"No!"

"No, please!"

"Boromir…I'm sorry!"

"Boromir!"

"Boromir!"

"I'm sorry!"

"No! Please! Boromir! I'm sorry! Boromir! Boromir! No, please!"

"Boromir!"

Arianna gasped, jerking up. Taking in deep breaths that tasted of dirt and blood, the air around her was heavy and cool. Her lungs burned, and she whipped her head around, hands trembling against the grass underneath her palms.

They stared at her, wary. A great horde of men, decked in browns and greens. Some stood at the ready, weapons outstretched to strike her several feet away. Some stood empty-handed, merely taking in the strange woman lying on the ground before them.

Arianna tried to piece her mind back together. It swayed between consciousness and the sickening memory of Boromir's death, which had been looping through her mind for so long now. Over and over again, she watched Lurtz pull back the thick arrow, notched in his tattered bow, ready to strike Boromir down.

Arianna doubled over and was sick.

The bile burned on the way up, seared her dry throat and the sting of it reached her nose. She gagged, gasping for air in between the bouts of vomit. When the nausea passed, she closed her eyes against the sight of her own puke on the ground below. Her arms shook, barely able to keep her upright. She could begin to feel the affects of her journey: the unpleasant throb coming from her shoulder, the ache in her ribs, a soreness in her jaw.

"Are you well, my lady?"

Stiffening, Arianna turned slightly, staring at the man who had crouched a few feet away from her.

Despite her best efforts, she couldn't hold her tongue. "Do I look well to you?" she snapped. Her voice was raw, rough with disuse.

He was quiet for a moment. "No," he said at length. "I suppose you do not."

When he didn't speak further, Arianna shuffled, moving herself with great difficulty to her other side. She all but collapsed back onto the ground with the effort, legs splayed beside her and arms still holding up her torso. "Where are we?" she asked, though she was sure she knew. If she was with the Rohirrim, then they must be at the edge of Fangorn. Sure enough, as she turned her gaze, the great trees stood behind her, overbearing, the darkness of night casting them into shadow.

"We are at the edge of Entwood, my lady."

"And the Orcs?"

"Slaughtered." He gestured over his shoulder, where Arianna hadn't yet spared a glance. Beyond the cluster of men, more were moving about, piling carcasses to burn. "You need not worry. You are safe now." He stared at her for another moment, hesitant.

"What?" she prodded.

"My Lord has commanded that I seek information from you."

"Information?" she repeated.

"What were you doing amongst a company of Orcs?"

Arianna blinked. "I—" Surely he wasn't serious? "Are you stupid?" Her voice was barely short of shrill. "What does it look like? Does it look like I was on a vacation to you?! I was captured, you idiot! What was I doing amongst a company of Orcs?" she repeated sarcastically. "What kind of stupid question! Why if my hands weren't bound I'd—"

But she blinked again, fingers digging into the dirt as she turned to stare at them. Her hands weren't bound. Furrowing her brow, she turned to him. "Who untied me?"

"We did not, my lady. In fact, My Lord was quite adamant that we bind you, but I did not think it necessary. It would make it more difficult for me to attend your wounds."

Pulling up a hand, Arianna pressed the heel of her palm into her forehead. Her head hurt so badly, and the longer she was conscious, the more she began to feel her other injuries, as well.

"Look," she huffed, "I'm sorry for yelling. Can we start over? What's your name?"

"I am called Éoheort, my lady."

"Éoheort. My name is Arianna. I was captured by the Orcs a few days ago, I think. I…" she looked around slowly, the gravity of the situation finally hitting her. "I think I've been unconscious this whole time. For days."

"I am not surprised. It must have been a shock to be attacked so brutally, and your wound is festering. I am certain you are burning with fever; you were surely exhausted from it."

"You said you would tend to my wounds - are you a healer?"

