Long Walk Home

Chapter Six

He had to be mad. There was no other explanation.

Why else would he kiss Eleri as if they had snuck out of a ball in Minas Tirith in the midst of a peaceful world to steal away into the garden to to get into other mischief with one another?

His fingers tightened about his sword's grip as he moved toward the muffled warg sounds. From the sounds of it, there was only one.

Or so he hoped.

So, it truly was better to think about that, instead of kissing Eleri, for if he kept thinking about kissing her, he was going to do something even more foolish.

Such as do something more than kiss her.

Which was also madness. They were still at days out from Minas Tirith. He had no idea of what else lay between them and home. The war still raged from Gondor to Mordor. The Eye of Sauron watched over everyone. He had no way of knowing how much further on the Fellowship had got. His entire body still ached. Mostly from his healing wounds.

Mostly.

He crept noiselessly about the outcropping. No, he could not blame some of that dull ache swirling through him on arrows, for where it rooted, he had not been hit.

Thank the Maker for small favors, he thought with a rueful grin.

Still, it was best not to think about that ache, either. Because it brought him right back to Eleri once more.

Brought him right back to how soft her lips were.

How soft her skin was.

The way her breast felt when it pressed against his arm as she leaned into his shoulder. His imagination took hold from there and he almost groaned aloud at his mind's depiction of said breast. And that led his thoughts to what it would be like to be with her. To feel her under him, her skin bare against his, her legs about his waist as he buried himself deep inside her.

He stopped in his tracks at the low growl as he rounded the north edge of the outcropping, flattening himself as best he could against the jagged rocks. There, not quite fifty yards away, was the warg in question, with its rider looking over his shoulder. Boromir skirted back a few steps, slipping the sword from its scabbard as he waited for the sounds of warg paws coming closer.

They did not disappoint.

He tightened his fingers on the sword's grip as the padding grew louder. His heart sped up at first, but then, instinct and training took over and he felt himself growing much calmer. There was only one. Most likely a scout. There would be others coming to look for this one eventually, which meant he and Eleri would have to keep moving instead of remaining there. His original plan was to make their way to the Great West Road, traveling as close to it as possible until they reached Minas Tirith. They could still do that, but they'd have to keep moving tonight, exhaustion and sleep be damned.

The warg drew closer. Again, he heard only one, but could not discern whether or not the warg bore a rider.

There was only one way to find out.

He stepped out of the shadow of the rocks and swung, the blade slicing into fur and flesh. The warg howled, but is cry was cut short by the sword slicing into its throat and cutting off its wind.

"Mannish filth."

Boromir didn't see the orc astride the warg until it was too late. The abomination leapt from its mount's back, its steel glinting in the moonlight as it dove at him. Boromir staggered back, fighting to ignore the hot sting stretching through his midsection as he yanked his sword free from the warg and spun about to block the orc's blow.