with a smile, tapping Boromir's shoulder to signal him he could put his clothes back on, "but it does not look immediately fatal. You should be alright, at least for now."

"You have my thanks," Boromir mumbled, redressing.

Insects chirped and buzzed in the high grass around them as Robb watched Boromir fight to keep his eyes open. He was still too pale and the dark bags under his eyes stood out more than they ought to.

"I shall take first watch," Robb finally offered when it became clear Boromir would not ask him to. "I'll wake you to take over in a few hours."

Boromir did not protest, only thanked him quietly. That, more than any admittance of outward weakness, confirmed to Robb how exhausted Boromir really was. He had pushed himself hard since Amon Hen and had performed admirably, but now that he had stopped for just a moment, all of his strings seemed to have been cut.

Robb settled down on his own bedroll once again, legs crossed, and unsheathed Airilírë.
This promised to be a long night, and his sword needed cleaning.

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Boromir woke Robb at sunrise the next morning. He had taken over Robb's watch earlier that night after he had startled awake from a nightmare and been unable to fall back asleep.