"The course of true love never did run smooth."
-William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream
"Frodo has passed beyond my sight." Gandalf sighed, his wrinkled hands clasped on his back. He paced slowly, his bright eyes filled with something akin to worry. It was unnerving to see him in such a state, for even Amelia had come to rely on his calmness and cool mind, even if it was subconsciously. "The darkness is deepening."
Gimli was sitting quite casually on Denethor's throne, at the foot of the dais where the king of Gondor ought to sit on the raised perch, smoking a long, black pipe that Amelia suspected he had acquired through less than legal means, since even a decent pouch of tobacco was difficult to find in the city. Many turned to pipeweed to help them calm their frayed nerves and pipes were in high demand, due to many people having been forced to flee their homes for other, safer parts of the city.
Éomer, Boromir and Legolas stood side by side, Éomer with a hand on the hilt of his sword, Boromir with a grave face and Legolas with crossed arms. Gandalf was pacing and Aragorn stood a little ways off, deep in thought, whereas Amelia was standing on her own, unsure of whether she ought to be present at all. She hadn't changed into something other than her hastily acquired brigandine, so she still had splatters of black blood in various places, including her hair, and she kept shuffling from one foot to another.
"If Sauron had the ring, we would know it." Amelia found herself agreeing with Aragorn, but the grave feeling in the air prevented her from saying anything.
"It's only a matter of time." Amelia glared at Gandalf, whose mood seemed to have taken a turn for the worse since the battle of Pelennor. "He has suffered a defeat, yes, but… behind the walls of Mordor, our enemy is regrouping." Loudly, Amelia cleared her throat, a clear request for attention. Gandalf raised his bushy eyebrows at her and Gimli sent her a small smile from beneath his thick beard.
"If I may inject my humble opinion..." She glanced at Aragorn, who inclined his head towards her. "Fuck Sauron. It's his army we need to worry about."
"Any advice would be helpful." Éomer added diplomatically and Gimli flashed her another grin.
"Right, right… We won the battle of that field outside, right? Unless I missed something, we did. It's… unlikely that Sauron will come back, begging for more, at least for now. We can't just let him be, and no, I'm not budging on that, stop giving me that look." Amelia returned Gimli's unimpressed look with a deadpan face of her own. "All that's left is to come to him."
"I fail to see the reasoning behind this." Éomer injected, confusion written across his face.
"That's fair." Amelia nodded to herself, missing Éomer's discrete plea for an elaboration.
"For Frodo." Aragorn mumbled, his eyes lighting up as they met Amelia's. She nodded, fully willing to step back and let them arrive at their own conclusions once again. "He needs time, time and safe passage to Mount doom, and we can give him that." Aragorn turned towards the others fully, but his eyes were locked on Gandalf. "We march on the Black Gate." A loud, wheezing cough came from Gimli as he promptly choked in his pipe and sputtered from his seat.
"We cannot achieve victory through blunt force alone." Boromir injected, his shoulders having risen involuntarily at the mere idea.
"Not for ourselves, but we can give Frodo his chance. We can keep Sauron's eye fixed on us." Aragorn turned back towards Gandalf, speaking calmly, but intensely. "Keep him blind to all else that moves."
"A diversion." Judging from Legolas' serene smile, he approved of the plan, but Boromir looked like he had already found several problems with it.
"Exactly." Amelia clapped her hands together. "Lovely. Splendid. Only one problem." She gave Boromir a look. "Denethor. He's not just one problem, he's several. I'm surprised he's not attending this, actually."
"He is currently resting his head." Boromir rebutted sharply.
"Oh yeah. Getting knocked the living daylights out of you does nothing for the mind, which brings me to my next point. You saw how he behaved the first time the armies of darkness came knocking." Amelia grimaced. "I doubt he'll let Aragorn take command of so much as a scouting party, but we need him to be the figurehead- sorry mate." She gave Aragorn a sympathetic look, one that was returned with a weary look of resignation. "Sauron's already seen Denethor through the damned Palantír and I don't think he was impressed. We have to keep his attention, but Denethor certainly won't."
"We can hardly forbid his participation." Aragorn reminded her and she sighed.
"I'm well aware. I've got a couple of ideas, none of which are very good."
"A brief rundown?" Gimli shuffled in his seat, obviously preparing himself for something that was, in his mind, akin to a pleasant, but amusing afternoon's tale. Amelia scratched her neck.
"Mild poison, another knockout, some sort of distraction, keeping him completely in the dark about it, all out rebellion… Anything short of some pretty fat lies and sending him on a vacation in the south, I don't know, but even if we did all of that rot, we'd only solve half of the problem. I hate to say this, but if he stays in power, this city is going to have to deal with a crisis of leadership, even if we manage to send the orcs packing."
