"Why did you do all this for me?' he asked. 'I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you.' 'You have been my friend,' replied Charlotte. 'That in itself is a tremendous thing.'"
-E.B. White, Charlotte's Web
"I fucked up. I fucked up, I fucked up so bad…" Amelia mumbled wretchedly to herself as she burst into the courtyard, her short sprint having taking more out of her than she had anticipated. Striding down the hallway, something had slid into place and she had nearly tripped over her own two feet as she broke into a run.
Once again, much as it had happened in Rivendell, the order of events had been changed, and quite drastically at that. Faramir's desperate charge towards Osgiliath was much too soon and Amelia failed to comprehend why Boromir wasn't leading the charge, or why he had even permitted his brother to partake in such an attack in the first place. There were, at that point, an ever growing number of things that she failed to wrap her head around, since they didn't match up with the books or movies that she was familiar with.
Breathing heavily, she looked around for any sign of someone she knew, but night was falling and she could see no one. Even the four men guarding the white tree were gone, presumably to assist in preparation for the coming siege.
"Oh, man… oh… okay… just… need to…" Her first idea was immediately to look for Boromir, but she wasn't certain that he was even still in the city. His relationship with his brother was fierce and she didn't have a good reason for him not to ride with him. Perhaps he had ceased command to allow Faramir to share the glory, to place him in the spotlight for once. Amelia nodded nervously to herself, wringing her hands. "So… situation. I'm here. I don't know where anyone else is. Pippin and Gandalf are around… Boromir's probably not, he's off doing his thing and, well…" She groaned. "What can I do?" Taking another deep breath, she looked around again and cast a sour look at the dark clouds approaching. They had almost reached the city, but still not entirely, so she had at least an inkling of time left. "I can keep calm and find someone. Yes." With a jerk, Amelia set one foot in front of the other and walked across the empty courtyard, her footsteps eerily loud in the lonely silence of the night. She rolled her shoulder and her fingers tightened around the hilt of Aeglos.
Then, she turned and looked down at the rings of the city below, and stopped dead in her tracks. After a moment where she stood as still as hewn rock, she hurried to the edge, leaning so far over it that she was less than an inch from plummeting down.
Whereas the citizens of the white city had buzzed about, most trotting a frisk pace to run an errand or another, some strolling lazily through the streets, a few sprinting about and a handful guardsmen standing at corners and small gates, in the night, where it ought to have been empty, the city was filled with life. Almost no guards were visible from her position, but those that were present were easily identifiable by the torches they carried and the shouts they made, ordering some folk to a place or another. However, they had no small degree of trouble keeping order in check, for it seemed that all of the citizens of the city had decided to clog the streets. Children cried, their wails cutting through the air like knives, as they were pulled along or carried by their parents, who had their arms laden with personal trinkets and useless stuff of no real value in a war. A small, select few seemed smart enough to bring with them their knives or small baskets of fruit and bread, but they were far outnumbered by sentimental wives or children with their wooden toys. Their arguing and thick fear permeated the air and Amelia's face twisted at the pitiful sight.
"It's horrible, isn't it?" A sad voice came from behind her, but she had noticed the soft sound of footsteps and wasn't surprised by her friend, even though she was gladdened to see him.
"It's war." She answered grimly, inclining her head towards the hobbit. "So, yes. Man, the movies always left these things out, the… the irrelevant-to-the-plot panic of normal people who doesn't stand a chance because they're not major characters with enough screen time…" She shook her head, oblivious to Pippin's half-hearted look of curiosity. "But it's real. Even if we don't see it, it is. They're just as…" Amelia grimaced and turned away from the sight, even though she couldn't block out the sounds. "Never mind, just having a bit of a moment here. Where've you been? And what are you wearing?" Pippin had donned a child-sized chainmail beneath a black undershirt, with the sigil of Gondor proudly displayed across the chest. His cloak from Lothlórien hung around his neck, as its twin did around Amelia's, and his dagger had obviously been sharpened.
"I thought… well… since all those poor people are going to need some help… I might as well make an oath to do it, right?" He gave her a nervous smile, clearly uncertain as to whether she would approve or not. Amelia hummed a little and looked away.
"I'm not your mom. It's not my place to tell you what to do with your life." Too late, she realized that may have been a bad choice of words and she hastened to correct her mistake, before all the color left Pippin's face as he paled. "I mean, I shouldn't tell you what to do! Becoming a certified gondorian might not've been part of the plan, but it's nothing bad." Pippin nodded quickly, but still looked like he needed a healthy dose of longbottom leaf to get past the shock. Amelia sighed and ran a hand through her hair.
"Now that we're on the subject, I probably ought to get some sort of mail too… facing down the forces of darkness in a tank top sounds like anything but a good idea."
