... some post-therapy introductions and more Boromir bonding incoming! Sindarin translations at the very bottom.
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Thanarwë and Robb returned from their reclusive place in the late hours of the afternoon.

Robb felt… strange. Unbalanced. In a good way, mostly—there was now someone who knew of his past in greater detail than just panicked ramblings or vague visions, and it was someone who had pledged to help him without judgment. He felt lighter now. But there was still a slight restlessness in his bones, like bugs crawling under his skin. His mind had been working hard all afternoon and he needed to let loose somehow.

Upon reentering society, so to speak, they were intercepted by a slightly shorter Elf who almost jumped into Thanarwë's arms as soon as they saw them.

Thanarwë let out a soft 'oof' on impact but managed to keep the flower crown in their hand safe. They had made several more after that first one, which was now probably slightly wilted and had been sent to float down the small creek earlier.

"Suilad, Maeniliel," Thanarwë said with a smile, hugging back until the other Elf—Maeniliel?—left their embrace. Taking a step back, Thanarwë carefully placed the flower crown on Maeniliel's silver hair. "I hen angin."

Maeniliel gasped in delight. "Gin hannon!"

"I 'ell nîn," Thanarwë said before turning back to Robb. "This is my wife, Maeniliel. Meleth nîn, that is Robb."

He inclined his head with a small grin. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady."

Maeniliel beamed back and curtsied. "Likewise!"

Robb turned his attention back to Thanarwë. "Thank you again. I'm sure we will see each other soon. For now—" he tilted his head—"I think I shall seek out the training grounds."

"Very well, Robb," they replied, an amused sparkle in their eyes. "Have fun."

"I'm sure I will. Goodbye, Thanarwë. Maeniliel."

"Novaer!" Maeniliel beamed with a small wave.

Thanarwë slung an arm around their wife's waist and together they walked off, gods only knew where.

Robb, in turn, tried to orientate himself. Caras Galadhon was surprisingly big for a hidden city, and at the moment, he had no idea where he was. On a whim, Robb decided to go left, where there appeared to be more people. He wandered aimlessly for a while and only when he saw  flashes of the lunch hall's pearly white ceiling did he regain any sense of his position. From there on, he knew that the training grounds were not a long ways away.

However, Robb realised, his sword was still at their camp. Sighing, he took a sharp right turn.

A few short minutes later, Robb was just putting on his sword belt, the sword itself now firmly attached to his side, when Boromir entered the camp.

"Good afternoon, Robb," he called out.
Robb's head whipped up at the voice, still not used to it, but he conjured up what he hoped was a smile when he realized his mistake.

"Likewise."

"Are you going sparring?"

Robb nodded, patting the sword at his side. "No need to carry that around with me, otherwise."

Boromir chuckled. "Indeed.—Do you mind if I join you?"

The real answer was probably 'yes' but Thanarwë had just advised Robb to spend more time with Boromir, to get used to his appearance and voice and mannerisms; to maybe, eventually, overcome his discomfort.

So Robb said, "No, I don't mind," and pulled his gloves out of the mess at his feet to put them on. "Do you know where the training grounds are, already?"

"I do," Boromir affirmed, raising an arm in the appropriate direction, which Robb took as an invitation to get on their way.

"There is not much else to do here but train, after all," Boromir then added with a shrug, following him. Robb tilted his head, thinking of the long and arduous conversations that had consumed most of his time in Lothlórien so far, and had to disagree.

"Speak for yourself," he snorted. "I myself have found myself in numerous dialogues with, among others, Lady Galadriel herself."

Boromir's eyebrows ticked up. "Is that so? What did she want?"

Robb shrugged, hiding a small wince. "The same thing all of you wanted to know when we first met," he finally replied. "What instructions I was given by the Valar. She answered some questions—quite cryptically so, I may add. I feel like I need to learn Elvish to truly understand."

Boromir laughed. Strangely, it did not sound like Father at all. Robb exhaled sharply, thrown off his rhythm, and was relieved when Boromir gave no indication of having noticed.

