"No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new."
-Steve Jobs
Amelia glanced up at the dark clouds above her, following the faint, dark outlines of the flying beasts silhouetted against them with weary eyes.
"They've been following us for hours." Her friend, Legolas, spoke beside her, from his own horse. He wasn't looking up at the beasts, but Amelia knew that he most likely saw them even better than she did. "They are watching us."
"Are you surprised?" Amelia asked dryly, in a low voice. The tension in the air made people lower their voices and their eyes dart around the barren landscape. "We may not be led by him…" She sent a dark look at Denethor's back. "But we've got Aragorn. Elessar. Isildur's Heir. And the west united under one banner." She winced as shrill trumpets echoed among the hills. "And pardon me for saying so, but the dear Steward hasn't exactly been discrete about our approach."
"Discretion seems a strange method of drawing attention." Legolas thought aloud and Amelia gave him a short, tense smile, but if faded quickly.
"Right, right. Diversion and all." She glanced up at the nazgûl again, feeling a slight chill run down her spine and doing her best to ignore it. "Still makes me queasy, what with their circling around like friggin' vultures or something." She shook her head with a grimace, turning her eyes away from them. They had made to attempts to attack, not the slightest hint of aggression, not a single screech, but their distant, constant presence was all it took for them to inspire apprehension, tension and fear.
The fields of the Pelennor had given way to soft hills, covered in yellow grass and patches of dirty rocks and dry moss. Whatever trees appeared were small, twisted and some even sickly, but Amelia wasn't surprised to see that was the case, seeing as they were riding on the most direct route to Mordor. Most people from Ithilien and Gondor avoided that route at all costs, making it a popular one for the forces of the enemy to choose, and yet they had encountered no orcs, no trolls or scouts, save for the nazgûl above them. Excepting the blaring trumpets and the heralds proclaiming the might of Gondor and challenges towards Mordor and its master, the silence their procession cut through was thick and heavy, feeling like a physical burden to ignore and overcome.
Amelia threw her head, as if a fly was buzzing at her ear, but she couldn't shake off the feeling that she had forgotten a grave detail that would prove to have greater consequences than what could be fixed by her alone. It was, by then, a feeling she was familiar with, but that didn't lighten the tight feeling of annoyance and tension in her stomach. Her horse threw her head back sometimes, seemingly startled by some threat either imagined or unable to be seen by the human eye. When she looked back, she could see the apprehension etched on the faces of the men she could make out in the bad lighting. The sun had broken through the layer of dark clouds above the Pelennor following their victory, but the closer they got to Mordor, the thicker the cover of clouds above them became. Those experienced in the ways of the darker forces of Middle-Earth were those presenting themselves as leaders, mighty veterans and men deserving of respect, and some of the few who were able to mask their trepidation beneath a stiff mask of indifference. Amelia doubted they there was a man in the procession who didn't feel nervous, but for the time being, she kept her thoughts to herself, resorting to scowling at the nazgûl, the Steward of Gondor and anyone who tried to initiate a conversation instead of letting her initiate it herself. After her travels with the Fellowship, she had perfected her glares.
Yet, no matter how much she scowled and snapped, glared and growled, she couldn't remember what it was that she had forgotten. Her best guess was a minor detail from the books, mentioned on a single page, but important in the grand scheme of things.
She was momentarily shaken out of her speculations when the faint path sloped downwards, forcing her to lean back in her saddle. She winced at the sore feeling in her thighs, but tried to hide it the best she could.
"We still have a ways to go." Boromir had slowed his horse to ride on her left and she sent him a dark look. Contrary to the others she had subjected to her scowls, he didn't seem fazed in the least.
"Thank you, dorf, for all your moral support. I feel real better now." He gave her an unimpressed look, one that she returned with a challenging one of her own, raising an eyebrow at him. He drew in a breath, making a move to answer her, but she cut him off in a mumble, not wanting to break the silence around them. "Don't even start, I'm unto you." She squinted irritably at a boulder they passed, as if her gaze could split it alone. "I feel like I've forgotten something."
"I fear it is too late to turn back." Amelia blinked at Boromir in shock and noticed that he was amused, beneath his mask of stoic leadership. Anyone other than those closest to him would have missed it completely, but she had gotten to know him well and knew where to look for the small indicators of his mood. A corner of her mouth inched upwards briefly, but she still frowned.
"Not like that, wonderboy. Something…" She threw her head irritably once more. "Important." Boromir's eyebrows knitted slightly together as he looked at her. "Some detail that's gonna come back to bite me if I don't remember." She gave him a pointed look. "So shove off and let me think. Otherwise, it's both of our asses on the line, plus every ass in this teensy-weensy little line of ours." She pointed with a thumb over her shoulder, towards the procession of thousands of armored riders and a few unfortunate footsoldiers, since there were more men than horses for them all to ride. She jumped in her saddle as the trumpets blared again and she took a deep breath, pulling the reins of her horse to get it to calm down as well. "Damn it!"
