Thanks so much for the lovely reviews! Again, I don't own anything except OCs and original storylines. Here's chapter 3 of 'Saving Boromir', enjoy!
Morning claimed the sky once more; the dawn of Boromir and Amela's second day together stretched laboriously across the land, casting a yellow glow on the two companions as they both stirred and – eventually – awoke. Amela knew instinctively that the fire had long since faded into nothing, but nonetheless, she was surprised at how cold she felt when consciousness claimed her that morning. As Boromir also became fully awake, he noticed her shivering a little as she packed her things; he also noticed that his belongings had not been touched.
"You told me not to. I listened." She grumbled at him with a turned back.
"That makes a change for the better," he countered. Then he sighed, and his tone softened, "Lady Amela..."
"What is it?"
"I'm sorry, for approaching you last night as I did. I don't know what came over m-"
"Save me your excuses. The truth of the matter is that you're so used to women falling at your feet, that you thought a poor traveller girl would be easy pickings."
"No!" Panicking, Boromir desperately tried to explain his self. "That's not it at all! I just..."
This is it; he was going to have to admit what had been going through his head when they had left the forest.
"Well? What is your explanation?"
"When we were stood together, looking out at Rohan – before we began to cross these lands – it was the first time..." He left a long pause, gathering his thoughts, and courage.
"The first time for what, Captain?" Amela, now intrigued, felt her anger ease slightly as curiosity got the better of her.
"It was the first time I had seen you, properly: in the light... the memory came back to me when I saw you last night in the firelight. My emotions overcame me."
Thoroughly embarrassed, Boromir failed to look Amela in the eyes while he braced himself for what was to come. But no anger came from her; instead she smiled. And, shaking Boromir's shoulder with a warm comradery, turned to him with laughter painted across her muddied face.
"Oh, captain, it seems I cannot stay mad at you after you so completely humiliate yourself; your actions are heartily excused." She smiled, now that he had turned to face her, "you ought to pack your things, the dawn is quickly turning to day."
Thus they again walked the wilds of Rohan. Although, contrary to the silence they had maintained while walking so far, on this day they talked and laughed as friends as they travelled. Considering how smoothly the conversation had been flowing to that point, Boromir decided that he must ask a certain question of the woman he knew so barely:
"Lady Amela, if I am wrong forgive me, but I have noticed something." Boromir rubbed the back of his head as he spoke, unsure of how to word what he wished to say.
"Well done, son of Gondor. Would you care to share your discovery?" Sarcastically, she smiled at him again.
"Well, it seems you will soon run out of ways to address me besides my name." He had been nervous about asking her this, but the more he thought about it, the more it made him... angry.
"Yes, why is it that you insist on avoiding my name at all costs? Why not simply say 'Boromir' when you call me? Why do you find it so damn difficult, woman?!"
Rather taken aback by Boromir's sudden change of tone, Amela felt nothing less than insulted by the way he was now, quite literally, yelling at her.
"Because, Captain," she pointedly addressed him, "I don't quite like you well enough yet, and at this rate it's not exactly hard to see why, is it?" She started to walk away from him,
"Where in Middle Earth are you going now?" Shouting after her, Boromir was thinking about following, before she replied that is...
"To seek my own company, son of Gondor, as I am finding yours impossible to bear!"
She carried on marching away from Boromir – Southward – for a short while; when she felt she was adequately far from him, she slowed her pace slightly. Hearing the sound of running water nearby, she deduced she had wandered onto the route that Boromir had specifically chosen not to take; this pleased her, a little: knowing how blatantly she was going against him, by walking near the mouths of the Entwash.
"Why is it that I should follow his route anyway?" She scoffed, "he has no authority here; he has no hold of me." She shook her head.
"I can make it to Minas Tirith without his aid." Glancing at her leg, which was healing nicely, she knew that she would not have made it much farther than the woods where she had met Boromir, if it were not for his offering her aid, food, warmth...
"Companionship..."
As much as she wished it weren't so, she knew that she owed her life to Boromir. Despite endlessly reasoning with herself that she had repaid her debt in the battle by the Anduin when she saved him in return, she still felt that she owed him something else: something much more valuable than life...
