"He was royalty. So what? Everyone had a flaw."
-Gena Showalter
Amelia jerked awake yet again and was tempted to shout at the heavens, desperate for someone to blame for her weakness and for her not remembering whatever it was that tormented her dreams so, yet refused to show itself, but she only sat up stiffly and poked at the dying embers, the remains of their fire, with the stick they had used for the same purpose the evening before.
"We ought to reach the lands of Rohan today," Boromir informed her as she half-heartedly chewed on a piece of lembas, "Yet it will still be several days before we will be able to see the golden hall of Meduseld."
"The golden hall of what now?" Amelia gave him an incredulous look.
"Meduseld, the golden hall resting atop the city of Edoras."
"So it's like the capital of the capital." Amelia cocked her head. "Weird."
The rest of the chilly morning passed in heavy silence, words only being spoken when it was deemed necessary. Amelia had yet to change out of her clothes for around three days and she was covered in smudges of dirt and filth. Her hair was greasy and she kept it tied back, for a strong wind blew as they got on the move and it slowed them, if only for a scant half of an hour or so. Amelia's feet ached from the walking and her shoulder was sore, but she refused to complain and held her head high, eyes turned towards the horizon that had started to appear as the trees grew fewer and the slopes grew steeper.
At last, they cleared the last of the trees as it neared midday and Amelia could behold the grassland of the riddermark with her own two eyes.
It truly did look nothing like she had imagined, for it was not as barren as she had thought it to be. Its grass was not brown or trampled, but a healthy, golden color and so tall that it brushed her knees. Hills rolled as far as the eye could see and, when the wind blew across the moors it truly did look like waves in a golden sea of grass, its boulders sticking up like small islands from the lapping waves. It had its own, raw beauty to it, a feeling of something wild and natural.
"Rohan." Boromir informed her unnecessarily. "Realm of the horse-lords."
"It's pretty." Amelia told him honestly. "I've never seen plains so far. It looks… wild."
"Yes, wild, wild and unpredictable, like the people that live here." Boromir agreed. "Shall we?" He led her down the slope and up another, keeping an annoyingly close eye on her complexion and breathing as the pattern repeated itself, to see whether she was straining herself more than she had to, but she knew that to do such a thing would be unwise and she was content with a sprightly walk instead of a trot. The wafts of wind tore at Amelia's cloak and she pulled it tighter around herself, shivering as goosebumps appearing on her skin. She considered pulling out her sweater, but decided against it, since it would only slow their progress. Absently, she picked at the crust of blood on her whist shirt with her right hand, but by then the red color had become a dark brown splotch, the flakes of blood falling off like she was picking at a scab. It was a disgusting thing to wear, but Amelia had little choice in the matter. It was either that, the sorry remains of her sweater or nothing at all.
Amelia hummed a nonsensical tune to herself as Boromir held out his hand to help her up the hill and she swatted him away, insisting on walking the distance without assistance. Something about the lands of Rohan made her strangely happy, bordering on giddy. Still, they walked in silence, with Amelia only showing her lightness of mood through her skipping through the tall grass. At an impulse, she reached up and pulled her hairband out of her hair and tied it around her right wrist, letting the wind throw around her brown hair as it willed. For the first time, she had the time and mood she needed to notice that it had gotten longer, around two inches or so, and that her time spent under the sun had made a few spots of it lighten and catch the sunlight. As opposed to the days she had spent with Boromir after Amon Hen, the sky was clear, with only harmless, light grey clouds crossing it lazily.
When Amelia closed her eyes and felt the breeze lifting her hair, the golden grass brushing against her knees and the ground beneath her booted feet, she came near to convincing herself that she was back in her childhood home in Saratoga County, before she had moved to Burlington to get away from everyone and everything she knew.