"Well… I can show you to the-"
"Oh, fucknuggets." Amelia rushed past Pippin as an entourage of at least fifteen people, including Gandalf, Denethor, Boromir and the myriad of guards swarming around a body hoisted up and carried by six of their fellows, burst up the wide stair leading into the courtyard from the more common parts of the city. He started to exclaim a question, but when he saw what she was running towards, his words died in his throat and it didn't take long before he was hot on her heels.
"Is that…" He yelled behind her, but Amelia didn't answer his question, her gaze fixated on the moaning Steward.
"My son… my son… was it not enough to lose one? Was it not enough for doom befall me and ensnare my city? Now my son is lost to me, lost…" Denethor hid his gaunt face in his large hands, but Boromir grasped his shoulders and his voice was firm when he spoke, despite his own eyes mirroring his father's anguish.
"Lost he may be, but what is lost can be found again. He cannot be dead."
"Screw 'cannot be'." Amelia forced her way through the guards, who cast her suspicious looks, but didn't seem to consider her an active threat to their liege, and acquiring a few bruises in the process. "He isn't. Man up and accept it. The pretty ones always make it." Amelia gave Denethor a distasteful look. "Though, judging by that standard, you should probably be worried."
"Amelia, no." Boromir said firmly, putting a heavy hand on Amelia's shoulder. She gave him a dark, angered look, but she could tell his stern face covered over exhaustion, worry and enough amounts of stress already, so she let her irritation slide for his sake, her shoulders sagging with surrender. Pippin's eyes widened in surprise and his mouth popped open in awe.
"He needs medicine, sleep and a doctor- sorry, a healer." She sneered at the gathering of onlookers, most of which didn't seem to know what to think of her interactions with the Captain of the White Tower. "So get moving. And, uh…" She glanced uncertainly at Denethor, who was stroking Faramir's hair with a gloved hand. Amelia wondered where the paternal affection had been hiding when his youngest had still been up and around, but she did have more important things to worry about. "If, by chance, Denethor happens to ask for a bunch of wood and oil and some torches to go along with it all… don't listen to him, it's the old age setting in at last." Boromir coughed loudly at her last two words and she blinked innocently at him. He shook his head, put his face in his left hand and sighed deeply, but then seemed to remember that they had an audience. He straightened his back and nodded.
"Do as she says. That goes for the last part as well." He glanced at her and she nodded.
"Especially that last part. Otherwise, your old man is going to become Steward a la flambé somewhere within the next twelve hours. Give or take."
"I suppose I should count myself fortunate to not know what that means."
"Very." Amelia glanced at Faramir, whose face was pale and sweaty in the last moonlight. She cringed and looked away, remembering the lively young man, who, despite his youth, had somehow seemed wise beyond his years. Automatically, she reached out and put a hand on Boromir's back, while at the same time thinking hard to herself. The guards carrying Faramir set in motion again, carrying the man away while his father followed, wringing his hands, leaving Amelia, Boromir, Pippin and two other guards that were quickly dismissed.
"The charge failed." Boromir explained, looking out towards the faint shape of Osgiliath, illuminated by the light of the moon and the stars, with sad eyes.
"Wow, what a surprise." Amelia rolled her blue eyes, her tongue sharper than usual due to her growing anxiousness overall. Boromir gave her a look, but didn't answer her quip directly.
"If there is nothing else…" Boromir sighed as the last two guards scrambled off, presumably to dust off the old ballistae that still stood around the city.
"There is. Sorry." Amelia interrupted flatly and Boromir gave her a weary look. Pippin shuffled on his big feet beside her. "Two things, actually." With a huff, she rolled her shoulders and looked down at Pippin. "I figure telling you this can't cause much harm, it'll just give you even more to worry about, so…" Amelia scowled at the retreating back of Denethor. "I think I just prevented your dad setting himself on fire."
"What?" Boromir exclaimed harshly and Pippin frowned beside her.
"You see, according to what I know, the guy really lost his marbles when he thought Faramir had been killed like you had. So, naturally, he tried to burn himself and his son alive, even though he wasn't actually dead." Amelia frowned a bit, thinking back. "Though I can't for the life of me see why he would do that now. I mean, you're still around, we got Faramir to a healer, at least I hope we did, and presumably, he's stopped using the Palantír by now. The appeal has to have vanished taking that into consideration. However…" Boromir looked like he deeply wished to be anywhere but within earshot of her foretelling of the future, but he stayed. "That offers up a whole new set of problems all on its own. Mainly, I don't think he'll think much of Aragorn, I mean…" She gave him a pointed look. "You didn't. And we don't have time to win him over… but we need him as king. If Denethor marches on the…" She froze. "Never mind about that. Point is, those two are going to clash at the worst possible times for them to do it, and I don't need any foreknowledge to tell you that. So, we're in a bit of an iffy with Denethor and Aragorn."
