Sam sighed as his stomach growled hungrily yet again, this time louder than before, and his shoulders slumped as he turned the corner of the talan to discover that the kitchen he had certainly expected to be arriving at was, in fact, not before him. "Stupid big ole' trees," He huffed, turning in a circle aimlessly as he tried to gain his bearings once more. They had been here for two weeks, which had gone by exceptionally fast in his opinion, and he still found himself hopelessly lost every time he ventured unaccompanied, mistaking one great white trunk for another as he wandered beneath the gilded staircases and glowing lanterns. He did know, of course, that the elves that passed him would gladly help him if he were to ask, but every time he would stop to ask for directions, he found himself blushing and stammering as he looked into their fair, shining faces and would shuffle away after a few, failed, attempts at forming words much to their amusement.

However, he paused as he noticed the sound of clashing steel, though it was far off. Intrigued now, for the elves of Lothlorien certainly seemed to entertain themselves with producing beautiful crafts than practicing swordplay, he decided his stomach could wait just a bit longer. He ambled towards the sound, lowering his gaze shyly as a few elves greeted him in his passing. By the time he reached the top of a flight of wooden stairs, he was out of breath, doubling over as he wheezed in the fresh morning air. The noises were quite close now and he carefully walked across a bridge that spanned between the enormous branches of two trees, willing himself not to look down, lest he feel all prickly and nauseous as he had quickly learned the effects that such heights had upon him. Far away from the most populated area of Caras Galadhon now, his curious was certainly peaked as he peered into a small courtyard, framed and hidden by golden mallorn leaves that obscured its entrance.

Sam carefully brushed aside a few leaves, keeping his body flattened against the outside wall as he discovered the source of the clamor. He sighed with disappointment as he realized it was simply Boromir and Amera sparring and he decided that perhaps they had patched up their little tiff, as Pippin as declared a few days ago, but he had never really understood why they had been angry with each other in the first place and, to be perfectly honest, he really did not care. Boromir was nice enough, but Sam had grown distrustful of him over the past few weeks, not liking the sly looks he would cast towards Frodo when he thought no one was looking. And Amera…well, she was just Amera. She was a bit too odd for his liking, with her shining eyes, sudden changes of mood and daggers that were drawn far too quickly for his taste. She did tell good stories, though, that was certainly true, but she was quite queer and that did not sit well with him.

Still, he decided with a small shrug, he could at least watch them finish the fight and then continue on his quest for a mid-morning bit of refreshment. Not wanting to interrupt and ruin their concentration, he silently watched as Amera twirled and spun with her strange daggers against Boromir's steady, strong blows with his longsword. They appeared to be evenly matched, with the attacker suddenly having to switch the defense every few seconds and from the sheen of sweat that appeared on both of their foreheads, he knew they were aware, as well. After a few minutes, he decided to silently cheer on Boromir, for he remembered how Amera had embarrassed him the last time they had dueled. Amera's hair was fashioned into a long braid, which flew around her head like a whip as she grinned and twirled her daggers around her wrist as they both took a step back to catch their breath.

He felt himself gasp as Boromir suddenly lunged forward with a cry of triumph, but Amera's laughter filled the courtyard as she immediately spun to the side, a dagger both parrying and twisting his blow, which set him off balance briefly. She took this advantage and struck forward but was forced to the defensive once more as Boromir's strong blow met her own. They continued in this way for a few more minutes and he found himself captivated, for they were both great warriors, anyone who watched them would certainly agree, but their preferred styles were such very different yet equal in their power and finesse.

However, she suddenly cried out and fell to her knees, her eyes closing in pain as she dropped her weapons and pressed her hand against her side. Boromir immediately rushed beside her, kneeling and rest a hand gently against her shoulder as Sam struggled to make out what they said. He carefully placed his longsword aside as she took a few deep breaths, worry evident in his face as he stated something, watching her closely. Sam blinked in utter surprise as Amera's hand suddenly flashed and before he could even blink, the slender edge of her dagger rested against Boromir's throat. Boromir raised both brows at this and she smirked, rising with a small wince as he rolled his eyes, clearly unpleased with the result of the contest. She gave a small, mocking bow and turned to retrieve her other dagger but Boromir laughed and grabbed his own sword, lunging towards her as she laughed and parried it, their battle beginning once more.

Amera's aching side slowed her down, Sam saw, and her dancing blades slowed as she struggled to catch her breath. Boromir grinned wickedly as he began to drive her on the defensive, his attacks no less fierce than before, despite her weakened state. He gasped as Amera froze, her back suddenly against the wall of the talan as Boromir laughed in triumph, his chest rising and falling as his free hand rose to wipe away a line of sweat from his brow. Though he was still unable to make out her words, he knew Amera conceded the victory as she slowly lowered her daggers to the ground and Boromir mirrored her bow from earlier with a proud smirk, setting his sword next to her.

