"Life takes us to unexpected places sometimes. The future is never set in stone, remember that."
-Erin Morgenstern
"Here. Something for the road." Amelia pretended not to notice Merry handing Pippin a pack of pipeweed from South Farting and busied herself with mounting her own horse. Her legs ached from the memory of how sore her thighs had been after dismounting her horse at last after returning from Isengard. Boromir had already mounted his own horse, a chestnut stallion with much impatience, and Amelia had some difficulty mounting her own, a black and white stallion, fast, but with a lesser temper than Boromir's steed. Finally, she managed to pull herself up with a grunt and her horse flicked its ears impatiently.
"This is going to be terrible. Three days on a bloody horse. I'm not even a good rider." She didn't say the words to anyone in particular, but Boromir shook his head at her, when he thought that her attention was not on him.
"Last of the Longbottom leaf?" Pippin sounded awestruck, but sad as well.
"I know you've run out." Merry tried to look like it didn't hurt him to have to say goodbye to his best friend. "You smoke too much, Pip."
"But… we'll see each other soon." Pippin sounded so young in that moment. "Won't we?"
"I don't know." Merry looked on the verge of tears as he stepped backwards and Gandalf mounted his white horse, Shadowfax. Amelia tightened her grip on her horse. She had been told that, since she wasn't close to an expert in riding, her horse would follow the others as well as it could without dropping dead from exhaustion, unless she told it specifically otherwise. "I don't know what's gonna happen."
"Merry!" Pippin yelled as Gandalf spurred Shadowfax on and it galloped out the stable, with Boromir and Amelia close behind. They kicked up straws and dust as they sprinted through Edoras and out its gate and Amelia saw that several townsfolk had to jump aside to avoid being trampled by the three horses. On a whim, Amelia turned in her saddle to take one last look at Edoras, with Meduseld perched proudly on the top like a crown, since it occurred to her that it would probably be the last time that she ever saw the capital of Rohan.
Boromir had been kind enough to inform Gandalf that the quickest way to reach Minas Tirith was by following Ered Nimrais, the white mountains separating Rohan from Gondor, and it seemed like Gandalf would take his word for it, riding parallel with the tall peaks to the south.
"Damn…" Amelia whispered to herself for no reason that she could think of.
The ride was long and hard, with as little pausing as possible. In the time it took them to enter Gondor itself, they only rested once and it was brief and hurried. Amelia only managed to catch a few hours of uneasy sleep before they were on their way again. Amelia nodded off several times, but her horse's galloping kept her from succumbing fully to sleep. Her bad sleeping was starting to wear on her. She had dark circles under her eyes and mussed up hair.
Then, when they neared the Pelennor Fields, a minor thing occurred to Amelia and she called out to Boromir, who immediately steered his steed towards her.
"What is it?" He sped up his horse again as Gandalf didn't slow his pace to accommodate them and Amelia's horse obediently followed suit.
"I forgot to tell you something." Amelia had to speak loudly to make herself heard. "You probably ought to know… Faramir encounters the ring." Boromir paled slightly and his face became deeply concerned. He seemed to recall the way the ring had taken control of him. "Don't worry. Nothing happens. He's fine. Just thought you should know." Amelia yawned again and looked away from her friend. "Damn, I miss coffee."
"We have just passed into the realm of Gondor!" Gandalf called from up ahead and Boromir sped up, obviously excited at the prospect of finally returning to the lands that he spoke of so reverently.
Amelia noticed that, while they weren't so significant that she would have noticed them without Gandalf's announcement, some changes had come to the landscape, to show that she was no longer in the realm of the rohirrim. The grass was no longer a golden sea, but patches of yellow and green, with rare clusters of eranthis and snowdrops. Trees were few and far between. Occasionally, they would cross a small brook.
"Come along!" Gandalf called to her as he and Boromir waited for her atop a hill. Amelia narrowed her eyes slightly at Boromir's expression, as if he was excited about something, and she steered her horse in their direction with some difficulty.
"Don't get your knickers in a twist, my arse is number than a…" Amelia lost her tongue as her horse reached the top of the hill and she could look upon the Pelennor Fields and the white city of Minas Tirith, towering proudly like a fallen cloud against the dark mountains behind it. "Well, fuck me sideways with a screwdriver…" Amelia sounded breathless, but never in her life had she seen a sight like the White City. The movies had done a pathetic job of doing it justice. It was enormous, built to house up to thousands of people within it, with walls thrice as thick as what Amelia would have deemed necessary and even in the dim sunlight peeking out from behind the clouds, it gleamed like a lonely diamond against its bland surroundings. Flags and pennants were raised high, to dance in the wind. For a city fallen to decay, it had a lively soul all its own. She fumbled for words to do it justice. "It's kind of shaped like a wedding cake, isn't it?" Pippin got a wistful expression on his face at the mention of food and Boromir laughed softly at her impulsive jest. He seemed oddly pleased with her reaction.
