"Now I see fire
Inside the mountains
I see fire
Burning the trees
I see fire
Hollowing souls
I see fire
Blood in the breeze"
-Ed Sheeran, I See Fire

For a moment, the man and the woman sat on the divan, side by side, in silence.

Then, Boromir rose from his seat and slowly walked out unto the balcony, gripping the railing loosely and gazing out, towards the horizon. A gentle breeze played with his brown hair. Amelia rose and followed him just as slowly, leaning on the railing with her forearms on Boromir's right side, content to wait and see what he had to say when he didn't immediately start talking.

"It is not often people permit me to think on my words before I utter them." It seemed like an eternity and no time at all had passed when he spoke at last, a surprising mirth showing in the wry twist of his mouth. "Most run out of patience long before then. It seems that you surprise me yet again." Amelia grinned a bit at him.

"True, I seem to have made a habit of that. Surprising you. But you do tend to brood a lot. You get this crease between your eyebrows…" Amelia laughed a small laugh to herself at his perplexed expression. "But you didn't want to talk to me in a vain attempt at flattery. What's on your mind?" Again, a long silence, one that Amelia was a bit more impatient to end than the first one.

"I would ask you a question and ask that you answer truthfully." He sounded hesitant, bordering on shy, traits that she definitely didn't associate with the Captain of the White Tower. In increasing concern, Amelia reached out and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, which seemed to shake him out of his deep thoughts somewhat.
"I will if I can. I'm not one for beating around the bush. So spit it out, will you?" Her tone became teasing in the end of her otherwise soft words. Boromir nodded, a smile ghosting over his face, but it faded just as quickly as it had come to be.

"I would ask you how I died, would you but give me an answer." Amelia froze briefly, but then gaped at him. Of all the things for him the say, those words had been entirely unexpected and took her by surprise. Stunned silence followed, broken only by the distant sounds of the city below them.

"You already know." Her voice was harsher than she had meant it to be, but she had little choice in the matter, since all parades had whipped up again at his inquiry. "There were arrows, you got shot, you died. Without me, Boromir would've been No Moromir. What else is there to…"

"Amelia." She looked away from his face. "I know of the manner of my demise, but I am not asking you about that."

"You don't want to know how you died." The realization was a shock to her and she clenched her jaw. "You want to know whether you died… honorably." Amelia couldn't keep the strong disdain out of her voice. "Why does it matter? You didn't…"

"I have upset you." Boromir stated and Amelia shook her head irritably.

"More like annoyed." She sighed and rubbed her face with her right hand, not daring to look at his face. "You really want to know? By your standards, your death was amazing. I mean, I assume it was, since it sure seemed that way. Your death… I don't like to talk about it."

"Why?" He seemed genuinely curious as to why the subject was unpleasant for her. Confused, even. "It did not come to pass after all. What is the harm of a 'what if'?, after all?"

"I can't allow myself to think like that. I won't allow myself to think about you… dead. There is no 'what if'. You didn't die and you're not going to. End of story."

"Again, I fail to understand you." Frustration seeped into his voice and he frowned at her. Amelia narrowed her eyes at him as a thought struck her out of the blue.

"I think you're a liar." Boromir's eyes widened in surprise, but Amelia felt triumphant and she let it show. "I think you didn't mean to ask me how you died. I think you just blurted that out to have more time to think about what you really wanted to say." The following silence gave her all the answers that she needed. She scoffed at him. "Wow. Just… wow. Say what you want to say, otherwise, I have a beacon to set on fire." Amelia almost turned away from Boromir, but something made her give him the opportunity to talk for just a little while longer. When she finally had had enough and truly began to go near the door, he spoke again, sounding immensely irritated with her and himself both.

"I find myself… at a disadvantage. You are not what I expected."

"Which is?" Amelia couldn't keep the annoyance and impatience out of her voice any longer.

"A girl. A child playing at war. A child with knowledge of certain events, but I child nevertheless. Your behavior at the Council of Elrond proved as much to me." Amelia blood boiled in her veins and she opened her mouth in indignation. "But then, you saved my life. More than that, you seemed to care. You still do. And that is what I do not understand." Amelia stared at him as his words registered and something seemed to click within her mind. Then, she laughed, a low, genuine laugh, a laugh filled with honest wonder and surprise. She shook her head at herself and ran a hair through her brown hair, loosening it from its style in the process.

"Of course." She mumbled. "Of course it had to happen, here and now."

Then, Amelia turned and fled before any more of his words could make her head spin.

"So? What did he want to talk about?" Amelia met Gandalf and Pippin on the path leading up to the beacon, standing close to the wall in order to appear as inconspicuous as possible. Pippin seemed quite curious, but Amelia shrugged innocently at him.

