Updating with a long-ish chapter in celebration of my 20th birthday okayyyy let's go
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It soon became apparent that the beautiful appearance of the plain had been at least somewhat deceiving. Before long, the grass reached their knees, then their hips, then their chests. If Robb and Boromir were walking in circles, they would only know when—if—they came across the narrow path of flattened grass they had created for themselves.
For now, the sun was still up and at their backs, confirming they were going the right way, but once night fell Robb would have to depend entirely on Boromir's knowledge of the stars. With the man still wincing in pain every few steps, however, Robb wasn't confident he would be able to stay focused for much longer.

"We should rest for a few hours," Robb called ahead when the sun had disappeared behind the horizon, just loudly enough for Boromir to hear. Just because he had not seen any living being that wasn't an insect in the past few hours did not mean there were none. They were not the only ones capable of hiding in the tall grass.

Boromir sighed, visibly unhappy, but agreed.

They flattened a small circle of grass, just enough to spread out their bedrolls next to each other, and sat. It was silently agreed that they would not be lighting a fire, despite the cool air of an early spring night. The chances of being discovered by Orcs were too high, especially out in the open like this.

Opening his bag, Robb handed Boromir a packet of the bread from Lothlórien—Lembas, he thought it was called—before taking one himself.

His side still twinged, but Robb didn't want to go through the arduous process of taking off his gorget, boiled leathers, jerkin and tunic again. Perhaps he would check later, before they continued on. It didn't feel like the wound was bleeding again, anyway.
Instead, when they had both finished their bread, Robb checked over Boromir's injuries. It was far easier, since all Boromir was wearing were mail, a tunic and a surcoat on top of his undergarments. Then again, Robb mused, if Boromir had worn any kind of plate armour, there might not have been injuries to check.

As it was, it seemed Aragorn had done an incredible job of patching him up. The makeshift bandages were still clean—as clean as possible, anyway—and no blood had seeped through. Not wanting to mess the bandages up and ruin Aragorn's work, Robb left well enough alone.

"Well, I'm no maes– no healer," Robb said with a smile, tapping Boromir's shoulder to signal him he could put his clothes back on, "but it does not look immediately fatal. You should be alright, at least for now."

"You have my thanks," Boromir mumbled, redressing.

Insects chirped and buzzed in the high grass around them as Robb watched Boromir fight to keep his eyes open. He was still too pale and the dark bags under his eyes stood out more than they ought to.

"I shall take first watch," Robb finally offered when it became clear Boromir would not ask him to. "I'll wake you to take over in a few hours."

Boromir did not protest, only thanked him quietly. That, more than any admittance of outward weakness, confirmed to Robb how exhausted Boromir really was. He had pushed himself hard since Amon Hen and had performed admirably, but now that he had stopped for just a moment, all of his strings seemed to have been cut.

Robb settled down on his own bedroll once again, legs crossed, and unsheathed Airilírë.
This promised to be a long night, and his sword needed cleaning.

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Boromir woke Robb at sunrise the next morning. He had taken over Robb's watch earlier that night after he had startled awake from a nightmare and been unable to fall back asleep.

Robb, by contrast, had slept surprisingly well. That was not to say his sleep had been dreamless—never that, not since Lothlórien. But there had been no nightmares, just fragments of wolf dreams and disjointed snippets of normal, albeit nonsensical dreams he barely remembered. Robb thought he may have been playing hide and seek with a ghost at some point.

The point was, Robb felt far more awake than what seemed to be the case for Boromir. The man was unusually quiet, although perhaps in a better mood than he had been in the days past, when he had still been under the Ring's influence. Now, his glumness was more likely to stem from guilt rather than the dark presence of a godly being.

Robb said nothing of it, just checked Boromir's bandages again with deliberate cheer, wondering aloud whether they would see anything bigger than a mouse today.

His own side still hurt—of course it did, Robb would be more concerned if that was not the case—but the pain was no worse than it had been the evening before. Robb was quick about checking the injury, leaving it mostly untouched before he righted his clothes again and began to pack up his bedroll.

When they finally continued their journey, the sun was a hand's breadth above the horizon. It rose right ahead of them, bathing the grass in a warm pinkish-yellow light. Robb and Boromir broke their fast while walking, and few words were exchanged as they chewed and enjoyed the fresh morning air.

As a whole, the day passed much the same as the one before. They took two shorter breaks to rest—no use in overexerting their bodies if they wanted their injuries to heal fast and well—and Robb tried to keep an eye out for rabbits and the like. Surely, high grass like this would present a perfect habitat for them.

By the time dusk settled in, all Robb could see around him was grass and sky. The woods at Amon Hen had already disappeared from view the day before, but now even the rocks and boulders were gone. At most, Robb thought he could occasionally make out faint peaks of a mountain range ahead of them, but who was to say if those weren't clouds? Certainly not Robb; he still had no map of the place.

Once again, Robb took first watch that night, and once again Boromir appeared to suffer from nightmares. This time, however, Robb woke him before his dreams did. Boromir was able to fall asleep once more prior to his own watch, and when they continued on the next morning, the dark bags under Boromir's eyes were less pronounced.

The third day brought no changes, not to the landscape, and not to their injuries, beside the fact that they continued to heal well as far as Robb could tell. With no formal training in healing or medicine, all he could truly say was that they had not got worse, pain- or colour-wise.

The only significant thing to happen was that Boromir caught a glimpse of what he thought was a rabbit. It was truly a miracle.

