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Chapter Text

The river Anduin rushed and gurgled over its rocky bed, swirling and churning over the same winding path southward as it had for thousands of years, before it plunged with an inevitable roar into the abyss at the feet of Rauros, hundreds of feet below.

The river was steady, the river was sure, the river was unchanging.

Boromir wondered why he could not be more like the river.

He stood on the shore and waited for the three remaining members of the Fellowship to come to a decision. His was already made. He clutched the small pack tighter in his hand. It was a woman's pack, specifically crafted and carefully filled with everything she might have needed. Someone had been looking out for her.

It should have been him. He had given his word, to the elf and to himself, that he would look after her, that no harm would come to her. Where had he lost his focus? When had he become so blinded?

His eyes drifted to the east. The Emyn Muil loomed on the far shore and beyond that, black clouds billowed over the borders of the Dark Lord's domain. His eyes narrowed. Frodo and Sam would be well into the cliffs by now, doomed to wander the endless labyrinth blindly. But Boromir knew he couldn't help them now. The others might choose that path, but it was as impossible to him as it would be to swim up the waterfall. He knew what madness lay that way.

It infuriated him! He was a soldier, a leader, a commander of the Men of Gondor! He had led armies into victorious battle against Sauron's finest warriors and taken back cities all had thought to be lost forever. But when faced with this seemingly insignificant tool of the Enemy, a force that should have paled in comparison, he was rendered helpless.

He glared into the black clouds of the east and silently cursed the Dark Lord even as he cursed himself. No soldier of Gondor should be so weak. No Steward of Gondor…

"Boromir…"

The gentle voice of the elf broke his concentration. He turned his eyes from Mordor.

"Come," Legolas said, "We will track the orcs with you. Frodo must follow his own path."

He saw the wary look in the elf's eyes and self-loathing boiled up inside him. For he deserved every caution. How could the others trust him when he could not even trust himself?

He nodded, but as the elf turned away, Boromir reached out and gripped his shoulder.

"Legolas."

The elf turned back.

"I must seek your forgiveness," Boromir said, quickly before he lost his nerve, "You were right. I am a fool."

Legolas smiled and gripped the man's shoulder in return.

"No fool knows himself to be a fool, Boromir. You were a fool. Now you are a wiser man because of it."

He squeezed his shoulder and Boromir felt friendliness in the gesture.

"Come, we will track while there is still daylight."

"And when the daylight fades we will track still more!" Gimli barked, slinging his axe across his shoulder.

"Though not as swiftly," Aragorn murmured, "Daylight suits my eyes best."

"And every moment we stand here the orcs travel on," Boromir added, "I can follow a trail in daylight as well as any."

And so he shouldered the small pack, Melody's pack, and followed after her.

By bits and pieces Mel felt herself being jolted into consciousness. Her head was pounding, but she couldn't tell if the pain was internal or external. Her sides and stomach were sore and her arms felt stretched. Her arms and legs were tied up. And she was bouncing. That was what had woken her up. Slowly, she managed to pry open her eyes.

The world was topsy-turvy and flying by at an impossible speed. At first she wondered if she was swinging off the back of a pickup truck. But an iron bar seemed to be holding her in place and she saw big, black legs running underneath her.

That was when she screamed. She flew into a full-blown panic, her arms and legs flailing, twisting her body in ways she would never have thought possible. It was by pure luck that she kicked the immovable Uruk-Hai in the face. He roared and his arm loosened its grip. She rolled off his shoulder and landed hard on her back. She tried to scramble up, to crawl away, any form of forward motion, but she was just too damn slow! Just as she got on her stomach and started to slither through the grass, what felt like two boulders came crashing down on her. They flattened her in the grass and pressed all the air out of her lungs. She was sure she heard a sickening crunch. Her first conscious thought was, Jesus, I broke a rib! There was a roar that sounded like language. Her head was getting light. She couldn't take a breath.

The roar switched to a scratchy Common.

"Get off, you lugs! We need 'er alive!"

The pressure eased off and she sucked in cool, twilight air, ignoring the pain on her left side. But the steel fingers of orc hands still held her arms and legs, so she kept very still. She tried to control her fluttering heart. She felt steps like thunder resonate through the ground as they stomped toward her head. Then creaks like leather bending and suddenly there was a hand tangled in her long, brown hair. She tried to brace herself, but nothing could have prepared her for the mighty jerk that brought her face up from the ground or the mind-blowing pain that shot through her head. She screamed and struggled without thinking, trying to free her hands.

"Quiet, tree-witch!" the scratchy voice hissed, "Or I'll start choppin' off fingers!"

Mel bit her lip to stop her scream, but she couldn't stop the tears that streamed from the corners of her eyes.

"Now that was a right stupid trick you pulled and we'll have no more of it. Understand?"

She nodded as best she could. Her eyes were still squeezed shut. She couldn't see who spoke. She didn't want to see. She didn't care. He flung her head back into the grass and she just laid there, her chest heaving painfully.

"One finger for every other escape you try to make. Get 'er up!"

She was yanked to her feet and tossed over an orc shoulder like no more than a sack of potatoes. She felt a sharp stab of pain in her side and she was sure that at least one rib was cracked. But what could she do? The Uruk-Hai could care less about the comfort of her travel. So as they bounced along she tried to squirm into a position on her right side. The orc carrying her paid her no more attention than if she had turned in her sleep.

After that her mind started to work. They were out of the forest, on the plains. The trees were noticeably absent. She was with a mixed group of Uruk-Hai and orcs. They had kept her alive and were taking her somewhere. Mel had only two guesses and neither was very enticing.

Where were Merry and Pippin? She tried to sit up, but her current position wasn't conducive to that sort of behavior. She could barely see the midsections of the orcs running behind her. She let her head droop again. Regardless, she knew they were here. And scared to death. And there was nothing she could do for them. History had to run its course, as best it could. She knew that they wouldn't understand, but all of this was going to shape them into what they needed to become. Some things just had to…

Boromir's face flashed in front of her. He was smiling, almost laughing. His gray eyes danced. She closed her eyes, but the vision stayed with her, wavering in the darkness behind her eyelids.

"Oh god, Boromir," she whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Chapter Text

The orcs stopped once more that night, but only for a moment. Mel could hear what sounded like an argument and one small, familiar voice shouting over it all.

"My friend is sick! He needs water, please!"

Pippin. Her heart swelled when she heard him and she tried to turn toward the sound of his voice, but she still couldn't see him. The orcs started to laugh.

"Sick is he? Give him some medicine, boys!"

There was more laughing and Pippin started shouting protests, "Stop it! Leave him alone!"

"Stop!" Mel yelled, kicking at her own captor to make sure she had their attention, "You're hurting him! Your master won't like it!"

Someone grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head up. She bit back her scream.

"Shut your face, witch!"

Then he slapped her, a bone rattling strike that snapped her head back and made her vision go black for an instant. When she came to, the orc was gone and all she had to show for it was a massive headache and a throbbing jaw. But she clearly heard Pippin calling.

"Mel? Mel, is that you? Mel?!"

"Quiet, Shire-rat!" an Uruk-Hai yelled.

There was a pause. Then one of the orcs spoke nearby.

"What is it? What do you smell?"

"Man-flesh."

There was an uneasy grumble from the group.

"They've picked up our trail!"

"Let's go!"

"Move it, you slimy maggots!"

The endless bouncing began again, but Mel felt slightly relieved. The Three Hunters were coming, just as they should be. That meant they were heading toward Fangorn Forest. She rubbed her hands together. The gloves that the Lady Galadriel had given her were still on tight. That meant either they really were magical and the Uruk-Hai hadn't been able to pry them from her fingers, or they had no idea what the source of her power was. They knew she had power though. They kept calling her a witch. That meant someone knew. Someone knew and didn't want the orcs to know. Someone wanted that power for themselves. She clasped her hands together. She could only imagine what kind of damage the Yavannacor might do in abusive hands.

Her face was beginning to swell. She brushed at her throbbing cheek with her bound hands, wincing at the sharp twinge of pain. She'd be lucky if her whole face didn't swell up like a balloon. But it would all be over soon. If she could just get to the trees…

Though the trail was easy enough to follow, Boromir soon let Aragorn take the lead. The Ranger was by far the better tracker and Boromir didn't want his distraction to cause him to miss some hint of movement. He kept a steady pace and his thoughts kept a steady cadence, repeating the last words he had heard Melody say.

Please, I don't want you to die.

Legolas had been right. He hadn't even realized that his life was in danger, and still she had been trying to save him. Boromir couldn't imagine the pain and uncertainty he had caused her over the last two months as she had wrestled with the decision, whether to save his life or keep the history of this world intact. And in the end, she had chosen him. That was what baffled him most. After all he had said and all he had done, Melody's last gasping plea had not been for her own life, but for his. She had been holding him back from a black precipice all this time, and he had been pushing her away, loathing even the sight of her as he stumbled blindly toward his own demise. And though at the end her grip had slipped, she had never lost her hold on him.

Would he have taken the same actions had she told him he was going to die? His pride told him of course he would have. Melody's attitude toward Middle Earth had always told him that the outlook was good. They would win this war. Otherwise, there would have been nothing for the author in her world to write about. Lost wars make for very dull, depressing stories. His pride said he would have done exactly as she had told him, if she had only told him. But if he had discovered anything about himself, it was that his pride had gotten him into all this. His pride had almost killed Melody. His pride was why she and the hobbits were not with them right now. His pride was why Frodo and Sam were now facing the Emyn Muil alone and unguided. His pride may have doomed them all.

And so, even though it was difficult, he decided to put aside his pride. And beneath that, he knew that faced with the knowledge of his own death, he would not have acted the same way. It would be impossible for any mortal man, no matter if he were instructed or not. Melody had been wise to keep that from him. Something was supposed to happen, something in all of this was meant to be. If she had wanted to save him, she would have waited until the very last possible second, so that events could fall into place. But now, the simple fact that he was still alive changed everything. He should not be here, chasing after the Uruk-Hai across the wide plains, ignoring the burning of his muscles and the complaints from his lungs. What events would his very existence affect? By saving his life, had Melody sacrificed the war?

Boromir didn't know if he could live with the knowledge that his life meant the end of hope for Middle Earth, for his people. But nothing was set in stone, not anymore. He was alive now and he would do everything in his power to make certain that his people remained safe. And he would start with Melody.

The night had fallen almost without notice. The four companions had not slowed pace. It wasn't necessary. The orcs cut a wide path through the tall grasses of the plains, unwary and destructive, concerned more with speed than caution. They hurried after them, none of them speaking. No one called for a halt, though they all must have been as tired as he. But he ignored his weariness, tucking his complaining muscles and drooping eyes into a small corner of his consciousness. Instead he let a happier memory overshadow his thoughts.

He burst through the doors and out into the sunshine of a brilliant Rivendell morning. The darkness of the room had been oppressive and the eyes of the Ranger had seemed stronger than they should have, deeper and with more wisdom. It made him feel small and uncomfortable. He took a deep breath and put his hands on the rail of the balcony, freeing his mind of unpleasant thoughts and enjoying the serenity of the elven city. The peace was enjoyable, but quiet. He needed company, conversation…

He turned and there sat the girl, Melody, watching him quietly and curiously. He was taken off guard. Had she been there the entire time? He realized how frazzled he must look and attempted to calm himself by smoothing his hair.

"Forgive me, Lady Melody, I did not know you were there."

"I know."

She winced when she said it and words started to tumble haphazardly from her mouth, as if to make up for some faux pas.

"I mean, I saw you and I was going to leave, but I just… sorry, I guess I should…"

She started to stand and Boromir felt a moment of panic. She wasn't a part of this world, in truth he had barely known her half a day, but if she left he would be alone again, with only his thoughts and the memory of the Ranger's knowing eyes…

"No, please," He said, raising a hand and then lowering it again before she noticed, clasping it behind his back, "Don't go on my account."

She paused, and then she sat again, staring at her hands twisting in her lap. A knot in Boromir's chest relaxed, but now that he had convinced her to stay, words would not come to his mind. He stood and waited desperately for something to come to him, some bit of mindless conversation. Company and conversation, wasn't that what he had asked for? Hadn't he once known how to make small talk? It seemed like a very long time ago.

Melody, in the meanwhile, seemed to come to some sort of internal decision and slid to make room on the stone bench, patting the vacancy beside her.

"Wanna sit?"

Just that simple gesture, so sincerely and kindly offered, felt as if a weight had come off his shoulders. He took the offered seat and leaned back with a sigh that he hadn't meant to be audible. He realized that he had not even asked after her health since her collapse the night before and he cringed inwardly at his insensitivity. His mother would have been appalled.

"I am glad that you are recovering from your ordeal yesterday," He said, "Lord Elrond tells me that there appear to be no side effects of your… unusual journey."

It felt strange to speak of it so casually, but she seemed to take it in stride. She smiled and sat back a little, her posture not quite so uncomfortably stiff as it had been before.

"Thank you," she said, "I feel fine. Well, other than the fact that I have no idea what's going on and I feel like I might be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. But yeah, I'm fine."

He could detect a hint of bitter humor in her voice which leant meaning to her otherwise jumbled words. She stared at her hands fidgeting in her lap for a moment and he watched her, twirling the pretty ring around and around her finger, before she seemed to realize she was doing it and bunched her hands in her skirts to stop herself. He suddenly realized that he had been watching her for longer than was probably polite and he turned away, staring out toward the lovely sight of the valley below them.

"How are you enjoying Imladris, Lady Melody?"

He inwardly cringed even as the words left his lips. Could he do no better than that? His skills of conversation were badly out of practice.

"You don't have to do that."

He turned back to stare at her and she was looking up at him, her eyes burning with a sort of stubborn light.

"Call me 'Lady Melody'," She explained, "We both know I'm not a proper lady and Mel is just fine."

Not a proper lady? Well, perhaps, but… Mel? What a strange choice of name. Boromir turned back to the valley, tossing the word around in his mind for a moment and found it sadly lacking. There was none of the poetry, the cadence…

"Melody is a lovely name," He replied, not meeting her eyes and therefore giving her less room for argument, "It rolls pleasantly off the tongue. And I think… it suits you."

Yes, that was it. It suited her in some wordless way. He could never call her Mel. It was too… small.

There was a pause.

"Okay, fine, but drop the 'Lady' bit," she said, with an air of resignation, "It's too much."

He nodded once, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Her dialect of the Common Tongue was fascinating. He was sure Faramir would love to study it in exhaustive detail.

"As you wish, Melody. Now tell me, what do you think of Rivendell?"

He risked a glance at her. She was staring out over the valley, a smile on her lips, but a hint of sadness in her expression.

"It's more beautiful than I could have ever imagined," she murmured, "But…"

Her brow creased in a small frown. Boromir waited as she considered her words.

"This is gonna sound weird…" she said, and he resisted the urge to smile, "It's almost too peaceful. There aren't a lot of people. I like being around people."

People. Yes, the feel of a city around you. There was nothing like the feeling of a community swarming at your doorstep, life at every turn. Had he not just been thinking something similar moments before?

"Then you would love Minas Tirith," Boromir said, knowing it was true even as the words were leaving his mouth, "There are many people of all different histories and places living there. It is always bustling and buzzing with life. And when you look out across Gondor from the watch towers as the sun sets…"

He imagined the towers, the banners, the sun burning low on the horizon and he tried to search for words to describe his city to this stranger, this woman who had been in this world for no longer than a day, and he failed miserably.

"It is one of the great sights of Middle Earth."

He looked over and Melody's eyes were closed, as if she were visualizing everything and could see it perfectly. She sighed and he could hear his own longing in her voice when she finally spoke.

"I would love to see that."

And in that moment, Boromir had believed her. He had believed that Melody would love to see Minas Tirith, would love it like her own city, as much as he loved it. He still believed that. And he believed that he would show it to her. He would see her face light up as the sun rose over the towers and the morning watchmen lifted the banners of the White Tree into the blue sky. He believed it, now more than ever. Because he needed it to be true.

In front, Aragorn's dark form stopped and raised a hand. The other three gathered around him as he knelt in the trampled grass.

"Something happened here."

Boromir felt his breath catch in his throat. He searched the ground for any clues, but his eyes were not as sharp as the Ranger's. It all looked like trampled grass to him. So he waited anxiously for Aragorn to read the signs.

"There was a struggle," Aragorn pointed to a shape in the grass, "There was someone small pressed to the ground here."

"A hobbit?" Gimli asked, still trying to catch his breath.

Aragorn shook his head, "No, bigger. But not an orc."

"Mel." Legolas whispered.

Boromir felt his heart stop. What had they done to her?

Aragorn nodded and followed some invisible line in the grass with his fingers, "She tried to crawl away and they held her down."

His heart fluttered to life again.

"She tried to crawl? So she is alive?" He tried to calm his voice, but he couldn't keep it from wavering.

"Yes, I believe so. And if they have allowed her to live this long, then they must mean to keep her so," Aragorn said, rising out of the grass, "They passed earlier this evening. Come, we will cover more ground tonight!"

Aragorn leapt back into the chase and the others followed. But as they ran, Boromir looked to the stars. He found Eärendil in the sky. It brought another memory, one that was more painful now.

"Right there," He murmured, "The star of Eärendil the Mariner, born of the light of the Silmaril which he risked all to carry beyond the Circles of the World."

Melody's hand was so small that his own almost hid it from view as he guided her eyes toward the star. Her hair brushed his cheek. It smelled lightly of roses. He closed his eyes and tried to memorize the smell. The task kept him from thinking about anything but this moment, here with this strange woman who knew everything about him, this woman who had lost her home and everything she knew. How must it feel, to have everything you know ripped from you? Was it anything like how he had felt leaving Faramir behind that morning in Minas Tirith, with no guarantee that he would ever see his home or his family or his people again? But that had been a choice he had made, of his own free will, for the good of his people. What choice had Melody been given? And now, even as she had just begun to settle into another life, it was being taken away once more, everyone she knew being sent on a perilous journey, and she could do nothing. What must that be like, to have everything you care about taken away, not once, but twice in as many months? How could he even begin to comfort her? What could he possibly say…?

"I'll come back for you, Melody."

The words left his lips without thought.

"When this is over. I'll come back and I'll take you to my city, and anywhere else you want to go. We'll explore the whole of Middle Earth if you wish it."

Yes. Yes, he would return, just as he would return to Minas Tirith, and he would take her with him, he would give her a new home, one that would never be taken from her again. He would give her the world that she so clearly loved. Was that not the least he could do?

The strangled laugh in her throat made his chest clench. Had he said something wrong, done something…? But he felt her relax against his arm and the words that she spoke were sad, but somehow content.

"I'd… I'd like that. I really would."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting his emotions settle once more. The pine trees over them creaked and he could smell the needles beneath them. It was soothing and…

"Boromir?" Melody whispered.

He worked to memorize the sound of her voice, to embed it in his mind, to keep it with him on the road ahead.

"Hmm?"

"Are you scared?"

His body stiffened and his eyes flew open. Of all the questions she could have asked, she asked the one he did not want to answer. He wanted to lie. To laugh and tell her what a silly idea that was, he was the Steward's son, the strongest man in Gondor, he wasn't afraid of anything.

But she would see through the lie. And even if she didn't, it wouldn't make it any less of a lie. He couldn't lie to her.

"More than you can imagine."

He turned and searched her face for any sign of contempt at his weakness, any twist of a laugh in her mouth, any dimming in her eyes as she looked at him, condemning him for his truth. But nothing changed. Her green eyes still sparkled with starlight and her mouth remained straight as if he had answered a deep question and she was now pondering its meaning. She didn't know everything about him. For some reason, that gave him comfort. There were still things to learn. And they would have time to learn them.

Boromir had never been one to ask the stars for favors. That was more of his brother's avenue. He didn't know if he believed that the Valar were up in their council room watching the comings and goings of the world, or if it was all a bunch of superstitious nonsense created by the Elves to give them a sense of purpose and significance. But looking up at Eärendil he felt strongly that someone was watching him, that if he spoke, he would be heard.

So as he ran, he sent up a silent plea.

"Please… Please, keep her safe until I come for her."

Chapter Text

Mel lapsed in and out of consciousness through the night, constantly jolted awake by pain and nightmares. The nightmares were strange and disjointed, bits and pieces of memory, faces morphing into other faces, speaking words and warnings that never made much sense. But after she was jerked awake by the image of Boromir's rotting face, her name rasping on his disintegrating lips, she started resisting any sleep at all. Nothing was worth see that…

By morning the excruciating pain in her left side made even the thought of sleep impossible. Even trying to keep propped up on her right didn't help. It only made her sore. On top of that, her face had swollen her left eye partially shut, her arms felt like they had been put through a taffy puller, she couldn't feel her legs anymore, her tongue felt like a lump of cotton in her mouth, and her stomach had stopped growling a long time ago, leaving behind a painful cramp that gnawed at her insides. She was a god-awful mess, basically, but she didn't dare say anything. What if they made her swallow that nasty stuff they had given Merry? She shuddered at the thought and winced with the movement.

The sun moved slowly across the sky, and when it finally reached high noon the Uruk-Hai carrying her jerked to a stop and tossed her on the ground. The impact knocked the breath out of her and she felt the twinge of an old, familiar ache in her back. That frightened her more than anything as floods of memory washed over her, of Moria and the darkness and the blinding pain.

"The Tree-Witch goes no closer to the forest!" The Uruk-Hai bellowed.

There was a disgruntled roar from the company of orcs, but Mel barely noticed. Her heart was pounding and she lay very still, trying not to be noticed as the orcs and the Uruk-Hai argued. No closer to the forest? Mel closed her eyes and concentrated her thoughts, trying to distance herself from the yelling and the fighting, trying to reach beyond where she was, calling to any trees that might be close enough to hear her. But there was nothing. The little ember of hope that had been burning in her chest sputtered and died.

A piercing orc shriek rose up out of the commotion.

"You can't expect us to run across the land of the Horse-Lords clear to the Gap!"

"Right under the nose of Edoras, that is!" Another protested.

"The White Wizard gave orders!" The Uruk yelled over them, "Don't take the Witch to Fangorn! She's to be delivered straight to Saruman!"

"And what of the Halflings? I'll not risk the master's prize to be taken by horse-riding vermin!"

"Do what you like," The Uruk growled, "But the woman goes across the plains with me!"

Mel's legs were tugged straight and the ropes around her ankles were cut. Then she was yanked to her feet by her hair. She screamed and tears started to form in her eyes, but she held them back.

"Quiet, Witch!" Her captor yelled, "You will run your piece from now on!"

Mel barely felt she could stand, much less run. The rope that had bound her feet was now tied to the rope around her wrists, like a leash. The Uruk-Hai held the other end. Her legs wobbled and she started to sink back to the ground. The Uruk jerked her up again. Another strangled shriek left her throat and she really did start to cry.

"Please, I can't, I can't, please…" She whimpered, knowing it was useless, but unable to stop herself.

The Uruk-Hai shoved his ugly black face closer to her. She could smell his stinking breath.

"Oh, I think you can." He snarled.

He uncorked a flask with his twisted teeth and shoved the neck between her lips, pulling back her head so the liquid would pour down her throat. A rotten, sour taste filled her mouth and she started to choke as the nasty stuff burned her insides. She shook her head and finally dislodged the bottle, spitting what was left into the face of the Uruk-Hai. The brief satisfaction she felt at this small act of defiance was quickly replaced with a trembling terror at what the consequences might be. But the Uruk-Hai actually laughed, tossing his head to shake the liquid from his face in a shower of droplets.

"Now you will run!" He shouted, corking the bottle and slinging it over his shoulder.

Tugging firmly on her leash, he turned back to the other orcs.

"A race to the finish then, you maggots!"

"Mel!"

She looked up and saw Merry and Pippin slung around the necks of the Uruk-Hai. She hated to admit it, but the orc-draught had actually made her feel better and her vision was sharp for the first time since she'd been taken. She could clearly see the horror on her friends' faces. She smiled, even knowing that it would be lopsided because of her swollen face.

"Remember what I told you!" She called to them, her voice much more steady than she felt, "It's gonna be alright!"

Her captor jerked on the rope and started to drag her away. She could hear the hobbits screaming after her.

"Mel!"

"No, Mel, no!"

"Come back!"

"Leave her alone!"

Her brave smile faded as she regained her footing and started running to keep up with the Uruk-Hai.

"It's gonna be alright…" she murmured.

And it was. Merry and Pippin would find Treebeard. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli would find Gandalf. They would all save Rohan from Saruman.

The only problem was there would be no one left to rescue her.

Boromir barely noticed the rising of the sun or its slow trek across the blue sky. At noon they stopped. Aragorn had found something, a small leaf from one of the hobbit cloaks, trampled into the dirt by orc feet. He held it to the light.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall," He whispered.

Legolas turned back from the pursuit, "Then the hobbits also may yet be alive."

Aragorn felt the ground and nodded, "Less than a day ahead of us. We should rest here for a little, while the sun shines brightest and they are at their weakest."

"No!" Boromir cried, panic gripping his chest, "We should carry on! Catch up while we have the chance yet!"

He took a few steps back toward the trail, but he was stopped by a hand on his arm. Legolas met Boromir's eyes, and then flicked his gaze back over Boromir's shoulder. Boromir turned to look. Gimli was just catching up, huffing and puffing his way up the hill, his eyes bright with the chase. But Boromir could see that he was weary. Only his will was keeping him on his feet now, not strength of body.

The elf squeezed his arm reassuringly.

"We will not lose her, Boromir." He murmured.

Boromir nodded and allowed himself to sit with the others, leaning his back against a large shelf of rock. But the delay was like slow torture for him. He tried to close his eyes, to get a little rest at least, but all he could see was Melody's face, streaked with sweat and tears, looking up at him from under the point of his sword. He saw her splattered with black blood and fighting for her life as the orcs overcame her. He felt his fear and his loss as she fell into the black mass.

The fight itself he could barely recall. He remembered that the sheer numbers of the orcs had staggered him. He remembered deflecting blow after blow and killing one after another. He faintly remembered the sound of a twanging bow and arrows flying by him. But he had been trying to get to Melody; he had been trying to find her in the chaos. Panic had gripped his chest when she fell. And when he had looked up for a brief instant, the hobbits were gone as well. And then Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli had found him struggling for his life. He must have blown his horn. That is what Legolas said. The elf said he had heard the Horn of Gondor and come running. He couldn't recall bringing the horn to his lips. After Melody fell it was all a haze. After Melody fell…

His eyes flew open and he jerked up. The sun had barely moved in the sky. But he would not close his eyes again. He would not relive the nightmare. He would find Melody and he would take her away. He would take her to Minas Tirith. She would be safe there. She would never have to fight for her life again. She would never have to be afraid.

They all ate a wafer of lembas and started out again. They chased the trail of the orcs until the sun had lowered into a deep red western sky. Then Aragorn stopped them again.

"They have split up." He said.

"What?" Boromir exclaimed, pressing forward, "Why?"

Aragorn passed his hands over the grass, reading things that Boromir's untrained eye could not see.

"Two have split from the main group," He murmured, "They ran across the plains westward. The others continue north."

"But why leave the others?" Gimli asked, "Why just two orcs?"

"They were not both orcs." Aragorn said, pointing to a faint print in the grass, "One track is smaller than the other. Not a hobbit's tread…"

"One has taken Melody." Boromir growled.

But why that way? The orc risked being overtaken by the Horsemen of Rohan, passing so close to the stronghold of Edoras.

"What would possess an orc to go that way?" Gimli grumbled to himself, finishing Boromir's line of thought.

"Fangorn Forest," Legolas answered, "He doesn't want her too close to the trees."

For a moment all four were silent. There was now a choice to be made. The trail had split. Boromir knew which fork he would take. And he also thought he could guess which fork the others should take.

"I will go after Melody," He said decisively, "You three stay with the hobbits."

"No, Boromir, I will go with you." Legolas protested.

"No!" Boromir shouted and Legolas took a step back, his eyes wary. Boromir calmed his voice, "No, Legolas. The bulk of the orcs went north. Merry and Pippin will need all three of you to escape. I can manage one orc."

"I do not know that any of us should travel alone in these dark days." Aragorn said, cautiously.

"You are already far outnumbered," Boromir replied, "I would not further hinder your chances by taking a companion when none is needed. And the longer we tarry, the further our enemies fly."

There was a pause. Everyone watched Aragorn as he pondered the choices. Even Boromir found himself looking for some sign from the Ranger, a symbol of approval. Perhaps this man from the north was what Legolas had claimed him to be, a son of kings.

Finally, Aragorn nodded, "You are right, Boromir. We shall wait no longer. Go to the west, we three will go to the north."

Boromir let out a little breath of relief.

"Perhaps we shall meet again in the White City, Lord Aragorn." He said.

Aragorn nodded, his expression grim, "I hope that to be true, Lord Boromir."

"Boromir."

He turned to Legolas. The elf gave him a hard look, his expression searching and intense. Boromir did not shy away from it. Finally, Legolas nodded, as if satisfied with what he saw.

"Bring her back to us," was all he said. Boromir nodded and gripped the elf's arm, the most reassuring gesture he could muster. He knew how much Melody meant to the loyal elf-prince.

There was a pause. Then Gimli slapped Boromir on the back, and gestured toward the western horizon.

"Well, what are you waitin' for? Go get her, laddie!"

Boromir clasped the dwarf's shoulder, and then took the trail westward into the rapidly fading sunlight. He did not look back. There was only forward now, only Melody waiting on the other end of this trail of destruction. Boromir picked up his pace, first jogging, and then running. His pulse pounded in his ears and his mind took up the steady mantra that had plagued his every step since he had left the river Anduin.

I don't want you to die, I don't want you to die, I don't want you to die…

But instead of hearing Melody's voice, he heard his own. Melody's face wavered in front of him and he was chanting the phrase.

I don't want you to die, I don't want you to die, I don't want you to die…

The night wore steadily on and even though Mel knew she should be tired, she wasn't. The Uruk-Hai kept a grueling pace, but her limbs burned with an energy she knew came from the nasty stuff she had drunk earlier, helping her to keep up despite herself. The march became monotonous and her mind started to wander.

She was going to Saruman. She searched her memory for everything she knew about him. He was like Gandalf, a Maiar, the White Wizard. He had once been very wise, but he was proud and greedy. He wanted to rule Middle-Earth, either with Sauron or against him. He had cut down the forests to fuel the fires of his underground smithies and that had (or rather would) royally piss off the Ents. And he didn't care. If he didn't care about the trees, what could he possibly want with her? If he thought she was going to be his advocate to them, he was out of his magic-wielding mind! Nothing in this world could convince her to help him, much less hurt the trees. Hell, they were probably more human than he was!

But as she rolled it over in her mind, she couldn't come up with a better explanation. He wanted her for something, he needed her power. Otherwise, Big Ugly here would have killed her two days ago and saved himself the trouble of lugging her through what was, obviously, a very dangerous situation for him.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of rushing water. That didn't sound right.

"Hope you can swim, Witch." The Uruk-Hai growled.

She could swim. Though how she was supposed to swim with her hands tied she had no idea, and she didn't have a lot of time to ponder the question. The river water was up to her knees almost before she realized that they were in it. The Uruk-Hai jerked on her rope leash, pulling her farther into the freezing cold. Already, she couldn't feel her toes as she scrambled against the stones under her feet. She was neck deep now and the water was lapping at her mouth. She gasped and tried to push herself higher. But the current pulled at her legs and she slipped, her head dropping below the surface into the swirling dark. She tried to stay calm, but she could feel her clothes pulling her down, the river's current twisting her so she wasn't completely sure which way was up anymore. She could feel something tugging at where her hands should be, even if she couldn't feel them anymore, and that was the only sense of direction she had. She kicked off her shoes, trying to lose some of the weight that was holding her under the water. Her lungs were burning as she searched for some kind of purchase on the river's bottom, kicking and flailing as she was dragged in two different directions, both downriver and across the current. She finally found the bottom of the river again and shoved against it with all her might, just as her chest felt like it might explode. She broke the surface of the water and gasped, coughing and sputtering, just trying to stay afloat. She didn't have to move forward, the Uruk-Hai simply pulled her along. All she had to do was keep her head above water, which took all of her rapidly fading strength.

She could barely tell when her feet touched bottom again. Her whole body was numb. She stumbled to shore and collapsed on the bank, dripping wet and shivering. But she was jerked up by her collar and the nasty black bottle was shoved in her mouth again, pouring the burning liquid down her throat, searing her veins and bringing her limbs back to tingling life. She choked and coughed on the last of the stuff as it was ripped from her lips.

"Well, you're no fish are you, Tree-Witch?" The Uruk guffawed as he took a swig of the disgusting concoction. The idea that her lips had touched the same bottle as his was enough to make her retch. Mel glared at him, but stayed silent. He laughed again, "Too bad about those shoes though. You'll be wantin' 'em again before it's over."

Mel had completely forgotten about her shoes. Her bare toes wriggled in the soft grass of the river bank. Surely it wouldn't be that bad. She had run barefoot before. A sharp pang of homesickness accompanied the sliver of memory, chasing two giggling little girls through the woods behind the house…

The Uruk-Hai yanked her to her feet without warning and they were running again, the memory lost. At first the grass was soft and actually felt good on Mel's feet. But then the soft grass abruptly ended. Weeds started to poke at her and tiny rocks with sharp edges dug in and tore her soles. She gritted her teeth and ran anyway, partly out of spite, mostly because she didn't have a choice. She didn't look at her feet. She didn't want to see the damage being done. Instead she kept her eyes on the plains, watching for anything that might be a sign of a horseman. Because at that first sign, she was gonna make a break for it.

But she didn't see anything. Nothing moved in the darkness. Once she thought she caught the sound of a horse whinnying and her whole body tensed to spring. But nothing appeared. And the sound could have been from anywhere. She sighed and kept running. By now her feet were burning and she felt something warm and sticky between her toes. She tried not to think about it too much. Her head was pounding and her side was starting to pulse. It was the left side. She had almost forgotten about the broken rib. The orc-draught must have dulled the pain. But now it was breaking through, shooting through her side with every gasping breath, which was painful in itself, her lungs feeling as if they were on fire. She gasped and her side screamed in agony, which made her gasp again. It was an endless cycle.

Just as the sun started glowing over the tops of the distant mountains, she stubbed her toe on a rock and fell. And she didn't have the strength left in her to get back up again. The Uruk-Hai dragged her for several feet before he realized that something might be wrong. He stopped, whirled around and kicked her in the stomach.

"Get up, Witch!" He yelled.

Mel curled inward and just lay still. She couldn't have moved even if she had wanted to. Her legs wouldn't allow it. He kicked her again. This time his boot caught her forehead. She blacked out for a moment. When she came to again, she felt something warm and sticky trickling down her face. Slowly, she realized it was blood.

"Get up!" He yelled again.

She didn't move, waiting for him to keep kicking her. But he didn't. Instead, he grunted and then picked her up, slinging her over his shoulder.

"Weak humans…" He grumbled before devolving into some muttered comments in his own unintelligible language as he took off running again.

Mel could feel unconsciousness start to surround her like a blanket. In the darkness, Boromir's face still lingered like a ghost and for a moment she imagined that he was alive and he was running to her rescue. But he wasn't alive. And even if he was, she wasn't entirely certain he would have come for her anyway. She could still remember his face in Lothlorien, livid with rage and hate, when he had been convinced she had betrayed him.

It didn't matter. Boromir was dead. And if all went as it should, no one was coming for her.

Boromir ran well into the night, following the clear trail left by the orc. Eventually, his mind went blank and he only concentrated on the steady rhythm of his feet and the sounds around him on the plains. Slowly, he began to hear the rush of water flowing and realized he was approaching the Entwash. He began to watch the trail carefully to see when the orc branched off in search of the Entwade, the only safe place to cross the river. But the trail never deviated from its course westward, straight to Isengard and the tower of Orthanc. He had guessed the course several hours before. It was the only haven of betrayal and deceit that lay west. The orcs were taking Melody and the hobbits to Saruman. What vile purpose he had in mind for them, Boromir couldn't begin to imagine, and he had no intention of finding out. The thought of the wizard laying even one finger on Melody pushed all weariness from his mind and quickened his step without conscious thought.

His eyes continued to seek out signs of the trail turning to find the ford. The sound of the water grew louder in the stillness of the night. Where was the turn? Surely the orc didn't plan to…

He stumbled and his foot went ankle deep into the river. He cursed and stepped back. Had he misread the signs? He backtracked, searching carefully, but there was no mistaking it. The trail led straight into the roaring Entwash. The orc had dragged Melody through the deepest part of the freezing river, exhausted and frightened. It made his blood boil. He would not lose the trail now.

Carefully he removed his boots, Elven cloak, and tunic, stuffing it all into Melody's pack and slinging it over his shoulder. Then, without hesitation, he plunged into the icy water. He waded out as far as he could go, keeping his feet planted on the riverbed. But he wasn't even halfway across when he lost his contact with the bottom. He quickly threw himself against the current, swimming as hard as he could. He lost feeling in his limbs. The only way he knew he was still moving was because he could see his arms flailing before him in the water and he willed his legs to do the same. The sound of the water roared in his ears. He thought he would never find the shore in the darkness. But suddenly, his body rose out of the water, almost as if by a miracle. It took him a moment to realize that the miracle was his feet pushing against the rocky shore. He scrambled up the riverbank and collapsed in the grass, exhaustion finally overwhelming him. He curled into a tight ball, shivering uncontrollably. A tiny part of his mind knew that this was bad, that he needed to get up, that he needed to move. But a larger part of him just wanted to rest, wanted to sleep, just for a little while in the soft grasses. His eyes closed and he felt himself drifting away…

There was a strange face in the blackness, a woman's face, framed by long hair like brown silk. Her eyes were closed, as if in deep thought, but the face didn't crease. There was not a wrinkle in the pale skin. The delicate, pointed nose didn't move, the small, pink lips were perfectly straight. There was no blemish. It was the closest thing to a perfect face that he had ever seen. But it was not a beautiful face. It was bland, almost as if it were molded as a mask for something else, something other than the human skin it wore. It was not a face prone to humanity of any kind.

Then he heard a whisper in the dark, a whisper like a thousand voices murmuring together softly.

"A life for a life."

There was a blinding flash. He was surprised when his own face materialized and stared out at him. He looked more worn than he remembered himself to be. Then, out of the bright light, Melody's face replaced his own. She was smiling at him. He felt something warm fill his chest and spread out to his limbs.

Then the light faded. The voices mumbled again.

" A life for a life."

As the light faded the perfect face emerged out of the darkness, still motionless in concentration.

" A life for a life."

Suddenly, the eyes opened and the green was so brilliant and pure that he felt pierced by it, as if by a flaming blade. There was power in that glance, such as he had never seen or felt before, and he wondered how that perfect face that was not a face could contain it all. It was a mask, he was sure of it now. Superstitions or not, this was no mortal creature.

The perfect lips parted for the first time, and the whisper that left them reminded him of leaves rustling in a quiet wood, and yet more, so much more than that.

"Not yet." She said and he flinched, "Awaken, Son of Gondor. Save the Daughter of Yavanna."

As he felt his mind being forced to the surface of his consciousness, he heard the power of the voice soften into what he supposed was the equivalent of affection.

"Save my child…"

His eyes flew open and he shot up out of the grass. He was on his feet and running before he realized that he hadn't put his boots back on. He skidded to a stop, flung the pack onto the ground, and started digging for them, but slowly the urgency in his blood, in his bones, in his skin, started to fade and he began to notice things. Everything he had with him was still soaking wet. But he had dreamed. He must have been asleep for hours to have dreamed so vividly. He looked up at the stars and saw that they hadn't moved. And the sun should have been rising, pink and burnt orange in the sky to the east. But everything was still dark. He could only have been by the river for mere minutes instead of hours.

That was impossible. He should be exhausted and shivering still, possibly freezing to death. But despite his wet clothes, he felt warm and rested. He grabbed a wafer of lembas and chewed on it thoughtfully as he pulled on his boots. How could this be?

Then he thought back on the dream. And he remembered the power of the eyes. There were many things those eyes were capable of, many things that he might not be able to understand.

He shook his head and got to his feet. Those eyes were just a dream. Dreams didn't cause men to swim a freezing river and come out warmer than when they had plunged in. And dreams didn't make a few minutes rest feel like hours of deep sleep. Dreams were only dreams.

He sighed and looked down, expecting to see only untrodden grass. He would have to backtrack to the river and pick up the trail fresh from the riverbank. He would waste hours searching…

But there were footprints. He knelt down and studied the impressions in the dirt. It wasn't possible. They must be prints from some other source, a horse maybe. But no, these weren't hoof prints. There were two sets of prints, one large and one small. And they were heading due west.

"It's not possible." He whispered. He couldn't have reached the opposite side of the river in the exact spot as the orc had. The current was too strong, there were too many factors that made it an impossibility.

And yet here he was. The trail was clear. He rose to his feet in a daze and followed, expecting at any moment that the trail would veer off to the left or right and his hopes would be crushed. But it didn't veer. Slowly, he began to jog, then to run. His spirit soared. He didn't understand how or why, but that feeling of being watched from the heavens came over him again. He looked up for a moment as he ran and found Eärendil anew. Had someone heard his plea?

Save the Daughter of Yavanna… Save my child…

The Daughter of Yavanna... Melody, it had to be Melody. Someone was watching over her. The thought brought him hope. But as the sun started to rise at his back, something in the grass startled him to a skidding stop. The footprints were slightly garbled here, not as clear as before. Something had stopped them for a moment. But that wasn't what made Boromir's heart flutter and his breath catch in his throat.

He knelt in the grass, unwilling to believe what he saw. It was a trick of the light, the red sun reflected off dew in the grass perhaps. There had to be a better explanation, one that didn't make his chest ache or his head swim. Slowly he reached out and touched the dark red patch of grass. It was sticky and he recoiled. He felt his stomach roll. It was blood, human blood…

Melody's blood…

He sat back and tried to catch his breath. Blood… It had made her bleed. The numbness that had swallowed his limbs when he saw it was slowly replaced with a deep, sweeping fire. He clenched his teeth and launched himself across the plains.

It had made her bleed.

She didn't regain consciousness until the Uruk-Hai threw her to the ground hours later. Her side exploded with pain and her head spun until she thought she was going to be sick. She just lay for a moment, trying to get her bearings and make the world sit still, but she was yanked up by her hair. She hissed as she felt her skin tear open at her hairline. Something thick and warm ran down her face. But she managed to keep quiet. Screaming did her no good anyway.

"Welcome home, Witch." The Uruk growled.

Home? Her eyes flew open. The sun was setting and for a moment she was blinded as it reflected off the snow of the mountains that seemed to have sprung out of nowhere. But she blinked quickly, trying to force her eyes to adjust. Nestled into a little valley below them, a gray tower rose out of a cloud of grimy smoke. She tried to control the terror that filled her chest, forcing the air out of her lungs. Her breath came in gasps and her heart stuttered.

The Uruk-Hai barely seemed to notice. He yanked at her rope leash.

"Come on, you'll run yourself to your own funeral!" He cackled as he led her stumbling into the valley, toward Isengard, Orthanc, and Saruman.

Chapter Text

When Mel finally stumbled into Isengard night had fully fallen, but the courtyard (or what was left of it) glowed and shimmered with heat. The Uruk-Hai never slowed as he yanked her toward the tower, but Mel managed to catch a glimpse into one of the many vents that tore through the ground. She saw sparks fly and heard metal striking metal, along with a cacophony of roars and cackles and chittering, but the view was obscured by the billowing clouds of smoke that belched out of the hole. She was yanked onward. She kept her head down, avoiding any eyes they passed, but none of the orcs seemed to pay her any attention. She was just a prisoner, nothing more.

She tripped up the long, black steps of the tower and followed the Uruk-Hai through two huge, black doors. They didn't creak ominously as she would have expected them to. They opened smoothly and closed behind her with a gentle click. It was surprisingly cool in the gray hall. The difference in temperature made her shiver. The Uruk pulled her down the hall and to another set of doors. These weren't quite so big, but they were somehow more frightening. The Uruk shoved them open roughly and dragged her inside, bellowing triumphantly.

"I have brought the Tree-Witch!"

He grabbed her by the arm and flung her forward. She stumbled and lost her balance, sprawling across the smooth black floor. She scrambled to her knees, keeping her eyes down, trying not to tremble.

There was a moment of hair-raising silence.

"You fool!" a deep voice hissed, "What have you done to her? When I told you not to kill her, I did not mean bring her to me at the point of death!"

"Nothin' wrong with her that you can't fix." The Uruk growled.

"That is not the point."

The deep voice had suddenly become deadly. Mel cringed. Behind her, there was a choking sound and she heard boots scraping the floor. She squeezed her eyes shut and resisted the urge to press her hands over her ears. How much longer would this nightmare last? Finally there was a loud thump and the room was quiet. She was afraid to move, she was afraid to even breathe. She had the brief thought that maybe, if she pretended she was dead, she might be left alone. But of course that was silly.

"Get up." The deep voice commanded.

She was shaking, but she did as she was told. She kept her eyes on the floor. She heard a swish of cloth and a steady click on the stone. The point of a white staff tapped into view, surrounded by glittering robes that might once have been white. Now it was difficult to make out what color they were exactly. The robes made a slow circle around her, the staff tapping the floor incessantly.

Click, click, click...

Mel held her breath as the staff vanished from view behind her, but she could still hear it on the stone.

Click, click, click…

Finally, it came to a stop in front of her again.

"Well, there doesn't seem to be much to you."

The sneering comment finally got a reaction from her that was not just blind terror. She felt a spark of anger, but she bit it back.

They will always underestimate you, vinim ë…

Elrohir's voice in her memory was soothing and it helped her to maintain control. She worked to keep her head down and forced herself not to clench her fists. No use calling attention to her hands too soon.

"I admit I thought there might be an aura about you, a sign of some kind. After all, the Calenhiril is supposed to be one of the most powerful witches to wander Middle-Earth."

The name startled her and her mind wheeled. How did he know her name? If he knew her name what else did he know? Was her pathetic attempt to hide the Yavannacor just that, pathetic? Did he know everything and was just toying with her, playing mind games? She felt her heart sink at the prospect. But what else could she do? She forced herself to stay relaxed, trying to look small and insignificant.

"Look at me."

The command was clear, but she hesitated. If she looked at him, what would he see?

"Look at me!"

That time she couldn't refuse. She glanced up through her matted hair. Saruman's face was angular, drawn tight over his skull. Everything about it seemed thin, the nose, the lips, the skin, everything. And everything was pale, his hair, his cheeks, even his eyebrows. Everything except his eyes. His eyes were deep black pools that made her certain, as she had never been before, that he had once been very wise. But that must have been a long time ago. Now he just looked crazed. Those deep, black depths were searching her for something, anything that might give her away. But she felt far more in control than he was.

She stood a little taller and met his gaze directly. The wizard took a small step back and looked down his nose at her. He was fully a foot and a half taller than she was.

"I see it now. You were hiding yourself. But you will hide no more."

He spun and strode to the center of the round, black room, reaching toward a cloth that covered a tall pedestal. The realization of what was under that cloth hit her one millisecond before he swept the it away and she managed to avert her eyes, jerking her face away sharply.

The wizard chuckled, "So, you know what this is, do you?"

His tone made her angry again, but she fought it down. She didn't answer him.

"A palantir is a powerful tool," He said, "And it has many uses."

She continued to take deep breaths. She couldn't look into the seeing stone. She knew she wasn't strong enough. If he forced her somehow…

"But perhaps," Her heart stuttered, "Perhaps not all our secrets should be revealed just yet."

She thought she heard the cloth being settled back over the pedestal, but she didn't dare look up again. It could all be a trick.

"Perhaps there are friendlier means for secrets to be cast into the open."

Now his voice sounded pleasant, every word dripping with honey. It made her stomach turn. There was nothing friendly about Saruman. She wasn't stupid.

The ropes that bound her wrists loosened and fell away, coiling on the floor at her feet. Mel massaged the sore spots where they had rubbed through her gloves, and then realized what she was doing. She tried to put her hands back down to her sides as casually as possible.

"That's better. Perhaps now we can come to an agreement."

Not an ice cube's chance in hell, she thought. She felt him sweep by her and she glanced at his back as he passed. He walked like someone important, like the ruler of a kingdom. She tried to hide her smirk. For a wise man, he was such an idiot.

The wizard twirled and sat gracefully on his dark throne, looking down at her with steepled fingers and curious eyes.

"Now then," he said, "I know quite a bit about you, and you know quite a bit about me, so I think we can skip most of the formalities. And since you have been loath to speak thus far, I would be foolish to assume that you would give me your name."

Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. Mel fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"So I shall call you Calenhiril. I believe that you already know who I am, and that you know what I want."

Give me three guesses, but I'm only gonna need one.

"However, I am not sure that you understand what I could give you in return."

She held back a scoff. There was absolutely nothing in this world Saruman had that she wanted. Nothing could possibly…

"I can send you home, Calenhiril."

Boromir ran steadily all day, the blood in the grass swimming in front of his furious eyes. But the back of his mind kept replaying his vivid dream. The memory of it did not diminish. He remembered it as clearly as if he had just woken from it. The image of the perfect mask-like face was embedded in his brain. And the words kept repeating in his mind, over and over.

"A life for a life…"

What did it mean? And what did it have to do with Melody? He had distinctly seen her face. He would never forget the warmth her smile had brought him. But he shoved that away quickly and focused on the meaning of the words and the images. Obviously, the voices had been talking about his life. Was Melody's life to be sacrificed for his own? But that wasn't possible. He wouldn't allow it. And the perfect face in his dream had also seemed violently opposed to it.

"Not yet."

She had bitten off the words, as if finishing an argument. But he'd gotten the impression that the argument was far from over, simply postponed for more important matters at hand. What those other matters might be he couldn't imagine, but he was glad for the delay.

Suddenly, he chuckled and shook his head. Oh, if Faramir could only see him now! Dissecting his dreams as facts of the world, wondering at the conclusions of gods that he wasn't even convinced existed. No wonder the strange dream that had gotten him into this to begin with had come to his brother first. It was his brother that convinced him, after Boromir had the dream himself. Boromir was fully prepared to dismiss the notion that his dream might have been sent by anyone or anything but his own mind. He controlled his life and his dreams, not some immortal creature that watched from the stars. But for Faramir to have the same dream? It was too much to ignore. And so, despite his better judgment, he had taken his father's task and journeyed to Imladris.

It felt as if an eternity had passed since that day, since he had watched the banners of the White Tree of Gondor flutter above the battlements for the last time, since he had left his family. He had not felt comfortable leaving Faramir with Father. He pictured his brother's gentle face and hoped that he had taken over patrol of the eastern border as he had asked. His mind knew that Faramir was strong and perfectly capable of handling himself. But his heart still saw his little brother, bookish and shy, in need of protection and love, things that their father had seemed loath to give and that Boromir couldn't give enough. His heart longed for home. Nothing meant more to him than his family. After all, that was why he was here, sprinting across the plains…

He stumbled as the impact of his thoughts hit him. Melody… Melody was family. He shook his head trying to clear his mind. How had this happened? Where had it all come from? It was as if it had sprung out of the ground like a sapling overnight. He pushed it aside and ran on. He would ponder it later. There wasn't time now. Maybe when he got home he would discuss it with Faramir. His brother was more of an expert in such things. Feelings had never been a strong point for Boromir. But Faramir could read people, just like Father. There were so many things that they shared, Boromir often found it impossible to believe that the two did not get along. Faramir had more in common with Denethor than Boromir could ever hope to have. He envied his brother's mind, his ability to see a problem and patiently muddle it out, using all of the information he had carefully stored away in his memory from the countless books he had read. In many ways, Faramir was a stronger man than Boromir, a better man, the voice of reason when all Boromir wanted to do was charge into battle with his sword held high and the Horn of Gondor sounding on his lips. He couldn't even begin to count the number of times that Faramir's cleverness had saved his life.

He longed for that cleverness now. The sun was already setting in front of him and he knew that without a miracle he would never catch the Uruk-Hai before they reached Isengard, if they were not there already. And once Melody was in the tower of Orthanc he would have to find a way to get in and get her out again. He had no idea how he was going to accomplish that impossible feat. But he knew that he would try. And he had a feeling that he was going to need a voice of reason to keep him from charging up to the front gates and trying to fight his way through. It was a foolish idea, but not one that he was beyond pondering. Which was why he needed Faramir.