She rode on in silence for what felt like hours, having only the sun and the somewhat systematic sounds of the trumpets to help her keep track of the passing time. Despite her being somewhat practiced in it after her travels, riding still made her sore and stiff, not to speak of the inner discomfort she got as soon as she saw the animals saddled and awaiting their riders.
Amelia turned her attention back to her attempts at remembering whatever she had forgotten, but the thought darted away from her every time she came close to it. It was enough to cause a twitch in her eye and tension in her shoulders, but she tried her best to maintain a neutral expression for the sake of morale.
She glanced at Aragorns back, then at Denethors, and closed her eyes, biting her lip. She considered striking up another bickering conversation, but decided against it.
She frowned as she looked at the orange glow to the east, straight ahead of the army marching out of Gondor, and she felt anger bubbling in her gut. Then, she promised and assured herself that one detail couldn't make that great of a difference in the end, since she was going to fight with every inch of her soul to make sure victory was assured regardless.
Amelia stepped out of her tent, walking directly through the flaps, and stretched in the cool air, feeling it wash over her as she craned her head back to look at the stars. She was still in her riding clothes, but had pulled a shabby shawl, offered kindly to her by a man whose name she promised herself to learn when the time was available, around her shoulders to shield against the cold, since it was only late march yet.
After a few steps, she stopped short, realizing that the man grooming a horse a few feet away was one that she had seen before.
Gríma had certainly changed since the last time she had seen him, reduced to a shivering wretch of a being. His dark hair was still greasy and unkempt, but held away from his face with a humble hairclip, and his dark robes seemed to have been washed and mended.
Amelia studied him for a moment, considering approaching him. He still looked as though he lived on the bottom of the social ladder, but a newfound purpose was in his movements and his eyes were clear. Amelia nodded to herself, content with knowing that, though it wouldn't be easy for him, he could still make something better of himself, and turned away. As she headed in the opposite direction of him, she shuddered a bit, due to the cold night air, and looked up at the dark sky.
Above her, the stars were veiled by a thick layer of clouds. The closer they got to Mordor, the thicker the layer of fume, smoke and cloud above them were and thus, the darker it constantly got, even in high noon. Their army had had some difficulty setting up their tents, since the earth was hard and unwelcoming. The night was cold and uncomfortable, the air smelling vaguely of smoke, horses and sweat. The tall cliffs surrounding Mordor rose against the horizon, a long row of jagged rocks rising towards the sky and seeming to loom over them all no matter their distance.
"Look at them." Amelia jumped at the voice and spun, out of balance, and almost fell over at the interruption of her precious few moments of peace. Éomer stood at the corner of her tent, dressed like a general and a leader, in the colors of Rohan, but not in his armor. Amelia exclaimed a sharp sound of surprise and ran her hands through her hair.
"I'm tense enough already, I do not need you adding to the pile!" She hissed at him and crossed her arms. "I swear, I can't get one moment of peace without one of you boys hounding me!" Éomer simply watched her run herself out of steam and then threw his head over to where a small circle of soldiers sat huddled around an excuse for a campfire. Fires had been permitted, since Mordor would already be aware of their approach from the nazgûl that constantly circled overhead.
"They are frightened." Éomer remarked casually and Amelia snorted, tightening her arms around herself.
"They are human." She gave him a look through narrowed eyes, gesturing with her head for him to follow as she started to walk away from him. "If they weren't, they'd be stupid. I'm scared too." He seemed a bit surprised at how freely she admitted it and she shrugged at his inquisitive gaze. They passed two tents before he answered, seemingly weighing his words before he said them aloud.
"Fear may be as great an ally as an enemy." Amelia shook her head slightly and looked away.
"Fear is fear. Fear keeps you alive. Fear keeps us going. I expect folks are a lot more afraid than they let on, especially those who have to pretend they're not afraid at all." Éomer bowed his head towards her and she looked up at the sky, thinking aloud instead of talking to her companion directly. "A lot of people here might be too afraid though. When we reach hell's high waters, some of them might make a run for the hills and I won't even be able to blame them." They passed another campfire, where a grey-haired man sat alone, whittling a piece of wood with a knife. Amelia quickly looked away and puller her arms tighter around herself. She craned her head back and looked up at the stars peeking through the fumes of Mordor, a small smile playing at her mouth. "You know… a friend once told me… that even though things seem pretty bad down here… they'll still be beautiful up there." Her eyebrow quirked upwards. "My life's pretty messed up. I mean, look at me. But… maybe that's alright."
