"The simple lack of her is more to me than others' presence." —George Thomas

Chapter 15

High she ran up the hill, the soft earth propelling her forward on large paws, searching for Frodo. She came to a stream, where the trail was lost and frantically she searched for scent of him. Then something she had not anticipated caught her nose on the breeze. The foul stench of orcs.

Faster she tried, desperate, to find scent of the hobbit, but either he had run along the stream where the water carried away his scent, or the foul smell covered it. She could hear footfall of many boots to the west of her, far enough that they would miss her in their path.

Indecision warred in her mind, her Beast instincts urging her to flee, find her way back to the river and escape the coming foes, but her elven heart wished to find Frodo and ensure he was safe.

Suddenly a loud horn bellow ripped her away from her search, echoing around the hill, the mighty cry of the horn of Gondor.

"Boromir!" came a cry from above her on the hill, the voice of Aragorn.

Her decision was made. On swift, strong limbs she bounded down the hill, running parallel to the way she knew the Orcs had gone, heading for the call of the horn cry.

As she reached the place that the horn was still blowing, the sound ceased. She halted on the edge, crouching low as she watched a large orc-like creature striding towards the man of Gondor, who was on his knees, pierced by three black arrows. Her blood ran cold at the sight, the creature raised a blade above the man's head and she pounced, springing from her hiding place and with one bound, knocking the foul creature to the ground.

It cried out, in shock at its sudden attacker, and slashed it's notched blade wildly. She felt it make contact with her leg, just as she bit down upon it's filthy throat, ripping out the jugular with her teeth.

It's limbs dropped, immediately lifeless, as she spat as best she could, never having become accustomed to the dirty, metallic taste of their kind.

Something drew her attention, a movement to her left as the man, blood now draining from his many wounds, fell back to rest against the trunk of a tree.

She turned, the pain now burning in the haunch of her back leg, the acrid smell of her own blood joining the mingled scents of orc and human blood already filling her nose.

Limping, she made her way to the man, who's eyes still showed life, though faint. He looked at her, his would-be saviour who had arrived too late. As she reached him she laid down, large furry head coming to rest on his thigh, sentient eyes looking up at him with sorrow. He moved his hand weakly, to atop her head, feeling the softness and the comfort of not dying alone. "Forgive me" he said, voice not far above a whisper, for little strength was left in him. She felt her body thrum, a purring sound coming from deep inside her, as if to comfort the man who she could not respond to in this form. Her body was weak, a transformation seeming too much to bear, whether due to sorrow or the wound in her thigh, she did not yet know.

Aragorn ran into the clearing then, having run to the sound of the horn's call, but not as swift on two legs as she was on four. He saw Boromir, laid almost slain against the tree, and the great beast that was Amber, beside him with head resting between his leg and his hand.

He strode between fallen orc bodies to their side, kneeling before Boromir who was clearly close to death. The man's eyes opened, looking to Aragorn with fear and resignation. "I tried to take the ring from Frodo. I am sorry... I have paid"

Aragorn looked again to the many slain orcs and the largest one, not far from where they lay. Again he looked to Boromir, who told him that they had captured the hobbits Merry and Pippin, though they had not been killed. He despaired, saying that he had failed. Aragorn would not accept this, knowing that he had fought valiantly in their defence. He bade him to be at peace, and as if granted permission, the man let go of the last vestiges of life that he held on to.

Aragorn bowed his head and wept for the Lord of Gondor who would never again return to his home.

Legolas and Gimli found them there, Aragorn bent and weeping. Holding the hand of the fallen member of their fellowship. Gimli stopped short of them, bowing his head in sorrow, but Legolas hurried past, dropping to the side of the striking beast which lay on his other side, head still on the man's thigh.

He cried out in horror when he saw her wound, a deep slash across her back upper leg, torn open in an ugly way by the orc blade and still bleeding. At his cry, Aragorn lifted his head and looked at him, at first thinking he cried for Boromir, but then seeing where he looked.

"Amber!" Aragorn said alarmed, looking despairingly at the yellow eyes which drooped in fatigue and pain. He moved to Legolas' other side, examining the wound. "There is no poison, but we must attend to this" he looked to the fallen man, then his two other companions beside the wounded Beorning.

"We cannot carry her in this form" said Legolas, voice pleading as he looked at her mass. He stroked her face, fingers trembling as he did so, "Amber, meleth nin" he spoke to her, not caring that Aragorn heard him speak the words 'my love' in his tongue. "We cannot carry you this way. Can you change?"

Her large face shifted, as if heavy, eyes raised to meet his own, though glazed with pain.

"Amber please" he begged her, desperate to have her small again so that he could run with her to the river where their packs and water lay, all that they would need to bind her wound and ensure that she did not perish needlessly.

Aragorn inspected the deep wound. "You must transform mellon nin" he said, switching into the elvish as Legolas had done, calling her friend as he had many a time in common speech.