Day turned to night, the stars twinkling brightly against the deep blue sky, obscured only by the Misty Mountains rising out of the plains of Rohan like a wall. The darkness enveloped him in his own thoughts. Time seemed to disappear in the night as he ran, ignoring his body's protests against the strain of the chase that was not even a chase anymore. It was just a headlong sprint into the arms of the enemy. He focused all his energy on the trail that he followed, mulling through plan after plan in his head, incorporating all the experiences he had from scouting and spy missions, trying to see a clear way to bring Melody home safely.

Suddenly, he smelled sulfur on the air. He stopped and refocused his tired eyes in front of him. He was standing on a hill, the last before the hills turned to mountains. Below him spread a small valley, a pocket cut into the stone, burned black for miles. Smoke rose from the far side of the valley. The wind had turned and brought the smoke right to his face. In the dim light of the gradually brightening dawn he could barely make out the shape of a tower reaching for the last of the rapidly fading stars. Orthanc, Saruman's tower. And as the sun rose and threw light into the small valley, he could see that it was swarming with activity. Little shapes hurried to and fro about the blackened circle that made up Isengard, a great force gathering and preparing. Boromir sank to his knees on the hillside and felt despair start to seep into him.

"Melody…" he whispered.

At first, the possibilities of Saruman's proposal sent Mel's head spinning. Home… He could send her home. The faces of her mom and dad and her sisters flashed before her like an old dream. It had been so long since she'd even had a chance to think about them, to truly miss them... and she could go back. She could go back and pretend that none of this had happened, that she had never met any of these people, had never been affected by them. It was all just a long, vivid nightmare, brought on by her overactive imagination. Talking to trees, how crazy was that? Elves, dwarves, wizards, everyone knew they didn't exist. She could pretend that she had never known Boromir…

A stab of pain brought reality crashing down on her again. She held back a hiss as her side reminded her exactly who she was dealing with. This wasn't a figment of her imagination. The pain was real, and the man who had caused it was looking right at her. He was a master of deceit, willing to say anything to get his way. He couldn't send her home. And even if he could, he wouldn't. The shocking realization washed over her, just as painful as the day Lord Elrond had lost hope. But she didn't have time for pain.

She glared at the wizard and finally spoke through clenched teeth.

"You don't even know where home is."

His grin broadened and he clasped his hands before him gleefully.

"Ah, good! I was beginning to fear that the idiot had cut out your tongue."

She bit her tongue and glowered at him. She was going to speak as little as possible. Every word they exchanged made her nauseous. His smile faded when he realized she wasn't going to say anymore, and he sat back in his seat again.

"I don't have to know any more than that you don't belong here," he said, waving a hand in the air flippantly, "Simply tell me where you would like to go and it is within my power to send you there. I don't need to know anything other than where you desire to be," The smile returned, "In exchange for the power I seek of course."

She almost lost it right there. Her fists clenched and she bared her teeth. Her mind flew through pictures of the trees that she had spoken with. The feisty little bush at the Council in Rivendell; Birch and Rod in their tiny library world; the Tree embedded in the rock of Eregion, standing tall and lonely against the wind; the tree by the shores of the Watcher's lake that she had saved and had in turn tried to save her; Maltalda, the gentle giant with beautiful golden leaves, who had lived more lifetimes than she could possibly imagine.

She would never give them over to this monster. He couldn't have them to treat as his puppets, laying down quietly, giving themselves up to his whims. She would never leave them helpless like that.

His eyes swept over her as she pulled away from him in disgust and anger.

"This is not your world, Calenhiril," She ground her teeth as the name passed his lips, "You don't belong here. You were pulled here against your will and then left to fend for yourself. It wasn't fair and it needs to be corrected. I can do that for you. You have no responsibilities here, nothing tying you to this place. You don't have to live the nightmare. This is not your home and this is not your war."

His words so closely mirrored her previous thoughts that she jumped. Was he right? Without Boromir… what was tying her here now? What did she have here that was worth all of this?

Unbidden, faces started parading through her mind. Frodo and Sam. She could just imagine the little gardener's face twisting in agony at the horrors that would be wrecked upon his home. Merry and Pippin, who would be here soon, riding on the branches of trees, Ents that would be the best friends they could ask for, that would teach them courage and patience. Aragorn who would fulfill prophecy whether he liked it or not. Gimli, who was only now starting to see her as something other than an object of fear and suspicion. Legolas… Calm, steady, eternal Legolas who cared about her and protected her from her own fear and despair, who seemed to know her heart better than she did.

She was flooded with memories, with emotions and sensations, the sound of Aragorn's harsh whispers of warning, running her hand through Pip's curly hair, eating Sam's sausages, slightly burned, but perfectly cooked in the middle, the feel of Legolas' arms around her, steadying her fearful shaking…

The smell of Boromir in the garden under the stars, the tingling sensation that a simple handshake left on her palm, the sound of his whisper bringing her back from the edge of unconsciousness, his passionate gray eyes when he spoke of his city…

A tear swelled and escaped her eye, making a long winding trail down her cheek. She was crying. The realization stopped her short. She blinked and refocused on the White Wizard. He was staring at her, his dark eyes intense. A small grin creased the corners of his mouth. He had no idea what she was thinking. He had no idea that he had already lost.

She straightened and squared her shoulders. His smile vanished. She stared directly into his black eyes.

"You're right."

She saw the surprise light his eyes, but she ignored it.

"I was dropped here against my will. I didn't ask to be here, it wasn't fair. But I have more tying me here than you could ever hope to have. This is my world, this is my home, and this is my war. I'm not going anywhere."

She took a bit of satisfaction from the slack-faced look of shock on the wizard's face. But it didn't last long. The wizard's face tightened into a black scowl that made Mel want to cower in a corner, but she stood perfectly still and waited, watching for any sign of what he would do next.

But the movement was so quick and small that she had no time to prepare herself. Not that you can really prepare yourself for being thrown against a wall by an invisible force. She slammed into the stone and her side shrieked in agony. The impact knocked the breath out of her which meant she couldn't scream, but she did manage to gasp as she hit the floor. She didn't have any time to recover before she was flung back onto her feet and shoved against the wall by a force so powerful it was hard to draw breath. Or maybe that was her broken rib…

Saruman was on his feet, his staff leveled at her. He walked with a calm, purposeful stride, but rage twisted his features into a white mask of hate, his eyes crackling with black fire. He stopped a few feet from her.

"I will have your power, Calenhiril," He hissed, "One way or the other. I will not be overrun by the force that I have seen coming from the forests! I will not be destroyed by the giants that sleep, by trees!" he spit.

With a twitch of his staff, he tossed her across the room. She hit the floor and lay still, clenching her teeth until her jaw ached, her hands pressing into the cool marble. Without command, two orcs entered the room and grabbed her by her arms. A wordless cry tore from her throat, but she cut it off as soon as she heard it escape.

"Take her to the deepest dungeon and shackle her there," Saruman snarled, "Perhaps she needs rest to clear her head and help her see reason."

The orcs grunted and dragged her out of the room. The pain dulled as the edges of her vision started to grow dim. The worst wasn't over. Mel knew it, even as sweet unconsciousness started to cloud her mind. And she wondered briefly if she would live to see her friends again, friends she was willing to die for and they didn't even know it.

Chapter Text

Sleep had overcome Boromir as he sat on the hill, lost in despair. When he woke, the sun was already setting. His eyes and mind were clearer and he studied the workings of Isengard intently, trying to determine the purpose of all the activity. Something was about to happen. If he could determine when the activity would reach its peak, perhaps he could slip in unnoticed in the chaos of preparation. In essence, walk right through the open front door. No one would be expecting him. Most likely they would pay little heed to one more lone, ragged figure hurrying through their midst. If he were caught it would be the end of him and most likely the end of Melody, but he saw little else that he could do. He just couldn't allow himself to be caught.

He pulled his elven cloak out of the pack and threw it around his shoulders, tugging the hood up over his head to shadow his face. The Lady of the Wood had said that it would shield from unfriendly eyes. He could think of few eyes that would be more unfriendly than the ones he was about to encounter. As the first stars began their unhurried trek through the sky, he stood and began to make his way carefully down into the rocks of Isengard. He wanted to be as close to Orthanc as possible before first light. And the next night he would make his move on the tower. He just hoped that one more day would not be one day too many.

When Mel woke again, she was sore and stiff and hanging from her wrists. She got her feet underneath her and managed to stand. Metal clanked above her and she looked up groggily. She was shackled to the dark, dank wall. Her fingers started to tingle when she relieved them of the pressure of her full weight. She flexed them and winced as the blood worked its way back into her hands. Her head was fuzzy. She tried to remember where she was. A dungeon… A dungeon in Orthanc… Saruman's furious face floated up through the blackness of her consciousness and she shivered. But that could have just been the cold. The black stone floor was freezing on her bare feet and the cold metal digging into the skin of her wrists…

Her muddled thoughts froze in fear. Her gloves… Where were her gloves?! She could see her naked fingers above the metal cuffs that kept her prisoner. And there, glaringly obvious in the dark, shone the Yavannacor. Someone had taken off her gloves. But why leave the ring? An image flashed in her memory, one of her first in Middle Earth, the memory of a red hand print on Lord Elrond's face. Maybe whoever had taken off the gloves hadn't been able to take her ring. Maybe she had fought back. She tried to think, tried to remember if she had been conscious when her gloves came off, but she didn't remember anything. And really it didn't matter. She was sure they had noticed the ring and if they noticed they would tell Saruman. And if they didn't tell him, he would soon see for himself. Either way, she didn't have a lot of time. She refocused on the room around her.

There wasn't a lot to look at. It was round and small and frankly looked more like a storage room than a dungeon. The only light came from a small barred window in the heavy wooden door across from her and that was faint and flickering like torchlight. She was only bound by her hands and she yanked at the chains experimentally. It was useless of course, the links were heavy and pounded firmly into the stone wall. There was no way she could pull them free. She felt like she would be lucky if she could cut through soft butter. How long had it been since she'd eaten solid food? Her stomach clenched at the thought.

As if on cue, she heard skittering footsteps outside the door. Panicked, she quickly worked to spin the Yavannacor around on her finger so the emerald was inside her palm. Then she clenched her fists as tight as she could, praying it would be enough. The door creaked open and a small orc scurried into the room bearing a tray.

"Lord Saruman bids you eat." He wheedled, his voice breathy and high-pitched.

He shuffled toward her with the tray. She could see a loaf of bread and a mug. She pressed her back against the wall. The orc was right in front of her. He picked up the bread and held it in front of her.

"Eat."

She glared and turned her head. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him set the bread back on the tray. Then he backhanded her. Her head snapped around and she gasped, feeling a sharp pain in her side that reminded her about her cracked rib. She could taste something coppery in her mouth and she tried not to think about it.

The orc picked up the bread again.

"Eat." He repeated in the same bored tone.

She regained her composure and managed another glare at him. But some little part of her mind told her that she wouldn't have much chance of saving anyone, least of all herself, if she was starved. Grudgingly, she opened her mouth and the orc stuffed the bread inside. It was tough and dry, but she chewed and swallowed, only barely admitting to herself that it was damn near the best thing she had ever tasted. When she had finished half of the loaf, the orc snatched it away from her and lifted the mug.

"Drink."

She put her lips to the rim and sipped. She was surprised to taste cold, clear water. She gulped until the mug was ripped from her lips and replaced again with the bread. She finished the loaf and the mug. Then the orc shuffled out the door without a word and she heard the scrape of a lock being turned. She sighed. She felt better and her head was clearer. She wondered how long she had been down here. Then she wondered how much longer she could expect to stay. How much longer did she have before Saruman realized that all he needed to do was take the Yavannacor, that he didn't need her? How much longer was she going to live? Could she possibly drag out her confrontation long enough for the Ents to arrive? And would that even save her? If he saw the Ents coming, would the wizard just kill her out of spite?

She sagged against her chains. Hopelessness filled her chest and made it hard to breathe. She didn't have a chance of fooling Saruman. He was one of the most cunning men in Middle Earth. He would see right through her. And even if he did decide to keep her alive out of some twisted desire to see her suffer, there was no one coming for her, no one to save her. She was alone in this world of monsters. A sob burst out of her. She cried out loud, not caring who heard. She wasn't a strong person. She was small, and alone, and terrified. And it wasn't fair that she had been dragged here to die!

"What the hell was the point of that!" she screamed, "What the hell was the point in any of it!"

Then she just screamed wordlessly, as loud as she could, stomping her feet and yanking on her chains until she wore herself out and her voice was hoarse. She sagged back against the wall again, exhausted. She closed her eyes and unbidden, Boromir's face lifted itself out of the darkness and smiled at her.

I do not lack the strength. I will carry you if need be.

God, she needed him right now. Why couldn't he be here? Then she shook her head, clearing away the remnant of thought. Even if he was alive, she wouldn't want him here. Because if he were here, it would mean that he was going to die anyway. One man could not stand up to a wizard, not even one as great as Boromir. No, if he were alive she would want him safely on his way to Minas Tirith, to defend his city from the Enemy that was coming, to give his father and his brother hope in a hopeless time. And she was sure if he were alive that was where he would be. His city meant more to him than anything. And he loved his family. He would have done anything for them.

But he wasn't alive. She had failed him, and in doing so had failed Gondor and Minas Tirith and Denethor and Faramir. She had failed in so many things. Hell, she couldn't even keep herself alive! What had Yavanna been thinking, bringing her here?

"The ring chooses its mistress… You were chosen, Melody Calenhiril… part of the song we sang at Eru's feet before the world came into existence…"

"Yeah well, Eru is an idiot." Mel muttered bitterly. She instantly felt bad for saying it.

"You may choose how you wish, but every choice has consequence…"

So… Had she made the wrong choice? Was that the point? Was that why she was going to die at the hands of a madman? Because she had chosen to try to save the man she loved, despite everyone telling her the choice was foolish? Was it a foolish choice? After all, what had she accomplished? A whole lot of nothing. Boromir had still died and now she was going to die too and the Yavannacor would be in the hands of a power-crazed wizard intent on controlling the world! Fat lot of good she'd done!

She sighed. But she had made the choice. She couldn't change it. All she could do was suffer the consequences, and mourn for those she had failed, until her captor saw fit to end her suffering. And pray that outside this little hell, everything else was going to plan. Because if anything else was ruined because of her… She didn't think she could bear it.

Merry's feet slipped and Pippin shot his hand out to catch him.

"Merry!"

But he wasn't quick enough and Merry tumbled out of the old tree, landing on his back with a loud whump. The orc straddled him, a sword at his throat. Pippin watched helplessly as Merry tried to fight him off…

Something under his fingers twitched. Pippin froze. It twitched again. Slowly, he turned. A giant pair of yellow eyes blinked back at him. Fear paralyzed him. The tree was blinking. Pippin snatched his hand from the trunk in terror.

"Agh!"

He lost his balance. The wind rushed past his ears and he closed his eyes, waiting to hit the ground. But instead he was snatched out of the air by a huge hand. His eyes flew open. A tree branch was wrapped around his middle. He tried to free himself, but the tree barely seemed to notice him. Half its trunk lifted from the ground and crashed forward, followed by the other half. The tree was walking! Pippin's head reeled. He looked down. The orc was running, a loud squeal ripping out of its throat. The tree's trunk came down and squished the orc like a beetle. Merry lay on the ground, staring up with wide eyes.

"Run, Merry!" Pippin screamed. If Merry could only escape…

His cousin scrambled up, but he got no more than two steps before the giant walking tree scooped him up in his other hand. Then, as the tree strolled through the dim forest, Pippin saw a hole rip open below the eyes.

It's going to eat us!

But instead, a sound like wood on wood came out of the hole.

"Little orcs! Burarum."

Talking… Talking…

"It's talking, Merry. The tree is talking." Pippin babbled in awe.

"Tree? I am no tree! I am an Ent!"

The tree… Ent… whatever it was, it sounded indignant.

"A treeherder!" Merry exclaimed, suddenly excited, "A shepherd of the forest!"

Pippin wanted to tell Merry not to talk to it, not to encourage it in anyway, but then he remembered Mel and how easily she had spoken to trees.

"Yes, Pip, they're just like real people. They have distinct voices and personalities. And most make very good conversation."

"Treebeard, some call me…"

The Ent was still talking. Pippin swallowed and made his first attempt to talk back.

"And… who's side are you on?"

"Side? I am on nobody's side. Because nobody is on my side, little orc. Nobody cares for the woods anymore."

"That's not true!" Pippin yelled, now feeling it was his turn to be indignant, "Mel is on your side!"

"Pippin, shut up!" Merry hissed, "We aren't orcs!" He said louder, addressing Treebeard, "We are Hobbits!"

"Hobbits? Never heard of a hobbit before. Sounds like orc mischief to me…" Treebeard growled.

Pippin felt the wooden fingers tighten around him and he gasped and struggled. Treebeard didn't seem to notice.

"They come with fire, they come with axes, biting, breaking, hacking, burning! Destroyers and usurpers, curse them!"

"No, you don't understand!" Merry cried out, struggling against the Ent's ever-tightening hold, "We're hobbits! Halflings! Shirefolk!"

"Please!" Pippin cried out, "We know the Lady of the Yavannacor!"

Treebeard paused midstride.

"The Yavannacor?"

His iron grip loosened slightly. He seemed to be mulling the name over in his head and Pippin wondered if he had made a terrible mistake. Merry was glaring at him as if he had.

"You are friends to Calenhiril?" The Ent asked finally.

"We call her Mel," Pippin said, ignoring Merry's warning look, "But she talks to the trees and they do what she asks and she heals them and she has a ring called the Yavannacor, and she's on your side!" He added in a rush.

There was a long pause. Then the Ent started to stroll through the forest again, humming to himself.

"I don't know how you would know of these things, or if you are orc or other creature, made for good or evil. But the White Wizard will know, harum hum."

Pippin's heart fell all the way down to his toes. Merry had been right, as usual. Pippin had made a terrible mistake.

"The White Wizard…" he muttered helplessly.

"Saruman…" Merry whispered.

Suddenly, the giant fingers let go and they both went rolling to the ground. Slowly, Pippin raised his eyes, and saw the White Wizard.

"Gandalf?"

Chapter Text

"Gandalf!"

Pippin scrambled to his feet and launched himself at the wizard, wrapping himself up and clinging to his white robes.

"Gandalf, Gandalf, we lost you when you fell and that thing got you and, oh Gandalf, it's all my fault!"

He was sniffling despite himself and he buried his face in the wizard's midsection.

"Here now, here now!" Gandalf cried out with good-humored fondness that did much to sooth Pippin's heart, "No tears at this happy meeting, young Peregrin Took!"

Slowly, Gandalf managed to untangle Pippin from his robes and hold him at arm's length, smiling down at him.

"For you see, I was lost for a time, but now I seem to have been found. What happened in that other life is but the shadow of a dim dream, soon forgotten."

Merry finally found his voice, "But the tre… erm, Ent, called you the White Wizard. I thought you were Gandalf the Grey?"

"I was," Gandalf said, "And I am. But now I am the White Wizard also, or what they sung of in the beginning…"

He trailed off and his eyes glazed over as if he were in deep thought about things Pippin couldn't begin to fathom. But his reminiscence was interrupted by the rough sound of something that might have been a cough.

"Harum haroom, young Master Gandalf..."

Gandalf's eyes cleared and he grinned up at the Ent, "Treebeard, old friend, have these hobbits been quite troublesome?"

"Trouble? No, no trouble yet, but let us not be hasty," Treebeard harrumphed, "They have not yet had a full day to show themselves troublesome or not."

"I can assure you, Master Fangorn, the hobbits are true to their very cores, loyal to friends and faithful to our cause, though they are hasty to a fault most times."

He glanced down at Pippin and winked. Pippin smiled.

"And yet they seem to know much that has been hidden for many ages," Treebeard said, "They spoke of the Yavannacor."

"Ah! Melody is still about is she?" Gandalf said, his eyes alight with mischief, "Well, tell her to come out! They said in Lorien that I missed her by only half a day."

Merry and Pippin exchanged a look and then both hung their heads, toeing at the ground.

"Gandalf," Merry murmured, "She's not here."

Gandalf observed the carefully for a brief moment that felt a bit like an eternity.

"But you've seen her haven't you?" His expression was grave.

"They wouldn't bring her near the forest." Merry said.

"They had a horrible argument about it!" Pippin exclaimed.

"I guess now we know why, of course."

Merry looked up at Treebeard meaningfully.

"But one of them took her away," Pippin said, "He just took off across the wide open plain as fast as he could!"

"He went west," Merry added, "I think he was taking her to Isengard."

There was a breath of silence.

"That is strange news indeed…" Gandalf murmured finally, his eyes narrowed and turned west.

"Is it Calenhiril, Gandalf?" Treebeard asked.

The wizard nodded.

"Yes, my friend, I'm afraid it is."

Treebeard stood very straight and tall for a moment, his eyes fixed on a point in the far distance. Then he nodded to himself, cupped his hands around his mouth and let loose a loud horn call that reverberated through the woods like a deep trumpet. There was a moment of silence. Then there was a distant answering horn call… and another… and another!

Treebeard listened carefully as horn after horn echoed across the forest, then nodded his head in a decisive way.

"The Ents do nothing in haste. But Calenhiril is a matter of great importance, and if she is in Isengard, Entmoot must determine what is to be done, for Saruman no longer cares for growing things."

"Entmoot?" Pippin asked, turning to Gandalf who was smiling again, "Gandalf, what's that?"

"Why don't you go with him and find out, both of you. I have things to see to. Treebeard, I leave them in your care."

Abruptly, Gandalf turned and almost seemed to melt away into the trees. Pippin and Merry watched him go in slack-jawed surprise.

Treebeard haroomed behind them, pulling them out of their daze.

"Young Master Gandalf, always so hasty, so busy with his work!"

Out of nowhere, he scooped up the hobbits and put one on each shoulder. Pippin squeaked and clung to the branches sticking every which way from the top of his head.

"Come little hobbits!" He exclaimed cheerfully, "We are off to Entmoot!"

When the door creaked open, Mel barely looked up. Her side ached and her head was throbbing, she barely had enough conscious thought to close her fist around the Yavannacor. The sharp click of a staff on the stone cleared her thoughts considerably. Her head shot up and it made her vision swim, but when her eyes finally focused she saw Saruman standing just inside the door, looking smug.

"No need to hide any longer, Calenhiril," He cooed, "I know where the power lies. Let me see it."

He held out a hand. Mel clenched her fist tighter and shied away from him, whispering the first thing that popped into her mind.

"Go to hell."

He gave her a half smile, but dropped his arm, leaning on his staff and observing her like he would an interesting insect.

"You are sick," He declared, "Perhaps dying. You have at least one broken rib and that cut on your head is probably infected. It will enter your blood and find your heart soon enough. You are undernourished and dehydrated. Without me, you will die, in hours or days, it matters not. In the end, I will have your ring whether you give it to me or not. Are you going to throw away your life for a cause that is hopeless to begin with?"

Now it was Mel's turn to smile.

"No cause is hopeless, as long as there is one fool left to fight for it."

There was a pause. Saruman's face fell into a scowl.

"So you will die then?" She didn't bother to answer, "I was hoping that with rest and a little time, you would see reason. I want to help you, Calenhiril." Mel rolled her eyes, "But time is a luxury I am not willing to waste on your games any longer."

He lifted his hand and Mel's heart leapt to her throat.

"So now, Calenhiril, I shall have that ring of yours."

She braced herself and glowered at him.

"No." she whispered.

His eyes flashed, "Now, now, let's not make this more difficult than it must be."

Her nails bit into her palm and she hissed through clenched teeth.

"No."

"Very well."

He tensed his fingers, and the ring began to burn against her flesh. She gasped, but still she held on as tightly as she could. He couldn't take it. He wouldn't take it!

"No!" she shouted, pulling away, pressing her back into the wall, straining at her chains, "No, no, NO!"

She could feel the metal blistering her finger and the jewel was like a white hot coal burning a hole in her palm. Slowly the ring began to move, forcing her hand open inch by painful inch. Mel just screamed wordlessly now, tears of fear and anger and hatred pouring down her face. She caught the cruel smile warping the wizard's face. She snarled and yanked back against the pull she could feel on her hand, fighting him with everything she had in her. The wizard tilted his head, an eyebrow raised.

Then his wrist gave a sharp twist and the Yavannacor flew into his open palm.

It was like a piece of her soul had been ripped from her body. Some part of her brain that she hadn't even been aware of shut down, leaving behind only fuzzy static. Her thoughts were mostly an incoherent jumble, adrift in that rolling white noise. She lost all the strength she had mustered and sagged against the chains that held her. She felt nothing, no pain, no emotion, just the blank spot on her finger where the Yavannacor had rested comfortably for so long. Gradually, the emptiness seemed to spread until it covered everything in her. What was she supposed to do now? The shackles suddenly released her and she sank to the ground, barely aware of their absence. She felt so lost, so helpless, so alone.

She heard Saruman speak like an echo of a voice in another room.

"Because you defied me, you will die slowly. No one will come to you again. You will die alone in this room, knowing that everything and everyone you fought for is doomed. That is my punishment."

She didn't notice when he left. She only knew that he was gone. And that the Yavannacor had gone with him. Everything was gone. She curled up against the wall and concentrated on making herself as small as possible. She cradled her hand, rubbing at the blisters on her fingers, forcing herself to feel the pain, to keep from falling into the senseless hysteria that threatened to overwhelm her.

Finally, one lucid thought pulled itself out of her jumbled brain.

I have lost everything. And now I'm going to die.

She began to sob.

Deep in Fangorn Forest the trees began to rumble. The sound startled Pippin out of his dozing dreams of the Shire. At first he thought it was the Ents, still conversing in the clearing. But as he fought off the fog of sleep, he realized it was not the tree shepherds making the racket. The trees themselves were groaning.

"Merry!" He whispered, shaking his cousin, "Merry, wake up!"

Merry groaned and flopped over, "What is it, Pip? Are the Ents fighting?"

"No, something's happened," Pippin said, eyeing the forest moving and shuddering around them, "The trees aren't happy about it."

"Hum haroom, they sense the disturbance of power from Isengard," Treebeard muttered, coming up behind them, "The Yavannacor has been parted from its keeper."

Pippin's eyes widened, "Its keeper…"

"Mel!" Merry yelped, leaping to his feet, "He's got Mel! He's taken her ring! We've got to do something!"

Treebeard leaned back, waving a branch-like hand in the air, "Now don't be hasty, Master Meriadoc."

"Hasty?!" Merry exclaimed, "Mel is our friend! She needs our help! Who knows what he's done to her! How can you just stand around and talk?"

"The Calenhiril plays an important role in the order of the forest, little Shireling. We do not take her capture lightly!" Treebeard said, annoyance tinging his tone.

The two hobbits took a couple of steps back with the force of his words. Treebeard noticed and his branches shivered as if to shake off his anger.

"But you have to understand, young hobbits," He said, much more gently, "It takes a long time to say anything in Old Entish. So we Ents never say anything unless it is worth taking a long time to say."

Then Treebeard turned and walked away. Merry watched him go with frustrated eyes, and then huffed, stomping away in the other direction. Pippin glanced back and forth between them for a few moments, before he sighed and glanced at the trees, still shuddering and moaning as if in a great storm.

"I just hope Mel is alright." He whispered.

Chapter Text

Boromir woke as the sun was setting, just as he'd hoped. He wrapped his cloak about him and peered over the outcropping of rock that had been his shelter for the day. He was just within sight of the gates of Isengard. The activity inside the stronghold had increased and he could hear the clang of metal, and the grunts and roars of orcs as they scurried about. It looked to Boromir like they were preparing for war. Would Saruman really be foolish enough to attack Gondor? Or did he target the land of the Horse-lords instead? To Boromir that seemed just as foolish. Rohan would not topple easily. The Rohirrim were strong and clever and more than capable of defending themselves. What did Saruman hope to achieve?

But he could not dwell on that. Not now. Now, he sought for the sentries that he was sure would be guarding the gates. He found none. His eyes darted about wildly. How could there be no outside guard? Was Saruman so confident in his own power that he thought his tower impenetrable? Or perhaps he never dreamed that someone might be foolish enough to simply walk into Isengard, alone and armed only with his sword. Boromir himself could barely believe it. What chance had he against an army of orcs and a wizard?

He stopped that line of thought before despair could overwhelm him. He closed his eyes and reached deep inside himself, searching for the peace and steadiness that had guided him through so many dangers, so many battles, so many hopeless times. A vision of Melody's face smiled at him.

"Save the Daughter of Yavanna…" The voice seemed to float out of the dusk and gently brush his ears, "Save my child…"

He opened his eyes. Night had fully fallen. The glow of Isengard's fires lit the way. Without another thought, Boromir tugged his hood over his head, hoping the shadows would hide his face, and slipped down the hillside.

She lived in a dark world of ghosts and visions. Her eyes were closed. She was not asleep, and yet she dreamed. Bits of her life replayed behind her closed lids. Her mother's soft voice sang lullabies in her ear, her first kiss by the swing set from a boy with gray eyes who grew up to be a man that she read about in books. No… no that was a different boy. Or maybe it wasn't. A soft golden forest with elves and talking trees, but the trees were silent. Legolas was there and he was holding her.

"Do not despair, mellon-nîn. Your friends are with you. We will see you through to the end of these dark days."

A visit to the aquarium when she was ten. The octopus grabbed her and threw her against the wall and made her cry. But the boy with gray eyes whispered softly…

"Melody… Melody, wake up…"

She couldn't wake up. She wasn't asleep.

"Wake up, Mel!"

That was her father's voice, from a very long time ago, before he'd gone off to save the world.

"Come on, you're gonna be late for school! I'm not gonna tell you again, kid, up and at 'em!"

"John, I think she might be sick." Her mother murmured, in a voice as soft as leaves falling in autumn.

"Mom…?" Mel whispered.

She opened her eyes, but it was not her mother's face that smiled down at her. It was Yavanna.

"Hold on a little while longer, Calenhiril," She whispered, "Just a little while longer…"

"I'm not Calenhiril," Mel whispered, "I'm not anything anymore."

Mel blinked slowly. When her eyes opened again, Eregwen was leaning over her.

"What did I tell you about pushing yourself too hard?" She said with fond exasperation, "Are you trying to undo all my hard work?"

The elven healer smiled, then leaned back until the shadows covered her face, "She has pneumonia. We're doing all we can for her, Mrs. Bernston. Just give it time."

"Hold on just a little while longer, baby," Her mother's voice whispered in the dark, "Someone's coming for you. Just hold on a little while longer."

She tried to tell her mom that no one was coming for her, no one was out there to rescue her. But she couldn't find the strength to talk to the ghosts anymore. She sighed and let the words blanket her mind.

"Just a little while longer… Only a little while longer… Just hold on…"

It seemed to take an impossibly long time to cross the courtyard of Isengard to the tower of Orthanc. Boromir was reminded of why he always made his brother play the spy. He had not the patience for it, jumping at shadows and shrinking from firelight, all the while trying to move forward through the sea of enemy eyes. But as he had suspected, all eyes were turned elsewhere. Time and again he slipped through the darkness, unseen, while all he wanted to do was run as fast as he could, straight for the tower, up the steps, and demand Melody's immediate release. Over and over again he had to remind himself why that would never work. He would be dead before he reached the steps. But every moment he spent sneaking about was another moment that could be Melody's last. He fought back a fear of what he might find if he were too late, horrifying images that he had to steel himself against so he could focus on the task in front of him.

The tower loomed in the darkness as he wound carefully through the orcs and the fires that burned from the holes in the ground. He risked only a short glimpse into one of the chasms and saw what appeared to be a huge smithy with orcs scurrying through the shimmering heat, beating out weapons and armor. He hurried on before he was seen. From what he could tell, most of the orcs were in the underground cavern. He moved forward with a watchful eye. He just had to make it to Orthanc.

And when he reached the tower, what then? Would he wander aimlessly, hoping against hope that he would stumble upon Melody's prison by happy chance? Or worse yet, until he was discovered? Would Saruman show mercy and kill him quickly? Or would he be stuffed into some deep and disused corner, left to rot? Boromir cleared the thought away with a shake of his head. What choices did he truly have? There was no way to know where the wizard would keep her. All he could do was hope for a miracle.

He passed into a shadow and looked up. The tower of Orthanc glowered down at him like an angry black giant. He hurried deeper into the shadows until he was leaning against the cold stones. He was on the far side of the tower, away from the glowing underground furnaces. He closed his eyes for a moment to calm his frayed nerves and steady his thoughts. He had to find Melody. Even if it meant death, he had to find her. He would find her.

He opened his eyes and began to move along the curve of the tower wall. There would be more than one entrance, it only made sense. Saruman would never leave himself with only one way out, Boromir was counting on it. He was not disappointed. Almost immediately he came upon a wooden door, set flush to the exterior of the wall. He would have missed it if his fingers hadn't been running the length of the stone and come upon the wood. He drew his sword and tugged the door open. Even in the dim light, he could tell that the door led nowhere. It was only a storage room. He closed it and continued on, his heart hammering in his chest. A few yards further and he came upon another door. This one was harder to distinguish, for it was made of the same stone as the tower. But he could feel the seam in the rock. This had to be what he was looking for. It was well hidden, with no visible way inside. There would be a catch or a password. He took a step back and sighed, running a hand through his hair. He could stare all day at that hole in the rock and never come up with the answer…

"…wisdom…"

He whirled around, sword held ready. But it was no more than a whisper in the wind. His eyes darted through the darkness, but found no one. The soft voice had been familiar, like the voice of the woman in his dreams who was not a woman at all. The voice of Yavanna…

"Wisdom," He breathed. What could that mean? His mind raced as he turned back to the door. If only he could just kick the door in! But where would be the wisdom in that? There had to be something to it. He closed his eyes and thought.

"Nolë…" he murmured. It was an old Quenya word for wisdom, one of the few words that had stuck from his lessons. It was so important to his father…

There was a soft click. His eyes flew open. Instead of a stone door, there was a gaping black hole in the wall. For a moment he just stood and stared. Could it have truly been that simple? He took a single step forward, ready to strike if someone materialized in the blackness. Nothing happened. The door still stood open, beckoning him forward. He took another step, and another. He was inside the doorway. Then inside the tower itself. Behind him, the stone door silently swung shut and clicked into place again.

A light flickered to life beside him and he jumped. But no one was there. The light was from a torch by his head that seemed to have lit itself. He allowed his eyes time to adjust, and then looked around him. He was in a small empty room. The only way out seemed to be a flight of stairs that led downward, but beyond the first few steps he could not see. Carefully, he reached for the torch. His fingers wrapped around the wood, and then he paused, waiting to see if anything happened. Nothing did. Slowly, he eased the torch from its bracket, listening for anything, a click, a twang, any sound that would indicate a trap or an alarm. There was no sound. He released the breath he hadn't known he was holding and started down the stairs.

He had gone down twenty steps when he saw another light ahead. He quickly dropped his torch and stomped it out before pressing himself against the wall, trying to calm his harsh breathing in the dark. But the other light didn't move. Slowly he crept down the rest of the steps until he was just outside an archway that opened into a long hall. He glanced both ways. It seemed to be deserted. He took a single step into the empty passage.

That was when he heard the angry shouts.

"Why won't it work?!"

The sounds of screeching hinges and a door slamming on stone broke through Mel's hazy dreams. Her body was jerked upright against its will and slammed back against the stone wall. She dimly realized that she was in pain, that her rib was still cracked and it was hard to breathe, but it all seemed so distant now. Saruman stood in the open doorway, his eyes flashing wildly. He descended on her like a vulture, his robes swirling around him violently.

"Why won't the ring summon the trees of the forest?" He shouted, clamping a hand around her neck, "Why can't I bend them to my will?!"

Mel choked out a laugh, "Maybe they just… don't like you."

The wizard snarled and suddenly she was flying across the room. She hit the wall and sank to the floor, but she was overcome with an uncontrollable case of the giggles.

"The trees don't like you," she gasped, "Imagine that! You burn up all their friends and relatives, and then wonder why they're pissed!"

She couldn't stop laughing, even though everything hurt like hell. It was all so ridiculous!

Saruman grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back until they were nearly nose to nose.

"This ring gave you unimaginable power," He hissed, "How? What did you do to control the trees?!"

Her giggles had stopped. Her fuzzy mind was slowly working. She was nothing special, not strong or powerful. She was just ordinary.

"I didn't control anything," She whispered, "All I did was ask."

"You must have controlled something!" He shrieked.

But Mel was barely listening. She could feel the beginnings of an epiphany, something wonderful and beautiful and poetic in a way. If she could only just…

"The Yavannacor isn't about taking control," She murmured, "It's about giving it."

There! That was it! The ring gave power to the trees, not to her! She had nothing to do with it. She was just a carrier, a go-between, a missing link. The Yavannacor gave the trees control of themselves! It was all so simple she couldn't believe Saruman, in all his wisdom, hadn't figured it out. It was so crazy that she started giggling again, this time with relief. Saruman would never be selfless enough to give up control of anything. The trees were perfectly safe.

Saruman's face darkened. He tossed her head away and stood up, glaring down his nose at her.

"You are more useless than I thought."

Then his staff cracked her on the head and everything went black.

The shouts were the shouts of a man. Boromir leapt into action, sprinting down the hall in the direction of the voice. The sound bounced and echoed off the walls and he hoped that he was going the right way, that he wasn't making some terrible mistake. He passed a few hallways and briefly wondered if he should have turned. But there was no time for debate. He ran on. Torches were becoming fewer and fewer, and he began to believe that maybe he should have kept his with him. He stopped for a moment to remove another from its bracket. He could hear laughter now. A woman's laughter… Melody's laughter. His heart pounded and he tried very hard to quiet it, listening with intensity, hardly daring to believe… Then he turned right and kept running. Could it be possible?

He clearly heard the man's shriek.

"You must have controlled something!"

He stopped. That had been from just around the next corner. He quickly doused his light and pressed himself against the wall as he edged forward. Then, slowly, he peered into the hallway beyond. A single orc stood outside a large open door, shuffling and fidgeting nervously.

Laughter floated from inside the open door. Boromir felt his heart stop. Something was wrong. It was Melody's laugh, but it sounded odd, wild and uncontrolled. There was a murmur from inside the room and suddenly the laughter was cut off. His heart jumped to his throat. What had happened? His hand tightened on his sword and his breath quickened.

Please… he thought, afraid to even think the terrible fear that gripped him, please not when I'm so close…

An old man with long white hair swept out of the room, slamming the door and throwing a deadbolt behind him. His robes were dingy white and he walked with a white staff. It could only be Saruman. The wizard turned to the orc, who was standing very still, as if it hoped not to be noticed.

"Leave her for the moment," Saruman commanded, "She won't be doing any harm, so close to death. If she's still alive by morning, finish her. I grow tired of her games."

The orc bowed low.

"Yes, my lord." He rasped.

Boromir's breath caught in his throat. She was close to death. What had they done to her, to bring her close to death in just a few days? His blood scorched his veins as he watched Saruman stride so confidently down the hall away from him, the orc scurrying along behind. He realized how easy it might be to come up behind him, to run him through, so quickly he wouldn't even see him coming. He imagined the look of shock and horror on the wizard's face as he lay bleeding on the floor of his own tower.

He forced himself to remember that it would never work. Even if he managed to kill the wizard, which he doubted, he would never make it out of the tower alive. And then who would save Melody? So he watched and waited until Saruman and the orc had passed out of sight and their footsteps had faded into nothing. Then he grabbed the single torch that lit the corridor and crept toward the prison door.

Her next conscious thought was for the torchlight she could see flickering beyond her closed eyelids. She cringed and tried to press herself into the seam between the floor and the wall, screwing her eyes shut against the light. If she could just make herself small enough…

"Melody?"

That voice… She knew that voice… But she had never heard it tremble quite like that before…

A boot scraped the stone.

"Oh, Melody… What have they done to you?"

Was this all just another dream, another hazy vision that would morph into something horrible when she opened her eyes? And even if it was, how could she resist the lure of that voice? She heard the sounds of someone kneeling beside her and she couldn't help herself. She opened her eyes, squinting past the firelight, too frightened to believe…

Gray eyes wavered before her, set in that same strong face, framed by long dark hair. She sighed and relaxed.

"Thank god," she whispered, relief washing over her, "I'm dead."

The vision shook his head.

"No, Melody. I've come to get you. To take you away from here."

She smiled up at him, her hand reaching out, but not quite touching, afraid that he might shimmer and disappear if she got too close.

"They couldn't have picked a better angel of death. At least I get to see your face one more time, even if you are a ghost."

The vision snatched her hand out of the air and pressed it to his chest, his face set with a grim determination.

"You are not dead," He said, "Nor will I allow you to die. Not here, not ever."

She heard his words, but they were nothing. All she knew was his touch, the pressure of his hand against her fingers. Something wasn't right. She was cold and dirty and aching and her head throbbed. She couldn't be dead. But she could feel his hand on hers. The skin was rough and calloused, but the touch was gentle and warm...

Real…

Her breath stuttered and she jerked herself up a little, her other hand scrambling for something to hold on to, something to ground her in a world that threatened to spin upside down and dump her into a black abyss. She found his arm, covered in tattered cloth and leather, but solid beneath her trembling touch. She gripped it hard, squeezing it to steady herself, then allowed her hand to travel upward, elbow, shoulder, neck. And finally… that face… the face that had worn so many masks, anger, hatred, betrayal, greed, pride. But now all masks were gone. What was underneath was real. His eyes flickered over her, watching her as she watched him… his real eyes…

"Oh my god…" she whispered, her voice breaking.

She cupped his face with both her hands, reveling in the feel of the stubble under her fingers, the warmth and the soft pliability of his skin.

"You're real."

She slid her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of leather and earthiness, distinctly… undeniably…

Boromir…

"Oh my god, you're real…"

Chapter Text

For a few infinite moments, Boromir was lost in overwhelming relief. Melody was alive. Badly beaten and slightly delirious, but alive. He held on to her as if she were a dream, a vision that would flicker and fade if he let her go. But slowly reality began to creep into his consciousness. He became aware of where they were and Saruman's final words echoed back to him out of his memory.

If she's still alive by morning, finish her …

How close was it to sunrise now? Could they make it across the expanse of Isengard without notice? Could she even walk?

"Melody, we must leave this place," he whispered gently, "Can you stand?"

She sniffed and nodded into his shoulder. Boromir got to his feet and held out a hand for her. She took it and he became suddenly and painfully aware of how small and helpless she looked. The right side of her face was swollen and bruised, and the left was caked in dried blood from a nasty gash at her hairline. Boromir gritted his teeth and forced away his building fury. He kept a hand on her elbow as she steadied herself, and for a moment she seemed well enough. But then she tried to take a step. Boromir saw her sway and caught her before she fell. She tried to push herself upright again, but her efforts were feeble and useless. She couldn't walk. He should have known that,fool that he was. He would have to carry her. In one smooth motion, he put an arm around her and swept her legs out from under her. She struggled against him weakly for a moment, pushing at his chest and rasping almost incomprehensibly.

"No, no, I'm okay, I'm okay, put me down, I can do it…"

"Melody, you can barely stand," He whispered, "Let me help you."

"No, you're going to take me away," She said, her protests growing a bit louder and slightly more frantic, "I can't, I can't go without it, I have to get it back…"

She was falling into delirium again. He could feel the heat coming from her body. She was raging with fever and that made him angry all over again. He fought down his emotions and turned to carry her out of the room, but she was still ranting.

"No, please, wait! We can't just leave it with him! What if he figures it out? Or destroys it! Boromir, stop!"

She hit his arm with a surprising amount of strength. He paused and looked down at her tear streaked face. What could be so desperately important?

"Please, we have to get it back." She pleaded brokenly.

"What, Melody? What do we have to get back?"

She grimaced, and then slowly held up her trembling hand so he could see. He hadn't noticed before, so caught up in the relief of finding her alive, but he could see now, even in the dim light, that something was terribly wrong. Her hand was red and swollen, and the ring finger was covered in angry blisters all down its length. She cradled the burned hand against her chest and tears made slow, dirty tracks down her cheeks, dripping from her chin onto the burns.

"He took it from me," she whispered, her voice surprisingly steady, "He took the Yavannacor. And I couldn't stop him."

She looked back up at him her eyes bright and a little wild.

"Please," she begged, gripping his tunic with her burned hand, heedless of the pain it must be causing her, "Please, we have to get it back."

Boromir was seething. He was finding it difficult to even draw breath. He gripped her tightly, his arms shaking with the desire to run and do exactly as she asked. How could that… monster… cause such pain and still be living? It was unthinkable! But a voice that sounded strangely like his brother's whispered soothingly in his mind.

You can't possibly expect to confront a wizard alone and live to tell about it. No matter how important this is to her or to you, it isn't as important as keeping Melody alive. Remember why you came here, Boromir. Do you want it all to be for nothing? If you are dead, who will take Melody away from this horrible place? Who will save her?

He looked down into those pleading eyes and he knew that the eyes were far more important to him than the thing that they pleaded for. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry, Melody," He whispered.

She jerked and her eyes widened into a horrified stare, her mouth slightly agape.

"I am only one man," he said, "I cannot hope to defeat a wizard and his army, and rescue you from this pit also."

The admission was painful to him. He wanted desperately to be the hero of this tale, to do anything that she asked of him, to banish that look of horror and disappointment from her eyes. It became even more painful with her next words.

"But, you're Boromir!" she exclaimed hoarsely, "You've defeated armies practically single-handedly! You…"

She choked and the torrent of words stopped for a moment as she caught her breath again, still staring at him. Then suddenly, her eyes narrowed suspiciously and she pulled away from him slightly, her eyes traveling his face.

"Who are you?" she asked, her words sharp and biting, "Where's Boromir?"

The question cut him more deeply than he would have expected. He stared back at her, his mouth opening and then closing again as he desperately tried to find words.

"Where is he?!" she shouted, shaking him by the fistful of tunic that she still clasped, "What did you do to him?!"

Boromir was shocked into a stuttering reply

"Melody I… Please, I am Boromir…"

But she shook her head, dropping her eyes, her hand still gripping weakly at his tunic.

"No, no you can't be, not my Boromir, my Boromir would save me…"

"Melody, I am here to save you…"

"My Boromir would save me, save all of me, where is he, what did you do to him…?"

She looked up, searching his face again.

"He's dead, isn't he?" she whispered, her voice steady again, "He's dead and you killed him… killed him and took his face…"

The broken, hopeless words struck Boromir speechless. She was delirious. Some part of his mind had supplied that to him a while ago, but even with that knowledge her words still cut him, ripped him open and left him helpless. She was staring at him like he was some sort of creature that she didn't recognize.

When he didn't answer, she dropped her head and pressed her face into his tunic, gasping out words through little sobs.

"I knew it, I knew he was dead, he's dead and you killed him, killed him and took his face, please just let me go, let me die, he's dead, he's dead, you killed him, he's dead, my Boromir is dead and you took his face…"

The words spiraled until they were barely more than incoherent babblings, but each one pierced him like a knife. The gentle voice of his brother came back, whispering in his mind, telling him that there wasn't much time, the sun would be rising, they had to traverse the courtyard still, Melody was feverish and delirious, she didn't mean what she was saying, wouldn't even remember it once she was well again, he just had to get her away from this place…

It took several moments, but Boromir finally managed to take a step, the first of many steps that led through the maze of corridors. But even with the thoughts in his mind urging him on, he did not feel comforted. He was gnawed by doubt and helplessness. She had done so much for him, and now… Was there really so little he could do in return? Had he always been so afraid? Or was that Boromir, the one that had met Melody on the road to Rivendell, that had traversed perils beyond counting to reach the hidden valley, was that Boromir indeed dead? And if he was, then who was he now?

As he walked, Melody's soft murmurings finally quieted and he gradually felt her go limp in his arms. When he reached the top of the last staircase, he risked a glance at her. She was asleep, her face finally relaxed, though not peaceful. A frown still furrowed her brow.

Boromir pulled up his hood and wrapped his cloak around them, praying to whoever might be watching that it would be enough, and slipped into the blackness of the night outside.

Legolas followed Aragorn into the dark, damp of Fangorn Forest, feeling the air close in around them as the tangled tree limbs blotted out the brilliant blue of the morning sky. Knowing that the hobbits had wandered into this place was almost as terrible as thinking that they were dead. His eyes darted to and fro amongst the shadows, waiting for the malice he felt to materialize.

He jumped when Gimli spit.

"Orc blood," the dwarf growled.

Aragorn knelt in the moist earth and ran his hands along the ground, "These are strange tracks."

"The air is so close here," Gimli muttered.

"This forest is old," Legolas explained, "Very old. Full of memory… and anger!"

All three of them turned as the trees groaned and creaked around them. Legolas grinned.

"The trees are speaking to each other!" He exclaimed, "Oh to think if Mel had come here!"

Legolas could picture her face as if she were standing before him, the far away glow as she spoke with these trees and her smile as they answered her. If only she were here, she should be here…

"Gimli!" Aragorn whispered, pulling Legolas' mind back to the present, "Lower your axe!"

Slowly, Gimli lowered his axe, glancing around nervously.

"Wouldn't you know that when we actually need the useless girl, she's nowhere to be found!"

The tree closest to Gimli started to tremble and the dwarf jumped, skittering away. Legolas smirked, but only a little bit.

"Be careful what you say, my friend. They have feelings, just as Mel told us." His eyes wandered the forest, "I was always told the elves began it: waking up the trees, teaching them to speak. But now, I wonder…"

Gimli huffed, "I just don't understand it. What do trees have to talk about? Except the consistency of squirrel droppings!"

But Legolas was no longer listening to the dwarf's mindless muttering. Something had caught his ears, and his eyes followed the sound deep into the dim forest, not so unlike his home.

"Aragorn, nad no ennas!" He called as he darted further into the trees, trying not to lose sight of the thing that had caught his attention. What was it? What could possibly…?

He skidded to a stop as the power swelled over him, the power emanating from whoever… whatever he was following.

Aragorn whispered in his ear, "Man cenich?"

Legolas' eyes darted to the right.

"The White Wizard approaches." He murmured.

He heard Aragorn sigh and Legolas nocked an arrow to the string of his bow.

"Do not let him speak, he will put a spell on us," Aragorn whispered, "We must be quick."

Legolas closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Mel …

The three moved as one, whirling to face the wizard. But the brilliant light of the mid-morning sun burst through the trees and blinded them all, leaving them helpless. Legolas loosed his arrow anyway, knowing he had the best chance of the three. But the wizard swatted it away like no more than a passing mosquito. Gimli gave a war whoop and flung his axe through the air, but it was also turned aside with a resounding clang. Aragorn cried out and Legolas turned just as the Ranger dropped his red-hot blade.

The wizard spoke.

"You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits."

The voice was enchanted, Legolas could hear it. But it didn't sound harmful. It was more like… a disguise? But it was the voice of Saruman, the fell voice from the mountain of Caradhras. He would never forget the sound of that voice shouting curses at them from afar. He felt a deep anger building inside him.

"Where are they?" Aragorn cried.

"They passed this way, the day before yesterday."

He was so calm, so cool, and it did nothing but fuel the fire burning in Legolas' chest. He was destroying Middle-Earth, in league with Sauron the Deceiver! And he had taken Mel! He had her, locked away somewhere, torturing her, hurting her!

"They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?"

"Nothing you say could comfort me, you hideous, lying snake!" Legolas hissed, his anger finally bubbling over, "Where are the hobbits? Where is Mel? What have you done with her?!"

He lunged toward the light, fury blinding reason, searching out any way to get his hands on the figure that had caused so much hurt. But of course it was a useless effort. The wizard's staff blocked his advance and shoved him away as easily as a child's toy. He slammed back into the dirt and lay there for a moment. That blow could have knocked him clear of the forest entirely. The power had been there. But the wizard hadn't used it. Why?

"Who are you?" Aragorn asked, "Show yourself!"

Legolas sat up, just as the light that had hidden the wizard dimmed. He stepped forward, like a vision out of a long forgotten dream.

"It cannot be!" Aragorn gasped.

The face smiling down on them, was Gandalf's.

Legolas scrambled up and bowed before him, ashamed.

"Forgive me," he whispered, "I mistook you for Saruman."

"And attacked me anyway," Gandalf said, his voice now fully his own and equal parts surprised and amused, "Love does cloud all judgment it seems, even the judgment of elves."

Legolas felt his heart skip a beat. He kept his eyes firmly on the ground, stunned. He felt the sting of the words as they injured his pride and forced him to look inside himself. Love was a strong word and not thrown about by men of power lightly. It was not even a word that he threw about lightly.

"But there is nothing to forgive!" Gandalf said cheerfully, "For I am Saruman. Or rather Saruman as he should have been. Rise, Legolas, son of Thranduil! It is not right that an elven-prince should kneel for so long."