Gandalf kicked Shadowfax gently and the white horse shot forwards once again. Boromir and Amelia's horses had nowhere near such an endurance, but they were hasty and managed to keep up as they crossed the gigantic, barren fields in front of the White City. Amelia tried to imagine an army of orcs covering it, but found that doing so made her uncomfortable and she turned her mind to other matters. Then, she noticed Boromir frowning at something in the White City and she followed his eyes. Her blood ran cold.
Black banners hung from every window, every precipice and every flag. The pennants that she had admired didn't bear the white tree, but instead, they bore black, the color of mourning.
"I messed up." Her immediate conclusion was only realized in a whisper, one that neither Gandalf, Pippin or Boromir heard. Boromir, however, looked deeply concerned.
"The White City does not mourn idly." He said as they slowed to enter the city, whose gates had swung open in silence and without checking their identities, something that instantly put Amelia on high alert. "Amelia?"
"Well, fucking hell, I haven't got the foggiest what this is all about…" She trailed off as they rode slowly through the streets of the first ring, all four of them feeling the heavy, tangible grief in the silent air. Then, as if they were ghosts seeing four ghosts riding by, silent people, most clad in black, emerged from the houses on both sides of the white cobblestone road, staring at them as if they were a distant mirage. Amelia caught a few whispers, but nothing concrete that could tell them why they were riding silently through a steadily increasing crowd of onlookers in absolute silence. A heavy chant floated above them, streaming slowly from the towers and the windows of the darkened houses.
From the Gate of the Kings the Great Wind rides, and past the roaring falls,
And clear and cold about the tower its loud horn calls.
'What news from hence, O mighty wind, do you bring to me today?
What news of Boromir the bold? For he is long away.'
'Beneath Amon HenI heard his cry. There many foes he fought,
His cloven shield, his broken sword, they to the water brought.
His head so proud, his face so fair, his limbs they laid to rest,
And Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, bore him upon its breast.
'O Boromir! The Tower of Guardshall ever northward gaze,
To Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, until the end of days.
Amelia leaned over towards Boromir, after she had urged her horse up beside his. "Boromir, I… I don't think they're mourning your father or your brother."
"Then who would you propose?" He sounded slightly bitter, but Amelia knew that it was his nerves breaking through.
"I think… I think they're mourning you." Boromir stared at her and Amelia slowly began to view the situation from every angle, examine every outcome coolly and logically, without taking a personal stance.
"That makes little sense." Amelia wasn't surprised that he was unable to make out the precise wording of the lament.
"No, it… it actually makes a lot of sense." Amelia's face darkened immeasurably. "They heard the Horn of Gondor, probably. That's enough for them to assume you're in danger, possibly in a life-threatening situation…" They passed the door leading onto the third level. "But how could they be sure… Faramir never saw your body, unless something seriously freaky went down…" Then, her grip on the reins tightened until her knuckles went white. "Oh no… No, that would just be… Oh, drat it all."
"What is it?"
"I won't tell you until I know for sure, but… Oh, man… pray that I'm wrong. I don't care whether you're religious. Pray with everything you've got that I'm wrong." Gandalf mumbled something to Shadowfax and the horse began trotting quickly. Amelia groaned slightly at the jolting gait as her own horse followed, attempting to look like worry didn't gnaw at her from the inside.
Then, finally, after what seemed like an eternity of riding through a city mourning a dead man who had just come home again, they emerged unto the large platform where a tall, white tree stood, bent and wizened with age. It had no leaves or flowers. Its roots stretched into an artificial pond at its base and to Amelia, it looked at close to desperate as a tree could get. Four guards with winged helmets and adorned spears stood around it, staring stiffly into the air, as if they expected a vicious gardener to appear at any moment to crop their white tree.
Amelia nearly fell when she slid off her horse, but Boromir caught her before she could fall face-down onto the white stone of the platform, seemingly having anticipated her legs giving out under her. She murmured a hasty word of thanks to him and he let her go quickly. They hurried after Gandalf and Pippin, who were already approaching the large palace at the end of the platform. Then, the wizard stopped and leaned on his staff, glancing at Amelia. It occurred to her that he was looking for instructions.
