A/N: Fifth chapter! Cookie to all reviewers! (::)

Disclaimer: If I owned this, Eomer would get WAY more screen time. So would Legolas. So there.

Walking. Walking. And. More. Damned. Walking!

Lizzie had never walked so far in her entire life. She felt sticky and hot and tired, the muggy air of Middle Earth causing her shirt to cling to her. The fog that had surrounded them earlier was burning off but leaving a damp remnant in the air that made her blonde hair plaster itself to her forehead in cords. She staggered up another rolling hill - the whole countryside was full of little lumps that were too small to be mountains but too large to be hills - and she used her knee to push off with her hands. The hill was almost vertical, it was that steep. All right, maybe not vertical. But it was high, in Lizzie's opinion. She glanced grumpily to her left, where Sam was having a bad time of it. Her face was very pale and sweaty, and her bottom lip hadn't left her mouth in over fifteen minutes. Obviously she was trying not to wimp out and begin moaning about her wounded arm. Borogorn, - or whatever his name was, Lizzie couldn't remember properly - had fashioned a sort of sling for her so her arm would stay still. This, naturally, elicited a fresh round of gritted teeth and a few muffled screams. Now Sam had her good fingers dug into the mane of the little pony who was lumbering along at the rear of the procession. The pony - his name was Bill, she thought she heard one of the children (Or were they midgets? They had awfully mature faces) calling him - was the only cute thing about this journey. Lizzie felt a little surge of meanness when she saw Sam wipe her forehead again. She must be sweating like a pig in all that black. Serves her right for dressing like white trash. To her right was Amy, looking like she was about to fall over. The redhead was wincing with every step, and her hair had clumped together in a mass at the nape of her neck. No doubt Amy would be bawling about it later that night when she tried to comb it out with her fingers.

She could feel the dull, aching throb of blisters scattered on the landscape of her soft, formerly-perfectly-moisturized feet. She hated this adventure, hated everything about it except the amazing supply of hunky hot guys. Especially that Elf. Damn, he was smoking. He didn't seem the least bit tired, either, and he trotted lightly atop the long grass easily, his butterscotch colored boots making no noise on the shin-high grass. But he had shot Sam, and for that, he was on her 'grudge list'. At least for a good solid week. Lizzie could never keep anyone on the grudge list for long, unless they had done something really awful, like used her hairspray without her permission or borrowed her eyeliner without asking. Both of which Lizzie would have readily throttled somebody for a sample sized version of each cosmetic item. She hated adventures, especially adventures that included walking with a bunch of primitive-looking - albeit handsome - men who kept looking at her like she was about to grow three heads. Lizzie pushed herself up the side of another hill. All of these hills were getting on her nerves. Everything was getting on her nerves.

Amy, who was walking a slight distance away from Lizzie, saw the angry look on her face and elected to keep her distance. The redhead was aching all over; even her arms were aching from swinging them. She chanced a look over at Sam, who looked in even worse shape. The shaggy-haired brunette was ashen pale, and there were two dark marks where her teeth had dug into her bottom lip. There wasn't anything she could do about it - Sam would probably grouch at her if she offered to help her in some way, and Amy would rather die then go and ask one of the leaders for a break. The only person she felt comfortable with - well, as comfortable as uptight Amy ever felt - was that small, stocky dwarf, who looked like he had a nice laugh. He looked just about as tired as Amy, and he was using his axe as a walking stick and breathing hard. Amy maneuvered her way over to him and fell in step next to him. For a long while, they said nothing, with Gimli sneaking looks at the short redhead, who kept sneaking looks back at him. She wanted to ask if he was a dwarf, but she couldn't think of a polite way to ask this. She couldn't exactly say Hey, are you a dwarf or just a really, really, short guy? so she kept her mouth shut. She had always been horrible at ice breaking. Finally, Gimli decided to say something to put the girl out of her misery. "Hot day, isn't it?" he grunted. He had a thick brogue that twisted his words, and Amy liked it. She felt a little more relaxed, and decided to nod. Nodding was safe. She did so, and then burst out, all at once:

"Are you a dwarf?"

He looked at her and laugh, a deep, rich chuckle. "Aye, lass, I am. What's it to yeh?" he said gruffly. He liked her; she reminded him of a little child who was speaking to an elder. But she didn't hold her tongue out of respect; she held it out of fear. She shot him another glance, and then said, just as quickly as before:

"What are dwarves like?"