Slowly, Legolas rose to his feet, his eyes still fixed on the ground before him, his mind still whirling. Gandalf did not seem to notice.

"Come now, all of you!" he said, wrapping himself up in an old gray cloak, effectively concealing the robes that now proclaimed his status as the White Wizard, "There is much still to be done!"

Gandalf took off into the forest at a brisk pace, leaving the Three Hunters to dazedly follow after.

"One stage of your journey is over, another begins," he said, "War has come to Rohan. We must ride to Edoras with all speed."

"Edoras?" Gimli and Legolas exclaimed at the same time. They exchanged a glance and Gimli smirked, but Legolas could not bring himself to return the gesture of good humor. Edoras was not the direction he had been hoping to take.

"We hear of trouble in Rohan," Aragorn said, "It goes ill with the king."

"Yes," Gandalf replied, "And it will not be easily cured."

"Then we have run all this way for nothing?" Gimli asked, "Are we to leave those poor hobbits here in this horrid, dark, dank, tree-infested…"

A tree rumbled close by and Gimli jumped.

"I mean… charming! Quite charming forest!"

"It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn." Gandalf said, "A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains."

"And Mel?" Legolas asked, unable to stay silent any longer, "Are we to abandon her to the devices of Saruman? Perhaps I should go…"

"No!" Gandalf snapped, whirling on the elf, eyes flashing, "You are needed elsewhere, Legolas Thranduilion! And if you are wise you will leave your feelings in this forest and never think on them again. Melody is in the hands of the Valar now. What they choose to do with her is not your concern!"

Legolas was taken aback at the sharpness of the wizard's voice. He took a step back, but he couldn't completely wipe the anger from his face. Gandalf's eyes seemed to soften a bit and he sighed, placing a hand on the elf's shoulder.

"Forgive me, Legolas. I speak this way only to help you accept that which you cannot change. You will need a clear head in the days to come. And Melody would not want you to sacrifice yourself or the safety of Middle-Earth for her. Remember that."

Gandalf's eyes wandered to the forest around them, his expression almost mischievous.

"Besides, as it is she will be witness to a thing that has not happened since the Elder Days, something that will change the course of her life forever. The Ents are going to wake up and find that they are strong."

"Strong?" Gimli muttered, "Oh… that's good."

Gandalf's attention was brought back to the dwarf and he smiled.

"Oh, stop your fretting Master Dwarf!" He exclaimed as he plunged back into the forest, the others following, "Mel is precisely where she should be, and Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact, they are far safer than you are about to be!"

Legolas followed after the others, but his mind was elsewhere. What things was Gandalf talking about, the things he could not change? There were many things he wished that he could change, but none of them seemed like impossibilities. After all, with hope were not all things possible? He would have to comfort himself with that fact until the wizard's riddles were revealed. And he hoped that he would have the strength to accept the things that he could not change if such things ever became clear to him. Until such time, he would keep a clear head and be where he was needed. And pray that Mel was safe. For nothing else seemed as important to him as that.

Chapter Text

Mel floated through the night like a ghost, her thoughts barely coherent even to herself. Faces flashed before her, so real she thought she might be able to reach out and touch them. She relived parts of her life, but none of it made sense to her. Faces were in places that they didn't belong. Her mother walked the forests of Lothlorien, dressed all in white. Legolas walked her to class on her first day of high school, his blue eyes calming and safe. Her sisters played tag in the courtyards of Rivendell, hiding in trees that grew to give them cover. Eregwen once again played the nurse that took care of her when she had pneumonia.

Then Boromir's face loomed in front of her. His eyes were creased in concern. She felt a cool, rough hand brush her cheek. The cool felt so good. She leaned into his touch and sighed. She hadn't realized she was so hot. She closed her eyes and was slammed into the fiery depths of Moria. The Balrog chased her down the dark passageways, and she was running as fast as she could, but she didn't know where she was going. She looked around and realized she was alone. The others must have turned and she'd missed it! She screamed, trying to find them, trying to run, trying to escape.

"Don't leave me! Don't leave me!"

Boromir's voice found her in the burning dark.

"Shhh," he whispered, "Shhhh, I'm here, I'm here Melody. I will never leave you again."

His voice melted the darkness of the mines, and in its place was another darkness, the darkness of a starlit night, the scent of flowers on the air, the feel of pine needles on her cheek. She sighed. This was a safe place, a good place. She settled in and hoped that it would last forever. But nothing lasted forever, not in this dream world. She began to shiver and the darkness turned to light. She could smell the bushes that hid her from the watchful eyes, but her eyes were closed in terror. He would find her, he would find her and he would kill her! She had to hide and there was no one to protect her. She shivered and her teeth chattered. Something wrapped around her. And she heard words. She didn't know if she imagined them or if they were spoken. Was this real or dream? But she heard the words and knew the voice.

"Do not despair, mellon-nîn. Your friends are with you. We will see you through to the end of these dark days."

Suddenly, she felt safe again.

"Legolas…" She whispered.

His face wavered in front of her, smiling at her. She smiled back and tried to reach out for him, but when she touched his face he shimmered like a reflection in water, and rippled away. In his place was Boromir. But something was wrong. He looked… Sad? Angry? Confused? It was a strange and mixed expression. She reached out and touched his face again, thinking that she could make it shimmer away the way Legolas had. But he didn't go away. Her fingers brushed his rough cheek.

"Boromir," She whispered, "You're real."

His eyes darted away, "Does that upset you?"

Her head was still fuzzy. Maybe she hadn't understood his words. Maybe she was dreaming things again.

"Why would that upset me?"

He looked up at her again, but he didn't get a chance to speak. There was a deafening roar and Mel shot upright, her heart thundering in her chest.

"They're coming!" she gasped, "They're coming for me! We've got to run, we've got to hide!"

She threw off the cloak that was covering her, but Boromir's strong hands kept her down.

"No one is coming for you, Melody," He murmured soothingly.

Her mind was wild, flickering images of the last few days swirling in a tangled mess in her head.

"No, you don't understand, he'll find me! He's gonna kill me! He'll kill you! We have to get away from here!"

"They aren't coming for us," His voice didn't falter, his eyes never wavered. His confidence worked to smooth her frazzled nerves, "If they were coming for us, they would have come hours ago."

Mel took a moment to look around her. She was surrounded by rough stone. She looked up. The sky was a deep shade of blue. There were no stars. What time was it? What day was it?

She felt a gentle pressure on her shoulders.

"Please lie down." Boromir whispered.

She did as he asked, but she stared at him with slowly clearing eyes.

"Where are we?" she asked

"In the mountains above Isengard." He replied.

He turned and opened a pack, pulling out a water skin and handing it to her.

"Drink. How long has it been since you've eaten?"

She took the skin and as she savored the taste of the cool, clean water, she tried to remember exactly how long it HAD been since she'd eaten anything. When she finally forced herself to jerk the water from her lips she answered.

"I don't know. Days, weeks, months. How long has it been since you've seen me?"

"If I can recall accurately, it has been a week." He paused and slowly turned back to her, "You haven't eaten since last I saw you?"

She shrank back a little bit when she saw his smoldering eyes, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he clenched his teeth.

"I had some bread," she said quickly, then grimaced as she remembered the skittering orc and the sting of his slap across her face, "But I don't know when that was. Not long after I got there, I think."

Boromir nodded and turned away, digging in the pack again. When he turned back, his expression was calm again. He handed her a crumpled leaf filled with crushed lembas.

"You must eat it slowly." He said. His voice sounded only the tiniest bit forced.

She took the leaf and quietly did as she was told. Her stomach rolled as she ate the crumbs, but she forced them down. Then she took another sip of water. Meanwhile, Boromir had dug out a jar and a handful of cloth and started to smear a paste onto the cloth.

"You've been dreaming in a fever all night," His voice seemed reasonably calm again, "This is the first true response I've gotten from you."

The loud roar repeated itself. Mel jumped.

"What is that?" she asked, shuddering

"An army," Boromir stated calmly, "I was actually hoping you could shed some light on that."

"An army? Who's army?"

"Saruman's. Lie still."

He started to unravel the bandage around her head and Mel lay perfectly still, just watching him work. His eyes were intent on the task; his hands were gentle as if she might break under his fingers. And when it hit her, it hit her hard and out of nowhere. He was alive. Boromir was alive. She waited until he was finished taking off the old bandage before she moved. As he turned to pick up the new one, she sat up and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek into his shoulder.

"You're alive," She whispered as tears stung her eyes, "I'm so glad you're alive."

He stiffened under her and she immediately let him go. That wasn't the response she had been expecting. She thought of the look on his face when she'd woken up. The hurt had been plain. What had she said in her sleep that had upset him so badly? Or maybe she had been awake and she couldn't remember. She tried to remember last night, but everything after she lost the Yavannacor was hazy, some of it lost completely to her. The last clear memory she had was Boromir's face, looking down at her through the flickering torchlight. Everything else was blank.

She started to ask him what was wrong, but he turned and started to rewrap her head, a neutral expression on his face. She recognized the look. He was hiding something from her. It scared her. The last time he had been hiding from her, he had been furious. For just a moment she was frozen with doubt. Was he angry at her?

"So, what do you know of the army of Saruman? Where does he plan to make war?"

His voice was calm and almost… bland. He was forcibly changing the subject.

"He's going after Rohan. He'll attack Helm's Deep," Mel replied, the words tumbling out of her mouth almost against her will, "Do you know what day it is?"

"I fear I have lost my count," He replied, picking up her bandaged right hand and starting to remove the cloth, "The best I can guess is late February or early March."

The earth rumbled and metal clashed. Then there was a steady boom, boom, boom, like a marching cadence. Mel closed her eyes and tried to swallow down her nerves.

"Are you sure they won't find us here?"

"We are well hidden, Melody. And they aren't looking for us." His voice had softened a bit. She felt him gently bandaging her hand again. She grabbed his fingers, pulling him up short.

"Why would I be upset?"

She opened her eyes so she could see his reaction. His reaction was not to react. His face remained blank. He wouldn't meet her eyes. She tried to prod him again.

"Why did you ask me if I was upset when I woke up? Why did you think you would upset me?"

He turned away.

"It was not my name that you cried in your dreams," He whispered, "I thought you might be disappointed that the elf was not the one tending you."

The revelation shocked her into silence. Boromir pulled away and got to his feet, walking to the other side of the stone nook and staring out over the rocks. Mel let him go without another word. What could she say? She was not in control of her dreams or what she said in her sleep. The fact that her rambling had upset him so much hurt her. She wished that whatever she had said, she could take it back. But it wouldn't do any good. What was said was said. She didn't know why she had called Legolas' name. He was her friend, he made her feel safe, but so did Boromir. He made her feel safe and needed. Boromir needed her.

Or rather, he had needed her. Now that he was alive, when he had no right to be, she wasn't sure if he needed her anymore. Maybe she had served her purpose in his life. Her heart ached at the thought. How could she just slip out of his life when her entire existence had revolved around him for so long? It didn't seem possible. It wasn't possible. Now that the Yavannacor was gone, he was all she had left of her purpose in being. And she still loved him. How could she leave when she still loved him?

"The army is marching." His voice was emotionless again, "It seems the war has begun."

"He won't win," Mel said, surprised by how easily the words left her mouth, words of the future, "King Theoden will keep them at bay until Gandalf brings help."

Boromir stared at her, frowning in confusion and concern. Mel wondered why he looked so perplexed.

"Melody," he said carefully, "Gandalf is dead."

Mel stared at him for a minute, and then a little laugh bubbled up out of her.

"That's right, you don't know!"

Boromir was kneeling at her side in an instant, his hand pressing to her face, feeling for a fever. She swatted him away.

"I'm not sick, Boromir. And I'm not crazy. He's not dead. He's very alive."

Her laughter died away when she thought of all the pain losing Gandalf had caused, the secrets she'd had to keep.

You knew that Gandalf would fall! And you did NOTHING!

She flinched from the memory of those words, Boromir's words, spoken in anger and the beginnings of madness. There was nothing she could have done, no way she could have done things differently that she could see. But the words had still hurt so much…

"He's alive and he's stronger for what he went through," Mel said, more to reassure herself than Boromir, "Trust me, everything will be fine."

Boromir looked down at her skeptically, but not angrily. He wasn't angry. He was gentle and kind, placing a hand on her forehead, his brow still furrowed in concern.

"Lucid or not, you are still warm with fever. Perhaps you should rest."

The sun chose that moment to peek out over the rocks that sheltered them. It glared in Mel's face and she put up a hand to shield her eyes.

"How am I supposed to sleep with the sun in my eyes?" She joked.

He smiled at her, "Perhaps you won't sleep. Just rest a moment, Melody."

"If I close my eyes, are you gonna disappear?" Now she was only half joking.

The smile fell from his face. He reached out and gently touched her cheek with his fingertips.

"I will never leave you in danger again, Melody. I swear it."

She did feel tired. She guessed it was because she had been so sick. Or maybe the lembas had made her sleepy. Or maybe she just felt safe. Either way, her eyes drooped closed. The last thing she remembered before she drifted away was the feel of Boromir's fingers on her cheek.

Pippin was starting to get anxious. Two days had passed and it was the afternoon of the third. The Ents had haroomed and hoomed and baroomed the entire three days, never letting up. Merry was almost beside himself. He paced constantly until he had exhausted himself, then he threw himself into the grass and sat twitching and fiddling and mumbling until he couldn't sit still any longer. Then he would get up and repeat the whole thing all over again. Pippin tried to learn from the Ents, he tried not to feel hasty. But the length of time seemed to be getting ridiculous, even to him.

What could they be saying?

He thought about Mel. Would she still be alright? Would they make it in time? Would they make it at all? Would the Ents just decided to stay in their forests, away from the dangers of war? What were they talking about?

"What are they talking about?!" Merry exclaimed, making Pippin jump with surprise. His cousin flopped down beside him, "What is there to discuss? I thought with Mel thrown into all this we would be on our way to Isengard by now!"

"Maybe she's made it more complicated," Pippin suggested, "You know, gave them more to talk about."

"Like what, Pip?! She's their tree… woman… thingy and she's in danger! What else is there?"

Merry's last words were extremely loud in the sudden silence of the clearing. Both of the hobbits scrambled to their feet, listening carefully. There wasn't a breath of air, not a rustle, not a groan. They looked at each other, afraid to speak.

Then a great ringing shout crashed through the clearing.

"Ra-hoom-rah!"

Merry and Pippin both cowered and covered their ears. The trees shook and rattled as if a great wind had blown through their branches. Then they heard the sound of wood on wood, beating out a steady cadence and deep voices boomed through the clearing.

"We come, we come with roll of drum: ta-runda runda runda rom! We come, we come with horn and drum: ta-runa runa runa rom!"

"It's started!" Merry cried. He grabbed Pippin's arm and started dragging him, "Finally! Come on, Pip! Let's go!"

Chapter Text

When Mel woke again, the sun had dipped just below the lip of the rock formation. She felt the briefest moment of panic and she shot up in the dark, waiting impatiently for her eyes to adjust to the shadows. Boromir was leaning against the rocks, wrapped in his Lothlorien cloak and peering down the mountainside toward Isengard. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. He was still here.

It was strangely quiet; the only sound the whistle of a chill wind through the rocks. Mel pulled the cloak she was using as a blanket up to her chin. She recognized the touch of white fur at the collar. She touched the familiar gold embroidery and smiled. It was Elrohir's cloak. She hadn't seen it since Amon Hen, she had been sure that it was lost somewhere in the ruins… The thing had to have magic powers or something! She snuggled deeper into the warmth of the soft green wool.

"The army has moved out of Isengard," Boromir's voice broke the unnerving silence, "Do you think you can walk?"

Something in his tone and the way his back was still turned to her made her eyes narrow suspiciously.

"I think so," she answered after a moment's hesitation, "Why?"

"I would like to take you to Edoras, so that a trained healer might…"

"No." Her voice was sharper than she had anticipated, but she didn't soften it, "I'm not going anywhere. Not yet."

Boromir finally met her eyes, but his face was carefully composed.

"Melody, you must see a healer. I've treated your wounds as best I can, but…"

"Did you get that jar from my bag?"

He blinked at her, his expression finally revealing a touch of confusion.

"Yes… but I don't see how…"

"Then I'm fine," Mel said decisively, "Eregwen gave that to me, I bet it'll heal just about anything. Look."

She started unraveling the cloth from her hand. Boromir jerked forward, reaching out to stop her, but she had already ripped it off, revealing fresh scars around her ring finger.

She held it up triumphantly.

"See? I'm perfectly fine."

But her words sounded hollow in her ears. The sight of her burned hand reminded her of the dead part in her brain, the part that used to speak to the trees, the part that had made her feel like she was… something bigger. Something more. What was she now? Just a nobody, stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A gentle touch brushed her fingers and her eyes refocused on the present, but Boromir was already walking away, pacing the small space in the rocks that sheltered them.

"Melody," he said and his voice sounded distinctly like the beginnings of a patient lecture, "The ring is gone. Saruman has it. There is nothing we can do now."

"We don't have to do anything, but wait," Mel said, crossing her arms over her chest, "The Ents will come and when Saruman realizes he can't use the Yavannacor against them, we'll just make him give it back."

"Ents?" Boromir said, raising a skeptical eyebrow, "Am I to believe that creatures of myth are going to appear out of the forest and end Saruman's mad reign of terror in a single night?"

"Have I ever been wrong?" she asked, a smug smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"I wouldn't know," He quipped, "Until now you've hidden everything from me."

That stung a little. The tiny smile fell off her face and she dropped her hands, clenching them in her lap.

"I'm not leaving." She muttered.

There was a pause. Then Boromir sighed and when Mel looked up he was rubbing his face. He looked very tired.

"I am sorry, Melody," he said, "That was cruel and unfair of me. Of course you could not have told me everything. I know that."

He pushed away from the rocks and crouched down before her, his eyes kind and gentle.

"But you must know how futile this is. I know what it is, the desperation for a thing that you cannot have, but feel that you need. But you don't need it, Melody. Do you understand? Don't you see why I want to take you far away from this place?"

Mel stared at him, finally feeling as if she might understand.

"You think I want the power…"

The idea sounded ludicrous to her, but his eyes brightened when she said it.

"I believe that you crave something the Yavannacor offers you. That is why you cannot let it go."

"No, you don't get it, it… it's not like that." Mel struggled for words to explain how she felt, "The ring doesn't give any power to me. It's only uses me, to give power to the trees, to use however they want. I give them something useful, the ability to help if they want, not just sit around and watch as the world around them gets burned to a cinder! They need me!"

She realized that her hands were balled up into fists and she forced herself to take a deep breath and relax.

"Not having it…" She swallowed past the lump in her throat, "It's like a part of my mind has stopped working. It's all blank and dead. I feel completely cut off, small, helpless, lost in a world that has nothing to do with me…"

She trailed off. She was afraid to meet Boromir's eyes. She realized how ridiculous she sounded. But he was right about one thing. If anyone was in a position to understand how she felt, it was probably him. She risked a peek at his face. He was smiling at her gently, a smile that she hadn't seen since Rivendell.

"Well," he murmured, "At least I know what it is you crave."

That surprised her. "What?"

"Purpose," He said, "Still, after all this time, you feel that you don't have a place here."

He took her hand, and pressed her palm against his chest.

"Do you feel that, Melody?"

She did feel it, the steady drum of his heart.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

"That is because of you," He said, "I do not understand why or how, but I am alive because you exist, of that I am certain."

She didn't move, couldn't move, just stared fixedly at the spot where her hand touched his chest, his larger hand easily covering her own.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

"Is that not reason enough?" He murmured, "You belong, because I belong."

Mel finally met his eyes. He was smiling, his eyes glowing. She wanted to say something, something nice, something beautiful. But the words that came out were not even close to that.

"But, you don't belong anymore," she whispered, "You're just like me now. You shouldn't even be here."

His eyes dimmed and she knew that she had said the wrong thing. She'd known it as the words were leaving her lips. But she didn't know how to fix it. There was nothing she could say that would ring true. Boromir turned away and leaned back against the rocks, his gaze fixed once more on Isengard.

"We will wait one more day," He said definitively, with no hint of emotion, "Then, we will go to Edoras, even if I must drag you there."

Drag.

The word slammed Mel in the chest and suddenly she was floundering in images, swirling memories: dragged by her hair, kicked over and over, that foul tasting liquid forced down her throat. It was all so vivid. She felt like she might throw up. She tried to run her hands through her hair, something that should have been a self-comforting gesture, but all she felt were the tangles and the mats and the stickiness and it made everything worse, because it was real, it was right there, reminding her…

"Boromir…" she managed to choke out.

He turned, brow furrowed in instant concern. Mel held out her hand, the other gripping the knot of her hair.

"Give me your knife."

He looked confused and cautious, but he didn't argue. Slowly, he drew the short blade from his belt and handed it to her, watching every move she made. She was careful as she grasped it, knowing that her hands were shaking a little, knowing that the knife was sharp. She wanted a clean cut, but not through her finger.

She gripped the knife tightly in one hand and squeezed the handful of hair in the other, fighting the urge to vomit as she was reminded of all the times that filthy Uruk-Hai had grabbed her by the hair…

"Melody, are you sure…"

But before Boromir could finish, Mel jerked the knife sharply through the rope of hair with one clean slice. She gave no thought to convention or fashion or convenience. All she could think about was how she had been thrown around, tossed like garbage, treated like an object, and ripped up by her hair. Her long, beautiful hair. She threw the nasty knot of hair as hard as she could over the rocks and into the mountains somewhere. She didn't care. She just wanted it as far away as possible. She shuddered and wrapped her cloak tightly around her, curling up against the rocks and closing her eyes, pressing a cheek against the stone. She was so tired all of a sudden. Why did the life continue to get sucked out of her?

She heard Boromir's boots scuff the rock behind her, pausing near where she lay. She didn't open her eyes. Then, she barely felt the tips of his fingers brush what was left of her hair. She had to work hard not to flinch away.

"Why?" he whispered.

She didn't have an answer. Not one that made sense anyway. A few minutes ago, her anger and revulsion had seemed perfectly logical. Now it just seemed petty and ridiculous. So she gave him the only answer she could come up with that might make any sense.

"It was in the way."

His hand brushed her forehead.

"You still have fever."

"I'm fine." She murmured, even as she involuntarily leaned into the cool touch of his fingers brushing her cheek.

She tried to tell her heart to stop fluttering, afraid he might hear. That would be embarrassing. If he took her pulse and heard the clamor rattling around in there he would really think something was wrong with her.

He pulled his hand back and she heard his boots scrape the stone as he walked away. She tugged the cloak up to her nose and breathed in the scent of the fur. It still smelled fresh and clean like Rivendell. It was a comforting, calm smell. She sighed and opened her eyes. Stars twinkled overhead and she searched the sky for the familiar glow of Eärendil. She finally found it, but something else in the sky caught her eye too, something vaguely familiar.

When she finally recognized it, she gasped and shot upright.

"Orion?"

Boromir's reaction was instant. His sword flew into his hand and he whirled around, his eyes scanning the night around them. Mel felt a little bad about it, but the shock had been overwhelming. What was Orion doing in this sky?

"What did you see, Melody?" Boromir asked, his eyes still searching the darkness.

"Nothing," she stuttered, "Sorry it's nothing, never mind."

But her eyes were drawn inevitably upward again. The familiar constellation still glimmered down at her. It was undoubtedly the Hunter with his belt of stars. She wondered how she had missed him before. What was he doing here?

"What do you see?"

She jumped. Boromir had sat down beside her, looking up into the sky as well.

"You said Orion," he said, his eyes searching, "Who is Orion?"

Mel hesitated for a moment. Then she reached out and took his hand, forcing herself not to tremble as she touched him. She pointed his fingers in the right direction.

"See those three stars there?" she asked.

"The belt of Menelvagor?" he asked.

The name sounded vaguely familiar, as if she'd read it somewhere, but she couldn't quite remember. She shrugged.

"I guess. Where I come from, we call it Orion's belt. He was supposed to be this great hunter. I think he was killed by a giant scorpion or something. There are so many versions though. I can't remember it exactly, but I could always find his constellation back home."

She sat back and Boromir did the same, still staring at the sky.

"Menelvagor was a great warrior," he said, "The Swordsman of the Sky."

He paused, then shook his head and smiled.

"I'm afraid I do not remember the tale. Faramir could probably tell you all the stories," His smile became sad and his eyes glazed over, seeing something in his mind that Mel could only imagine, "That has always been to his liking, great tales of old, hidden away in musty libraries with aging scrolls containing the names and legends of the stars," He sighed, "It is a shame that his intellect and knowledge is wasted on war."

"It's not wasted," Mel said, "It's being put to very good use even as we speak."

His eyes flicked toward her and then back to the sky.

"I hope you are right."

"I wouldn't lie to you, Boromir. Not about family." She paused. Then she added, "Not about anything. Not anymore."

"And why is that?" he asked, turning his full attention toward her, "Before, you could tell me nothing. And I understand that is how it had to be. But now… You speak as if you would tell me the whole tale if I asked it."

Mel shrugged, fiddling with the hem of her cloak.

"I guess I just figure we're kinda like two peas in the same pod now."

He huffed a laugh and when she looked up at him he was shaking his head, an amused smile on his lips.

"Your analogies are very strange, Melody."

She grinned and rolled her eyes.

"I mean, now that neither of us is really…" She hesitated, but then forged ahead, "…really supposed to be here, I guess it doesn't matter if you know what's coming or not. Just by existing we're going to mess it all up anyway. So you might as well know what to expect. I would hate for you to be pointlessly blindsided."

"Blindsided? By what?"

It couldn't have been more perfectly timed. A horn sounded, a wooden, hollow sound that echoed through the clear night. Boromir leapt to his feet and Mel even started a little, even though she had been expecting it, if not tonight, then the next night, or the night after that. She had known they would come.

Boromir's sword was drawn and he faced Isengard. Mel smiled at him.

"You're looking the wrong way."

He glanced down at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. She got to her feet, pulling her cloak around her against the chill. She was still bare-foot, so she was careful to avoid the sharp edges of the stones as she scrambled to the other side of their little haven in the mountain. She poked her head over the rocks and stared as hard as she could toward the ruin of what had once been Fangorn forest, straining her eyes, trying to distinguish anything in the dim light from the half moon and the stars. She heard Boromir shuffling behind her, but she didn't dare look up to see if he'd followed her or not. She didn't want to miss this, not for the world.

Finally, she thought she heard something. A hum, a rumble, something… Boromir's feet scuffed the rock again and she flapped a hand behind her in his general direction.

"Shhh!" She hissed, "Listen!"

He stopped fidgeting. Mel could feel something reverberating through the boulder under her hands, up through her arms and into her chest. And she heard a murmur, a murmur that was getting closer and more distinct with each passing moment. Finally, she could distinguish words, a chant, just barely above the whisper of the wind.

"To Isengard! Though Isengard be ringed and barred with doors of stone;

Though Isengard be strong and hard, as cold as stone and bare as bone;

We go, we go, we go to war, to hew the stone and break the door;

For bole and bough are burning now, the furnace roars- we go to war!

To land of gloom with tramp of doom, with roll of drum, we come, we come!

With doom we come, with doom we come!"

She could see now. It was only a shimmer of movement on the edge of the desolation, a flutter, almost unrecognizable. The chant started again, louder, closer, almost a roar. She could see the trees moving, swaying, making way for the unstoppable force that had awakened in Fangorn's depths.

Boromir's breath caught in his throat.

"Do my eyes deceive me? Or my ears turn the wind to war chants? Melody, what is that?"

Mel smiled, an angry, almost feral, anticipation building with every beat of the cadence in her chest.

"He shouldn't have pissed off the trees."

Chapter Text

Mel didn't know how long she sat there, watching the Ents come steadily out of the trees, more than she could have imagined, more than she could count! But finally she detected the sounds of movement behind her and she managed to tear her eyes away just in time to see Boromir sheathe his sword and adjust his shield on his back.

He glanced up and caught her watching him, but dropped his eyes quickly, adjusting a strap that held his shield in place.

"I am going down. Stay here."

Mel's mouth dropped open, but her astonishment only lasted about half a second before it turned into raging indignation.

"Oh, hell no!" she shouted, scrambling to her feet, "There is no way, no way you are going down there without me!"

"You will be safe, Melody. I am only going for a moment."

"Safe my ass! Screw safe! I am not hiding up here!"

Boromir sighed, his head bowed.

"Melody, I can't put you in danger. I can't do that."

"You aren't putting me in danger," Mel said, picking her way through the rocks, being careful not to cut her feet, "I'm putting me in danger. So you're completely off the…"

He whirled around so fast that Mel stumbled back a step.

"Do you think that by allowing you to take on the burden of the decision, my responsibility lessens?" he snapped, "I saved your life, Melody! I would like to keep you alive long enough to get you home!"

Boromir jerked back as the words left his mouth, his eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, as if he couldn't believe what he had just said. Mel felt like she'd had the breath knocked out of her. She swallowed to dislodge the lump that was forming in her throat.

"Home?" she whispered hoarsely, a knot of anxiety forming in her chest, "What home? Boromir, I… I can't go home. Is…" She almost couldn't force the words out, "Is that what you want? To send me home?"

The thought that he didn't want her with him was almost unbearable. It flung her back into the unpredictable world of the Fellowship, a world of uncertainty, never knowing for sure how he felt or what he thought, how much of his actions were his own and how many were controlled by the Ring. But in this new world, the Ring was gone. His actions were completely his. What did he mean when he said he wanted to get her home? What could he mean, except heart-wrenching separation? He wanted to take her someplace and leave her there, never to interfere with his life again. What else could he mean?

She felt tears burning in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She wouldn't cry. If he didn't want her, she would live with it. She wouldn't force sympathy from him.

But Boromir's face had changed from shocked to horrified, with a tinge of desperation.

"Oh Melody, no…" he whispered, lifting his hand as if to reach for her, but then dropping it again, "No, I… I meant my home."

Her brow creased in confusion. Why would he leave her in Minas Tirith? Or maybe he just meant Gondor and he was going to drop her off in some small, out of the way village. That had to be it. He would leave her with some nice peasant family in the country somewhere and then ride off into the sunset, never to be seen or heard from again. Quite a fairy tale ending, like those old Westerns her uncle used to love so much…

Boromir was still staring at her, as if waiting for her reaction. Did he feel bad for breaking the news to her this way? Was he afraid she was going to break down into hysterics? She certainly felt like it, but she wasn't really that kind of girl.

"Melody, I promised you I would show you Minas Tirith," he said, slowly, carefully, as if afraid she might spook, "I will keep my word to you. If I can keep you alive long enough to see it."

He would show her Minas Tirith. That had to mean that he would be with her, at least for a little while longer. Mel felt a weight lift off her chest and she gulped in a deep breath, clinging to those words and trying to make what had preceded them vanish from her memory. She scrambled to change the subject, trying to backtrack to what they had been talking about before her world had started to crumble around her.

"I'm still going down there."

Boromir's shoulders sagged and a smile tugged at his lips.

"Are we to sit here bickering like children instead?"

But Mel was ignoring him now. She had found her pack instead and dug to the bottom, pulling out an extra pair of shoes and shoving them onto her feet. They didn't fit as well as her boots had, but they were certainly better than nothing at all. Eregwen really had packed for everything. It was uncanny.

Mel reached for her cloak, but her fingers had barely brushed the wool and Boromir snatched it out of her grasp.

"You are not going!" he insisted, "You have no way of defending yourself!"

"I'm not going to fight anyone!" she exclaimed, grabbing the cloak and tugging at it, "I just want to be there!"

"For what?" Boromir asked, pulling back on the cloak, "What purpose will it serve? You're putting yourself in harm's way for nothing!"

"Those are my friends down there!" she shouted, "They need me!"

"Melody, you are no longer the Daughter of Yavanna!"

She froze, stunned.

"The Daughter of Yavanna… Where did you hear that?"

The shock loosened her grip on the cloak and Boromir pulled it from her hands, his eyes downcast as he wadded the fabric up in his hands.

"It doesn't matter. The point is I am not going to allow you to run headlong into a pit of destruction while I chase along behind, trying to keep you alive."

She glared at him, "What are you, my jailer? You can't tell me what I can and cannot do!"

"Melody…"

But Boromir's argument was interrupted by the loud crack of rock. They both glanced down the mountain. The Ents had reached the walls of Isengard and were ripping them down with their long fingers, pulling the stones from the very earth they were embedded in.

Mel caught a glimpse of Boromir's shocked face and saw her chance. She snatched her cloak from his frozen fingers and tossed it over her shoulders as she made a mad dash for the mountainside, vaulting over the edge of the rocks that sheltered them. She heard him cry out her name and the sound of him scrambling after her, but she ignored it. She skidded down the side of the mountain, leaping from rock to rock, barely keeping her balance in her rush. She was lucky that she didn't break her neck, but all she could think about was getting down there, if she could just make it to Isengard, if she could find Merry and Pippin, then she could convince the Ents that she was the Calenhiril and they would demand the Yavannacor back from Saruman. Everything would be alright. She just had to find the hobbits.

She hit flat ground and pushed into a run. She could still hear Boromir pursuing her. She lengthened her stride until her legs burned. Once they were both on even terrain there was no way she could outrun him. She just had to reach the shattered gates before he caught up with her. She had to find Merry and Pippin!

Her eyes stayed fixed on the broken walls in front of her, but her ears listened to Boromir's footfalls. He was catching up. She pushed herself harder. Her body was screaming in protest, but the walls were right in front of her. She was almost there. She focused all her energy on one point, a clear path inside Isengard through the fallen stone and shattered wood. With one final lunge, she burst through the ruined walls. She had made it. She was inside.

She skidded to a stop. Her eyes widened and she realized that she had just made a horrible mistake. A group of at least ten orcs turned toward her, blocking her way. Their eyes lit up at the sight of her and they shuffled forward, cackling at her idiocy. She reached in her belt and pulled out Boromir's dagger, the one she had used to cut off her hair, but she knew it was practically useless. She was outnumbered and exhausted from the chase down the mountain. She couldn't outrun them and she couldn't fight them. She was dead before she even started.

Then a horn sounded, a long, loud blast as clear as a deep bell that shook her to the core. It echoed off the mountains and swirled through Isengard like a wind. The orcs paused.

Boromir leapt past her and cut down three before they even had a chance to react. The rest had barely lifted their weapons before he was on top of them, whirling through their midst, dodging and cutting, black blood spraying from fresh wounds. They were all dead in a matter of minutes. Mel stood and watched him, paralyzed with horror and awe. How could he be so fast?

When they all lay dead at his feet, he spun and grabbed her arm.

"Are you alright?"

His eyes were hard as gray stones and his jaw was set like marble. Mel was afraid. Her vocal cords felt like they had been cut so she simply nodded. Instantly, his expression softened and his grip on her arm relaxed, but only minutely.

"Stars, Melody, you are such a stubborn woman."

He glanced around and pulled her closer to him.

"Come. If you insist on being here, perhaps you could at least stay out of the middle of everything."

He pressed them close to the inner perimeter of the wall and together they started edging their way around. Mel held her cloak close around her and tried to make herself seem as small as possible, but at the same time she couldn't help peering up at every Ent they crept past, searching it's branches for any sign of Merry and Pippin. But even in the glow from the fires the orcs had built to protect themselves, it was hard to tell real from shadow. And Boromir moved too quickly for a second look.

Suddenly Mel heard a cry, deep and creaking, like trees bending in a storm, and her head shot up, searching the chaotic courtyard. Boromir tugged on her arm, but she ignored him. She had heard… There. An Ent, tied with ropes, struggling against his orc captors. The sight made her blood boil and her heart race.

"Melody, we can't help him," Boromir said, pulling at her arm again, "There are too many of them."

She whirled on him, her eyes flashing, "You don't even want to try!"

She hadn't meant to sound so accusing. After all what could they do? But the ropes around the Ent's limbs and his pleading cries made her uncontrollably angry. Her chest was tight and her head was pounding and she could barely think through it. She turned back to the struggling creature and watched helplessly as the orcs pulled him down. As the impact of his fall rumbled through the earth beneath her feet, she felt something inside her throb.

Saruman leaned over his balcony, watching as the Ent captured by his orcs struggled uselessly. He grinned to himself. The Ents were incapable of overcoming his power, even with most of his army out to war. He was an unstoppable force. But as the Ent crashed down and the earth vibrated with the blow, he felt a pulse of raw power ripple from his pocket. The force made his bones shudder and his heart skip a beat. The ring… the Yavannacor! He pulled it out of his robe. The emerald was glowing in his palm and as he peered more closely, he felt the metal start to warm. Before he could blink the gold was glowing red with a searing heat. The pain startled him and his hand jerked. The ring fell from his fingers, hit the rail of the balcony with a resounding clang, and tumbled away into the dark below.

"Useless…" the wizard mumbled.

But he couldn't help feeling a twinge of unease.

Something glittered. Mel almost didn't see it. But she felt it. Something had glittered off the balcony of Orthanc. Something had fallen.

"Yavannacor…" she whispered.

She wrenched her arm free of Boromir and rushed toward the tower.

"Melody, wait!" Boromir yelled, chasing after her, "Foolish woman, what are you doing?"

"Yavannacor!" she shouted in answer, still running, without even a glance back.

She felt the pressure in her chest throb again and she knew. It was the Yavannacor. It was calling her. It was waiting. Somewhere in the dark at the base of the tower, the Yavannacor waited for her. She ran, brushing past orcs, barely noticing them, dodging huge moving tree trunks that threatened to crush her underfoot, her eyes locked on the spot directly below the tower balcony.

Yavannacor …

Pippin cheered as Treebeard tossed a boulder as big as a wagon, flattening the orcs that had tied down the other Ent.

"Did you see that, Merry?" he shouted, turning toward his cousin.

But something caught his eye, something small below, and vaguely familiar, a figure racing across the open ground of Isengard. In the dim light from the fires, he could see that its cloak was green with glints of gold and it looked nothing like an orc. And someone was chasing it.

"Melody, wait!"

Pippin's eyes widened. Could it be?

"Merry!" he cried, "Merry!"

"What, Pip?" Merry's arm was in the air, rock poised to throw.

"Merry, it's Mel!"

"Have you lost your marbles? You're seeing things!" Merry said, reluctantly looking in the direction his cousin was pointing.

"It's her, Merry! I heard her name!" Pippin exclaimed excitedly, "And I think Boromir is following her!"

Merry rolled his eyes, "Pip, even if it were Mel, she would be running away from Isengard, not toward it!"

"Mel, look out!" Pip cried.

Before Merry could stop him, Pippin lobbed a rock at an orc that had tried to stab the running figure in the back. He hit it square between the eyes and the orc dropped.

"Pip, what are you doing?" Merry cried, "We don't know that's Mel!"

"It is Mel! I know it!" Pippin took another rock and threw it, knocking another pursuing orc on his back, "Merry, trust me! They're gonna kill her!"

Merry glanced down. That was Mel's cloak. He could see it from here. And even if it wasn't Mel wearing it, that was no orc darting between the trunk-like legs of the Ents. And he trusted Pippin. Merry got a better grip on the rock he held and hurled it at the head of another orc that had turned in pursuit.

Boromir flew after Melody, cursing under his breath. What had possessed her? Did she think she was just going to storm up the steps of Orthanc and demand that her damned ring be returned to her? That had been the last word she had uttered. Yavannacor. Surely she had not lost all her wits! He followed her, dodging the orcs and trees. But one orc did not ignore her passing as the others did. He turned, weapon drawn and Boromir felt his heart stop. He would not reach her in time. The orc had her, poised to strike. Boromir was going to be forced to watch her die.

Suddenly, a rock flew out of nowhere and clanged into the orc's helmet. He dropped where he stood. Boromir ran by, still following Melody, but now he was wary. Rocks did not just drop from the sky with such precision. As he watched, another orc turned to pursue her and he too was knocked on his back by a rock to the head. Boromir's eyes glanced skyward. Were the Valar protecting her? After all that had happened, not much seemed impossible to him anymore. Another pursuing orc was felled by a rock and dropped across his path. Boromir nimbly leapt over the obstacle, but his eyes had finally glimpsed where the aid was coming from. High in the branches of one of the Ents sat two tiny forms, too small to be anymore than children. Was it…? Could it be…?

But he had no time to ponder the little figures in the treetops. He turned his eyes back to the path and felt a wave of overwhelming panic wash over him. Melody had disappeared. He shot forward, his eyes frantically searching for a glimpse of her green cloak. He was so busy searching for her that he almost tripped over her. He skidded to a stop. She was on her knees in the dirt, crawling around on all fours, muttering to herself.

"I know it's here, I know it, I felt it! Where is it? Where?"

He reached out and gently touched her shoulder, "Melody…"

She jumped and scrambled away from him.

"No!" she shrieked, "It's here, I saw it, stay away!"

He didn't move, wary of this new Melody, fierce and coiled like a wild cat. He had only seen this one other time and he had almost erased it from his memory, sure that it was caused by fever and delirium. But her eyes were the same as they had been when he rescued her.

Where 's Boromir? What did you do to him?!

…my Boromir would save me, save all of me…

…he's dead and you killed him… killed him and took his face…

He could feel the hurt that her words had caused welling up inside of him as fresh as if she had just spoken them aloud. And his own doubt clawed its way to the forefront of his mind. Was this what he would have done before, stopped her, held her back, all in the name of her safety? Who was he, if not the man she remembered?

Mel scrambled to her feet and skittered away, eyes on the ground, still searching and mumbling to herself. Boromir watched her and felt a pain in his chest, even deeper than the pain he'd felt at her words. He couldn't let her continue like this. He had to do something!

But just as he took a step to act on his decision, Melody paused. He paused with her, watching, wondering what she was doing now, what she was thinking. Then she leaped forward and Boromir was right behind her, determined to stop her this time, to stop this madness before it took root and changed her into something… But as his hand brushed the hem of her cloak she bent into the dirt and snatched something up, nimbly dancing away from his fingers. She turned to him, her face glowing.

"Told you it was here."

Between her thumb and forefinger was a gold ring. It was covered in grime, but Boromir could still see that she was right. It was the Yavannacor.

He reached out to her, gently, pleadingly.

"Melody, wait…"

But she took a deep breath and jammed the ring on her scarred finger.

Chapter Text

Mel jammed the Yavannacor on her finger and for a brief moment… felt nothing. A swell of panic bubbled up in her chest.

What 's wrong? Why isn't it working?!

Then a pulse of power ripped through her, trembling her body with the force of a jackhammer. There was a white explosion in her head. Everything in the world faded away and she was bathed in brightness. She grabbed her head and tried to scream, but her voice was nothing in this white void. Then there was a deep, familiar voice… a woman's voice…

"At last… at last, my child. You have returned."

The light vanished and was replaced by total darkness. But in the darkness there were voices, thousands of them, all crying out her name.

"Calenhiril! Calenhiril! Calenhiril!"

The voices of the trees were calling. She felt a rush of relief and joy even as the noise of their calling made her head start to ache. The trees were calling for her. And she could answer them.

She slowly became aware that the darkness surrounding her was only the result of her closed eyes. She was doubled over as if she were in pain. She could hear a voice from the outside, someone calling her other name.

"Melody! Melody, are you alright?"

But the voice of the outsider was faint. She could barely hear him with the rest of them yelling in her head. She had to stop that. She straightened slowly, feeling something familiar building inside her, a power she had felt before but couldn't understand. It was authority, something that had been forced upon her, but that she had at her disposal. Something she had the power to use.

She opened her eyes and her voice came out a whisper, but it echoed through her mind and she felt the power pulse and ripple out of her into the darkness, out toward the glimmering dawn on the horizon. She spoke only three words.

"I am here."

The trees fell silent. Everything in the courtyard paused and the world stopped turning for one tiny second. She turned her head and saw Boromir. He was only a few paces away, his hand reaching out to her. But it was his face that concerned her. Something was there that she had not seen before, not when he was looking at her. It was fear. Was he afraid of her?

The background faded away and all she saw was his face. And then she heard another voice, like the voice of the woman, but different, the voice of a man, unfamiliar but with that same resonating power that made her shiver. This voice frightened her, whispering out of the darkness.

"A life for a life."

She took a breath and everything started moving again, as if it was all in fast forward, like the world was trying to catch up with itself. She heard a shriek from the tower above her head and she looked up, but it was so dark she couldn't see. And right at that moment, Boromir grabbed her around the waist and pulled her aside, pressing them both against the black stone. But she almost didn't notice any of this, because the trees had started talking again. She could hear them. Some whispered, some shouted, some were speaking normally. She hadn't realized how far her mind's ear could hear. Just the sound of their voices was enough to make her so happy she felt like her heart might burst.

"Melody?"

Boromir's concerned voice brought her back to Isengard. She looked up and his face was no longer afraid. Instead he looked worried.

"Melody, are you hurt?"

She gently took his face in her hands. The touch reminded her that she was in the presence of a miracle. He was warm and alive and real. She felt like she was soaring.

"I'm perfect. Everything's perfect."

His eyes softened, and in that moment she could have kissed him.

But suddenly there was a scream of pain. An Ent cry. Her head jerked toward the sound, searching frantically for the source. She bent her mind to the voices, trying to distinguish one from the other, but… something was wrong. None of these voices were Ents. Shouldn't she have been able to hear them? The Ent cried out again and Mel flinched, pulling away from the tower, her eyes flitting wildly over the chaos of Isengard. But she felt like she was flying blind. Why couldn't she hear him?

"Melody!" Boromir shouted, "Over there!"

She turned where he was pointing. She wondered how she could have missed it. He looked like a giant beech tree swaying about. And he was on fire. Orcs surrounded him with burning arrows and shot at him mercilessly, piercing his bark. He was viciously stomping them into the dirt, but the damage was done. Flames licked at his branches. Mel's blood ran cold.

"Break the dam!" she screamed. But it seemed to take so long for her to say it. Her mouth was still moving, long after the words should have left her lips. And the way her lips formed the words… It felt so odd…

She had no time to think about it. She suddenly realized exactly what kind of a position the breaking of the dam would put her in, and the position it would put Boromir in as well. They were on the ground. If the water was released they would drown! She turned back to Boromir.

"We need to get higher!" she yelled.

She spun in a circle looking for anywhere that they could go to escape the flood. And that was when she heard two tiny voices that almost brought tears to her eyes.

"Mel! Mel, up here!"

"Treebeard, there she is! Mel!"

"Get closer, she can't see us! Mel, we're up here!"

She turned and looked up. Pippin was waving his arms wildly at her, a huge grin on his face, while Merry pointed and directed the huge Ent that carried them.

Treebeard… Mel was suddenly certain that she had to be dreaming.

Treebeard lumbered toward her, stomping on a few scattered orcs that happened to be in his path. Mel felt her breath catch in her throat. He was much more majestic than she had thought he would be. Huge though he was, he had a certain grace and patience in his movements that belied his size. And his giant eyes were expressive and bottomless, even now when Mel knew he was angrier than he had ever been. She felt the urge to kneel in the presence of such power and wisdom beyond her comprehension, but she couldn't make her legs work. She was trembling. She felt Boromir standing behind her and she leaned back into him to steady herself. He put his hands gently on her arms.

Finally, Treebeard came to a stop in front of them and slowly bent at the waist. He was… He was bowing!

"Calenhiril has come at last," he rumbled, "The tales prove true. Welcome, little sister."

Mel's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. She was paralyzed by shock. Little sister? Could he possibly be talking about her?

She gulped and forced her vocal cords to function.

"Treebeard…"

But again, the word seemed to take much longer to say than it should have. She touched her lips, bewildered. What was happening?

Her confusion was cut short by the piercing cry of the beech-like Ent. The fire was spreading through his limbs, though he valiantly tried to put himself out.

Treebeard straightened, assessing the situation, and then called out with a voice like a roll of thunder, "Bregalad!"

Instantly, a tall, spindly Ent looked up and started to run across the expanse of Isengard toward them. It took Mel's breath away. She had never seen a rowan tree before, but now she knew what one looked like. Because this was Quickbeam, the Rowan Ent. It took him only a few paces to reach them and he skidded to a halt, sending dirt and rocks flying in his wake.

Treebeard harrumphed, "True to your name, as always. Come, you must take up Calenhiril and her companion before we wash away the wizard's evil."

"With the greatest of pleasure!" Quickbeam exclaimed. He turned to Mel, who was still getting used to the idea that this was Quickbeam in front of her, and held out one silvery green hand, "Come, little sister, you will be safe with me!"

Treebeard was already taking giant steps toward the dam on the far side of Isengard. Mel didn't see how they had much choice. She glanced at Boromir, who was eying the Ent warily. Mel tugged at his sleeve.

"Come on!"

She pulled him along with her, into Bregalad's hand and then up his spindly arm, both of them scrambling until they were each settled on a shoulder, Mel on the left, Boromir on the right. Mel grabbed at the waving limbs around her, and caught Boromir's eye. She grinned at him.

"Hold on!" she shouted, playfully.

Treebeard's voice boomed across the courtyard of Isengard.

"Break the dam! Release the river!"

Mel braced herself against Quickbeam's trunk. She heard a series of loud pops and resounding cracks, and then the roar of rushing water. She turned toward the frothing wall of water that surged toward them and she had a single moment of doubt.

Please let us be high enough …

Seconds later the river was rushing under her, soaking her through with the spray as it struck the trunk of the Ent that held fast beneath her. She saw steam burst from under the earth like geysers as the forge fires were doused. Mel looked up. Saruman stood on his balcony, his face twisted in rage as he surveyed the destruction of his stronghold, destruction brought on by the trees he had sought to control through her.

As if he could somehow sense he was being watched, his crazed eyes found hers. There was no surprise. He had known. She remembered the shriek when she had recovered the Yavannacor. It had been the wizard. He had known she was there. His lips curled into a feral snarl, but he couldn't hurt her. His power was not so great now. She could sense his despair, the defeat that they both knew was coming. It thrilled her. Every cell of her body seemed to vibrate as she watched the man who had become her greatest enemy stand on his balcony and growl at her like a German Shepherd who, having reached the end of his chain, realized that he was just short of his prey. A smile twitched on her lips.

He glowered at her one final time before he whirled and fled into his tower, slamming the doors behind him. As if it could sense that the dark forces had been safely contained, the sun peeked over the horizon, flooding the courtyards of Isengard with light, sparkling in the muddied waters of the Entwash as it filled the holes in the earth and washed away the filth of Saruman's schemes.

At the same time, Mel felt her anger and her hate and even some of her fear wash away with it. She took a deep breath and could smell the freshness of the green leaves that surrounded her, clearing her mind of any lingering bitterness. Even the joy she had felt at Saruman's helplessness seemed petty, a waste of energy. And as these things flowed out of her, she was left only with exhaustion. Her small reserve of strength had been all used up. She sagged back into the branches of the Ent as the adrenaline that had kept her going started to dissipate. She felt her eyelids start to droop and she forced herself to stay alert.

"Melody?"

She glanced up. Boromir was watching her closely.

"Are you alright?"

She almost asked him the same question. He looked as tired as she felt. How long had it been since he'd slept?

"I'm just tired," She said. Her voice was hoarse and cracked. She must have screamed at some point, really screamed, but she couldn't remember. Her head was cloudy.

Quickbeam rumbled beneath her, "Harum, when the waters recede I will put you in a safe place to rest, little sister."

Her fuzzy mind registered the words and recognized that they had been used before. Little sister…

"Why do you…?" she started to ask. But the words felt weird in her mouth. She knew what she was saying. She could picture the words. She understood how they should be pronounced. But what came out did not sound anything like what she had intended. It was guttural and rough. It took entirely too long to leave her lips and it was completely unfamiliar. Some of the sounds that came out didn't even sound human. More like… more like wood rubbing on wood. Her exhausted brain tried to piece together something that made sense, but what was there was cloudy and fully impossible.

"Your questions will be answered soon, Calenhiril," Quickbeam said, "First, you must rest."

All she did was nod, afraid of what might come out if she opened her mouth again. She looked at Boromir. He was staring at her with a mix of confusion and concern on his face. He probably thought she was crazy, babbling on with those weird noises. As a matter of fact, that thought was not entirely out of the realm of possibility. But she was too tired to worry about it. She watched the water line lower as the pent up river slowed to a trickle.

Then she heard small voices calling out.

"Mel! Boromir! Mel!"

