Boromir watched as Legolas went to Emily's side to assist in dismounting. He could not hear her words, however, he could hear her shrill tone and see the franticness in her gestures. He had been concerned that this would be the outcome of her traveling to battle with them and the invariably encounter that would follow. It was readily apparent that she was not coping well with the sight of the Uruks once more. He had known that this was the most likely outcome of her traveling with them but had, selfishly, wanted to keep her near him. He had told himself that it was for her protection; that he could better protect her than the women and elders with whom she would have traveled. The look of abject horror on her face told him that he had lied to himself. His decision had been selfish. True, the final decision to come with them had been hers but she had lacked crucial information to make it.
"Eomer?" he asked softly, grasping the other man's arm to lean in and ask his question more privately. "Is there somewhere secluded where we can tend to Emily's wounds?"
"There are store-rooms down this hall that should serve your purpose," the Third Marshal replied gesturing down the hall.
"My thanks," Boromir replied, bowing slightly before breaking away and going to his companions' side.
"You don't understand," Emily was saying, her voice shrill. "I made the wrong choice! We're all—"
"Emily," Aragorn muttered, cutting her off and holding his hands out in an attempt to pacify her as his gray eyes darted around to see if they were being overheard. "You need to be still. You cannot say such things so openly. Your words carry a weight that I believe you do not fully comprehend. Choose them with care."
"No, I comprehend, Aragorn," she snapped. "It's you that doesn't seem to. We need—"
"To move this conversation to somewhere more private," Boromir said coming up behind her and placing a gentle hand on her elbow to better steer her away from the crowd. "A place that Éomer has graciously provided for our use." Emily nodded, pressing into the touch and leaning her head on his shoulder, looking up at him with eyes that were far too haunted for her young age.
"Chin up," he whispered, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "The Rohirrim are looking to the seer to set the tone of the battle. Do not let them see you are troubled." She nodded before standing fully once more. He, and what remained of the Fellowship could see that her smile was forced, but he hoped the Rohirrim could not.
No sooner were they in the room and the wooden door swung shut behind them than Emily sank to the floor, her forehead resting on her bent knees and her arms dangling at her sides. "I've killed us all," she whispered. "I've led us into a trap and killed us all."
"Penneth," Legolas began, "the Lady would never have sent an army marching across Rohan. To do so would be tantamount to declaring war on her neighbors to the south. I assure you, such help would not be appreciated by such a private, suspicious people."
"He speaks true," Aragorn added. "Éomer, himself, concealed your race from his own men so as to avoid a panic when they rescued you. No citizen of Rohan would sleep soundly knowing that elves were marching across the plain."
"They were supposed to be here," Emily said, her tone short and the words filled with tears. "Éomer was supposed to have been banished for defying his uncle at the request of Gríma before Gandalf came. The army and the women and children were supposed to have made for Helms Deep after Gríma was banished and ran to Saruman. Gandalf and Shadowfax were supposed to have gone off in search of Éomer. We were to expect him on the dawn of the third day.
"During the trip here, you," she turned to Aragorn and gestured angrily at him, "were supposed to have fallen into a river after a failed orc raid, only to arrive here on the night before the battle with news of the size of the army. As you delivered it, Haldir and a legion of elves with bows arrive at the gates to "honor the old alliances." None of that happened. True, Gríma never got to tell Saruman about the weakness in the wall so we lucked out there but the rest of it was kinda key to the victory."
"I fail to see how any of that bears relevance," Boromir said softly, kneeling beside her. She scoffed.
"Nothing is the same," she snarled at him, her eyes wide with panic. "None of it's right. There wasn't a dike or . . . or this many of them. We can't win."
"We cannot know that. Nothing has been the same as the history you know since Amon Hen," Boromir reminded her, stroking back her wild hair. "My very existence, not to mention your own, has seen to that. Were those changes detrimental?"
"We don't know yet," she said sadly. "The war's not over. I could have ruined everything."
"Or nothing," he said pressing his forehead against hers. "Worrying about things that have not yet come to pass, no good will come of it. We must focus on the task before us. This battle on this night. The next enemy if that is all the further you can focus. None of us are guaranteed tomorrow. Though, as you said, Gandalf and Éomer were key to victory and they are both already present."
"But the elves," she protested weakly.
"A legion of elves with bows?" Gimli scoffed. "Did you see the size of the army? They would not even dent the front lines. No. Time and stone will win this battle. Not elves with bows. Though I mean no offense, my friend," he added turning to Legolas.
"I assure you, none was taken," Legolas replied. "While I would not scoff at their aid, I, too, fail to see how their presence could be a keystone to victory. Rather, I see more bloodshed from their coming than would be spared by their presence. It is good they remained in their realm." She shook her head sadly, her expression revealing that she was still unconvinced, but said nothing more.