"Yes, it is often said that Elves will answer both yes and no when you go to them for counsel."

Robb chuckled at that as well.

"As for the Elvish, I can only wish you luck," Boromir continued, "and hope that you will need the easier kind. I myself had to learn it, but my brother was always both more studious and more gifted at it than I."

Robb blinked. "The easier kind?"

"And the more common kind as well, yes," Boromir confirmed. Then he seemed to realize something, his eyes closing briefly. "But you would not know that, of course. Forgive me. There are two Elvish languages—Sindarin and Quenya. Sindarin is the one I spoke of. It is used by most Elves, and many of us mortals know it as well. Quenya is far rarer, and more complex. It is, I believe, the language spoken by those Elves who lived in Valinor. I faintly remember it being forbidden for some reason or another, which would explain its rarity."

Robb was silent for a few moments, processing this new information. Gods, why was everything in Middle-Earth so complicated? Well, he amended himself in his mind, everything but the politics. Those were fairly straightforward, to Robb's immense joy.

"Well, thank you for the warning," Robb finally replied.

The training grounds now lay ahead of them in all their mostly deserted glory. It was the same clearing where Robb had sparred with Aragorn and Legolas the day before.

"It was no problem," Boromir chuckled. "I reckon there were enough surprises here for you already. There was no need to add another one."

Robb snorted at the irony of this being said by Boromir, of all people. "Aye, that's true."

He started to discard his sword belt, preferring to fight with only his sword in hand, with no sheath slapping against his leg to distract him. This was, of course, a privilege that would not be granted to him in a real fight, but at the moment he was wearing far lighter clothing than usual, as well. The sheath would hurt more without the leather of his tabard to soften the blow.

Finally rid of the belt, Robb turned back around to face Boromir, who was already in a ready stance. Robb's lips twitched. He, too, got into position and the fight commenced.

Only a few seconds in, Robb was thrown off once again by the fact that Boromir's fighting style was an entirely different one than his father's. In retrospect, he should have expected it—their respective swords demanded it, after all. Ice had been far too large to fight with in the light, fairly quick way Boromir did.

This distraction, however, cost Robb the first bout. Boromir's blade hovered at his throat. Robb raised his arms with a smile, still holding his sword.

Grinning back, Boromir shifted into his ready position once again. Robb followed. Their second round lasted far longer. With Robb no longer as distracted, he countered the first several blows quite easily before realizing Boromir was merely testing his skill.

Thinking fast, Robb took a step back and stopped all offensive moves, refocusing solely on defense. Boromir, in turn, stepped forward, although he was not so easily fooled as to attack without thinking now. In the following minutes, Robb retreated farther and farther while Boromir continued to advance and press his defenses.

Feeling himself running out of stamina, Robb faked a stumble. Finally, Boromir tapped into his trap and charged with an overhead strike.
Robb raised his sword parallel to the ground, blocking Boromir's attack with a grunt. Immediately, he reinforced the other side of his blade with a gloved hand and, in an instinctual move he had never used before, slid it against and around Boromir's own, barely stopping its tip before Boromir's shoulder.

Panting, Robb raised his eyes to look at Boromir. His opponent's gaze was surprised but delighted before it suddenly flashed dangerously. Robb barely had the time to wonder why, as his feet were swept out from under him and he tumbled to the ground. When he looked up, he found Boromir's blade at his throat once again, the man's lips curling smugly.

"You fight well, Robb," Boromir said, "but you should not be too sure that your enemy is defeated as long as he can still move."

Robb exhaled sharply and lightly punched the floor with one hand. "Gods," he complained, "this is not going to be pretty, is it?"

Boromir rested his sword on his shoulder and chuckled.

"Not with that attitude, no. Come on, Robb, let us try this again."

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ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs

"Suilad, Maeniliel."
    — Hello, Maeniliel.

"I hen angin."
    — This is for you.

"Gin hannon!"
    — Thank you! (fam.)

"I 'ell nîn."
    — It's my pleasure./You're welcome.

"meleth nîn"
    — my love

"Novaer!"
    — "Goodbye!"