"The last thing this city needs is a struggle of political power." Boromir agreed slowly, his grey eyes far away.
"And yet, that's what it'll get if nothing changes. If you're wondering, I'm still working on fixing that… somehow. Preferably without anyone dying in the process."
"Preferably…" Boromir mumbled incredulously to himself.
"And since I don't have a mariachi band on hand, I'm fresh out of ideas. Let me get back to you on that." Amelia scratched her neck. "Now, that other thing I meant to talk to you about. Do you two want to help me get something better to wear, 'cause I won't last five minutes in this." She gestured at herself, twisting her body to show off her thin shirt and pants.
"By all standards I know, you are dressed in little more than undergarments." Boromir added helpfully and she froze, glaring at him.
"Well, nice to know that I've been traipsing across Middle-Earth in nothing but my skivvies." Amelia looked at Pippin, but noted with some satisfaction that it looked like Boromir's ears were faintly pink, presumably from their accidental choice of subject. "You said something about showing me where you got your gear?"
"Someone brought it to me, but I know where they got it." Pippin's enthusiasm shone through once again and Amelia cocked her head.
"Great. Lead the way. And you…" She grabbed Boromir by the scruff. "Is coming with. No friend of mine is going to wear himself out by stressing about the siege before it's even begun."
"Why is this so heavy? And it's hot! If those orcs don't kill me, this ridiculousness certainly will!" Amelia exclaimed loudly, pulling at her collar. "It's chafing."
"It's not meant for comfort." Boromir chastised behind her, tightening the dark brigandine in various places. "It's meant for protection."
With Pippin's enthusiasm and Boromir's expertise, the three of them had managed to dust up what amounted to a light gambeson beneath a dark brigandine, bracers with the tree of Gondor burned into the leather and a pair of studded greaves several sizes too big. It was rather obvious that it had all been made for men, men much larger than her, since it hadn't been made to accommodate a woman's curves and therefore was too tight in some places and too loose in others, but it was the best that they could muster in the given circumstances. It all went over her old pants and shirt and her cloak was fastened around her neck as the finishing touch.
Amelia couldn't remember a time when she had felt so uncomfortable, but she reminded herself that she had asked for it and her pride didn't permit her to renege on her request.
"I'd expected more people to be here." Amelia wondered, looking around. Some guards were arguing in low voices in a corner and a few volunteers for the militia hurried around amidst the racks of spears and mail, nervously weighing various weapons in their hands and testing the bowstrings, but other than that, the armory, dimly lit by torches on the walls and with the smell of metal and sweat heavy in the air, was empty of the throngs of people that had otherwise occupied the one like it in Helm's Deep.
"Most of our fighters have already armed themselves, and there are more than one armory in the white city, in the event of an attack."
"An event that's pressing its nose against our figurative window right now." At last, Boromir seemed satisfied with the straps and stepped back, squinting at her as she tried to see where Pippin had disappeared to. At last, she spotted a mass of curls bobbing down the aisles and returned her attention to herself. "You know… I'm really tired of war." Boromir chuckled to himself and Amelia dug her nails into her palms at the sound.
"I'd be worried if you weren't."
"No, I mean… I'm tired. I've slept through the night and all, but I just feel like…" An odd smile crossed her face and she made a strange sound that could have been a choked laugh. "Like butter scraped over too much bread."
"I understand." Boromir gave her a look that told of far too much experience with the art of warfare and the consequences it could have for the spirit. "Many of us here, with the lands of Mordor ever on the horizon, have felt as you do now in our years."
"Hm." Amelia hummed, offering no further answer.
"The siege will begin soon." Boromir finally seemed satisfied and clasped her shoulder, something flickering in his grey eyes when he looked at her. "If you are not…"
"What, comfortable? Ready?" Amelia's eye twitched and she rolled her head on her shoulders, feeling the pops rather than hearing them. "I don't think I'll ever really be ready for something like… this." She gave Boromir an uncertain look as they slowly began to walk towards the doors leading out into the city, both of them reluctant to leave behind the little bubble in the armory. Pippin followed along, but he seemed to keep his distance out of respect for the both of them. "You know… I'm really grateful for this. I mean, most people have to work or pay for armor if their work doesn't dole it out for free, right? But you're just… giving it to me. So… thanks." Boromir bowed his head and her.
"It would be witless not to." Amelia hummed at his words.
"Are you going to be out there, keeping the men in line?" Boromir gave her a wan smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"I'll have my hands full keeping you in line already." With those words, he pushed open the heavy set doors of the armory and they swung outwards, letting the smells and sounds of the night stream inside.
Somewhere, a baby's cries rose above the tension thickening the air of the streets.