Amera instinctively glanced over her shoulder as the immense wooden doors of Meduseld closed behind her, a resounding echo sounding through the silent hall before her. She blinked once as she grew used to the darkness and shadows that fell over long tables now coated with a thick layer of dust and aged banners hanging limply between empty torch sconces. A great wave of sadness washed over her then, burying the discomfort created by the loss of her weapons to the guards at the door, as she knew that once this hall had been filled with crackling fires and laughter, the smell of roasted meat mingling with the brisk odor of mead as the hardy men of the plains had gathered, singing tales of heroes and victories while their wives and children laughed beside them.

And now, it was abandoned and silent, just as her beloved Annuminas.

She blinked as fingers brushed against her hand, shifting her glance as Boromir looked to her with concern in his proud eyes. Returning his worry with a faint smile, she looked back to the front of the dark chamber and to Théoden, King of the Golden Hall.

Her immediate reaction was that of revulsion, of disgust and of anger as she looked upon the king that had let his people fall into such hopeless ruin. Théoden had not even the will to sit in his throne, she noted with rising fury as she bit her tongue, but instead slumped forward weakly and appeared to be almost resting upon the arm and shoulder of the counselor beside him. His skin was so very pale, etched with the deep grooves of wrinkles far behind his age. Dry stalks of hair that had once been fair drooped over his spotted, dirtied face and the golden circlet that rested upon his exhausted brow.

Her attention then turned to the dark man that knelt beside him and whispered in his ear, seeming more like a lover than an advisor. She flinched with disgust as the man's pale eyes fell upon her as he turned to watch the approaching visitors, the weight of his curious, lustful gaze heavy. This was Wormtongue, she knew instantly as she tasted bile in the back of her throat, the coward and traitor that even now cast nervous glances towards the group from beneath pale brows and greasy black hair. Fury bubbled within her as she swallowed hard and tempered herself to remain silent, though from the corner of her eye she was able to see Boromir was less successful at masking his anger.

Gandalf rested on the arm of Legolas beside her, slowly stepping forward as if tired beneath the weight of the grey cloak that hid his white robe. Aragorn and Gimli were silent as well, their gazes trained on the ill men that paced along beside them, glowering and no doubt at the ready should their master Wormtongue call for their aid. She became aware once more of the strange nakedness she felt, nervous at the absence of the weight of her sword at her side. The rest of the group had unarmed themselves at the door in order to gain admittance into the hall, though she had noted Gandalf managed to keep his staff in hand as the doors had shut tightly behind them.

Gandalf's voice then pierced through the thick curtain that hung over the darkened hall as it rang, "Once the courtesy of your hall was known through the East, Théoden King, and I must ask why it has so declined of late."

"Why….why should I welcome you," The frail voice of the king was but a whisper to the proud baritone of the wizard's voice," Gandalf Stormcrow?" Amera recoiled then as the filmy, milky eyes of the aged lord gazed upon them, unseeing as they stared ahead blankly.

"A just question, my liege," Grima Wormtongue rose, narrowing his eyes towards the wizard as he murmured with a voice as thick as oil, "Late is the hour in which this…conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell, I name him, for ill news is an ill guest."

Boromir drew in a heavy breath from beside her, no doubt struggling to withhold his fury as even now she too wished nothing more than the strike down the leech where it stood. The thugs that paced around them came closer now and Amera's slender fingers tightened into fists by her side as she carefully watched them, ready to defend herself should the need arise.

"Be silent!" Gandalf roared from beside her, stepping forward with anger in his wise eyes, "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm." He raised his staff and Grima recoiled, his eyes widening with fear as he fell backwards.

"The staff!" He hissed, looking wildly to his men, "I told you to take the wizard's staff!"

One of the men roughly pushed Amera out of the way suddenly and she snarled as she lost her balance, falling against the floor as the rest of the men charged forward. However, she righted herself and swung back with a vengeance, oddly pleased by the satisfying crunch that resounded as her fist met the nose of the one that had pushed her down. By now, it had become an absolute fray and she entered gladly, rather enjoying the brief flashes of surprise that appeared on the men as she kicked them down with enough force to leave quite a few bruises, but withheld from doing any sort of permanent damage.

