It's chapter 4! :D Sorry the chapters tend to take so long; I don't really have a lot of writing time due to school, plus I proof read and edit about 5 times to make sure there aren't any mistakes. Ha! As always, I own nothing besides OCs and original storylines; enjoy!
Upon seeing the soldier the two travellers rescued, the gatekeepers judged that Boromir and Amela weren't threats to the city or its people and let them into Edoras. They passed through quietly, heading straight for the barracks.
"Who are you?" A sceptical guard approached them, hand on hilt.
"I am Boromir, son o-"
"And I am Amela," she interrupted abruptly; bragging about Gondorian status probably wasn't the best idea when looking for help in Rohan, "we're travellers."
"Very well, what is your business here?" The soldier asked, gesturing the barracks behind him.
"Well, we found... this..." Amela led the horse to the side, revealing the Rohirric soldier astride it.
Boromir clarified, "we found him alone, almost dead."
"Oh dear Lord, quick, get him inside!" Boromir and the guard carried the soldier to the infirmary, while Amela led his horse the stables.
Leading the steed into a free stall in the stable block, Amela's keen eyes caught a glint of sunlight on metal: a name plate on the horse's saddle.
"Fleetfoot... Your rider must be pretty important, boy, for you to get a fancy name tag like that." Playfully, Amela rubbed his matted hair and giggled as she buried her face in the horse's warm neck; it was comforting. Reciprocating Amela's hug, Fleetfoot muzzled the small of her back before resting his head over her shoulder and sighing contently.
"You know, boy, I've always liked horses," she yawned as she began to remove Fleetfoot's saddle and bridle.
"I think our captain of Gondor does too, he just doesn't like to show it." Boromir hadn't shown Fleetfoot as much affection as Amela had; at one point she had caught the son of Gondor rough housing with the steed, but he had quickly collected himself and returned to his usual, composed exterior once he saw that he had been discovered.
Meanwhile, Boromir was in the barracks; the Rohirric soldiers were extremely curious as to why a Gondorian captain and a fair traveller maiden were crossing Rohan, and together at that.
"Alas, gentlemen, our business is not only our own, and I cannot share it with you." Boromir evaded another of the guards' queries, "excuse me, sirs, but I must seek out my companion."
Nudging one of their comrades forward, the Rohirric soldiers sniggered and winked at eachother in anticipation, and then the nominated speaker said what they were all waiting for.
"About your 'companion', Lord Boromir..." the soldiers practically leaned forward with excitement, "how is she?" Every guard present roared with laughter, they pushed each other and shouted crude comments across the room; Boromir tried not to hear them, but his ears still caught a few:
"I bet he gets her every night!"
"She's a nomad; I hear they're the wild ones!"
"Ha! Could I get a turn?"
Unwillingly listening to their foul mouths, Boromir felt a pit of rage open up inside him. In two wide strides, he had the offending guard pinned against the wooden wall of his own tower, struggling for freedom.
"Are you mad, man? Let me down!"
"No. Scum like you don't deserve freedom; she is an honourable woman and I will not have you talk that way of her." He maintained his grip on the unwitting soldier's throat. "Do you understand me?"
The Rohirric soldier gasped for air, before spluttering out a "yes" between sharp breaths. Boromir released his hold.
"Good." Throwing his cloak back over his shoulders, he made for the door. "Goodbye... 'gentlemen'."
Firmly shutting the heavy door behind him, Boromir felt it best not to seek out Amela; his mood was too foul. Instead, he stormed towards the King's hall to negotiate beds for the two of them for the night. Little did he know, Amela had seen him walking away from the barracks when she left the stables after giving Fleetfoot a quick groom. Delicately jogging to catch him up, Amela reached Boromir just as he began to climb the stone steps leading up to the Golden Hall.
"You know, it's a good thing I have the gift of foresight. Otherwise, I would've had absolutely no idea that you'd even left the barracks." Amela taunted.
"Save me your sarcasm, woman; I am in no mood to tolerate it."
Boromir had been in somewhat high spirits – considering how opposed he was to coming to Edoras – up until they separated at the barracks, so his new found grouchiness seemed unreasonable to Amela. Then again, she'd learnt by now when to not push Boromir, and now seemed like one of those times. As they scaled the final few steps, a more ornately armoured soldier approach them, with four additional guards behind him.
"I cannot allow you to approach King Théoden so armed. Please, hand over your weapons."
Protective over her weaponry, Amela hesitated to surrender them to the Rohirric captain. She felt a reassuring hand on her shoulder: a Gondorian hand.
"You'll get them back, trust me." Stern and sincere, his face was once she had faith in, so she unbuckled her scabbard and took off her bow and quiver.
"Be careful with them." She warned the young guard that took her weapons; he nodded nervously.
Addressing the leader of the group of guards, Boromir showed his authoritative nature,
"Now, may we see the King of Rohan?"
