To Aragorn's intense relief, Lora seemed content to leave him to his own thoughts as they walked. He needed to regain some of the space he had lost in that few seconds lapse, where he had laughed, and wanted. Wanting was something he had erased from himself a long time ago, and thought that he was free of forever, and he desperately fought with himself for silence again. He realised now, perhaps too late, that there was something about her that made him behave, against his will, like… like what? Like he was not fifty years her senior, not of Numenorian blood, and not a ranger, born and bred… like he was just a man, perhaps. Fumbling, ignorant and clumsy, but more alive than he ever remembered being; human, with all that that implied. And that I cannot be. When I swore myself to Arwen, and she to me, I chose the life of the endless, although I myself will end. How many times had he remembered that? But never regretted it, nor doubted it, and whenever he repeated those words in his mind, he remembered again, and was reassured by their truth and solidity. However, even they could not erase his undeniable reluctance to push away the intoxicating… rightness… that he had felt with the living, laughing body of the girl in his arms. It is natural to want human contact, he thought, vaguely trying to defend himself, then couldn't help a bitter laugh at his own hypocrisy. Only human.
Very well. If, for a minute, he had wanted her more than anything, with a single-mindedness and ferocity he had forgotten he possessed that left him dizzy, it meant nothing. It would not happen again.
He sighed with the relief of the decision, and steadfastly ignored the miserable ache that coiled tightly in his chest. He would learn from the moment of weakness, and fill in the gap to leave a seamless, impenetrable wall, as he had been doing all his life. Still, his resolve could not prevent a little prayer slipping from him, directed up above the treetops, gods, let us reach Rohan soon. I cannot take much more of this.
Then there were the attacks. He had not yet had time to think about them, and he could not do it on his feet. The malignant tree-creature explained the attacks on the farmers - Aragorn winced at this, realising that he had completely forgotten his original reason for being in the forest - but the hunting band that had chased them had obviously been after Lora, and were carrying too little to be alone this deep in the woods, even if they were as unfamiliar with forests as they seemed. A search party, then, from a larger group? Or simply displaced, and appearing in the forest as Lora had? The second-to-last hunter with an arrow in his chest, and dark eyes that looked for an instant as Lora's did when she woke from her dreams of sand… the confusion made the ranger tired, and he gave up trying to untangle the many knots in his mind. All that is clear is that she is not safe. I must get her under Theoden's protection, and then speak with Gandalf. He pressed his fingers to his forehead in desperation. And the dreams, too… I cannot explain them, and if she can, she will not. The grey rider seeks me among the horse-tamers…I shall seek him there too, then, among the riders of Rohan. I have little choice.
As they walked, Lora watched the ranger ahead of her. He strode on grimly, staring ahead, his face stony with either fury or concentration. She couldn't tell. It's as if there's a mask he wears, which he mustn't let slip. But I don't understand why. He does not hate me, I'm sure, or why would he have- his hands on her waist, flying but not letting go, his fingers entwined in her hair and heartbeat against her cheek for so brief a time.
She breathed deeply, and looked around. The trees were less tall in this part of the forest, less like a high green roof, and more like a cage ceiling, fretted and uneven, too low. Whenever she woke, since the first time, she was surprised to see trees, and for the first five minutes or so, the greenness would hurt her eyes. I don't understand anything. But not afraid, still. Maybe she should be - he certainly seemed to expect her to be. Perhaps that was why she wasn't, just so occasionally she could see, in place of concern in his eyes, the glimmer of something else when she got back up unaided, refused his portion of water, was the first to pick up her pack after a stop. Respect? She ached in places she hadn't known existed, certainly, but that meant she was using them, and she knew it wasn't just whatever had been in the crystal vial that made her know she wasn't close to dropping yet. She knew that she needed his protection - she wasn't that self-confident. And he would protect her. Oh yes, she believed that. He would allow no harm to come to her. He had told her. But other than that?
I've left him before. Alright, so I nearly got killed, and him too, but I'm learning, and I'm getting stronger all the time. I couldn't have fought off an assault last week. I didn't. It would hurt to leave him, though. Lora realised that now, thinking about it. She didn't want to, whatever circumstances came up. She liked him, apart from… well, the other thing. She liked his quietness, and his voice when he did speak. She liked his dry humour, when it appeared, and that she had to work to make him smile. She liked knowing he was there, watching out for her, and that he would come after her. Would I go after him, at risk to my own life?…Yes. I would.
The swiftness of her answer to her own question disturbed her. She frowned. But I still can leave him. Still, no need for that just yet, she thought with an inner sigh of relief. Just as long as I can. When I can't, I'm in trouble.
They walked in silence until twilight began to trickle down between the leaves, and the shadows became the same colour as the tree trunks. After they had slowly and painfully made camp, Aragorn had had to wake her twice when she fell asleep with her small portion of bread still in her hands, but when she had finally finished eating she picked herself up and crawled to her cloak before dropping into oblivion. He was tired, but he sat awake, looking at the trees above him, occasionally catching sight of the cold bright stars between the endless leaves, and concentrated on thoughts of his betrothed. Somehow he could not picture her here, hungry, lying curled up on a cloak exhausted, her hair tangled and dusty. That had always given him comfort before, that a part of him was immune to mortal cares, but now it only felt like a numbness, insubstantial and unsatisfying. When he saw her in his mind it was always gliding in light, like one of the stars above him come down to walk the earth, or riding, a warrior queen. She never seemed to touch the ground, or cast a shadow. Perhaps she really was like that - he could no longer remember.
Finally he lay down to sleep, but as soon as he had closed his eyes, a noise woke him. He sat up, startled, until he realised. She was having the dream again. Am I to get no peace, while I'm with her? He shut his eyes in frustration and tried to retreat into himself, as he had done so often before, but her muffled sobs cut into him, and he fumed at himself. He would not get up. He would lie here, and sleep. There was silence in the clearing for a moment, then she cried out again, and Aragorn gave up. He went to her and knelt beside her, without quite knowing why - perhaps feeling that somehow he could enter her nightmare by sheer force of will and save her from whatever demon she battled in her sleep.
She was curled up under her cloak, as still and tight as a terrified animal, and she whimpered, the tears under her eyelashes shining in the starlight. Aragorn stroked the hair back from her face gently, aware suddenly of the dangerous urge to protect this girl, a blind rage against anything that would try to hurt her. But she did not want to be protected - she had made that clear, many times. He sighed. But sometimes we must be cared for, whether we like it or not. The tired man shook her shoulder, and whispered her name to pull her from sleep, when suddenly she froze and stiffened under his touch, making him start in alarm. He thought he had woken her, and was about to speak when she started to whisper, a low, fierce sound that he had to bend over her to catch, and which, as he listened, made his blood run icy through his heart. It was long after she settled finally that he fell into troubled sleep, the unconscious girl's hissed curse in a harsh, guttural speech still ringing in his ears, and with another knot in the confusion of his mind.