Gandalf strode past her, almost calmly, and she heard his voice ring out but her focus was on the swinging fists that flew around her. From the proud laughter of Gimli, she knew he too was enjoying the lack of challenge that had presented itself. Grinning widely now, she ducked and swung her leg out as she tripped yet another, swiftly rising once more to deflect a blow to her waist. A few seconds later, the formerly glowering men lay silent on the floor around her companions who brushed themselves off lightly.

Amera went to turn back towards Gandalf and Théoden, but gasped and staggered forward in surprise and pain as her scars seemed ripped anew suddenly. She wavered in shock and nearly fell, save for the strong arms of Legolas that wrapped around her waist and held her close. Blinking away hot, reflexive tears as she struggled to steady her breath, flashes of pain rippling across her pale back, she saw for a brief moment the dark eyes of Saruman staring towards her, his cold, calculated gaze flickering behind the hazy film of Théoden's. Realizing the power that Saruman held over the king of Rohan, she slowly rose to her feet and shrugged off Legolas, setting her jaw firmly despite the agonizing pain.

The silence was then broken by the proud, eerie laughter of Saruman as he echoed through Théoden, hints of his visage echoing in the tired face of the king as he snarled towards Gandalf, "You and your precious Aeliniel have no power here, Gandalf the Grey!"

Amera blinked as pure light shattered the dark shadows of the hall as Gandalf removed his cloak, tilting his chin proudly as Théoden recoiled backwards, raising his withered hands to shield himself from the power that rolled off the wizard in great waves. "I withdraw you now, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound!"

A fair woman whom Amera had noticed before rushed from the shadows towards Théoden, but was held back gently by Aragorn as the two wizards faced each other once more, one clad in colors of his former friend and mentor. She wiped away her tears with the back of her wrist roughly, not wishing to appear weak before Saruman, but was comforted as she felt Boromir's strong hand rest upon her shoulder.

"Be gone!" There was a sudden flash of piercing light as Théoden roared and sprang towards Gandalf, the dark fury of Saruman blazing in his eyes. She turned her head instinctively, resting it against Boromir's shoulder as he took a step back in surprise. After a moment, she turned back to look up Théoden and gasped as the cares of lifetimes began to fade from his face. The luster of his fair hair returned after a few moments, piercing green eyes blinking as if seeing the light for the very first time. She smiled through her pain as she watched the king withdraw from the shadows of his own mind and heart, touched by the wonder and joy that shone forth from him as he steadily rose, helped by the fair woman beside him.

"And so returns Théoden," Boromir whispered softly in her ear, affectionately brushing his lips against her, "King of the Golden Hall."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Aragorn gently eased open the oak door and carefully stepped into the small chamber. A small fire was lit in the hearth and cast flickering shadows upon the stone room, furnished with nothing save a bed and wooden nightstand. He sighed quietly as his gaze fell to Amera as she lie perfectly still atop the blankets of the bed, still clad in the dark dress that Eowyn had lent her for the funeral. He took a silent step forward, gazing as her sleeping form with worry as he thought back to the afternoon's events.

The funeral of Theodred had been difficult for all. The young prince had been much loved by his people, who had wept and sobbed as his fair body was carried through the streets of Edoras, so pale and so still in death. He had seen the fear in Boromir's eyes, though he had tried desperately to hide it, and he knew that his thoughts were of his younger brother, Faramir. Aragorn sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he looked over the sleeping Aeliniel for any sign of duress; it was war that had snuffed out so many bright young lights before their due time and no matter how many battles he waged, his heart would never grow comfortable with the sheer pain of such needless losses.