"I am no expert, I admit, but I can see to your wounds. If you have had that lesion on your shoulder for days, it needs to be cleaned immediately, or you will fall even more ill. Will you allow me to see to it?"

Slowly, Arianna nodded. Éoheort offered her a quick nod. "I will boil water and prepare the herbs. I'll be back momentarily."

He stood, walking back over to the other men, who were milling about as they set up camp. Wonder if they lost interest after I threw up… she thought wryly.

By herself, Arianna surveyed the area once more, trying to make sense of what happened. She felt like she was stuck, floating uneasily in a state of hypnagogia. Nothing felt real, not even the ground beneath her. For the first time in a long time, Arianna felt…other. Like everything happening in front of her eyes was nothing more than it had been before she'd been dropped into this world: a movie playing before her. She was a spectator, an onlooker, not partaking, only taking in.

Merry and Pippin must be gone. The Rohirrim are here and the Orcs are dead, which means Merry and Pippin are in the depths of Fangorn. Swallowing thickly (and wincing at the vile taste in her mouth), Arianna tried not to feel too bad that they had left her. It was for the best, in the end. They would meet up with Gandalf, and in the morning, she would meet back up with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Something in her chest twitched, and she swear her heart stuttered. She couldn't even remember the last how many days, but the thought of being back with her friends made her forget all her worries. Turning her head up, she stared quietly at the moon overhead. Just a few more hours, right? Just a few more hours and she would see them again. She could see their faces in her mind, pulled the scene from her memories: Aragorn declaring they would hunt the Orcs, Gimli's excited cheer, and that slight smirk from Legolas.

Legolas…

She hadn't had time to have a mental breakdown over it at the time, but the sudden thought of him pulled another memory to the forefront of her mind. Heat creeped up to her cheeks as she remembered his hands grasping her arms firmly, pulling her close, pressing her against him. His lips soft, so distracting that they assuaged her anger at him and turned it into stricken, doe-eyed confusion.

"My lady?"

She shrieked and jumped in surprise, pulled from her thoughts at Éoheort's voice. He was standing above her, a small bowl in one hand and a small pouch in another. "What?!" She cleared her throat, lowering her voice. "Sorry! What?"

"I will need to remove your tunic to tend your wound. I am sorry; we do not have a proper tent. Do you wish to move away from the company to keep your modesty?"

She sighed. These men, honestly. "Modesty," she said under her breath. "No, it's fine. Here, I can take it o—ouuuuwwww." As she made to reach her arms up, crossing them to pull the top above her head as she normally would, he shoulder tingled with sharp pain. She dropped her arm immediately, clenching the fist of her opposite hand. "Shit, that huuurts," she groaned.

Éoheort knelt beside her, placing his items on the ground. "We need to remove it. Would you prefer to do it quickly, or that I assist you in taking it off slowly?"

"You know," Arianna snipped, "you're pretty proper for a warrior."

"I am proud to serve my country," he responded immediately, "but my mother also raised a man with manners."

"That's cute," she returned in a flat voice. Sighing, she shrugged. "Let's just get it over with. If I raise my arms, will you just take it off really fast for me?"

"As you wish, my lady."

"Hey, Éoheort."

"Yes, my lady?"

"Call me Arianna, please. The 'my lady' stuff? It's not really my vibe."

"Your…vibe, my lady?"

"Arianna," she corrected.

"But it would be improper to—"

"I don't caaaare," she drawled. "Listen, I know you don't know me, but I'm not exactly from around here. The 'my lady' schtick just isn't me. Please, for my own sanity, call me by my name."

He hesitated, but at Arianna's intense gaze, he finally relented. "Very well. If that is what you wish."

"Thank you. Now, please do it quickly. This hurts like a bitch. Okay," she took a steadying breath, "one, two…three!"

She shot her arms up, a low whining tearing from her throat as her shoulder throbbed and stung angrily. Éoheort pulled her tunic up quickly, away from her arms and over her head. As soon as her hands were free, Arianna pulled her arms back down, folding into herself, wrapping her arms around her stomach as another wave of nausea hit her. Jesus, how bad was this cut?