"Of course, sir, right this way."
"Thank you."
After being escorted into the Golden Hall, Amela allowed Boromir to lead the way across the it, to stand before Théoden. The King seemed old and drained, like his very life force was being sapped from him; his grey white hair was dry and his eyes were glazed and unfocused. As he – with difficulty – shifted his weight in his throne, all could see the lack of life in his sagging, pale skin and hear it in his laboured breathing. At his side, a pasty, sickly looking man with greasy, black hair sleeked back from his pointed face whispered in the King's ear. All the while, the same repulsive man eyed the two travellers maliciously. After a long silence, the King spoke.
"What brings your here, travellers?"
"We have come a long way, King Théoden," Boromir began. "We found one of your soldiers on the road; bringing him home to Edoras took us days out of our way. We come before you to ask for shelter in your halls, to allow us to rest before we continue our journey."
The oily haired man again spoke in hushed tones to the King, who in turn threw a gruff laugh at the two young travellers standing in his hall, seeking nothing but a bed and shelter from the wind...
"You will find no shelter here, Gondorian."
"But my Lord!" Amela objected, before being swiftly cut down by the King's harsh – if wheezing – speech.
"And take your nomad with you; I have no patience for mongrels."
At this, Amela almost lunged at the decrepit old King; she wished she had kept a dagger on her person. It was only Boromir's sturdy grip on her upper arm that stopped her, for he had seen the anger begin to burn in her and knew he ought to restrain her; she wasn't exactly averse to rash actions.
"Very well." Boromir conceded; there was no winning this. "Thank you for your time, King Théoden."
As they made their way back down the stone steps (Boromir with his head held high, a sign of his nobility, and Amela walking begrudgingly beside him) a woman called after the pair.
"Wait!" They turned. "I'm sorry; my uncle is not his self as of late: a sickness has fallen on him..." The woman's words trailed off as she spoke of this, but she soon continued.
"I cannot convince him to let you stay in his hall, but you needn't go cold and hungry tonight. The people of Rohan are still good souls; perhaps you could find a bed in one of the houses in the city? I could help, I spend more time with the people than most of the nobles here."
"And you are?" Boromir – while hopeful and ready to trust the kind noblewoman – still felt it necessary to be sure of whom they were speaking with.
"My name is Éowyn, and the King is my uncle."
"I have heard your name," said Boromir with a nod, "and we gratefully accept your assistance."
And so it was that Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain of the White Tower, came to be spending the night not in the Golden Hall – as intended – but in the surprisingly roomy home of a farmer and his family, on the very edge of the city. The farmer in question (a middle aged man, whose hair was just beginning to show signs of greying, and hung at the sides of his work worn face and below in a short tangled beard) was more than happy to take in – who he saw as – friends of Lady Éowyn's. Although, he seemed like the kind of fellow who would offer a stranger comfort anyway, even if they hadn't asked for it; he had a kind face. Bidding Lady Éowyn good evening when she left to return to her uncle's hall, Amela and Boromir soon found themselves sat at the table with the farmer (whose name was Farendor) his wife Hélva and their two children, a boy called Thren and his younger sister Yúla. Despite their humble status, the family easily put on a decent meal for themselves and their guests: a hearty broth was accompanied by filling and tasty fresh bread, with vegetables and meat from the farm too. Everyone gorged themselves on the wonderful spread, for the family had been working the farm all day and this was the first good meal Amela and Boromir had had in almost a week.
After the meal, Boromir sat by the fire with Farendor and Hélva, discussing all manner of things: from farming, to life in Gondor, to the journey he and his companion had made to Rohan (obviously, he left out anything that might link him to the fellowship; that was not for strangers' ears) while Amela played swordfights with the children, fascinating them with stories of orcs, eagles, goblins and dragons – some of which were even true!
But the night wore on and the newfound friends grew weary, and with the children almost falling asleep by the fire (toy swords in hand), all decided it was about time to retire. Thren and Yúla were put to bed by their parents, who then bid the two travellers goodnight after showing them their beds: two small, neighbouring, single rooms, each with a bed, a window and a small table occupied by a wash basin and a jug of fresh water from the well outside. They each bid eachother goodnight before going into their separate bedchambers; they tried to hide it, but they were both a little put off by the separation, after spending the past few nights being able to see the other.
Amela undressed herself and changed into the nightdress Hélva had lent her: it was clean (which made a pleasant change) and full of the warmth of a family home.
"Such a kind woman..." Amela thought to herself as she lay awake on the bed, looking up at the wooden ceiling.
Meanwhile, Boromir too had undressed. Farendor had lent him a pair of woollen briefs to sleep in and he pulled them on, thankful for the change of clothes and the warmth of the garment. However, he did not immediately relax on his bed as Amela had, for something had been playing on his mind since they left the Golden Hall:
"'Mongrel' he called her... what could he have meant?"