As they fell, time around them slowed to a crawl, and every heartbeat, every expression, every pain... was completely clear. In this slow motion mode, they continued their slide away from the world of the living. But all was not lost; close to where Boromir gripped Amela's good wrist, another hand grabbed onto her lower arm, a fair, elvish hand.
With Legolas' help, the severely weakened Boromir was able to pull Amela up from where she hung; the three of them then, finally, made it to the keep, just before the doors were barred behind them. As soon as Éowyn saw Boromir's wounds, he was rushed off - against his promises of being "fine" - to be tended to. Amela and Legolas laughed as they saw him go, but they did not stay with the Rohirric soldiers; they carried on running - along many stone corridors - to the King's room, deep in the keep.
"Thank you, Legolas," breathed an exhausted Amela, "for what you did back there, thank you."
The elf smiled. "Just returning the favour, lle creoso." He winked playfully as he referenced the only elvish Amela had spoken for years.
After their exchange, Amela and Legolas walked in, to see the King. Gimli and Gamling were with him, along with Aragorn, with whom the King was speaking.
"Ride out with me, ride out and meet them."
"With us." All the others spoke together, but Aragorn's face fell when he saw Amela's wrist.
"You cannot fight with one hand, my lady."
"But I-"
"He's right, my dear." Unusually courteous, Gimli reasoned with the spirited young huntress. "I know the ache of missing a battle, but it is best that you live to fight another day."
As she recognised her defeat, Amela sighed.
"I will go to the women and children, my lords, when the way is clear."
As the sun rose over Helm's Deep, a bellowing horn rang out over the ridge. And, as the sound ran into the sun, a great white steed came over the hill, with a man in shining white robes astride him. Gasping at what she saw, Amela stood peering out of an arrowslit - feeling like an over excited, spying child - watching as the mighty Rohirrim charged at the Uruk army.
"I am not missing this." She breathed to herself as he ran for the highest battlements of the keep, and watched in anticipation as thousands of clueless orcs fled into the forest, which ironically was more likely to kill them than the troops from whom they ran.
Then she remembered: Boromir! Was he in ok? In pain?
... Alive?
So, Amela took a slight detour on her way to join the other women. Slyly, she applied all of her elvish grace to reach Boromir unseen (the oh so eligible son of Gondor being seen with an unknown woman in the dark would surely bring him a lot of unwanted attention).
"Captain?" She whispered, when she finally found him. He let out a low grunt. "It seems your injuries were more grievous than you let me know." Amela tried to laugh, but it was hard to mask her concern.
"You needn't worry, I feel much better now..." Boromir moaned as he lifted himself into a sitting position, "now that I've something pretty to look at again."
The two of them laughed quietly, and smiled at eachother.
"I thought I was going to lose you..." The Gondorian's smile vanished as he spoke; he started to look away, but his pride brought his gaze back to meet Amela's eyes. "Both times."
"I'm sorry... you shouldn't have followed me."
"Please, woman, you knew I would. Why did you leave?"
"Because I-"
A nurse's footsteps echoed in the caves, getting louder.
"I have to go." She hurried the words.
"Wait-"
"We will speak soon, son of Gondor."
"I really do wish you'd use my name..." Shaking his head, Boromir called quietly after her as he crept away.
Once she was out of sight, before she snuck back to join the women and children, Amela looked back, and saw a nurse (presumably the one whose footsteps they had heard) applying fresh bandages to Boromir's wounds.
"We will speak soon... Boromir."
Joining the busier part of the cave, Amela saw Éowyn ushering women and children down a tunnel, leading into the mountains; she could see Amela looking rather lost in the hubbub. Although a little envious of her fellow woman having had the chance to fight the Uruk-Hai, she did not blame her for her good timing. Plus, she had teasing to do.
"So, lady Amela, how is your Gondorian?" Receiving no response, other than an embarrassed grin, Éowyn changed topics to Amela's wrist. "Here, let me see."
No matter how carefully Éowyn handled her friend's wounded limb, the patient still winced.
"Oh stop your whining, it's not even broken!"
"It's not? Thank the Valar for that!"
As it happens, Amela's wrist was merely sprained: sprained badly, but still not broken. Éowyn secured it in a position in which it could heal, and seemed quite satisfied with her work.
"There, that should be usable again in about a fortnight, but I'm afraid you won't have all your strength back for a good while."
Inspecting the bandage work , Amela nodded in approval.
"Thank you, Éowyn. It's good to know I'll be able to use it again eventually, although I'll surely miss the weight of my sword, and the pull of my bowstring."
The shield maiden's light hand patted Amela's shoulder. "I know the feeling; I was sent down here when I should have been fighting for my people. Come, the women and children need guidance in the caves, and I need the company."
Then Amela remembered something: the Rohirrim!
