𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 || 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐁 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊

ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ғɪᴠᴇ

It's time for Amon Hen, folks!

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❄️
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Breakfast the next day was a somber affair. None of the Fellowship spoke much, the argument of the evening before still on their minds.

Boromir sat alone, at a small but noticeable distance from everyone else, staring aimlessly off into the middle distance. There were dark circles under his eyes. Merry and Pippin were talking quietly amongst themselves, casting worried looks at Boromir and Frodo intermittently. The latter kept worrying at the hem of his collar until Sam pressed a piece of Lembas into his hands, which Frodo accepted with a weak smile. Gimli was scattering the ash and half-burnt logs of the previous night's fire in an effort to conceal their tracks from any who were following them. Next to him, Legolas sat, occasionally glancing at Aragorn who stood by the lake's shore and had yet to say a single word.

Robb shifted in his position. Gods, it was as though Aragorn and Boromir were a quarreling couple and the rest of the Fellowship their children.

"The time has come," Aragorn finally spoke up, turning around to face them. Robb's shoulders sagged with relief, the tense silence finally broken. "We must decide where our path next leads us: to Mordor, or to Minas Tirith, the White City of Gondor."

Boromir straightened his back, making as if to speak, but Aragorn quickly raised a hand.

"We know your opinion, Boromir, just as everyone knows mine," he said kindly. "But this call cannot be made by me, or any of us here except for the Ringbearer. Frodo—I would have you choose our path forward."

Frodo's eyes widened, his mouth opening for one helpless moment as he visibly struggled to find words. Then, he shook his head, hands tightening where they were clutching his coat.

"I—I need to think about it," he whispered. "Would you give me a few moments?"

Aragorn nodded, his gaze softening. "Of course, Frodo. How does an hour sound?"

"Yes, thank you," Frodo said. He slung his arms around his knees as everyone else returned to their business, a bit of chatter finally starting up.

Robb tied up his bedroll and fastened it to his pack, half-listening to Gimli and Legolas' playful argument about which of their respective homes was more beautiful.

"Your woods are infested with gigantic spiders!" Gimli said, and Legolas lifted his shoulders.

"And your mountain had a dragon living in it."

"Aye, had being the operative word," Gimli replied. "It's been gone for quite a few decades now, as you well know."

Robb stretched his back. Probably a good idea to relieve himself before they set off, right? Lest he held everyone up later on. He got up and made his way across the camp and into the woods beyond it. Although he made sure to stay within hearing range, Robb did take advantage of a small dip in the forest floor. Most of his sense of propriety had left him on this journey already, but if he could avoid being seen while he pissed, he'd count it as a win nevertheless.

Just as he was lacing up his breeches, Robb heard raised voices from somewhere close by. Boromir, he thought, and someone else. He couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, but Boromir's agitation combined with the high yelp from the other person sparked a sense of worry in Robb's chest.

He climbed back up the small slope, careful not to slip on the foliage, and, one hand creeping close to the hilt of his sword, hurried in the direction of the voices. The argument became louder and louder, and Robb sped up, past broken statues and ancient ruins.
Suddenly, silence reigned once more.
Then—