At this point, the plains of Rohan mysteriously became far more beautiful to her; they sang to her. They sang of freedom, opportunity, adventure and new experiences; these were the reasons Amela had chosen to travel; she needed excitement.
Her daydream was all of a sudden broken by a gruff horn sounding somewhere out of sight.
"Orcs!" She breathed to herself, uncharacteristically afraid. She was alone, injured, out in the open; she didn't stand a chance against an entire orc pack.
There was nothing she could do.
Although resigned to her fate, Amela drew her sword. Brandishing her loyal blade strongly in the bracing wind, she prepared herself for the onslaught; prepared herself for death.
Boromir, too, had heard the Orc horn ringing through the bracing air.
"Amela!" He breathed through panicked gasps. Turning on the spot, he desperately tried to pin point which direction she'd stormed off in,
"If only she'd listen! If only she'd simply follow orders! If only she..." Then he had it, he knew where to run, so he ran. Carrying him faster than he'd moved in all his years, Boromir's feet drove him forward with a newfound need to save the woman that irritated him so.
"Where is she? Where is she?!" He asked himself as he scanned the land around him. Then he saw her, standing in the midday sun, with sword aloft and head held high. Admiring her more genuinely than he yet had, Boromir drove himself forward with even more momentum...
"Amela!"
She heard heavy feet running towards her; she tightened her grip of the sword's hilt. She heard the deep breathing of an adrenalin fuelled fighter; she raised her blade. She heard the voice of... of Boromir? Then, before she even knew if it really was him, he grabbed her free arm and dragged her – at a full sprint – straight into the nearest river mouth. By this time, she had managed to clumsily sheathe her sword, which meant that – once they were in the sizable stream – Boromir was able to wrap his strong arms around her to pull her to the side, under the overhanging bank, hiding them from the swiftly advancing orc pack and their formidable warg allies.
"Shh..." Holding her tightly, he could feel her heart beat pulsating through her, against his chest. Fast and uncomfortable at first, her breathing steadied soon after they had stopped running. Now, they just had to keep quiet, and hope the water would disguise their scent.
Crumbling slightly as the charging orc pack made its way towards their hiding place, the frail river bank above their heads was all that protected them from the rough blades of their enemy. After seemingly a lifetime, the first warg paw landed heftily above their heads; dirt fell onto their damp faces under the beast's weight and they heard it sniffing intently. Orcs were murmuring at eachother in their awful language; although neither of the terrified humans understood it, it was clear they were completely dumbfounded as to where their prey had escaped to.
They must have eventually agreed on something, because after much hoarse roaring and even the occasional fight, the pack mounted their wargs and made off in the direction of Wetwang. Boromir and Amela waited there, in the shallow waters under the sheltering bank – his arms still wrapped in a protective hold around her – until it was certain that the pack would no longer be within a threatening distance. Shifting his weight, Boromir started to raise himself out of the river.
"Wait," Amela muttered, pulling him back down, so they were both kneeling, facing each other in the water, "why did you do that? You could have been killed, just for a small chance of saving me."
"I..." The words caught in Boromir's throat, he couldn't say it. "I just didn't want your blood on my hands, that's all." He lied, as he climbed out of the river.
Although he longed to tell her why he had really risked his life for her, he couldn't, for he truly had no idea of the reason. It was inexplicable, he had heard the orc horn, and – where he would normally have looked for the closest hiding spot – he ran in open ground, driven by some new urge to ensure her safety before his own. He'd never felt this before. He didn't understand.
As Amela too emerged from under the bank, she saw Boromir standing a few feet away from it: seemingly staring after the orc pack that they had just so narrowly escaped.
"Do you think they were looking for us?" Amela pondered as she joined Boromir, ringing out what water she could from her shirt without removing it.
"No." Boromir turned his head toward her. "I'd say... hunting..."
"Well they've gone now..."