"Maybe it is." Éomer agreed and Amelia looked back at the men they had passed, huddled together for warmth in the night. An odd feeling passed over her for a brief moment and her brows knitted together. "Those who stay at the Black Gate really will be the last sons and daughters of the west, won't they?" Éomer didn't answer her, but when she turned back towards him, he nodded solemnly and she bit her lip, for lack of a better thing to do.
"I see sleep eludes you as well." Gimli approached with heavy steps and Amelia was not startled by him, as she heard him coming.
"Yeah." She exhaled through her nose. "Something like that. 'Specially since I haven't got any math to distract me." Gimli nodded, understanding in his eyes, and Amelia and Éomer stopped their walk beside him. "But I think I caught some extra sleep before we left Minas Tirith though, so…"
"Aye, our rest may escape us until this business is concluded." Amelia snorted softly at Gimli's words, still keeping her voice soft.
"Business, huh? I suppose that's one thing to call it…" Looking towards the dark mountains that had gotten ever close ever since they set out, she sighed and quickly looked down at her feet again. "It's really weird… some part of me is desperate for all of this to end, somehow, but at the same time… I don't want it to be over." Gimli looked disbelieving, but Éomer nodded, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "I want to go home…" Amelia sighed shakily, "But I want to stay here."
"Adjusting after any war is difficult, but I fear that, after one on this scale, all who have seen its horrors will bear the memories for years to come." Éomer agreed and Amelia shook her head slightly, rubbing her forehead.
"No, I mean… My home is so, so far away right now and I know I have to go back there… but there's this…" She groaned and gestured with her hands around herself. "I don't know… I mean, how?" Desperate, she turned towards Éomer and Gimli once again, lost in her ramblings. "How can I choose between… between what I'm meant for and what I want, when I feel like what I was meant for is what I want and what I want is what I'm meant for?" She seemed to lose Éomer halfway through her lengthy sentence, but Gimli looked deep in thought and concern.
"Could be there's little choice at all." Gimli answered cryptically and Amelia gave him an irritated look, her feeling of acute vulnerability making her defensive and snappish.
"Why, that clears it up. Thanks. Thanks a bunch."
"Could you not return?" Éomer asked cautiously and Amelia shook her head, pressing her lips together.
"No." She didn't elaborate further. Then, she looked away and groaned again, her head falling back and her throat constricting. "This isn't fair." She whispered, "No matter what I do, I'm going to lose. Fucking hell. I'm going to lose and it fucking hurts and none if this is fucking fair-" She broke off with a gasp, turning away and pressing the back of her hand against her mouth. She closed her mouth and inhaled a deep breath, feeling Éomer gently clasping her shoulder. "I love… so much… but this isn't what love should feel like." She shrugged helplessly and straightened her back, attempting to regain control of her breathing.
"Your choice belongs to you, lass," Gimli said after a painfully long moment of silence, "And whatever choice you make will be the right one for you."
"I just… You know, I think I'm in a weird mood. I think I'm just going to… go back to my tent. Try to get some sleep." Amelia choked on her back of laughter, "Lord knows, I'm gonna need it."
"You'd be the best judge of that, I expect." Éomer answered and bowed. Amelia tried to repeat the gesture, but found that she made it look sillier than he did and resorted to smiling a small, watery smile at both him and herself as she turned and hurried back the way she came, throwing Gimli a quick, thankful look as she passed him. On the way back to her bedroll in her tent, she caught the eyes of the old man with the lump of wood in his hands and saw that one of them was white and dead, but the other was sharp, clear and dark.
When the army rose of the day that they would arrive at the Black Gate, it was keenly felt by all. Their coming battle lurked in the minds of all, giving way to little else of thought. Throughout the morn, Amelia heard petty little argument erupt continuously throughout camp, and through the procession, once they got underway once again, brought on by the tension, the fear and the unease tightening its grip on every man.
Amelia looked back more than she needed to from her position in the front, though she constantly berated herself for it. The sight brought her nothing but worry and irritation born from that worry, for the men glared at each other and the Steward in the front, grumbled at each other and the clouds and the horses were jumpy and held too tightly by their riders. They were all frightened, but Amelia didn't feel like guessing how many would overcome that fear in the inevitable end.
Aeglos felt ever heavier in its sheath and Amelia only became more aware of its weight with every step her horse took towards Mordor. Several times, she had to pull it back into the procession when it hopefully tried to turn back the way it had come, perhaps hoping that Amelia wouldn't notice. She did, but she had half a mind to pretend the opposite.
