AH! Finally an update! Ok, so this chapter didn't get me as far as I thought it would (it sort of feels a bit filler-y to me, I don't know). Reviews would really be appreciated on this chapter, since I'm not too sure about it. Thanks, and enjoy!
As it turned out, the days following Boromir and Amela's moment on the veranda were eventful enough that they managed to keep what had happened a secret; the beacons of Gondor had been lit, and the Rohirrim mustered to ride to their ally's aid. Although they hadn't yet fully recovered their strength, Boromir and Amela joined the Riders of Rohan on their march for Minas Tirith. They rode together much of the way, but once in a while one of them was called away for some reason or another. When they did have the time, they tried to converse mostly as if nothing had changed, but they couldn't hide it as well as they'd liked. Cheerful though she was to be riding again (and with the man she loved at that) Amela nonetheless felt sorry for Éowyn, who'd been incredibly disappointed to be left out of the fighting, again. Éowyn had been allowed to accompany the Riders to Dunharrow, but no farther. Between her smiles and serious discussions of the battle ahead, Amela couldn't help but reveal a hint of her feelings: that she wished to have her friend by her side when she rode into battle.
"Her people need her, Amela. Rohan can't afford to lose both of its heirs." Said Boromir, patting Amela's shoulder as he did so.
"I know, but she has so much spirit; she'd be an amazing fighter, given the chance to prove it."
Nodding, Boromir agreed.
"You could be right - you normally are - but it's not for us to decide. Come now, you'd better start smiling; we're reaching Dunharrow, and the men's morale can't afford to see your pretty face with a frown on it."
In response to Boromir's cheeky grin, Amela sighed sarcastically.
"If you were anyone else, I'd run you threw for that."
The happy pair laughed, and Amela slyly shortened her reins...
"Last one to Dunharrow's an Orc's foot!" She called back as she raced off.
Boromr urged his mount on to chase her.
"Damn that woman." He muttered through a smile as he leant forward in his saddle.
The Rohirrim camp at Dunharrow was set up well before sundown, so the riders could enjoy the sunset as they ate a simple supper of broth and bread. Atop a rock - which jutted out from the sloping ground, forming a small, isolated cliff - Amela sat swinging her legs while she mopped up the last of her soup with a handful of bread. As the sun sank below the horizon, an inky blue took over most of the sky, with red and orange streaks dancing behind the far away mountains. Behind her, Amela could hear casual footsteps approaching.
"Beautiful view, isn't it?" She said offhandedly as she turned to greet Boromir.
"I've got a better one." He half joked.
After finishing their broth and spending a little more time admiring the setting sun, the pair relocated to the side of a dwindling fire, further into the middle of the camp. Throwing on a few logs made the flames grow fiercer, and the warmth soon attracted a large group of the riders to the fire side. The night passed with banter, laughs and stories, and eventually drew to an end when most had retired to their tents or blankets, including Boromir and Amela. Being high and close to the mountains, Dunharrow was chillingly cold, and the wind was thunderous against the walls of the tents, blowing ferociously through narrow gaps and corridors in the camp.
The next day was mostly uneventful. Periodically, small groups of soldiers would arrive to join Théoden's army, but that was really all there was to speak of. As the afternoon passed into dusk, Boromir noticed that a specific group was missing from the camp. Assuming that the King would best know the whereabouts of the higher ranking men at this point, he approached the royal tent.
"King Théoden," he said as he entered "may I have leave to speak with you?"
"This is a war camp, Captain of Gondor; formality is not needed here. Speak freely, sit, drink." The King replied, while leaning over a map spread over a wide table.
Boromir didn't take the King up on his offer; instead he was characteristically direct.
"I haven't seen Aragorn or Legolas around the camp this evening, and I haven't heard Gimli. Where are they?"
The King looked up briefly from his map, "They went into the mountain... looking for an army."
"I see..." Mumbled Boromir. He had heard tales of a dead army in those mountains, damned for eternity unless they should fulfil their oath to the King of Gondor, but Aragorn was no King yet, and the thing that could prove his lineage lay shattered on a stone tablet in Rivendell.
"Thank you, King Théoden, if you'll excuse me, I should go back to the men."
"Very well, son of Gondor."
When he left the King's tent, he caught a glimpse of Amela running a short way down a path into the mountains, not that he was concerned; she could protect herself better than most, and she could see well in the low light. But he followed her anyway; it had never failed him before.