"Might I remove this, as well? I need only push it off your shoulder." Arianna nodded, and the strap of her cami was pushed off, hanging limply on her upper arm. "I do not wish to harm you further, but I must clean and inspect the wound. Please let me know if it hurts too much."

"Yup," she acknowledged breathlessly.

She gritted her teeth, keeping quiet and trying to focus on anything but the pain as Éoheort cleaned her shoulder. She focused on her breathing. Right, Arianna, come on, you can do this. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mou— "Ow!" she yelped, when a particularly sharp pain screamed down her back. It felt like the dagger had been stabbed into her skin all over again.

"Apologies. There appears to be debris stuck deep within your wound. In order for it to heal properly, I'll need to remove it. It's not ideal to do here in the dark. I will need to move you closer to the fire, so that I can see."

"Fine," she gritted out again. "Whatever you need to get it out."

"Please, come. Can you walk?"

"Uhhhh…" Considering she could barely move from side to side without heaving like an asthmatic? Arianna wasn't confident.

"Eadgard!"

Another of the Rohirrim looked up at his name, coming over quickly. "Please take my things over to the fire, Eadgard. There is debris in her wound that needs removed, and I must move her closer to the fire to see."

Eadgard nodded, eyes lingering on Arianna. She raised her brows. "Don't rush or anything. I'm only dying of a festering wound over here."

His eyes widened in shock, before narrowing quickly. "Were you taught no manners? That you would speak with such arrogance to those that saved you says much."

"Let me guess," she drawled, "was he in the pool of those that wanted to tie me back up?" She pointed and raised her brows at Éoheort in question.

"I was," Eadgard answered for himself. "How are we to know that you are not a spy? Just a pretty trap, sent to tempt us?"

"Aww," Arianna cooed, "you think I'm pretty? That's so sweet."

"Brother, you need not tend to her wounds. Lord Éomer made it clear that it was your choice and your own risk." He eyed Éoheort meaningfully.

"He did," Éoheort responded. "And it is my choice to help her. She is no threat to us, Eadgard."

Arianna blanched. "Wait. Brother? This dude's your brother?"

"Indeed. Eadgard is my kid brother."

"By a year, only."

She hummed thoughtfully. "Right. So those manners your mother taught you, he missed those lessons, I guess?"

"I thought you were dying of a festering wound," Eadgard glared. "Astounding that you still speak so brashly for one on their deathbed."

"Enough," Éoheort cut in. "Brother, please. My things. Unless you would rather carry the lady."

Eadgard's eyes widened, and he bent down immediately, scooping up the bowl and pouch before moving away quickly.

"Come," Éoheort gestured to himself, and Arianna pushed herself closer, allowing him to take her gently in his arms.

He moved quickly, placing her on a makeshift seat by the fire. Closer now, she heard a few of the Rohirrim whistle, dropping her gaze to the ground and willing her anger away. All in the name of health, Arianna. You can beat them up when you're not in danger of tetanus.

Éoheort sighed. "This will not be pleasant, Arianna." She heard him shuffle, before his arm reached around, presenting her with an empty water flask. "Here, you will need to bite down on this."

Suddenly concerned, she turned. "What? Why? Hey! Why are you holding a dagger?"

"I must remove the debris," he said plainly, giving her a confused look.

"What, you're gonna do it by stabbing me again?" she said, almost frantic. "Don't you have tweezers or something?"

This only confused him further, and Arianna almost smacked herself. "No, of course you don't have tweezers. Oh my god, okay. Yes, sorry. That's fine. Right. Why would you have any other way to dig stuff out of a wound."

"Arianna, are you feeling lightheaded? You look a bit…hysterical."

"Hysterical? Why would I be hysterical?" Was her voice always that high? She cleared her throat. "I—I'm fine." Her voice cracked.

