“Be prepared, Boromir,” I murmured quietly, so that only he could hear. “Theoden may not be what you anticipate. We both need to tread as carefully as possible until Aragorn and the others arrive.” A look of annoyance flashed across Boromir’s face at the thought that I might be insinuating that he couldn’t take care of this without Aragorn’s help, but I leaned forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s just…The one who pulls the strings here may not be the one most obvious. Look for a man in black with a silver tongue and the eyes of a snake.”
Five points to me for sounding so awesomely cryptic. And I think my description of Grima Wormtongue was suitably kick-ass. I tried very hard not to bask in my amazingness as Boromir led the horse to the steps of the great hall. I didn’t quite realize we’d stopped until Boromir lightly patted my hand, which had clenched in a fistful of Simbel’s braided mane. “My lady, you must dismount,” he said quietly, his lips quirking as though he wanted to smile. “The horse cannot follow us into the hall.”