"Uh…" She scratched her neck, uncomfortable under the gaze of her friends. "See, if my hunch is right, I don't really know how far gone he is at this point… He could be better, could be worse, but my gut tells me that being optimistic at this point equals being naïve, so… It's probably best if you go first, Boromir, you know… make it appear as if you're the leader. It's what he'll expect, so let's accommodate daddy dearest for now, yes? Then Gandalf and then Pippin and I. And for God's sake, do not, I repeat, do not mention Frodo or the Ring or Aragorn or the Fellowship or…" Amelia shifted uneasily on her feet. "Look, I'm not exactly sure what he's like, so… All we can do is wing it and hope for the best." She gestured towards the doors and looked at Boromir. "After you, Lord Important McFancypants." She gave him an uneasy smile that didn't reach her eyes, one that he didn't return. Reluctantly, Boromir stepped forwards and straightened his back. He strode towards the door and he looked, to all who didn't know him well, like he truly was a triumphant leader returning to his father after a long and tiring journey to the north. Then, immediately in front of the doors, he hesitated, but then they swung inwards and it was too late to turn back.
Amelia had expected a man in either extreme. She had betted on him either being the sour old man with a spitting speech at the ready or a proud lord attempting to hold together a city white also mourning his favorite son and battling the influence of the palantír that she knew he had in his possession. She had betted on being able to classify him as either "good" or "bad" and move on with her day. She had not betted on him being somewhere in between, looking like an elderly, snappish man and a tall leader at the same time. His eyes were sunken and his face was heavy with sorrow, but he held himself like an unbroken lord. Amelia could see how he might inspire both sympathy and respect to those who only saw him from afar or in public events. Amelia only felt determination and a low, uncomfortable feeling of suspicion and unease when she looked at him.
Denethor stood up as they entered. The furs he bore around his shoulders and his cape rustled at the movement.
"My son," He stepped down from the dais and reached out for Boromir. Amelia's fingers twitched, but she wasn't certain why. "My son." It sounded like a fervent prayer, a whispered wish in the empty hall.
"Father." Amelia had never seen Boromir smile like that before. It was bright, it was welcoming and it was far too alien for his features. On any other man, it would have been a radiant grin of victory. On him, knowing him well, to her, it looked forced and false, nothing more than a pretty front. She was tempted to smack it off his face, but she knew better than that, even though she had never mastered her impulses fully.
They clasped each other's hands, but they did not embrace. They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment, clapped each other on the shoulders and held the other like that for a bit, but then they let each other go.
"I had not thought to see you again in this world." Denethor sounded like the very thought pained him. He kept a hand on his sons shoulder and turned, so that they walked beside each other. Amelia felt like she was intruding on something private and held her tongue, in silence.
"Indeed. It seems my city has seen fit to assume, given my absence. Still, it was a fair conclusion." Denethor nodded thoughtfully to himself, with his eyes bright in joy still. It was as if he didn't even notice the other three people in the room.
"And how fared you on your quest, my boy?" Amelia laughed at the term. Boromir was tall, broad and muscular, in his early forties. For anyone to call him a boy seemed ludicrous to her. "I trust you saw all was well and done?" There was an awkward silence and Amelia decided to butt in before Boromir could answer. That he hesitated only eased her way into the conversation.
"Forgive me, my lord…" He turned towards her, evidently surprised that she dared open her mouth. "But we ran into a fair amount of trouble. You heard that horn of his, yeah? Well, that was the… trouble. The Ring, well… it's kind of out of our hands now, and for good reason!" Denethor let go of Boromir's shoulder and took a slow step towards her, scrutinizing her with his eyes. His sudden cold only inspired defiance. "What I'm trying to say is, and I'm sorry to butt into your little man-moment here, but it really wasn't anyone's fault here. And don't blame anyone who's not here either, because no one is at fault. No one." She punctuated the last two words clearly and she blinked, returning her eyes to the Steward. She hadn't noticed that her eyes had drifted over to Boromir, but she was quick to correct herself.
"And who are you to speak so boldly in a hall of kings? A woman from a faraway land, unaware of our customs, perhaps?" Denethor made it quite clear that she hadn't given off a particularly good impression with that little speech of hers, but Boromir looked like she had punched him in the jaw. Surprised, a bit annoyed and slightly worried for her sanity, perhaps. She couldn't blame him. She even found herself agreeing with him.