"If you are suggesting what I think you are…" Boromir sounded vaguely threatening and she clenched her teeth.
"I'm not suggesting, insinuating and implying anything. Not yet… but I have to make sure you all know what we're dealing with. That we're kind of in a no-win situation here and we have to get out of it fast." Amelia frowned to herself, missing Boromir narrowing his eyes slightly in her direction. "I just can't figure this out. I mean, I got us in this situation, right? It stands to reason that I should be able to get us out of it too."
"You don't have to carry this burden alone." Aragorn reminded her gently and she pressed her lips together.
"I've been doing fine since Rivendell. So…" Amelia suddenly stopped, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. "But… what if… Gandalf!" She snapped and he blinked expectantly at her. "Just roll with me for a bit… Cause I think I just had an idea and no, it won't involve any assassinations if we play our cards right."
"Do tell." Éomer nodded and Amelia began pacing erratically back and forth, waving her hands as a thousand thoughts played across her mind's eye.
"Back home, there's this handy thing called the 25th Amendment, and it's basically everyone telling their leader 'you're too nuts to be in charge' and therefore throwing him out of office…"
"How is that even possible?" Gimli asked skeptically while cocking an eyebrow.
"Virtues of democracy. We got rid of the autocracy a long time ago, but I can tell you about that some other time. Point is, if our elected leader's lost their marbles, they don't automatically stay in power despite that."
"I find that difficult to believe." Boromir injected and Amelia rolled her eyes, her quick footsteps echoing off the white marble floor.
"Maybe that's because we require competency from our leaders. We don't just give them everything on a silver platter because of their family legacy. They have to prove themselves based on their own merit." Amelia turned towards Aragorn again. "Couldn't we pull the same shit here?"
"As I understand it, your system of succession differs greatly from any one within Middle-Earth." Aragorn answered seriously.
"Right. You're not the automatic heir yet. In fact…" Amelia turned around so quickly that she almost gave herself a whiplash. "If we did pull that off… the title of Steward… would pass…" She folded her hands like she was holding an invisible pistol and pointed them at Boromir. "To you."
To say that he looked uncomfortable with the proposal would be an understatement in the extreme.
"The nerve of this is…" Éomer shook his head. "All of us present could be charged with conspiring against the ruling Stewards of Gondor."
"It is risky." Aragorn agreed and Amelia turned her head at him, raising a thin eyebrow at him.
"Riskier than marching on the Black Gate?" Barely suppressing a smirk, Amelia looked at Gandalf, who didn't look like he approved one bit of her scheme either. "Look. It's not honest. It's not good, it's not glorious and it's not decent, but that's life. I'm not forcing you into it and if you have something better, I'm more than willing to forget about my own plan and roll with yours, but since you're suspiciously silent on that point…" She held up her palms for a few seconds before crossing her arms and jutting her hip. "And…" She gave Boromir an exasperated look. "Something's telling me that you'll be a tad bit more cooperative than your father."
"This is treachery." Gimli growled in protest, any trace of mirth gone from both his face and his voice.
"This is politics." Amelia answered innocently.
"Would the people of Gondor even approve of such a change of power?" Legolas asked with no emotion. Unlike everyone else, he seemed to be seriously considering it, something that surprised Amelia, given his parentage.
"The people of Gondor are loyal to their liege. It is only recently that my father's health and thoughts has begun to wane." Boromir argued passionately and Amelia sighed.
"'Abandon your posts!'" She screeched loudly. "'Flee! Flee for your lives!'" She balled up her fists as her patience ran out. "Wake the fuck up! The people of anywhere are loyal to prosperity and victory! If you wish to see the grand result of Denethor's reign, take a look at the tree in the courtyard!" Her voice had risen to a shout. "Your dad may have been awesome once upon a time, but we have to attend to reality!"
"Amelia Jones!" Gandalf bellowed and Amelia whirled around.
"Screw you!" She shouted before she turned back to her designated target. "This is reality! If you're still living in your little fantasy where the people would lick the Steward's arse if he asked and you're content to let him be then, well, tough luck!" As some part of her realized that she had gotten herself worked into a rage, another was only further enraged when Boromir's face failed to show any sign of an actual reaction to her screaming at him. Exercising whatever amount of self-control she had left, she turned away from their assembled council and rushed down the hall, kicking open the doors to the courtyard with a wordless yell. The two guards assigned to open the door didn't even have time to react before she was halfway across the courtyard, throwing curses at the withered tree in the center and considering nicking a torch to set it ablaze.
"Son of a half-assed, idiotic, sent from hell piece of…" Amelia whacked mercilessly at the dummy, putting neither thought nor technique behind her swings. They were steered by anger, not purpose, but that didn't stop them from effectively wrecking the defenseless dummy. As she brought down her blade again, the handle slipped and it clattered to the ground, whopping her right hand on the way. "Shit!"