She dragged her mind away from the hypnotic flow of the river and searched for the voices. Merry and Pippin were almost falling out of Treebeard's branches they were waving so enthusiastically. She smiled and gave them a little wave back to let them know she heard. Both of the Ents sloshed toward the broken gates where the water had almost come to a standstill. Quickbeam gently gripped Mel around the waist and lowered her onto a large piece of rock wall, and then did the same for Boromir, who looked very uncomfortable with the idea. No sooner were Mel's feet on solid ground, she was almost knocked over. The hobbits both grabbed her around the waist and held on tight, babbling so fast that she couldn't understand a word either was saying. Mel felt an overwhelming sense of relief that brought tears to her eyes. They were here. They were safe. And she had lived to see them again. She dropped to her knees and grabbed at them, pulling them closer and clinging to them both, letting a few stray tears fall into their curly hair. A small part of her brain told her that she was just really tired and that's why she was so teary and emotional, but a larger part of her just wanted hold them and listen to their excited voices tell her all about everything that she already knew.

Finally, Pippin realized that she was crying.

"What's wrong?" he asked, pulling back to look her in the eye. He was actually tall enough to look down at her now and it made her smile. "Mel, are you hurt?"

She laughed and wiped her eyes. Merry was scrutinizing her too, searching for the source of her tears.

"No guys," she sniffed, "No, I'm just so glad to see you."

"Well, we were about worried sick!" Merry said, "How did you even get away from that huge orc?"

Mel's stomach lurched. They didn't know. They thought she had escaped the Uruk-Hai. They didn't know that she had been brought to Saruman. They didn't have any idea what she had been through…

"And what happened to your hair?" Pippin asked, "I almost didn't recognize you."

Snippets of her capture fluttered through her mind, memories of terrors she didn't think she could relive.

"So, how did you get away, Mel?" Merry asked, his face eager for a romping good tale of escape.

And she had escaped. She had escaped, but not on her own power. A face, she remembered a face in the dark. Boromir's face, flickering above her in faint torchlight. And she heard her own voice, shouting words with a loathing she didn't think was in her.

"Where's Boromir? What did you do to him?! He's dead and you killed him, killed him and took his face…my Boromir is dead and you took his face…"

It was a memory she didn't really remember, like watching through someone else's eyes, listening to someone else's desperate, broken voice yell the sickening words that filled her with awful gut-wrenching guilt. It wasn't real… It couldn't be! But it was her voice. It was her memory.

"Let her breathe, halflings," Boromir's deep voice commanded gently, "She will answer your questions when she's ready."

Hesitantly, she lifted her eyes to meet his. No wonder he had been so hurt. She had said horrible things to him, terrible things, and now… now all she saw was a tired kindness. How was that possible? How could he even look at her? He had saved her life and she'd been so awful to him… She watched as the hobbits surrounded him and began to chatter excitedly. She tried to catch any sign of anger or resentment, things that he surely had to feel. But she saw nothing. Maybe she had made it all up in her head. Maybe she hadn't really said anything at all. Maybe it hadn't really happened.

"Calenhiril,"

Reluctantly she turned toward Treebeard's voice.

"We will leave you and your companions to rest here," the ent said gently, "You need not fear. We will keep watch over you. All of you should rest while you can."

She nodded and managed a watery smile.

"Thank you." She tried to say, but once again it took several moments to say whatever it was that her mouth decided should come out. She saw the edges of Treebeard's mouth turn upward in a smile.

"I will answer all of your many questions when you wake."

Then he and Quickbeam splashed away. Mel rubbed her eyes and tried to think. But she was just so tired… She looked up. Merry and Pippin were both staring at her with slightly open mouths.

Finally, Merry whispered, "Mel? Was that… Was that Entish?"

Entish? Was that what it was? She supposed it made sense. But why now? Why here? And why couldn't she control it? There were too many questions and she felt very lightheaded. She closed her eyes and before she knew it, she could feel cold stone on her cheek. She was lying down. There were voices chattering all around her, but they were fading in and out of her consciousness. Then everything got quiet, and two strong arms scooped her up. She struggled against the blackness and managed to open her eyes. Boromir had her, carrying her to the far side of the gate rubble. She watched his face for any sign of irritation. There was none. He gently set her down and arranged her cloak around her. That was when he noticed she was staring.

"What is it?" he asked, "Why do you look so frightened?"

Mel decided this was one question that couldn't wait for her to wake up.

"When you came to get me, did I…" She struggled for words, "Did I say anything?"

She didn't even need him to answer. His face darkened, he turned away, and she knew. Every bit of her memory was true.

She closed her eyes and a tear slipped out of the corner of her eye.

"Oh god…" she whispered, "God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it, I didn't mean any of it!"

She opened her eyes expecting to see the anger, the mistrust, the resentment, but Boromir surprised her. He was smiling.

"I know," He said, "Some things take you over and you can't control the effects. You were upset, and you were sick. You didn't know what you were saying."

"How can you… How can you be so nice? What I said, it was awful, and you just…"

Boromir gently tucked her cloak under her chin like a blanket.

"Melody," he whispered, "The things I've said to you in the midst of anger and madness… You should despise me. But instead you risked your life to come for me, to save me from a fate I more than deserved. You have never left my side, despite my best efforts to discourage you."

He put a hand on her forehead, smoothed back the fringe of her hair.

"What kind of man would I be if I could not show you the same compassion?"

His fingertips came to rest on her cheek. Mel sighed and closed her eyes.

"Your fever is back." He murmured.

"M'fine." She muttered, "You look tired."

"I will sleep when you are well."

That wouldn't work.

"No," she said, fighting to stay focused, "You need to sleep. I'm alright."

"Melody, go to sleep, you're exhausted."

"Not unless you do," she said, her eyes struggling open, "You've slept less than I have."

"I am accustomed to it."

"Bullshit."

That earned her an inquisitive raised eyebrow.

"That's not true and you know it," she clarified, "I'm not sleeping 'til you do."

To emphasize her point, she started to sit up.

"Melody, you're going to make yourself ill. Lay down."

He put a hand on her shoulder and she collapsed under the weight. But she crossed her arms stubbornly.

"Fine, but you can't make me sleep."

He looked like he might argue. But instead he just sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"You are so stubborn."

"Only when I have to be."

He smiled, melting away a mask of strength. Behind it the exhaustion was staggering. He looked ready to collapse. And he was this tired because of her. She was the reason for this. Her heart ached.

"Please lie down," She whispered, reaching out and taking his hand, "Please. We're safe here. I promise."

He closed his eyes and nodded. He lay down only a few feet from her. She turned on her side and watched him. It didn't take long for his breathing to even out and deepen, for his face to relax. She waited until she knew he was asleep. Then, she sighed and closed her eyes, finally allowing herself to drift off into oblivion.

Boromir had not meant to sleep. He had only meant to close his eyes until Melody drifted off. But when he lay down he could feel unconsciousness overtake him with a speed that was astonishing. He was asleep before he could stop himself. And in the darkness of his dreams, the beautiful face that was not a face, the mask of the Valeir Yavanna appeared. Her lips turned up in a semblance of a smile and in his mind he heard the whisper like falling leaves.

"Well done, Son of Gondor. You have saved the life of my daughter. In return, I will do what I can to save you."

Chapter Text

Mel opened her eyes and blinked sluggishly. It was dark out. When she'd laid down the sun had just been rising over the mountains. How long had they slept? She stared into the dark for a minute, waiting for her eyes to adjust, waiting for Boromir's form to take shape beside her. But it never did. She reached out and all she touched was empty air. She felt a knot of panic in her throat and quickly fought it down. He wouldn't leave her. Not now. Would he?

"Harum hoom."

She flinched and sat up. Treebeard was swaying gently on the other side of the broken gate, watching her with those huge, expressive eyes.

"Your companion has gone into the mountains to retrieve your belongings. He will be back shortly."

Mel felt the knot in her throat melt away. He went to get their stuff. Of course he did. Mel yawned and stretched, then wrapped her cloak around her and crawled to the edge of the crumbled gate so she could sit directly in front of the Ent. His eyes followed her with patient interest until she was settled.

"Well…" she started to say, but all that came out was the same garbled nonsense that seemed to always spew from her mouth when she spoke to the Ents. She snapped her mouth shut. Merry's words echoed in her mind.

Mel? Was that…Was that Entish?

Treebeard smiled at her.

"You have many questions. And you have been very patient for a daughter of Men. I will answer what must undoubtedly be your first question and perhaps it will help you ask your other questions. The language that you speak is Old Entish. It is the first language of the forest and as the Calenhiril that knowledge is a part of you. It was necessary many, many years ago when it was the only language between the Ents and the trees they shepherded. Now of course, we have learned to speak our thoughts in the hasty tongues of many peoples. But I am afraid that when you speak with us, if you wish to use your own words, you will have to translate your thoughts as we do."

Like learning English all over again, Mel thought. She carefully considered what she wanted to say next, and the best and quickest way to say it. All she could form was one word.

"Why?"

In that single word, she hoped that Treebeard could hear all of her frustration, all of her questions. Maybe she had finally found someone who could truly understand and explain everything.

He sat back with a rumble.

"That is a very large question, little sister. But I will tell you all that I know. Do you know the origins of the Yavannacor?"

She concentrated, trying to remember what Rod had told her so long ago in Rivendell, and spit it out in as few words as possible.

"Made by dwarves for Yavanna."

The words felt funny coming out of her mouth, but they at least sounded like something she recognized.

"Hum harum, yes of course. But though the Seven children of stone forged the ring, to honor our Mother and assuage her wrath, they were not the ones to imbue it with its gifts. It was Yavanna's wish that the trees of the world have a champion among Eru's other children, someone to hear their pleas and give them strength to fight their own battles should the time ever come. It was to be a sort of counterpart to the shepherds of the forests, a person who lived in both the world of the two legged and the world of the forest. That is the purpose of the Yavannacor and that is the purpose of the Calenhiril, to do the bidding of Yavanna and to act as an ambassador for her children. Once the Yavannacor chooses its companion, the Calenhiril is forever marked as the Daughter of Yavanna, the most revered of all the old Ent legends. We have been waiting a very long time for you, little sister."

Mel tried to let all the information sink in. When she had put on the ring for the first time, what felt like a lifetime ago, something had happened to her. Her mind had been changed. She knew that now. In many ways she had always known it, but it had become abundantly clear once the Yavannacor was ripped away from her. She was no longer the same person. She could speak to the trees. She could speak to the trees in their own language… Entish, Old Entish, a language that no other creature should be able to speak. But she could. She was like a bridge, connecting the trees to the other peoples that coexisted with them, one foot in both worlds…

"But," she choked out, her words still strange and blocky feeling, "Why me? Why now?"

"We might never know the mind of Yavanna, Calenhiril." Treebeard replied, "We cannot be hasty in demanding answers that our Mother has not chosen to give to us. But know that she chooses her children very carefully. You were not made without purpose. It will be revealed to you in the time that is deemed best in her eyes."

A vision of Rivendell flashed in her mind.

Someday, she thought, if I survive all of this, I have to get back there. That's where the answers are. That's why she brought me here.

Treebeard stirred and looked toward the mountains

"Hoom hum, your companion returns swiftly."

Mel tried to look out into the night, but she couldn't see anything.

"You must have better eyes than me, Treebeard," she said, but she forgot to translate and it all tumbled out in Entish. By the time she got done saying what she had intended to say, she could see movement across the plain, a running form in the darkness.

"Do you see now, little sister?"

She smiled.

"Yes," she said carefully, "I see him." She looked up again, "Treebeard? Where are the hobbits?"

A deep rumbling sounded from his chest and it took a few moments for Mel to realize that he was chuckling.

"The little Shirelings have endured much for creatures of their size. They finally succumbed to exhaustion before sundown. They lay there."

One long finger pointed to a nook in the rubble. Mel could just make out two small figures curled up together. She smiled.

Boromir vaulted over a pile of rubble blocking the gateway, and made his way forward. Mel's smile widened. Despite Treebeard's reassurances, there had been a small part of her that had been afraid…

"Thought you ran off on me," she said, only half-joking, but trying not to sound like it.

Boromir glanced at her, and then up at Treebeard.

"I left a message for you." He said.

"Humph harum and I delivered it, Son of Gondor," Treebeard replied, looking a little miffed, "I told her you had gone into the mountains."

"He did," Mel added quickly. It was silly, but she didn't want Boromir and Treebeard fighting first thing, "I was just kidding."

The Ent and the Gondorian eyed each other for a moment longer. Then Boromir nodded and handed Mel her pack.

"All your things are inside."

Mel took it and tugged it open. She could smell the herbs of the salve that Eregwen had given her and the sturdy weave of the bag under her fingers gave her a strange sort of comfort. It brought back memories of Lothlorien, the calm serenity that had seemed to permeate the place even when things had not been going so well. Galadriel's face flashed in her mind's eye.

I saw hope…

"Melody?"

Boromir's voice snapped her back to the present. Boromir was eyeing her with some concern.

"Are you alright?"

She smiled. Hope… Mel thought that maybe now she knew what the elf-queen had been talking about.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, pulling the strings of the bag tight and slinging it over her shoulder, "Just thinking. So, what are we gonna do now?"

Boromir raised an eyebrow, but he answered her without a moment's hesitation.

"I must go to Gondor. I fear I have already been too long away."

Mel swallowed and tried not to feel guilty about that, without much success.

He shouldn't even be here…

"Well, that's all fine and good," she said, trying to not to sound as if she were being forcefully cheerful, "But if we try to get there on foot, we'll never make it before the siege."

"Siege?" he asked.

It took a minute for Mel to realize her mistake. Of course, Boromir didn't know about the siege of Minas Tirith. She felt a little bit like an idiot.

"Minas Tirith falls under siege on the 14th of March," She explained, "I don't know what day it is, but I do know that from this point on everyone is riding around on horseback. We need a way to keep up."

"There will be horses in Edoras." Boromir suggested.

"Great, but how long will it take us to get there?"

"On horseback no longer than four days, three if the horse is steadfast and the rider tireless."

"Once again, all fine and good, but as you can see," Mel waved a hand around them, "We don't have any horses. So, what kind of time are we talking about here?"

Boromir's eyes got distant. Mel could see him doing the calculations in his head. And she could also see that the calculations were not looking optimistic.

"I fear we would be too late."

Mel huffed.

"Well there's got to be…"

She trailed off. Her eyes had landed on Treebeard, who was watching them absently, as if he were barely interested in the conversation. She concentrated on translating herself.

"Treebeard? May I ask you something?"

"Of course, Calenhiril," he answered readily.

"I need to ask a favor. Something that would mean the whole world to me. Can you help me?"

"Well now, Calenhiril, let's not be hasty," Treebeard rumbled, "First comes the favor, and then the granting. What would you ask of me?"

"Well…" Her eyes flicked to Boromir, who was watching her with a befuddled expression, "I was wondering if we could borrow Quickbeam."

"Harum hoom, I am sure he would be at your disposal, but I'm afraid you would have to ask him. For what do you need his assistance?"

"I was wondering if he would mind carrying us to Edoras."

Treebeard's face creased in a grave frown.

"I do not think you know what it is you ask, Calenhiril."

"I know it's away from the tower here and the forest. But it's the only way we'll make it to Minas Tirith in time. And to Quickbeam the trip would probably be nothing, just a quick stroll in the hills!"

"It is a long way for one so young to go alone. This seems like a very hasty decision."

"Then it's the perfect one for him to make. He's famous for being hasty," Mel pushed, "May I please ask him, at least?"

Treebeard rumbled to himself for a few more moments.

"Very well, little sister," Treebeard held out a hand to her, "Come, I will take you to him."

Mel grinned and clambered into Treebeard's open palm.

"Melody!"

Boromir's anxious tone made her pause and look back. He was staring at Treebeard warily, his eyes flicking over the Ent. Mel waved at him as she settled herself between Treebeard's curled fingers.

"Don't worry!" she said, cheerfully, "I'll be right back!"

Boromir looked less than convinced, but he didn't have time to argue. Treebeard was already sloshing away, humming contentedly to himself. Mel clung to his hand and tried to survey the damage to the courtyard in the dark. She could make out the forms of Ents wading in the waters of the sluggish river, but not much else. Her eye caught the shape of what looked like a fallen log in the water and she squinted, trying to get a better look. She jerked back when the log moved, the water rippling around it in dark waves. It twisted a bit and she thought she heard a rumble. Mel suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

"Treebeard?" she asked, being careful to translate her words, "Is that the Ent that was burned?"

"Hum hum harum, yes, I'm afraid so, Calenhiril. His name is Beechbone. His injuries are severe. I am not sure he will survive the night."

Mel's stomach twisted and her heart clenched. It wasn't right. She couldn't just… let it happen.

"Take me to him."

"Calenhiril, I am not sure there is anything you can do."

But Mel didn't waver, "I've got to try. Please, just… Just let me try."

After a moment's hesitation, Treebeard turned and waded toward the fallen Ent. As they got closer, Mel was better able to see the damage that Treebeard was talking about. Many of his branches were broken and charred and his bark had black gashes where flaming arrows had pierced him. There were places where he had been burned nearly all the way through. Treebeard was right. He would never heal on his own.

Mel crawled out of Treebeard's outstretched hand and carefully slipped into the murky water surrounding the beech-like Ent.

"Beechbone?" She whispered. She reached out and touched his smooth bark, "Beechbone, can you hear me?"

There was a rumble from the trunk and slowly gentle gray eyes opened and peered at her.

"Calenhiril," he rasped, "What an honor to see you, little sister, even now as I lay dying."

"Don't be hasty, Beechbone," she chided softly, "It's very un-Entish. I'm here to help you."

"I do not know that I can be helped," he said, "I am an old tree and my injuries are grievous. I am no fool."

"Be still and let me try." She whispered.

Mel pressed both hands to his smooth silver trunk and closed her eyes. She remembered the tree by the waters of the Watcher's lake. She reached out like she had then, trying to see the injuries on the Ent. Bright spots lit up behind her closed lids. Many were small, just tiny pinpricks of light, but some flared with the intensity of white fireworks. Those were the spots that she concentrated on. She reached out with her energy and brushed one. It burned white-hot. She hissed and backed off. But the place she had touched was darker now. She reached out again, this time covering as much of the Ent's body as she could with her own cooling energy. Burning pain washed over her skin and she clenched her teeth to keep from screaming, holding on as tightly as she could. Slowly the lights started to fade, to blink out of existence like putting out a flaming torch. The power that she had used started to recede from Beechbone's body, leaving behind a smooth, clean slate. No signs of the white-hot burns were left. Finally, when all that was left were a few tiny pinpricks of light, like distant stars, Mel released the Ent and staggered away, slumping into the water and falling into oblivion.

Her unconsciousness lasted for only a few moments. She felt herself fighting back toward the surface of her mind and she quickly woke to find herself cradled in the hand of Treebeard. He was murmuring to her.

"Calenhiril, look what you have done."

She blinked slowly and turned her head. There in the water sat a perfectly healthy looking beech tree with gray eyes and silvery skin, staring at his own leafy hands as if they were new to him. She smiled and sat up. Beechbone looked up at her in wonder.

"I told you not to be so hasty," She muttered drowsily, "Did you think I would let you die?"

For a moment he only stared at her. Then he bowed his head and rumbled, "Forgive me, sister. I knew not of the power."

"We were all ignorant, Beechbone." Treebeard replied, "She is stronger than we thought, more suited to the task in some way that we cannot fathom."

"I don't feel very strong right now," Mel admitted.

In fact, she was starting to feel faint again. And her hands felt hot and itchy. She looked down and bit back a shriek. Her arms, from her elbows to her fingertips were streaked bright red, even turning purple in places! She tried to fight down panic and think clearly. She needed to do something. She ripped the pack off her back and started digging through it, ignoring the pain that was gradually building up with every movement. She jerked out a roll of bandage and Eregwen's jar of salve, smearing the green-scented balm all over her arms and wrapping them tightly to hold it in place. Instantly she felt the burns start to cool and as the panic cleared her head, she could finally think rationally. This was what had happened before. That's why she had gotten so sick at the Watcher's lake. She had transferred the tree's sickness to herself, and her body had expelled it. In the same way, she had taken on the burns of Beechbone and so she had started to burn up. She was reminded of something from her old life, something she had learned in school.

Energy can neither be created nor destroyed.

It made sense, in a weird sort of way, and she wondered why she hadn't anticipated it in the first place.

When she was done bandaging her arms, she looked up at Treebeard and grinned.

"Okay, I'm good. Now may I speak to Quickbeam?"

Treebeard curled his fingers around her, and seemed to debate the wisdom of her request. Mel felt her stomach sink. But finally, the Ent nodded, turning and splashing to the far side of Isengard, past the dark tower of Orthanc where not a light flickered. Mel shivered and turned away from it. She never wanted to think about that place again. When they reached the far wall, she could see several Ents walking to and fro along the perimeter on both sides of the dam, taking down rubble and clearing away the opening that the broken dam had left behind, piling the rock on both sides of the river. They were recreating the banks of the Isen.

"Bregalad." Treebeard rumbled.

The rowan Ent straightened and immediately waded over to them.

"Yes, Fangorn?"

He saw Mel in the palm of Treebeard's hand and grinned.

"Little sister, you are awake! But what has happened to your hands?"

Mel couldn't help but return his grin. She had to work very hard to translate what she needed to say.

"Quickbeam, if you agree to what I'm about to ask, I'll have all the time I need to explain what happened."

"What would you ask of me?"

"I want to…"

Treebeard interrupted her with a loud rumble, "Think carefully before you answer, young Bregalad. What Calenhiril requests is dangerous and hasty."

But Quickbeam just turned his smile up to Treebeard, "Danger I have seen aplenty and deemed it not so terrible. And my name would not be Quickbeam the Rowan were I not a hasty Ent. Please, Calenhiril, speak."

Mel's smile widened, "Quickbeam, I would like to ask you to carry Boromir and I to Edoras."

The Ent's eyes lit up and Mel heard the gentle rumble that she could now identify as Ent laughter.

"Oh, little sister, is that all that you require? Why it is hardly a dangerous or hasty thing! Of course I will carry you and your companion."

"Quickbeam!" Treebeard exclaimed, "You have given this no thought at all! It is a long journey."

"Of only a day or two!" Quickbeam answered, his eyes still dancing with merriment, "And to serve the Calenhiril in even such a small task is more than an Ent of my standing could ever ask for. Everything will be quite alright, Fangorn. I will prepare myself for the journey and come for you at the gate in half an hour's time, if that pleases you, sister."

Mel was so happy she could have danced.

"Yes! Yes, it would please me very much, that's perfect! Thank you, Quickbeam, thank you!"

The rowan Ent bowed to her, "The pleasure is mine, Calenhiril."

Then he turned and sloshed off into the darkness, humming happily to himself.

For a moment, Treebeard stood very still, watching him go. Then he shuddered, as if shaking off some irritant, and began walking back toward the gate, muttering under his breath.

"Foolish… hasty… no idea… carefully… no thought at all…"

Mel chose not to speak until they got back to the gate, where Boromir was pacing back and forth. When he caught sight of them, he raced to the edge of the rubble and reached out to help Mel as she slid off Treebeard's palm. When she placed her bandaged hand in his, his eyes grew hard and dangerous.

"What happened?" he asked in a clipped tone. It scared her and she pulled her hand away.

"Nothing. I helped that burned Ent and it burned me. I'm fine." He didn't look like he believed her, "Really, I'm okay. I already feel better."

He still looked incredulous, but Mel decided to ignore it. Instead she managed a little smirk and gave him the good news.

"I got us a ride."

Chapter Text

Since Boromir just couldn't seem to accept that Mel's arms were really okay, she decided to let him take a look for himself while she explained what had happened. He listened carefully, but gave absolutely no indication of how he felt about any of it, choosing instead to focus all his attention on a thorough inspection and re-bandaging of her arms. It was starting to grate on her nerves.

"Dear god, Boromir, I'm fine!" she exclaimed, finally snatching them away from him and finishing the bandages herself, "Are you happy now? Quickbeam will be here any minute. I thought we might look around, see if we can find some stuff to take with us, like food."

Her stomach was starting to gurgle, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything since the bits of lembas the previous night. That was probably making her cranky too.

Boromir finally met her eyes.

"Are you certain…?" He glanced around and then leaned in closer, lowering his voice, "Are you certain we can trust these… these creatures? Is this the best way?"

His words surprised her, and frankly made her feel a little indignant.

"Um, yeah we can trust them. Have you looked around lately? They just destroyed Isengard!"

"That is exactly my point," he replied, his voice still lowered, "Is it safe to be traveling with them?"

"Boromir, have you forgotten who you're talking to?" she asked, waving the hand that wore the Yavannacor in front of him, "I'm Calenhiril. Trees are my thing."

He still did not look completely convinced. It was so strange. The last thing she had expected from him was skepticism.

"Trust me," she said, "It's gonna be fine. Besides, this is the only way to even have a chance of getting to Gondor in time."

At the mention of Gondor, his eyes darkened and he expression hardened into a reluctant resolve. He nodded.

"Very well. If it is the only way."

She smiled, "Okay, now help me find something to eat. I'm starving!"

Together they managed to find a flooded guard room, filled with floating foods. Most of it was waterlogged and completely useless, but some of the things on the top shelves were still edible. They were able to salvage some dried fruit and meat that looked very much like beef jerky and a few loaves of bread. While they were piling things together, Mel bumped into a small barrel that was floating on top of the water. She started to push it out of the way, but the elaborate block letters stamped into the side caught her eye.

-SOUTH FARTHING-

Mel grinned and tucked the barrel under her arm. She also found a barrel that looked like it had some wine in it and grabbed that too.

"What is that?" Boromir asked.

She showed him the words on the side of the barrel, "A parting gift for two of our favorite hobbits."

They waded back to the gate and Mel set the barrels of pipe weed and wine right beside Merry and Pippin. They were curled up together so comfortably in their little nook that she couldn't bear to wake them, even to say good-bye. Instead, she kissed them each lightly on the forehead and tiptoed away.

"What will happen to them?" Boromir asked as they started to pack the food into their bags.

"They're gonna do great things," She replied, "Brave and wonderful things that they can't even imagine."

She grabbed a stick of jerky and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. Boromir didn't say anything else.

Moments later, Quickbeam and Treebeard waded toward them. Treebeard still looked fairly rankled.

"Barum hum, I still don't like this. Traveling so far across the open plains is something we just don't do. But Bregalad seems set in his hasty ways now and refuses to take my counsel. Calenhiril, I just don't like it."

Mel felt a tiny stab of guilt. Treebeard seemed genuinely upset.

"I'm so sorry, Treebeard," she said in the most soothing way she could, "If there was any other way I wouldn't have asked."

The old Ent rumbled, but he seemed to settle a bit.

"Harum hum, I would ask only one thing of you, little sister."

"Name it." Mel replied, eagerly.

"Do you know of the Entwives?" He asked.

Something tugged on Mel's heart. The Entwives… Lost for centuries, thought by many in her world to be dead, destroyed by the Dark Lord many years ago. But she had never believed that. She had always held out hope for the Entwives, for Fimbrethil. And now something deep inside her told her that hope was not misplaced. There was hope for the Entwives.

She nodded, "If I hear anything, Treebeard, I'll let you know. You have my word."

Quickbeam held out his hand and Mel climbed on, Boromir following in her wake. She noticed that he didn't seem very comfortable settling himself in. This all had to be very strange to him, and she briefly regretted snapping at him earlier. She supposed he had every right to be wary.

When they were both finally settled in his branches, Quickbeam stood and faced Treebeard again.

"We're off, Fangorn." He said, trying to contain the excitement quivering in his voice.

Treebeard held up his long, leafy hand, "Be cautious on your journey, Bregalad. It is a precious burden that you bear."

"I will remember it." Quickbeam replied.

Then he turned and strolled out of the gate without another look back. But Mel looked back. Treebeard still stood where they had left him and as long as he was in sight she never saw him move.

When they finally passed out of the shadow of Isengard, Quickbeam turned and started down a well-worn road.

"So, Calenhiril, at what pace must we go? Do you require speed or luxury? For though to run would prove the fastest, it might not prove the most comfortable."

Mel glanced at Boromir and she almost laughed. He looked so tense! He held onto Quickbeam's branches with white-knuckled hands and his eyes darted from the branches to the ground and back. He fidgeted, twisting this way and that way as if he couldn't quite relax into a comfortable position. Once again, it was something that she had not expected from him. But it quickly told her that she would be making this decision on her own.

"We need to hurry, Quickbeam, but don't knock us out of the branches, okay?"

Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw Boromir turn a bit pale. She turned her head so he wouldn't accidentally see her smile.

"A quick stroll then!" Quickbeam said and lengthened his stride, still keeping just short of a jog, "And now, little sister, I believe you promised me a tale on this journey. How did you injure your hands?"

Mel looked down at the bandages. She had almost forgotten about them.

"I was helping Beechbone. He was burned during the fight."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"It's just something I can do. I guess the Yavannacor does it really. I don't know how, but I can help trees that are sick or hurt."

For a moment, Quickbeam was silent. Mel used the opportunity to sneak a glance at Boromir. He finally seemed to have settled, but he still hadn't loosened his iron grip on the branches.

Finally, Quickbeam spoke again, "I have not heard tell of this power in the old stories. How did you know of it?"

"I only knew because I did it once before, outside of Moria."

Quickbeam shuddered underneath them and Boromir's face paled again, his fingers tightening their hold.

"Moria," the Ent rumbled, "A dark place indeed. I hope you did not venture inside, little sister. Even in our forests away from the world, the Ents have heard dark tidings from that dwarven mine."

Mel remembered the close feel of the air and the darkness creeping up on her in the shafts, the feeling of always being stalked by something evil in the murkiness. It made her shudder too.

"I'm afraid we did go inside, Quickbeam," she said, "And there were horrors there, but we escaped."

"Not all of us." Boromir murmured.

Mel glanced at him, but his eyes were fixed somewhere in the distance.

"Boromir, I told you," she reassured him, "Gandalf is fine."

"Gandalf the Grey?" Quickbeam asked his voice suddenly grave, "Did something happen to the wizard?"

Mel smiled, "Yes, but he's fine now."

"You have seen him then?"

"No, I just know. Maybe I should start at the beginning. This is kind of a long story to start right in the middle."

"Oh yes!" Quickbeam exclaimed, "Tell me of your journey! I wish to know how you came upon the Yavannacor. Perhaps it is a tale that I can pass down to my Entings should the Entwives be found."

Once again, Mel felt that strange twinge of hope deep inside her at the mention of the Entwives. But she settled back and pushed the feeling out of her mind. She started at the very beginning, with the story of how she came across the Yavannacor in her own world. It felt strange to be telling it again, after so much had happened. It had been months since she had been dropped into this strange new world, and it felt like eons since she had known the joys of air conditioning, fast food restaurants, and cars. In the blink of an eye she had been forced to substitute those conveniences with cool north breezes, beef jerky and traveling across the country by Ent. It surprised her how quickly she had adapted, really. Not that she'd had a choice, but still, it seemed almost impossible to believe that she had once thought she would never survive without electricity or the internet. All those things that she had thought were so important had faded from her memory more quickly than she could have ever imagined, replaced by much more pressing concerns. Like survival.

And not just her own survival. She stole another glance at Boromir. His grip had loosened a little and he seemed to be at least half listening to her story. She made sure to glaze over the bits that reminded her of the person the Ring had made him. She preferred not to dwell on that, instead describing the intense fights through orc-infested mines and hiding from Saruman's spies and spending time under the golden leaves of Lothlorien. The other parts of the story weren't that important anyway. Not anymore.

Quickbeam listened intently. When she had finished her story, ending with her capture and rescue from Saruman's dungeon, Quickbeam immediately launched into a flurry of questions. Had they seen signs of the Entwives in their travels? Were there Ents in her previous world? How did the trees govern themselves with no tree-herders? Had Trees and Men finally found a way to exist together in harmony?

Mel fielded all of his questions as best she could. Some of them she didn't have answers to, but she enjoyed discussing it with him. She enjoyed the easy way that Quickbeam spoke, as if every word was a joy to utter and every sentence held behind it some private punch line that only he could understand. They talked all the rest of the night and well past dawn. It was almost noon and Mel had just pulled out her pack and was rummaging around for some lunch when Quickbeam became unusually quiet. He slowed to a gentle stop. Mel glanced up. His eyes were staring into the distance. Mel looked, but she didn't see anything.

"What is it?" She looked at Boromir and he was looking in the same direction as Quickbeam, "What's going on?"

"Can't you hear it, little sister?" Quickbeam murmured.

Mel strained her ears, but she couldn't hear anything.

"It is the sounds of war."

Mel's mind immediately flashed to Helm's Deep.

"Saruman…" she whispered.

Quickbeam nodded, "Though his body is imprisoned in his tower, his evil spreads of its own accord. I fear for the horse-lords that govern this land. Though they are sturdy and strong, the might of Saruman's armies might still overpower them."

"No," Mel said, "Not the Rohirrim. They'd die before they'd let Saruman's army take them over. They'll fight till there's not one left standing. We don't have to worry about them."

But despite her own words, Mel worried. She missed her friends. She knew they were facing uncertainty and fear in the face of impossible odds. She missed Gimli and Gandalf and Aragorn and Legolas. She wished she could be there with them, to tell them that everything was going to be okay, that they were gonna make it through the night with only a few scratches and scars for their trouble. God, she missed them.

But that was not the way they were going. She could feel Boromir's eyes on her, like he was waiting for her to speak. She knew that if she asked, Boromir would probably agree to turn toward Helm's Deep, to help their friends, but that wasn't where his heart lay. He wanted to go home. And he could have already been there if it weren't for her. If he hadn't come to rescue her he could already have been on the walls of Minas Tirith, getting ready for the war that was coming. But he had come for her. She couldn't ask him to turn away again.

"Quickbeam, can we go around without attracting too much attention?" she asked.

"I think that most of their attention is focused on the horse-lords, Calenhiril." He answered, "If we continue to follow the road east to Edoras, I believe we can pass by."

"Then, let's go. I don't want to waste any time standing here in the open."

As quick as that, Quickbeam turned and started on the road again, at the same steady pace. But now they were quiet and all three of them kept their eyes on the road and the plains around them, searching for any sign of trouble. Mel took out a loaf of bread and tore it in half, handing one half wordlessly to Boromir, along with a strip of jerky and an apple. They ate in silence, as if any noise they made might turn the attention of the entire orc army onto them. Even the crunch as Mel bit into her apple made her cringe.

For hours they traveled like that, not making a sound. The silence bothered Mel more than if she had heard the sounds of the battle. The silence left time for her mind to wander, to the past, the present, and her increasingly hazy future. What would they do when they reached Gondor? What would she do? She no longer held any information of real value. Now that Boromir was alive, everything that she thought she knew was no more than an informed guess. No longer were the writings of Tolkien set in stone. The endless possibilities made her head swim. She didn't want to think about it anymore.

"Quickbeam, tell me more about you," She asked, quietly, "I'm really curious."

He smiled and his eyes brightened. He started to tell her stories, stories of his home on the mountain slopes west of Isengard, tending to the groves of rowan trees like children and listening to the birds chatter in the branches in the early morning, before the orcs came and destroyed everything. But he didn't dwell on that. He spoke only of the happy times, of how he and Fladriff the old birch Ent would come together and talk of the world. He told her stories of the beginning of the world, stories that Fladriff had told him as an Enting, for he was one of the three eldest Ents that were left. And as he spoke, the shadows of doubt that had started to roll over her like rainclouds began to part and she could feel happiness pouring into her heart like sunshine. She listened intently, only asking questions occasionally. Well into the afternoon, he paused for a moment and Mel asked him for a very important story.

"Quickbeam? Tell me about the Entwives."

The Ent didn't speak for a long moment. And when he did, his voice was somber.

"I was but an Enting when the Entwives disappeared," he murmured, "I remember very little myself. But Skinbark, Fladriff that I spoke of earlier, used to speak a little of them, Fangorn more so when I came to live in his forest. Tall and slender with long hair like that of ripe corn and rosy cheeks on smooth skin that would brown with age and sunlight. They loved to garden and help things grow. They taught your people much in their time, Boromir of Gondor," Boromir jumped, but Quickbeam didn't seem to notice, "For the Entwives loved to pass their knowledge on to any Man that would listen. They did not wander much as Ents do. Instead they chose a place that suited them and tended it lovingly, coaxing up good things from the earth until they were put out by the Enemy. Treebeard used to sing an old elvish song about the Ents and the Entwives that he seemed to enjoy. I can remember only the last few lines:

"Together we will take the road that leads into the West;

And far away will find a land where both our hearts may rest."

There was a long pause while the echoes of Quickbeam's song faded into the setting sun.

"What do you think happened to them?" Mel asked softly.

Quickbeam smiled at her.

"I cannot say, Calenhiril. I, like all my kindred, still hold hope that someday the words of the elves' song will ring true and we will find the Entwives and a land where we may live in harmony together. After the Enemy burned up the gardens, the Ents searched long and far for their fair maidens. But no word was ever heard. We hope now that the War will soon end and the Entwives will come out of their own accord, eager to grow new gardens and spread their knowledge once again. Some believe..."

He hesitated.

"Some believe that the Entwives await the arrival of Calenhiril, the Daughter of Yavanna, to seek them out and bring them home. But who can truly know the mind of Mother Yavanna? Her ways are not our ways. And so we wait and we hope, each in his own belief."

Mel sat back and tried to shut her gaping mouth. Find the Entwives? Her? How in the world was supposed to do that? Or... maybe she wasn't. Like Quickbeam said, who could know the mind of Yavanna? And she seemed to be the one pulling most of the strings in Mel's life lately. All Mel could do was keep doing what she believed was right. Worrying about whether she was doing the will of a goddess was only going to make her needlessly second-guess herself and she had a feeling she was going to have enough on her mind as it was. She glanced at Boromir again. He was staring at her, watching her with a curious expression.

"What?" she asked, a half-smile on her lips.

He shook his head, "I was simply wondering what was on your mind. You looked to be in deep thought."

"Everything is on my mind lately," She replied, looking out toward the open road. The sun was beginning to set behind them, lengthening Quickbeam's already long and spindly shadow. "There's so much that I'm not sure about anymore. I guess that's what you get when you mess around with history."

She smiled at him, but his own smile had vanished. He looked very intent now and it made Mel's heart pound.

"And… the choices you've made? Do you question them?"

Mel gaped at him for a moment before she managed to shut her mouth and form a coherent sentence.

"Never," She said with a definitive shake of her head, "I do not regret one single thing I've done since coming here."

She paused, moving her eyes over the darkening plains. Then she smiled.

"Unless of course you count letting you leave Lothlorien without me in the first place and having to catch up with you. I should never have let you out of my sight. I knew better."

When Boromir didn't answer she glanced back at him. His eyes were fixed on the road, but Mel could see his smile.

The sun slowly set behind them and the stars twinkled to life one by one in the purple twilight. Mel could feel herself being rocked to sleep by the gentle sway of the Ent's stride. But just as she started to nod off, Quickbeam drifted to a halt. She yawned and stretched.

"What is it?"

The Ent pointed, "The lights of Edoras, Calenhiril."

In the distance Mel could see tiny pinpricks of light burning on a plateau, the ringng of metal and the call of voices drifting on the wind.

"I dare go no closer to the city, little sister," Quickbeam said, "The people will fear my presence and I wish not to cause panic in an already frightened land. Here we must part at last."

Mel nodded. Boromir swung out of the branches quickly and then reached up to help her to the ground. Together they turned back to Quickbeam and Mel allowed herself to speak in the Old Entish.

"Thank you, Quickbeam."

Once the long, drawn out phrase was finally uttered, the young Ent grinned.

"To serve the Calenhiril, even in this small task has been an honor. Take care on your journey, little sister."

The Ent fixed his large gray eyes on Boromir with the most intensity that Mel had seen on his face yet.

"Son of Gondor, the task you have taken upon yourself is not light. The Daughter of Yavanna is a precious treasure to all the growing things of the world. Watch over her, I beg of you."

Boromir nodded gravely, "It is already done."

The heaviness of Quickbeam's expression melted almost effortlessly into a cheery grin.

"Then back to my post I go, traveling beneath the stars and in the company of a favorable wind to rustle my leaves! Farewell, friends!"

He turned and strolled off into the night, humming an energetic tune to himself. Mel and Boromir watched him go, but Boromir was the first to turn away.

"I admit your friends seem like pleasant folk, Melody, but I am glad to be on my own two feet again."

Mel laughed and fell into step beside him, "Yeah, I noticed you never did get really comfortable up there."

When Boromir answered he sounded just a little bit flustered, "A walking tree is not something you see often, Melody. It was simply a new experience, one that I confess I would not be too fond of repeating."

Mel was still grinning, but she dropped the subject. The last thing she wanted was to injure his pride. The fact that he admitted he didn't want to ride an Ent again was probably a big deal to him. For a while they walked in silence, Boromir setting a quick pace that brought them steadily closer to the city on the hill.

Boromir was the one to break the silence, "Melody?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why did you not tell the Ent the whole tale of our journey?"

"What do you mean?" she asked innocently, kicking at the dirt with her toe.

"You know precisely what I'm talking about."

Boromir's voice was quiet, but firm. Mel kept her eyes on her feet.

"It was none of his business," She said, quietly, "What was said and done then, it's not who you are now. It's not who you were before the Ring. You're different now and I don't want anybody to judge you for what you did before. Because I don't."

There was a pause. Mel thought maybe the conversation was over. But finally Boromir murmured, "I am only a different man because you gave me the chance to live as a different man."

"That's not true!" Mel said, her head whipping toward him, "You were a changed man with or without me. Never doubt that for a second!. You made a mistake, Boromir, but everyone makes mistakes! What separates a good person from a bad person is whether or not they can admit their mistakes and learn from them. And you did. Even if you had…" She hesitated. The words were still hard to say, "Even if you had died at Amon Hen, you still knew that you made a mistake. And you did everything in your power to make it right. You are a good man, Boromir; don't ever let anyone tell you differently, not even yourself."

He was staring at her. Mel went back to studying her feet as they plodded along. She could feel her cheeks heating up against the cool night air. She was a little embarrassed. She hadn't meant for that to turn into some kind of a rant. She was glad she'd said it, but…

Boromir did not answer. Mel didn't know whether to be disappointed or grateful. Silently, they continued their walk toward Edoras.

"You are a good man, Boromir," Melody said, while he continued to stare at her, "Don't ever let anyone tell you differently, not even yourself."

Boromir felt a warm glow in the pit of his stomach, as if he had just sipped at a steaming mug of milk on a cold night. A good man… She thought he was a good man. After all that he had done, all the things that he had said to her, even after he had abandoned her, she still thought he was a good man. He wanted to believe it himself, with all the conviction and unshakable faith that she seemed to have. But his own words repeated themselves over and over again, burning holes through him.

Am I also just a pawn in the little game you are playing?

You speak lies, woman. Let the elf care for you, but I will not.

You don't belong here… You aren't welcome, Melody. No one wants you here…

Those last words were the most painful. Each echo in his mind was a like a stab wound in his heart. He couldn't imagine now that he had said those things. The reasoning that had seemed so clear to him was now hidden in a fog of anger and mistrust that he couldn't begin to understand. It didn't matter though. He had said those things. He had hurt her, more deeply than he could possibly fathom. But things were different now. He was different now. And he would never allow her to be hurt again.

Chapter Text

As Boromir and Melody approached the closed wooden gates of Edoras, a loud cry rang out.

"Who dares pass through the land of Rohan?"

Mel jumped, but Boromir didn't seem disturbed in the least. He answered confidently.

"We are travelers from Gondor seeking shelter in these dangerous lands."

"What business brings you through here?"

"We seek only to return to Minas Tirith, to defend the people of Gondor in the war that is to come."

"Speak your names, I bid you."

Boromir held up his hands, as if to show that he meant no harm.

"I am Boromir, son of Denethor, the Ruling Steward of Gondor."

There was a pause. Then a bell tolled somewhere inside and the gates swung open. Boromir put down his hands. Mel could only stare at him for several long moments. He was… amazing. With everything that had happened, everything they had gone through together, Mel had entirely forgotten who he really was in this world. For all practical purposes, Boromir might as well be a prince!

Beyond the gates they were met by an older man with a leather helm and a spear.

"Lord Boromir, it is an honor to welcome you to our halls once more. You must forgive our caution, but war has already fallen upon our land. We are preparing to strike out for Dunharrow err the sun rises."

Boromir nodded, "We heard the sounds of battle even as we traveled. You need not ask my forgiveness. These are uncertain times."

The man bowed. When he rose, he seemed to see Mel for the first time. His eyes bulged and his mouth hung agape for a moment. Mel cringed and shuffled behind Boromir, trying to escape the man's eyes. The guard's gaze softened a little and he looked as if he might say something else, but he was interrupted by a boy who whispered something in his ear. The guard nodded and sent the boy away.

"Come," he said, "The Lady Eowyn has requested that you be received in the Golden Hall."

He spun and walked quickly down the dirt road that led straight through the city, Boromir only a step behind him. Their legs were long and Mel rushed to keep up.

"The Lady Eowyn?" Boromir asked, "The king and his son will be off at war, but I thought that the Third Marshall would be left the keeping of the royal city."

"Much has happened since last you entered our lands, my lord," the guard said, "The king's son, Theodred fell in battle on the banks of the Isen, not one week ago."

Boromir stumbled slightly, but quickly regained his footing and strode to keep pace with the guard.

"What ill news!" he said, "Theoden's only son! What a blow it must have been for him."

The guard nodded gravely, "Had he known of it, I'm sure my lord king would have been most grieved. But Theoden-king was under the spell of Saruman and so his every thought and action was controlled by the Wormtongue, Grima." The name was spit out of the guard's mouth with a vicious venom, "Under the Worm's influence, the king commanded that the Third Marshall, Eomer, be banished."

"The king seemed unwell, even when I saw him last." Boromir murmured.

"Indeed, the snake was crafty and worked slowly to fill the king with darkness. But Gandalf Stormcrow released our king from the curse and so Grima was cast out. But without his son and his Third Marshall, Theoden-king had no one left to lead his people as he rode to war. And though he bid the people chose a leader from amongst themselves, but we would have no one were he not from the House of Eorl. So we chose the Lady Eowyn, the king's sister-daughter, to be our ruler in the king's stead."

"An excellent choice," Boromir said, "She is fearless and high-hearted. She will serve the people well."

Mel thought she heard just a hint of admiration in his voice. But when she snuck a glance at him, his face was blank. Had she imagined it? She thought she probably hadn't and the thought made a weird little knot form in her stomach. She pushed away the feeling.

As they walked down the street, Mel saw people scurrying all around them, carrying baskets and pulling wagons, loading horses and their own backs with all their belongings. They were all women and children and a few old men, some too old to do anything but sit in doorways and shout out orders to those that passed them by. It was sad that they lived in such fear. They had only just got their king back and now they were in danger of losing him again in battle. But they seemed in good spirits, sometimes shouting out jibes and taunts to one another as they worked. The children all seemed to think it was a game and they squealed and giggled as they ran around, carrying things to wagons and baskets. Mel was amazed at the general mood of good cheer that seemed to fill the air.

The guard turned sharply and led them up a wide set of earthen steps. Mel could see the outline of the Golden Hall above them. It was too dark to see clearly, but firelight burned within and she could see glints of the golden artwork that adorned the archway. The guard shoved the wooden doors open and led them inside.

The hall was surprisingly dim. There was a roaring fire toward the front and center, but the room was long and so the light from the flames had a hard time making it all the way to the far end. The walls were covered with tapestries, but Mel didn't have time to get a good look at any of it. The guard was leading them on and Mel hurried to keep up. There was a flurry of activity even here, people rushing back and forth between tables laid out in the hall, some taking things out, some bringing things in, but they all paused as the strangers walked by and Mel thought she saw frantic whispering from the corner of her eye, but she didn't dare to look. She didn't want any more attention brought to her.

Ahead, on the steps of the great dais, a woman stood tall and regal. Her long blond hair was tied behind her and her dress was brown and plain, but Mel knew this was Eowyn. She stood like a warrior-queen, proud and powerful. Mel kept behind Boromir, suddenly feeling very small.

"Hail Boromir, son of Denethor, Lord of Gondor." Eowyn said, her voice strong and commanding.

"Hail Eowyn, daughter of Eomund, Lady of Rohan," Boromir replied, "It appears that we have come to your Hall at a time most inconvenient."

Eowyn's eyes flicked briefly over Mel, and then she returned her gaze to Boromir. The hall had fallen silent as the greetings were exchanged.

"You are always welcome in the halls of the Rohirrim, my lord," Eowyn replied, "Indeed, it is with relief that I see your face once more. When your steed returned to us riderless, I and my family feared some evil had befallen you. I am glad to see you well."

"I encountered trouble on my road, but I am pleased to hear that Deor returned to you unharmed. He is a fine horse."

"Indeed," Eowyn said, inclining her head gracefully, "But forgive me, I am not familiar with your companion. Did he travel with you when you last passed through?"

He? Mel thought, even as she tried not to shrink away from Eowyn's piercing stare. Did she just call me a 'he'?

"My apologies, Lady Eowyn," Boromir said, taking Mel by the elbow and gently easing her forward, "May I present Melody Bernston of-" He hesitated for just a fraction of a second, "-Rivendell. She has journeyed with me since we met there."

When Mel was brought into the light, she saw almost the same reaction on Eowyn's face as on the guard's, only she was a little better at hiding it. The lady was shocked. Mel could hear the frenzied whispers of the people in the hall, and frankly all she wanted to do was just fade back into Boromir's shadow.

Eowyn regained her composure almost effortlessly and inclined her head to Mel with a gracious air.

"You must forgive me, Lady Melody," she said, "It seems the low light deceived me."

Mel knew it wasn't the light. She looked like hell. It was no wonder really, with the clothes and the dirt and the awful haircut, that Eowyn had mistaken her for a boy. And there stood Eowyn, looking down at her from her dais, like a queen in a plain brown work dress, pity in her eyes. The embarrassment was almost too much.

"No apologies necessary," Mel mumbled as she studied her hands (oh my god, my fingers are filthy!) trying to fight her blush, "I'm sure I look awful."

Luckily, Boromir quickly stepped in and saved her from having to say anything else, "I am afraid she has been through much, my lady, horrors which she would rather not speak of."

Eowyn nodded and when she spoke her voice was soft and compassionate, "Of course. Horrors abound in all corners of the land. But, tonight you shall stay in our halls, as safe from horrors as we can make you. Come, I've had rooms prepared. And tonight you dine with me. Ceorl," She turned to the guard who had brought them from the gate. He stood at a stiff attention, "See our guests to their rooms and then back to your post. There is much to be done tonight."

Ceorl bowed stiffly, "As you command, my lady."

Eowyn turned back to Boromir and Mel, "We will speak again in one hour's time."

Boromir bowed and Eowyn returned the gesture. Mel would have bowed also, but before she even had a chance to think about it, Eowyn swept out of the room. They both watched her go. Mel was astounded. That woman was definitely all business. Not a second wasted with her. Mel was having a hard time believing she was actually going to take the time to sit down and have a meal with them.

"Come," Ceorl said, "Your rooms are this way."

They followed the guard down a long hallway that branched out of the main hall, while Mel tried to ignore the looks of shock and sometimes even a tad bit like disapproval. She tried to steel herself against it. She didn't have time to worry about what other people thought of her anyway. But she made sure to stay close to Boromir and kept her eyes firmly on the tapestries that were flying by her. She wanted to take a few minutes and really look at the stories they held, but the two men were striding through the halls with purpose and not leaving any room for dawdling. Mel was beginning to feel the first tug of disappointment, but that quickly disappeared when Ceorl opened a door to the right and steam billowed out of it. He opened another door to the left and the same steam poured out.

"Your rooms," He said, "The lady's room is here."

He indicated the room to the right. Mel peeked around the door frame. A tub of steaming water sat on a large fur rug in the middle of the stone floor. Next to it was a huge bed with a fur blanket over the top. There was a covered window on the other side of the room. Other than that, the room was plain, but comfortable. Clearly a guest room.

"And my lord's room is across the hall there. Lady Eowyn will send someone for you when the evening meal is served. I must return to my post now. Safe journey to you both."

Ceorl bowed, turned, and marched back down the hall, leaving Mel and Boromir standing alone in the hall. Mel could feel the beginnings of an awkward silence and tried to dispel it by giving him a big goofy smile.

"Well, see you in an hour, I guess." She said cheerfully, turning away, her hand on the door frame.

"Melody…"

Boromir grabbed her wrist. She stopped, turned back. His eyes were gentle, but solemn and he searched her face for a moment.

"If you need anything at all, you know where to find me." he said finally.