Sam rolled his eyes at this, for he did not care just how old Amera was exactly or whatever battles she had been in, or claimed to, for all he truly knew, he decided that Boromir was getting a bit too much pleasure out of beating a woman and a wounded one at that. However, his eyes narrowed as the captain of Gondor's expression suddenly changed as he grew very close to her, resting his arm above her shoulder as if to trap her against the wall. He strained to their words and quietly cursed when he was unable to, though he watched Amera put her hands against his chest as if to brush him away, though Boromir did not move. In fact, Sam saw with rising anger, he leaned in very close to her, no doubt threatening her as his face was suddenly just before her own.

"The scoundrel!...," He whispered to himself, feeling his hands curl into small fists as he realized that Amera must be too weak to push him away after such a duel. He prepared himself to intervene on her behalf, for as much as she made him uneasy, he was certainly not going to be witness to such a tomfoolery. However, before he could reveal himself, his jaw dropped in shock as Boromir suddenly kissed her, taking his free hand to cup her jaw as he pressed his strong body against her own. Now, utterly horrified and convinced he was seeing an assault take place, he began to brush away the thick branches and leaves that had previously hidden him, but froze in confusion, for Amera made no effort to fight back against her attacker. In fact, he realized as he felt a blush hurriedly creep into his cheeks, she appeared to be quite alright with his advances, judging back the fact that she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with equal passion. Simply blinking as he found himself unable to turn away from the two, he instead shook his head in disbelief as Boromir gently pulled away from her, a small, affectionate smile crossing his features as he rested his forehead gently against her own. She smiled back at him and softly brushed her lips against his briefly once more before resting her head against his shoulder as his arms wrapped around her slender form.

Sam received the distinct impression she was not entirely surprised by his actions.

Rather unsure of what to do, but completely determined to not be discovered by the two, he dashed away as quietly as he could, deciding as he nervously glanced over his shoulder once more to be sure he had not been discovered, that perhaps Frodo would know what to do with such information.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

He knew it was cold before anything, shivering as his hands traveled to his ragged robes, pulling them tightly around his shivering frame. He blinked in his confusion and looked around, his eyes widening as they followed the trails of smoke slowly rising into the blackened sky, which writhed with thick, dark clouds that threatened not rain, but coils of lighting accompanied by the low growl of thunder. The sun itself struggled to pierce the inky blackness that veiled its light and he understood that he would receive no warmth from the sky above as he turned to face the scene before him.

What had once been pure, shining marble was now stained with blood and filth and he struggled to determine where he was, though the empty courtyard before him certainly rang familiar to him as he struggled to see past the heads and forms of the crowd gathered before him. He brushed past those who surrounded him, silent and blank as he cursed with the effort. However, he froze as an icy voice suddenly rang out, terrible in its dread and pitch, at once both a roar and a hiss. "My gracious lord hath provided entertainment for his subjects, for whom he doth care greatly!" The voice laughed and he felt a shiver roll down his spine as he moved to where he could see the entirety of the courtyard and what greeted him was more horrifying than he could even have imagined in the darkest depths of his nightmares.

Four wraiths, their midnight cloaks swirling around empty forms, stood around a blooded stump, their gauntleted hands clutching terrible swords as they held them in waiting. His eyes fell to the pathetic stump of what had once surely been a great tree, now reduced to a ragged edge as its white pores were stained red with dark crimson.

And then he knew it was the White Tree, deep in his spirit, and that he was standing in the ruined courtyard of Ecthelion in his beloved city, now ravaged and laid to ruin. He wanted to cry out, to fall to his knees in utter despair for the fall of Gondor, for the corruption of what had once been a proud symbol of hope for his people, a promise that one day the glory of Numenor would be restored and shine greater than ever before.

Yet there appeared to more wraiths at the end of the courtyard, dragging a figure between them. As the prisoner grew closer, Boromir felt immense pity rise in him and momentarily distract him from the utter despair that threatened to overcome him. Greasy, stringy hair fell over emaciated shoulders and hid his face, though Boromir winced as he saw the sharp angles of bones through the filthy rags that clothed the man's body. His feet left a trail of blood as he was dragged roughly across the courtyard, connected to feeble legs that had no doubt been broken judging by their terrible, disjointed positions. The figure remained silent, his head drooping forward in profound exhaustion as it was slammed against the bloodied stump. Boromir's eyes slowly traveled over the figure and he decided that death would no doubt be welcome to such a piteous creature, their skin blindingly pale and covered with burns, sores and other signs of torture that Sauron's lackeys had no doubt taken joy in giving.

One of the wraiths stepped forward, the wind picking up suddenly as Boromir shivered both in fear and in cold, its dark robe flowing freely as it called out once more in its great and terrible voice, "Watch now as your hope fails!" He watched as the gauntleted hand slowly drew its blade from the sheath, readying it over the poor soul's neck and he wanted to turn away, but found himself frozen. The frail shoulders of the man shuddered as if from a sob and it suddenly lifted its head in one last act of defiance, the gaze meeting Boromir's.