The training field was large, to accommodate the ever growing city guard and occasional militia, but mostly empty, due to most men of Minas Tirith having had their fill of fighting, preparing and training already. It boasted a decent view of the city and it was somewhat secluded, giving Amelia a convenient spot to work out her boiling temper without anyone else having to suffer too much in the process.
"I have been told that my nephew has met his match at last." A good-natured voice teased her across the yard and she looked up to see a black-haired fellow, clad in silvery armor with a swan on the chest. He was tall, but his face had fine, soft features. He was smiling at her without it being derogatory, but Amelia didn't smile back.
"Leave me alone." She growled as she picked up her sword from the dirt. The area had been covered with a good amount of dirt, dust and gravel, clearly marking where men ought to and not to train, whether it be alone or in pairs or groups.
"And so I shall, if you wish it, but I ask you to hear me out first, miss." Amelia squinted suspiciously at him, but then threw her head back, indicating that he could approach without going the same way as the dummy. "Allow me to introduce myself…" He started as he walked up beside her. Amelia didn't go back to attacking the dummy, but she didn't sheathe her sword either. "I am Lord Imrahil of Dol Amroth, brother to Finduilas, the wife of the Steward."
"You're the wife of the Steward?" Amelia exclaimed and Imrahil chuckled.
"Ah, fortunately no. My dear sister married him some years ago, but sadly, she passed away."
"Hooray. Bravo. Get to the point." Perhaps Amelia could have made an effort to make a better impression, but her patience was as thin as paper and her temper had barely had any time to cool off after she had snapped in the throne room.
"Very well. I shall be blunt. My nephew and Mithrandir sent me here to mediate."
"Well, you can tell Boromir that I meant what I said and that he can go-"
"Boromir did not send me."
"What?" Amelia had to admit that that pulled the rug out from under her.
"I suppose in a way he did." Imrahil seemed to think back on what had occurred. "After your little spat, I believe he went to talk to Faramir, and I must say, my youngest nephew seemed impressed with you. He then decided to send me, since he has not yet been permitted to leave the Houses of Healing."
"So, you're their stand-in errand boy." Amelia scoffed at him, immediately on the defensive.
"Faramir also told me of another conversation he and you had had, one that Boromir was not involved in…" Amelia tensed up and her grip on her sword tightened.
"That slimy little twat of a turd." She spat, her knuckles turning white. "I'll kill him. I'll kill him and piss on his grave!"
"Feel free. Before you do any of that business however, I'll have to address the current issue, which is to clear up any potential misunderstandings."
"Then you better do it quickly, because I'm about two seconds away from pulling both your nephews backwards through a flugelhorn."
"Faramir seems to believe that, to be as blunt as I dare, your feelings for his brother goes beyond that of friendship, but you mask your feelings far too well for him to tell."
"Who can't tell, the one who's as dense as a brick or the one who's prettier than half the elves I've seen?"
"The former, I believe." Imrahil smirked slightly and Amelia couldn't decide whether she wanted to give him a hug or a punch. "I believe Faramir already told you that Boromir is brilliant on a battlefield, but… less so when it comes to the finer arts of…"
"Anything, really." Amelia finished with a shrug, sheathing Aeglos and leaning against the fence surrounding the training yard.
"Quite so. What is still an unknown in this matter is not your emotions, but your intentions."
"My intentions?"
"Yes, m'lady… intentions." Imrahil folded his hands on his back. "What you intend to do about it."
"What I'm gonna do about it is none of your damn business. Keep your nose out of my affairs, unless you want to lose it."
"Very well, if that is all you wish to say about it…"
"It is."
"I see." Amelia caught a flash of something that could have been disappointment crossing Imrahil's highborn face, but it was gone quickly after she had seen it, replaced with a diplomatic smile instead. "Now then, I believe I was sent to negotiate, rather than…"
"Doing exactly the opposite."
"Precisely. I must admit, I have been doing a rather poor job of it so far."
"Yes."
"But alas, I fear I cannot leave you just yet." Amelia groaned. "I know, but take heart, for I shall leave you to your thoughts soon enough. I only ask one thing of you, that you put yourself in Boromir's position, so that you might understand his personal view." Amelia glared at Imrahil and crossed her arms.
"Do you know what I said in there?"
"All too well, and I must say, it was not a wholly poor proposal."
"Wait, what?" Amelia blinked, once again surprised by the man.
"I approve of the concept, though it pains me that it has ever been considered for a man that I still consider family. My brother-in-law has greatness in his heart, but his mind has been addled by forces out of our control for too long for him to recover."
"So you… don't think that it'd be treason?"