"Come," Aragorn said, breaking the tense silence. "We should tend your wounds and rest while we can. Battle will come soon and last long beyond our will to continue it. Even so, things may look better with the dawn." Emily said nothing, allowing them to do as they would, leaning despondently against Legolas with the knowledge that she had doomed them all circling her head despite their attempts to assure her of the contrary. Her silence worried them. This was not the petulant silence of a scolded child but something far darker. They found themselves hoping that she was not correct about the need for things to go as they had before.
ooOO88OOoo
Aragorn was wrong. With dawn, things did not look even remotely better. No, the light of day enabled them to see for the first time the full might of the force they were faced with. All of the land, as far as the eye could see from the Deeping Wall, was covered in a moving sea of Uruks.
Emily felt a sob rise up her throat at the sight. A sea of bodies that she had led them into a ravine with no escape from. Her choices had driven them into this bottle-neck of a trap. She had done this. She jumped as she felt Boromir's hand squeeze her forearm gently.
"You gave us a chance," he said, knowing without her saying it where her thoughts had gone. Her demeanor had brightened little since the night before and even he was having difficulty remaining optimistic in light of the force that besieged them.
"I trapped us," she corrected. "I trapped you. At least the death you were supposed to have had was honorable. There's nothing honorable about being killed in a trap like a rat."
"There is honor in dying defending your neighbors from evil," he replied firmly. "However, even if that is to be my fate, you provided me with more of a chance than I would have had without you guiding us here."
"How?" she demanded, gesturing at the ravine. "There's no escape. No retreat. It's win or die. And win doesn't look like that hot of a chance."
"It always was," he shrugged, his tone wry. "If we lost the battle against Saruman's forces we were never going to survive to retreat. Our chances of victory here, behind the fortifications, are slim. What chance would we have stood in open battle, hm? We would have been surrounded and annihilated within moments. Here we can, perhaps, be victorious. Will it be rapid? No. Yet if we have the supplies to outlast them in a siege, and can maintain a war of attrition on their forces, we may yet have victory."
She thought about his words for a moment before she smiled weakly. "Here's to a hopeless victory, then," she laughed, the sound not quite a happy one.
"To a hopeless victory," he agreed before releasing her arm and beginning the walk back towards the citadel. She instantly missed the warmth of his hand on her arm. Even though she wasn't sure her still-healing hands would tolerate it, she wanted nothing more than to reach out and take his hand in hers, just for the physical reminded that he was alive and well for now. She pushed the idea away with a snort. Even if her hands would tolerate the pressure, she wasn't sure what handholding meant in this time and she'd already been overstepping so many boundaries lately she didn't want to push her luck when he was beginning to spend time with her again. Not when they may only have a little time left.
If it wasn't for his boundaries, she had an idea—many, in fact—of how she'd like to spend what could be her last days on Earth. She smiled at the thought of truly offending his sensibilities when she suddenly felt her heart stop as a hand wrapped almost painfully tight around her arm at the elbow.
She turned, halfway hoping to see Aragorn or Legolas, even if they would be disappointed judging by the pressure on her arm. Instead, she felt her stomach churn as she faced a Man, clearly one of the Rohirrim from his hair and dress, and recognized the look on his face: lust. She knew that she should pull away, but the hand on her arm and the look in his eye reminded her too much of the Uruks for her body to work properly. She froze even though all she wanted to do was curl into a ball before the beating started.
"Well," he said suddenly, his hand coming up to stroke her face, persisting even when she twitched slightly away, only to stop before her hairline. "I suppose that you are pretty enough. You will have to leave your hair down—I cannot stand the sight of your ears but . . . that will not be the source of my focus. Will it? How much?"
"Ex-excuse me?" Emily asked incredulously. None of what he had just said made any kind of sense to her. It was clear what he wanted—and could more than easily take—but to ask her for a price? "How-how much for what? For me to leave my hair down?" The Man sighed in response. Of course, she would want to play coy and haggle a bit. He only hoped that his request would not put her out of his price range. Though, as he was going to die, there was no point in saving his coin, was there?
"Does that change the price?" he asked. "If it does, I suppose that I can tolerate your ears. As I said, they will not be my main focus. Never thought that I would bed an Elf."
"What?" Emily sobbed, her voice shrill as her fears were confirmed, drawing the attention of those around them—including Boromir who had continued to walk having not noticed that Emily had stopped as he was lost in his thoughts about how best to wage the upcoming battle. "I-I'm afraid you d-don't understand. Th-there will be no bedding me."