Then, Boromir stepped up beside her and she opened her eyes to once again behold the seas of grass spread out before her. She turned her head to glance at the man beside her and her tranquil expression faltered, replaced by the careful mask she had worn for years. It didn't occur to her that Boromir had been watching her moment of serenity.
"We should probably speed things up a bit." She suggested. "I can take it. We might be able to cut off a day or to that way." Boromir gave her an evaluating look, one that she returned with a haughty look of her own.
"If you think that that is best." Amelia was surprised at how quickly he relented. Before Amon Hen, his stubbornness had known no ends and he had often tried to convince others to see the situation from his point of view, to follow his path instead of their own. "Amon Hen really changed you, didn't it?" She asked rhetorically, with a thoughtful expression. She had gotten so caught up in her own thoughts of him that she didn't catch the flash of shame in his grey eyes. Without waiting for an answer, she jumped down the slope of the hill they had been standing on, side by side, and she didn't look back to see whether he followed her or not.
Not much of note happened over the course of the following few days, but on the day on which Amelia was informed that it was the 2nd of March, she spotted a distant cloud of dust rising from the north and a golden glint to the west.
"Question…" She elbowed Boromir in the side and pointed at the two things, first at the cloud in the distance and then to the west, towards what looked like the reflection of some golden glimmer. "What is that and what is that?" Boromir held up a hand to shadow his eyes from the sun, but he only needed to glance northwards to be able to give her a satisfactory answer.
"Riders, numbering in the hundreds or thousands. They are riding north, away from our position, but I can't say why. Nothing lies that way except Fangorn Forest and only a fool would venture there."
"Uh huh." Amelia smirked slightly at his answer, remembering how readily Merry and Pippin had sprinted off into the woods in the story that she knew. "And that over there?" She pointed to the west again and Boromir's eyes narrowed as he too caught the distant shine. Then, a satisfied smile broke out across his face, the first Amelia had seen for many days.
"The golden hall of Meduseld. On a sunny day, its golden roofs can be seen from miles away. If we make haste, we can reach it before sundown."
"Make haste? I'll fucking race you there if it means I get a bath and bed as a reward."
"I think that can be arranged."
"What, the bath and the bed or the race? 'Cause I don't think I'm up for running that far just yet, but if you're offering me a challenge…"
"I wasn't. You shouldn't strain yourself."
"It was my shoulder the bastards shot, not my legs. It's not like I'm dying. At worst, it's sore. I can still use my hand too."
"Let's not tempt fate more than we already have."
"As I've told you many times before, screw fate, destiny and the future, all of them. But sure, let's do this the hard way."
"I would hardly call ensuring that you don't drop dead the hard way."
"Oh, so you do worry about me?"
"Isn't that what friends are supposed to do?"
"Sure, but they're not supposed to nag you at every- now hold your horses for just a bit…" Amelia blinked at the gondorian, who had raised his eyebrows at her in the midst of their bickering. "Friends?"
"If you like." Amelia blinked at him, getting a feel for the word and attempting to apply it to Boromir. She found it surprisingly easy and in that moment, the last bit of her annoyance from their nonsensical argument shriveled and died.
"Sure. Friends." She nodded to herself. "Yup." Then, she skipped onwards, spurred on by the golden glint in the distance.
By the time they reached the gate of Edoras, night was falling and clouds were gathering in the sky, looking far more ominous than those who had glided across the sky throughout their days of traveling. The golden hall of Meduseld lay atop the large hill upon which the city had been built and it shone like a beacon even in the faint light of the torches around it and the stars in the sky.
To reach the gate, they had to walk through an odd collection of purposefully placed hills covered in small, white flowers.
"Grave mounds." Boromir told her in a respectful, quiet voice. "The rohirrim bury their honored dead here."
"Yeah, I kinda figured that out already." Amelia mumbled back at him as they stopped in front of the large gate, closed shut.
"Halt!" A male voice cried and Amelia had to crane her head back to look at the guard who stood atop the ramparts. "Who comes?" The guard wore a silvery helmet lined with gold and a blonde beard was on his jaw.