She smiled, a real smile this time, "Don't be silly. I'll be fine."

He nodded and then opened his mouth like he was going to say something else. But then he seemed to change his mind and let go of her wrist. Mel gave him a little wave.

"Bye."

He nodded and she shut the door behind her, leaning against it, taking a deep breath of the steamy air to calm her pounding heart. Then she realized… She was getting a bath!

Mel quickly undressed and lowered herself into the water, letting her mind wander away. For a long while she just sat in the hot water, not thinking about anything except how good it felt. She used the bar of soap that had been left and scrubbed every little bit of her. She had to wash her hair probably three or four times before it started to feel even close to how clean she wanted it to, and every time she lathered it up again she had to push through horrifying images of black orcs, dark rooms, and death. She shuddered and scrubbed until her fingers were sore and then she scrubbed some more.

Once her hair was as clean as she could stand, Mel inspected the rest of her. Her side hadn't hurt at all since she'd woken outside of Isengard, and when she finally thought to look, she could just barely make out a faint mark that might have once been a bruise. She supposed that Boromir had used that salve in her bag to heal the rib, though she had no idea how. The wonderful workings of elves… Other than being dirty, the rest of her seemed okay. Her wrists were torn up, but that was already healed nicely, along with the soles of her feet. She caught a glint of the Yavannacor when she reached up to touch the knot of scar along her hairline. She could just barely see the markings of the burn scars that lay underneath the ring. She shivered and pushed away the feeling of emptiness that overwhelmed her. Not anymore. Yavannacor was back. She didn't have to feel that anymore.

She got out of the water, which was now a dark, icky brown. Clothes had been laid out for her, a clean white shirt and brown pants. She wondered if that was because they had thought she was a guy. She shrugged. It didn't really matter. She toweled off and she had slipped on the shirt and just tied the pants when someone knocked firmly on the door. Mel furrowed her brow. It hadn't already been an hour, had it?

She opened the door. An older woman stood in the hallway with her hands on her hips and some material over her elbow. She gave Mel a once over and then she tsked.

"Ay, it's no wonder the good Lady Eowyn sent me, look at the state of ya. It's shameful, I say, downright shameful."

Before Mel had a chance to reply, the woman bustled past her into the room, tossing the cloth onto the bed, then turned and stared sternly at her.

"Well, don't just stand there, lass, we haven't time for dawdling now!"

Mel shut the door and leaned back against it to keep herself upright.

"I'm sorry… Who are you?"

"Hildwyn," the woman said decisively, "I've been sent by the Lady to see that you be tended to properly. First things first, what's happened to your hair? It looks like you let a horse graze at it."

Mel flinched sheepishly and tugged at one of the ragged ends.

"Not exactly."

Hildwyn tsked again.

"Well, there's nothing to be done about the length of it, but I think I can at least make it a straight cut for ya."

She jerked a chair in front of her, and pulled a comb and what looked like a pair of kitchen shears out of a pocket of her apron.

"Have a seat, dearie."

The tone of the woman's voice was kind, but left no room for argument. Mel did as she was told and Hildwyn got to work snipping away. She was quiet and efficient. It was possibly the quickest haircut Mel had ever had in her life.

"There," Hildwyn said as she made one final snip, "Not my best work, but it'll do in a pinch."

Mel barely had time to wonder what exactly the woman had done before she was off again, sweeping around the front of the chair to give Mel's appearance a critical eye.

"Now, what in the world do you think you're wearing?"

Mel looked down at her clothes, but couldn't come up with an answer that didn't make her sound like a smart-ass.

"What were they thinking, leaving you that awful get-up?" Hildwyn said, sounding as if she were on the verge of finding whoever 'they' were and putting them over her knee.

"Uh, that I was a boy, I guess?" Mel shrugged.

Hildwyn shook her head and flapped her hands at her.

"No excuse, no excuse at all! Here now, you put this on like a good girl."

She walked over to the bed and gave the cloth that she'd had earlier a good shake. Mel could see now that it was a simple, undyed, cotton dress.

"It's not the prettiest thing by any means, but the Lady says you're to be dressed properly if only for one night. This should fit you fine."

Mel took the dress and finally managed to work in a quick, "Thank you."

Hildwyn only hmphed at her.

"Thank the Lady Eowyn when you see her. Now put it on, let's see it."

Mel turned her back and changed quickly. When she turned back around, Hildwyn inspected her thoroughly for several silent moments. Mel wondered if she should strike a pose.

"Well, quite a difference it makes to you, being dressed properly. Go take a look at yourself, love, go on."

The woman gestured to a full-length mirror that hung on the wall. Mel had been avoiding it since she'd stepped in the room, but now she took a deep breath and walked toward it, trying not to feel the flutters of anxiety in her gut. It was the first time she had seen herself since Lothlorien. A lot had happened since then. She took another breath and stepped in front of the mirror.

It was shocking, but not as bad as she had thought it would be. Her hair was the worst part. It didn't look bad, she was sure that was thanks to Hildwyn's trim earlier, but it was so short, only to her jawline now, her gentle waves quickly turning into curls with the shorter length. Mel gently touched one of the trimmed ends. She had loved her long hair. She let her hand continue up, tracing the purple scar that ran from the right side of her hairline to the middle of her forehead. She hadn't realized that it was so visible. It didn't feel that bad, just a bit of raised skin when she ran her finger across it.

"That'll fade with time, dear," Hildwyn murmured behind her, "Don't worry your head about it."

Mel forced a believable smile on her face.

"Worry? I wasn't worried. Just looks worse than I thought it would that's all. But the hair looks great!" she said, turning back to the older woman, "Thank you again."

Hildwyn hmphed in answer and straightened her apron.

"As I said, you can thank the Lady of the house when you see her," Hildwyn said, suddenly pushing Mel off in the direction of the door, "Now off we go, it's supper time."

Chapter Text

Hildwyn bustled Mel out into the hall and crossed to Boromir's door, banging on it with authority.

"Come on, up you get! No time for dawdling now, supper's served!"

Mel had to hide a smile behind her hand. At least she wasn't the only one that got that kind of treatment from Hildwyn. Apparently the serving woman's 'no-nonsense' tone knew no class boundaries.

The door opened and Boromir appeared, then paused, taking in Mel's newly cleaned appearance. Mel returned the favor. His clothes were simple, but clean, an undyed cotton tunic and brown trousers, with his sword still belted around his waist and the Horn of Gondor hung over his shoulder. His face was clean-shaven now and his hair was still slightly damp. He looked… comfortable, relaxed. Better than Mel looked, she was sure.

Boromir lifted his hand, as if to reach out and touch her, and Mel suddenly felt very conscious of the ugly dark scar that cut across her forehead. She dropped her eyes. Boromir hesitated, and then lowered his hand to his side again.

"Yes, yes, she looks a proper woman now, you can gawk at her later if you so choose, my lord," Hildwyn said, flapping her hands at him and heading off down the hall, "But the Lady Eowyn has bid you eat with her. Come, come!"

Mel thought she caught just the hint of a blush on Boromir's face, but his expression never changed and it could have been a flicker of the torchlight that hit him wrong. He turned and followed the serving woman, and Mel once again found herself rushing to keep up. The tapestries on the walls still beckoned her to stay, to learn their intricately woven tales. She didn't know Rohirric lore as well as she would have liked, but even if she had it would have been impossible to discern any kind of a story at the pace they were being led. Mel felt another pang of disappointment.

The main hall held even more people now, the long tables filling quickly as they sat down to a quick meal together. There were bowls of stew from a large pot on the far side of the room and bread was placed at regular intervals along the tables. Women scurried around, refilling wine glasses and making sure the bread was plentiful, but this was clearly a very informal affair. As women finished their meals, they would stand and replace one of the serving women, who would in turn fill her own bowl and sit down to eat. Mel was amazed at how efficient the whole thing was.

At one of the tables closest to the front of the room, Eowyn stood and motioned for them to join her. Boromir didn't even hesitate, his long, confident strides covering the distance quickly. Mel followed along in his wake, her entire body a bundle of nerves. She was actually going to sit and eat stew with the Lady Eowyn of Rohan! It was a little unsettling, knowing what was going on in Helm's Deep even as they spoke. Which meant…

March third. It had to be the night of March the third. Wasn't that the night the battle of the Hornburg took place? Mel would have felt more certain if she had something to reference, but there was nothing, no Appendices, no internet. Only a tiny voice in her head, whispering that she was right. It was March the third. She had her bearings again.

Boromir and Lady Eowyn greeted each other, but Mel barely noticed. Her mind was racing. March third… That meant she had been captured for five days. Five days she had been in the wizard's grip, five days of living in fear and exhaustion. For five heart-breaking days she had thought Boromir was…

"Lady Melody, I am pleased to see that Hildwyn was able to find you something suitable to wear on such short notice."

Mel jerked out of her thoughts and realized that, not only was Lady Eowyn speaking to her, but all three had sat down and wine had been poured. She tried to answer quickly to make up for her absent-mindedness.

"Yes, it was very kind of you to send her, my lady. I know that there is much to be done tonight and for you to have spared her, even for the brief moments she was with me, was very generous of you."

Lady Eowyn waved away her comment.

"Think nothing of it. I will not have a guest in my house poorly looked after."

"All the same, thank you." Mel replied.

She was trying her best to mimic the formal speech she had heard Boromir use. She wasn't sure how well she was doing, but it seemed appropriate and she hoped it was less likely to raise eyebrows.

She picked up her cup and took a sip as she casually glanced around, catching Boromir's eye by accident. He was scrutinizing her as he chewed a hunk of bread. Oh god, she must have really looked out of it for him to be staring like that. She set down her cup and picked up her spoon, trying to keep her hands from shaking.

Eowyn turned her attention back to Boromir.

"Ceorl says that you plan to head east to your city from here, Lord Boromir. How long do you think you will be with us?"

"Only for the night, my lady. We will leave at dawn as you do."

Mel thought she saw a faint glimmer of disappointment pass over Eowyn's face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, so quickly that it might not have even been there.

"I see. Your people need you with them, I am sure, to prepare them for the dark days ahead. They are fortunate to have such a Captain as you to lead them."

"No more fortunate than the Rohirrim with such a great king of the House of Eorl defending them. However, I was grieved to learn of your cousin. You have Gondor's sympathies for your loss, my lady." Boromir said his eyes soft as he looked at her.

Eowyn lowered her head and swirled her spoon in her bowl, but her eyes were less sad and more determined.

"He died with honor defending that which he loved. We should all be so lucky to meet such a valiant end."

Mel was mesmerized. The way she spoke was like a woman who had already seen and accepted her death. But she seemed so eager to meet it. How could someone yearn for death so much, even a valiant one? What could mean more than life?

Lady Eowyn's eyes suddenly cleared and she looked up, smiling at them both.

"But come, let us not have such dark talk at the table. Perhaps all will seem brighter in the dawn's early light. Eat and then you will have a good night's rest here in our halls before we see you off to the eastern shadows."

Boromir inclined his head to her, "Thank you, my lady. Your generosity is great."

Eowyn's smile took on an almost mischievous edge.

"If I know you, Lord Boromir, you have need of more than food and rest."

Mel glanced at Boromir. He was giving the Lady of Rohan a half smile in return.

"You do know my ways, Lady Eowyn."

Eowyn's smile widened almost to the point of laughing.

"Come now, out with it! What else do you require? Though I could possibly guess at the nature of your request, I would hear it from your own lips."

Mel's eyes kept flitting back and forth between them, watching with a sort of bitter fascination. They seemed so at ease with one another… Mel suddenly realized that was because they were very nearly equals, albeit from two different realms. They understood one another in a way that Mel could barely fathom. They were practically royalty in a world where that actually meant something. They weren't just show pieces. They influenced the movement of kingdoms. Despite the nasty knot in her stomach, Mel couldn't tear her eyes away.

Boromir's gaze dropped to his bread and he tore off another piece as he made his request.

"It seems I might have need of Deor's services once again, my lady, if only for a short while."

Eowyn nodded, still smiling, "Yes, I thought that might be so. You have need of haste and Deor has the strength to carry you many miles at speed. I believe he remained in the stables after the men left Edoras. He is wild, as you know, and better suited as a messenger's horse than a beast of battle."

"And perhaps one of his stable mates might suit Melody for the journey as well."

Boromir smiled at her and Mel forced a smile back, but she couldn't seem to shake that nasty, bitter feeling.

Oh yeah, thanks for remembering me, I thought maybe you were having such a fun time that you forgot I existed…

She immediately felt a little guilty. That was completely uncalled for and she knew it, but she just felt so… so… inadequate. That was the word. She felt completely inadequate in the company of a great woman like Eowyn and the feeling was only heightened by the fact that she and Boromir seemed to be getting along just swimmingly.

Eowyn looked at Mel as if she really had forgotten for a moment that she was even there. That didn't help at all.

"Yes, of course, I believe I know just the steed. How skilled a rider are you, Lady Melody?"

Mel swallowed and forced down a wave of irrational irritation.

"My uncle raised horses. He taught my sisters and I to ride when we were younger. Though before to a couple of weeks ago it had been some years since I had ridden, I believe I am fair at it. Though, of course, I'm sure I have little skill compared to the people of the Riddermark."

She could see out of the corner of her eye that Boromir was surprised. Of course, he had never seen her ride, so he wouldn't have any idea that she had that skill. She felt just a tad smug knowing she had surprised him, and pleasantly from the way he was smiling at her. She dipped her spoon into her stew again. It was really quite tasty, even though it was simple. Mel had eaten a good half of hers already.

Lady Eowyn smiled at her, "I am sure you are more than capable, Lady Melody," She said, "I believe that riding a horse is a skill one does not easily forget."

Like riding a bike, Mel thought, smiling to herself. Eowyn didn't seem to notice. Instead she stood with her empty bowl and cup in hand.

"I will have your horses prepared tomorrow. I trust you remember the way to the stables, Lord Boromir, well enough to find your own way. The dawn will bring little time for fond farewells, I'm afraid."

Boromir waved a hand as if brushing away her apologetic tone, "I remember my way quite well, Lady Eowyn. I know that you have duties to attend to. I thank you for your hospitality and I assure you, the horses will be returned when we reach the first beacon at Halifirien."

Suddenly, Eowyn's face fell into a grim expression.

"I do not doubt that the horses will be returned to us, but long it may be before they to find their way home again. War is upon us all, my lord, and my people live in fear. I only hope that I may help you reach your own people a little sooner and spare them the fear of destruction and desolation that my own kinsmen feel."

There was a moment of silence between them. Then Eowyn bowed her head a little.

"Forgive me, I must see to the preparations. Safe journey to you."

She turned and strode from the hall. Mel managed to tear her eyes from her long enough to catch Boromir staring after the White Lady with a hint of concern mixed with admiration. She turned back to her bowl, even though she had temporarily lost her appetite. It was possible she had misinterpreted his expression, but the crazy part of her brain that seemed to be in charge lately seriously doubted it. And that brought on more unreasonable resentment. She pushed the last bits of meat and vegetables around in her bowl for a minute, trying to get a handle on her whirling emotions.

It was wrong to feel angry at Eowyn. After all, it wasn't her fault she had been born into the world strong, bold and beautiful. But at the same time, Mel wished that she could captivate Boromir's attention as the White Lady seemed to. That would never happen. She would never be Eowyn or any other woman of this world. She would always just be Mel, plain ol' Mel, with short hair and an ugly scar and absolutely no idea what she was doing. She realized with a shock that her love for Boromir was just as hopeless as Eowyn's love for Aragorn. Just as Eowyn could never hold a candle to Arwen Undomiel, Mel would never hold a candle to the Shieldmaiden of Rohan. Or any other lady of noble birth, she imagined.

Mel reached for her wine glass, which had just been refilled, and drained it. Probably not the smartest thing she had ever done, but a couple of glasses of wine never hurt anyone. Besides it made her feel better, or at least she knew it would in a few minutes when the alcohol hit her system. And just the thought of feeling better made her mood improve.

"I didn't know you could ride," Boromir said, suddenly.

Oh sure, NOW you're gonna talk to me like I'm actually sitting at the table with you… Mel thought, her irritation resurfacing.

Boromir was smiling at her, still looking a little surprised at this little tidbit of information. The smirk on his face annoyed her.

"Yeah well, I'm not entirely useless, you know."

She had meant to sound like she was at least half-joking. Instead all of her anger seemed to bubble out of that one phrase. Boromir's smile disappeared, replaced by a furrowed brow.

"Is there anything the matter, Melody?"

She took a deep breath and shoved another spoonful of stew into her mouth, shaking her head as she chewed and swallowed.

"No…" she said finally, "No, sorry. I'm just tired, I guess."

Of course, I'm tired, I've been through hell and now I get to have the fact that I'm practically a lowly peasant rubbed in my face, so pardon me if I'm not in the best god damn mood…

She couldn't seem to stop the swirl of angry thoughts as she finished her stew, wiping out her bowl with a piece of bread. They were frustrated and depressing in turns, one mood leading to the other in a never-ending spiral of bad-temper that she couldn't seem to pull herself out of. She reached for her wine glass again, but Boromir touched the back of her hand.

"We should get some rest. We leave early tomorrow."

His face was lined with concern. Mel felt a surge of fury at him, but she quickly forced it away. There was no reason to be angry with him either. It wasn't his fault he'd been born handsome, kind, and good, and just so happened to be a Gondorian prince who would never, ever be interested in a poor, lonely commoner from some weird other world. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. He was right. She needed some sleep. Maybe that would clear all of this crazy out of her head. And besides those two glasses of wine were finally hitting her. She could feel the tell-tale lightness in her body. Wow, it didn't take much of that Rohirric wine did it?

She nodded and Boromir stood, offering her his hand. She took it and stood up, looking around the Meduseld for the first time since they had come to supper. A lot of the people had cleared out, but there were several women running around, clearing away dishes and wiping tables. An overwhelming feeling of uselessness flooded her again. These people would be running for their lives in the morning and all she had done was add to their work, eating their food and using their dishes and…

Mel stopped and then straightened her shoulders. No. This was something she could do, even if it was only something small. But she had to do something or she felt like she was going to lose her mind. She turned back to the table and started to gather her dishes and Boromir's, stacking them as neatly as she could.

"Melody, it's really not necessary…"

She ignored Boromir's attempts to stop her. Maybe the mundane task would help her feel better, keep her mind off of the fact that she had just realized (far too late) that the man she loved was way out of her league. All of their dishes stacked in her arms, she approached the nearest serving woman.

"Where do these go?" she asked.

The woman stared at her, clearly shocked. At first she tried to take them from her, but Melody held firm.

"No, I'll take care of it, just point me in the right direction."

The woman looked confused. Mel had the sudden realization that the woman might only speak Rohirric, in which case she was screwed. She didn't know any Rohirric. How was she going to convey what she was trying to tell her?

Suddenly, Boromir's voice spoke behind her, spouting a bunch of gibberish. Mel and the woman both looked back at him, Mel's eyes wide with surprise. Boromir spoke Rohirric?

Apparently he did, because the woman smiled at him and flapped her hands, chattering excitedly in the same sort of gibberish that Boromir had just been speaking. Before Mel could really wrap her mind around this, the woman made a grab for the bowls and cups again, but Mel held on tight.

"No! Tell her no, Boromir, tell her I want to help."

"I have already told her as much, Melody, but she is very insistent. You are a guest. She refuses to allow you to help her."

As Boromir spoke, the woman finally got a grip on the dishes and dislodged Mel's hands, still babbling on apparently oblivious to the fact that Mel couldn't understand a word she said. The woman smiled brightly and bobbed a half-curtsy before she hurried off, loading up more bowls and cups as she did. Mel just blinked after her.

"What in the world was she going on about?"

"Mostly about her family serving the House of Eorl for generations, some things about honor-bound duty and tradition, and begging your pardon, but no foreign lady would ever do it properly as it had been done for hundreds of years."

Mel turned to stare up at Boromir, mouth agape. He just smiled at her.

"Or something quite similar to that. She did thank you profusely for you willingness however."

Yeah, for all the damn good it did me, Mel thought. God, she was tired. Even the serving woman's cheerful prattling was a source of annoyance.

Boromir almost seemed to read her mind. He held out his arm to her.

"Perhaps we should get some rest."

Mel nodded and took his arm. It seemed so weird, after so many weeks of traveling with him in the middle of the wild, to be thrown back into proper society where it was deemed appropriate and perhaps even necessary to offer a woman your arm if you intended to walk in the same direction together. It all seemed so pointless. But this meaningless society was most of the basis for her bad mood. The social order Mel found herself flung into dictated that Boromir had a much higher status than she did and so she was inadequate. It was enough to make her homesick. But then again, even if she had met Boromir in some modern setting, wouldn't he have still been out of her league, just by existing as the man she knew? The whole thing made her head spin and she tried not to think about it anymore.

Together they left the Golden Hall and turned down the corridor toward their rooms. Mel was so tired she almost didn't notice the tapestries as they passed by. But one image did catch her eye and she managed to make Boromir pause for just this one. A large man stood in the midst of a snow covered campsite, unarmed and dressed all in white, his golden hair blowing in the midst of a snowstorm. At his feet lay one man dead and a group of men fleeing before him, terror apparent on their faces.

"Helm Hammerhand, besieged at the Hornburg." Boromir said softly.

Mel's heart leapt to her throat. Helm's Deep. She could see the mountainous fortress at Helm's back, weaved in stunning detail. Just as with Helm Hammerhand, Theoden-king now lay besieged at the Hornburg, along with Aragorn and Gimli and Legolas. She shuddered, but quickly tried to shove away the anxious feeling in her chest.

"They'll be fine." She whispered.

Boromir glanced at her, but didn't say anything. Instead he gently led her away from the tapestry and down the hall to their rooms in silence. When they finally reached the doors, Mel slipped her hand out of the crook of his arm and laid it on the doorknob. But Boromir grabbed her elbow.

"Melody."

He whispered her name and she felt a little shiver go down her spine. She tried to chalk it up to the drafty corridor, but she couldn't fool herself. She turned back to him. He looked concerned again, his gray eyes soft and kind.

"I know something was disturbing you at supper this evening. I do not ask that you speak of it if you do not wish to. But know that it pains me to see you troubled,"

His eyes dropped to the floor.

"I… I hope that you know, despite what has happened in the past, you can rely on me to help carry any burden you may bear. In fact, I would accept it gladly if it would ease you. I realize that much of what has happened would not have occurred were it not for…"

His voice broke and he fell silent. Mel gaped at him as a wave of guilt swept over her. This was clearly painful for him and she had never even thought… God, what would he think of her if he knew the real reason for her bad mood was nothing more than petty jealousy and misplaced feelings? She reached out and touched his arm.

"You don't owe me anything, Boromir," She said, "If anything, I owe you. You saved my life. Please don't beat yourself up over choices that weren't yours to make. I made a choice and I suffered the consequences of it. But I've reaped the rewards too."

Boromir finally met her eyes again and Mel smiled at him.

"I don't regret it and neither should you."

For a moment, they were both silent. Mel thought they were done, but Boromir still had a hold of her arm. She was about to ask him if there was something else, when he finally pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. At first she was so shocked that all she could do was lay there. A warm glow filled her insides and her skin was tingling, her heart pounding her in her chest. Slowly, she reached her arms around him and hugged him back, afraid that if she moved too fast she might ruin everything. Finally, she buried her face in his shoulder and sighed. She felt his cheek rest on top of her head.

"Melody, I was so afraid." He whispered, his grip on her tightening slightly.

Mel took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Me too."

Despite the soft contentment Mel felt in her chest, her cynical brain knew that she might never be this close to him again. So she worked hard to commit every sensation she was feeling right now to memory. She tried to memorize his smell, faint since he had just washed a few hours ago, but still distinct, the smell of leather and an earthy greenness that seemed to linger on his skin. She memorized the way his arms held her just tightly enough to make her feel warm and safe, the weight of his cheek pressed against the top of her head, the rapid beating of her heart that she desperately hoped he couldn't hear or feel. And she also listened to the rhythm of his heart, memorizing the pace.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

Finally, after an indeterminate amount of time that felt both too long and not long enough, Boromir pulled away from her and Mel felt a little piece of her heart crumble. She felt like she could cry, but she wouldn't, she was too afraid that it would make his face crease with worry again. So she held back her tears and tried to smile at him. His eyes flitted across her face as if he were contemplating something very seriously. She was about to offer him a penny for his thoughts when she realized that would probably make absolutely no sense to him. That made her genuinely smile. Finally, Boromir seemed to put whatever he was thinking aside and smiled back.

"Forgive me, you are tired and we leave early tomorrow. I will leave you to your rest."

He kissed her hand and Mel imagined that his lips lingered just a second too long there, even as the angry, degrading part of her told her she was full of it.

"Sleep well, Melody." He said.

She forced her smile to stay on her face, "You too, Boromir."

Then before her mask could crack, she stepped into her room, shutting the door in Boromir's face. She took a deep breath and quickly crossed the room, throwing herself under the blankets on the bed, trying not to think of anything, just hoping that she would fall asleep. But it didn't happen. And as she lay there in the dark, her mind kept rolling over all the reasons why she would never be good enough for the son of a Steward. Then she quietly cried into her pillow.

Chapter Text

It was dark. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Boromir knew he must be asleep, that he had to be dreaming. But there were no images, only sounds, voices in the dark, murmuring in tones that became more and more heated as the words became clearer to him.

"... a mistake that must be remedied!" a man called out, with a voice deep and rolling like thunder.

"How can you call it a mistake?" a woman cried, a voice he recognized, only now it was high-pitched like a gale wind blowing through a creaking forest, "How can you look at him and call this a mistake? How can you look at HER and call it a mistake?!"

"This is not how the song was sung, Yavanna," another male voice, decisive and steady, "You know this. We understand your feelings for the girl, but Mandos is correct. This must be put right."

Boromir shuddered despite himself. Mandos, keeper of the Halls of the Dead. Yavanna, a name he was becoming increasingly familiar with. What manner of conversation was he being made privy to? To what end had the Valar had been called together?

"My lord, Manwe-"

The name and Yavanna's deferent tone made Boromir's breath catch in his throat.

"-with all due respect, I don't believe that you do understand. He saved her life. How can I not grant him the same?"

"You have promised that which you do not have the power to grant!" The booming voice of Mandos proclaimed, "It is not your place to give life to those who have no right to it!"

"Peace, my lord," another woman's voice murmured, but her quiet tone held enough power to silence the angry Valar, "Yavanna did as her heart led her. I do not doubt that we would all do the same if our places were exchanged. Love sometimes forgets previously familiar boundaries."

"Well spoken, my love," Manwe said, "But the problem persists."

There was a long pause, and then a heavy sigh.

"The world remains unbalanced, so long as Boromir, the Son of Gondor, lives."

Boromir woke with a start. He pushed himself upright and threw off his furs, putting his feet flat on the cold, stone floor, trying to orient himself, to put distance between the dream and his waking world. His heart was pounding and his stomach felt clenched in a knot. He ran a hand through his hair and discovered he was damp with sweat. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, assuring himself that he was indeed awake. But the words of the dream echoed in his mind even now.

The world remains unbalanced so long as Boromir, the Son of Gondor, lives…

They were harsh words. Even though he knew that in some way Melody had saved his life, that he shouldn't be living, he had never thought it would be a matter to bring the Valar into conference, or be the topic of such heated discussion. They were fighting over his very life. He felt a wave of indignant outrage. Did he have no say in the matter? Should he not have at least a few words in his own defense, to state his own case? It was clear that Yavanna was pleading valiantly on his behalf, but would that be enough? Should they not hear what he had to say?

And what would I say? He wondered dejectedly. What reason could I give them that I should continue to live my meager existence? I have betrayed my country, my father, those that I love most. What reason do I have to keep living?

As if in answer, Melody's face floated out of the blackness of his mind and wavered before him in his mind's eye. Where would she go if something were to happen to him? How would she survive in this world that was still so strange to her even now, after many months of living among them? Who would look after her if he were not there, with all her other friends fighting their own battles? How could they rip him away from her now?

He sighed and stood, softly making his way across the room until he reached the closed door. He pressed his hand against it, knowing that through thick wooden planks and roughly ten feet of open space lay his savior, the woman who had been through unimaginable torment and grief, all to save his pathetic life. And still, despite everything, she could find it in her heart to say that she thought he was a good man. He leaned his forehead against the door and closed his eyes. How could the Valar throw all of that away? Did it truly mean nothing to them?

He heard a bell begin to toll out the time. It was just an hour until dawn.

Then Melody screamed.

It was cold. And it was black. Mel started to shake. She strained her eyes, but there was nothing to see. She strained her ears but there was nothing to hear. Then, out of the darkness came a distant clanging. She went rigid. What was this? Where was she?

Suddenly the darkness lifted and she was in the little round room. Her prison, in Orthanc. She gasped and tried to run, but she was yanked back by the chains that held her to the damp, stone wall. The clanging continued, drawing steadily closer. She whirled in a panic, trying to find the source of the noise, but she already knew the source, she had always known it, there was nothing else. Saruman was here, he was coming, he was going to take it from her, she was going to die!

She struggled against her shackles, but they held her fast. There had to be a way, she had to get loose, she had to get away! The clanging was right on top of her now, slow and rolling. Whatever it was, it was coming for her, she knew it, it was some kind of device meant to torture her, to kill her, to take the Yavannacor away once and for all. Finally, the door swung open. Light flooded the tiny room. And she could see the cloaked figure of the White Wizard silhouetted in the doorway.

She screamed…

Mel shot out of bed and flew across the room, running blindly, still screaming. She was trapped, she was cornered, she needed to get out! She could still hear the distant clanging. Her door was flung open and she ran straight into someone blocking her way. She backpedaled and struggled, trying to wrench herself free of her captor's grasp, but he held her tightly around the shoulders and she couldn't break loose.

"Let me go! Please, please, don't hurt me, just let me go!" she screamed, still struggling uselessly.

Then she heard his voice, Boromir's voice.

"Melody! Melody, what's wrong? What's happened?"

It was like a spell had been broken and the remnants of her dream faded, chased away by the concern and kindness in his voice. A sob escaped her as she buried her face in his chest, not particularly caring right then who saw them or what polite society dictated she should do in this situation. She just clung to him, her heart pounding and her body shaking violently, trying to gasp for air. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, rubbing her back and making soothing noises.

"It's alright, Melody. It's going to be alright. No one is going to hurt you, I promise, I won't let anyone hurt you."

After what felt like an eternity (but was probably only a few minutes), she was finally able to catch her breath and stop shivering. She managed to push herself back, feeling more than a little bit embarrassed. After all, it was just a stupid dream. She had obviously worried Boromir for no reason at all. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes, trying to avoid looking at him.

"Sorry, I guess I had a nightmare" she muttered stupidly, kicking herself even as the words fell out of her mouth, "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"I was already awake."

Mel caught a glimpse of him (tousled hair, naked chest, and bare feet) and decided that she seriously doubted that. But while she was making that assumption, he gently took her face in his hands and forced her to look up at him. As she stared into his soft, gray eyes her heart started stuttering and her breath got shallow, even as she reprimanded herself for being such an overreacting, hopelessly silly romantic.

"Melody," he murmured and her heart skipped an entire beat, "I had a..."

"Oh gracious!"

Mel recognized Hildwyn's sharp voice and she stumbled out of Boromir's touch, her face burning. The serving woman was standing just outside the door, her face as red as Mel's face felt. God, this must look as awful as she imagined it looked. Here she was, standing with a half-naked man that she was traveling with alone! She imagined that tongues were already flapping in all corners of Edoras and now this! It didn't matter that nothing had happened, that in all probability nothing was ever going to happen. What mattered was that it looked like something had happened, and god, she just wished that the floor would open up and swallow her…

After half a moment of shocked silence, Hildwyn recovered herself enough to start stuttering out excuses.

"Begging your pardon, I was just bringing some things, but I can come back in a moment, I have other matters I can see to..."

"That won't be necessary."

Mel stared up at Boromir. His face was smooth and his voice was calm and level, as if Hildwyn had stumbled onto nothing unusual at all, as if he and Mel were simply having a mundane, unimportant conversation that had been unexpectedly interrupted. Mel was in awe.

"I was simply making certain that Lady Melody was awake. We have a long journey ahead of us and I wish to be off as soon as possible."

Mel glanced at Hildwyn and it was easy to see that she wasn't buying it. She might be a simple woman, but she wasn't stupid. Mel guessed that was also why she simply nodded her head at Boromir.

"Very well, my lord, forgive my intrusion, but I have a few things that the Lady Melody might find helpful for the journey. If you'll excuse us."

With that, Hildwyn bustled herself into the room, forcing Boromir to take a few steps back to allow her in, and then promptly shut the door in his face.

Mel just stood there staring, dumbfounded, and not quite sure what to do with herself. But Hildwyn seemed to have put the whole situation out of her mind and hurried right on past her, tossing an armful of things onto the bed.

"Now then, I've been sent to provide you some things you'll be sorely needing in the days ahead, I'll wager. These are treacherous times and one can't be too prepared I always say. I've brought you some decent clothes to ride around the countryside in, simple but they do the job."

Mel took a few tentative steps forward and peeked over Hildwyn's shoulder as the woman spread a white shirt and a pair of brown leggings over the bed. Hildwyn just carried on chattering.

"You can keep the dress you've got if you like, it's not much, but you never know when you might need a good, sturdy dress in polite company. You've got yourself a decent pair of boots there, but there's an extra pair just in case, in that little pack you came with, thought about replacing that too, but I let it be, to each their own and all that. Ah!"

Mel jumped back a little when Hildwyn suddenly cried out triumphantly and whipped around to face her, looking terribly pleased with herself.

"By special request of the Lady herself."

She held a rough leather belt in her hand, which was attached to a sword. The sheath was plain like the belt and the hilt of the sword wasn't elaborate, just plain gold with some kind of woven pattern on the grip. Mel remembered, with a sudden lurch of guilt, Elladan's gift to her, the beautiful elven sword that was now lost god-only-knew-where. She hadn't seen hide nor hair of it since Amon Hen. She had lost her friend's gift, with no way of getting back. Mel swallowed another wave of guilt. Hildwyn didn't seem to notice. She unsheathed the sword in one fluid motion and held it out to Mel.

"Do you know how to use this, girly?"

Mel nodded and took the hilt, weighing it carefully before she gave it a few practice swings.

"It's a bit heavier than what you might be used to in Rivendell, all that elvish nonsense," Hildwyn said, watching her with sharp eyes, hands on her hips, "But it's good craftsmanship, won't notch easy, and it serves it's purpose. Lady Eowyn insisted that you have one and I firmly agree. There's all kinds of beasties and goblins out there, a woman needs to be able to defend herself."

Mel continued to work the sword, twisting and slicing through the air, trying to get acquainted with the blade. Hildwyn was right, it was much heavier than her other sword had been. Her movements were clumsy and slow. She felt shamefully out of practice. Of course the last time she had gripped a sword she had been thinking less about proper form and more about staying alive. The unbidden image of orcs charging down the forested hill made her shudder and she nearly dropped the sword. She swallowed and took the belt from Hildwyn, sheathing the blade before she could embarrass herself any more.

"Thank you, Hildwyn. And thank the Lady Eowyn for me. The kindness of you both has been more than I could have imagined."

Hildwyn snorted, "Thank the Lady yourself, I'm sure she'll see you off. Now, if you'll excuse me there's packing still to be done and we leave in a scant hour."

Without another word, Hildwyn strutted out the door, shutting it firmly behind her. As soon as she was gone, an anxious energy set Mel's nerves tingling. For lack of anything else to do with herself, she walked to a small washbasin and splashed cold water on her face to try to settle herself. When that didn't work, she quickly dressed and worked at packing away the rest of her things in her bag, including the dress. Even though Hildwyn had worded it at optional, Mel felt that it might be rude to leave it behind. Besides, she did like it. It was comfortable and simple, easy to maintain. And Hildwyn was right, you really never knew when you might need a good dress around here. She ran a hand through her hair, forcing away the sick feeling in her stomach when her fingers only combed to her jawline. She buckled the sword around her waist and finally clasped on her cloak, the same cloak that had survived hell with her and kept coming back for more. She reminded herself to thoroughly question Elrohir about it when she made it back to Rivendell.

She glanced at herself in the mirror. The clothes looked as if they'd actually been tailored to fit a woman, not baggy and shapeless like the others had. All in all, she looked ready to face the world again. But as much as she tried to ignore it, her eyes kept straying to the dark reddish-purple mark on her forehead. If even her eyes were drawn there, others would be drawn there as well. The last thing she wanted was for some idiot to ask her, 'Hey, how'd you get that scar?' smiling like a drunken moron expecting a good story. She wasn't ready to tell that story yet. She wasn't sure she'd ever be ready to tell it. Unconsciously, her hand strayed to the Yavannacor, twisting it around and around on her finger until she realized what she was doing and clasped her hands together like a little girl who'd been caught biting her nails. She sighed and straightened the clasp on her cloak, even though it hadn't needed it, and gave herself a pep talk.

"Alright, Mel, listen up. You've been through hell, there's no use denying it. But it's time to suck it up now. You have more important things to worry about, your stupid vanity is gonna have to take a back seat. You got that? Okay, you can do this. You can totally do this. So let's get it over with."

With that, she slung her pack over her shoulders, marched over to her door, yanked it open, and froze. Boromir was standing in the hall, now fully dressed, as if he had been waiting on her. Mel felt herself blush. God, had he heard her little pep talk just now?

But his face remained passive and his tone all business.

"Good, I was just coming to fetch you. I'm glad to see that you are prepared."

He gestured to her waist and Mel put a hand on the hilt of the sword.

"I had thought to ask the Lady Eowyn about that," he said, "But it seems she had the same thought."

Mel felt her heart sink a little as she heard that touch of admiration in his voice again. But she yanked herself back up again as quickly as she could and managed a convincing smile. Boromir returned it and gestured toward the dark hallway.

"Come, it's nearly dawn. We'll walk to the stables."

He strode forward and once again Mel found herself hurrying to keep up with his long stride. Apparently, when the dress was gone so was the need for formality because they simply walked side by side, not arm in arm. Mel tried to think of as a good thing. They should start setting boundaries after all. Mel didn't know exactly what to expect in Minas Tirith, but she had a sneaking suspicion that the code of conduct would err more on the side of caution than not, especially if it concerned the first born son of the Steward. She needed to get used to keeping her distance. Maybe it wouldn't be such a shock to her system when they got there. Maybe it would help her be more realistic.

She wanted to pause and have a look at the tapestry of Helm Hammerhand one more time, but Boromir blew right past it without even a glance. Mel caught a glimpse of gray, white and gold and then it was gone, lost behind her in the dim, pre-dawn corridor. It was then that she realized she was really leaving Edoras. Most likely she would never come here again. And she had seen so very little of it. She felt a deep burning hole of regret in her stomach that made her eyes tear up. She brushed furiously at the wetness, but the burning still remained. She had missed so much and now it was too late. There was nothing she could do.

They rushed through the dark and empty Golden Hall, not even a coal burning in the hearth before the throne, and out into the brisk morning air. The sky was gray and Mel could still see a faint glimmering of stars on the western horizon even as the east began to glow deep purple, the sun not far from rising. There was a lot of clatter and shouting and rushing about as the Rohirrim loaded up the last of their belongings and prepared to move out, heading for Dunharrow where they would await the return of the men from Helm's Deep. Mel didn't know how long it would take for word to reach them that the battle had been won. She hoped it was not too long. She knew that the king would first visit Isengard before making his way homewards. Aragorn would reach the people first, but that would be days from now. Surely they would send messengers so that no one would be stuck worrying needlessly. Surely...

Boromir strode purposefully down the main road, Mel following close on his heels. He hadn't been kidding when he had assured Eowyn that he knew his way. He had clearly been here before. Mel could see people watching them pass out of the corner of her eye, some of them turning to neighbors, gesturing and pointing. Mel wondered what they were saying.

Oh look there goes that crazy woman who dresses like a man… She was sure a sight when they came in last night… She's lucky the Steward's son takes pity on her… It's not proper that they should be riding together...

Mel didn't let her thoughts stray any further than that and spent the remainder of the walk pointedly ignoring the people on the side of the road, concentrating only on the dirt in front of her.

There was a great cluster of activity up ahead. They had reached the stables. Men and women hurried back and forth, tacking up horses and loading them with saddlebags or whatever they could carry before they were led away. It felt a little like gearing up at rodeo only much less buoyant, with a taste of something almost like panic in the air. Mel made sure to keep her eyes locked on Boromir's back as he expertly maneuvered through the crowd, but still she was struggling to keep up. Finally he glanced back and, without a word, took her hand in a firm grip and tugged her forward, headed toward a large open doorway. Mel dropped her eyes to the ground, grateful for the help, but at the same time scared of seeing any odd or accusing looks that might be thrown her way. And still a tiny part of her reveled in the warm tingling that crept into her hand at his touch.

Effortlessly they slipped into the stable and Mel's nose was suddenly flooded with familiar scents, leather, sweat and fresh hay. She took a deep breath as they walked, remembering summers riding with her uncle, her sisters racing their horses pell-mell across the pastures, chasing rabbits. She felt a twinge of homesickness that she quickly shoved aside. Boromir led her to the back of the stable, winding through the crowd that got thinner the farther in they went, until it was reduced to only a scattering of stable-hands.

They approached one of the hands just finishing saddling up a huge black horse. The black fidgeted, tossing his head and stepping away from the patient fingers of his handler. The young man glanced up and straightened at their approach.

"He's almost ready, my lord."

"I see," Boromir said, rubbing the giant's soft nose with his free hand, "Well met again, Deor."

The horse snorted and leaned into Boromir's hand. Mel gaped.

"My god," she whispered, "He's beautiful."

And he was. He had to be almost seventeen hands high, broad and strong with the most beautiful pure black coat Mel had ever seen. Boromir smiled and pulled her forward.

"Forgive me, I believe introductions are in order. Lady Melody, may I present Deor, a lord among horses."

"I believe it," Mel said, holding out her hand for Deor to sniff before she reached up to run her fingers through his silky forelock.

"He has seen me through many trials." Boromir murmured.

There was a pause. Finally the stable-hand cleared his throat.

"Would the lady care to see her own steed?"

Mel grinned, "I'd love to."

She gave Deor a final scratch and followed the man to a stall across the aisle. He gestured inside.

"This is Lady Brytta."

A beautiful gray mare stuck her head over the door and peered at Mel intensely. She was not as tall or broad as Deor (which was probably good because he was a monster), but she seemed just as energetic. She shook her silver head and snorted, then did a full turn in her stall as if letting Mel take a good look at her. Then she poked her head back over the door and eyed Mel as if to say, "Your turn."

Mel smiled and held up her hand. Brytta sniffed it delicately, and then nudged it with her nose, nickering softly, a gesture that Mel assumed was approval. She reached up and stroked the faint white star in the center of the mare's forehead.

"I was certain she would take to you."

Mel turned and saw Lady Eowyn standing behind her, hands on her hips, a small smile tugging on the corners her lips. She wore a plain brown dress much like the one she'd had on last night, which made Mel wonder if it was in fact the same dress. Had the White Lady slept at all? If she hadn't, her expression wasn't giving her away. Her eyes flicked from the gray horse back to Mel, her smile widening when Brytta nudged Mel's shoulder gently.

"I had a good feeling," Lady Eowyn said, "I am pleased to see that I was correct." She turned to Boromir, "I trust you've found Deor to your liking, my lord."

Boromir inclined his head, "Of course, Lady Eowyn. I would expect nothing less of the horse-lords."

"I've instructed the cooks to load your saddlebags with enough provisions for a week's journey, should you have need of it."

"You are too kind."

That ghost of a smile threatened once again to appear on Eowyn's lips.

"I simply take care of my guests," she said, inclining her head politely, "I must go. Safe journey to you both. I hope you find your home in a better state than ours."

Before either Mel or Boromir could respond, Eowyn turned on her heel and strode away, the crowd parting reverently before her. Mel stared after her, appropriately awestruck.

"Well," said the stable-hand, breaking the silence with a clap of his hands and rubbing them together, "Let's get you on your way then."

He reached across Mel and unlatched the stall door, leading Brytta out to stand alongside Deor before handing her reins to Mel. The mare was already fully tacked, but Mel took a minute to check her over and make sure nothing had slipped loose. She was keenly aware of Boromir watching her the entire time, a tiny smile on his face. It made her a little nervous. She had seen him go over Deor a moment ago, so she knew that she wasn't committing some kind of social faux pas. So why did he look so damn amused?

The stable-hand stayed just long enough to make sure he was no longer needed, before scurrying away with a quick wish for a safe journey. Mel finished checking Brytta over before she whirled on Boromir, hands on her hips, trying to look annoyed.

"What exactly do you think is so funny?"

He shook his head, the smile still on his lips.

"Nothing, it's nothing."

Mel continued to give him her best 'I'm not buying it' look. He turned away, needlessly adjusting a strap on Deor's bridle.

"I am… simply pleased to see that not all our ways are unfamiliar to you."

She huffed and turned back to her horse, "Like I said, I'm not totally useless."

"I never said you were anything of the sort."

Mel kept her eyes firmly on Brytta, running a hand down the mare's smooth neck. She had imagined just a hint of tenderness in the way he said that and she had to take a moment to get a hold of herself, to remind herself that she was being an idiot. She grabbed Brytta's reins and, without waiting, led her through the dwindling throng into the stable yard. She also didn't wait for Boromir before she mounted up. She was astride Brytta and waiting patiently when he appeared out of the crowd, leading an overly excited Deor. The black tossed his head and pawed the ground impatiently.

"I know, my lord, we are going," Boromir said in amused annoyance, swinging into the saddle and holding the reins in tightly, "Can't let you go yet, you'll run someone down."

Deor tossed his head and snorted, as if to say that he didn't care in the least if he ran someone down. Brytta turned her head to stare at the giant fidgeting stallion. Then she let out a delicate huff and turned away from him, standing perfectly still, prim and proper, like a lady. Mel smiled and patted her neck.

"Atta girl. You show those rude boys how it's done."

"He isn't rude, he's simply impatient." Boromir said, but his eyes stayed on the stallion.

Mel smirked, "Patience is a virtue."

"One that neither he nor I seem to have much of," Boromir said, finally getting a firm hold on the horse, "Shall we, my lady?"

"I'm waiting on you," Mel said, still smirking, "You're the one who knows the way out of here."

Boromir laughed and took the lead, winding through the people gathering along the dirt road of the nearly deserted city. They passed through a small gate guarded only by a pair of sentries and, with a final salute, Boromir and Mel trotted out of Edoras and onto the open plains just as the sun peeked over the horizon.

"Victory! Victory!"

The king's cry echoed in Legolas' ears as he rode with the men of Rohan, thundering down the valley as they routed the enemy into the Deeping Coomb, his arrows flying as fast as he could string them, his horse riding down those that were too slow to get out of his way. But suddenly there was another shout and the company slid to a halt.

"Stay out of the forest!" Eomer was still shouting, cutting his horse in front of the men frantically, "Keep away from the trees!"

Legolas' mind started to race almost as fast as his heart.

There are no trees in Deeping Coomb…

He forced Arod forward, shoving between the men who shuffled and made room for him until he was on top of the ridge looking down into the valley. There it was. A sea of trees where none had been before. His heart skipped a wild beat and he could not help the wide smile that burst onto to his face.

"Mel!" he shouted, kicking Arod forward, determined to find her, to make sure that she was safe…

A hand on his arm pulled him up short.

"You will not find her there, Legolas," Gandalf said, his voice kind, but firm, "She is no more the cause of this than I."

"But the trees!" Legolas said, gesturing toward the forest that the dim morning light seemed reluctant to touch, "Surely…"

"I warned you to leave your feelings behind you in Fangorn, Prince of Mirkwood," Gandalf said, keeping a hold on his arm, "I would give you the same advice again. Melody Bernston is no longer your concern."

"She will always be my concern."

The words tumbled out of his mouth without thought or permission, but the truth in them shook him down to his bones. He pressed his lips together in a thin line and said no more. The wizard was studying him with a careful precision, his blue eyes piercing to his very soul. Then Gandalf smiled, but the expression was without cheer and that frightened Legolas more than any frown or angry words.

"That is what I feared," Gandalf murmured, squeezing his arm in a gesture reminiscent of comfort, "You have my sympathies, son of Thranduil. I fear that great sorrow lies in wait for you, sorrow the likes of which you have never known before."

Legolas felt as if he couldn't move, could barely breathe, paralyzed by the fear that was growing inside him. What did he mean? Had something happened to Mel? Would something happen to her?

Abruptly, Gandalf whirled Shadowfax and melted back into the army of men, leaving Legolas reeling and terrified.

Chapter Text

For a while Boromir and Mel traveled in companionable silence. Brytta was very well-behaved, keeping perfect pace with almost no effort from Mel at all, but it was easy to see that Deor was not happy with their brisk, steady walk. The black sidestepped and snorted, tossing his head in clear protest. Despite Boromir's efforts to conceal it, Mel knew it was all he could do to keep the stallion under control. Finally, Mel decided to take matters into her own hands. They were just cresting a hill and she could see a large rock formation in the distance right in their path.

"So, are we staying on this road all the way to Gondor?" she asked, casually.

"The Old South Road is the most direct route to the outpost at Halifirien," Boromir answered, his eyes firmly on the reins pulled taut in his hands, "We'll leave Deor and Brytta there, spend the night with the Wardens, and mount up with fresh horses in the morning."

"Well, we're not gonna make it if we keep this up, are we?" Mel asked, as Deor danced to the side and almost bumped into Brytta, who snorted in disapproval and delicately stepped out of the way, "Tell you what, see those rocks out there?" Boromir glanced where she was pointing, "I'll race you."

Boromir shook his head as he reined in Deor again.

"I don't think that would be a wise decision."

"Aw, you afraid of losing?" Mel said, winking.

"I don't think it would be wise for us to split up. This country is dangerous."

"Come on, I'm not saying we should race all the way to the mountains! It's not that far."

"Melody…"

"Too late!"

Mel let Brytta go and the mare shot forward, leaving Boromir's shouts of protest behind them. Mel laughed as the wind whipped her hair and her clothes. She leaned over Brytta's neck, driving her faster. The mare's gait was so smooth it felt more like gliding. Mel finally heard the echoes of a second set of hooves and glanced over her shoulder. Boromir was on her heels, Deor obviously enjoying his sprint. They were gaining on them. Mel leaned down and whispered in Brytta's ear.

"Come on, baby, we can't let them win now!"

As if she had understood, Brytta put on a second burst of speed. They flew up the hill and reached the cluster of stone, managing to make a full canter around the formation before Deor and Boromir reached them. Mel grinned.

"I win," she said smugly, "Better luck next time!"

Boromir pulled up next to her and grabbed her by the elbow, his face a mask of stone, his eyes glinting like chips of crystal. Mel swallowed, all trace of the smile gone from her face.

"Don't do that again." He snapped.

He was scaring her. She felt a flash of the fear she had felt in Lothlorien, when he had screamed terrible accusations at her, and she hated herself for it. She jerked her arm out of his grip.

"It was just a stupid race, Boromir. Don't be such a sore loser."

But instead of sounding flippant or even angry, the words made her feel small and timid.

Boromir pulled Deor around and continued on the road, Mel falling into step beside him. They rode in stubborn, awkward silence for several minutes. Mel kept her head down, tangling her fingers through bits of Brytta's mane. Finally, a frustrated sigh made her glance up. Boromir ran a hand over his face, and he seemed less like stone and more like a human being again.

"Forgive me, Melody," He said, "I did not mean to be so cross with you. But this is not a safe place anymore. If anything were to…"

He trailed off for a moment, and then changed his sentence.

"We shouldn't be separated, not even for a moment. It's dangerous."

Mel nodded, her fingers still playing in Brytta's mane, "Got it. Won't happen again."

There were just a few more seconds of silence.

"And besides, I did not lose."

Mel jerked her head up and stared at him, mouth agape. Boromir was grinning mischievously into the distance. Mel laughed.

"Oh whatever!" she exclaimed, "I totally beat you! You may not be used to the concept, but you definitely lost, buddy!"

"You cheated," Boromir replied, in a calm, rational tone, "You had a head start."

"It's not my fault you're slow out of the gate!"

"The oddities of your language continue to fascinate me, Melody. I simply cannot wait to introduce you to Faramir."

"And now you're going to make fun of how I talk?" Mel asked, "Some friend you are!"

Boromir started and then stared at her for a moment. Then his head quirked to the side and he smiled.

"We are friends, aren't we?" he said, as if the thought were novel to him, like it was something new.

