Denise gulped. She had ten posters of Boromir taped to her wall; he was the subject of all of her fan fiction stories; and of course, Sean Bean was her favorite actor. To put it simply, she knew very well who Boromir was. But was she going to tell them that? They were already crazy enough to believe that they were really in Middle-earth; what would they do if Denise played into it even more? On the other hand, if they weren't in New York, then where the heck were they?

"No, I don't. I just thought I'd ask who he was. That's all." Denise left it at that, and no one seemed to be interested in pursuing the topic any longer. Instead, Lamiel brought a damp cloth over to her bedside, and began dabbing at the tiny cuts that were all over her face. Denise flinched as this happened, but there was something that was also soothing about the cold water on her skin.

A feeling of guilt began to fill Denise's heart the more she thought about Boromir being married to the woman who had offered to take care of her. Boromir was going to die, but Gilraen did not know that. She continued to dream of his returning and of their future together. There was something tremendously depressing about that. But what could Denise do about it? It was at that moment when she thought of the words her mother would speak to her whenever she would be worried about a friend:

"Denise, it is fine and dandy to care about a person, but you cannot take on their problems."

And usually, that would settle whatever uneasiness she felt within herself, but in this case, it did not seem like enough.

"What is New York like?" Amras suddenly blurted out from the corner of the room.

"I don't really know what to say." Denise chuckled quietly. "When people think of New York, they usually think of the big and bustling city. But to be honest, I come from more of a suburban area…" she trailed off as she could see that they were completely confused by what she was saying.

"I know you are, uh…unfamiliar with my 'land,' but I don't know how else to explain it to you."

"Do you have many horseless carriages there?" asked Amras, surprising everyone present, as they did not think he had been listening as much as he had.

"Yes. Many." Denise smiled. She loved kids, and he seemed like an unusually mature one.

"I would like to see one of those. I cannot imagine a carriage moving without the help of horses." Gilraen interjected. She then yawned and looked embarrassed.

"I beg your pardon; it has been a rather trying day, which I suppose has caught up with me."

"Gilraen, why don't you allow yourself to go home and sleep for a while? You have been most helpful, but I do not want you to fall ill from doing too much. Amras and I will be able to care for Denise until you are ready to take her into your home." Lamiel said, resting her hand onto Gilraen's shoulder.

At first, Gilraen wanted to protest, but her exhaustion got the better of her and she agreed to let Denise stay the night. Truthfully, she wanted to bring her home so she could get more information on the strange and distant land from which she said she came.

After they had said their goodbyes, the feeling of sadness again began to fill Gilraen's heart, as she realized that she would be entering an empty home. Oh, how she wanted Boromir to hold her in his strong arms; she felt so safe in his embrace.

OoOoOoO

The night was long for Denise—and painful. She was no doctor, but she knew her body and had a feeling that at least one of her ribs was broken. It hurt to breathe, and even the slightest movement made her want to scream out in pain. Just like any other sleepless night, Denise's thoughts came back to haunt her. Her mind was reeling with the thoughts of Boromir's death; the children he would not have; the joyous years he would not experience with his wife.

"Stop it, Denise. Calm down. It's not your responsibility." She whispered to herself. After a few silent moments, she realized that she had spoken loud enough to wake up the sleeping Amras. He had been sleeping on a small cot on the other side of the room. The house was so small that he did not even have his own room, something that Denise was not used to.

"What is not your responsibility?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Nothing." Denise said, trying to dismiss it.

"Did you have a bad dream?"

"No, it was nothing."

"Sometimes if you speak about a dream that troubled you, it will make it go away and never come back."

"Amras, it was not a dream. It was merely—"

"The other night, I dreamed that I was fighting off a dragon that had set fire to all of Gondor. I got to wear armor and wield a sword like my father. I returned home a hero." Amras smiled proudly at his last statement.

Denise smiled. He was a sweet, innocent child who was wise beyond his years in some ways.

"Amras," she began again. "I did not have a dream. I was just thinking aloud, that is all. Sometimes, in order to clear my mind, I speak my thoughts. Don't worry about me."

"If you say so. But if you need to talk about your dreams, I am willing to listen."

"Thanks, sweetie."

The room was silent for a few minutes, before Amras began speaking again.

"Denise?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have a father?"

"Yes, of course I do."

"What is he like?"

This put a frown on Denise's face, since her parent's story did not exactly have a fairytale ending.

"I can't really say…" she said quietly.

"Why not?" he asked, propping himself up on his elbow.

"My father left my family about five years ago, when I was thirteen." Denise was hoping that she wasn't saying anything that wouldn't be age-appropriate.

"Why would he do a thing like that?" asked Amras, looking distressed.

"My parent's didn't…uh, exactly get along. They disagreed on a lot of topics, and he decided to leave. I have not seen him since."

Amras looked very sad by the thought of such a thing occurring.

"I never met my father." He said, sadly and quietly. This got Denise's attention.

"Why not?"

"He died in battle when I was still a baby. My mother has raised me all alone, but we are close with Lady Gilraen and Lord Boromir." He paused for a moment and then smiled. "Lord Boromir has been like a father to me. He has taught me how to throw daggers and he said that one day I will make a fine warrior. I miss him, and I cannot wait for him to return."

The thoughts came back. Denise felt terrible that she knew that we was going to die, while they believed that he would come home. But what was she going to say to him? That his father figure would be "pierced with many arrows?"

"How nice it is for you that you have such a kind man in your life. He sounds like a wonderful person." Denise managed to choke out.

"Yes he is….perhaps you will meet him sometime!"

"Perhaps…" Denise mumbled.

Amras yawned and suddenly got a sleepy look on his face.

"Why don't you try to get some sleep?" Denise suggested. He nodded and snuggled down beneath his blankets, and within minutes, he was sound asleep again.

Denise remembered when she was that age and sleep seemed to be so easy (with the exception of waiting for Santa on Christmas), and she wished that she could fall asleep that way again. But that would not happen for her.

Her mind tormented her well into the night, before she fell asleep. Her thought processes were divided into two separate options: she could either say nothing about it and await the news of his death, or she could say something about it and…..and what?

The "what" was what she was having the problem with. And what….wield a sword? And what…journey through Middle-earth to Amon Hen? And what…..save him from the Uruk-hai? How?

The "how" was her second problem.

But, in order for her to fall asleep, she needed to make a decision. And she did.

She decided that she would never be able to learn how to fight; she would never be able to save Boromir; but she also decided that she should never say never.