It turned out to be the perfect thing to ask him. Gimli launched into a long, windy speech about the history and language of dwarves, which Amy found fascinating. He told her about the gold and jewels that the dwarves had mined for when they came to Middle Earth, and he described them with such loving detail that Amy could almost feel the silky gold coins beneath her fingers. When he told her of the huge halls and mighty pillars of Moria, she could practically see the huge columns that stretched away to the sky. He told her about the royalty of dwarves, and his chest was thrown out to an almost painful length when he proudly told her that he, Gimli, son of Gloin, was related to one of them. Amy was duly impressed by all of it, and she peppered him with questions, her bashfulness forgotten. He told her about courtship rights, battles, wars, and told her of the mighty creatures they had slain. Her eyes widened when he told her of the great sieges he had withstood and inflicted upon others, and her heart quickened when he reminisced about the old kings who inscribed their laws and ordinances on ancient stone tablets that most dwarves still followed today. Both of their aching bodies were forgotten as they were completely enthralled with the world of dwarves. For a moment no longer than a heartbeat, Amy wondered what it would be like to be a dwarf. She was almost short enough, but she decided against it. But Gimli managed to ingrain in her a deep, insatiable desire to see the relics of the dwarves. She was so deeply involved with her own imagination and Gimli's thick brogue that she almost didn't hear Legolas's derisive snort in front of them.

Almost, but not quite.

"And may I ask the elvish princling what is so amusing to him?" Gimli boomed in his gruff baritone. Legolas kept his eyes straight ahead, but Amy could see that the light blue cerulean orbs had gone dark in a mixture of amusement and superiority. He half turned moving his head only a fraction as he answered Gimli.

"I find it very amusing that you see no fault in the dwarves, only in the elves." he said. Amy noted his voice had gone very cold. "If my memory serves me correctly, you dug too deep and plumbed the bowels of mountains that should have remained untapped. You woke things that should remain sleeping, and it was up to the elves to get you out of it." Legolas said. Gimli's chest swelled with annoyance as he literally bristled with anger, his beard twitching with infuriation. He was about to bark out an angry retort when Gandalf stepped between them smoothly.

"I think we shall stop for the afternoon," he said, pausing. "My old bones are not as strong as they used to be, and I think the ladies would also benefit from a rest." He glanced back at Sam, who by now was looking very white and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her lips, which had always been of a healthy pink color, were now vividly red against the chalkiness of her cheeks. Amy hurried over to her friend and helped her sit down on the marshy grass, and then checked her bandage worriedly. Sam had done her best to keep still, but she had managed to tear off a small corner of the scab which was knitting her skin back together and the blood had begun to seep into the bandage.

Legolas watched as Amy fussed over her friend. She worried too much, that was clear, but she was more seemly and domestic, more sensible and less prone to flashes of anger like her friends. But coupled with that, she was terrified of starting a conversation with anyone, including Gandalf, which was a surprise; most people liked the old man. He watched her hands shake when she peeled back a little bit of the bandage, and saw a little of the red color fade from her cheeks when confronted with blood. Clearly, this was not a woman who was accustomed to war and bloodshed. Anger suddenly flared in him; these girls were innocent, especially Amy, and they should not be on a quest that would potentially end in death. Lizzie, in her shallow, flippant ways, was still young, and Sam, despite her macho exterior and sarcastic interior, was still a long ways away from a woman. And Amy, little Amy, the baby of the group, was now trying to cut around the scabbed blood with a small knife she had in her pocket, wincing when Sam winced, pursing her lips when Sam arched her back in pain. He closed the distance between them in a single bound and knelt next to them, taking the knife from Amy's hands. The redhead looked up, startled, as the knife flew out of her hands. She blushed furiously when she saw it was Legolas, but he had a very queer look on his face, something akin to anger. Instantly she hearkened back to the time she had spent talking to Gimli, and now realized that practically everything the dwarf said had been insulting elves in some way, trying to get a rise out of Legolas. Was he angry at her for talking with him? More color heated her cheeks, and if there was a drop of blood elsewhere in her body she would have been surprised.

He carefully cut away the bandage and examined the wound. It was clear and dark, with no signs on infection. Boromir had tended to the wound neatly and well, taking good care of the young woman. Sam was glaring at him with that peculiar glower that only suffering men have as they glare at their surgeon. She knew he was going to soothe the pain, but she was still in pain, and the pain wouldn't abate until the altheas had gotten to work. He crushed a fresh bit of altheas leaves against the skin and bound it tightly with another strip of cloth from Boromir's now-tattered spare tunic. He glanced at Amy and saw she was flushing furiously, and edging away from him. He wondered why she was always to nervous around him; and yet it was a refreshing change from the other elleths who had preened and postured for his attention. "Keep that still," he commanded Sam. "Don't move. Lady Amy and Lady Elizabeth will fetch you from victuals shortly." Sam gave a tight nod as she clenched her teeth, waiting for the altheas leaves to dull the pain.

Samwise was frying up some sausage and fresh rabbit meat that Aragorn had caught, when he saw Lizzie sit down with a heavy groan near the fire. She swore several times under her breath as she tugged off her strange looking shoes and peeled off her socks. Five angry blisters were throbbing on her foot, and Lizzie poked at one of them gingerly. Amy sat down next to her and whistled at the savage looking blisters. "Ouch," she said. Lizzie hissed in pain as Amy's fingers skated over the blisters gently.