They spent their time talking to stave off boredom, but had soon exhausted every conceivable topic. The usual parlor games Robb used to play with his siblings, too, were of very little help—'Who am I?' failed due to fewer than a dozen mutual acquaintances, and all efforts to play 'I spy' were nipped in the bud by their less than exciting surroundings.

Later, when the sun had disappeared behind the horizon and they were settling down for the night, a cool wind started to blow. It rustled the grass and made Boromir shiver. Robb was less affected but the last thing either of them needed was a cold when their bodies were already trying to heal from fairly serious injuries. The fact that Robb and Boromir were traipsing around all day and not on bedrest was bad enough already.

That was why, when Boromir shivered once again, Robb started up a fire. It was risky, yes, but what were the chances of someone finding them out here when a rabbit was the largest thing they had seen in days? The tall grass would hide them well enough. It was a small fire in any case—obviously there was no wood to be found, and Robb could never collect enough dry grass for a fire to last the entire night.

Instead, Robb nudged Boromir close to the small flame and gave him the fur cloak Robb had been wearing. It would certainly keep Boromir warmer than just the cloak he had been gifted by Galadriel. Robb's own Elven cloak had been in his pack for days, but now he was glad to have it as a backup.

After they had eaten—Lembas once more—Boromir fell asleep quickly. Robb kept watch again, cleaning his Dwarven dagger to keep himself awake. Every now and then, he took some dry grass from the small pile at his side and added it to the fire.

Perhaps an hour later, when Robb went to reach for the dry grass again, his fingers were met with soft earth. Damn. He'd run out. And just when the fire was almost down to embers, as well.

With a sigh, Robb stuffed the dagger into his boot and got up. There was a spot just a few dozen meters off the campsite where he'd found drier grass than anywhere else. A different bit of earth, probably. Robb would just go to collect some more, at least enough to keep until he had to wake Boromir.

His sword slapped against his thigh as he entered the tall grass and Robb briefly contemplated taking the sword belt off. In the end, he decided it wasn't worth it. Not for ten minutes of plucking grass.

The moon barely illuminated his surroundings as Robb slowly picked his way through the grass. More than once, he had to brush away stalks of it in his face or hair. When he finally arrived at what he thought was the spot, their campsite was almost entirely hidden, the faint glow of embers only visible to Robb because he knew to look for it. He started picking grass, going for those stalks that listed close to the ground, and cursed when he cut his finger on a sharp blade of the stuff.

When his surroundings suddenly got just a bit brighter, Robb thought one of the clouds in front of the moon had gone. Then, his bloody finger still in his mouth, he looked down. The light was coming from him. From his sword.

"Oh, fuck," Robb swore under his breath. Orcs. Here. While Boromir was still asleep just a few meters off. Oh, Robb should never have lit that fire, the cold be damned.

Glancing around, Robb drew his blade—and immediately realized he had made a big mistake. The sword was like a damned torch. If the Orcs were truly close enough for it to glow, they would have spotted him now. And if they got much closer, they would also spot Boromir. Robb could not let that happen.

The cat was out of the bag for him—but not for Boromir. He could lead them away from him. Robb took a deep breath and readjusted his grip on the sword. Then he lifted it above his head.

There was a muffled shout from his right.

Robb ran.

His side started to burn after just a few paces, but he pushed on. The further away from camp he could get before the Orcs inevitably caught up with him, the safer Boromir was. Robb just really hoped it was a small number of them.

Seconds later, something ripped him to the ground from the side.

The air left his lungs with a wheeze and he felt the wound in his side rip open again. Robb gasped for breath, only to release it as a pained groan. Still, he fought to get back on his feet. The Orc was crouched a few feet away, just about to get up himself. It was one of the unusually big ones they had seen at Amon Hen. Its momentum had been as much a blessing for Robb as a curse.

When the Orc rushed him again, Robb was more prepared. He ignored the pain in his side and parried the attack before kicking the Orc's knee. When it stumbled, Robb cleaved off its head.

Two more came at him from the tall grass. He killed those too, but it took him longer than he could afford. His strength was waning already. Sweat dripped into Robb's eyes and he could feel a trickle of blood making its way down to his hip. His lungs were burning. Robb hefted his sword higher.

The next two Orcs attacked him one after the other. Just when he had finished off the first, Airilírë still in its chest, the second one appeared. It was his undoing. Although Robb's blade ripped free of its place with a squelch, it could not stop the knee that hit him just where his wound was. Not when there was a sword flying at his throat at the same time.

Pain exploded in his side. His vision flashed white, then darkness crept in on the edges. With a strangled scream, Robb fell back, his blade weakly sliding off of his opponent's.

Gods, he couldn't give up now. Boromir was still out there.

Robb had to get up.

He tried to roll over, get his feet under him, but the pain flared at the first sign of movement. A raw keen burst from his lungs.  The darkness became thicker. Everything around him was muffled, his vision swimming, although Robb didn't know if that was from tears or the pain.

In the faint light of his sword, Robb saw the Orc stride closer. If this was his death—his true death—he wanted to take it down with him. He made a desperate swing at its legs, but all he got for it was a kick to his hand. Airilírë fell to the ground. The Orc booted it out of his reach.

"Missed me," the Orc spat.

Robb blinked and a tear trickled down his temple and into his hair. The darkness had almost taken over. Oh, he remembered this. Eyes open but unseeing... perhaps he would get to meet his family again now.

It was a kick to the head that finally made everything go black.