"I am Boromir, son of Denethor, the ruling Steward of Gondor, Captain of the White Tower." Boromir answered with a high, confident voice. "The woman at my side is Amelia Jones, who I have traveled with through many hardships." There was some muttering behind the gate.
"Open the gate!" The guard yelled then and the gate swung inwards, revealing houses with roofs of straw and people clad in browns, yellows and green hurrying to and forth. It seemed like the city was busy preparing for something. Brown, black and white horses stood at every corner and the smell of them was thick in the air. The ground was hard, trampled with generations of horses and their riders riding out of Edoras and back again.
"Horse-lords indeed." Amelia muttered, but she doubted that even Boromir heard her, even though he was the one standing closest to her.
"Forgive our caution, milord." The guard came down from the ramparts, thick walls made of wood and stone. "You come at a time most fortuitous though, for our king Théoden has just been cured of a most terrible illness."
"I was not aware the king of Rohan was sick, though it gladdens me to hear at least some good news."
"I don't know if sick is the right word…" Amelia interrupted with a thoughtful expression. The guard looked surprised that she spoke at all and not waited for the men to finish. "More like possessed. Care to tell who took care of it?" Amelia gave Boromir a smirk that he couldn't quite decipher.
"The most unlikely person of all, my lady." The guard didn't seem to notice the odd grin on her face. "Gandalf the White, as he now prefers himself to be called, arrived in our hour of need, to cure Lord Théoden of his ills."
"Gandalf?!" Boromir exclaimed and Amelia was tempted to laugh at his face. "No, there must be some mistake, for last I heard, Gandalf the Grey fell in the depths of Moria, not to be seen again in this life." Amelia elbowed him gently in the side.
"Who'd you think we were going to meet here, dummy? Let's say hello, shall we?" She strode ahead, with Boromir following her with a dumbstruck expression that Amelia couldn't resist letting out a little laugh at. She had not thought to ever see him with such a human expression, but it suited him better than his usual, stoic one. "If everything has gone to plan, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli should be here somewhere too." She called over her shoulder. She didn't notice the way she caught the guards' attention or the way the village folk stared at her, with her shirt covered in blood or her wearing pants like a man.
"You planned this?" Boromir ran a hand over his face as she slowed down to let him catch up to her. "Of course you did."
"Of course I did." Amelia agreed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then, abruptly, she stopped. Boromir was immediately alarmed.
"What is it?"
"Crap." She mumbled. "I forgot one teeny-tiny detail." She sighed and flicked her head at the sounds of chatter from the townsfolk. "Remember those tombs outside the city?" Boromir nodded hesitantly. "Well, a few days ago, the kind's son died. Théo-something."
"Théodred has passed as well?" Boromir looked as if the news troubled him greatly. Amelia sighed and nodded.
"Yeah. Nothing that could be done to stop it. I doubt even I could have done something, but that is in the past. Just a warning though, I mean… Théoden has just been mindjacked by a sorcerer and lost his son and nephew in one fell swoop."
"Éomer has fallen too?"
"Oh, no, no. Remember those riders we saw? He's… Ah, forget it, we have bigger things to worry about right now." Amelia quickened her pace towards the hall atop the hill. Boromir didn't find it difficult to keep up with her, even as she rushed up the steps before she was abruptly stopped as two guards stepped forth, their spears forming an X.
"Are you kidding me?" She asked them, but Boromir gave her a look that told her to let him handle it.
"Peace." He said, holding up his hands. It didn't do much to detract from the wide blade that hung from his side, but it did show off the horn of Gondor and that got the guards' attention. "We come bearing no ill will towards your king. May we enter? We have much to discuss with those within the hall of Meduseld." The guards hesitated, but the sigil of the white tree of Boromir's chest and the horn at his belt seemed to convince them that they were who they said they were. They stepped backwards once again and Boromir nodded to the, to show his gratitude. Amelia flatly ignored them as they turned and opened the heavy doors for them. Amelia strode inside, like a queen returning to her kingdom, with Boromir following more slowly.