"Would you like me to hold your hand?"

"Shut up! I don't need your sass right now!" She glared at Eadgard, who raised his hands in defense, eyes wide.

"It was a genuine offer. Rude as you may be, you are still a woman. It must be quite difficult for you, being wounded like this."

"Eadgard is right, Arianna. Please, bite down on the skin, and hold his hand if you feel pain."

"If I feel pain," she laughed. Shaking lightly, she swallowed, throat still dry, made worse by the leather skin as she stuck it between her teeth. Dejectedly, and only mildly pathetic, she reached out for Eadgard's hand, and he wrapped it around her own.

It took her by surprise, how much the metal burned as it inched its way into her muscle tissue. She bit down hard on the leather in her mouth, tears springing to her eyes as her fingers clenched Eadgard's like a vice. It was nothing short of being attacked again, and behind her eyelids, she saw the face of the Orc as it smiled at her, teeth yellow and crooked, malice in its eyes as it began to bind her hands. She sobbed at the memory, and suddenly it was as if time had turned back. She could smell the dense of the forest, the dew mixed with the stench of Orc and blood. The arrows whizzed by her ears, a whistle so sharp it made her shiver. She didn't have a single thought in her mind but pain, pain, and then all of a sudden, her eyes were open, and she was staring at Lurtz again, thick arrow, notched in his tattered bow, ready to strike Boromir down. A cry tore from her lips and the skin fell from her teeth.

"Boromir." She cried so hard her cheeks quivered, and it was cruel, that the last thing she was forced to see again, as her eyes slipped closed, was him, staring into the face of death.

"What is it, brother?"

"It appears to be the tip of the dagger," Éoheort responded, turning the small portion of metal over in his palm. "It is undoubtedly an Urukhai blade. Hastily forged and easy to snap with enough pressure. It must have broken when the Uruk stabbed her and lodged itself in her wound." He passed it over, and Eadgard inspected it closely. "Are your suspicions put to rest, at last? If she were truly an enemy, they would not have attacked one of their own. She is no threat, brother."

Eadgard looked down at the woman. She rested uneasily on the ground, wound wrapped, breath shallow. "Do you think she will make it?"

"By some miracle. The wound was deep, and it festered long. The dagger did not allow it to close or begin to heal as it should, but that she bore the wound so long and it has affected her only to the extent of her fever is encouraging."

Éoheort stood as Éomer moved closer. "My Lord."

"Sit," Éomer commanded easily. He sat, as well. "Is she well?"

"Only time may tell, but I believe she will be fine. What shall we do with her, My Lord?"

Éomer sat quietly for a moment, brow furrowed. "How did she come to be with the Uruks?"

"Captured, My Lord. I believe she and at least one other were attacked, her husband, perhaps. She has called his name twice now."

"It is strange enough that the Uruks would take a prisoner instead of slaughtering them," Éomer responded slowly. "The husband's name - what name has she called?"

"Boromir, My Lord. I believe the Uruks may have indeed slaughtered him. She seemed distraught at the memory of it."

Éomer's eyes widened in surprised. "Boromir, you say? Are you certain?"

"Yes, My Lord," Éoheort responded. "Why? Are you familiar?"

"The Steward of Gondor's firstborn son bears this name."

"Do you think they are one and the same? What would the Steward-prince of Gondor be doing with this woman?"

"I know not. When she awakens, question her again. Though I feel no threat from an injured woman, I would know her history if she is to ride with us in exile. We are far from any safe place to leave her."

"Aye, My Lord."

"Lady Arianna."

She grumbled as she felt a gentle shake to her back. "It is time to wake."

"It is not," she returned irritably. "Go 'way."

Éoheort chuckled. "You must wake. We shall be departing shortly. Lord Éomer wishes to speak with you before we ride."

"It's so early," Arianna whined. "Can't he wait?"

