The campfire crackles softly as the Fellowship rests beneath the star-lit sky. You sit beside Aragorn, his weathered hands sharpening his sword with quiet focus.

“You should rest,” he murmurs, not looking up.

You huff, stretching your sore limbs. “So should you.”

A faint smirk tugs at his lips. “Someone must keep watch.”

Despite his words, he sets the blade down and turns to you, his gaze steady. A silent understanding passes between you: trust, unspoken yet unbreakable.

“Come,” he says finally, shifting his cloak. “If you must stay awake, at least stay warm.”