"Oh, I just realized I'm an idiot, that's all. Let's just focus on that bonfire for now, yeah?" Amelia rubbed her hands together manically, in a poor attempt to banish the odd feeling in her stomach. "I have a bit of a plan, but you're probably gonna hate me for it, and before you hear it I just want to say, I'm not proposing this to avoid getting in trouble myself… Okay. Pippin, I'm going to need you."

"Right." He nodded faithfully, completely trusting of her. "What are we doing?"

"Pippin…" She knelt down to look him in the eyes, as an equal. "You need to climb. I'm sorry that it has to be you, but that's how it's supposed to-"

"I know. It's how it's supposed to be." His absolute readiness surprised her. She didn't dare look at Gandalf, but when he didn't protest directly, she assumed that he would allow them to proceed. "Alright. You see that pillar of stone?" She pointed at the stone pillar holding up the large structure housing the beacon, visible to them from their position, and Pippin nodded. "Climb up it, throw some oil on it and light it. Then, get the heck out of dodge. You'll find oil and fire up there already. Whatever you do, do not get seen, I repeat, do not let yourself get seen, do you hear me?" Pippin nodded enthusiastically. "Excellent. Gandalf, which beacon is the nearest?"

"To the northwest, between the Drúadan Forest and the Grey wood, lies Amon Dîn." The answer was grave and well-considered already.

"Okay. Gandalf, I need your help. Please, watch Pippin while he climbs and keep an eye on the next beacon."

"You're not staying?" Pippin's courage seemed to falter slightly, but didn't fail entirely, something that was a small, bitter comfort to Amelia.

"I have… something to check on. More accurately, someone."

"Boromir?" Amelia grimaced dramatically at the name.

"Heavens, no. But it is someone related to him though." Amelia frowned and turned her eyes away, as though she was watching something distant and faraway, beyond the eyes of others. "So far, I have reasonable explanations for everyone's absence this morning. Everyone but Denethor. I think he's been gone all day and that, I don't like. Not one bit. And I've got this horrible feeling that I've had ever since we came here that he's…" Amelia bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. The taste of it sprung in her mouth and she forced herself to stop her assault on her mouth. "No use worrying you if it's nothing. I just… gotta go check on him, you know?" Gandalf bowed his head in acknowledgement and Pippin shrugged, turning his gaze back towards the beacon.

"Right…" He repeated to himself, quietly, seemingly more out of habit than a need of verbal confirmation.

"Then… you know what you have to do?" Amelia's voice gave away her anxiousness, something that displeased her in its vulnerability. Gandalf gave her a smile, one that reminded her of the days where he had been clad in grey, less of an ethereal figure, before he had been lost to the depths of Khâzad-Dum.

"Run along, Amelia Jones. Do come back in one piece." Amelia narrowed her eyes a bit and almost asked him what he meant by that, but then thought better of it and turned away, hurrying down the stairs she had climbed mere minutes ago, taking two steps at a time. When she reached the end of it, she wanted to quicken her pace even further, but relaxed her pace instead, as she reminded herself that rushing past guardsmen and townsfolk alike was likely to cause alarm. She even managed to extend a friendly nod to a few folk that she passed, but found that almost none of them cared to return the gesture. She couldn't blame them terribly for that, since they lived in dark days and the stress of it all had to be a heavy burden to bear.

Despite her forcing herself to walk slower than she would have liked, she reached the throne room swiftly, but realized that she had no idea of where to start looking for the Steward. Without much thought put into it, she steered towards Boromir's rooms, but then thought to herself that that wasn't too foolish of a path to take, since Denethor's rooms were probably within relatively close proximity of his son's. She wasn't too keen on returning to those corridors so soon after she had left them, and in such haste, but she ultimately had little choice in the matter and overcame her queasiness.

Again, the lack of natural lighting in the deepest hallways did not sit well with her, since she missed the sun and the fresh air of the high courtyard and the towers, but she marched on, holding her head high and straightening her skirt. Her footsteps were eerily loud in the corridors.

When she passed Boromir's door, she stopped in front of it, torn between keeping up her stride and peeking inside, to find out whether Boromir was brooding on his balcony or perhaps enjoying a few moments of rest, but the temptation was no match for her will and she passed it after barely a second's hesitation, hurrying down the corridor.
The feeling that some ill had befallen the Steward was overshadowed by the one that told her that he, himself, had been the cause of whatever had caused his absence throughout the day.

"Ho there, milady! Might I have a word?" She turned to see Faramir hurrying towards her, a friendly smile on his scruffy face. She gave him a hasty smile as she kept walking, albeit at a slower pace. Her smile quickly faded and she made no attempt at hiding her unease.

