Chapter Sixteen

"What happened?"

Serafina looked up into the rangers grey eyes. She was still visibly shaken; she had looked no one in the eye since her last interaction with Boromir. Her green eyes were sad and all traces of mischief and cheek were hidden. Aragorn could not help but marvel at this girl, she was something new every day, though the person she had been today had taken him by surprise. He did not know much about her, but he knew that he preferred the difficult, infuriating thief to this desolate creature that sat before him.

He continued to watch her as he waited for a response; her eyes fell from his and came to rest on his neck. She was merely staring at whatever was in front of her but her eyes on his neck made him self conscious.

His neck was bare. He had made his decision and her father had agreed. Arwen had left and he no longer carried her jewel. She could not stay. Aragorn said his goodbyes before the party had departed Rivendell; there was a war to fight and a quest to rival all quests to be accomplished. If she had chosen to stay and he did not live, her mortal life would be pointless.

A sudden intake of breath pulled him back to the present. He looked up to see Serafina staring yet again into his eyes, but it was a different gaze. She had decided something.

"Olin. The boy Boromir spoke of. His name was Olin."

Aragorn knew she had just revealed great confidence in him, yet he could not know what the true significance of this name was. He decided not to answer but began his nightly task of redressing her wounded wrist.

"I'm not going to tell you about Olin, or why he died for me. You are free to draw your own conclusions concerning the circumstance. But you must know," she paused as she said this and grabbed his arm with her left hand to make him look at her, "you must know that I didn't mean it to happen. Not Olin. I knew nothing of an execution." Her desperate green eyes board into his as she said this. Aragorn felt pity well up inside of him.

"I will pass no judgement on you. But I will ask questions." His resolved hardened as he remembered his decision to get to the bottom of the hatred between Serafina and Boromir.

"You can ask but I will not answer."

"Then why confide in me?"

The thief paused before she made a reply. Then she spoke tentatively, "Because he needs to be remembered - even if it is only his name. He will be remembered by Boromir, certainly, but for all the wrong reasons. He will be remembered by me but I do not deserve even his memory." She paused again before continuing slower again, "To be remembered by someone else, someone who knows only that he died for... a person, well he deserves that." She finished lamely.

Aragorn made no reply but continued dressing her wound. It was healing, but terribly slowly. He wondered why Serafina had divulged this information to him. He had expected he would have to probe a bit further to penetrate her childish, carefree facade. And even though she wasn't exactly forthcoming with tales of her past, for Serafina this was almost an overwhelming rush of information.

It was a long while before either of them spoke.

"It will be a long time, Serafina, before we reach anywhere that will be safe enough for us to part. You are going to have to come to some sort of understanding with Boromir.

"I don't need to do any such thing, ranger! The day that landed me in the Steward's goal is one of the two days in my life that I regret. The other is when Olin switched places with me in the gaol – the day Boromir planned to have me murdered. Olin knew. I didn't. I need no peace treaty with the Son of the Steward, and I don't need his forgiveness, much less his understanding."

"Be as stubborn as you will. But I will not have you hitting a member of the fellowship again," Aragorn lowered his voice as he continued, "I cannot swear to protect you, but I believe you would throw my oath to the wolves in any case."

Serafina flinched. His soft words hit her in the chest like the bow of a boat swinging as it changes direction. She did not know what to say in return. Slowly, the thief realised that Aragorn was the only person in this company that had offered her the slightest sliver of friendship, in spite of everything that she was. She watched him as he continued cleaning her wounds. He held her arm gently with one hand. With his other hand he slowly washed away the dirt and infection with a cloth soaked in herbal liquid. After washing came the application of balm and various herbs to help with infection. His hands worked surely and gently as they always did. He never looked up. As he began to re-dress her wrist Serafina remembered another riddle.

"Aragorn." She said, frowning.

"Yes?" He answered, still not looking up.

"No. Aragorn.... Aragorn is your name."

Finally he raised his grey eyes to scrutinise her. "And is there a problem with that?"

"No. Well, yes. Maybe." The thief was unsure and no longer watching him. She was looking around as if searching for an answer that was hiding from her in the dark. Aragorn watched her, unsure if he liked where this topic was going. Her confusion was certainly amusing, but he hoped that she wouldn't progress past confusion, at least not yet.

"There is something about your name." The girl continued, "Like it's something I remember from a children's story, well something I'm trying to remember." She looked into his eyes sharply. "Is there any reason for that?"

Aragorn smiled in answer, but it didn't quite reach his eyes and he knew she would see it. So he replied, "The significance of my name is of no importance to you."

"On the contrary," she answered heartily, "It is very important to me. I don't like being left not knowing answers to questions. I don't like it at all. At the moment I have so many questions which no one will answer and you won't even tell me why I feel like I know your name."

At this point Serafina realised that he had finished dressing her wrist already and was holding her arm gently in both of his hands. Aragorn took a deep breath and placed her arm onto her lap. "Don't go looking for answers Serafina, if you are not prepared to accept them, whatever they are."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean precisely what I said, nothing more." He paused, a frown spread across his face, "Come here," He said, lifting his hands to her face. He tilted her chin until her bruised eye caught the light. Serafina watched as his face grew stony. She could see that there would evidently be no more conversation though it was difficult to tell if that was because of the previous topic or because of the effect her blackened eye had on him. She felt his eyes on her face – boring into her skin like the focused ray of light from a magnifying glass burns parchment. His eyes and his hands were from different people, they hand to be. His hand under her chin held her steady, holding her like one might hold a bird, careful not to damage something so fragile. He began to rub a cooling salve around her eye ever so carefully, slowly working in. The balm was a welcome relief from both the hot swelling of her puffy eye and from the unrelenting heat of his gaze. Serafina finally closed her eyes. Beneath his gentle touch, she could feel the roughness of his skin so acutely on her face. Everything about his manner with her was a contradiction. The girl tried to focus on the burning of his glance – whatever it was, anger, disgust, disapproval, it was much easier to deal with than the light caress of his hands.

Suddenly she felt his hands drop from her face, she kept her eyes closed as he stood, almost afraid of what she might see in his face. Serafina heard him murmur something that could have been goodnight and felt the cool breeze blow past as he walked to the other side of the camp.

The girl opened her eyes and surveyed the camp. The hobbits were asleep, Gimli was snoring. The elf could have been away or asleep – it was sometimes difficult to tell. Only the men and the wizard were still moving about. Serafina watched as Aragorn joined Gandalf and Boromir by the fire. Sighing she prepared her bed were she sat, slightly away from the rest of the party. As she began to drift into sleep Serafina felt the warmth of the fire lighting one side of her face. The sensation felt similar to the Rangers eyes. The girl turned away from the fire and drifted into a troubled sleep, where hot eyes burnt her back and neck and cool hands caressed her face.