It was Mel's turn to stare.

"Well… I mean, yeah. Of course we're friends."

Boromir nodded, still smiling, seeming quite pleased with the notion.

"Isn't that a wonderful thing?" He said, "That we have gone through so much, you and I, and still come out as friends in the end?"

This conversation felt like it was all over the map, but Mel was willing to run with it if he was.

"I think when two people have been through as much crap as we have together, they can't help but be friends," she said, "Either that or mortal enemies. And I just don't see me fighting you to the death, so I guess we'll have to stick with friends."

Boromir's face darkened for a moment and Mel had another painful flash of memory, her back in the dirt, his sword at her throat, his eyes glowering down at her, and knowing, with absolute certainty, that she was going to die. She flinched.

"Sorry," she mumbled, "Bad choice of words. I keep tripping over myself today."

The darkness cleared from Boromir's eyes with a shake of his head.

"No, Melody, I think it is I who should ask forgiveness," he said, "I fear my temper is a bit erratic this morning."

He turned to meet her eyes and smiled, as if to prove to her that he was alright. She smiled back, but she still felt a little uneasy. Something was going on with him, something weird. She didn't know if she would ever know what it was, but she wasn't looking forward to walking on egg shells around him if it lasted.

Boromir turned back to the road and changed the subject so swiftly it made her head spin.

"I am pleased that your skill on horseback is even better than you described. You were being modest when you told us that you ride only a little."

Mel took a moment to get her bearings again, and then shrugged.

"It's not a big deal. My uncle raised horses on this ranch in Montana. My sisters and I went to rodeos with him all the time when I was a kid, I even won a couple of trophies and… " She glanced up and saw the perplexed look on Boromir's face, "…and you have not the foggiest clue what I'm talking about."

He smiled, "However I have a long ride in which to learn. You know so much about me, Melody, but I know so little of you. If only there were a book that I could read that would tell me all about you, your history, your family, the things you do for enjoyment in your world. Like… how did you say it? Ro-day-oh?"

A bark of laughter escaped Mel involuntarily.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, but god you have no idea how many people would say that you just pronounced that correctly where I come from."

"However, I am assuming I did not."

"Well, if you were talking about a street in L.A. then maybe, but since there is no L.A. here, I'm going to say no."

"Now I'm afraid I'm even more confused. Is this an activity or a road?"

"Well, Rodeo Drive is a road in this huge, famous city. But a rodeo is a competition. A bunch of people with horses all get together and try to beat each other at contests. I'll have to show you sometime, I used to mop the floor with barrel-racing!"

"But you said that you had not ridden in many years. Why?"

Mel shrugged, "Well, you know, my uncle died and my aunt had to sell the ranch so that was it."

"I am very sorry."

Mel flapped her hand at him, "Please, it was a long time ago. It's just what happens."

"May I ask how he died?"

"Heart attack," she said, realizing half a second too late that she would have to explain, "Sorry. His heart stopped. Sixty-seven years old and his heart just gave up on him."

"So he was quite young."

Mel stared at him for a moment like he was crazy. Then she shook her head and chuckled.

"Damn, I forget that you people live forever."

Now it was Boromir's turn to look at her like she was crazy.

"Not forever, Melody. Only the elves live forever."

Mel rolled her eyes, "I mean longer than I'm used to. Where I'm from sixty-seven is… well, it's older anyway, maybe not old enough to drop dead, but definitely not young."

"I see," Boromir said, turning his eyes back to the road, "And, how old are you, Melody?"

"Oh no, we are not playing this game," Mel said decidedly, "I'm not telling you that because I know how old you are and how long your people tend to live. I would probably be considered an infant around here. All you need to know is that I am old enough to be considered a grown woman and perfectly capable of taking care of myself. That is where we will leave it."

"But by your own admission, that leaves me at a disadvantage. You know how old I am."

"You were born in 2978 so you're forty or forty-one, depending on whether you've had a birthday yet or not."

There was a slight pause. Mel took the time to quietly gloat over feeling like she finally had the upper hand in the conversation.

"I will be forty-one on the twenty-fifth of March."

Mel almost fell out of her saddle. Boromir noticed her falter and glanced at her. All Mel could do was stare. The twenty-fifth? He couldn't be serious! The twenty-fifth?! The day that all hell would come crashing down was the same day Boromir was brought into the world. God… the irony! It took several seconds for her to pull herself together long enough to come up with some kind of lousy excuse for her silent awe.

"Wow… That's like… less than a month away."

Boromir did not look at all convinced by this, but he nodded anyway.

"It is," He said, "But somehow, we have returned to talking about me and I would very much like to hear more about you."

Mel shrugged, still struggling to regain her composure a little.

"I'm not sure there's much I can tell you. To be perfectly honest, the last few months have really been the most exciting of my life and you've been there for most of it. Everything else kind of pales in comparison."

"Tell me about your sisters."

Mel grinned, "You wanna hear about The Twin Terrors?"

"They're twins?"

Mel nodded, "Yep. Couple of fifteen year old hooligans that tried their very best to make my life a living hell."

Boromir seemed to consider this information of great interest.

"That explains why you took so readily to Lord Elrond's sons, and they to you."

Mel shrugged sheepishly, a fond smile somehow finding it's way onto her face.

"I don't know about that. But they did remind me of Terri and Mattie sometimes. Guess twins are twins, no matter what universe you're living in."

"All siblings can be quite a handful."

Mel rolled her eyes.

"Please, you have one. Multiply Faramir by at least four and you might have an approximation of how bad I had it growing up."

Boromir was grinning fondly into the distance.

"Clearly you don't know all of my history, or you would never say such a thing," Boromir said wistfully, "When Faramir was young, he and I got into a fair amount of trouble, you know."

"Now those are some stories I would love to hear," Mel said eagerly, hoping he might run with the hint and launch into some long story about his childhood. Boromir glanced over at her and smirked.

"We are not discussing me right now. We are discussing you."

Mel sighed. She should have known better, but it was worth a shot.

"You really don't get it, I'm so boring!"

"You are not in the least bit boring to me, Melody." Mel rolled her eyes, but Boromir ignored her, "Where do you and your family live?"

Apparently, there was no deterring him. She would just have to grit her teeth and bear it.

"My mom and my sisters live in this little house on the side of a mountain. Middle of nowhere. Mom likes it that way, closer to nature, serenity and all that. I live in a city now though. Apparently, I like being in the middle of things."

There an almost unnoticeable pause. When Boromir next spoke his voice had the barest hint of a chill.

"And how long have you been married?"

Mel jerked and nearly lost her seat again. Brytta turned her head and gave her a side-eye.

"What?" Mel squeaked, pulling herself back upright.

"You said you no longer live with your family. I assume then that you are married."

Mel opened and closed her mouth a few times, just staring at him. His face was completely impassive, no emotion evident, but his voice was definitely distant. Wasn't it? Was… Was he actually upset? No, no way, she was making things up, imagining things. Even if it were true, why would he…? No, she was definitely making it up.

"No Boromir, I'm not married," she said, "I just live by myself."

He stared at her, his emotionless expression replaced by shock.

"You live alone?" he asked, "What if something were to happen? What if you were attacked? Who would protect you?"

"I live in a…" Mel tried to think of a simple way to explain an apartment, "…in a building with a lot of other people. We have our own little rooms and kitchens and things, but we're all in the same place. I know a few of my neighbors and they're good people. I don't think anything would happen to me. Besides, lots of women live alone where I come from."

They rode in silence for a few minutes as Boromir carefully processed this information. Finally he just shook his head.

"You come from a very strange place, Melody. It seems so unusual to me that your family would not continue to take care of you until you were married. Why would they put you out into the world alone?"

"Boromir, they didn't put me out. I moved out. I chose to leave and live by myself."

"Why would you do such a thing?"

"Because I wanted to know that I could," She said, "I wanted to know that I could take care of myself and be okay."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the hint of a smile tug once more on Boromir's lips.

"Yes, I suppose after all that I've seen of you, I should have expected something like that. You certainly don't adhere to traditional roles as I know them, Melody. And I expect that is precisely what you like to hear."

Mel grinned broadly, "See? You don't need to hear about my boring old life. You already know me!"

There was a moment of silence and Mel waited to hear what Boromir's next question would be. When nothing came, she looked up and caught him staring at her with a strange, sad look in his eyes.

"What?" she asked.

"You must miss them very much."

At that precise moment, a tsunami-like wave of homesickness washed over her, sucking the breath from her lungs. She did. She did miss them, all of them, her mother, her father, her sisters, even her crazy neighbor who played jazz at two in the morning. She missed every single one of them. Her vision blurred and she jerked her face away from him, scrubbing at her eyes furiously to clear away the tears. The horses had slowed to a stroll. A hand brushed her arm.

"I'm sorry, Melody," Boromir murmured, "I did not think…"

"No, it's okay," She said, sniffing and wiping at her nose, "I'll be alright. I just haven't really had a chance to think about it in awhile."

That wasn't entirely true, but she didn't want to remember the last time she'd thought about her family. A shiver crawled down her back, flashes of nightmares in the dark. She took a deep breath and composed herself before she turned and gave Boromir what she hoped was a radiant smile.

"We need to pick up the pace, don't we?"

Boromir didn't look entirely convinced, but he didn't argue either. They urged the horses into a steady canter and continued along the road, Mel being careful to concentrate intently on anything that they happened to pass. That included a lot of grass, a few shrubs, and the outline of the mountains in the distance. She worked to memorize the shape of the mountain range to keep her mind occupied.

The rest of the morning was quiet. They stopped for a quick lunch a little after noon to let the horses rest and graze. When Mel dismounted she could tell that she was going to be a little sore the next day. She sighed and stretched as she reached into her saddle bag and grabbed an apple and a few pieces of jerky. She eyed the food with a hint of discontent.

"I miss real food," She muttered as she settled into the grass, "Compared to this, that stew in Edoras was a banquet."

Boromir chuckled as he settled beside her, tearing apart a loaf of bread.

"It does get a bit tiresome, but we'll have a hot meal tonight at Halfirien."

"So what's there anyway, I mean, besides the beacon?"

"The beacons are atop the mountain peaks. But along the road directly below are outposts standing by with fresh horses for messengers. The men stationed there take turns climbing the mountain and watching for the signal fires. Duty is rotated, of course. Fresh men come from Minas Tirith regularly so no one need be too long away from their families."

"Have you ever done it?" Mel asked, "Worked at a beacon?"

"I was stationed at Erelas for three weeks, and stood with the beacon for five days," He said, his eyes growing hazy and his voice distant, "It is glorious up there. The clouds roll below you like a sea of billowing white cotton. The sun gleams in the blue, clear sky above you, reflecting off the snow-capped peaks, so bright you fear you might go blind, but you wish that you never had to turn away."

He blinked and returned to the present, smiling at Mel.

"You would like it, I think. Perhaps someday I will take you up there, watch you stand among the clouds..."

His eyes were soft and kind, and Mel had to turn away, forcing a grin and a chuckle.

"Is there anything you haven't done?" she asked, half-joking.

"I have never sailed the ocean."

The forced laughter died in Mel's throat, replaced with speechless bewilderment.

"But… How could you…? Your mother was from Dol Amroth!" She blurted out, "Her whole family lives by the ocean!"

"I was only able to visit once before she died," Boromir answered, picking at what was left of his bread, "I was barely five years old. I remember little except standing with my uncle on the docks, watching the ships weave and dip on the currents of the bay, and thinking that it was all so endless…"

He trailed off, his fingers pausing in their fidgeting for a moment. Then he roused himself and started tearing at the bread anew.

"I have not been back in over thirty years. My uncle and cousins come to Minas Tirith as ambassadors on occasion, but Father deemed it more prudent to keep my brother and I close to home, in case we were needed."

All Mel could say was, "Oh." It seemed so inadequate, but what could she say? She knew Denethor had been really torn up about Finduilas's death. And she remembered reading somewhere that she had always longed for the sea. Maybe Denethor blamed that longing for killing her and didn't want it to take his sons away. Irrational? Sure, but not impossible.

Boromir tossed the mangled crust of bread aside and brushed away the crumbs.

"Come, we must hurry if we are to be at Halfirien in time for that hot supper I spoke of."

"Is it much farther?" Mel asked, as Boromir pulled her to her feet. The mountains looked a little closer and the ground around them was starting to get rockier.

"No. We should be there before nightfall."

Boromir whistled, bringing Deor and Brytta trotting over. They quickly mounted up and were on their way in a matter of moments.

"Tell me more about your sisters." Boromir said, almost immediately after they'd set off.

Mel felt another stab of homesickness, but she steeled herself against it, rolling her eyes.

"I'm not going to get out of this am I?"

"We have spent so much time together and yet I feel I truly know so little about you, Melody," Boromir answered, "Is it so strange that I should be curious about who I am spending my time with?"

She sighed, "No, I guess not But promise me that I will eventually get a turn at this. There's still a bunch of stuff I don't know about you."

"I promise to answer any question you put to me tomorrow," he said, grinning mischievously, "Now, explain to me how your sisters were so much worse than my brother…"

Chapter Text

That afternoon, Mel recounted every escapade of her sisters (and herself) from as far back as she could remember. Some of them were difficult to explain (she tried to describe a vacuum cleaner to Boromir and failed miserably), but most were pretty universal. She was having a great time making Boromir laugh. She hadn't heard him laugh so much since Rivendell. She had missed it, that deep, rolling sound that reverberated in her chest. It was so nice to hear him laugh…

Mel cleared the fuzzies from her brain and launched into another tale of the twins involving her mom's favorite jacket and a pair of toads.

She was having such a good time that she didn't notice how quickly the mountains were approaching. Her first clue was when a deep, echoing voice spoke in her head.

"Welcome to the White Mountains, Calenhiril."

She pulled Brytta to a halt and looked around for who had spoken. She spotted a large, spreading oak to her right and smiled, nodding in his direction.

"Thank you very much."

"What is it?"

She jumped. Boromir had turned Deor around and was waiting with a slightly concerned expression.

"Nothing, just being polite," She said, gesturing toward the tree.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Do you intend to stop for pleasantries with all the trees along our path?"

Mel laughed, "What trees?"

Boromir jerked his head toward the mountains. Mel glanced and stopped laughing. The sun was just beginning to set, casting an orange glow over the mountain range… and the huge forest spread out before them. Mel didn't know how she could have missed it. Her mind must have been on another planet. The trees climbed the gentle slope of the nearest mountain peak, almost to the very top, and right at the base of the incline Mel thought she could make out a wisp of smoke curling up into the dusk. Boromir grinned broadly at her clearly surprised expression.

"Halfirien," He said, "Come, we'll miss supper!"

Deor broke into an easy canter and Brytta followed suit, plunging them into the forest and surrounding Mel with the constant murmur of trees. She let the sound wash over her, sighing in contentment. It was nice to hear the trees again. When she was separated from them, she almost didn't notice their absence. It was only when she was thrust into their midst again that she realized she had missed the steady chatter. She liked the trees. And they seemed to like her. Some of them called out to her and she smiled, answering back as best she could without slowing. They were happy to have her in the forest with them. It made her happy to be there.

The path wound through the forest and the sun was quickly blotted out by the mountain above them, leaving only a dim reminder of it's light behind. The edge of the slope rapidly approached and the flicker of a campfire through the branches pulled them onward. The wind picked up slightly and tugged at Mel's cloak. And then a light voice whispered in Mel's mind, no louder than the wind tickling her ears.

"Be careful, Calenhiril. They are following you."

Mel pulled Brytta up short and Boromir noticed her absence immediately, pulling Deor around and watching her closely.

"Who's following us?"

"What is it?" Boromir asked, his voice breaking over the soft timid voice of the tree in her head.

"Shhh!" Mel hissed, her eyes darting over the shadows around them, "We're being followed."

Boromir stiffened, his own eyes now scanning the dusky twilit forest.

"Are you certain?" he muttered.

Before Mel could answer, a loud voice echoed out of the forest around them.

"Hail travelers from Rohan! What brings you to the White Mountains?"

Both their heads jerked toward the source of the voice, somewhere away to their right. Mel watched Boromir closely for any clue as to what they should do. He made eye contact and managed a tight smile, apparently an attempt to reassure her. Then he turned back toward the shadowed trees.

"We seek to return to the land of our ancestors by the Old South Road. We are citizens of Gondor, and dwell in the city of Minas Tirith."

That wasn't entirely true since Mel had never actually been to Gondor, but she thought now was probably not the time to argue semantics.

"You have a familiar voice, stranger." The hidden man replied warily.

"Perhaps you know my father, Denethor, son of Ecthelion, who rules these lands in the King's stead," Boromir said, "I am his first born, Boromir, Captain of the White Tower."

There was a long pause.

"Boromir is dead."

The sharp declaration took Mel's breath away. Boromir exchanged a glance with her, but all she could do was shrug helplessly. She couldn't imagine… Dead? They thought he was…? How was that possible? The announcement had clearly shaken Boromir too, but he took only a moment to compose himself before turning back to the shadows.

"And yet I am come bearing the tokens of my house and station."

He reached for his belt.

"Stop!" the voice shouted and Boromir froze, "Know stranger, that we have arrows trained on you and your companion."

Boromir's back stiffened visibly and the trees around Mel shuddered as her heart leapt to her throat. She quickly worked to still them. While it was touching that they were so eager to defend her, she did not think it would be very helpful right now.

"Am I not to be given the chance to prove myself?" Boromir asked, "I reach only for the Horn of Gondor at my side, that you might see it and believe."

Another pause. Then the voice consented, "Proceed, but slowly."

Boromir slowly gripped the silver tipped horn at his side and held it before him in the air.

"Behold the Horn of the Stewards of Gondor!"

Then he put it to his lips and blew one long blast. Mel recognized it instantly, the sound clear and powerful, the same horn call she had heard in Isengard that had brought a hoard of orcs up short. It still made her pulse pound and her body quake.

The sound reverberated through the trees and finally echoed away leaving a breathless absence of sound in it's wake. Mel swallowed and waited anxiously. Movement in the corner of her eye made her jump and she whipped her head toward it, her hands white knuckled on Brytta's reins. A cloaked and hooded figure approached Boromir cautiously, step by patient step. The figure stopped within arm's reach, and finally pushed back his hood to reveal a long face with wide dark eyes staring up at Boromir in wordless awe. Then he placed his right fist on his chest and dropped into a sweeping bow.

"My lord, forgive me. The news came from Minas Tirith only days ago that you had fallen."

"It is forgotten," Boromir said with a forced cheerfulness, dismounting and clapping the man on the shoulder, "Right now all I desire is a warm fire, good food, and friendly company."

"Yes, my lord!" the man said, grinning, "I believe I can provide that."

"Excellent! Lead on, good Warden!"

Boromir took Deor's reins and Mel realized they would be walking the rest of the way. She slid from her saddle, trying to remain unnoticed, but her legs were tired from the long ride and she stumbled when her feet hit the ground, catching the attention of a young Warden that had just materialized out of the trees with several others. He caught her arm with a jovial smile.

"Easy there lad, watch your step."

Mel huffed in irritation and jerked her elbow away. The assumption that she was a guy was starting to get annoying. The young Gondorian got a clear view of her face then and (to his credit) immediately realized his mistake, stammering out a surprised apology.

"Oh… I… my lady, please forgive me, I would never… I mean, I didn't realize…"

She shrugged him off and dropped her eyes, pretending to straighten her cloak.

"Yes, I know. It's the hair. Don't worry about it."

The sound of her voice drew everyone's attention. She tried to ignore it, making a show of turning to Brytta and pulling the reins over her head, fiddling with her bridle until Boromir finally came to her rescue.

"Forgive me friends, I have not introduced my traveling companion."

He took her elbow and gently tugged her around to face the Wardens. Mel had trouble meeting any of their eyes.

"This is Melody Bernston of Rivendell. She has traveled with me for a very long while since then."

Mel noticed that the lie fell more easily from his tongue than it had in Rohan. Practice made perfect. She managed a small smile in the general direction of the men surrounding her. Most just nodded, a few smiled back with slightly puzzled expressions, and a few others looked more… shocked? Troubled? Mel couldn't find the right word to describe the looks on their faces, but there was definitely an awkward air to the group.

The first Warden, who seemed to be in charge, took a step toward her and saluted her with a hand over his heart.

"I am Elenion, third lieutenant in the army of Gondor. Come, supper is ready and waiting for us."

He turned toward the campfire glowing in the distance, and Boromir and Mel followed after him. Mel noticed that most of the other men weren't going with them, instead melting back into the trees in pairs. The night watch, maybe? That made sense.

Elenion led them confidently through the darkened forest until they emerged in a small clearing that housed the Beacon Wardens of Halfirien. There were several small cabins built in a semi circle facing away from the mountain's slope, curving around a small cooking fire. A few men sat on logs around the fire and they all turned to look when the three newcomers stepped into the circle. Before anyone could speak, Elenion started giving orders, calmly but firmly.

"Brilruin, take the horses and tend them. Cristion, see that separate chambers are made ready. The lord Boromir and his guest will be staying with us tonight."

There was a moment of shocked pause. Then all the men scrambled to their feet, saluting with the fist to the chest and bowing. Two of the men broke away from the main group, scurrying to do as they'd been told, one running off toward the cabins, the other (with hair even more fiery than Gimli's) took the horses from them, leading them to a lean-to on the opposite end of the clearing which held a few other horses ready. The other men stood around the fire, frozen with indecision. Boromir returned their salute which seemed to put them at a bit more ease, but without Brytta standing beside her, Mel was now left to their full scrutiny. And she definitely felt the awkwardness now.

Elenion stepped further into the circle and gestured at the young man standing closest to the big, black pot over the fire, a ladle held loosely in his dumbfounded hand.

"Anaril, don't just sit there like a fool!" Elenion exclaimed good-naturedly, "Get our guests some dinner! And some for me while you're about it!"

The young man jerked out of his daze and gripped his ladle more firmly, nodding decisively.

"Of course, sir."

While Anaril portioned out a delicious smelling stew and broke bread into it, Elenion took a seat among the men and gestured that everyone else should do likewise. Mel wasn't quite sure what she should do. On the one hand, she really wanted to stay as close to Boromir as possible. He was the only person she knew out of all these men and she had no problem admitting that she felt pretty uncomfortable. On the other hand, the last thing she wanted was to look like a clingy, frightened woman. Because she wasn't. Nope. Definitely not. In the end, she sat next to Boromir, but kept a little bit of distance between them, just so they weren't touching. She took her bowl with a quiet smile and proceeded to try to disappear into the shadows as best she could without actually moving.

An unusual quiet had settled over the forest. Oh, the trees were talking like mad, but as for the other common woodland noises, animals and such, there wasn't much of anything. The whole place felt very solemn. And there was something else too, something Mel couldn't quite place, but felt almost… familiar. Like something from a dream she only half remembered. Even the Wardens seemed to sense it instinctively, speaking in hushed tones as they discussed the daily happenings, orc activity, the rumors from the travelers of Rohan about the trouble there. Inevitably, the discussion turned homeward.

"There has been a great deal of darkness passing to and fro in the land since you left, my lord," Elenion said, "More Easterlings are sighted daily, orcs harry the borders in Ithilien. Osgiliath is only held by a handful of men. It is good that you have come back to us at last."

"What do you mean by a handful of men?" Boromir asked, "I left Osgiliath with a fully armed battalion."

"Lord Denethor has been drawing men back into Minas Tirith steadily since your departure. He says that there will be enough, but…"

Elenion cut his sentence short, as if suddenly realizing who he was speaking to. He hung his head.

"Of course, we trust to your father's wisdom." He murmured.

Boromir did not seem to know what to say. He gave Mel a quick glance, asking questions with his eyes that she couldn't answer, not in this company. Besides she was still trying to wrap her mind around the declaration of Boromir's death. How could they think Boromir was dead? There was no funeral boat, no horn cloven in two. What could possibly spark such a rumor?

Elenion looked up again and his eyes shone.

"But my lord, now that you have returned the people will be most cheered. A gloom has hovered over the land for a great while. Your father will be so pleased to see that you are well. Will you make haste early tomorrow?"

"Yes, we will leave shortly after dawn," Boromir said, sounding slightly distracted, "I wish to visit Elendil's resting place before I depart."

Mel's head shot up.

"Elendil?" she squeaked involuntarily and immediately wished she hadn't. All the men turned to look at her curiously. She felt heat rush to her cheeks and she dropped her eyes back to her bowl, swirling her spoon in the broth.

"Sorry."

"Do you not know the story, Melody?"

Boromir's voice was kind, but Mel was so embarrassed that she almost lied. Fortunately she was too curious to let her embarrassment get the best of her. She shook her head without looking up, her cheeks still burning. She could just imagine all of them staring at her, shocked that she didn't know… whatever it was that she clearly should have known.

"Well," Elenion said pleasantly, "It is certainly a good night for it. The Valar seem very present this evening."

Mel was encouraged by his tone and risked a glance up. Everyone looked very relaxed. Elenion was leaning back against a log, his long legs stretched out. A few of the men had lit pipes. They were all waiting. Mel looked up at Boromir. He glanced between the men, and then sighed with a sort of long-suffering fondness.

"Alright then, I shall tell it. But mind you, I am not a very good story-teller."

Elenion waved away his protests as if they were trivial.

"It is only right that it come from the Steward's son."

"Very well."

Boromir leaned back and gathered his thoughts. A hush fell, even over the trees in Mel's head. He took a deep breath, and began.

"During the War of the Last Alliance, Elendil the Faithful, King of Gondor, fell defeating the very same Lord of the Darkness that we fight today. His son and heir, Isildur took his body and went in search of a proper resting place. At that time the kingdom of Gondor was vast, stretching much farther to the north, encompassing the kingdom that we now know as Rohan. Isildur drew up the boundaries of his kingdom and saw that the noble mountain of Eilenaer stood at the center of his realm. He therefore entombed his noble father on that peak."

Boromir gestured up the slope of the mountain and Mel looked up, searching the darkened forest in vain.

"To protect the fallen king from desecration, Isildur called on the power of the Valar themselves, to watch over this hill and forever guard it from evil. His call was answered, his wish granted, and thenceforth the place was called Amon Anwar, for awe fell over the mountain and all that dwelt there. Even to this day, the presence of the Valar is felt, though the bones of Elendil have since been entombed in Gondor. Every king, and every Steward that has ruled in the king's stead, takes the one who is to be his heir to Amon Anwar, now Halfirien, to stand before the power of the Valar and be humbled by the greatness that has gone before us."

Boromir bowed his head for a moment, deep in thought or memory or both. Mel stared at the tree covered hill, her mind whirling. Somewhere up there, Elendil had rested. Elendil, one of the greatest kings in the history of Gondor. She shivered. When she turned back, Boromir was smiling at her.

"And now you know the tale, Melody." He said.

She swallowed.

"Thank you." She said, her voice hoarse and quiet.

"Lady Melody," Elenion said, sitting up curiously, "You hail from Rivendell? I was sure they told the old stories often in Lord Elrond's house."

Mel opened her mouth and then closed it. She had no reply. Luckily Boromir came to her rescue, laughing and clapping Elenion on the back.

"Come, Elenion, surely you can not expect her to have heard and remember all the tales they tell around those fires."

Elenion glanced up at Boromir and his face crinkled in a smile, but Mel thought it didn't quite reach his eyes. She didn't blame him. It was slightly suspicious and he had every right to question her. She just didn't have any answers to give him. She turned back to her forgotten stew and finished it quickly, thinking… What would she say when she got to Minas Tirith? She couldn't just waltz in and expect no one to ask any questions. What about her family? They would expect her to have family, and friends, and a history that actually made sense! Somehow Mel just didn't think the "falling out of the sky" story was going to go over too well with most people. The elves had been fairly open-minded, but she didn't want to spend all her time convincing the people of Gondor that she was telling the truth. It was pointless anyway.

"I'll take that, my lady."

The soft voice broke into her thoughts and made her jump. Anaril was smiling kindly at her, holding out his hand for her bowl. He seemed very young to be out here, maybe sixteen, much younger than the other men. She wondered if this was his first assignment. She smiled and let him take her bowl.

"Thank you. It was very good." She said.

His smile widened just a fraction and he bowed his head before he hurried away. Mel sighed and straightened out her legs, trying to suppress a grimace. Her muscles were seizing up. Fantastic. She was going to look like an idiot trying to get off the ground. And sleeping was going to be very uncomfortable. Elenion stood as if on cue.

"My lord, you and Lady Melody must be very tired. Allow me to show you to your beds."

Boromir nodded and stood, offering Mel a hand. She took it and if he noticed that she used his support just a little more than usual, he didn't let it show. They were led to a cabin on the far side of the encampment. It wasn't until they got inside that Mel realized just how deceiving the size was. There were two rooms, each with four beds and little else. Mel could see her bag on a bed in one room and Boromir's in another. And she realized something terrible. They were putting her in a room with four beds. And she was pretty sure they didn't expect her to share. Which meant that not just one, but three men were without a bed because of her. She felt awful.

"I don't really need the room," Mel said, taking a step back from the open door, "I don't want anyone put out, you know, because of me. I can just, sleep outside, or something. I hate to be a bother."

She looked at their faces and knew it was a lost cause. Both men were staring at her as if she'd gone crazy.

"Lady Melody, you needn't fear for our comfort, though the thought is kind of you," Elenion said, "Those beds belong to men who are on the night watch tonight. I assure you, no one is bothered by your presence."

"Oh," Mel said, fighting her blush again, "Then, uh, thank you."

"You are most welcome. A pleasant night to you both."

Elenion nodded to Mel and saluted Boromir, before he walked back to the fireside.

Boromir met Mel's eyes steadily.

"If you need anything…" he began.

"…I know where to find you." Mel finished, smiling.

Boromir paused for a moment. Then he nodded decisively and turned into the other room, closing the door behind him. Mel let out a long breath and did the same. Her legs hurt like hell, and she was exhausted. She had just enough energy to toss her bag on the floor and pull the covers over her before her eyelids fell closed and she slept.

Chapter Text

At first there was only darkness. Then a murmur whispered from the black void, familiar and yet so faint, as if calling from a great distance.

"Calenhiril…"

Mel knew the voice, though she could not recall from where. It was light and fluttering but indistinct, fading even as its urgency increased.

"Melody Calenhiril, take care… There is…"

Then it was gone, leaving behind only darkness and a sense of impending threat. Slowly, the black began to take shape around her, the fear in her soul molding what she could see. It was the tower, the gray tower of Orthanc. She stood before the pedestal in the throne room, black silk draped over the form of the palantir at its center. She was shaking. The room was cold and she was so afraid. But her feet moved her forward despite the fear, stepping closer to the pedestal. Slowly, her mind screaming in protest, Mel reached out and swept the black silk away. The orb pulsed and she flinched, but she did not look away. As she watched, her mother's face appeared in the swirling inky depths, smiling, beautiful… but it did not last. The smile was replaced by a soundless scream, terror twisting her face as flames sprang out of the dark and consumed her. Mel shrieked and reached out for her, but long, bony fingers jerked her back.

"You will watch," Saruman hissed venomously in her ear, his long nails digging into the flesh of her arms, "Watch as all that you love is destroyed."

Her sisters were next, floating out of the black stone only to be swallowed by the destroying flames. Then her father. She fought against Saruman's hands, screaming, crying, begging. The hobbits, Gimli and Aragorn, Gandalf fought the flames, but he couldn't hold them off. Legolas… She watched as his beautiful smile turned to horror and panic. He burned. She sobbed, sagging to the floor, but the wizard's grip forced her to remain upright.

All that she loved…

"Not everything," Saruman whispered, "Not yet."

Boromir was in the palantir.

"No…" she whispered, "Not him. Not him, I SAVED him…"

"Did you?" the wizard taunted, "Do you truly believe the will of one foolish girl, can stand against the will of the Valar?"

Flame licked the edges of the sphere. Boromir's broad grin was slowly replaced by confusion and fear.

"No," she repeated, struggling back to her feet, "You can't have him. Not him!"

She wrenched one hand free and grabbed the palantir, ready to smash it to the floor. But when she touched it her fingers were scorched. She screamed and tears streamed down her face, but she held on as tightly as she could. She wouldn't let go… She wouldn't let Boromir go…

"NO!"

She came awake screaming. The second she realized where she was, she snapped her mouth shut. It was still dark outside. She hoped she hadn't-

There was a knock on the door.

"Melody?" Boromir called, softly, "Are you alright?"

She sighed. Apparently, she had woken someone up. She swung out of bed, but had to take a moment before she stood up. She was stiff and sore, but she managed to push to her feet and hobble to the door, leaning on the frame for support as she cracked it open.

"I'm fine," She said to a very concerned looking Boromir, "Sorry I woke you."

"It was no trouble. I was…"

"Already awake?" she guessed. Once again he was shirtless and slightly disheveled. She grinned, "I can see that."

He ran a hand through his hair in an endearing moment of sheepishness.

"Well, perhaps, 'preparing to wake' would be a more suitable turn of phrase in this instance."

"What time is it?" Mel asked. She didn't think she would be going back to sleep anyway. Ever.

"It is a few hours still until dawn," He said, "You had another nightmare."

Mel dropped her eyes and shrugged, dragging a toe along the floorboards of the cabin. Once again, now that she was awake the whole thing seemed painfully silly. Compared to the things Boromir must have seen and gone through in his life, her little near-death experience seemed trivial. And she was freaking out, while he was completely composed. It was embarrassing.

"Sorry, if I could stop them I would. Or at least the screaming part anyway. No point in us both losing sleep over it."

"I would gladly give up sleep forever if it would ease the pain you've endured."

She glanced up. His eyes flitted over her face, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if he could pinpoint the source of her distress and eradicate it with nothing more than the power of his stare. His eyes paused their roving on a spot just above her eyes and the furrow of his brow deepened. He reached up and gently brushed her forehead with his thumb, where Mel knew that dark purple scar marred her skin. She jerked out of his touch and dropped her eyes again, embarrassed by the ugliness that had inevitably drawn his attention. She gripped the door in a white-knuckled grip, her jaw clenched. She didn't want his pity. If all he could see in her was 'poor sheltered little girl, weak and helpless'that would be the worst thing she could imagine, worse even than the embarrassment and the ugliness. She would rather he didn't feel anything at all.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, Melody," he murmured and there was no trace of condescension or pity in his tone, "You are a warrior. The scars that you bear are tokens of battle, of horrors and hardships no one should have to endure. And not only did you survive these trials, in the very stronghold of evil, but you fought on, long after others would have lost all hope. I know it is difficult to see now, but you have shown strength and courage beyond anything I have ever seen."

She hadn't felt strong or courageous. She had felt exhausted, heart-broken, and terrified. She could remember the grip of the Uruk-Hai as he jerked her to her feet, the sharp pain as he kicked her, the chill of her prison in Orthanc. She could still feel the searing pain as the Yavannacor was wrenched from her, see the light of furious madness in Saruman's eyes, hear the sharp crack as his staff landed a blow to her head. She shuddered and felt a tear slide unbidden down her cheek. A warm, calloused thumb gently brushed it away.

"You need not hide from me," Boromir whispered, "I know that it is difficult. But I will help you if you allow me."

Mel sniffed, but she made herself pull away from his comfort. She had to get past this. Not just the pain and the fear, but the fluttering in her chest when he looked at her, the tingling on her skin where he touched her. She remembered the distance that had sprung up between them in Rohan, among people that were his equals, and she knew she had to prepare herself. It would only get worse the closer they got to Minas Tirith. She had to steel herself against it, or it would only get more painful.

His hand lingered in the air by her cheek for only a moment before he lowered it back to his side, his face carefully blank now. Mel hated it. It made her angry, not at him, but at herself, at how stupid she was, that she couldn't even figure out how to talk to him without saying or doing something that somehow felt fundamentally wrong, and then having no idea how to fix it! In her anger, she blurted out the first thing that popped into her head.

"I want to hack at something with a sword."

Boromir jerked in surprise, but a broad grin quickly spread across his face.

"I believe I can help with that," he said, "I will meet you in fifteen minutes."

Fifteen minutes later, Mel was beginning to second-guess her impulse. She was still aching from the ride yesterday, not enough to keep her off her feet, but enough to make her question her sanity. The gleam in Boromir's eye when he met her at the door, now fully dressed and almost bouncing with energy, only further confirmed that she was probably nuts to go through with this. But despite the little voice in her head begging her not to do this to herself, she smiled and followed him outside.

The remnants of last night's cooking fire still smoldered in the semi-circle, but there was no one else to be seen in the chilly pre-dawn quiet. While Boromir stoked the fire back to a decent blaze, Mel pulled out her new sword and gave it a few tentative swings. It was so heavy! It was easy to tell that her balance was off. She was clumsy, more than usual anyway, and it was driving her bonkers! She swung around and threw herself into the beginning of a warm-up exercise, something that Elladan had drilled into her so many times that she should have been able to do it in her sleep, but everything still felt so… off. She pivoted, bringing the sword down over her head and was met with a resounding clang. Boromir had caught her sword on the downswing and was giving her a small smirk.

"Not exactly an elf-blade is it?"

He tossed her sword aside casually and Mel stumbled back. He settled into an easy stance and Mel crouched defensively, furious that she'd allowed herself to be caught off guard. Elladan would have had her on the ground by now. Slowly they circled one another, waiting for the other to make a move.

"I promised I would never underestimate you again, Melody," Boromir said, his grin sharp and his eyes bright, "I want you to know that I intend to keep my word."

He lunged and Mel blocked him, but she felt that she was off-balance immediately. Damn sword! She danced back out of his second attack, close on the heels of the first, and righted herself, lunging forward as soon as she had her footing again, trying to catch him while he was recovering his own bearings. Their swords clashed and he easily shook her off, coming back with a few straight-forward blows meant to wear her down. It was working. The heavy sword and her sore muscles were already taking their toll. She ducked and spun under him, coming at him from the side. But he was so quick! He parried her blows and struck back. This time Mel couldn't see any way out of it. She blocked for as long as she could, but her back slammed into a tree and the jolt startled her into dropping her guard, allowing Boromir to pin her there, blocking any chance of escape.

He was so close. Mel's heart fluttered wildly, she couldn't catch her breath, and she wasn't entirely sure it was because of the exercise. He was grinning down at her, almost smirking, waiting for the inevitable forfeit, his eyes dancing in the dim light of the still morning that had not even properly begun yet. Mel's mind was racing and she had the crazy thought that if she leaned forward, just a few inches, she could…

She panicked and spit out the first thing that popped into her head.

"You still went easy on me."

The words came out a little breathless, but they had the effect she was going for. Boromir's smile widened and he took a step back, allowing her to slip free of the tree trunk.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Melody," he said, swinging his sword casually and obviously avoiding her gaze.

Mel rolled her eyes, still trying to catch her breath and slow down her heartbeat.

"Boromir, please! If you had really been giving me everything you had, I'd have lasted two seconds. Trust me, I know."

She had a flash. Gray eyes, possessed by an evil light, and angry words spat at her.

The men and women of Gondor mean nothing to you! Nothing! We are just meaningless pawns in this damned war, this fairy tale that you've created! I mean NOTHING to you!"

Her sword clattered on the stones at her feet and she jumped at the noise. She hadn't known she'd dropped it. Her hands were shaking and she clenched them into fists to make them stop.

"Melody?"

Boromir had taken a step forward, his hand reaching out as if to catch her, concern in those same gray eyes, eyes that were no longer possessed by madness. Kind. Safe. He was safe now. It was okay. It was all going to be okay.

A voice cut through the still air behind her, making her jump again.

"My lord?"

It was only Elenion. Mel forced her heart to start beating again.

"Forgive my intrusion, but you wished to be taken to Elendil's resting place before you were on your way. It will take a bit of time to make the ascent and I imagine you wish to depart as soon as possible."

Boromir nodded and sheathed his sword.

"I do. I am ready."

He caught Mel's eye and hesitated. Mel smiled and jerked her head toward the lean-to on the other side of the clearing that served as a stable.

"I'll make sure everything's ready by the time you get back."

Boromir smiled and lifted his hand. Mel got the strange impression that he was going to touch her face. But after hovering for a moment, his palm landed on her shoulder and he squeezed her arm gently.

"Thank you." He said.

Mel didn't get a chance to reply. He was already gone, following Elenion into the shadows of the forest.

"Make sure they don't get in any trouble." Mel joked as they disappeared, to a scattering of chuckles and reassurances from the surrounding trees.

She picked up her sword, cleaning the dirt from the blade before sheathing it, and then made her way back to the cabin to pack. She made sure to leave everything exactly as she had found it, or as close as she could get, before shouldering her bag and shutting the door firmly behind her. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, and she could see someone sitting next to the fire, taking out pans and various cooking implements. It was Anaril, the young man that had cooked for them last night. Mel dropped her bag next to a log and sat down next to him.

"Could you use a hand?"

Anaril looked up and grinned, his face even more boyish in the early light.

"Oh no, my lady, you needn't trouble yourself," He said, "You have a long journey ahead of you."

"It's no trouble, it's the least I can do," Mel said, spotting a basket of potatoes, "Those look like they need peeling."

Anaril considered the basket for a moment, then he shrugged and handed her a small knife out of the pile of cooking utensils.

"If you wish."

Mel pulled the basket of potatoes closer and began carefully cutting away the skins. She had never done this with a bare knife before and the last thing she wanted to do was cut off a finger. She was about half way through her second potato when she realized she was being watched. She glanced up and saw Anaril staring at her, clearly amused.

"What?" she asked, mirroring his infectious smile.

He shook his head and started slicing an onion, "You peel like my sister."

Mel didn't quite know how she should respond to that.

"And… how old is your sister?"

"Nine."

Oh, so that's how it was. Mel shook her head and chuckled.

"Okay, I admit, it's been a while since I peeled a potato."

"You're just so careful about it," he said, "It reminded me of home."

Mel looked up. He was still smiling fondly and she decided to let him be, thinking about her own sisters instead. She wondered how their first year of high school was going. They had always been able to make friends so easily, but homework was a problem. They were smart, but restless. She managed to blink away any hint of tears.

She made it through about half the potatoes before Anaril decided to lend her a hand. He was twice as fast as she was and twice as efficient. He lost almost none of the potato in the peeling. Mel looked at her sad little potatoes, riddled with gouges and quite a bit of flesh still clinging to the skins on the ground. It was embarrassing.

"You're good at this," Mel commented as Anaril diced up the potatoes and added them to the skillet over the fire, along with some onions and mushrooms.

"I should be. My father is a cook in the Steward's kitchen. I grew up in the kitchens."

"Wow, you learned from the best!"

He grinned, "I most certainly did."

There was a pause. Mel thought maybe she should leave him alone, but… He seemed like a good kid, honest, trustworthy. Mel liked him.

"Anaril? May I ask you something?"

"Of course, my lady."

"In Minas Tirith, are people…?"

She hesitated, not really sure how she should phrase the question.

"I mean, in the court, are people… you know… snobby?"

He looked at her inquisitively and she knew she'd used the wrong word. She tried again.

"I mean, do people look down on you if they don't know who you are? Are the rules really strict? I've never been, you see, and I'm just trying to figure out what I'm walking into."

Anaril turned back to the sizzling skillet, stirring absently and considering her question with great care before he finally spoke.

"If you mean, will they treat you badly when you come riding in with Lord Boromir out of nowhere, I would say mostly no. I imagine you will be met with quite a bit of skepticism and curiosity, but I don't think anyone would dare treat a guest of Lord Boromir with anything but complete courtesy and respect."

He paused, but it was easy to see that he had more to say.

"What, Anaril? Tell me."

He glanced up and then away again.

"I… do feel I should warn you that your traveling together is rather… unusual. There will be talk, most likely."

Mel sighed, "I thought that there might."

"But I wouldn't fret, my lady. There would be talk either way." Anaril reassured her, "You are a point of interest, a mortal that has lived among elves, a woman who wields a sword and yet can't peel a potato. You mustn't worry about such things. On the whole, the people of Minas Tirith are kind and good. They will treat you well."

She smiled, "Thanks, Anaril."

He returned her smile and turned back to the skillet, stirring and then sampling a spoonful. He considered for a moment, then grabbed another spoon and dished out another sample, blowing on it before he handed it to her.

"I don't know how well you like your potatoes cooked, my lady. Try that."

She took the offered bite. The potatoes were crunchy on the outside, perfectly tender on the inside, and the onions and mushrooms were cooked to perfection. She nodded as she chewed.

"That's fantastic!"

Anaril grinned and served her up a plate. She dug in while Anaril continued stirring the skillet. When he caught her looking at him curiously, he shrugged.

"Brilruin likes his extra crispy."

"Is that hashed potatoes I smell?"

Mel jumped as the red-headed man from last night popped his head out of one of the cabins.

"Anaril, are those potatoes cooked right, boy?"

"For a normal person, Brilruin," Anaril answered cheerfully, "They have a few minutes more before they are burnt black as you like them."

Anaril glanced up at Mel and winked.

"Did I hear hashed potatoes?"

Another head appeared out of a different cabin. Mel thought she recognized him, but couldn't remember his name.

"Save me a plate, Anaril, before Brilruin ruins it! Hey! Out of bed you lazy trolls! Daylight's wasting!"

The man popped back inside his cabin, but Mel could hear muffled exclamations still emanating from it, presumably from the lazy trolls he was rousing.

"Better start plating up, Anaril," said another man, appearing like a ghost out of the forest, "You know how Dunion feels about those potatoes."

Mel recognized him as the man who had caught her when she'd stumbled off her horse. He smiled down at her, nodding his head respectfully.

"My lady, I trust you had a pleasant night's rest."

She noticed the special emphasis on the 'lady' part and it made her smile.

"Yes, thank you."

It was just a polite little fib. After all, it could have been worse.

A full plate was shoved into the man's hand.

"Best get it while you can, Hindur," Anaril said, gesturing toward a group of men, disheveled and possibly still half-asleep, stumbling out of the cabins and toward the campfire.

Mel decided that was her cue to exit and handed her empty plate to Anaril.

"I'll get out of the way. Thanks again."

Anaril had just enough time to throw her a quick grin before he was assaulted by a camp full of hungry men. Mel slipped away to the lean-to stable, glancing briefly up the mountain and wondering if Boromir had found what he was looking for.

Boromir watched as the sun rose over the emerald hill glistening with fresh dew, filling him with the same humbling awe that he had felt over twenty years ago when his father had first brought him to this place. He knelt in the sunlight and bowed his head, closing his eyes to fully absorb the power that lingered in air around him…

"…Boromir…"

Brilliant green eyes flashed behind his closed lids and he jerked back, his eyes snapping open.

Yavanna. He knew her, knew her voice, knew those eyes, but this… this was no dream as it had been before. He glanced around the clearing, but he was alone. Elenion had retreated back into the forest, allowing him a private moment. There was a desperate urgency in the power swirling in the air, tugging at Boromir like a tangible thing. He hesitated. Then he shut his eyes once more. Yavanna's gaze pierced him from the darkness, almost too much for his mind, but he kept his eyes firmly shut and waited.

"Boromir," Yavanna's voice whispered in his mind, gentle but firm,"Son of Gondor, be watchful. You are not safe. Mandos has laid a claim on your life. I am doing all that I can, but you must be cautious."

"Why are you coming to me?" He asked, "Melody has reclaimed the Yavannacor. She is yours once more."

"I have tried, but… her mind… her mind is surrounded by fear. I cannot reach her. Be watchful, Son of Gondor, be watchful!"

Before he could speak again there was a pulse of raw power, knocking Boromir onto his back, and she was gone. The glade felt strangely empty.

"My lord!"

Elenion's cry brought him swiftly back to the present moment and he pushed himself upright before the Warden had even reached his side.

"My lord, are you alright?"

Boromir shook his head and forced a chuckle from his lips as he got to his feet.

"I must be wearier than I thought. A strong breeze is apparently enough to topple me!"

Elenion did not seem convinced by his ruse. In a way that was comforting, knowing there was at least one soldier left in Gondor with some wit about him. However, Boromir did not think it wise to attempt an explanation of his current or previous encounters with the Valar, especially considering his own initial skepticism. He chose to ignore Elenion's pointed look.

"We should head back to the camp. I'm sure Melody will have everything prepared by now and be waiting for my return."

Elenion nodded and the two men stepped back into the trees, leaving the eerily quiet clearing behind them. Boromir was grateful for the small forest noises that had been noticeably and unnervingly absent during his talk with Yavanna. However he was not allowed very long to contemplate the Valeir's visit or her words, before Elenion was speaking again.

"My lord, may I speak freely with you?"

Inwardly, Boromir cringed, but he managed to retain his open and friendly outward appearance.

"Of course."

"I do not believe that Lady Melody has been honest with us and it distresses me that you are traveling alone with her."

Boromir nearly stumbled, only just managing to keep both his feet and his temper as an overwhelming surge of protective outrage filled his chest. It took a very deep breath and several seconds for him to regain his composure enough to respond.

"As much as I appreciate your concern, Warden, I assure you, there is nothing to fear."

"Do you not find it strange that she claims to hail from the Lord Elrond's house, is neither elf nor Dunedain, does not know our stories, stories most are taught as children? When questioned she is skittish and fearful. She does not strike me as trustworthy and to be traveling alone with the Steward's son…"

"Are you accusing me of something, Lieutenant?"

Boromir could not suppress his glare or the ice in his tone. The young man was shocked silent for only a few seconds.

"No! No, of course not, my lord! I am simply concerned…"

"Warden, just because the full truth has been concealed from you does not mean that we are all in the dark. I am fully aware of Melody's history and if it ever becomes necessary that you be privy to that information, I will see to it that you are told. Until such a time comes, I suggest you put your trust in the judgment of your superior officers, is that understood?"

For a brief moment, he thought Elenion might argue with him. It would be a terrible shame. Boromir really didn't want to have to break the young man's nose. Wisely, Elenion shut his mouth and simply nodded. Boromir felt a knot relax between his shoulder blades and he managed a smile, putting a hand on the Warden's shoulder.

"Good man. Now, is there any chance that young Anaril has saved us any breakfast?"

Chapter Text

Legolas was uneasy.

No, that wasn't true. He had been uneasy yesterday when they had begun the journey to Isengard to parlay with Saruman. Since he had woken this morning he had been more than uneasy. He was restless, edgy, even moody. When Gimli had mentioned over the morning meal that the elf was jumpier than a frog in a downpour, Legolas had nearly skewered him. Needless to say, the ride afterward had been less than pleasant, and the closer they got to Orthanc, the more anxious he felt. He couldn't imagine what had come over him.

Actually, that wasn't entirely true either. He knew what was wrong, though he was reluctant to admit that it had him so spooked.

Mel.

When they had parted company with Boromir, Mel was being dragged in nearly a straight line for Isengard, carted by one of those monstrosities Saruman had created. If Boromir had failed to catch them, Mel would have gone to the wizard for… Legolas dared not allow his thoughts to stray too far down that path. He did not want to even imagine what twisted purpose Saruman might have conjured for her. Even now the elf was mentally kicking himself for not going after her. And Gandalf's ominous riddles and meaningful glances of the last few days had done nothing to ease his mind. The wizard even had the audacity to suggest that Legolas remain behind in the encampment! It was ridiculous and Legolas had told him so, perhaps in stronger terms than were strictly necessary. But he had every reason to go, not least of which was the fact that he had started to feel physically ill with worry. If he didn't go and something had happened to her…

Gimli clapped him on the shoulder and Legolas jumped, Arod startling beneath him as well. The dwarf squeezed his arm good-naturedly.

"It'll be alright, lad," he said, "She had plenty on her side. I'm sure she's alright."

Legolas thought maybe Gimli wasn't just trying to convince him.

The party made their way slowly through the trees, trying to ignore the occasional menacing rumble and ominous creak. Gandalf was the only one of their group that didn't seem disturbed at all. He and Shadowfax moved dutifully through the gloomy forest, picking their way over the occasional tree root or boulder, but moving steadily onward. Suddenly, a burst of laughter echoed through the trees and everyone's head turned toward the sound. It was oddly familiar. And when the group finally moved out of the woods, Legolas saw why and it made his heart a little less heavy.

There sat Merry and Pippin on the crumbling walls of Isengard, pipes and mugs in hand, surrounded by broken boxes and barrels and the remains of what looked like enough food to feed a small army. They both looked absolutely giddy at the sight of the travelers, waving them over to the walls with enthusiastic grins. Merry hopped up (or tried to, and in fact wobbled a bit before he righted himself) and bowed low at the waist.

"Welcome, my lords!" he proclaimed, "to Isengard!"

Legolas managed a small smile, but Gimli huffed loudly and indignantly from behind him.