"You may, but keep up. I have something to check on."

"Which is?" He seemed genuinely interested as to what her mission entailed, as if it was no mere attempt at simple small talk. She sighed and gave him an exhausted look, letting some of the deep weariness she had started to feel seep through to the surface. Something made her trust Faramir. He bore himself well, humbly, but with a face shining with wisdom and an appreciation for the things that made life worth living. While he didn't inspire immediate trust, he managed to make the desire for trust spring up just as easily.

"Your father. I haven't seen him since yesterday and something's telling me…"

"Ah." Faramir nodded sagely. "I know of what you speak." His voice held a tinge of bitter sadness, but also learned understanding. "It is not uncommon for my father to seclude himself, especially in such times of trouble. I wouldn't worry too much. He is not a… sociable man."

"Mhm." Amelia gave him a pointed look, but didn't give him any other answer than that. She slowed her pace, since her cause for urgency had been diminished by his words, but still kept at a frisk walk. "You said you wanted to talk?"

"I did." Faramir smiled an odd little smile at her, though he seemed to think many thoughts. Amelia noticed that his eyes were the same color as Boromir's, the color of stormy rainclouds. "I noticed that you and my brother seemed quite familiar with each other." Amelia shrugged casually and tried to ignore her spiking heartbeat.
"We've been traveling together for quite a while."

"Indeed." Faramir seemed amused as they rounded a sharp corner, but it could have been the torchlight playing tricks with the shadows. "However, I do believe that that is merely something to consider, not the final conclusion."

"Huh. Weirdo-talk runs in the family, it seems. I don't do riddles. Say what you want to say or shut it." Faramir laughed lightly at her harshness. He seemed a jovial spirit, but tinged with an old sadness, constantly weighing down on him, despite his natural merriment.

"Very well then. I shall speak plainly. Not long ago, my brother sought me and my advice out. He seemed quite frustrated with himself, but you even more so." Amelia raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. Faramir stopped walking and she followed suit, crossing her arms and cocking her hips, a challenge in her posture. "If my memory serves, I believe the words 'confounding' and 'stubborn' were both used more than once."

"Well, I could say the same thing about him." Amelia did not intend to take such criticism with a bent head, even if it was second-hand.

"Of course. That is why I think you are so good for each other." Amelia stared at him.

"Pardon?"

"You are his equal in all things. From what I have heard, you fight with a sword, ride like a man and carry yourself like a Lord and that is all well and good, but it is not of such things I speak. I speak of your heart, your spirit. Your stalwart stubbornness and your absolute loyalty towards yourself and those whom you have deemed worthy of it. In many ways, I see in you a reflection of my brother, but a prettier one at least." Amelia was tempted to laugh, but kept up her façade. "My brother may be a warrior of great renown, far more so than myself, but he does not know himself as well as we would like. He does not know you as well as he would like." Amelia easily picked up on the insinuation at the end, but broke eye contact, studying the tip of her boot sticking out from the hem of her dress.

Then, she sighed and let herself fall.

"I know." Her voice was lower, more vulnerable than she wanted it to be, but she trusted Faramir, despite having barely spoken to him. "I… I know. I… I don't think I love him. I don't think I want to love him. I think… I think that I could. If things were different, if the world was different and we were different people, with different lives. I think I really could. I mean, the damn guy can really get my temper going when he sets his mind to it, but… I care for him. Very much. But… Faramir, you must understand, none of this matters. I don't know whether it would last, were I to let it and… I can't stay. I'm… I'm not from Middle-Earth, I mean, shit… I'm not even from this world. I was just kind of dumped here and stuff happened. I have a family, a family that I haven't seen for months now. My parents, my brothers, my job, my home, my entire life… I'd be an idiot just to give all of that up. A lot of people would kill for the chance of having that and nothing more. Boromir… He is so much, but I don't think he's enough. He is one person. To let it all hinge on one dude would just be… the most shitty thing to do, ever. I won't let my decision be based on one person." Faramir seemed far more understanding than she deserved. She clenched her teeth and kept up a stoic face. He nodded slowly to himself, a thousand thoughts behind his grey eyes, and he didn't seem to blame her for her reasoning in the slightest.

"Ah, but there is one thing that gives me hope." A tentative smile showed itself on his face, beneath his light scruff. "You agreed that there was a decision." A small crease appeared between Amelia's eyebrows, but then her mouth fell open and her eyes held too many emotions to put a name to. Faramir held up his hands. "Peace. I didn't mean to cause you turmoil." Amelia closed her mouth and her eyes, bowing her head.

"Damn you. Damn this world that freaking wizard. I shouldn't have agreed to come. I should have just… gone home, like a good girl and kept my fucking mouth shut."