"Oh, you have no idea." Then, Amelia remembered the shreds of manners that she had scraped together over the years. "I'm, ah… Not from around here. Kings, Stewards, nobles, titles, That's all, ah… weird, to me, and that's putting it mildly, so I'm sorry if I seem a bit… informal? Casual?" She shrugged awkwardly. Denethor raised a thin eyebrow at her, but he seemed to let her odd mannerisms slide. She couldn't deny that that brought her no small amount of relief.
"And what of your… companions?" Amelia assumed that he was no longer addressing her. Gandalf bowed to him with a dramatic flair of his white robes.
"Hail to you Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Minas Tirith. I bring both advice and messages to you in this dark time." Denethor's expression didn't change, but Amelia got the feeling that its intention had changed from affronted bewilderment to mocking acceptance.
"Certainly, we live in dark times, and in those, you often come to our gates, Mithrandir." Amelia narrowed her eyes slightly at the elderly man. "Had I been brought the Ring, perhaps the coming tide could have been stemmed, but now… I am uncertain of what the future may hold for Gondor." He straightened his back and clasped his sons shoulder again. "But for now, I shall feel joy at my son's return. The White City shall know of his return this day! Come, Boromir. Tell me of what has been wrought and what awaits. I will listen." That was as clear as dismissal as Amelia had ever heard it. Gandalf met her eyes and a silent agreement passed between them. Pippin nervously followed suit as the wizard and the woman turned and strode back the way they had come. Amelia did not feel good leaving Boromir along with Denethor, but she reminded herself of the obvious affection between them and came to the conclusion that a little time apart would not hurt either of them. It might even do them some good.
Gandalf's face fell as they emerged into the sunlight and Amelia bit her lip.
"He definitely didn't seem as bad as I feared, but not as good as I hoped either. I suppose… we'll make do?" She made a hopeless little gesture with her hands as they strolled past the white tree and along the edge of the platform.
"We can make do. You're good at that." Pippin's little chirp made her smile fondly at him.
"Yeah. Sometimes I feel like that's all I do." Amelia looked up, towards the east, where, behind a line of jagged, black mountains rising towards the sky like bony fingers reaching towards the clouds, an ominous, orange glow emanated. It was a fiery color, one that told of burning forges and hot volcanoes.
"What is that white tree anyway, why are they guarding it?" Pippin's voice interrupted her train of thought and she let Gandalf take the lead as they neared the end of the platform.
"They guard it because they have hope. A fading hope, that one day it will flower, the king will come and one day, this city will be as it once was… before it fell into decay." Amelia thought that decay was overstating it a bit, but she let him continue, knowing that he knew far more of such matters than she. "The old wisdom borne out of the west was forsaken. King's made tombs more splendid than the houses of the living and counted the old names of the deceased dearer than the names of their sons. Childless lords sat in aging halls, musing on heraldry or in high, cold towers, asking questions of the stars… And so the people of Gondor have fallen into ruin. The line of Kings fell… and the white tree withered." Gandalf stopped and leaned on his staff at the end of the platform, turning his gaze to the east, to Mordor. "The rule of Gondor was given over to lesser men." Amelia put a hand on Pippin's left shoulder as he, too, looked towards the dark lands and she could feel him stiffen beneath her hand.
"Mordor." He breathed.
"Yes." Gandalf sounded grim. "There it lies. This city has dwelled ever in the sight of its shadow."
"A storm is coming." Amelia looked up at the dark, heavy, unnatural clouds approaching from Mordor, covering whatever lay beneath them in an uncomfortable darkness, even in daytime.
"This is not the weather of the world. This is the device of Sauron, a broil of fume he sends ahead of his armies. The orcs of Mordor have no love of daylight, so he covers the face of the sun to ease their passage along the road to war." Amelia grimaced to herself. "When the shadow of Mordor reaches this city, it will begin."
"And on that cheery note…" Amelia turned around as the doors behind them opened and Boromir stepped outside, looking upwards towards the sun. "It looks like our favorite gondorian was finally released. I don't know about you, but I want to know how it went in there." Amelia hurried towards him, looking for all intents and purposes as if she were on her way to sucker-punch him as soon as she was within reach. He didn't seem put off though. If anything, it was the opposite. "Well?"
"I don't know what you expect me to say." He looked amused and Amelia rolled her blue eyes at him. She shoved his shoulder lightly in a playful manner. Pippin looked a bit surprised at the familiarity of their interactions, as if they had known each other for years.
"Something about the dark times we live in, how grand Minas Tirith is, how annoying your father is and finally, how happy you are to be home. That sound about right to you?" Boromir chuckled at her and shook his head lightly. She returned his smile with a lopsided grin of her own, not noticing the confused look that Pippin sent Gandalf and the look of amusement that it was returned with.