Dust fluttered in the pale light of the Rohirric morning that flowed through the small window in Amela's room; her eyelashes flickered slightly as it woke her. Letting out a tired chuckle, she realised how funny she would look to anybody seeing her contorting her body as she stretched. Then she sighed, placed her head back on the pillow and relished not having to pack a bag or take down a makeshift campsite in the morning, for once. It was early (very early) and she didn't plan on hauling herself out from the warm blankets before dawn was much older.

When she heard the first sounds of the city coming to life, Amela judged she'd laid in bed for long enough: she swung her legs out from the blankets and wiggled her toes as her feet became accustomed to the cold of the floorboards beneath them. Once stood up, she stretched again before heading over to the small table, on which she had put her clothes and armour the night before, only to find them gone! In its place, there now sat a folded dress of faded blue and turquoise; Hélva must have taken her own clothes for cleaning.

"Such a kind woman" Amela said quietly to herself, "I must remember to thank her."

Despite her apprehension towards wearing something so feminine, Amela changed out of her nightdress and into the blue frock, only to be pleasantly surprised. Despite its appearance, the dress was amply comfortable and allowed her to move almost completely unhindered: true farm girls' garb. What's more, it was actually rather pretty, the light blue skirt and full length sleeves were accompanied by a discreet turquoise trim and a fitted bodice of the same shade. It was very much unlike anything Amela would ever choose to wear, but she found it comfortable and sufficiently practical.

Once dressed, Amela saught out Hélva, to thank her for the change of clothes and offer any help she could. The farmer's wife was not hard to find; she sat at the large table in the centre of the house, mending one of her husband's recently split boots, before heading back out to the fields.

"Ah, Amela, did you sleep well?" Hélva looked up from her work and asked cheerfully.

Amela was suddenly aware of how late the morning was: she'd been wrong when she assumed she had time to lay awake in bed that morning.

"Yes, exceedingly well, but the day seems older than I thought, how long was I sleeping for?"

"Oh a good 11 hours, and you look the better for it dear."

"I meant to thank you for the dress; it's nice to feel the touch of clean cloth again." The two women giggled, both knowing the feel of mud soaked garb. "Is there anything I can do for you? I'm sure I could be of assistance somehow."

Hélva smiled at Amela again, warmly, then with a more playful tone...

"Actually, we could use a fresh bucket of water in here, if you'd like to start with that."

"Of course," Amela said with a nod, reaching for the bucket standing on the table next to where she stood, "I'll be back soon."

"Oh take your time dear, and... have fun." Hélva seemed to almost giggle at her last remark; Amela wondered what she could mean.

She soon found out.

As she rounded the corner of the house to reach the well, she found Boromir. He was stood at the well, having just drawn up a pale of water for himself: cold, clean, fresh, and splashed over his bare torso. Amela froze. She stood there, unable to stop watching him as he scooped the water up in his strong hands and threw it over his face and chest. She saw each individual droplet fall from the ends of his hair and role down his toned body. He turned and shot her an appreciative half smile, causing her to drop the bucket she'd thus far been gripping as tightly as a climber grips his ropes, and she ran from Boromir to the sound of the vessel clattering on the stony ground.

As soon as she reached the house, she closed the door behind her with a thud and fell back against it, breathless and astounded. Hélva was still sat at the table, laughing at the cunning of her plan.

"You knew!" Gasped Amela, grinning in disbelief at her friend. "You knew he was out there, like... like that."

"Well," Hélva chuckled, "it's not a sight I'd wish any woman to miss out on."

Without warning, a pang of jealously shot through Amela, and apparently it showed on her face.

"He's a handsome man, Amela." Hélva pointed out.

"He's more than that," Amela interjected without thinking, "he's valiant and brave: you should see him in battle, Hélva." She reminisced as she moved to the window, watching Boromir again. "He may seem vain at times, but that's not it, it's that he's so proud of his heritage; his country. You cannot fault him for that..."

Having moved to her new friend's side, Hélva laid a hand on her shoulder as she spoke, "he's eligible too, he won't wait forever..."

Amela soon became flustered. "Wait? What do you mean? I don't... What?"

Sighing at Amela's ignorance, Hélva saw she would simply have to come out and say it.

"He loves you, girl!"

"Love? No, I-"

"I've seen the way he looks at you, Amela, his eyes are full of adoration, worship even. He lights up when you come into the room, even though you irritate him so. You might not see it yet, but there's love in him, and if you don't accept it soon..."

"What? Hélva, what are you saying?"

"You might lose him."

Neither of them spoke for a short period of time, both simply watching Boromir and thinking, until - eventually - Amela spoke.

"I care not."

"Then you are a fool." Replied Hélva in full sincerity. "The stubbornness of your youth blinds you to your true feelings. One day you will see it, and you will want for nothing more."

"I am not some simple maiden waiting to be swept off her feet. I take care of myself; I always have."

"Oh really? And how many times has your lord Boromir saved your life on your travels?"

Amela paused awkwardly "... a few. But I have also saved his!"

"Exactly, Amela. You are saving Boromir, and he will yet save you."

The day passed uneventfully: Boromir spending much of it looking for Amela; Amela avoiding him; both of them helping to work the farm. As the sun began to sink low in the sky, the family and their guests once again sat in the warm glow of the hearth to enjoy a stout meal and good conversation. However, the comfort of the evening was somewhat diminished by Amela's reluctance to talk or even really look at Boromir.

