As he approached the king's hall, Boromir overheard a heated discussion between familiar voices; he quickened his pace and entered hastily.
"Boromir?" Aragorn hadn't expected to see former companion here, "what are you doing here? You were heading for Minas Tirith."
Nodding, Boromir told the tale of how he and Amela had crossed Rohan, escaped a roaming orc pack by hiding in a river, and eventually how their finding of a Rohirric soldier and his horse had brought them here, to Edoras.
"The rider is being cared for in the barracks as we speak." Boromir concluded.
"It is fortunate that the two of you found him when you did, by the sounds of it," Aragorn observed, "Speaking of your companion... where is she?"
"She is sleeping, but you needn't worry, she would not leave Edoras without my knowing."
"You trust her?" Legolas interjected, once again showing his opinion of Amela.
"Yes, I do."
Little did they know that the woman they spoke of was not so far away, after all. Amela knew it was rude, but she couldn't resist listening through the slightly ajar door.
"He trusts me..." She whispered to herself, before again turning her pointed ear to the door; she heard Boromir's voice, and it was full of worry.
"Where is Frodo? Where is the ring?"
"Calm down, Captain of Men," Gimli's gruff voice attempted to soothe Boromir, but it failed.
"No. Where are Frodo and Sam? You have left them!" The harmony of anger and paternal worry in Boromir's voice was something Amela had never before heard from him.
"You are wrong, Boromir." Aragorn stated plainly.
"How so?"
"Frodo and Sam left us; we could no longer protect them, as long as Frodo remained a ring bearer."
Gasping, Amela suddenly realised just what she had gotten into. Panic flooded her entire being, pushing her through the great door of the Golden Hall.
"A ring of power?" She gasped as she gracefully slid through the door into the Golden Hall. Echoing through the empty room, her light steps caused all of the men to turn their heads. Aragorn's reassuring of King Théoden (now released from Saruman's hold) meant that Amela was able to reach the far end of the hall, armed, before she was even addressed, and Aragorn was the first to.
"Lady Amela, how nice to see that you're well."
"My leg is better, yes. But I fear there may be something else: something that doesn't bode so well for me." Behind the mask of courtesy, there was clearly worry in her voice; fear, even. She looked into Boromir's eyes for reassurance, but found that he too looked shaken.
Catching in her throat, Amela's voice came out weak and shaky when it eventually broke the heavy silence.
"How could you hide this from me?"
"I-" But Boromir had no words, at least none that would keep Amela in the hall.
As she left, Boromir watched her walk away, a tearing look of loss scarring his noble face. Théoden knew this look, for it was the one he had worn when he learned of the death of his son, just minutes ago.
"You are excused, Lord Boromir; the company of a mourning royal will do you no good." The King understood, as always.
"Thank you, King Théoden, I am sorry for the loss of Théodred; he was truly a prince worthy of the title. Good evening, friends." He paid a short bow to his fellows before swiftly departing.
Swirling in the rohirric wind, Boromir's dark hazel hair obscured his view of Edoras as he stood atop the stone steps of Meduseld. Where was she? Just as Boromir had descended the first flight of stone stairs, he heard a woman's voice from behind him.
"You knew." She'd been stood behind him the whole time. She leant against the wall of Meduseld: arms crossed, head down, eyes shut.
" You knew the danger that followed us, and you kept it from me. And to think I trusted you."
"Amela, it's not-" He made to climb back up to her, but - yet again - her words stopped him in his tracks.
"I could have died, Captain!"
He froze; Amela took a few strong steps forward.
"Your deceit could have sent me to my doom, all for some damned ring! Don't you understand that?"
"Yes. Yes, I understand that! But I gave my word to keep the quest a secret, for the good of Middle Earth."
"But..." With a sigh, Amela's stance dropped as she gazed down at Boromir. "But what about me? Did you care?"
But before the Gondorian captain could answer her, they were both silenced by what then emerged from the doors of The Golden Hall.
Soldiers carrying a weighty load led the procession outside the walls of Edoras; there the mourners gathered: nobility and peasantry brought together in grief; a weeping procession clad in black standing glumly among grassy mounds covered in white blooms. A woman's voice rang through the chilling air, tortured and sad. Both Boromir and Amela bowed their heads as they approached the burial, in time to see the body disappear into the cold grave before the mound was sealed once again. Amongst the sobs and the grievances, Amela heard the name "Théodred" uttered with heavy, proud hearts.
"Who was he? I hear them saying 'Théodred'." Amela turned to Boromir with empathetic eyes, as if she knew the pain these people were feeling.
"He was a great warrior, a beloved prince, the King's son." Boromir awkwardly rested his hand on Amela's shoulder to comfort her and – to his surprise – she didn't shrug it off; she turned her whole body to him. Stepping into his embrace, she started to sob softly into his broad chest. Boromir would have questioned this; it was so very unlike the strong, independent Amela he had come to care for. But, given her having recently shared so much of her own pain with him, he could understand that she would also seek comfort from him, rather than strangers.