Amera had been practically terrified of the funeral beforehand, he knew, for she had admitted to him that she had never attended a funeral before and knew not what to do or what to expect. She had, of course, hidden her fear well enough to be nearly convincing, but he had been able to see past her mask. He had asked Boromir to keep a close eye on her and he had agreed, he recalled with a faint smile, as he had seen him stand proud beside her, as if he could shield her from the pain and grief that echoed through the city streets. However, as the body of Theodred had passed by them, Amera had grown incredibly pale and began to tremble visibly as she had stared upon the corpse. She had blinked a few times, her eyes wide yet blank, and Boromir had wrapped his arms around her as she swayed.

The moment had passed quickly enough and he would have thought it simply a combination of anxiety and exhaustion, save for her immediate disappearance after the funeral. Boromir had tried to see her, he knew, as well as Gimli, but she had stowed herself away in the tiny room provided to her silently. Aragorn knew Amera detested appearing weak before those she did not know as much as she held her grief privately, unused to sharing her emotions with others after hundreds of years of near absolute solitude. Still, a few hours had passed with no word from Amera and Boromir had begun to worry, so he had decided it best to see if she was well.

Not wishing to disturb her rest, he turned to quietly leave but stopped as Amera whispered, "I am awake, Aragorn. You need not leave if you do not wish it."

He turned back to her, looking over her carefully as she stared back at him with those strange eyes. "Are you well, Amera? We are all worried about you."

"I am sorry for that, then. I had not meant to add further tension upon such a day as this."

Aragorn sighed, frustrated as she closed herself off from him. He sat down upon the edge of the bed beside her and asked quietly, "Don't lie, Amera, I know you well enough by now to know something happened at the funeral." Her eyes flickered as she shifted and his thoughts were confirmed as he continued, "What was it that frightened you?"

She closed her eyes for a moment and ran a hand through her dark hair, "I was not frightened, Aragorn."

"Then what was it?"

She looked away, turning her gaze towards the small fireplace as she murmured, "I knew him, Aragorn."

He blinked. "You are mistaken, Amera."

"The night by Fangorn's edge, when the Rohirrim attacked the Uruk-hai," She swallowed hard, closing her eyes as she sighed, "I saw him fall and thought I had helped him."

There was silence then as he watched her, recognizing the distant pain in her eyes as she slowly opened them, the firelight flickering shadows against her face. "I had thought he would be well enough to continue, to fight on without my aid, but I did not take the time to aid him further."

Aragorn gently placed a hand upon her shoulder and whispered softly, "I am sorry, Amera. Death is never easy."

A quick, bitter smile flashed across her face for a moment as her eyes grew dark and distant, almost frightening to him as he moved to withdraw his touch. Her voice then fell to a whisper as the pain and bitterness was replaced by sorrow and grief, the shadows fading from her features. "I am so very tired of war, Aragorn."

A faint smile then appeared upon his own face as he nodded, brushing his fingers absently over her shoulder as he replied, "As do all who come to know it, Amera."

She swallowed hard, an edge appearing in her voice, "I'm tired of feeling helpless, of seeing such pain and death yet being unable to intervene." She sighed and turned to him, her pale eyes meeting his own as she whispered, "Will it ever get easier, Aragorn? Will the pain of loss ever lessen?"

"No…no, it will not, Amera."

"I used to dream of adventures, you know," He blinked as she unexpectedly continued with a sigh, "I yearned to escape beyond the walls of Annuminas, to become a hero like those I read about, whose statues I slept beneath on warm summer nights. I wanted to feel the heat of battle rise in me, to know the sweetness of a just victory." She paused then, "But I know now. There is true joy to be found in the rush of blades and clamor of battle. I was so very wrong."

He was silent, unable to speak as he looked into the gentle flames, and so she spoke for him as she sat up to rest beside him. She placed her slender, cool hand against his own and whispered, a small smile appearing on her face as something changed within her, had cast of the burden he had seen but a moment earlier as she whispered, "But some people, like you, my dear king, had the opportunity to move beyond weapons and skirmishes , to fight against the darkness with your very existence."

Aragorn looked to her as she murmured softly, "You are the hope that gives the battle worth, Elessar."