"Oh, it would most certainly be treason, but…" He winked at her, grinning once again. "Sometimes, a bit of treason may be needed." Then, he sighed wistfully. "I suppose it's a moot point by now in any event. I doubt the dear Steward would go quietly."
"That's precisely the point! If they'd all just listened, then…" Amelia moaned and put her head in her hands. "Moot point. Got it." She crossed her arms once again and craned back her neck, until the blue sky was all that she could see. "Fine. I'll talk to Boromir. But…" She paused threateningly. "Faramir had better say his goodbyes, because I will have my revenge for this."
"I shall relay the message." Imrahil straightened his back, smacked his feet together and bowed to her. "Once again, a good day to you." Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose as he left her alone, uneasiness already tightening her throat and, once again, she wished that she had never gotten involved with Middle-Earth to begin with.
Amelia knocked, three, sharp knocks, on Boromir's door with the vague feeling of nausea roiling in her stomach.
"Enter." A voice called, but to her ears, it didn't seem to be Boromir's voice in his chambers. Reluctantly, she twisted the knob and pushed on the door, far more gently than she usually did. Aragorn stood on the balcony along with Boromir, the both of them looking like they carried the weight of the world on their shoulders and had experience with the sensation. Amelia took a step inside, but kept a hand resting on the open door.
"Am I interrupting…"
"Quite the opposite." Aragorn answered nonchalantly, stepping inside and brushing past her at a casual pace. "I was just leaving."
"Right." Amelia nodded and stepped aside, letting him close the door behind him. She gave Boromir's back an uncertain look. He had given no indication that he had noticed her presence, but she knew him too well to be fooled. He had both of his arms resting on the carved railing and he didn't hold his head as high as he usually did. Amelia wrung her hands as she cautiously approached, the stretching silence bordering on uncomfortable. "If you thought I was 'confounding' or 'frustrating', you could've at least done me the courtesy of telling me." Her voice was sadder than she had meant it to be, but when she tried to summon her previous anger, all she could manage was a sharp pang of weak annoyance.
"I doubt you would have listened to me." Boromir's voice was eerily unemotional. "You rarely do." Amelia bit her lip as she folded her hands and rested her forearms on the railing. She stood on Boromir's left side and carefully avoided looking at him, instead turning her eyes towards the horizon, where the dark clouds over Mordor still boiled and boomed in the distance.
"Maybe I should." Amelia admitted, studying her nails. "I mean, things didn't turn out too well back there." He gave her no answer and Amelia gulped, attempting to swallow her nervousness. "I'm scared, Boromir." The admission wounded her pride, but she shoved it aside, soldiering onwards. "And I know that doesn't justify anything, but it's all I've got. I'm scared and I don't know what to do about it. I'm scared of the orcs, I'm scared of your father, I'm scared of dying and I'm scared of being blamed. We are so friggin' close to losing all of this and it's all because I couldn't stay put. I know I'm to blame, but I'm terrified that you'll all decide to agree with me." She finally glanced at him and their eyes met briefly before she looked away again. "I'm sorry that I'm scared. I'm sorry that I'm sorry. I'm sorry about everything. I'm just a sorry one in general." She bit her lip and turned away from the railing, feeling restless once again, but without it being paired with her earlier aggression. She leaned against the doorway, set into the wall separating his chambers from his balcony, crossing her arms and pulling at the collar of her brigandine.
"I do not understand what you wish for me to say, Amelia." Frustration seeped into Boromir's voice and Amelia gave a helpless shrug, not turning to look at him.
"Nothing. Just… listen. I… suck at this." She sighed and rubbed her face. "You… mean so much now. To me… and I don't know…" She groaned. "God, I'm messed up. I love my brothers and I love my cat and my home and my family, but you… Somehow, I care just as much for you as I do for them, just… differently, not at all in the same way, and I can't handle it. This… it's raw and painful and it's tearing me apart." She smiled a watery smile to herself and scoffed softly. "I doubt this is what your uncle intended when he told me to tell you how I felt." Her smile fell, leaving her drained and vulnerable and too tired to care. She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder and she looked up at Boromir's highborn face, searching his eyes like she had done many times before. She saw worry, worry and exhaustion, emotions that she could and could not name, both in his eyes and his face and his posture, but she adamantly insisted to herself, with whatever inner strength she still had, that it didn't matter. "When this is over, I'll either be dead or out of your hair. Permanently. Either way…" She found herself at a loss for words, but realized that, perhaps, she had said enough as it was.
Wordlessly, as if they had discussed it beforehand, they moved at the same time as Boromir enveloped her in his arms and she flattened her palms against his back, neither of them speaking as they simply held each other.
When Amelia left his chambers, forcing herself to pull away from him and walk away, she noted with bitter satisfaction that she hadn't shed as much as a tear while in his presence.