The inside of the hall was warm and golden, with tall pillars carved with plants and horses holding up the roof, and a warm hearth burned in the middle. Red, green and golden banners hung on the walls and at the end sat a man with hair as yellow as the grass of his lands, but with white streaking it. His face was lined with worry and age, but he held himself tall like a king and his eyes were clear and focused. He wore a fine, red tunic with golden embroidery.
Tables stood along the walls and two children sat at one of them, with a woman clad in black and with fair, golden hair kneeling beside them. She stood up as Amelia and Boromir stepped inside, but she didn't seem to notice them. A figure clad in white robes sat beside the king on his throne, with white hair and a white beard. To the left, at another table, sat three folk that Amelia immediately steered towards. All within the hall were caught up in an intense discussion, neither one of them noticing the two newcomers.
"This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash." The white figure gestured towards the two children, who looked as if they had been dragged to hell and back. "All the more potent, for he is driven now by fear of Sauron." He leaned towards the king. "Ride out and meet him head-on. Draw him away from your women and children. You must fight."
"Gandalf!" Amelia called and the people in the hall jumped at the sound of her voice. "Good to see you up and about again. What's all this about?"
"Lass!" Gimli bellowed and stood up from his seat, rushing towards her. She clapped him on the shoulder, nodded to Legolas and Aragorn came over to gently squeezed her good shoulder.
"It is good to see you both." Aragorn nodded to Boromir, who looked away as he stood awkwardly to the side. "How are you?" He asked Amelia lowly, glancing at her arm.
"Sore and stiff as heck, but no more than that. I'm fine. It does hurt a bit though." Aragorn's eyebrows knitted together.
"What is the meaning of this interruption?" Théoden straightened his back in his seat and Boromir stepped forwards.
"Forgive her, Théoden king." He said. "The Lady Amelia is not used to our ways as of yet."
"Sure I am, I just think they're stupid." Amelia interrupted, but Aragorn hushed her. She looked at him with an affronted expression. She had noticed that Boromir's tone had changed when he spoke with the purpose of diplomacy. She doubted that he even noticed it himself.
"But Gandalf!" Boromir exclaimed, staring at the white wizard. "How is this possible? I saw you fall with my own eyes, yet here you sit, alive and well. Is all that is sad in the world to be undone?"
"Yet here I sit." Gandalf agreed with a fond smile. "Though I am afraid that we still have much toil ahead of us. The tale as to how I am here can wait a little while yet. Did the dear girl not tell you?"
"Didn't want to spoil the surprise." Amelia smiled that silly smile again.
"My Lord, these people are Boromir of Gondor and Amelia Jones. They traveled with us for a time, but we parted at Amelia's urging at the falls of Rauros." Aragorn explained calmly and Théoden relaxed a bit. He waved a hand at them, suddenly seeming tired.
"Forgive my inhospitality…" He began and Amelia hummed at him.
"It's understandable, given the circumstances. Mind-control and Isildur's Heir reappearing and Saruman's affair with Sauron, that's a lot to wake up to."
"Indeed." Théoden agreed and leaned forwards in his seat. "You have a peculiar dialect, miss. From where do you hail?" Amelia rested both her hands on her hips.
"You wouldn't know about it. I kind of just got dragged along for the ride. Just to warn you right of the bat, I tend to get annoying and I swear like all fucking hell, so you might want to prepare yourself for that. Anyways, should we get back to the matter at hand?"
"Not so fast, miss. I cannot include just anyone in these discussions and you are…"
"A woman?" Amelia gave him a sour look and glanced at Éowyn, who was as pale and cool as Amelia had expected and then some. "Dude, we think with our heads, not with what's between our legs. I daresay that I know more about what's to come than everyone in this room combined, even Gandalf."