So, as the two of them walked to their adjacent rooms that night, Boromir took his chance as Amela headed for her door.

"Goodni-"

"Wait."

The word came from Boromir in a deep rumble as he leant, with his hand against the wall near Amela's head, causing her to back up against the same wall, looking up at him. Knowing that this must have been intimidating for Amela, it pained him to hold her here in this way, but it had to be done to stop her avoiding his questions... He didn't know how to begin.

"You, you look... nice. The dress, I mean, it... it suits you."

"Oh... is that all?" She looked at him with a confused expression; she hadn't seen the captain this flustered before.

"No."

"Well would you care to tell me the rest?"

"What have I done?" The question gave Amela no more clarity as to the situation, so Boromir continued, "you haven't spoken to me - hardly looked at me - since this morning, Amela. Tell me, what have I done?"

Amela looked to the floor, uncharacteristically shy. "Nothing, Captain, you've done nothing at all."

Then she started to make for her room again, leaving Boromir stood as he was. Just as Amela was about to disappear behind her door, she turned around to see Boromir now leaning his head against his arm.

"Captain." He turned. "Do you have any more questions? About anything?"

He knew what she meant.

"Yes. When we first came here, to Edoras; when we spoke to the King... he called you a..."

"A mongrel. He called me a mongrel."

Boromir winced at hearing it from Amela's mouth.

"Yes, he did... but why?" Boromir moved his gaze to Amela's ears: protruding gently from her hair.

Amela gestured for Boromir to follow her into her room.

"Close the door." Was all she said before sitting on the edge of her bed, again looking toward the floor. Boromir - reluctantly - complied, for being with a woman, in her room, behind a closed door, was not strictly acceptable... not that he minded it much. Taking a seat on the small, wooden chair across the room from Amela (but still within a few feet of her) he started to listen.

"You've seen my ears, Captain, and you know that I am not an elf." Amela began. "Nor am I of the race of men... not truly, at least not anymore. I was young, a girl just barely out of her mother's arms... a group of easterlings - barbarians - swept through my family's farm. They, they destroyed... everything: every house, barn, stable, all our crops. All I remember is the noise... the sounds of destruction and pain, through the fire and dust and smoke. Nobody made it out alive. My friends, my... my parents: they're dead. Only I survived, because my parents hid me, I hid, behind a rocky outcrop just outside the slaughter. I didn't come out for hours after they'd gone, for I was so afraid. Not afraid of the eaterlings, but of facing what I had lost. I was afraid of the truth, afraid of being alone."

Amela then left a lengthy pause, before continuing her tale.

"As for my 'mongrel' status, that is a simpler tale. You see, my father was half elf, but he gave up his immortality for my mother; for their happiness. I always knew I was different, but I never felt excluded. That is, I never felt excluded until I turned to the elves for help. They fed me, they clothed me, then they sent me away. They did not accept me. I wasn't one of them, despite my heritage, I wasn't good enough. I saw it on their faces; felt it in their gaze: I wasn't good enough."

Boromir now saw the truth. "So that's why you acted how you did with Legolas... and why you're..."

"Why I'm so distant? After I lost my parents and I was turned away when I sought help from the elves, I vowed never again to depend on others. I help myself, I have since the elves turned me away..." She sighed. "Well, there you have it, the story of the mongrel girl who cannot trust."

Tears had stained Amela's face by the time she looked up to meet Boromir's gaze. He left his seat to kneel on the wooden floor in front of his troubled companion. Even on his knees, he was still just above her eye level, with her sat on the bed. Resting one hand on hers - which laid on the bed beside her - he cradled her cheek in the other and wiped a tear from her fair face.

"Trust she can learn..." He whispered to her softly, before leaning in a little more and looking straight into her eyes; letting her see his soul.

"But can she love?"

She gave into the light pull of his fingers on her jaw line and joined him in lessening the gap between them, before Boromir closed it completely. His lips met hers shyly. One hand still cupping her jaw, the other - which had been resting on hers - coming up to cradle the other side of her tear stained face.

Trembling at her sides, her slim fingers moved tentatively to rest on Boromir's strong shoulders, as his kiss caressed her lips in a silence full of yearning.

The moment was brief, for Boromir soon pulled himself away from Amela with a look of great effort on his handsome face. Lingering on her skin a little while longer, his hands seemed so reluctant to relinquished what they had waited so long for: her. Boromir took a sharp intake on breath that caught in his throat,

"I am sorry..." he breathed as he moved for the door.

"No." Barely whispering, Amela was surprised that her captain even heard her, "stay."

So he stayed, though not for his self; he couldn't leave after all that they had shared that evening. Sitting with her until she fell into slumber in his arms, he held her, safe from all that had hurt her in the past. When her breathing was slow and rhythmic, he lowered her sleeping form into her bed and laid the blankets over her, before returning to his seat, and staying there until dawn.

As the first hints of sunlight started to seep into the otherwise dark room the sound of pounding hooves stirred the captain of Gondor from his shallow sleep. Glancing out of Amela's window, he was suddenly awash with disbelief.

"A dwarf, an elf, and a man. They are here." He hardly believed his own words, even said aloud. "No, two men?" Who was this white robed rider that now travelled with his former companions? There was only one way to find out...