"You young rascals!" The dwarf exclaimed. Pippin winked and nodded like it was a compliment. "A merry chase you've led us on! And now we find you drinking and… and smoking!"

Legolas briefly wondered if he was going to have to keep Gimli from leaping from Arod and throttling the two young hobbits. But Pippin didn't seem in the least bit bothered.

"We are sitting on a field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts," the young hobbit informed them frankly, "The salted pork is particularly good."

"Salted pork…"

Legolas could almost hear Gimli's mouth watering. His smile widened a touch.

"Hobbits…" Gandalf muttered, shaking his head fondly.

Merry took over his speech again, "We're under orders from Treebeard, who's taken over management of Isengard."

He pointed in a general direction behind him and for the first time, Legolas took a good look at what was now left of the fortress. The gates were thrown down and great puddles of water were everywhere, becoming progressively larger as they got closer to Orthanc, finally converging in a giant lake that surrounded the gray tower. There was quite a bit of flotsam and jetsam floating in the water, which itself seemed filthy. Legolas did not think that he would want to step foot in it except at dire need. But in amongst the wreckage was something wonderful, something he had never thought to see in all his days. Great tree-like beings waded through the murky waters, throwing down structures and cleaning up messes as need be. Ents… There were Ents here! And if there were Ents, that meant… Could she…?

"And where is Treebeard?" Gandalf asked, clearly growing weary of the hobbits' games, "Did he leave me no message, or has plate and bottle driven it from your mind?"

"And Melody?" Legolas added, dragging his eyes back to the hobbits and ignoring Gandalf's pointed look, "Surely where there are trees that walk and talk, she cannot be far away."

"Mel!" Pippin exclaimed and his tone made the elf's heart leap for joy, "She was here alright, her and Boromir. But I gotta tell you, she didn't look so great when we saw her last, a little banged up to tell you the truth of it."

This sent a pang of distress through Legolas' chest and he tried not to think of what might have happened… if the wizard had laid so much as a single claw on her…

"Where is she now?" Legolas asked, even more eager to see her for himself, to prove once and for all that she was safe, and to never let her out of his sight again.

"We don't know really," Merry said, "She was here when we came charging in about three or four days ago. But then they were gone, took off in the night, her and Boromir! Quickbeam said he took them to Edoras."

Legolas didn't know what to think. Hadn't she known they were coming? Why wouldn't she wait for them? Had something changed, something urgent that needed her attention? Did it have to do with Boromir? Somehow that seemed extremely likely. But even with this new worry roiling in the back of his mind, Legolas could not shake his overwhelmingly sense of relief. Mel had been here; she had been alive and at least fairly well as of a few days ago. He supposed that would have to suffice for now.

"Meriadoc!" Gandalf exclaimed, "My time and patience grow short! What of Treebeard?"

"He left a message, I was coming to it!" Merry insisted indignantly, "I was to say that, if the Lord of the Mark and Gandalf will ride to the northern wall they will find Treebeard there and he will welcome them!"

The little hobbit seemed pleased with himself for remembering the message. Gandalf shook his head, but there was a shadow of a smile on his lips.

"Then that is where we shall go. Come, Master Hobbits, you shall ride with us and make sure we find our way."

Merry and Pippin scrambled down from the wall and found rides with the others, and together the company made their way past the broken gates and across the treacherous swampland that was now Isengard. They didn't have to go far before one of the Ents noticed their arrival and sloshed over to greet them.

"Young Master Gandalf!" the Ent exclaimed, "I am glad you have come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master, but there is a wizard to manage here, locked in his tower."

"How we will manage it I cannot tell, Treebeard, my old friend," Gandalf replied, "But we will talk a little while at least and see what comes of it."

The Ent nodded and stepped aside as the company approached Orthanc, gathering around its base. They waited. A long silence followed, and in that time Legolas' previous anxiety threatened to turn itself into anger. This wizard had hurt Mel, and in doing so he had hurt him. He couldn't tolerate the horrible imaginings of what might have happened to her in the days when he was not there, protecting her as he should have been. And it was Saruman's fault.

"Show yourself, coward!" he shouted at last, his hand gripping his bow with white knuckles.

"Be careful!" Gandalf snapped, "Even in defeat Saruman is dangerous."

"Then let's just have his head and be done with it." Gimli suggested.

Legolas thought this sounded like an excellent idea.

"No," Gandalf replied, scanning the tower for signs of movement, "We need him alive. We need him to talk."

As if on cue, a silvery voice echoed over water and stone.

"The elf speaks as one who has been deeply wronged. May I ask what I have done to merit such personal ill will?"

Legolas glared toward the top of the tower. Saruman gazed down at them, his once white robes now a dirty gray, leaning on his staff like a helpless old man. Legolas' anger churned.

"You have harmed one who is dear to me," he answered sharply, "I want to know why."

The wizard's head cocked to the side as he considered his words. Then he laughed, a cackle that echoed off the surrounding mountains.

"So, it's you!" He said, his voice still bright with mirth, "You are Legolas!"

His name on Saruman's lips startled him and he fought to maintain his composure.

"I am Prince Legolas Thranduilion of the Mirkwood realm."

Saruman nodded, still grinning, a vicious light in his eyes.

"Calenhiril spoke of you often in her madness."

Legolas swallowed. Calenhiril? The word was unfamiliar to him. 'Green Lady'? That sounded like Mel perhaps. What madness did the wizard mean?

"What purpose did you have for her?" he asked, his fingers clenched so tightly about his bow that they ached, "What did you do to her?"

"Let her tell you herself," Saruman snapped, "Let her show herself and revel in her victory. She knew her power would be useless to me. She sought to destroy me from the beginning! Bring her forward that I may curse the day Yavanna dragged her into this world!"

Before anyone could blink, Legolas had strung an arrow and taken aim at the wizard. But Gandalf's voice cut through his blinding rage.

"No! Stay your hand Legolas Greenleaf!"

For a moment, his hand trembled on the string. Then slowly, he lowered his bow. Saruman grinned at the elf before shifting his focus to Gandalf.

"What do you want Gandalf Greyhame? Let me guess: the key of Orthanc, or perhaps the key of Barad-dûr itself, along with the crowns of the seven kings and the rods of the five wizards!"

Gandalf tried to reason with Saruman, but Legolas couldn't stop thinking about Mel. Saruman had called her by a name he was unfamiliar with. What did that mean? What did he know? What madness did he speak of? Oh how he wished that Mel had waited for him! He had traded his previous worries for new ones, and now he could only hope that Boromir was keeping true to his word. That wherever she was, Mel was safe.

Boromir had been very quiet since coming down from the mountain and that made Mel worry. Something had happened up there, she was sure of it, she'd felt it in the air for a moment, a lingering power, a whisper of a presence, but it had been gone almost as quickly as it had come. She had almost convinced herself that she'd imagined it, but Boromir's continued silence only confirmed her suspicions. Something was wrong.

They were on the road to Calenhad (the next beacon outpost), the sun just past noon, and Boromir had still barely spoken a word to her, lost in his own thoughts, staring intently at an indistinct spot in the distance.

"Penny for your thoughts." Mel finally blurted out.

Boromir jumped and looked at her as if he'd forgotten she was there.

"What?"

"It's an expression," she explained, "It means I want to know what you're thinking about so much I'm willing to pay for it."

He shook his head and looked away again.

"My thoughts are not… pleasant, Melody."

"Well it's gotta be better than complete silence," she said, "Come on, it's gonna drive me crazy, just tell me."

He stared at her for a minute, considering, then finally he heaved a resigned sigh.

"I confess, there is something that has been plaguing my mind, but I have been hesitant to ask…"

"Go ahead," Mel said, waving a hand, "I'm an open book."

"It… concerns my death."

Mel swallowed. She should have expected that, really, but somehow it still took her by surprise. She kept her eyes firmly on the road and her back straight, trying to appear nonchalant, to detach herself from the emotion threatening to choke her voice.

"What about it?"

"I would like to know… how it… how it should have occurred."

God, she had been afraid of that.

"You were supposed to die, but you didn't. What else do you need to know?"

"Melody…"

His voice was so gentle that she couldn't help but glance his way.

"I only wish to know what you know," he said, "I wish to know if my death would have been honorable. I wish to know the quality of man I was when I died."

She swallowed and looked away again, blinking back the sting of tears at the backs of her eyes.

"You were the highest quality." She whispered, so softly she didn't think he even heard.

Then she sighed and rubbed her face, trying to rein herself back in.

"Alright," she said, "Alright, fine. I don't know what good it'll do, but I'll tell you."

She took a deep breath and tried to figure out where to start. Boromir waited patiently.

"You died at Amon Hen."

He nodded, so Mel kept going, hoping she could somehow stumble her way through this.

"Actually, everything that happened in those hills was pretty much the same. You tried…" She paused, wondering if she could say it, "You tried to… well, you know…"

"Take the Ring," He murmured, "I tried to take the Ring from Frodo."

She stared at him for a minute. It had seemed so easy for the words to leave his lips, but the hard, distant look on his face told her otherwise.

"Yeah," she said, "But he got away. He put on the Ring and kicked you and he got away."

Boromir lowered his head and sighed wearily.

"Then that is how it came to pass," He murmured bitterly, "The halfling caused my death."

"What? No!" Mel exclaimed, "No, that's… that's not it at all! Frodo didn't kill you, that's crazy!"

Boromir glanced back at her, confused.

"But… After what happened, I thought… Why would he not put an end to my treachery?"

"Because you're a good man, Boromir, that's why!" Mel snapped, so frustrated with him that she just about couldn't stand it, "I keep telling you and telling you, and you just keep…God, you're just so… Are you gonna let me tell this stupid story or what?"

Boromir stared at her for several seconds, clearly shocked speechless by her burst of outrage. Mel turned back to the road and tried to put her thoughts back together. It was easier if she didn't look at him.

"Okay, so like I was saying, Frodo ran off and went into the Emyn Muil with Sam, just like now. You, however, tripped on a tree root or something and it knocked some sense into you. You were immediately filled with remorse and you…" She paused, not sure if this next bit would hurt his pride, "Just so you know, I'm quoting here: 'For a while he was still as if his own curse had struck him down; then suddenly he wept.'"

She paused again, letting that sink in and at the same time, screwing up her courage for the really hard part. She risked a glance in Boromir's direction. He didn't seem affected too much by the notion of his crying. That was good, at least he wasn't gonna be sensitive about the whole thing. She decided to keep going.

"And then of course, you heard Merry and Pippin yelling." Boromir's face brightened and Mel couldn't help smiling a little, "You ran after them and were met by those hundreds of orcs. The three of you fought them so bravely. You blew your horn, and the others, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, they heard you and they tried to get to you, but they couldn't reach you. You fought and you fought. And then they shot you."

The words snuck up on Mel and she nearly choked on them. She swallowed and pushed herself through it, keeping her eyes on the road, because she knew if she looked at Boromir she would never get through this.

"They shot you once in the chest. But you got up and you kept fighting. They shot you again, but you got up again. They shot you a third time and you…"

She tried to blink away a tear that was burning in the corner of her eye, but it escaped and slipped down her face. She brushed it away irritably.

"You didn't get up that time. The orcs took Merry and Pippin. Aragorn found you and you told him what had happened. Then you…" It was harder to say this time, around the lump in her throat, "Then you died. They put you in a boat with all of your weapons and they set you afloat on the river Anduin. Somehow you made it over the falls of Rauros and down the river into Gondor. Faramir found your funeral boat and that's how they knew you were dead. Then you floated away to the sea. And that's it."

Mel rubbed her eyes, catching any tears that might have collected before they could fall. She sniffed and rubbed her nose before she finally dared to look up again. Boromir was staring at her.

"What?" she asked, trying to sound cheerfully exasperated and failing miserably.

"Has it always been this way for you?" he asked, "Have you always felt so strongly?"

Mel chuckled and rolled her eyes, "About your death? Yeah actually, I guess I have."

"Why?"

"Because you never got the chance to live!" She said irritably, "You make that one mistake and then you die. It's just so awful and unfair, after everything you've done and lived through and, why are you smiling?!"

Boromir laughed.

"Oh Melody," he said, "I am so lucky to have known you."

Mel gaped at him for a minute before she replied.

"Why?"

"Why?" he echoed, sounding both amused and surprised, "Can't you see? Were it not for you, I would have died, never knowing that my life had meant so much to so many. Never understanding that in the end, when I was returned to myself, I was allowed a chance to make things right and I took it."

His eyes got far away again, like he was somewhere else, thinking of something else, and his next words held a weight to them that Mel couldn't begin to fathom.

"I was redeemed, Melody," He said, "That means…"

He looked back at her and smiled.

"It means everything."

His contentment was contagious. Mel couldn't help but smile back.

"Well, I like the story I'm living right now, better than the one that I read for sure."

Boromir grinned.

"As do I."

They rode in silence for a little while longer. The sun was just touching the tops of the trees around them, when Mel received warning.

"The Wardens are near, Calenhiril. They have spotted you."

"Are we close to the beacon?" she asked Boromir.

He nodded absently, before the full impact of her words really hit him. He pulled his horse up short and Mel did the same. Boromir glanced around the trees, eyes alert.

"They've seen us, haven't they?" he asked.

Mel nodded.

"I told my friends to give me a little advance notice. They just spotted us."

At that moment a loud voice echoed out of the forest.

"Hail, strangers! What brings you along the Old South Road?"

The voice did not sound harsh or suspicious. In fact, he sounded almost… friendly. Mel and Boromir exchanged a glance. He was thinking the same thing she was. It was a little odd, considering what they had been through at Halfirien.

Boromir answered.

"We are travelers from Gondor seeking to return home by way of this road."

"And where do you reside in Gondor?"

"We hail from Minas Tirith."

There was a pause.

"I believe you hail from Minas Tirith, Lord Boromir of the White Tower," The disembodied voice replied, with a hint of mirth about him, "But I am told your companion does not."

This visibly startled them both.

"I'm from Rivendell," Mel answered, surprised at her own boldness in the lie, "How did you know that?"

A tall, green-clad figure finally emerged from the trees, throwing back his hood and grinning broadly as if he had just played a fantastic joke.

"It is my business to know such things, Lady Melody. A rider preceded you in the night from Halfirien and told us that the Lord Boromir had returned. I would not have believed him had I not seen it for myself."

He turned to Boromir and bowed deeply, his fist over his heart.

"Welcome to Calenhad, my lord."

Chapter Text

After a hot meal, (though not quite as tasty as Anaril's cooking), the lead Warden of Calenhad, Taurenil, explained that they had sent a messenger of their own to Min-Rimmon, and news of Boromir's return to Gondor would pass down the line in that fashion until it reached Minas Tirith and the Steward. They could rest assured that they were expected at every beacon along their way. Mel felt a little relieved by that. It meant the Wardens were prepared for the arrival of guests. A room had already been made ready for her and she was assured that it was no bother at all.

In fact nothing seemed to be a bother here. Calenhad couldn't have been more different from Halfirien, where everything was solemn and reflective and hardly anyone ever spoke above a whisper. The men of Calenhad joked and laughed boisterously, trading stories, pouring ale, and just generally having a good time. And Mel still managed to feel out of place somehow. It wasn't that they were unkind to her exactly. It was more like she had been invited to a boys' only club and they just didn't know what to do with her, so they simply talked around her. And it wasn't as if she had anything to add to the conversation so she let them, trying to smile and nod in the right places. Boromir had no trouble at all jumping in and telling his own stories, mostly about people and places she had never heard of. Eventually, Mel's mind started to drift.

She wondered about Legolas. At first it startled her how quickly the elf came to her mind. She did some quick calculations in her head and realized that he and the others had spent the day in Isengard. She shuddered, but quickly suppressed it, glancing around to make sure no one had noticed. She also felt a little guilty, leaving no word for Legolas with the hobbits at least. She hoped he wasn't too worried, and that Merry and Pippin had been able to ease his mind if he was. After all, He was probably the only one of the entire company who had even given her a second thought. She and Gimli weren't exactly friends, and Gandalf and Aragorn weren't her biggest fans either. She couldn't imagine the fit Gandalf would throw if he knew about Boromir. In fact, he probably already knew, which mean Mel could look forward to the ass-chewing of her life when they finally met again in Minas Tirith.

Thinking of Minas Tirith and epic ass-chewings brought on another surprising thought.

Denethor.

Up until now she hadn't spared much thought for the Steward, but if she were honest with herself, he made her a little nervous. He was a loose cannon, unpredictable and possibly more than a bit crazy, and she was the only one who knew just how far he was capable of falling. She hadn't said anything to Boromir yet, using the excuse that he hadn't actually asked, but really she was just trying to buy time. Besides, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Boromir was back, alive and well, and that was good, right? Sure there was some weird girl tagging along, but strange things happened all the time around here. It would all be fine. No reason to worry.

Right?

The truth was Mel didn't know what she was going to do if Denethor went off the deep end. And even scarier than that, she didn't know what Boromir would do. After all, it was his dad and he was the favorite son. His natural instinct would be to side with his father.

Before she could successfully work herself up into a full-blown panic, a sound jerked her back to the present.

Thwack!

Mel jumped and looked around, trying not to appear as dazed as she really was.

Thwack!

It looked like the men had started a game while she had been staring off into space. A few of them were standing on the far side of the fire, a box sitting on a barrel across from them, painted with three concentric white circles with a large dot in the center, like a target. There were two daggers already embedded in the side of the box, one close to the dot and the other squarely in the second ring. The soldiers all watched as the next man gripped a third dagger, his eyes narrowed in concentration. He turned the blade over and over in his hand as if visualizing the turns it would make in the air.

One of the men shouted, "Oh come, Hurion! Just throw and be done with it!"

The other men laughed loudly, but Hurion only smiled, never taking his eyes from the box. Finally, he lifted his hand and, in what looked like an almost careless gesture, he threw the knife. It whirled through the air and embedded itself squarely in the middle of the box with a satisfying thwack. The other men all seemed to find this hysterically funny, except for one, a large, burly man whose face was turning an extraordinary shade of furious red.

"Farothnil! Pay the man!" one of the Wardens shouted jovially, raising a tankard.

The red-faced man jammed a fist into his pocket and tossed Hurion a gold coin before he stomped off in the direction of the sleeping cabins. Everyone was still cackling madly, even Boromir was chuckling to himself. Mel leaned over to whisper in his ear, trying not to draw attention to herself.

"He's not a very good loser, is he?"

Boromir shook his head as he swallowed a mouthful of ale.

"No, Farothnil was never a very good loser. I served with him on a border patrol once and we spent evenings playing cards. He never once paid up graciously. Of course he never expected the rest of us to pay up graciously either, though we always did. He doesn't mean anything ill by it. He just has a very competitive nature."

Boromir finally looked at her squarely and the smile slid off his face.

"You've been very quiet this evening," he said, "Is everything alright?"

Mel forced a smile.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, I guess."

Boromir looked like he might call her bluff, but Taurenil happened to hear her and spoke up first.

"You are welcome to turn in for the evening if you wish, Lady Melody," he said as he stood and brushed off his trousers, "Come, I'll show you to your room."

Mel smiled gratefully and followed the Warden to one of the small cabins at the farthest edge of the camp. The cabins at Calenhad held only one small room each, large enough for four single beds and not much else. Mel's cabin was empty of course, her bag already deposited on one of the beds. She thanked Taurenil again for his hospitality and he left, shutting the door softly behind him.

Once he was gone, Mel realized she actually hadn't lied to Boromir. She really was tired. She tossed her cloak and her sword onto the floor and crawled under the blankets, expecting to simply close her eyes and drift off. It didn't happen. For a while she just lay there, watching the light from the campfire dance on the ceiling, listening to the indistinct chatter and laughter of the men, waiting for her eyes to close and for sleep to overtake her. She tried to distinguish Boromir's voice in the noise, even though it was impossible to be sure of individual voices at this distance. She listened to the trees whispering to each other, telling stories of older times, when the world was new and covered in green. Finally, as the last sounds of the camp died away and the light dulled to a weak glow, Mel was forced to admit that she was afraid. She was afraid to fall asleep.

She got up quietly and slipped out of the building, tugging her cloak around her against the chill night air. She shivered and sat close to the smoldering remains of the fire. All the men were gone now, either standing watch or sleeping. Mel wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees, staring absently into the embers. It wasn't really the sleep she was afraid of. She was afraid of what came with it, the inevitable nightmares, afraid of the fear itself.

She stared blankly into the night for several long moments before she realized what she was staring at. The wooden box target still sat just inside the dying glow, the three knives still embedded there, forgotten. The metal glimmered as an ashy white log cracked and collapsed, temporarily bringing the fire back to life. Mel got up and walked over to the target. How in the world had they gotten those things in there? Was it really that easy? Just a flick of the wrist and you were done?

She grabbed one of the handles and gently worked the blade free of the box. She examined the deep gouge in the wood. Then she pulled the other two daggers loose and took a few steps back, eying the target with apprehension. She twisted the handle in her palm absently, trying to wipe away all other thoughts from her mind, leaving nothing but the three circles surrounding that big white dot. Finally, before she could change her mind, she lifted her hand and tossed the knife, as carelessly as she had seen Hurion do it.

There was a loud thunk and an earth-shattering clatter as the knife fell to the rocks underneath the box.

"Shit!" Mel squeaked as she scrambled over and snatched up the knife which had already fallen silent against the stones.

She glanced around to see if anyone had heard, but there was no movement. The camp remained still and silent. Mel let out the breath she'd been holding and then put her shoulder to the barrel the box was sitting on, shoving it a little closer to the fire and away from the stones that had caused so much racket in the soundless night air. Then she walked back a few paces and lined up to throw again. She took a deep breath and cleared her head, seeing only the target, feeling only the handle of the knife in her hand. She tossed. Another dull thunk, but at least this time when the knife tumbled to the ground it landed in the dirt. She picked it up again and went back for her third try.

Then her fourth.

Then she lost count, the monotonous action of throwing and retrieving the knife hypnotic and strangely soothing. She gave up on careless. Instead she tried being as careful as possible, concentrating on the target, the weight of the dagger, the speed and strength of her throws, meticulously trying several different angles and techniques. She still only got a dull thunk for her troubles. Her arm was starting to get tired, but she lined up again, for what felt like the millionth time. She stopped. She stared. She threw.

Thunk.

"Damn," she muttered, as she bent to retrieve the knife, "Damn it to hell."

"It won't happen overnight, you know."

Mel jerked in surprise and then sighed. It was Boromir's voice in the darkness. She wondered how long he had been watching her pathetic attempts. She carefully placed the knife on top of the box before she forced herself to look at him.

Well, at least he was dressed, if only in undershirt and trousers.

"Did I wake you up again?" she asked, trying to keep a light-hearted tone to her voice, "And don't say you were already awake."

He smiled, the glow of the embers lighting his face.

"You didn't wake me. I woke on my own and I heard you." His smile faltered, "What troubles your sleep, Melody?"

She scoffed and rolled her eyes to escape his shrewd gaze.

"It's not the sleeping that bothers me."

Boromir sighed and sat on one of the logs surrounding the fire. He reached out a hand for her.

"Melody, come sit with me a moment."

She needed to say no. She could feel some kind of meaningful conversation coming and she wasn't sure that was a good idea. The more meaningful conversations they had, the more it would hurt when it all ended abruptly in a few days. She was having a really hard time keeping any kind of distance between them and he wasn't making it any easier.

But at the moment she couldn't think of any legitimate way to escape. So she sat, but on the other side of the log from him, only barely within arm's reach, and stared resolutely into the red coals. They were silent for several long moments. Mel was in the middle of thinking up an excuse to get out of this, when Boromir finally spoke.

"When my mother died, I lost a part of myself."

Mel's breath caught in her throat and her eyes jerked toward him despite herself, all thought of escape gone from her mind. Boromir only stared into the embers as the words continued to tumble from his mouth.

"It was as if a part of my young soul had been ripped from me. I was ruined and I felt sure I would never be whole again. What was worse, I would lay in my bed at night afraid, afraid because I did not know when Death might come again, what else it might take from me. I think it was the first time I realized all the people I loved were vulnerable. No one would be spared, not even me. I was terrified. I had horrific nightmares. My mother would come to me in my dreams only to be torn away, begging for help that I could not give her. Sometimes others would appear to comfort me and they too were taken. I would wake myself screaming and crying, but I was embarrassed by my weakness so I told no one. My brother was far too young and my father would be ashamed of me. I hid it well. No one suspected anything might be amiss until I dozed off in a Sindarin language lesson and woke screaming. By that time I hadn't slept well in weeks, and not at all for two days."

He took a deep breath and finally looked at Mel, managing a small smile. Mel swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

"I was a child, I know. I didn't know any better and I let my fear consume and control me." He reached out and covered her hand, "I do not tell you this to say I know how you feel. No one knows that but you. I can tell you however, keeping what you are feeling to yourself out of pride will do more harm than good."

Mel couldn't hold his gaze any longer. She turned away and stared into the dead fire, breathing through her nose, hoping it didn't look like she was so close to crying. Boromir waited only a few seconds longer, then let go of her hand and stood.

"When you are ready to speak, I will listen, without questions or judgment. All you have to do is come to me."

Mel waited until his footfalls faded into silence. Then she slid to the ground and wrapped her arms around her knees, staring into nothing, letting the pleasant chatter of the trees fill her mind. Her thoughts struggled for a long time, fighting amongst themselves, her reason and her heart tying her stomach into knots.

She didn't remember falling asleep, but when the darkness lifted and she found herself in the dungeon, she knew. Even before the door swung open, revealing a grinning wizard and a host of orcs, she knew. Then the nightmare began.

Chapter Text

Saruman had her by the arms and he was shaking her, his eyes glittering with rage.

"Lady Melody?"

She tried to wrench herself away, but the grip became more firm, the shake more palpable.

"Lady Melody, wake up."

"You can't save your friends. None of them! They will all die and you with them! All because of you!"

"NO!"

Mel shrieked as her eyes flew open and she bolted upright, sending the Gondorian Warden sprawling onto his back. She gasped in a deep breath of cool air and scrambled away from him as he got up and brushed himself off.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice hoarse, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean…"

But the young man was smiling, waving a hand dismissively as he brushed the dirt and leaves from his trousers.

"It is I that should apologize, my lady," he said, "I did not mean to startle you. Only I saw you sleeping when I returned from watch and thought I might wake you before the others arrived."

Mel took another shuddering breath and looked up. The sky was still dark, but there was a faint line of purple just above the tree line to the east. She had spent the whole night out here. She ran a hand through her hair self-consciously to smooth it out and get rid of a few leaves that had tangled in the curls. That was one advantage of short hair. It didn't take long to comb through it.

The soldier was watching her patiently.

"You were dreaming."

It wasn't really a question, but Mel nodded anyway.

"Yeah," she said, "I do that a lot lately."

He smiled, "Many have seen dark times, my lady. You are not the only one who dreams of them."

Mel stared at him for a minute. He said it so casually, so easily, as if it this was a normal part of his life, nothing weird about it at all. He continued to smile while he helped her to her feet. Mel winced. Clearly sleeping outside on the ground had not agreed with her. She was sore as hell. The Gondorian looked sympathetic.

"I'm afraid you are going to have an uncomfortable ride today, Lady Melody."

"Yeah, no kidding," Mel quipped, and then felt bad about it. She was just grouchy from her crappy sleep and she was taking it out on this guy who was only trying to be nice. "Sorry." She mumbled.

But he didn't seem bothered. His smile didn't even waver.

"Breakfast will be ready soon, and then I'm sure you and Lord Boromir will want to be on your way. I will see that fresh horses are ready for you."

The man turned and headed for the horse shed, a spring in his step that Mel found almost repulsive. She limped in the other direction and practically crawled into her little cabin, sprawling on her bed and just lying there for a moment. Finally, she decided she should try to do some stretches, just to make moving a little less painful. She slithered to the floor and managed to pull up some foggy memories of high school gym class, what felt like half a lifetime ago. The stretches were painful initially, but when she was done, she did feel better, more alert and ready to face the world.

There was a knock at the door.

"Melody? Are you awake?"

Boromir. Mel had a flash of their talk from last night and she shuddered as she pushed herself to her feet. She really hoped he wasn't here to continue that conversation, not after she had worked so hard to put herself in a decent mood. She opened the door to a fully dressed and armed Boromir.

"Are we leaving already?" she asked, "We haven't even had breakfast!"

He grinned.

"No, we aren't leaving yet. I thought it might be prudent to continue your lessons in the sword, if only to keep you in practice."

On the inside Mel groaned, but on the outside she worked hard to match Boromir's grin.

"Sure, just let me get my stuff. I'll meet you in a minute."

After she shut the door she groaned out loud, but she knew he was right. She kind of sucked with a sword anyway, and this new sword from Rohan might as well be made of lead. She needed the practice. And even if all she did was get her ass kicked, at least it was getting kicked by one of the best. Surely she could find some sliver of comfort in that, right?

Unfortunately, that sliver of comfort was elusive this particular morning and she ended up dragging herself outside, lugging her sword with her. She swung it a few times as she walked, trying to find the balance she knew was the key. Elladan had practically beaten that into her brain, she could hear his voice like a mantra in her head.

Find the balance, vaethorig-nîn, make the sword a part of you, balance it with your arm, let it flow from your fingertips…

She swung again and bit back a frustrated sigh. Sometimes it seemed to be almost within her reach, but then her grip shifted and… nothing.

She spotted Boromir on the edge of the forest not far from her cabin, but as she headed toward him she heard something that made her stop dead in her tracks. There were men laughing around the newly roaring campfire. Mel stared at them for a moment, and then felt self-consciousness explode in her gut and seep into every fiber of her being. She tried to casually stroll the last few feet to Boromir without drawing attention to herself.

"There are people out here!" she whispered furiously at him.

"Of course there are. We are at their camp."

Boromir drew his sword and swung it a few times while Mel gaped at him.

"I am not going to humiliate myself in front of a bunch of guys I don't even know!" she hissed.

Boromir glanced back at the men, still talking and laughing in the distance.

"Melody, I assure you, they won't be giving the least bit of consideration to us. And if you are paying attention, as you should be, then they will be no more than flies buzzing on the wall."

"Easy for you to say," Mel huffed, "You know what you're doing."

"And so shall you, but you will never learn unless you practice. Now, are we going to waste the morning arguing, or shall we begin?"

He lifted his sword into position and waited patiently. Mel sighed and reluctantly raised her own sword. Boromir grinned and without warning struck out. Mel blocked, but faltered and had to step back to catch her balance. Boromir stepped back, swinging his sword absently.

"You are thinking of the sword's weight as an obstacle to overcome," Boromir said, moving in a slow circle that Mel followed easily, "You must change that mindset. Think of it as an advantage, something you can use, only you must discover how."

Mel listened but kept a careful eye on his seemingly lazy movements. This was another of Elladan's tricks, using his tips to distract her from his actions. But what Boromir said intrigued her. How could she use the sword's weight as an advantage?

She didn't have a lot of time to ponder it. Boromir swung at her, quick and light, forcing her to block and move. He attacked again and again, and she blocked him each time, but she couldn't find any opportunity to strike herself. She was spending all her time trying to get back in balance. And her arms hurt and her back hurt and she was tired, but Boromir bore down on her again and as his sword rushed toward her, something clicked. The weight of the sword! Her sword was heavier, if she could add that weight to her own…

At the last possible moment Mel sidestepped his rush and brought her sword down as hard as she could, letting gravity help her. She struck his blade just above the hilt, forcing it to the ground before swinging up to gently touch his throat.

Boromir grinned.

"Forfeit." He said.

Mel frowned and dropped her blade, preparing to lay into him for letting her win, when there was a whoop and a burst of applause. She looked up. At some point, without her knowledge, the Wardens had gathered around them and now they were clapping and cheering, with a few whistles thrown in for good measure. Mel could feel her face start to burn and she whirled around to glare at Boromir, who was still grinning like an idiot.

"I thought you said no one would notice?" she snapped.

He shrugged and sheathed his sword.

"Who am I to deprive my people of a bit of entertainment?"

The men crowded closer and started to chatter, talking about craftsmanship and sword-play and technicalities. But they all made certain to congratulate Mel on her "splendid win", asking how long she had been working with the sword and offering tips when informed of her lack of experience, most of which Mel was sure she would never remember. She managed to smile and nod, but all she really wanted to do was scream at Boromir. Not only had he let her win, but he had done it in front of a group of strangers. If Mel could have sunk into the ground and disappeared, she would have, but instead she was forced to listen to these soldiers go on about skills she obviously didn't have, silently fuming and biding her time. The second they were out of earshot of Calenhad, Boromir was going to hear it, in some of the strongest terms possible.

The rest of the morning went smoothly enough. Boromir insisted that because she had "won" the fight, he would prepare for their departure while she ate breakfast and rested. So she was left to eat among a large group of men she didn't know, who couldn't seem to stop telling her how amazing it was that she had beaten Lord Boromir, and how unusual for a lady to even carry such a well-made sword (which, of course, was passed around for all to see) and how lucky she was to have Lord Boromir as a teacher. She smiled politely and agreed to everything that they said, thanking them for all their polite comments and assuring them that it was really nothing, a fluke.

"Don't let her fool you, men," Boromir said, appearing out of nowhere and skillfully ignoring Mel's pointed glare, "The lady possesses more strength of will than you might even guess now! This is not the first time I have been bested by her. When first I challenged her, she had me on my back in mere moments!"

This brought on a flurry of surprised exclamations that Mel was not in any way adequately prepared for. And Boromir kept going.

"And though she was gravely injured she fought bravely deep inside the mines of Moria against more orcs than you could count. She saved my life that day and other days since."

He finally met her eyes and smiled.

"There is much more to her than what you see, gentlemen."

The group was silent and they all looked at Mel, waiting for her response, but Mel's throat had gone dry. Moria. She remembered the heat and the blood and the screams of orcs, the streaks of white-hot pain and the overwhelming fear. Mel shivered and dropped her eyes.

"Those debts have been repaid," She managed to rasp out, "I was no braver than anyone else."

She stood abruptly and walked out of the circle. No one tried to stop her, parting for her with a sort of reverent awe-struck silence. Mel went to her cabin and shut the door, taking a long, deep breath to clear her head. She wasn't just going to chew Boromir out. She was going to kill him. She took another deep breath to steady her nerves before she grabbed her bag and her cloak and went out again.

Boromir was on the edge of the camp holding two horses, a black with a white blaze and a blue roan. He smiled at her and she returned it, but the expression was empty and his own smile faltered. He casually handed her the reins of the black, but he was now clearly aware that a line had been crossed. He refixed his smile for the benefit of the Wardens close by, but his eyes were tense with worry. Mel felt no sympathy for him. Taurenil wished them well on behalf of the others, saluting Boromir and kissing Mel's hand, but she was barely aware of it. She was too busy planning exactly what she was going to say to Boromir when they were finally on their way. It was something along the lines of 'You're an asshole', 'I hate you' and 'Never talk to me again' with several other names and expletives thrown in for good measure. She was aware that most of her tirade would likely be incomprehensible to him, but she was willing to take that chance.

Finally, they were on their way. They walked through the trees in silence, Mel biding her time, estimating when they might be out of earshot of Calenhad. After what she deemed to be an appropriately long and agonizing wait, she opened her mouth to let him have it, but somehow Boromir beat her to it.

"You are angry with me."

He stated this very calmly, but it threw Mel off balance. She hadn't expected him to speak first. She closed her mouth and finally just nodded, waiting to see what else he might say, what his pathetic excuses might be, if he even knew why she was angry.

"I embarrassed you. I am sorry for that. I only thought to help you see those men as friends, rather than strangers. I thought if you could see their kindness…"

"They were only being nice to me because they felt sorry for me," Mel quipped, "Anybody with eyes could see that you let me win that fight. I just wish you would have beaten me honestly, it would have been a little less awkward."

"I let you win because you needed to learn something about your sword. It had nothing to do with those men and they knew that. Anything they said to you was said with sincerity, Melody, not out of pity. Women do not wield swords. Women do not fight. That you carry a sword at all is a feat in itself in their eyes. That you can also handle it competently is truly extraordinary. You'll recall my own over-confidence the first time we sparred together."

"If you're trying to make me feel better, you're not doing a very good job," Mel grumbled, "I don't want to be good enough for a girl, I just want to be good!"

"I know, and you will be," Boromir said, smiling fondly, "But you must have patience. And in the meantime, you shouldn't be ashamed of what you can do. Be content with being the best sword-maiden in Gondor, at least as far as I'm aware."

"And you didn't have to rub all that stuff in my face," She added, a little petulantly, "The crap about me putting you on your ass and Moria and all that. It was like rubbing salt in my wounds."

"I am sorry for that. I was trying to help them look beyond the surface, to see the person I see when I look at you," He dropped his eyes and his hands wrapping in the reins of the blue roan, "I suppose I went a bit too far. You must believe me, I never meant to upset you."

Okay, that definitely earned him a few brownie points. Mel's anger meter suddenly dropped from volcanic to nonexistent. She sighed.

"I know you didn't. It's okay."

Boromir's tentative smile made her heart melt to goo and she couldn't help but return the expression. Damn him.

Boromir settled his grip on the reins and turned back to the road, which was slowly coming out of the woods onto flat terrain.

"Now, shall we pick up our pace? If we hurry we will make Erelas by nightfall."

Mel started and searched her brain for a minute, confused.

"Erelas? Don't you mean Min-Rimmon?" she asked.

"There is not much distance between Calenhad, Min-Rimmon , and Erelas," Boromir explained, "It will take a day off our journey and I wish to reach Osgiliath as soon as possible."

"Osgiliath?" Mel squeaked. This was the first Boromir had mentioned of Osgiliath and it made Mel's heart jump to her throat.

"I have been hearing troubling news about the border protection there," Boromir said, a frown furrowing his brow, "I wish to see the situation for myself. But we must hurry, this is the best opportunity to save time. Come!"

Before Mel could think of a reply, Boromir broke into a canter, leaving her with no choice but to follow. She couldn't shake the feeling that this was bad. She also wasn't quite sure what she was supposed to do about it. If she said nothing about the impending fall of Osgiliath, then they would be walking needlessly into a bloodbath. On the other hand, if she explained the situation to Boromir it might only make him more determined than ever to go, to try to alter the events and change the outcome, especially knowing that his brother was among the men defending the city. But it really was hopeless. Mel knew that, their presence would change nothing, only succeeding in putting them in unnecessary danger. What could she say to make Boromir see that? What should she say… and what should she keep to herself?

Chapter Text

They stopped briefly at Min-Rimmon just before noon. They were greeted warmly and the Wardens insisted they stay and have lunch. Boromir explained while they ate that they were moving on to Erelas that same day. An uneasy pause followed.

"My lord, are you sure?" asked the captain, a solemn man with a long face, "There have been disturbing reports in this area of late. They say orcs run in the mountains close to Erelas."

"We will reach the safety of camp by nightfall, I assure you." Boromir said, easily.

No one else questioned him, but their doubts made Mel nervous. Orcs in the mountains? That was the last thing she wanted to deal with. What if they didn't make it by nightfall? She hated to think what might happen if… She shivered and sipped her soup.

They ate quickly, were given fresh horses, and sent on their way. Mel was on edge and she caught herself glancing over her shoulder and jumping at shadows more often than not. They were still on open plains, so there were no trees to give them warning. They had no cover, no defense. Mel suddenly wished that she had said something in Min-Rimmon, that she had asked Boromir not to move on. Too late now. They kept a furious pace through most of the afternoon, slowing only for brief periods to rest the horses, but never stopping completely. They didn't speak. Boromir looked like his mind was occupied with other things, and it would have been difficult to keep up a conversation at the pace he set anyway. So Mel was left alone with her fear and overactive imagination.

The sun began to sink slowly toward the horizon and Mel didn't see any sign of a camp. Her nerves started to tingle. They were too far away. They had to be. She should see something by now. A bird screeched and she jumped, her heart racing. Boromir glanced at her, but she waved him away. She tried to take solace in the fact that he still didn't seem worried, just distracted. That was good. Wasn't it? The sun fell farther still, the sky starting to turn burnt orange. Mel thought she saw a grove of trees in the distance, nestled against the mountains. But there was still no sign of human life. It would be dark soon. The horses were tired; she could hear their labored breathing in the silence of the dusk. The shadows started playing tricks with her mind. She saw monsters in the dark. She tried to ignore them, tried to keep focused on Boromir, following him. She was trying not to lose it.

Boromir jerked his horse to a halt and Mel did the same, her heart in her throat. Why had he stopped? Had he seen something? Heard something? His eyes swept the orange-tinted mountains, scanning the boulders, the nooks, the crannies. Mel did the same. She jumped when she thought she saw a shadow move, but then it went still. She moved on. Another shadow skittered in her vision, then disappeared. She was losing her mind, she was sure of it. She was about to ask Boromir what was wrong, just to break the silence, to keep from panicking…

A shrill screech split the air, followed by that horrifyingly familiar cackle. Boromir wheeled his horse around.

"Run!" he shouted.

Mel caught a surge of movement from the shadows before she kicked her horse and together they made a mad dash for the distant forest. She kept her eyes fixed on the trees, but a group of shadows emerged out of the mountains in her peripheral vision, surging toward them, screaming and cackling.

We'll never make it! The orcs were closing in, she could feel it. We'll never make it!

They ran as hard and as fast as they could. The trees were looming, Mel could feel their presence, screaming in her head.

"Run, Calenhiril! Run!"

She was so close….

Her horse was jerked back with an ear-piercing squeal and Mel shrieked as she was flung to the ground. She rolled and tried to scramble to her feet, searching for the safety of the trees that she could still hear crying out for her. But she had barely made it to her knees when she was kicked in the side and hit the ground hard on her back. A huge orc with twisted teeth grinned down at her, sword poised over her throat.

"Won't you make a nice evenin' snack." He gurgled.

Mel's mind lurched and she lost herself. She could see the orc above her, and she could see a thousand others, faces blurring and flashing in front of her in a rapid succession that made her dizzy and sick. She saw Lurtz, and the Uruk-hai that had kept her prisoner, and even Saruman's twisted rage and beady eyes. Here was everything she was afraid of. Mel flung her arms over her face and screamed.

A silver horn rang out, echoing over the mountains and shuddering wildly in her chest and for a moment, Mel's mind came back to her. The orc paused, his blade raised over his head. Then a sword point exploded out of his chest, scattering black drops of blood He gurgled once and fell over dead. Boromir stood over her, reaching for her hand.

"Come on!" he urged.

Mel grabbed his hand and he pulled her to her feet. As they ran for the forest, Boromir blew the horn again. Mel's mind was racing, racing back through her memories, through Moria and Amon Hen and Isengard. She ran blindly, Boromir's hand the only thing solid, the only thing she knew she could trust. She could hear Saruman's mad laughter mixed in with the cackle of the orcs.

Then Boromir let go of her hand.

"Run for the forest!" he ordered as he drew his sword and turned back toward the pack of orcs.

But Mel was lost now. She saw him, she heard the orcs, she heard the screaming of the trees, begging her to run, to come to them. But she was paralyzed by her whirling mind, frightened and confused beyond movement. Was this Isengard? Was it Moria? Where was she? What should she do?

Boromir ran his sword through two orcs, but a third caught him from behind and knocked his feet from under him. He landed hard on his back and the orc lifted its sword to run it through his throat. Mel was helpless, useless, gripped by unfathomable terror…

A flash and a roll like thunder split the clear evening sky, and a woman's familiar voice echoed from the mountain peaks.

"NOT YET!"

The orcs paused and skittered. Mel cowered, staring at the empty sky. Then she heard a twang and a thunk. She jerked her gaze back down. A black arrow had sprouted in the orc's chest. Boromir kicked him and he fell backward, dead. Several more twangs sounded behind her and three more orcs stumbled and fell. Boromir jumped to his feet and ran to her, grabbing her hand again.

"Run!" he yelled, dragging her after him toward the trees.

She could see more arrows soaring out of the forest and she heard the death screams of orcs behind her, but she focused on Boromir's hand, following wherever he led her. Finally they were in the woods, running beneath trees that swayed and creaked in the windless twilight. Mel heard the rush of footfalls all around them, following them, but the sound of orcs died away until it was nothing. When she finally worked up the courage to look, she could see a fire burning brightly through the trees and in a few moments they had burst into a small clearing, housing a group of the familiar cabins that served as homes for the Wardens of the Beacons.

They stumbled to a halt, several of the Wardens following in their wake and surrounding them, their faces grim and alert. Mel felt like she couldn't catch her breath. Her hands started to tremble and before she knew it her whole body was shaking. Boromir felt it and quickly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and rubbing her arms.

"It's alright, Melody," He whispered into her hair, "It's alright now, we're safe. It's going to be alright."

But she knew that it really wasn't alright. She knew now, more than ever, that something was seriously wrong with her. She had never felt that sort of paralyzing fear before in her life, not in Moria, not at Amon Hen, not in Isengard. Boromir had nearly… and she hadn't even been able to determine where she was! Shame burned her face and she buried her head in his shoulder, more out of humiliation than wanting his comfort. She couldn't bear to face the men who had saved them. They had risked their lives and she had done nothing. Boromir continued to whisper soothing words, but they fell on deaf ears. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong and Mel needed to do something to fix it. Quickly.

An unfamiliar voice broke through her despair, but she still didn't look up.

"Lord Boromir, we were not expecting you for another day at least."

"I know," Boromir said, "I was trying to save a day's travel. Please, Warden, do you have anything to spare us for supper? All our supplies…"

"Come, my lord, we have plenty." The Warden said kindly.

Boromir never let go of her, only led her forward, toward the fire. Mel could see its light from the corner of her eye and feel its warmth. Boromir guided her to seat on a log, making sure to sit next to her, his arm still around her. Even though Mel felt that she had finally regained her senses, she didn't try to move away. These men had already seen her as the frightened, useless woman; there was no reason to try to act otherwise. She kept her head down, staring at her feet, the sick feeling of worthlessness eating away at her insides.

When a bowl of soup was brought to her, she whispered only a single word of thanks as she took it, never looking up. How could she possibly look these people in the eye? They had saved her when she hadn't done anything to save herself. Boromir took a bowl for himself and that was the first time since they'd arrived that he was forced to move his arm from around her shoulders. It felt cold and lonely. Mel slid to the ground and pulled her knees up close to her chest, sipping her soup and staring into the fire. There was hushed conversation around her, but she couldn't distinguish words. It was like she was hearing it all through a fog. All she could think about was the fear and the anguish and the shame. What was wrong with her? Why hadn't she done something? Why had she just stood there?

She didn't know how long she sat and stared, but at some point she realized the camp had gone quiet. She risked a glance up and saw that the fire had died down considerably and there was no one besides her and Boromir. He was sitting quietly beside her, staring into the fire as well. She watched the glow reflect off his face, his expression smooth and thoughtful. And then he spoke.

"I am sorry for what happened."

She jerked back, surprised. He was apologizing?
"We should never have left Min-Rimmon. I knew the risk and I took it anyway. It was thoughtless and selfish of me."

He looked down, staring at his fist resting on his knee.

"I just hope that someday you can forgive me." he whispered.

For a moment Mel was speechless. It had never occurred to her that this might be Boromir's fault. It wasn't Boromir's fault! The idea was ludicrous!

"If anyone should be apologizing, it's me," she said bitterly, turning her face back to the fire, "We almost died and I didn't do anything. I just stood there like an idiot."

"You were afraid…"

"That's not the point!" Mel snapped, clenching her fists. Then she relaxed and felt tears come to her eyes.

"Boromir?"

He met her eyes steadily.

"I don't want to be scared anymore. I don't want to live like this, I can't live like this. I don't want to be afraid to go to sleep, or wonder what I'm gonna do the next time…" She choked on the words and took a deep breath, "You said you'd listen when I was ready. I think I'm as ready as I know how to be. I don't know how to do this by myself."

There was a pause of only a moment. Then Boromir slowly reached out and traced the scar that ran across her forehead.

"Tell me," he whispered, "Tell me what happened."

Chapter Text

That night, Mel told him everything. She told him about her capture and the trek to Isengard. She told him about meeting Saruman, his claim that he would send her home in exchange for the Yavannacor and her refusal. She told him about her imprisonment, how Saruman took the Yavannacor from her and her sickness, her delirium. She talked him through all the pain, the anguish, the hopelessness that she had felt, knowing that she was going to die and that no one was coming for her. While she talked, sometimes she cried. She didn't sob uncontrollably, but tears ran down her face and she let them. She didn't look at him. She was afraid to. She didn't want to see his reactions; if she did she might not be able to go on. She just kept talking until she had told him everything.

When she was finished, it felt as if she had been scrubbed with a wire brush on the inside. She felt raw and exposed, but clean and it felt good, better than she could have imagined. She had nothing to hide. She didn't have pretend that she was some tough girl, because she wasn't. She knew that now. She wasn't a warrior princess, like Eowyn. She was just lost and scared and trying to survive a world that was too grand for her. The admission hurt. She wanted to be that warrior princess, someone Boromir could be proud of, but that wouldn't happen, now that he knew the truth. She was weak and afraid.

When she could no longer put off the inevitable, Mel wiped her eyes and finally looked up.

As Melody told her tale, Boromir found his anger hard to control. The manipulation, the torture, the utter hopelessness of her capture was enough to make him see red. If he had known a fraction of what had been done to her, he would have killed the wizard while he'd had the chance and damn the consequences. But he kept silent and his reactions in check for her sake while her story unfolded. It was obvious that the telling was difficult for her. She kept her eyes on the fire's glow, tears glistening on her cheeks. He had the strong urge to brush them away, but he resisted. This was her cleansing. It was necessary for her to feel whole again. And he had promised that he would listen. So that is what he did. Even when she spoke of things he did not understand, things she had seen in her dreams, he listened without question or comment. Then she spoke of his coming in a voice that surprised him with its gentleness.

"When you came for me, at first I thought it was him coming again, I thought he was really going to kill me this time," she whispered, "Then I heard your voice and I thought it was a dream. Then I thought I was dead. I had to be, because you were dead and you couldn't really be there. But you were. You were there."

She swallowed and looked down at her shoes.

"And then you know the rest, probably better than I do because the next thing I remember clearly is waking up in the mountains."

Boromir wasn't sure how he should react. The sound of her voice when she had spoken of him had sparked a warm glow that spread through him, something that he had never felt before. It had been almost tender. No one had ever spoken of him that way. And he wasn't sure how he should respond.

Before he could think of something, Melody wiped the tears from her face and reluctantly turned her face up to him. She stared for a moment, and then her brow furrowed.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, not accusing, just curious.

At first Boromir wasn't sure what she meant.

"What were you expecting?"

"Pity, some lame sympathetic smile, thinly veiled disappointment."

The last shocked him into speaking before his thoughts could catch up to him.

"Disappointment? Why should I be disappointed?"

She turned back to the fire and chuckled, "Well, I haven't exactly handled this very well. I mean, I'm alive. I should be grateful, not cowering in a corner, licking my wounds."

She spoke callously, with the air of someone disappointed in themselves. Boromir ached when he heard her. How little she understood. She was one of the strongest people he knew and yet in her own eyes she saw only fault.

"Melody, look at me."

She did as she was told, but he could see it wasn't willingly. He took both her hands in his own. They were so small. He looked directly into her wide, green eyes.

"Do you believe that I would be truthful with you, no matter the circumstances?"

She searched his face for a moment, considering. Then she nodded.

"Then you must believe me when I say that you have shown more courage and strength than any other person I have ever known. You faced an evil that few have ever seen and you fought against it with everything in your soul. You were willing to give your life for those you love. There is no greater sacrifice."

Another tear slipped down her cheek and this time Boromir did not resist the urge to wipe it away. His hand rested on her cheek, smooth and warm.

"I am honored to call you my friend."

The voice that spoke was not one Boromir had been aware he possessed, soft and low and tender. The sound of it startled him and he jerked his hand away.

Melody blinked. Then she dropped her eyes and scrambled to her feet.

"You know, I'm pretty tired, I think I'll just go to bed now."

The rush of her words made Boromir sorry that he had said anything. He had upset her, of that he was certain, even though he wasn't quite sure what he had done or why he had done it. All he knew was he bitterly regretted that she would no longer meet his eyes. She started to walk away from the fire, but before she had taken two steps out of the circle, she paused. Boromir's breath caught and he waited. Perhaps she would come back. Perhaps she would forget that he had said anything at all and just come sit with him again.

But she didn't even turn around.

"Um… Which way am I going?" she asked. Her voice was small and embarrassed.

