You straighten up and push your sword back into its sheath. His posture is relaxed, and you gently prod your magic. You do not possess much gift but whatever you have allows you to see in the hearts of men if they do not purposefully try to close them from you. The heart of the Gondorian is pure and kind. So is his wide smile.
You sigh. You are very hungry after all. "I will accept your offer, honourable sir, if you promise me the food is not stolen." The dark thick brows jump higher, and he chuckles. "Then you will have to stay hungry, lady Thea." You shake your head.
You are sitting on a fallen tree, he is on the ground, immensely too close to your knee. The pies are excellent, and so is the cider. You are eating in a surprisingly comfortable companionship. He has elegant long fingers and exceptionally good manners for a vagabond.
"So what does an erstwhile Ranger of Ithilien doing in the Vales of Anduin?" You pop a slice of apple in your mouth, and he stops chewing. And then he turns his face to you, swallows and gives you a wide smile. "How did you know?"
"The accent, the facial bone structure, the bow, and that," you point on the scar on his forearm, his sleeves rolled up, "is from a Haradrim sword." His laughing eyes are roaming your face. "And how do you know that, my lady?"
You put another slice of an apple into your mouth and give him a closed lipped, sly smile. He shakes his head. "You are a mystery indeed, my lady. Dwarven clothes, a Dwarven sword, the royal forgery no less," you lift a brow, and he smirks, "I know my weapons. And besides all, you thought I should know who you are, honourable lady." He leans back on the log, and his face is very close. "So who are you, oh glorious lady Thea?"
He has remarkable eyes, warm and astute, unusually dark, deep brown colour, framed by thick black lashes. "I am just a traveller, just like you, kind sir." He smirks and clanks his flask to yours. "Fair enough. And where is it that you are travelling to, my lady?" "East," you are not being purposefully vague, you honestly do not know where you are going. You know what you are running from though.
Something must show on you face, as he suddenly pats your knee with his large palm. "Something tells me you do not like the climate in these lands either." You nod. And then ask yourself why you are so open with him. You look at him from a corner of your eye.
His posture is relaxed, one leg bent, another stretched in front of him. Long green cloak, brown and green attire, reminiscent of his former service, but bearing no markings, no banners, no Kingdom. "And where are you heading, my lord?"
He snorts. "I am no lord." "I am only returning the favour. I am no lady either." He turns on his side and supports his head on his hand, elbow on the log near you. "You are wearing an expensive attire, new boots, from Dale, if I am not mistaken, and when you bent to the stream a silver ring on a chain fell out of your collar. What does it tell us?"
You press your palm to the ring hidden under your clothes. It is a heavy silver band bearing a Dwarven rune, a simple but dear token of affection from the King Under The Mountain. You heart clenches. That is the affection that is no more, his love has passed, and you are sitting on a log with a stranger, lost and confused.
You shudder and look at the man beside you. His eyes are warm and candid, and you immediately feel better.
"It tells us that I am a person who still wants to know the answer to her question," you give him a pointed look. He is gaining time, rummaging through the basket. He pulls out a slice of honey cake, wrapped in paper, and places it on the log.
"I cannot say I have a specific destination in mind, wherever the road takes me," he unwraps the cake and then licks off the syrup that got on his long index finger, "East sounds rather nice at the moment," he gives you a cheeky grin.
You look at him in surprise. "Honey cake?" You lean down to pick up a piece, when he pushes his body up from the ground and his face is an inch away from yours. You gasp, his expressive walnut eyes are inviting, gleaming with mirth.
"Are you a free woman, lady Thea?" His voice is lower, seductive. You know what he is asking about. "No, I am not." He flops back on the ground, seemingly not disappointed at all. Then he breaks off a half of the cake and throws it in his mouth. "I am still heading East though."
You are staring at him baffled. He is chewing and takes a drink from his flask. And then he notices your expression. He chuckles and moves closer again. "I am sure your Dwarven lover will miss you." "No, he will not," and then you bite your tongue. He is so easy to talk to that you forget all caution. He is pondering it. "Then he is fortunate that you are so honourable," and then he picks up your hand and presses his lips to your knuckles. "And not fortunate that I am not."
And that is when you start laughing. "Do you honestly presume me so simple as to believe that you are to follow me in my travels?" He is still holding your hand, and then he curls his fingers and swirls their tips, caressing your palm.
"Yes." You laugh harder, pretending to be unaffected by his touch and the candid tone of his husky voice. "And what have I done to deserve such sudden loyalty? I am not your Queen, and it is obviously not for my beauty that you have suddenly decided to throw your allegiances to my feet."
He laughs and flips your hand. The second large hand covers your open palm, and you think you should not be allowing it. And yet you do not take it away. "You do not believe yourself beautiful?" He is only holding your hand, but you feel furious blush spread on your cheeks and under your collar.
"Of course not," you see him slightly shake his head. "Has not your beloved told you how exquisite you are?" The thought of your King shakes you out of his enchantment, and you jerk your hand away. "I would repeat it every day." He is smiling and his eyes slide on your neck and collarbones. You feel warmer and exhale sharply.
"That would make you the worst of liars." He laughs loudly, white teeth and crinkles in the corners of his dark eyes. And then he leaps on his feet. "In fact I think I will start right now."
You are staring at him in complete astound. "Oh magnificent Thea," he jumps on the log he spreads his arms wide, "oh the delicate flower of the North! Your petals are white as snow, and yet light and life run through your delicate features! Your lips are red and inviting, asking for caresses, waiting for a man who would forever bring a smile on them! Your eyes are as green as the leaves of Greenwood the Great, and golden as the sweetest of honey in the markets of Dale! You are the elegant harmony of refined delicacy and vibrant strength! Believe me, oh splendid maiden, my heart is aching and my mind is in torment, as you are as unattainable to me as the stars, shining as bright as your eyes, and the pale moon, that shares its translucent light with your skin!"
He stops and peeks down at you. You are looking at him agape. Then he flops on the log and smirks. "What do you think, my lady?" You blink. "I think that would be endlessly tiresome to listen to every day."
He is laughing so hard that he falls off the log backwards, on the ground, his long legs swinging in the air. After a few moments of unrestrained merriment he folds his hands on his chest and looks at you in mock distress, the corners of his lips turned down as if mournfully. "And yet it is all true. I am in agony, my lady."
"It is called tormina, happens when you eat too much pie. Or if the pie you consume has been stolen."
"You are twisting the knife in my heart with your mistrust, my lady." You get up and shake crumbs off your clothes. He is still spread on the ground, glossy chestnut waves splayed in the grass around his head.
You pick up your cloak from the ground and clasp it on your throat. Your long walking stick in your hand, you swing your backpack over your shoulder. And then he stands up and you remember that he is so much taller than you. In the last four years you became accustomed to look men in their eyes without having to lift your face. He is towering above you, but without being imposing, his presence light and comfortable.
"Take me with you East, my honourable maiden," there is a small gentle smile on his lips, and you smile back. "The road is for everybody, my kind sir. That is the beauty of it, you are free to choose any you want." And then you turn around and start walking. He hastily picks up his pack and in a few quick strides he catches up with you. Your steps align, and side by side you set East.