"Does the lassie have the energy for it?" asked Gimli, frowning at her weakened state, unsure if such a thing could be managed.

"She must" Aragorn replied, the unspoken consequences resolving him, for even if they brought their packs there, he needed the flowing river to have enough water to bathe the wound and prevent infection. They did not have time either, to tarry, as even now the orcs fled further away with their hobbit captives; not to mention the question of where Frodo and Sam had gotten to. Were they with them?

Seeming to understand their unspoken plight, finally the great beast lifted her head, and with a shudder that looked painful to their eyes, she transformed into her other body. The change weakened her immensly, and she collapsed, caught by Legolas who knelt by her front side. Without hesitating, he lifted her into his arms and took off towards the river's shore.

Aragorn and Gimli exchanged a look, looking to their fallen companion. Gimli took a step towards him, nodding to the ranger who stood, running after the elf without another word.

When they reached the riverside, Legolas lowered Amber into the water, keeping her in his arms so that her upper torso was kept dry. Aragorn, not far behind them as he had not been burdened by carrying her, took out a knife and cut her trousers above the wound, tearing the leg of the garment off her before beginning to bathe the deep cut.

After he was satisfied that no dirt nor poison contaminated it, he instructed Legolas to lift her again onto the bank, retrieving the etholas for her wound from his pack as he said so. He mixed the dried plant into a paste which he covered the cut with, then found a clean tunic which he ripped into cloths to bind her wound.

If he had had more time and resources, he would have stitched her skin closed, but as it was she would have a scar there for the rest of her life.

Once he was satisfied that he had done all he could, checking her pulse and breathing for she remained unconscious, he returned to Gimli to help him bear their fallen friend to the camp.

While they were gone, Legolas, his mind frantic with worry for the now unconscious keeper of his heart; retrieved a new pair of trousers from inside Amber's pack. He then stripped her lower body, thanking the valar that her undergarments were modest and unharmed, for as much as he desired her he would never wish to expose her to his eyes when vulnerable in this way. Seeing her unclad legs, bared to the upper thighs was far more than he was comfortable with, his body reacting unbidden, despite the sober circumstances. He clothed her in the fresh garment and then, at a loss for how to further prepare her for waking, he retrieved a piece of the ruined trousers, dipping it in the river and returning to her side to wipe the blood from her face, knowing how much it bothered her when others saw it.

The cool water roused her, and she opened her golden eyes to meet his, face close to her own. It took her a moment to recall what had happened, and how the pain of her transition to this body had been too much. She looked down to see that her wound was hidden, though she could feel that it had been dressed, the dampness of the lower part of her tunic showing that she must have been bathed, at least below the waist. She frowned at the untorn trousers, different than she had been wearing earlier.

"We had to cut them" Legolas spoke, his voice raw with worry and relief, "I am sorry. I dressed you after Aragorn went to retrieve..." he looked to the woods, sadness creasing his brow.

"Boromir" she said, resignation in her voice. She knew the man had died, remembering the change in the way he had felt below her face, even amidst the pain that had then begun to gnaw at her. Legolas nodded, eyes downcast. She lifted a heavy hand, still stiff with weariness, to his cheek. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes in grief.

"He fought valiently" she said, stroking her thumb across his cheekbone.

"As did you" he said, not opening his eyes.

She frowned, remembering. "I was not there in time. I was only able to kill the one who had stayed to end him. I was too late"

"No one can change another's fated end" Legolas replied, opening his eyes and looking deep into hers.

They heard laboured footsteps, and both looked to see Aragorn enter the clearing, carrying the man's upper body while Gimli had his legs. They laid him carefully upon the ground, then began to empty one of the boats. Seeing what they were doing, Legolas rose to help them, emptying the boat of it's contents before laying Boromir inside it, as if he were sleeping in the vessel.

Aragorn cast a worried look at Amber, but seeing she was awake, nodded towards her. She smiled at him weakly, sitting up now on her own, body still fatigued from injury. He went back into the trees and while he was gone, Amber ate a small meal so as to gain some strength back into her body. Legolas and Gimli spoke in hushed voices, wondering at their next path, now that the fellowship had been split. They yet did not know what had become of Frodo, but had noticed that a boat was missing.

When Aragorn returned, he carried many orc weapons, of those that had been slain by the man before his death. He laid them inside the boat with Boromir, below the man's feet, to show any who saw him of his great victory in battle. He laid then upon him, Boromir's own sword and now cloven horn, the horn which had called them all to him, but too late.

He showed to the others some small daggers that he had found among them, the weapons of two hobbits. They must have been stripped of them before their capture. They also inspected a curious white hand-shape upon a helm, which they guessed must be the sign of Saruman, for the orcs of Mordor bore the red eye.

Finally, they cast the boat with the son of Denathor inside it, out into the river. They watched sadly, the river taking the boat from them downstream until it disappeared from sight.