He had only taken a few steps into the pass when his eyes started to struggle (even the rocky walls at the foot of the mountains completely blocked out the moon). With only the little light that bounced off the opposite wall to see by, he lost sight of Amela and concentrated more on finding his way (and remembering the way out). Feeling around him, it was clear to Boromir that he had come to some sort of cross roads, he squinted, trying to see a little farther down each route.
"Struggling, are we?" The woman's voice came from the blackness to Boromir's sides, not far off where he was stood. Seconds later, there was a soft sound of landing on the opposite side of him.
"Why did you follow me, silly Gondorian?" She chuckled. "I only wanted a better view, and now I'm having to rescue you, again."
He couldn't see her, but Boromir was sure Amela would have winked at him following that jibe.
"I don't need rescuing, I need elvish eyes. Now stop acting like some mountain spirit and come out where I can see you."
Amela's voice moved again.
"Oh, really? Then which way did you come; which way is the way out?"
"Damn." Boromir thought. He'd been so preoccupied trying to track the movements of the thus far invisible Amela that he'd completely lost his bearings on the crossroads.
"Fine. You win." He admitted bluntly. "Which way to the camp?"
Amela suddenly dropped down from the rock walls above the crossroads, right in front of Boromir, startling him - although he'd never admit it.
"Who ever mentioned going back to camp?" She asked, with an inquisitive grin on her face, now lit by a beam on moonlight shining through from the open top of one of the paths surrounding them.
Perplexed, Boromir questioned her.
"Well where did you mean by 'the way out'?"
"Ah," Amela said with a knowing grin, "follow me... and try to keep up."
With Amela prancing along the walls of the narrow passage - leaping from side to side using small ledges and crevices for footholds - and Boromir jogging along the floor a few feet behind, she led him down the thinnest and most winding of the paths that lead from the crossroads. Soon, the way began to climb and the ground became loose underfoot. Sure enough, the sloping path met a short cliff not too far from the crossroads and - determined not to be left behind - Boromir began to climb. Since the cliff stood little more than fifteen feet, the ascent was quick enough (especially with the conveniently good number of holes and jutting shelves of rock). Waiting for him at the top, offering a hand to pull him onto the plateau, was Amela; they grabbed each other's wrists and, when they were both safely stood on two feet again, Amela turned Boromir to face away from the mountains from which they had come, out over the camp and into the distance. Grasslands stretched for miles from the camp; seeming almost silver in the swathes of moonlight, whole plains moved in unison such that the dry grasslands all around them became a vast ocean and, on their tiny island of rock, they were isolated from all the troubles of Middle Earth.
"It's..." Boromir began.
"I know." Said Amela plainly, as she stared out into the night. "It's nice to look, just look, at something remarkable; makes you remember what it's like not to care."
They spent a little more time there together, admiring the night, mostly in silence, before making the descent back to the camp. Thankful that they took a different route on the way down, Boromir said goodnight to Amela in high spirits and they both returned to their tents to pass the night in a contented sleep.
And then the day came.
Hundreds of men were clustered in the centre of the camp, concentrated around the King's tent; the energy in the crowd was infectious, but mixed with a looming fear and doubt. When Théoden emerged, fully clad in royal armour, every head in the camp turned to face him, and the anticipation felt by all rose to an unbearable thickness. Among them were a part-elf and a Gondorian captain, shoulder to shoulder, standing tall and proud with their comrades.
"Soldiers and allies of Rohan!" The King's voice called out to the men of the camp. "Today we ride to the aid of our allies; today we save the lives of hundreds... today... we defend Gondor!"
A rapturous pulse of cheering and whooping and clapping and stomping broke forth from the army of Rohan, the King held up his hand, and waited for a silence that never came, before raising his voice to continue.
"Rohan may not have great cities that glisten snowy white in the summer sun. But, we do have honour; we do have strength; we do have courage, and our men are some of the greatest Middle Earth has seen! Today we ride to the aid of a kingdom older than ours, richer than ours and grander than ours, but we ride to their aid; they need us this day! Rohan will answer the call!"
The men cheered again, spears and swords clanged against solid wood shields, horses whinnied and stomped their hooves into the ground, and the army readied for a march.
And so it began: the valiant men of Rohan started their journey to Minas Tirith, not knowing what would meet them there, and not really having thought on it.