[she can see he wasn't lying about trouble with stairs. His pace is painfully slow for her, but she doesn't crowd him, and follows patiently. She's fine covering behind them—and feels pretty sure she could jump clear over his head, anyway, if something burst in to attack them from the front.]

[she aims another sharp look at the back of his head.]

I'm still a knight, no matter where I am. And I'm certainly not playing.

What about you, then? What are you, where you come from? Aside from a pain in the arse. Maybe that's what "Dúnadan" means.