Abruptly, after a scant few hours into a day that would no doubt be tiring on all accounts, the terrain began to slope upwards and became rocky. Boulders lay atop a layer of rocks and Amelia leaned back in her saddle as her horse struggled up the hill. The air was thick with the smell of poisonous fumes and smoke.
"Keep your eyes on the road." She heard Gandalf yell back at the procession and she gave him an unimpressed look.
"There's not a lot of road to look at." She called back and it was true; the only pathway they had had to follow had waned and disappeared long ago, leaving Denethor in the front of the procession to ride a path for rest of their army to follow. Gandalf ignored her quip, but she had grown used to that long ago and it didn't touch her, and she attempted, with her limited skill at riding hindering her somewhat, to steer her horse around the places where the ground looked most treacherous.
Her horse screamed as its front legs suddenly lost their already insecure footing, the rocks beneath them giving away and tumbling down the slope. Her horse scrambled wildly, panic making it loose focus and Amelia yelled in surprise as it slipped down the slope, rocks flying and long legs desperately searching for solid ground. She heard several voices calling the name of both herself and her horse and she pulled at the reins with all of her might. Then, at the base of the hill, just as suddenly as it had lost it, Amelia's horse found its legs again and steadied, still throwing its head and making it abundantly clear that the last thing it wanted was a second attempt up the steep slope.
Amelia brushed her loose hair out of her face, but it was still impossible to see who it was who had broken out of the procession to ride back down to her, even though the sun ought to have made it easy to see. The clouds rolling out from Mordor to the east made that an impossibility.
Amelia hushed her horse as it whinnied again and stepped backwards as the rider reached her and she attempted to soothingly stroke its neck while mumbling quietly to it, but comfort of any kind had never been one of her strongest suits, even as a little girl.
She looked up and met Legolas' old eyes, immediately seeing the obvious question in them. For some reason, an odd feeling of disappointment filled her stomach, but since she didn't knew and care for the cause, she discarded the feeling easily. She rolled her eyes and shoulders, looking away quickly.
"No, I'm not friggin' fine, but that's never stopped me before." With a snap and a kick, Amelia started her horse back up the hill past the elf and the dwarf, who shook his head at her as she passed. She didn't meet his eyes, focusing intensely on the ground again to avoid a repeat of the incident that had nearly cost her her steed.
Her skin began to prickle, as it did whenever someone's eyes rested on her, but when she looked back and up, towards the front of the procession, she saw no one whose gaze was directed at her. She was certain that she had felt a known set of eyes watching her intently, either Aragorn or Boromir perhaps, but they were not looking at her.
Then, Denethor, Aragorn and Gandalf stopped at the top of the slope and Amelia frowned, attempting to reach the top of the slope faster to see what had caused their halt. She could hear Legolas, with Gimli on the horse as well, following behind her.
She didn't make her horse stop when she caught up to the leaders of the procession, but she had no need to either. It did so of its own accord, but Amelia's attention had been caught fully and utterly by what lay beyond the hill it had taken her more than one attempt to master.
Below the steep, downwards lope was a sandy, grey plain, wide, but not far, but it was what lay at the end of it that held Amelia transfixed. At the end of the Morannon lay a wall at least as tall as those of Minas Tirith it was, jagged and black and crudely adorned with large spikes and dark chains, with the enormous middle occupied by a doorway many times bigger than the doors that had led into the white city before they had been breached in the siege.
Amelia didn't even consider making a quip, for she felt her mood plummet swiftly at the sight of the Black Gate of Mordor. A small part of her had hoped for their journey, tense and uneventful as it had been, to last longer or even an eternity, to spare her the coming battle. She had already been in more than one, but the coming culmination of the last several months of her life was one she had begun to not look forward to as much as she would have at Rivendell.
It heralded the end of her time in Middle-Earth and she didn't know which of her many emotions about it to rely on.
She looked to her right as Legolas caught up to her on her left and Gimli exclaimed something in Khuzdul. She caught Merry's eyes and saw that he was probably looking to her for encouragement, but in that hour, she had none to give, so she gave him a quick, pained smile and then looked past him, briefly locking eyes with Boromir. He looked at her in return and for a moment, Amelia felt something fierce stir in her. They broke eye contact at the same time and looked towards Mordor's black lands, where a volcano rose ominously in the distance.
As Denethor started down the hill, closely followed by Gandalf and Aragorn, Mount Doom rumbled darkly and Amelia fastened her eyes on it, her mouth curling up in a sneer. In a rush, she set her horse in motion again, keeping a steady, fast pace as she set her course directly for the Black Gate.
Above her, breaking the sudden silence that had haunted them all ever since they set out from the white city, a nazgûl screeched and turned, flying over them and into the dark lands of Mordor.