Moist.

We were all sat around a fire, each doing our own thing. Anyone who has ever gone on a camping trip knows the time I mean. When everyone is at the point where it's not quite dark enough to go to sleep, but too dark to do anything worthy, so everyone ends up doing their own little chores. Legolas was across from me, whittling arrows from bits of wood he had picked up along the way and mending heads. Boromir was fiddling with his belt buckle. What he was doing with it, I did not like to ask. The hobbits were either eating (What, again, I didn't like to ask. I had all the food rations in my pack.) Or already asleep. Gimli was fast gone to the world of slumber too, leaving the rest of us talking quietly.

But it had been a while since anybody had said anything, and even the fire had lulled in its usually persistent crackling. I was going slowly mad with boredom.

"You know what is a funny word?" I said, eventually, to Legolas, who looked up, slightly irked at being interrupted.

"No, Aragorn. I do not know what is a funny word."

"Moist."

"… What?"

"I mean, at first you think it's a gross word, because it reminds people of rot and mould, if you watch my lips… Are you watching my lips? Why aren't you watching my lips?"

"Alright, alright! I'm watching." Legolas shuffled over from the log he was sitting on and looked directly at my mouth, his eye lashes fluttering against the fires warmth.

"When I say moist – when anybody says moist – it's like a kissing noise, and a kissing motion. Look… moist."

There was a silence.

"Well?" I asked.

"It does sound like kissing."

"Ha! I'm a genius."

"Will you two be quiet?"

All heads turned to Gandalf. "I'm trying to think."

He shifted back to smoking his pipe with slightly more ferocity then before.

I warmed my hands against the fire, then prodded it with a make shift poker, causing half of the sticks to tumbling in disarray. After having caused that bit of destruction, I was bored again, and had to resort to my second plan of action.

"Legolas?"

"Yes, Aragorn."

"What 'cha doin'?"

"Mending an arrowhead."

I paused. "Can I help?"

"No."

"Awwww."

… No response.

"Come on! Let me help!"

"No, Aragorn. Go to sleep."

"I'm not tired."

"That's not my fault."

I grudgingly rolled out my bedding, anyway, to get all sleep before it was my watch. Boromir watched me from out of the darkness, his eyes practically jovial at my expense.