"Would you rather that you had never come instead of having the experiences that you now do, both the sweet and the bitter?" Faramir cocked his head, looking puzzled. "My mistake then. You never struck me as a… what was it you said? A… 'good girl'?" Amelia scoffed and hugged herself tighter.

"Yeah, well…" She searched for the correct words as she started walking down the hallway again, incredibly slow steps that made her feet feel loaded with lead. "God, I don't know. I don't know anything, apparently. Just… you know what? I don't want to talk about it right now. I just want to find out what happened to Denethor." Faramir inclined his head again and they walked in a silence that was neither companionable nor unpleasant, merely filled with the myriad of thoughts that had been made available to Amelia.

"My father's chambers are at the end of this hallway." Faramir spoke as they emerged from a winding staircase and Amelia raised an eyebrow at him, trying to summon the bits and pieces of attitude that she could still muster after their conversation. "I would not begrudge you the chance of checking on him yourself, even if I can assure you that all is well."

"Uh… thanks?" Amelia scratched the back of her head. "Yeah. Thanks. I'll just go check on him then. Wanna come?" Faramir clasped his hand and straightened his back.

"I fear I must take my leave of you. Good day, milady."

"Amelia." She called after him as he turned. "Forget the 'lady'-stuff. We don't have all of that where I come from."

"But we are not where you come from." Faramir's comment was granted no answer and he left her standing in the hallway, the brown doors at the end of the hallway drawing her onwards, her feet moving of their own accord. Wisps of hair clung to her face and a feeling of unease made her chest clench.

Her hand hovered over the dark, smooth doorhandle for a moment, her fingers tracing its intricate shape, but then it withdrew and she looked around, as if she were practicing some illegal art. No guards were within sight and that bothered her, for surely the Steward's chambers would at least be adequately protected. The hallways were abandoned, deserted even. The corners of Amelia's mouth drooped.

"Not good." She mumbled to herself and twisted the doorknob. It turned smoothly, but when she went to push the door inwards, it wouldn't budge beneath her weight. "What in the…" She pressed, leaning on the door, and the low, painful sound of something scraping along the floor. "The asshole barred his door with a fucking chair!" Enraged, she gave the door several, solid kicks and each one pushed it inwards a bit further. Then, with a guttural roar, she threw herself at it and it flew inwards with a bang, sending her forwards on her face. She landed with a grunt and saw that a sturdy, wooden chair had been sent flying through the corridor.

The entrance to the Steward's rooms was a small hallway, probably for greeting visitors and family. It lead into a hexagonal room with a pillar the height of a small teenager standing in the middle, in the same shape as the walls around it and built of the same, white stone. A dark orb with swirling, murky depths lay upon it, stark in its darkness, as opposed to the fine, light colors of its surroundings. Denethor stood behind the pillar, with both his hands placed upon it. His face was scrunched up and his hands were red and swollen. The palantír burned with the blaze of distant fire, but the temperature in the room was bordering on icy, the air uncalm and whipping. Worse, it seemed almost as if the scrying stone was hissing and there was a foul voice on the air, carried by unseen currents. Denethor's eyes were locked on some point within the palantír, pained and barely visible, as they were slits in his old face.

Without thought, Amelia scrambled towards him, clumsily, gracelessly, and stretched out her arm, latching onto Denethor like an overeager leech. He grunted at the impact, but otherwise didn't seem to notice her presence in the slightest.

"Amelia Jones!" A booming voice rang out from the hallway and she let go of Denethor with a gasp, whirling around, and in so doing, one of her fingertips skimmed the surface of the stone.

And Amelia screamed.

A chorus of hammers on crude steel erupted in her head, howling and cackles, crackling fire and thousands upon thousands of screams, throaty and cutting her sanity like a blade and beneath it all, there was the sound of a blade being dragged over stone layered on top of a deep, shattering rumble.
Then, flames consumed her, surrounded her and in front of her, an enormous eyes of fire, one that encompassed the sky, the air and the deep stone, with a black shape crowned with shadows and iron, wreathed in a cover of dark stars, making up the slit of a pupil.

The voice came from the outside and inside of her, echoing all around her tiny form on the fire, rattling her teeth and making her knees buckle beneath her. The taste of sour bile rose up in her throat and her mouth, making her gag.

"VRASUBATBURUK UG BUTHARUBATGRUIUK!"

With a snap, the fire suddenly died and Amelia collapsed. She didn't realize that she still hadn't stopped screaming. Her eyes flickered about, unseeing, but then they fixated on the white beard hovering above her and its wearer's thunderous expression before they glazed over, went blank and unseeing and blessed, numb nothingness descended upon her.

The scream stopped.