"It doesn't have to be in a bed," the Man replied tenaciously, leaning towards her conspiratorially. "Simply name the price, I will pay it and you are free to choose the location." For the first time in her life Emily found herself truly speechless. Was he honestly trying to pick her up like a hooker? He thought that she was a hooker?! For the first time in Middle Earth she was well and truly scandalized. She glanced around hoping that someone would laugh and give this all away as a joke but the others were looking at her in much the same way as the man before her. She flinched when she felt a hand on her shoulder fearing suddenly that she had only been spared at the hands of the Uruks so that she could suffer at the hands of Men. She very well knew that Men were capable of such acts. Even if it had never been her, nearly every night on the news she had heard that someone had been raped or murdered. She didn't think that it was merely a modern problem.
She closed her eyes, biting back a sob as she was pulled against a body and tucked under an arm. It wasn't until she heard Boromir's voice rumble from that same chest that she relaxed and turned, clinging to him like a drowning child.
"What is going on here?" he asked, attempting to keep his tone conversational, despite the trembling woman clutched against him. Though he could guess what had just transpired, it would do no good to go on a tirade without all the information—even if he desired to do so at witnessing the distress the situation had caused Emily. He knew what the man had said to her and with what had transpired with the Uruks . . . when she buried her face in his chest and clung to him, he did not push her away despite the impropriety of her actions. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and gently stroked her hair as he turned his attention back to the Man who had caused this situation.
"I will repeat my question; What. Happened. Here?" Boromir said, his voice little more than a dark whisper. The Man seemed to wither before him but offered no answer. "I will ask one final time, what was said to cause the woman I intend to make my intended such distress?"
"I . . . well I," the Man was taken aback by the recent turn of events. He saw now that they had been mistaken: she was no prostitute. He sighed and hoped that begging for forgiveness would be enough to cover his transgressions. "I am very sorry, My Lord," he began his apology, dropping to his knees to bow to the foreign dignitary. "There has been a grave misunderstanding. You see, we were under the impression . . . that is to say, after the spectacle by your fire the other night where all of you . . . there was a rumor in the camp that she only traveled with you in a physical capacity, if you catch my meaning."
"You thought she was a whore," Boromir replied acidicly, not missing the flinch that came from Emily at the anger in his tone. He stroked her hair in apology but found that he was having difficulty reigning in his temper, even for her comfort.
"We did, My Lord," the man replied looking away from the fury burning in Boromir's gray eyes. "What else were we to think of a lone female traveling with a group of males, none of whom were her kin? We . . . we came up with the only explanation we could given the information that we had. Especially with the moaning coming from your camp the other night."
"And in the process of which you have insulted the honor of my future-intended and forced her to fear for her safety after her time spent as a captive of Uruks," Boromir replied coldly. There were many incredulous glances exchanged at that. None of them had realized that the future steward of Gondor was engaged to be married, let alone to a she-Elf and yet he had declared it publicly twice.
"I-I offer you my sincerest apologies, My Lord," the man replied. "I have erred and—"
"It is not to me that you must apologize," Boromir said simply before moving Emily gently away from him and turning her to face the man, despite her protests. "It is the Lady Emily who will decide if she will accept your apology." The Man that had propositioned her bent to the floor before her and carefully took both of her feet in his hands before gently pressing a kiss to the back of them. She pressed against Boromir in shock and he stroked her hair gently, hating the way she continued to tremble.
"This is customary in such an apology," he whispered in her ear. She nodded, not pulling away from him as she attempted to still her shaking and stop her nausea and turned back to the Man at her feet.
He gazed up at her, his green eyes full of fear and repentance. "My Lady," he breathed, all traces of lust gone from his eyes and mortal fear in its place. "I . . . I cannot begin to tell you of the depths of my regret at the discomfort that our misreading of the situation has caused you. Nor can I begin to apologize for the wrong I have committed against you or the honorable heir to the Steward of Gondor in suggesting that you defile your future marriage bed for mere coins. I only hope that you can accept my most humble apology. I know that I am unworthy of your mercy and I await the judgment of you and your Lord." With that said, he bowed his head over her feet, his forehead touching where his lips had only moments before.
Emily felt her face twist in confusion. What was he talking about? Mercy? Judgment? It took a moment for it to click and once it did she felt her eyes go wide with shock: this Man expected to be killed for what he had done. She was nearly numb with shock at the realization. He expected to die for a slight against her honor. He had only asked if she was a prostitute and he expected to die?! She found the thought beyond distasteful. True, he had grabbed her, but he had been attempting to broker a deal, not rape her, despite how her nerves had reacted to the situation.
How many times had one of her friends made a lewd comment to the same effect? True, none of them had ever actually produced the coins to go through with it—though they would laugh that this man had thought that she could be bought with coins—it had been implied more than once that she was a hooker, all in jest of course. Yeah . . . she had been shocked and terrified but this . . . it was too much.
With a sigh she gently pulled her feet free from his grip, noticing as she did that he flinched and uttered what almost sounded like a sob. She wasn't sure what it was that he was expecting to happen next, but he clearly hadn't expected her words.