"My lady! There is no need! For the battle is won; the Uruk-Hai are dead."
Glee grew on the Éowyn's face, "Then we shall go to my uncle! And then - with luck - back to Edoras!"
The battle had indeed been won; the people of Edoras gladly began to journey back to their homes. Within 4 nights, they had reached their city. Most of the wounded were taken to their own homes, or - if they were soldiers - to the barracks; Boromir (being a noble of Gondor, and having nowhere else to go) was granted a comfortable guest room in Meduseld; Amela - by his influence and her friendship with Éowyn - was given one just down the hall from Boromir's. As he was injured, Boromir was excused (much to his disagreement) from assisting the management of the return to Edoras; Amela did all she could - despite her fatigue and limited knowledge in the organising of cities.
"I don't know how you do this every day, Éowyn, I've been helping only since this morning and my mind is truly exhausted." Laughed Amela, as she waved some guards to monitor a dispute arising between two farmers over a lost sheep.
"I grew up in my uncle, the King's, house. I have always held a great deal of responsibility: since my early years. Oh, excuse me, friend." Éowyn quickly trotted up to a seemingly lost little boy and carried him to his searching mother, who was actually only metres from him. "Sorry, Amela, what was I saying? I am all a fluster."
"That responsibility has always been your burden." Amela reminded her; returning her friend's smile.
"I would not call it a burden, if I could avoid it." She seemed now in deeper thought, rather than casual conversation. "I envy you, Amela. You are free. You arrived in Rohan on a whim, and you have no ties to stop you from leaving whenever the mood takes you. Dear friend, you have seen so much; you provide for and defend yourself; you are truly your own woman."
Soon the commotion died down, as the residents of Edoras settled back into their city, so the two women - one dressed as for battle, the other in a fine yet ragged dress - turned and walked together toward The Golden Hall; their conversation continued.
"What you said of my life was only partly true, Éowyn. Yes, I see much in my travels and I take great pride in being able to take care of myself in the wild, as you said. But you are wrong partly, friend."
"About your freedom?"
"Yes. I am not as free to roam as it might appear..." Amela's part elven eyes drifted upward, toward Meduseld ; toward the window of the room she new to be Boromir's.
Embracing Amela fondly, Éowyn smiled warmly at her friend.
"Perhaps you may find your roots in Gondor, friend."
"Perhaps... Now, if you'll forgive me for my frankness, I really must bathe before the celebrations. I may be a warrior, but I am still a woman."
"Of course Amela; I'll look for you in the hall."
The two friend clasped each other's hands, smiled, then parted ways.
True to her word, Amela returned to her room to wash away the dirt and smell of the battle. Unexpectedly, the hot water was already prepared; she assumed one of the servants must have overheard her mentioning a bath to Éowyn and sprung into action. Despite the ache in her tired limbs, Amela undressed and lowered herself into the steaming waters of her bath. It was a simple pleasure, but one of the greatest in Amela's life (given how rarely she was able to indulge in it). Letting her head lull backward and rest on the lip of the tub, she felt her weight raise in the water as she relaxed her muscles completely. For a long while she simply laid there, listening to the water lap against the sides of the bath, then slowly die down as the ripples softened. In the following silence, she found it easy to think on all that had happened to her. Helm's Deep was certainly the largest battle she had seen, but not the bloodiest... she shook her head and quickly diverted her mind from the horrors of her childhood. Éowyn: her newest and likely closest friend. Amela had never been much inclined to companionship, but she found herself comfortable with Éowyn; they shared a love of adventure and a need for independence such as was rarely found or understood.
"I had been alone for so long, and I'd never felt lonely, once I accepted the loss of my parents..."
"I should hope you haven't been alone so long that you've started talking to yourself."
"Boromir!" Amela yelled from behind the screen that separated the bathing area. What was he doing her?
"Oh don't pretend you've started to care about propriety; we slept together under the stars the first night we knew each other," Boromir teased, "everyone is celebrating in the hall; are you not even dressed yet?"
"It has started already? How long must I have been bathing?" Suddenly distracted from her current - somewhat awkward - situation, Amela only then noticed that the water had dropped to room temperature.
"A couple of hours, I'd wager. Now will you please get ready and join us?"
Now aware of the unpleasant water temperature, Amela lifted herself out of the copper tub: all the while being exceedingly careful to stay behind the screen.
"And why, Captain, are you so eager for me to attend?"
The now dry Amela thought she heard an embarrassed bumble before - as she rubbed her hair dry - he next spoke.
"The Lady Éowyn, your new friend I believe, is most anxious to see you."
"Of course! I'd forgotten! Um... Captain?"
He paused... "Yes?"
"I'd like to put some clothes on..."
Boromir made some attempt at words, although the result was totally indiscernible, then swiftly left the room, with his cheeks far redder then when he had entered.