"He has waited long. We thought you might waken in the night and he wished to speak with you then, but you slept like one dead."

Groaning, Arianna struggled to sit up. Scrubbing at her eyes with the back of her hands, she looked around blearily. The Rohirrim were packing their things, rolling up their bedding and mounting their horses.

She saw Éomer striding toward her, helmet under his arm. Though she knew they would not hurt her, something about him intimidated her, just a little bit. Maybe it was that very stern look on his face or the still-smoldering pile of Orc carcasses behind him.

"Eat this. You must be hungry." Éoheort pushed a thick slice of break into her hands.

"Yeah," she said quietly, "thanks." If she were being honest, she didn't feel hungry at all. Even though she realized she hadn't eaten for days, her stomach didn't ache for food. He pushed a small cup of water into her hand, as well, as Éomer settled in front of her.

"Éoheort, please go tend to your other duties. I would speak with her alone."

Éoheort bowed his head immediately. "My Lord."

"Wait—" Arianna stuttered, but Éoheort was already walking away.

She had no choice but to turn her attention back to Éomer, whose stare was making her uncomfortable.

"So uh…what's up?"

"I would hear from your own mouth how you came to be in the company of these Uruks. And I would hear about your relation with this man you call for - Boromir. Do you refer to the son of the Steward?"

The mention of Boromir so suddenly caught her off guard. She opened her mouth, but only managed a strangled sound that she couldn't form into words.

"Speak," Éomer barked. She jumped at his aggressive tone, gripping the cup in her hand tightly.

"G-give me a minute! I—"

"Were you in the company of Boromir, the Steward-prince of Gondor?"

Arianna felt her throat constrict. "Yes," she whispered.

"Éoheort mentioned you were distressed at the memory of him. How does he fare?"

"He's…"

Behind her eyelids, Arianna saw it again: Lurtz and his arrows, the shafts embedded deep in Boromir's chest. She felt a tear slide down her cheek. Dropping her bread quickly in her lap, she wiped it away. "He's not…"

"Speak plainly to me," Éomer interrupted, his voice calmer now. "Was he slain by the Uruks?"

"…Yes." Her voice was so quiet it was barely a breath.

Éomer's face fell. "Great harm is this death to Minas Tirith, and to us all," he said solemnly. "Tell me, how came you to be in his company? How did he meet this fate? We have had no word of this grief out of Gondor. When did he fall?"

Her lip quivered. "3 days? 4…days ago? Something like that. We…we were traveling together, nine of us. We were attacked near the Falls and," she swallowed thickly, "and Boromir was trying to save them, Merry and Pippin, but there were so many Orcs. So many. And I was stupid, and I ran into the woods even though Legolas told me not to because I had to try to save him. I just couldn't live with myself if I didn't do anything, so I ran into the woods and I went to Lurtz because I knew, I knew where he was, and I tried so hard, Éomer. I wasn't even thinking but I tried so hard, but I was too weak. I don't have any fighting experience and it was stupid for me to think that I could do anything, but I just didn't want him to die. I—I didn't want him to die." She felt the words pour out of her quickly, and she couldn't stop them, rising into hysterics as she admitted to herself all of her failures, all of the poor choices she had made which led them right back to what she had been hoping to avoid, hoping to change.

"I just wanted to save him," she admitted quietly. "But in the end…I couldn't do anything at all."

[A/N]: Welcome to Book 2 everyone! I want to thank everyone who has come to visit and everyone who has stuck around for so long! In this chapter, I really tried to convey the confusion and trauma Arry is feeling after the events of Rauros ): Since it's been a while and I'm still getting my writing legs back, I hope it was done well enough and that everyone enjoyed the first chapter of the second book! Many more to come (though, as always, they may come slowly ^^;) Thank you from the bottom of my heart to all those still reading - know that I do read and appreciate your every feedback on the story! Though I may not respond to them, I'm forever grateful for your kind words! See you next chapter! ^^