"Yes," he agreed, "they've gone... for now." His arms moved as if to embrace her. He wanted to so badly, and it burned him inside that he couldn't hold her; shield her from the cruel will of the world. But, he didn't know what to say, and he didn't know what to do.
"Boromir... what are you doing?" Leaning slightly away from his now open arms, she looked at him with eyes full of mockery and confusion. Boromir suddenly realised that his arms had moved (apparently of their own accord) and attempted to wrap themselves around his beautiful companion.
"Err..." he stammered, panic slapping him as he dragged himself back to the present, "...stretching?"
He moved his arms up above his head and feigned a yawn.
Sceptically, Amela let Boromir's weak excuse stand, "I see... Well, we still have a good few hours of daylight left, what do you say we make the most of them?"
"I say 'for Gondor!'" He cheered, clapping her on the shoulder as he would a brother in arms. "What is left of our rations?"
Nodding reluctantly towards where she had stood, waiting for her demise, she directed Boromir's attention to the crumbled remains of what was their food supply. Deeply trodden into the tracks and droppings of the wargs, the food was beyond salvaging.
"What about the food in your pack?" Amela asked hopefully.
"There's nothing. I dropped it before I came to find you; I couldn't risk the pack picking up on its scent and finding y-" he quickly corrected himself: "us."
Both of them were getting very worried by this point, the planes of Rohan were not known for their abundance of wildlife, or even fruits! They'd have trouble surviving for long, even with their hunting skills. Together, they talked through their very limited options and came to the conclusion that the only logical course of action was to attempt to last through the remaining days of their journey without provisions; try to survive on the meagre pickings to be found in the wilds of Rohan. Having decided on this – decidedly risky – plan, Boromir and Amela set off. Amela noticed that Boromir had started to lead them as if to cross the river mouths, and wondered why he was going against his own plan.
"Weren't you adamant about avoiding the mouths?"
"Yes." He said, plainly, "but going around them again would add at least another day's walking to our journey." He paused, and then began to laugh. "And look at us! We're soaked already; a little more paddling couldn't hurt."
Amela, too, chuckled at the apparent irony of avoiding the watery route to Minas Tirith, after their latest ordeal.
"I suppose you're right, son of Gondor." She grinned. "This is going to be a long journey, tiring too; it's best we don't delay more than necessary... Captain?"
Amela turned to see Boromir – again – looking eastwards, and feared the worst.
"What is it? Are they coming back?" Rushing back towards him, she urged an answer from Boromir, "Well?"
"No, we're safe."
"Well, why have you stopped?"
"Just look, woman."
So she did, she followed Boromir's gaze until she found what he was looking at:
"A horse!" She exclaimed.
"Yes. A horse with no rider... in Rohan..."
The two of them made their way (carefully) towards the unexplained wild horse. Upon approaching it, however, they discovered that it was – in fact – saddled; not wild at all. The horse was standing solemnly, nuzzling at something on the ground.
"There's a rider!" Amela whispered. This complicated the situation; what if the horseman was an enemy?
"You have good eyes, can you see his armour?" Boromir had noticed Amela's eagle eye, and now put his trust in it.
"Maybe, if I got a little closer..." She made to creep up to the rider, but Boromir held her back.
"Be careful" was all he said before releasing his hold, for he knew by now that she was more than capable of taking care of herself.
Minutes – that seemed like hours to the Captain of the White Tower – passed, and Amela returned, totally unscathed, as expected.
"Well?"
"Rohan armour, so he's safe. He has a few supplies too... but... he's badly injured... he needs help."
"We can't; our priority is reaching Minas Tirith, not helping injured soldiers."
"So what would you have us do? Leave an innocent man out here to die?! We can take him to Edoras! It's closer to here than Minas Tirith, and he has a horse to carry him, his supplies and maybe even some of our gear. We can stock up in Ednoras, Captain, and then take Great West Road all the way to Minas Tirith."
Boromir could see no fault in her plan, besides the delay. Damn that woman: always a step ahead.
"I understand your concern, Captain: the delay will be long. But, I can't leave him here, and neither can you."
"You're right, again." Boromir sulked. "We'll help him."