As the funeral procession started returning to the city, Amela regained her usual composure. Quickly stepping back from Boromir and wiping her eyes, she steadied her breath and began to follow the others back to the city, gesturing for Boromir to follow.
Marching in silence back into the city, the grief of the funeral (along with the residual tension from their earlier quarrel) hung on the two of them thickly and heavily; neither of them said anything, even when they parted ways. Boromir made his way back to the Golden Hall to speak further with Aragorn and the others, while Amela headed towards Farendor and Hélva's farmhouse.
Since the family were out tending to their crops and animals, it was easy for Amela to slip into the house and make her way to her room unnoticed. Luckily, she found that her own clothes had already been returned by Hélva.
She would miss her new friend - living such a nomadic life, she rarely had the opportunity to build close relationships - but Amela could not stay here.
"I am too vulnerable."
And so she left a brief note of thanks to Farendor and his family (along with a small trinket, in thanks) gathered her weapons and pack, which she intended to refill on her way out of the city, and left.
Meanwhile, in Meduseld, Boromir was once again reunited with his comrades.
"It seems the two of you have grown very close since we first separated by the Anduin." Aragorn had heard the conflict between Boromir and Amela, and had seen the comfort his fellow Gondorian gave her in spite of it at the funeral.
Somewhat embarrassed, Boromir found himself lacking his usual way with words.
"You could say that, yes, maybe."
"I suppose she just batted her eyelids, eh boy?" Laughed Gimli. In response, Legolas simply muttered under his breath:
"I don't doubt it."
"I do not deny that she is fair, but that is not why we have bonded as we have." Boromir had his voice back.
"Her skills are remarkable; her swordsmanship is excellent and she rivals even Legolas with a bow."
The Captain ignored the sarcastic elvish grunt with which that last remark was met, but did not carry on.
"You seem quite attached to this woman, Boromir, have you given much thought to what you'll do when your journey is over?" Aragorn was - as always - the voice of reason.
"You plan for my own future more than I do myself, Aragorn. We've travelled together for so long now, I hadn't thought of it ending."
"I recommend that you do."
Boromir nodded, he knew what Aragorn really meant.
"I will speak to her. I believe she returned to the farm after Théodred's burial".
"Good luck, friend." Were Aragorn's parting words.
To Boromir, the walk from the Golden Hall to Farendor's farm was endless. Although, he still had no idea of what he would say to Amela when he reached her. Fortunately for him, that wasn't a problem. To his dismay, upon stepping nervously into the woman's room, a slip of paper wrapped in a silver chain caught his eye. After gathering the farmer and his wife, he handed the letter to Hélva (to whom it was addressed) and she read out the words Amela had crafted just hours ago.
"Dearest Hélva,
Let me begin with an apology, it seems hardly fair for me to leave like a thief in the night after you have shown me so much kindness, but it must be this way. I am sorry, Hélva; I hope that one day we will meet again.
You of all people deserve an explanation for my sudden departure. This is it: I cannot stay here any longer, for I feel strangely vulnerable as of late and it deeply unsettles me. My dear friend, I fear that you are right about my Captain, but that only drives me away more swiftly. I cannot be responsible for his happiness.
In place of the help I promised you as payment for my staying with your family, I have left you my mother's necklace: it should fetch enough money to repay the cost of taking me in. I will miss it dearly, but knowing it has been put to good use is enough to ease the loss.
Thank Farendor on my behalf, will you Hélva?
There is one more thing I must ask of you, my friend, tell the Captain that all is forgiven and that I was selfish to expect so much from him. He will understand.
Goodbye Hélva, I will miss you.
Love and thanks, from your friend
Amela.
The script was beautiful, but the words it bore stung like a Morgul-blade. Feverishly scanning the room, Boromir searched in desperation for any clue as to where Amela might be.
"By the inkwell." He breathed, "there is ink on the desk, and it has not yet dried."
"She can't have gotten far." Hélva observed as she joined Boromir in inspecting the ink droplets, "What are you going to do?"
"Find her. " He decided. "Find her and tell her everything."
"Then take these" Hélva insisted as she thrust the necklace and the letter into Boromir's hands, "and tell her that if she wishes to repay her debt, she must visit again."
With a smile - and a generous pack of provisions - from Hélva and the rest of the family, Boromir set out from the farmhouse. But at the gates of the city, he was intercepted by none other than its King.
"You shan't catch her on foot, my lad." He said knowingly. "The soldier the two of you saved gave her his horse in thanks for his life, and a mighty steed it is, too. Follow me, Boromir of Gondor, if you want any hope of seeing the girl again."
Boromir walked with the King until they came to the stables: all the stalls were occupied save for one (marked "Fleetfoot"). Regally striding past many a fine steed, Théoden led on until they came nearly to the far end of the barn.
"Here, his name is Beleger; he will serve you well."
"The name is elvish..." But Boromir did not know the graceful tongue.
"Yes, he is "mighty one" and it is a just title" the King cooed as he brought the already saddled horse out for Boromir. "Now go! And good luck."