"And so passes Aeliniel!" The deafening roar ran through the courtyard and Boromir cried out as the flickering , beautiful blue eyes that had so comforted and captured him time and time again were now lifeless; shimmering emotion replaced by dull, blank misery. He cried out once more, but it was too late for there was the sword arced effortlessly through the air and a bright flash of crimson, so horribly, sickeningly brilliant against the grey and filth that it nearly blinded him.

"Amera!"

"NO!" Boromir sat up suddenly, gasping for air as hot tears stung his eyes and mixed with the beads of sweat that poured down his face. His chest rose and fell swiftly as he blinked, struggling to erase the nightmarish images seared into his mind as he ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply as the night air comforted him, the raucous snores of Gimli immediately reminded him that he was safe beneath the ever-reaching trees of Lothlorien. He drew a deep breath and looked around and was surprised to see that his sudden cry had not awoken any of the sleeping Fellowship around him.

He rose as quietly as he could, retrieving a pitcher of water from across the glades and dumping it over his head as his breathing slowly calmed. He shook the cool droplets away with a few quick shakes of his head, looking up into the glittering branches that rose above him, searching for Amera's quarters among the hundreds of intricate balconies and delicate bridges that spanned the night sky. Fully awake now, Boromir felt terribly restless and knew he would not be able to return to sleep, for no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on something, Amera's defeated gaze pierced his mind's eye. Growling quietly, he rubbed his temples in anger as he strode aimlessly through the wide glade for a few minutes, cursing at his inability to erase the horrors he had witnessed in his dreams.

After a few more minutes of restless pacing, he found himself ascended the swirling staircases that led to the next level of the forest, knowing he could not even hope for rest unless he saw Amera. He began to run, his bare feet quietly padding against the walkways as he hurried towards her rooms, nestled against the proud trunk of a great tree and framed by the golden leaves that fell in a constant, beautiful descent from above. After a few minutes, he finally reached her and slowly looked through the archway, sighing in comfort as her sleeping form was nestled between silk sheets.

He leaned against the doorway, his heart swelling as he watched her. Her bare shoulders had slipped from beneath the fabric of her nightgown and her hair fanned around over the pillows as her chest slowly rose and fell. A soft smile crossed his face as she shifted slightly, kicking the sheets from around her bare ankles as her feet appeared. She rubbed her head against her pillows and curled up, completely at peace in her slumber. Boromir took a few steps forward, watching her as he did his best to remain as silent as possible so as not to disturb her slumber, for he knew she rarely received it. He gently brushed his hand against the curve of her cheek, the strong arch of her cheekbone prominent against his fingers as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. He breathed her in as his lips pressed against a stray tendril of her dark hair, his eyes closing in contentment.

After a long moment, he finally turned to leave but stopped as he felt something brush his hand. Confused, he glanced down and saw Amera's slender hand graze his as she reached out to him, mumbling sleepily, "Don't leave." He grinned at this and shook his head, whispering, "I apologize for disturbing you, Amera. We shall speak in the morning."

"Don't leave." She whispered once more and slid her fingers against his, her eyes still closed as she shifted slightly, leaving a space beside her as she kicked away the sheet to allow him entrance. Boromir felt himself blush at this and did not know how to reply to such, but finally stammered, "I should not think this proper, Amera. You need your rest."

Amera opened her eyes, slowly blinking away the bleariness with great difficulty, though her voice displayed her amusement as she murmured, perking a brow towards him, "After all that we have been though, you truly think I care about propriety, Boromir?"

He paused, looking over his shoulder to the doorway, then back to the space Amera had cleared for him and decided, knowingly against his better judgment, to join her. Sighing, he slid in beside her and tentatively lifted the sheet to cover them. Amera shifted and he froze as her head was suddenly resting against his chest, her slender arm crossing over him as she curled against him. After a moment, Amera opened an eye and abruptly questioned, clearly confused, "Why are you wet?"

He blushed once more, then quietly, and lamely, offered, "I was not careful?"

She gave a quiet snort of derision at this, but nonetheless closed her eyes once more and rested against him. Despite his initial discomfort, for he feared himself as he felt her heart beat softly against him as her chest rose and fell, he quickly found himself growing sleepy in his comfort. His current resting place was certainly more comfortable than the blankets and rather uneven ground of the glade that had been given to the male members of the Fellowship and he slowly gathered the courage to wrap an arm over her, closing his own eyes as his thumb brushed gently against the hand that was placed tenderly against his torso. He shifted his head very slightly and planted a kiss against the dark curls of her head, which rose and fell with his breathing as she rested against his chest. Her feet brushed his and he smiled in his comfort, slowly drifting into a sleep free of any burden as his last thoughts were of the proud, delicate creature that lay beside him.