She was loathe to let either of them out of her sight. The giant, hulking figure, who oft seemed more like an animal than a man. And the slender, soft-spoken one; bare footed and graceful. They represented so many things to the woman in the bedroll. They had been there for her youthful days of uncertainty, when she was still finding her voice and her place in the strange North. They had been there for moments of laughter, fear, and confusion. And for the deepest and most heart-rending sorrow she would ever endure. And now, they were familiarity, comfort, and strength for her soul.
The man spoke little. He lived through actions more than words. Ever he had been grim and fierce, but always kind and protective to her. He understood things with senses that seemed at times to be more than human. Now, there was a new warmth about him that was unexpected and bewildering. It flavored the pure, childlike trust she'd always held towards him, and was making it something new.
The elleth was far freer with words. Her voice was gentle and low, and never imposed when it was unsolicited. But whenever the woman had a question, or sought the elf's opinion, the latter would give the matter more than due thought, and would remain engaged and open-hearted as long as was needed to set her friend at ease. She, too, had an uncanny sense of the woman's mind and heart, and this was a great relief in times when words were hard to work with.
From her bedroll, she watched the dancing, wriggling flames of the campfire. The elf-maiden had slipped away to find her resting place for the night, for she did not lie on the ground under blankets as Men did, nor sleep as mortals might. The Rohir woman's heart ached to think of how generous her friend had already been; making a delicious supper for the three of them as they sat by the fire that evening. The woman had been quite content to think of living on bread and dried meat and fruit for a few days, but her friend had other designs, and the after-taste of the rich, creamy stew, and the honey-cakes shared by the bearish man, was yet on their tongues.
She could see the man now, sitting on the opposite side of the fire, where an old log was set like a makeshift bench for travelers. The fire cast golden-orange shapes over his knees and the big hands that rested on them. His face was shadowed, but his eyes glittered like dark coals in his hidden visage. He had volunteered for the first watch of the night, and there was no hint of worry in her mind. She had seen the destruction he could wreak, many years ago.
Tomorrow, she would meet with her memories. Like a long awaited visit with an old friend. The unknown was intimidating. What would they find at the abandoned quarry? Traces of what had happened years before? Were his bones even now lying somewhere under the rock and soil, broken and shattered, never to be buried and put to rest?
She struggled to push this thought away, and seek softer, gentler musings that would let sleep come. After a time, her mind began to feel hazy and heavy, and she welcomed the darkness that crept at the edges of her consciousness. She fancied that someone was tucking another blanket over her, cocooning her in warmth and shelter. A hand seemed to brush past her temple, but surely it was only a figment of coming dreams.
