"Forgive me."

Rowan Reed stood at the foot of the freshly upturned mound of dark earth behind the broken Deeping Wall. The grave set against the rock wall stairs reaching up to the Hornburg. In the field far before the Deep, two raised mounds of earth covered the fallen Riders of the Mark. Killed elves were buried within the nearby Fangorn Forest. By Gandalf's counsel, the Uruk-hai and Dunlendings were piled in great heaps, away from them but near the eaves of the forest. He said the woods would deal with them.

Only Boromir was laid to rest behind the Deeping Wall, with his name carved into the rock face above his head. Háma had fallen in battle as well, but he had been buried underneath the ramp to Helm's Gate.

Two days had passed since Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Gandalf laid the Gondorian captain to rest. Rowan couldn't attend his small burial because her wound wouldn't let her walk. She only stood here now because the wizard's magic had sped up her healing process. If he hadn't had treated her, she'd be bedridden for three to five more days.

The others awaited her return to ride out for Isengard. It would not be a quick or pleasant trip, either. The journey to the Tower of Orthanc would take about two days, and her waist would likely be on fire the whole time—riding would test the strength of her stitches.

Knowing the level of discomfort she would be put through, the three hunters suggested she not go—Rowan could go with Haldir, Rúmil, and Éowyn back to Edoras and wait there. It came as no surprise, though, when she denied them. She had to go to ensure everything happened as it should.

All of them—even the White Lady of Rohan, King Théoden, Haldir, and Rúmil—came to visit her in the Healing Room. When they weren't at her bedside, Éomer was. He was a tremendous help, holding on to her as Rowan attempted walking.

For now, they let her spend time with Boromir alone to say her peace.

She huffed, thinking about everything that had happened since she woke outside of Bree barely a year ago.

Nothing had truly gone wrong, so to say—Gandalf had fallen but came back transformed, Merry and Pippin's coming to Fangorn had awoken the Ents, making them overthrow Isengard, Frodo and Sam had gone to Mordor alone, and Boromir had still died... albeit at a later time and in a different place. But she had hoped things would've turned out differently.

A big one lying six feet under dirt before her.

Rowan had known better than to fall in love with him... especially when he was meant to die at Amon Hen. After saving him, she thought he was in the clear—he couldn't be taken from her. Those feelings she had pushed down back during The Fellowship of the Ring part of this Quest of the Ring grew in these past months, to when the Gondorian captain kissed her—declaring that he felt the same.

She fought the tears that wanted to show. Two days hadn't been long enough for her to get over his death. "I promised myself I wouldn't let you die, and return you to Faramir. I'm sorry I couldn't."

Not realizing it, she had needed him. Boromir's gentleness, laughter, bravery, unselfishness, and friendship filled the hole in her heart Wyatt had left behind.

Now he was gone—taking everything she loved about him. Bereft of all those qualities, would she slip back into that gloomy, emotionless pit Wyatt's leaving had pushed her into? Or could Éomer prevent her from falling—

Rowan shook her head. Now wasn't the time to wonder if the Third Marshal of the Riddermark could take the Gondorian's place in her heart. If she even allowed him to try.

"I won't regret falling in love with you," Rowan began. "I will cherish the love and gentleness you showed me. I just wish I would've died with you, so I wouldn't be on my own again."

The brightening sky brought her eyes up. The small company King Théoden had chosen to accompany Gandalf to Isengard would leave soon. She looked back at the quiet, isolated grave.

"I will never forget you, Boromir."

After a final look, Rowan forced herself to turn away and head up what remained of the Deeping Wall. The wall had been cleared of weapons, bodies, and debris from the explosion—other than blood stains here and there—so nothing hindered her trek up the stairs to enter the causeway wrapping around the Hornburg.

Entering the courtyard, most of everyone who would ride to Isengard were mounted. Gandalf spoke with King Théoden as they descended the stairs from the Great Hall. Legolas and Gimli were among those already mounted; the dwarf no longer wearing a bandage around his head. Aragorn stood at his horse, Hasufel, pretending to ensure the items were securely strapped. He looked up at her approach.

He didn't need to act like he wasn't waiting for her—she knew he was. Aragorn was thoughtful.

The future king just gripped her shoulder and nodded. Pity and concern didn't reflect in his eyes, just understanding. Losing someone was hard. She lost Boromir as a lover and friend, while he lost a fellow countryman and friend.

They walked over to the reddish-brown horse matching Rowan's hair; Nárind saw them coming, but his dark brown eyes looked behind them, then around, as if searching for someone.

Rowan scratched his forehead. "He's not coming, friend. It's just me now."

Nárind looked back at her; she could've sworn sorrow glistened in his eyes.

She had to tear her gaze away before she broke down. Aragorn waited to help her in the saddle; Legolas had pulled Arod closer to also help steady Rowan when she got up if she needed it.

This was going to hurt, and the man, elf, and dwarf knew it.

It was also a test, for if she couldn't bear the pain of getting into the saddle, she surely couldn't manage the trip. And, God forbid if anything happened on the way to Isengard. Nothing dramatic happened, like a skirmish in the book or movie, but she couldn't fight right now. Rowan had to hope for the best, even if things changed.

Aragorn got behind her and put his hands on her waist before she put a foot in the stirrups. Rowan took a breath for courage, then put all her weight on the left foot to lift herself up and swing her right leg over. Even with the Ranger pushing her up to help, her wound screamed. The stitches stretched, pulling the tender flesh. It felt like that scimitar pierced her skin again.

Rowan plopped into the saddle, almost blacking out from the searing pain. A hand grabbed on to her, keeping her from toppling off. Nárind stayed firm under her like he knew she needed him to remain strong for her.

"Lass?" Gimli asked, concern heavy in his voice.

She caught her breath before she opened her eyes and picked up Nárind's reins. "I'm good."

Legolas' hand stayed on her for a while to make sure she told the truth. Eventually, it slid off. Gimli patted her arm. She patted his gloved hand in return. Aragorn appeared beside her on top of Hasufel. With him on the left and Legolas and Gimli on her right, there was no way Rowan could fall off.

King Théoden, Gamling, Gandalf, and now Éomer appeared as they mounted. In all white—and astride the equally white Shadowfax—Gandalf shown like a beacon. Out of the four, only the Third Marshal of the Riddermark wore a helm. It seemed he didn't mount his horse without it.

Éomer's eyes shot to her. Since the helm mostly covered his face, Rowan wasn't sure if he was pleased that she was riding out with them. He had continuously tried to convince her to go to Edoras. He gave her a nod, regardless.

The king's eyes swept those that were gathered and waited for him to lead the way. His gaze lingered on Rowan's the longest. "Great injury indeed has Saruman done to me and this land," he said, "and I will remember it when we meet."

With that, he snapped the reins on his horse to spur him into movement. The king and Gandalf rode out side-by-side, followed by Éomer and Gamling, and some of his men, then the four hunters. Once they exited through the splintered and broken Gate and rode down the ramp leading into the valley Helm's Deep sat in, Rowan didn't look back.