"I-I forgive you," she said softly, the words barely carrying above the din of the approaching army. "I-I can see where you came to the conclusion that you did. How were you supposed to know that I was invited on the quest for other reasons? Or that Boromir and I are dating—I mean courting and that the others serve as . . . as chaperones?" She shook her head again at the idea of grown adults needing chaperones but for the first time she realized just how important honor truly was to these people. The man before her had been prepared to die for even thinking something bad about hers.
"You-you forgive me?" the Man asked incredulously, daring to raise his head to peek at her. The thought that this might be a cruel trick warring with his desire to believe that she was truly going to spare his life.
"I do," Emily replied with a hint of a smile. "Just . . . just do me a small favor?"
"Anything, My Lady!" the Man agreed fervently, kissing the hem of her trousers. The Lady Emily had just spared his life, he would walk through the very gates of Mordor itself is she asked it of him.
"Just . . . spread the word?" Emily asked with a wry laugh. "I know that it's strange of me to ask you to gossip about me but . . . well . . . I'd rather not have this conversation with anyone else if it's all the same to you. After recent events . . . it's not . . . I can't."
"You wish me to spread word of your betrothal to Boromir to the rest of the Rohirrim to prevent this misunderstanding from recurring?" the Man asked in shock, never before had he been given such an honor as to spread word of a Lord's betrothal. Especially not after such a slight to that same Lord.
"I do . . . wait, betrothal? We're not—" Emily was cut off by Boromir's gentle hand on her shoulder. She glanced up at him and he twitched his lip in a way that clearly said play along.
"We do," Boromir said, his tone offering no room for argument. "Spread the word. My Betrothed, Lady Emily, is not to be bothered in any way by any man lest he face my wrath."
"Yes, My Lord!" the Man replied with a bow before beating a hasty retreat from them. The rest of the Men followed his example leaving Emily and Boromir alone on the battlements once more. The second they were gone Emily spun to face Boromir with murder burning in her eyes.
"Betrothal?" she hissed incredulously. "Since when are we betrothed, Boromir? I was under the impression that we were just dating . . . courting . . . whatever and not making much progress with that! Whatever you want to call it, I didn't know that I had agreed to marry you! I didn't even know that I had been asked! Every time I try to escalate things, you go and throw a bucket of water on the fire. That's not exactly a marriage proposal."
"Emily, if you will be silent for a moment I will attempt to explain," Boromir said holding his hands up in defeat. "I promise you that—"
"That you can explain to me just when I became engaged to be married to you?" Emily snapped before her anger faded and left her feeling tired once more. "I . . . Boromir, I can't be engaged. I . . . I'm only twenty-two. I'm too young to get married."
"Twenty-two is actually a bit old for an unmarried woman in this time," Boromir replied with a small smile.
"Did you just call me old?" Emily asked with a snort of laughter. "I know that you did not just call me old."
"Never, dear heart," Boromir promised. "I would never call you old. Especially when I am nearly twice your age."
"No you're not," Emily replied skeptically. "You can't be more than thirty. Don't give me that "nearly twice your age" crap."
"Emily," Boromir said placing his hands on her shoulders gently, "I was born forty-one summers ago."
"Forty-one?" she asked in a small voice trying to wrap her head around the fact that the Man she was attracted to was the same age as her mother. She couldn't make sense of it. He didn't seem old. Not like her parents did.
"Does that alter the way that you feel about me, Emily?" Boromir asked quietly in response to her shock. He hadn't actively tried to keep his age from her, in fact, he had believed that after they had arranged baths in descending order of age she would have guessed it—if she hadn't known already—but her reaction told him that she had not thought of it. Once more he was reminded of the differences between their cultures. A woman in his time would be glad that a man of wealth and position was interested in her, especially if he had already passed through the wilder passions of youth and was into the true stability of adulthood. Clearly, Emily was of a different mind.
"If nothing else," he said after too much time had passed, "allow them to believe it. Being my betrothed will afford you protection you would otherwise not have. None will dare attempt what happened today. I would spare you that fear and reminder, if you will allow it." He didn't miss the stiffness or shiver that went through her body at the mention of what had happened. After a moment, the distant expression faded and she smiled, though it didn't reach her brown eyes.
"I'll allow it," she said with a small laugh. "As long as I actually get a real proposal down the road. Or if this one also affords us more privileges we would otherwise not have."
"You little minx," he laughed. "Yes, betrothal would afford us more privileges. Though that was not what I was thinking of at the time I said it." She mulled it over a moment before her mouth quirked in the little half smile that he both loved and feared.
"Then, we're betrothed," she said with a shrug. "Let's go tell the others. Before they hear it from the Rohirrim."