"A bold claim." Théoden did not look pleased at her bluntness and Gandalf sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"'Claim'?" Amelia snorted. "If you think I'm lying, I can prove myself to you." By then, the air had gotten filled with restrained tension. "If you stay here twiddling your thumbs, Saruman will be able to waltz right in here. I've fought his Uruk-Hai, and so have Boromir and Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. An army of them against a city like this? You don't stand a chance if you stay here. You're outmanned and in a bad position."
"And what would you have me do?" Théoden sounded exhausted, as the troubles of the world rested on his shoulders and his shoulders alone. "Surrender to the enemy?"
"You have two-thousand good men riding north as we speak." Aragorn reminded him calmly. "Éomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king." He pulled out his pipe and stuffed it with pipeweed as Théoden stood up from his seat. Gandalf looked worried at the prospect of a confrontation between the two.
"They will be three-hundred leagues from here by now." Théoden exclaimed heavily and started pacing in front of his throne. "Éomer cannot help us." Gandalf stood up and walked towards him, but stopped when the king turned to face him. "I know what it is you want of me, but I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war." Théoden sounded quite final.
"Oh, for the love of… Am I the only one seeing what's really going on here?!" Amelia exclaimed, losing her temper and her patience in one fell swoop. "This isn't about your people or Saruman or whether to risk open warfare. This is about Gondor!"
"Gondor?" Boromir sounded like he strongly doubted her claim, but his eyes had lit up at the mention of his homeland. Aragorn had a pensive look on his face, Legolas looked a bit confused and Gimli still just looked happy to see her. "What have my people have to do with this?"
"Don't you see? It's all connected!" The pieces fell into place as Amelia began speaking so quickly that most struggled to keep up. She began pacing and made agitated gestures with her hands. "Gondor, Saruman, Rohan, it's all there! For now, Sauron doesn't care about Rohan, he cares about Gondor, but to care about Gondor, he has to care about Rohan, because together, Rohan and Gondor can wipe the floor with him and he knows it! So, he figures 'better take Rohan out of the game before they can start to play' and what do you know, Théoden has been possessed by Saruman all of a sudden! Very convenient for the Dark Lord, wouldn't you say? Then, Gandalf comes along and Théoden is up and about again, but still, the damage has been done, he won't risk open war and Sauron can go after Minas Tirith without those pesky Rohirrim interfering, but he's smart. I don't like admitting it either, but the guy sure isn't stupid. So, he figures, better make sure they won't be interfering, right? However, he can't send all the forces of Mordor off to fight the 'My Little Pony'-people, but hey, he has his buddy Saruman, who's been steadily breeding a bunch of orcs in Isengard right under Théoden's nose the whole time! Why not just send them after them? Keep them occupied while Sauron prepares to strike out at Minas Tirith. Since Théoden won't risk moving to Helm's Deep, the Uruk-Hai can just waltz in and pillage the city. Without Rohan there to help, Sauron crushes Gondor and Middle-Earth with it." Amelia finally fell silent, chest heaving as if she had been sprinting a good distance. Her eyes gleamed and she was rubbing her hands against each other, as if the energy in her body couldn't be contained and was overflowing, needing to be manifested somehow.
"That makes a disturbing amount of sense." Gimli grumbled and Amelia nodded eagerly.
"Right? This isn't just about Rohan, it's about the world! And by sitting on our hands, we're just letting…"
"Enough." Théoden held up a hand and Amelia fell silent, passion burning within her. "You may know much, Lady Amelia, but last I looked, Théoden was king of Rohan, not foreigners bearing strange clothing and speaking strange words of doom and destruction." Amelia's eyes narrowed, but Boromir shook his head lightly at her and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep her silence.
"Then what is the king's command?" Gandalf asked and Théoden turned towards him, looking to all present as if he was about to give the most difficult order of his life.