"Quit it," Lizzie snapped. "Oh, my feet!" she complained loudly as Amy began working on her blisters. Each one had to be lanced with the tip of Amy's pocket knife which Sam had given her for her birthday, which wasn't exactly a sterile tool. Yellowish pus welled up after each jab, and Lizzie degenerated to wails as Amy sliced the blisters. When the keening became too much to handle on human ears, let alone elvish ones, Legolas had to stalk away from the campfire. His hyper-sensitive ears were buzzing loudly, and eventually Lizzie got the hint as the pain subsided. She sniffled but stayed near the fire, deigning to thank Amy in a positively superior way. Amy sighed and moved away from the fire, accepting the supercilious thank you without a word. That was just the way Lizzie was.

Legolas was on guard duty that evening, and he settled himself against a boulder as he watched carefully. Sometimes he could sneak a nap, mostly because his ears were so keen that he could hear an enemy a long was off, and also because he slept with his eyes open. But tonight was too brisk and beautiful to fall asleep; a stiff breeze, a bite of winter in the air, brought a bit of color to his cheeks as he guarded his slumbering companions. The stars overhead were beautiful and mysterious, wisely twinkling down on him in a strange, alien way. Mentally he counted the constellations that he knew, trying to remember the stories that were attached to them. Just as he was digging an old fable from the depths of his memories, he heard a twig snap and a few bushes rustle some ways away. Instantly he was on his feet. It might be a rabbit, and it might be a spy. Slowly, he notched an arrow to his bow as he aimed it at the bushes, then remembered Sam and her friends. He spared a glance at the three bedrolls which Aragorn, Boromir and himself had sacrificed for the three girls. One of them was rumpled and empty. He eased the arrow back into his quiver and waited for the rustling noise to come again. This time, when the bushes stirred, a mop of red curls emerged along with it.

She had a drowsy, sleep-deprived look on her face, and she seemed quite unaware of Legolas watching her. Rubbing her eyes she looked at her sleeping friends fondly, then went over to a tussock of grass to sit and watch the stars. She sat cross-legged on the tussock and closed her eyes. She couldn't sleep, not surprisingly, since her mind was too full of the activities of the day to even consider falling asleep. Her fingers were weaving a few long stalks of grass together automatically; this was a thing she did back home to relax herself. When she had a long strand of neatly plaited grass she folded it and crimped it into a tight round ball. It was lopsided, but it didn't matter. She was bored, mostly because she was sleepy, but her mind was running in circles. Then a hand closed over her mouth and she sucked in a breath. What was happening? She felt a very quiet voice, and exotic accent that she couldn't quite grasp skimming over his words lightly speak in her ear. "'Tis only me, Lady Amy." The blonde elf took a seat next to her, stretching out his long legs next to hers. "Someone is up late," he teased.

"Yes, and it's not me," Amy whispered back. "Sam snores too loudly. I couldn't even close my eyes." She fumbled with the grass ball for a moment, and then scrapped up her courage. She didn't have much courage, she knew that, but she needed at least a little bit of it. "I'm sorry if I offended you today. I wasn't really listening to what Gimli was implying - it just sounded too nice. I get kind of obsessed with cultures and stuff, so what he was saying was really interesting. He said a few things that probably made you mad, huh?"

"The dwarf did insult my race many times, but the make of a good elf is how he keeps his temper. Elves pride ourselves on our composure, our serenity. I have been provoked far more greatly than what Master Gimli spoke of today, and I am able to keep my temper under check for the most part. It is Men who chafe be greater, if you must know the truth. I despise the way they are destroying this world, this marvelous place of which we are stewards of." Legolas said, his eyes on the stars. Amy replied, sounding sad.

"I know. It's worse in our world. You can't even see the stars anymore, I mean, not like this. There are hardly any forests and all of our rivers and oceans are polluted. We're digging in places for oil and stuff that we should be digging, and people are getting hurt by it. This place is the cleanest world I've ever seen." She looked at him, watched his sharp, clean profile, his pulled-back blonde hair, his alert stance. She noticed he had not relaxed since she had been talking to him. Even though they were having a conversation, he was still on guard. "You seem to like Aragorn though," she added.

"Estel is…different. He was raised by the elves. He knows of our ways, our cultures, our languages. He will be a good king. I would be proud to be his servant." Legolas said. He saw Amy's surprise and allow a small smile to quirk one side of his mouth. "Yes, Aragorn is heir to the throne of Gondor. Once this thrice-cursed war is ended, he will be the rightful king over Middle Earth."

"Wow," Amy said softly. "I didn't know that." She waited for a minute, feeling sleepy all of a sudden, and then got up. "I'm going to bed. I'll let you get back to your guard duty." She left, and he watched her go. She needed a confidante, and a friend. Legolas was almost certain it would not be a chore to supply both.