𝕰𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖆

Chapter Eight: Duel

<><><><><><><><><><>

The days flew by in a blur until suddenly they'd blended together, and I could no longer tell them apart. We'd fallen into an endless purgatory of travel, camp, travel, travel, camp, and still more travelling. And though through the passage of time we grew closer together, I could still sense the lack of trust some of them had in me. And then there was Boromir's blatant resentment towards me. No matter what lengths I strode to, nothing seemed to circumvent his stony, isolating wall. Carry his bags, he'd scowl. Forge for firewood, he'd scoff and roll his eyes. Strike up a conversation, he'd meet me with a cold shoulder.

And thus, I'd promptly given up trying to mend our relationship. We had better luck defeating Sauran than I had becoming his friend. But friend or not, we were both members of the Fellowship, and I wouldn't stand his constant demeaning and insulting mannerisms any longer. And when I told him that one brisk morning, dew moistening the air around us, his face darkened.

"Demeaning? Insulting?" he scoffed, "The only ones who've any right to feel demeaned and insulted are those of us forced to bear the company of a pompous princess who thinks she's so brave because she finally left her cushy island to do something for her people for once. Who thinks that because she's tagging along, she deserves the same respect earned by those of us actually contributing to our mission."

"You know nothing of my life. You know nothing of me. You have no right to say those things," I said, my tone dark and threatening.

The others paid us no mind, trudging too far ahead to hear our exchange. Boromir chuckled.

"I don't need to know anything of your life to know you."

"Do you even know why I came to Rivendell at all? What my kingdom stands to face? What my father stands to face?" I asked, stopping in front of him.

"A princess off her leash?" he raised his brows.

"Pitiful," I shook my head, "How you think that because you're a man-because you're Boromir of Gondor-you know suffering like no other. That no other can experience suffering as you do."

He met my gaze readily, but didn't speak. We stood there for a long and cold minute, each of us daring the other to continue.

"Elena, Boromir," Aragorn called from the tail of the group, "Is everything alright?"

"Fine," Boromir waved a hand, sparing me one last glare before striding back to join the group.

I bit back any insults on my tongue as he fell into a lumbering march behind Merry and Pippin.

"What does your kingdom stand to face? Your father?" Legolas' voice called from behind me, causing me to jump, "What makes his judgement of you so wrong?"

"According to what do I owe you an explanation, elf-boy?" I asked.

"Perhaps because my father is sending troops, and I'd like to know what he's sending them into. Aside, that is, from an Uruk-Hai war," he fell into step beside me.

"Then what do you want to know? That there's a price on my father's head? My brother's? That I'm to marry a man who plans to slaughter my family and exile my people? And what would Boromir have me do? What would you have me do? Remain like a docile pet under my master's command and marry, and pretend as though my entire world isn't crumbling to pieces?"

He didn't answer, and I cursed myself for releasing so much information. But then again, did it really matter? Did I really care what these men thought of me? Yes, I reminded myself. Deny as much as I like, I still cared about how they saw me. Even about how Boromir saw me.