Boromir stifled a sigh of disappointment. He stood and touched her elbow briefly.

"Follow me."

He led her across the clearing to the little cabin that had been emptied for her. That was the only thing he didn't like about staying with the Wardens of the Beacon Lights. Decorum and appearances dictated that they be separated. He wasn't able to keep a constant eye on her as he would have liked. He couldn't wake and know, in a single glance, that she was safe. If she screamed he would hear, but he wasn't within arm's reach if she needed him. He hadn't said anything, but the last few nights he had startled awake and panicked because he couldn't remember where she was.

They were at the door now. It was slightly ajar and Boromir could see the six empty, perfectly made beds inside. Melody pulled away from him and put her hand on the doorknob.

"Thanks for letting me talk." she said.

He wanted to make her stay. He wanted to make her stand for just few more minutes with him. But he couldn't think of any reason why. So instead he took her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers.

"Sleep well, Melody." he whispered.

She just stood for a moment and stared at her hand in his. Then she blinked and shook her head as if she were coming out of a daze.

"Thanks, maybe I will." she said, smiling.

Boromir smiled too, even though she still wouldn't look him in the eye and it hurt him. Why was she doing this? Why was she so distant? What had he done?

"Good night, Boromir." she said quickly, before she slipped into the empty cabin and shut the door.

For a moment, Boromir stood very still and contemplated his options. Had it been anyone else he would have pounded on the door and demanded in the strongest terms possible that she explain her behavior immediately. But he felt certain that this particular approach would not yield the effect he desired. Melody would lock herself up tighter than the gates of Barad-dur if he tried to force her hand. No, once again, he would have to take a cue from his brother and practice a little patience. When she was ready to talk about what was troubling her, she would come to him, just as she had tonight. He had to wait for her to be ready. But just knowing that something still weighed on her made him anxious. He put a hand on the door, willing her to speak to him.

"When you're ready, Melody," he whispered, "When you're ready, I am here."

Mel sat on the edge of the closest bed and stared at her hand. Then she reached up and absently brushed her cheek. It was silly to think that those touches had meant anything. Besides, he had jerked away quickly enough. He hadn't meant to make her heart stutter and her breath catch in her throat. It hadn't meant anything. It couldn't mean anything. No more than that he was her friend and he cared about her. In a purely platonic sense.

I am honored to call you my friend…

God, even remembering his voice as he had spoken those words made her shiver. It was a voice she had heard only one other time, in Moria, calling her out of the dark.

Melody… Melody, wake up…

He had listened. He cared enough to listen. That would have to be enough.

She kicked off her boots and pulled herself into bed, crawling under the blanket. For the first night in what felt like an eternity, when she closed her eyes she didn't feel a pressing loneliness. When the dream began, she was afraid. She was in the hall of Isengard. She faced Saruman on his throne. Huddled behind her were her parents, her sisters, her friends, looking terrified. But this time she wasn't helpless. She was armed with her sword, the sword of the Rohirrim. And when she squared off to face the wizard, sword in hand, someone stepped up beside her. She glanced over. Boromir grinned, twirling his sword in one hand, holding his shield in the other, shoulder to shoulder with her.

"You are not alone."

Suddenly, the dream dissolved into darkness. Mel couldn't see anything, but she heard voices. And the first one she heard, the only one she recognized, was that of Yavanna.

"She needs him!" the Valier cried, "If you had taken him now, she would have perished with him!"

Mel felt her heart skip. Taken him?

"It was foolish of you to interfere in my affairs to begin with, Yavanna," A man's voice rumbled, "Why you gave the girl a choice in the first place I will never understand. But your foolishness has upset the balance."

"She had the right to choose, Mandos, just as all Illuvatar's children do."

This was a different woman's voice, a lighter voice, but it felt just as powerful. And the name Mandos made Mel shiver. She remembered that name, remembered reading it in another life. It was the name of the Valar presiding over the House of the Dead.

"This is not her place!" Mandos cried, his voice booming like an explosion, but he immediately seemed to regret his tone, "Forgive me, my lady Varda, but I speak the truth. I seek only to restore the song to its proper course in the swiftest way possible."

"That may be…"

This was yet another voice, the voice of a man, powerful and calm, steady.

"…but we must tread carefully now, Mandos. Your actions, while justified, were not perhaps the wisest course."

"So we continue to let him live, Lord Manwe?" Mandos asked, obviously holding back another burst of anger, "I am owed a life. Are not my requirements as important as the desires of my sister?"

"Of course they are, brother," The other man, Manwe, chided gently.

But Mandos wasn't finished,

"If Yavanna places so much trust in the choices of her daughter, perhaps she should be given the privilege of another. I am owed a life. It is not necessary that it be the Son of Gondor. Have her choose another to take his place."

There was a shriek of outrage. Mel suddenly felt sick.

"You would place this in the hands of a child? " Yavanna exclaimed, "How can you ask this of her?"

"You gave her the power to choose life," Mandos said, his voice now as calm and steady as his brother's, "I am simply giving her that choice again. She may choose life for the Son of Gondor and death for another, or death for him and life for another. A life for a life."

"Have you no heart, Mandos?" Yavanna cried.

"Quiet."

Though Manwe never raised his voice, his tone brought silence.

"The matter is… delicate," he said, "We shall discuss it further. But for now we will let it rest until our tempers are settled."

That seemed to end the discussion. Even though Mel still couldn't see anything, she had a sense of the Valar exiting quietly. But the dream, if you could call it that, continued. She could still feel the presence of one left in the room. There was a sigh, like a gentle breeze blowing through the leaves of the trees.

"Oh my dear girl," Yavanna whispered, "Dear, precious child. I am sorry that this must be placed on you. I am truly sorry."

Mel sat straight up in bed, her eyes wide. She caught her breath and her heart stuttered, then settled. She ran a hand through her hair and took a deep, slow breath. She could save him. Again. But it would mean that someone else had to die. To save the man she loved, Mel would have to kill someone else.

Chapter Text

Mel saw the faintest hint of sunlight peeking through her cabin window. She sighed and swung out of bed, still feeling a little nauseous from her dream. Or vision. Because it had been real, she had never even considered that it wasn't. Yavanna had saved Boromir last night and Mandos was pissed. It was the one consequence Mel hadn't considered since saving Boromir's life at Amon Hen. It had never occurred to her that the Valar might not like what she had done, or that Yavanna might have acted without the consent of her siblings.

"Calenhiril?"

The tree's slight, trembling voice jerked Mel out of her thoughts.

"The Son of Gondor comes."

As if on cue, there was a faint knock on her door. If she hadn't already been awake, she probably wouldn't have heard it. She padded over to the door and opened it. Boromir stood there, dressed and ready as always, but he seemed quiet and reserved this morning, almost self-conscious.

"I hope I didn't wake you." he said softly.

She thought back to that unobtrusive knock and rolled her eyes

"With a knock like that I doubt you could have woke up anyone." she teased.

A relieved grin spread over his face, as if he had been waiting for her to speak. And for the briefest of moments, Mel thought she could kill for him. The thought was fleeting and she immediately felt guilty for it, but it was there.

"I thought if you were awake, we might continue your sword lessons," he said, "In private, of course."

Mel managed a smile and nodded.

"Sure, give me a few minutes."

She started to close the door, but Boromir put a hand out and stopped her.

"Melody?"

She looked up and his expression was serious.

"How did you sleep?"

For a moment she wasn't sure what to say.

Oh fine, except I found out that we've royally pissed off the Valar and now I may have to kill someone to save your life because I love you.

Somehow, that just didn't have the ring of something that she wanted to discuss with him right now. Or ever. Then she remembered the dream she'd had before the vision. And that wonderful feeling of not being alone. She smiled.

"Better," she answered truthfully, "Much better."

His face relaxed into a pleased smile. He nodded.

"I will wait for you outside."

Mel got ready as quickly as possible, pulling on her boots and straightening her clothes. She was starting to feel grimy and suddenly she couldn't wait to get to Minas Tirith, if only to take a bath and get some clean clothes. But at the same time, Minas Tirith made her shiver. Denethor came creeping into the corners of her mind. He had to know by now that his oldest son was coming home. Mel wondered what that had done to his demeanor. And did Faramir know? Would he be expecting his brother to come to Osgiliath? Now that Mel knew the Valar were gunning for him, Mel felt even more certain that Osgiliath was the last place they should be. But what could she say? If she told Boromir it was too dangerous, he would go anyway because that's just who he was. He laughed in the face of danger. On the other hand, if she convinced him that everything was fine, he would eventually find out she had lied to him and he might never forgive her. Still, was that such a large price to pay if it kept him alive a little longer?

She came outside thoroughly distracted. Boromir was waiting just outside the door, so she quickly tried to clear her mind and relax her face. He didn't seem to notice. They walked a few paces into the forest and emerged in a little clearing with short, cropped grass. It looked like a place the Wardens might allow the horses to graze.

"I thought we might work on your footwork today." Boromir said.

Mel nodded, still feeling a little distracted, "Sure, okay."

They drew swords, but instead of a full-blown fight, Boromir started slow, working her through basic exercises and watching her foot placement, correcting her when necessary. Which was often. Mel tried to focus, but her thoughts kept wandering. The slow pace made it difficult for her to keep her mind where she was. She kept thinking about the dream and Osgiliath. What was she going to do?

Suddenly she tripped and toppled backward onto her butt. Boromir was standing over her, looking concerned and possibly a trifle amused, but he managed to keep that mostly to himself.

"You see? You cannot put left over right like that or you'll get tangled up," He gave her his hand and pulled her to her feet, "Are you alright?"

She brushed off the seat of her pants, "Nothing hurt but my pride, I guess."

Her arms were killing her, but she wasn't going to say anything about that. It was all the slow motion with that heavy sword.

He nodded and raised his own blade, "Again, and mind your feet this time."

They went a little faster and Mel doubled her efforts to pay attention. When they were through, she actually felt like she might have learned something and it felt good. It had been a long time since she'd had a proper lesson, back in Rivendell with Elladan.

Something about Elladan wriggled in the back of her mind, something she was forgetting. It followed her back to the Wardens' campfire, whispering teasingly as someone handed her a bowl of hash. It was the seventh of March. The date loomed up out of the recesses of her mind and she tried to think. What happened on the seventh of…?

And then it hit her. At some point in the night, if Mel was remembering correctly, Elladan and Elrohir, along with Dunedain out of Rivendell, had met up with the Rohirrim and the Three Hunters, including Legolas. Together, they would soon face the Paths of the Dead. Mel shivered. That was one place she was glad she would never have to visit. She didn't envy her friends one bit, but at the same time she missed them. She missed the hobbits too. She knew they would be alright, but she missed their sweet innocent faces. That was something she would never get back. This was going to change them forever and it made her kind of sad.

A stray sentence from the Wardens' conversation cut into her thoughts.

"Did you hear that strange thunder last night?"

She jumped and looked up at the two men eating their breakfast close to her and to Boromir. The second man nodded and spoke around a mouthful of hash.

"Aye. Not a cloud in the sky, but I could've sworn I heard something. Strange and unnatural. But then, we live in strange and unnatural times now."

Mel glanced at Boromir. He was staring at the men, but he briefly met her eyes. Mel wondered if she was the only one who had heard Yavanna's voice. Had everyone else just heard thunder?

Mel leaned into Boromir's side and lowered her voice.

"Did you hear her?"

Boromir nodded as he stirred his hash absently.

"Not yet."

So Boromir had heard it too. But why? Why had Boromir heard the voice and not the other men? Mel figured she'd heard it simply because she was the Calenhiril. But what was Boromir's connection? Was it simply because he was alive when he should be dead? That seemed unlikely, but they couldn't talk about it now, with all these people around.

In what felt like no time at all, they were fully outfitted with horses and fresh provisions, and on their way again. In the bright sunlight of morning, the events of last night seemed distant, almost like one of her nightmares. But Mel still put the trees on alert until they left the safety of the woods, and when they passed the last of the trees she felt just a twinge of uneasiness. But Boromir seemed in no hurry today. They ambled along at a moderate pace.

"I thought we were in some kind of a rush." Mel said.

Boromir shook his head.

"No longer, Melody. We could not possibly cover the distance between the next two beacons in a single day. I see no reason to tire the horses or ourselves unnecessarily."

Since it looked like they were going to be keeping this pace for the rest of the day, Mel thought it was probably as good a time as any to talk about what they had overheard this morning.

"So you heard Yavanna last night?"

Boromir nodded solemnly.

"I did."

"Why is that, do you think?"

He shrugged, "I do not pretend to understand the minds of the Valar. Perhaps she simply deemed it necessary that I hear."

"But why?" Mel insisted, "Why now? I mean, I have the Yavannacor so I figure that's why I heard it. But why just you and no one else?"

There was a pause. Boromir seemed to be considering his answer very carefully, and in the meantime something else occurred to Mel. Something fishy. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"And for that matter, how did you even know it was her?"

Boromir jumped a little, then glanced at her almost nervously.

"What do you mean?"

The more Mel thought about it, the stranger it seemed.

"I said Yavanna, and you didn't even question it. Didn't surprise you at all. How would you know it was her unless…?"

The explanation practically fell into Mel's lap. She stared at Boromir with wide eyes, but he seemed reluctant to meet her gaze.

"She's talked to you before," Mel said softly, "Hasn't she?"

He sighed like a man defeated.

"Yes, she has spoken to me."

Mel stared at him for another long moment.

"When?"

"The first time was nearly two weeks ago, before I came to Isengard."

"Wait a minute, what do you mean 'the first time'? She's talked to you more than once?"

Boromir nodded.

"I've had… strange dreams. And she came to me in Halfirien as well."

"And you never told me?" Mel asked, completely stunned and a little hurt. Yavanna had been speaking to him all this time and she hadn't even known it?

"I didn't believe it myself at first. I don't put much stock in dreams."

"But a dream is the reason you went to Rivendell in the first place!"

"Were it not for my brother having the same dream before me, I might never have gone. He and my father put more faith in dreams than I. I believe in things that are tangible, things I can feel and see. It is difficult for me to accept anything else."

"But you believe now?"

Boromir gave her a wry smile.

"I have seen too much not to believe."

"Well, what did she say?" Mel asked, trying to sound casual, but really she was dying to know. Did Boromir know his life was in danger? Surely not or he wouldn't be running headlong to meet it, right?

"Mostly she has been worried about you," he said, and Mel relaxed marginally, "First, for obvious reasons, your rescue was her main concern. Afterward she spoke to me of your fear, how it hindered her from communicating with you."

He glanced at Mel.

"So I suppose she has spoken to you before as well."

Mel pointedly turned her head and concentrated on the road. She didn't like where this was going. He knew about her visions in Isengard, but she didn't want to tell him about her choice in Lothlorien, or about her most recent dream. If Yavanna hadn't seen fit to inform him of the dilemma then that's the way she would keep it. She didn't think she could bear to tell him.

They trotted in silence for a few moments and Mel was just beginning to wonder if this would be a good time to broach the subject of Osgiliath, when Boromir spoke again.

"My brother has always believed in dreams."

Mel perked up, curious.

"His mind is more open to such things I suppose. I have always lived in the world I see. I've never seen the wisdom in dreaming up more trouble in a world beyond my own. You could say I see only a portrait where Faramir sees a mural. He has always been able to look beyond and see possibilities I could not. He is much like our father in that respect."

Mel suppressed a shiver. She didn't want to talk about Denethor. She was still hoping she wouldn't have to, that the point would be moot. After all, he knew Boromir was alive now. Maybe that would be all it took to keep him from falling apart, from becoming the maniac Mel knew that he could be. But Mel was having trouble finding comfort in that. A nut was a nut and all it took was a little bit of pressure to make it crack…

"Melody?"

She jumped and looked back at Boromir. He was staring at her curiously.

"What were you thinking about?" he asked.

Mel thought for a moment and then shrugged.

"Nuts."

He narrowed his eyes, as if he didn't quite believe her, but she just smiled at him until finally he shook his head and returned the smile.

"Your mind goes to such strange places."

"I know."

There was a pause and Mel decided that she couldn't avoid the subject any longer.

"Are you still planning to go to Osgiliath?"

Boromir nodded.

"I keep hearing strange reports. They say it is poorly guarded and the assaults are frequent. Many expect it to fall soon if something isn't done. I need to see for myself and do what I can, then take a report back to Father. Perhaps he is not aware that the situation is so dire."

"Or maybe everyone's just over exaggerating a little bit," Mel said, trying her best to sound ignorantly casual, "You know the more a story's told the worse it gets and these guys are pretty far from Osgiliath. Maybe it just grew out of proportion."

Boromir shook his head distractedly.

"All the more reason I should assess the situation myself. If the city is holding then that will be good news to take back to Minas Tirith."

Mel's idea to convince him that everything was fine clearly wasn't going to work. He was going, one way or the other. Her stomach clenched. She decided to drop all pretenses and move on to something more desperate.

"Don't go."

Well, she had been hoping for something a bit more subtle. Boromir pulled his horse up short and stared at her. She set her jaw and met his eyes steadily.

"Don't go to Osgiliath."

He examined her face for several seconds, his brow furrowed.

"Why, Melody?" He asked, "Why do you not want me to go?"

"Because there's nothing you can do," She blurted out, "Everybody's right, Osgiliath is practically defenseless and Sauron knows it. He's gonna hit you there first and there's no way for you to stop it and I realize that by telling you all this it just means that you're gonna go anyway, but I had to try and do something to stop you because I don't know what might happen."

Boromir's face grew more and more grave as the words came tumbling out of Mel's mouth. Finally, Mel took a shuddering breath and waited. She didn't know what else to do. After a moment, Boromir sighed and reached out to cover her hand with his own.

"Dear Melody, how difficult this will be for you to understand." he whispered.

"You're still going, aren't you?" she said, less a question, more an admission of defeat.

"My people will be there," he said, "Even if they fight a lost battle, I cannot abandon them to their fate."

As he started to turn his horse away and something inside Mel broke, some barrier in her mind, and out of it emerged a possibility, something that she never would have considered before. But now she was desperate.

"Faramir is there."

Once again Boromir pulled up short. Mel stared at his back, taking only a nanosecond to choose her next words.

"In the book he escapes the city unharmed. But if you go I don't know what will happen to him."

There was a long pause. Mel swallowed and waited. It was a dirty move and not one she would have thought she was capable of making. He would be angry at her, she was sure of it. She could see it in the way his shoulders tensed. But she was willing to endure his anger if it kept him safe. She'd endured his anger before. Her back ached at the memory.

When he finally turned back his face was made of stone, his mouth etched in a bitter smile.

"I did not think you had it in you to be cruel, Melody. It appears I have underestimated you yet again."

Mel flinched. His expression, or rather his lack of expression, hurt more than his words.

"I'm sorry," She stuttered, "I just… I just…"

I just can't lose you again.

But she couldn't say the words. She had lost him once. When she was in Isengard, he was dead to her and it had nearly killed her. She couldn't do it again. She wouldn't.

Boromir turned and started down the road again.

"You have given me much to consider," he said, his voice cold and empty, "Perhaps it would be best if we continued our journey for a while in silence."

Mel's horse followed his without any prompting. As she followed behind him, she allowed herself one single tear that she furiously wiped away. Damn it, why did she have to do this? She had to keep him safe. What else was she supposed to do?

Chapter Text

The silence lasted for the rest of the day. Mel was miserable. She barely managed to eat half a loaf of bread at lunch, the stony expression on Boromir's face made her stomach roll. But every time she tried to think of something to break the icy silence she came up blank. The truth was he had every right to be angry with her. She had played dirty, bringing up Faramir like that, but she couldn't exactly take it back. She really didn't know what would happen once she and Boromir reentered the continuity of the story she had read in her past life. The Valar had made it pretty clear that his very existence had upset the balance of life as they knew it. Sure, implying that showing up in Osgiliath could condemn his brother to death might have been unnecessarily cruel, but Mel had been desperate. How else was she supposed to keep him safe?

What about the siege of Minas Tirith? A little voice in her head whispered. How will you protect him then?

But she stuffed that little voice into the farthest corner of her mind and tried to ignore it. One crisis at a time, thank you very much. She would worry about Minas Tirith when they got to Minas Tirith. There had to be some way to keep him safe. There had to be…

Have her choose another to take his place … A life for a life…

The words of Mandos echoed in her mind and her stomach clenched. How could she be expected to do that? How could she choose to let another person die to save him? She stared at Boromir's back, stiff and straight in his saddle. He might be angry at her, but that didn't change the fact that she loved him. It was the reason for everything she had done, everything she had said. She loved him. How could she give him up now? Even the suggestion made her chest seize up. There had to be a way…

Despite her distress, Mel caught sight of the Wardens' camp at Nardol long before they reached it. This wasn't really surprising, since it was the first camp they had come upon that was not nestled into a grove of trees. In fact, it didn't even look like a camp. It looked more like a fort, standing against the side of the mountain, surrounded by a thick log wall. There was a guard posted on the wall, and as they approached he called down to someone inside and the gate swung open for them. There were a couple of bushes tucked into the crevices of the mountainside and a few small trees scattered in the camp itself, but it was not nearly what could be called a forest. Mel tried her best to suppress any uneasiness, but she felt the absence of the forest keenly.

They stopped just inside the gate and a handsome young man with fair, shoulder-length hair and a bright grin came out to meet them. Mel watched Boromir plaster an incredibly fake smile on his face as he dismounted and clasped the Warden's hand.

"My lord Boromir, welcome," the young man said, "I am Vanion, Captain of the Nardol beacon. We received word of your arrival, but I admit we were not expecting you so soon."

"We made haste past the post at Min-Rimmon and stayed at Erelas last night," Boromir said, "It was perilous, but saved us a full day's journey."

Mel shuddered. Perilous her ass! More like scarier than hell, but she didn't say that or anything like it. She started to dismount, but as she swung her leg over the saddle a pair of hands startled her, gripping her around the waist and softening her descent. When her feet touched the ground, she was face to face with the young, smiling captain.

"Ah, the Lady Melody of Rivendell!"

To Mel's continued surprise, he bowed elegantly over her hand and planted a soft kiss on her knuckles.

"The messengers spoke of the young lady who has lived among elves, but they did not mention you to be so fair."

The captain gave her a charming half-smile and Mel balked nervously, barely resisting the urge to jerk her hand away. She was flattered, but she wasn't quite sure how to respond to Vanion's pretty words. None of the other Wardens had ever spoken more than a few plain greetings to her. She managed to return his smile as she gently removed her hand from his.

"Thank you, Captain." she said, trying not to sound as awkward as she felt.

Then, trying to find something to do so she could stop staring at him, she turned and pulled the reins over her horse's head. Vanion immediately took them from her hands.

"Allow me, my lady," he said, "I am sure you are tired from your journey. You may take your ease at the fireside if you like."

Mel's smile widened a little.

"Thank you." She said politely, earning another grin from the young captain before he led her horse away.

Mel glanced over at Boromir and wished she hadn't. His eyes were narrowed, but he looked away when she tried to meet his gaze. Was he still angry at her for what she had said? Or had she done something else now? She wondered if she'd committed some kind of faux-pas, but she couldn't think of anything she could have done wrong in the few minutes they'd been here. She sighed and trudged off toward the campfire, now purposefully avoiding his eyes.

The fire wasn't really a fire yet, just a pile of embers in a circle of stones. The sun was still shining and it really wasn't cold enough for it to be built up anyway. Mel sat down on a log beside it, but her nerves were too keyed up to sit still for long. The little trees and bushes within the camp introduced themselves, extremely honored to have her among them, but they were small and not very talkative. Mel was surprised to realize she was bored. This was the first time they had reached camp before sunset and there was nothing for her to do.

She risked a glance back at the men. The horses had been taken away and Boromir had wandered to the far side of the camp, deep in conversation with one of the other Wardens. Mel sighed again and glanced up at the log wall around the camp. It was about ten feet high and solidly built, each log fitting together as smoothly as pieces of a puzzle. There was a ladder close by, leading up to a long, narrow walkway where the guards stood sentry along the wall's perimeter. Impulsively, Mel decided to take a look.

She clambered up the ladder and stood for a long while on the wooden walkway, looking out over Rohan. The plains seemed to stretch on forever, the gentle breezes that ruffled her hair rippling the grasses below in waves. Mel pulled her cloak closer around her to protect from the chill. The land was pretty in it's way, but it was… empty, nearly lifeless…

"Does the view suit you, my lady?"

She jumped. Vanion had appeared beside her, watching her with an interested smile, waiting for her response. She turned back to the plains, tucking her arms more firmly around her.

"It's nice enough, but there's not much to it. Just grass and rocks."

She saw Vanion nodding from the corner of her eye.

"I'm sure you are ready to return to comfortable society."

Mel shrugged, "Yeah, I guess so."

In fact she wasn't really looking forward to 'comfortable society' at all. To her, that was synonymous with 'awkward' and 'terrifying'.

Vanion was still watching her with an open, curious expression.

"May I ask how you came to reside in Rivendell, my lady? Do you have family there?"

Mel tried not to fidget, her mind racing.

"No, I came there by chance and Lord Elrond took me in."

"So your family resides in Gondor?"

Mel glanced at him, then away again. He didn't seem suspicious of her in anyway, but his questions seemed to contain a hint of something more than idle curiosity. Or maybe she was just being paranoid.

"No." she said, deciding that short answers were probably best until she could come up with something better.

The young man stared into her face, his brow furrowed in puzzlement, and then some sort of realization seemed to dawn on him.

"Oh… My lady, forgive me if I've made you uncomfortable. Your family… have they passed on?"

Her breath hitched. Surprisingly, it was the best explanation she had. She was completely alone, with no family to speak of. Really, they might as well be dead. Was that what her family thought of her? Did they think she was dead?

She nodded slowly, not trusting herself to speak. Vanion tilted his head, still watching her.

"I am sorry, Lady Melody. We have all lost loved ones."

Not like me, Mel thought, her eyes sweeping the barren plains. No one's lost like me.

The captain abruptly changed the subject.

"Traveling with Lord Boromir must be very exciting for you."

Mel forcibly pulled away from her homesickness and tried to smile.

"It's certainly been interesting."

"He is one of the greatest swordsmen of Gondor. Has he taught you much?" Vanion asked, glancing down at the sword buckled to her waist.

Mel touched the hilt self-consciously.

"He tries. I'm afraid I might not be the best student he's ever had."

"Ah," Vanion said, leaning in and grinning mischievously, "But I doubt you are the worst, my lady,"

Mel started to respond, but something… strange flickered in his expression, just for a moment, and she forgot whatever it was she was about to say. She couldn't put her finger on what it was and when she blinked it was gone, but something had left an odd feeling tugging on the back of her mind. She pulled her cloak closer to her and glanced back at the cold, empty plains. The sun was beginning to set, turning the horizon orange and a light pink.

"They will be preparing supper soon," Vanion said, "Would you care to join me by the fire?"

Mel turned and studied his face for a moment, but there was nothing in his expression to suggest he was being anything but friendly to her. She hadn't seen much of that at the other beacons. It was nice. Mel returned his smile.

"I'd love to."

He led the way to the ladder and descended first. Once Mel was within reach, Vanion's hands found her waist again, guiding her gently to the ground.

"Thank you," Mel said, straightening her cloak and glancing up.

Boromir was watching her from across the camp, eyes still narrowed, not quite in a glare but nearly. Mel almost flinched away, but stopped herself. She couldn't continue to cower every time he looked at her. If he was angry, then he needed to say something, not just glare at her from a distance. Vanion put a hand on the small of her back and Mel jumped. He paused.

"Is everything alright, my lady?"

Mel looked back at Boromir, but he now appeared to be deep in discussion with another Warden. She bit back a frustrated sigh.

"Yeah, sorry. Everything's fine."

She allowed Vanion to guide her to a place by the fire and gladly accepted the bits of roasted bird (she wasn't sure what kind and she didn't ask) that he offered her. The captain didn't ask anymore personal questions, but he did ask for her impression of the other beacons they'd visited. She mentioned Anaril, the young cook stationed at Halfirien, and it turned out he and Vanion had trained together in Minas Tirith, which did even more to put Mel's mind at ease. She even relaxed enough that she laughed once, out loud, before she caught herself and glanced around nervously to see if anyone had noticed.

Boromir was watching her again, thoughtfully from across the fire, but when she met his eyes he looked away. Mel felt a little knot of guilt and uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. This was the first supper she had spent without Boromir next to her. And she was laughing at someone else's stories. She almost stood up and moved to be next to him, but she didn't want to offend Vanion. Besides, this was neither the time nor the place to discuss what was still on both their minds. It would have to wait. Mel pointedly turned her attention back to Vanion, pushing away her disquiet. At least he wasn't glaring at her now.

Mel quickly discovered that trying to actively keep up with the Wardens' conversation was exhausting. Everything was battle tactics and old war stories, but Vanion did his best to keep it entertaining, even if he was a little vague on the details. He could certainly spin a story, even from the most mundane of circumstances, and Mel caught herself laughing more than once as the night wore on. But despite her best efforts, eventually Mel's eyes started getting heavy and her brain fuzzy. She tried to stifle a yawn, but Vanion noticed.

"My lady, forgive me, you are tired. Come, I will show you to your quarters."

He stood and offered her his hand, smiling, and something in Mel's brain gave her a little nudge, trying to remind her of something, but she was too tired to notice. Whatever it was, it could wait until morning. She took Vanion's hand and let him help her to her feet. She thought she saw Boromir move out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked he was still sitting, staring into the fire distractedly. Vanion put his hand on the small of her back and Mel allowed herself to be led away. In the morning… Mel would deal with it in the morning.

Vanion guided her in the direction of the cabin farthest from the fire. There was one scrawny bush outside the door and some vines climbing the walls, but it still looked horribly bare. Mel suppressed a shiver. It was going to be a long, lonely night.

And then Vanion grabbed hold of her arm, pulling her into the shadows of the cabin.

"So," he whispered, pressing in close to her, "How does this work exactly?"

He was smiling again. No, not… not smiling. Leering. Mel's stomach lurched. That was what she had seen, up on the wall, the uneasy tug she had felt in the back of her mind. And she had pushed it away.

God, she was so stupid.

She tried to pull her arm out of Vanion's tightening grip.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she snapped, "Let go of…"

But Vanion only rolled his eyes and shoved her hard against the cabin wall, clapping a hand over her mouth and pinning his other arm across her throat. Mel tried very hard not to panic.

"I think you know exactly what I mean, lady Melody," Vanion sneered, "And if you think I'm going to pay whatever ransom you've set our good lord Boromir, you are much mistaken. I'm sure the whore of the Steward's son charges a premium price for her services."

Mel flinched and Vanion smirked.

"Oh, no one will speak it aloud, but you can hear it in their voices, in the words they do not say."

He pressed in closer, his voice purring in her ear.

"Why should Lord Boromir get to have all the fun? Selfish of him, if you ask me…"

Something inside Mel snapped. The power hiding inside her flared to life, reaching out for whatever it could find. The vines by her ear rustled.

For a split second, Vanion looked very confused. Then the crawling vines exploded off of the cabin walls in a flurry of green, tangling around Vanion's arms and jerking him violently onto his back. He hit the dirt with a dull thud and the scraggly bush took over, lashing out with gnarled thorny branches, grabbing at legs, arms, whatever was in reach. Vanion shrieked as the long thorns bit through his clothes and into flesh, drawing drops of scarlet blood. The more he thrashed and struggled, the tighter the bush held. Mel took a step and Vanion fell silent, terror in his huge blue eyes.

"Don't you ever talk about him again." she hissed.

A vine crept slowly up the line of his body, slithering almost snake-like, brushing over the pulse in his neck as it wrapped it's way slowly around and around…

"How dare you even speak his name?" Mel said, fists clenched to keep from shaking, "There is more good in his little finger than you have in your whole goddamn body and you dare… you dare to… Don't you ever, ever…!"

"Melody!"

Boromir's shout cut through everything, all the rage and fear shooting like sparks through every fiber of her being. Mel looked up. Boromir was staring at her, wide-eyed, along with all the other Wardens. Mel managed to take one deep, shuddering breath and slowly the vines and branches disentangled themselves from Vanion, who was looking a little purple in the face. He gasped and coughed as the Wardens closest helped him to his feet, but it didn't take long for him to find his voice.

"She's a witch!" He shrieked hysterically, "A witch of Morgoth! Burn her, burn her, before she destroys us all!"

He lunged viciously and Mel stumbled back, her legs like jelly beneath her, but Boromir was there, shoving Vanion back into the arms of his fellow Wardens.

"If you lay even one finger on her, I will cut you to pieces and feed you to the orcs."

Boromir's voice was cool and smooth as stone. Vanion stared at him, mouth gaping and eyes wide.

"But, you saw!" he shouted, gesturing wildly at Mel, who could barely stand. She was so tired. "You saw what she did, it was sorcery!"

"There are others who perform such feats and we do not burn them," Boromir said, his voice still low and steady, "Would you burn Mithrandir?"

That seemed to puzzle Vanion for a moment. Then his eyes lit up in wild realization.

"She's bewitched you."

He looked around at the other Wardens, his eyes gleaming.

"She's bewitched all of you! Break her spell! Break it! She will be the death of us!"

"Captain Vanion of Pinnath Gelin, you are hereby relieved of your command and ordered to withdraw forthwith to the city of Minas Tirith, there to be judged by your behavior and actions among your peers and commanding officers upon my arrival."

Vanion once again gaped as Boromir made this proclamation in a steely tone that allowed no argument, waving a hand in the direction of the Wardens closest to Vanion.

"Corudor, Luinmir, see that it is done. Have horses prepared and escort him back to the White City. He will not remain one more night here."

The two men supporting Vanion took a firmer grip on his arms. Vanion suddenly looked like an animal caught in a trap. He tugged against the men who were once his comrades.

"No, no you don't understand, she's bespelled you! You're all under a spell! Wake up! Don't let her control you! Don't do this!"

But the men dragged him away, still struggling and cursing and crying out. Boromir took a step back, shielding Mel from sight. She let him. She didn't want to see the damage she'd caused. She'd already seen it in some of the eyes that darted over her. Fear. They were terrified of her. She wanted to lean forward and bury her face in Boromir's back, but she didn't. That would only make things worse.

…the whore of the Steward's son…

Mel shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself, leaning back against the cabin wall. She was just so tired…

Gradually, Vanion's cries died away. The other Wardens slowly dispersed throughout the camp, disappearing into the night. Finally, Boromir was the only one left.

"Are you hurt?"

His back was still to her, but she could see that it was rigid. Mel shook her head and clenched her arms tighter around her. She couldn't stop shivering.

"No. No, I'm alright."

"Why did you do that, Melody?"

Words froze in her throat. She didn't want to tell him. She didn't want to repeat what Vanion had said, what they all thought of her. She didn't want to tell him that his men thought she was his… God, was that what they all thought? Had it been lurking behind every smile, every kind gesture, every friendly word? God, she was so damn naïve. How could she have thought they were just being nice? She buried her face in her hands, trying to hide from it, to make it disappear, to keep her teeth from chattering…

"Melody?"

She ran her hands through her hair and took a deep breath through her nose. Boromir had turned to face her, still waiting for an answer. What could she say? He would see through any lie she came up with. He was good at that. But God, she did not want to say the words. She crossed her arms and stared at her shoes.

"He…"

Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat.

"He just said some things that… well, they were… he suggested that… he thought that we…"

Her voice broke again as another shudder rippled through her. She cleared her throat again. Her face was burning hot. She was so glad it was dark, he probably couldn't see it. Just one sentence. She just had to condense it into one goddamn sentence…

"He thought I was free for the taking. Now he knows I'm not."

There was a long silence. After several seconds of watching her boot toe drag through the dirt, Mel finally peeked up at Boromir's face. He was staring at her, his expression a mask of stone. It was a frightening face, a face that scared her more than any other expression he had. She almost wished she hadn't looked up.

When he finally spoke, his voice was leaden.

"He tried to force himself on you?"

Mel was too afraid not to answer, but she didn't think she could speak so she just nodded. Boromir's eyes flashed behind the stone mask and he took a step away from her.

"I'll be right back."

He was going to kill him. Mel knew, with a horrifying certainty, that Boromir was about to very calmly cross the camp and kill Vanion. She didn't know how she knew, but she knew in some unmistakable way and as scared as she was she couldn't let it happen. So just as Boromir turned his back to her, Mel blurted out the only thing she thought might possibly prevent Boromir from walking away.

"Please don't leave me alone."

He paused and Mel frantically scrambled for more words.

"I'm kind of freaking out and you're the only friend I have right now."

It was not a lie. Not even remotely. She didn't want to be alone in this place. After all, who was to say some of the boys might not show up and decide Vanion had the right idea? She didn't think that scrawny shrub and a few spindly vines would be able to keep too many at bay for long. The truth was, she was scared. And if her fear just happened to keep Boromir from committing murder, well, all the better. Two birds, one stone.

For one terrible moment, Boromir didn't move. Then his shoulders sagged and Mel let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

"I can't even keep you safe from my own people," he whispered, "I am so sorry, Melody."

She took a step forward, but made sure to keep an obvious amount of distance between them.

"It's not your fault Vanion's an ass," she said, which made Boromir start a little, "I've faced worse and survived, one measly Warden is nothing."

She managed a mostly cheeky grin. Boromir did not return the expression. If anything, he looked even more upset. Another shudder pulsed through her and she wrapped her arms around herself again.

"It's my own fault anyway," Mel said, turning away and staring into the night, "If I hadn't pissed you off to begin with, you would have been with me the whole time. None of this would have happened."

Boromir shifted beside her, but now was as good a time as any for an apology, so Mel plowed on.

"I'm really sorry about what I said, by the way. I was scared and I panicked. I don't know what's going to happen when we get to Gondor and that scares the hell out of me. I just…"

She almost said it. I just don't want to lose you again. But she didn't. She let the sentence trail off. Because there was still a small part of her that was whispering in her ear. You're nothing. You're small. You're insignificant. How could you mean anything to someone like him?

For a few minutes they stood together in silence. Finally, Boromir spoke.

"Melody, what you told me this morning, it was upsetting. But I had forgiven you long before we came into camp, only my pride would not allow me admit it to you. Then I saw…"

Boromir's words faltered, and Mel glanced up to make sure he was okay. His eyes were closed and he took a deep breath before he spoke again.

"When Vanion… took an interest in you, I was suspicious. I did not like the way he looked at you when your back was turned. But, you seemed… so at ease. I heard you laugh, truly laugh, for the first time in days and I thought… I couldn't take that from you. So I decided to let you be."

He looked down at her, his voice taking on a desperate edge.

"Melody, I swear on my life, if I had thought even for a moment that he would hurt you I… I would have done everything in my power to protect you. But he's a Warden-Captain, one of the most trusted officers in Gondor. I expect more of them."

The sound of horse's hooves broke the still night air and two men trotted into view, leading a third by the reins. Vanion, his hands tied and his legs lashed to his saddle, turned a burning glare on Boromir and Mel as he was led to the gate. And when the men paused, waiting for the gate to open, the young captain leaned over and spit viciously in their direction. Boromir's hand gripped his sword hilt, his eyes on fire, but Mel reached out and held his wrist.

"Don't." she said, "I just want him to leave. That's all."

Boromir nodded and released the sword, but his eyes burned holes into Vanion until the gates shut and hid him from view.

"If I ever see his face again…" Boromir growled.

For her part, Mel hoped this would be the last time she ever laid eyes Captain Vanion.

Chapter Text

As soon as Mel began to dream, it was odd. Images swirled and morphed, changing and shifting, never quite taking on form. Faces floated through the mix, Saruman, Boromir, Vanion, Legolas, orcs, the hobbits. They all whirled and churned around her, passing through different events, different nightmares, but nothing seemed substantial. Nothing seemed real. Then a familiar voice echoed clearly out of the weirdness.

"Melody Calenhiril."

Instantly, her mind conjured a sun-dappled forest, a path of soft grass weaving through the underbrush at her feet. Mel knew this path. She knew where it led. She followed it until she emerged into a clearing of deep green. The path split into two branches. And Yavanna stood at the divide.

"Haven't we already done this once?" Mel asked, trying to hide her nerves. She didn't like this. And the Valier did not look happy.

"I am sorry, child," She said, her voice forlorn, "But the choice has been given to you."

A light burst onto the path to her left, and Boromir was there, a bright smile and sparkling eyes, twirling his sword playfully like he did when they were in the midst of a sparring match. Mel swallowed hard. The light faded. Anticipating what came next, Mel looked down the right hand path. But nothing happened. The path remained dark. After several moments, Mel gave up and looked back at Yavanna.

"So what are my choices?"

Yavanna's eyes were sad.

"It has not yet been decided. When the time comes, you will know."

Mel's anger flared up.

"That's it? That's all I get? How do I choose when I don't know the options? What kind of dumbass game are you people playing anyway?"

"It is Mandos who will reveal the second choice to you. And he has not yet decided who it shall be."

"Do I at least get a deadline or a timeframe or something?"

"I cannot say. It is Mandos who will decide."

Yavanna's eyes flashed. She now looked almost as angry as Mel felt, which was more emotion than Mel thought she had ever seen on the Valier's face.

"I am also forbidden to visit you again until the choice is made. Manwe has decided this is best. After tonight, you will not see me anymore."

Mel stared at her, and then took a panicked step forward.

"What?" she said, trying not to let the panic into her voice, "What do you mean? You won't talk to me anymore? How will I know what to do?"

"When the time comes, you will know." Yavanna said, her expression softening into sadness again, "I am sorry, Melody Calenhiril. I did my best to keep him from harm. The rest, I'm afraid, is up to you. Be strong. Be brave. Be vigilant. Mandos does not care which soul he claims. Be careful, little one."

Mel gasped and sat up, her hand groping for her sword hilt propped against her bed. She listened carefully, trying to quiet the pounding in her ears. She thought she heard something moving outside her door. She slid carefully out of bed and edged her way across the floor of the empty cabin. She pressed her ear to the door. The sounds were gone. But still she reached out with her mind to the bush outside.

"There is only the Son of Gondor, Calenhiril," the bush reported, "He has been here all night long."

Mel let out the breath she'd been holding and slid to the floor, back to the door and knees pulled up to her chest.

I am sorry, child… the choice has been given to you…

Mel closed her eyes and let a tear slip down her cheek. She couldn't do this. It was too much. How was she supposed to…?

She couldn't think about it. The choice was not yet hers to make. She had to put it aside or she was going to go crazy. Besides she had other more pressing issues to deal with. Like the terrified Wardens waiting for her just beyond that door, who more than likely thought she was a witch.

She stood up, quietly packed her things, and put on her shoes and sword belt. Light was just beginning to seep onto the horizon when she very carefully cracked the door open. Boromir was gone. At first she panicked, thinking something might have happened to him. But then she saw him, leaning against the log wall watching her.

"Ready for your lesson?" he asked.

Mel tried to control her racing heartbeat. Of course she was panicking for nothing. And Boromir was clearly trying very hard to act as if nothing was wrong, trying to put her at ease after… But something was wrong, more than he even knew. There were so many things wrong, most of which she didn't have a clue how to fix.

One thing at a time… she repeated to herself as they walked toward a far corner of the camp. That's all you can do, handle one crisis at a time…

"You're up early." Boromir said.

Mel hitched her bag up on her shoulder, "Didn't really sleep well."

He nodded, "Neither did I. I will be glad to be rid of this place, I think."

His face darkened for a moment. Mel didn't respond.

"Are you still having nightmares?" he asked, as if trying to change the subject.

Mel thought back to her dream from last night. It scared the hell out of her, but it wasn't what she would classify as a nightmare per se.

"No."

She tried to sound firm and decisive, but something about it still tasted like a lie. Boromir glanced at her, but she didn't meet his eyes. He didn't say anything more.

The corner of the camp he'd chosen was deserted except for a couple of trees reaching for the sky with long, scraggly branches. Mel took the time to greet them as they passed and the shudder of leaves in response gave her a strange sort of comfort. Boromir didn't mention it, though he did give the trees a sideways glance as they passed.

They unsheathed their swords and training began without words, ceremony, or even focus. They just fought over and over again. Mel lost every match. She tried not to be discouraged. After all she was fighting the best swordsman in Gondor. But after Boromir's fifth successful attempt to knock her on her ass, she was finding it difficult to feel optimistic. Boromir smiled, his dark expression long vanished, and sheathed his sword.

"You're getting better." he said, pulling her to her feet.

Mel rolled her eyes as she picked up her sword.

"I'm gonna have to take your word on that. I don't feel like I'm any better."

"Sometimes you must ignore what you feel and accept the truth."

Mel brushed the hair out of her eyes and looked up. The sun had fully risen now. Birds were chirping. The sky was blue. The air was clear and clean. It certainly didn't feel like the end of the world, but she knew that it could be. She looked back at Boromir. It didn't feel like he was in danger, but he was. He smiled and held out her bag.

Her heart stuttered. She wanted to reach out and touch him. It would be so easy, so innocent, just a brush of fingers… The urge only lasted for a second or two before she remembered. She glanced at the campfire, already surrounded by men talking quietly in the early morning calm, occasionally peeking over at them. What were they whispering?

Witch…

Whore…

Fear and rumor. That's what she was battling now, not flesh and blood. There were so many battles that she couldn't fight, so many things that she couldn't fix. But this wasn't one of them.

Mel steeled herself and took the bag, making sure she didn't get any closer to him, didn't even touch his fingers, though she could have. She even took a step back once it was safely in her hand.

"Shall we go to breakfast?" Boromir asked, reaching out for her.

But Mel stayed where she was. It was probably the hardest thing she'd ever had to do.

"Look, I think we should get some things straight."

Boromir's smile disappeared, replaced by a furrowed brow. He dropped his hand. Mel pointed toward the fire and forced herself to keep talking.

"Those guys over there are not my friends. In fact, they don't think very highly of me at all, I think what happened last night made that pretty obvious. I don't want to do any more damage to you than I already have, so I'm just gonna go ahead and back off. I think maybe you should too. Better now than have to deal with culture shock when we get to Minas Tirith anyway."

Boromir had taken a step back, his face still furrowed in confusion.

"Melody, what are you talking about?" he said, his voice soft and shaky, "I don't understand."

Mel shook her head and slung her bag onto her shoulder. Focus, Mel, stay focused…

"I'm saying that if last night proved anything, it's that I can take care of myself. So while I appreciate the gesture, don't sleep outside my door anymore."

She turned on her heel and headed for the campfire so he wouldn't see her face. If he did, he would know she was lying. She wanted nothing more than to know that Boromir would be close, somewhere just outside her door. But she had to ignore what she wanted. She had to stop being so selfish. She didn't need him to protect her. It was the other way around. And she couldn't keep an eye on him if she was constantly watching her own back for fear-mongers and sleaze-balls. Boromir was right. Sometimes you had to ignore how you felt and accept the truth that was in front of you. And she knew this was for the best. For both of them.

Boromir felt as if he'd been punched by a troll. She wanted him to stay away. That was what she meant. Stay back. You're too close. He had to force a breath into his lungs before he could follow her to the fireside, but he still felt dazed. He was intently aware of the wide berth the men gave Melody, the nervous glances they cast her way. She sat on one side of the fire, while they all sat on the other. Boromir seated himself between them, feeling ripped in two. He couldn't leave her alone. But she didn't want him with her. So then, where was he supposed to go?

He didn't taste the food. He ate mechanically until his plate was empty. Then he got up to saddle the horses, unconsciously placing himself where he could see her, could get to her easily if she needed him. But he shifted when he realized what he'd done. It was uncomfortable not to have her in sight. He'd never felt like this, lost, adrift. He'd always been so certain of his place, confident in his position. And it had been so easy to step into the role of Melody's friend and protector. It suited him as few things had. Now he felt like a man without a map and no stars to guide him. What was he supposed to do?

He glanced toward the fire and Melody was gone. He panicked, dropping the bridle in his hand and whirling about, searching… There she was, brushing the pretty white mare that she would ride today. He let out a breath and picked up the bridle, wiping the bit before settling it on his gelding's head. As he finished tacking up, he told himself that his concerns were normal. After all, she had saved his life. He owed her his protection. But these thoughts were fleeting excuses that sounded hollow even in his mind. This wasn't about the past. He wasn't sure if it had ever been about the past. The simple truth was that if anything happened to her, Boromir didn't know what he would do. And that frightened him more than all the orcs in Mordor.

After only a few moments of tense farewells, they were on the road again. They didn't speak. Boromir's thoughts were still scattered. He didn't know what to do with himself. Now that they were safely out of the camp, could they speak as friends again? Or were they to be forever locked in this awkward silence? What if he never heard her laugh again? The thought was unbearable, like a weight threatening to crush him. He desperately cast about for something to say, something she couldn't object to, something safe.

But he had never been well-versed in the art of casual conversation, and the longer he searched for words that would not come, the angrier he became. What right had Melody to cut him off? They were traveling companions if nothing else. How could she expect him to spend hours upon hours in her company and not speak a word? And what about their friendship? Did it mean so little to her? How could she expect to isolate herself from him after all this time? And what reason did she have? Some half-conjured notion of his reputation? How could she possibly base anything on one man's flawed and demented opinion? She was going to throw away all of her pleasant experiences with the Wardens, all of the good men she had met, because of one ghastly incident. It didn't make sense!

As he got angrier and angrier, he decided that it was not his place to lift the silence. If Melody insisted on being unreasonable, he would not argue with her. If he truly meant so little to her, then he would leave her to her brooding. Perhaps by the end of the day she would come to her senses. Deep down, he hoped and prayed she would.

Chapter Text

Mel had been wracking her brain all day, trying to think of something to say to Boromir, but she kept coming up empty. And of course, Boromir didn't seem too keen on helping her out. That morning he had seemed… dazed was the best word she could come up with, and for a little while it had worried her. But after a few hours on the road his back suddenly straightened and he had kicked his horse into a canter purposefully, leaving Mel scrambling after him. They hadn't spoken once all day, not even when they stopped for lunch.

Good, Mel thought, this is good. Distance. This is exactly what I wanted.

But somehow that didn't make her feel any better. In fact, it almost made her feel worse. Apparently, giving her distance wasn't difficult at all for Boromir. He didn't even seem bothered by it. She tried not to be upset, but it was hard when she felt like her heart was breaking. Obviously she wasn't as important to him as she had secretly hoped. She had at least thought he might sulk a little. Or maybe try to talk to her. She had prepared for that, for some kind of a fight. But instead Boromir seemed perfectly content to just ride in silence. So Mel shoved her cracking heart deep into her chest and put on her best blank face.

Several hours after their brief lunch stop, the soft green line of distant forest was probably one of the happiest sights Mel had ever seen. The forest surrounding Eilenach was thick and vibrant, and the trees seemed to have been waiting for her. She grinned at the enthusiastic greetings as she trotted beneath the branches.

"How did you know I was coming?" she asked cheerfully and an eager beech tree answered.

"Oh, Calenhiril, we heard the tale from the riders that passed last night! We have been anxiously awaiting your arrival!"

Mel's blood ran cold.

"What riders? What did you hear?"

"They spoke of the lady who had lived among elves and called on the plants to do her bidding! Oh Calenhiril, we knew it was you! But they did not seem pleased. Why is that, my lady?"

Mel swallowed, all trace of joy evaporated. She should have known that her reputation would precede her now. How could the men fail to talk about what had happened, about what she had done? It was too good a story to keep to themselves. Despite the trees' delight, Mel doubted that her arrival would be heralded as a joyous occasion for the people of Gondor. If the Wardens of Nardol were anything to go by, all she could expect was fear and mistrust.

"Melody?"

Mel jumped. Boromir's back was still to her, stiff in the saddle, but she was sure she had heard his voice.

"Perhaps it would be wise not to speak of what happened last night." he said.

Mel sighed and relaxed a little.

"It doesn't matter," she said miserably, "They already know."

"We can't be certain of that."

"I can."

Boromir finally glanced back at her, puzzled. Mel pointed to the branches above them.

"I had my very own welcoming party waiting for me."

Boromir glanced up briefly, and then put his back to her again.

"What should we say, do you think?"

The uncertainty in his voice put Mel even more on edge. She hesitated.

"I… I'm not sure," she said, "I guess as much of the truth as possible. That usually seems to work out for the best. If anyone asks, I'll tell them the truth."

Boromir paused, and then nodded. They didn't say anything else.

They were surrounded so quietly that Mel wouldn't have even known if the trees had not warned her. It was still full daylight and she could see no hint of the Wardens, despite the trees' assurances they were out there. For a long while they only followed, watching from the shadows of the forest. It made Mel jumpy, flinching at hints of movement and cracked twigs, until finally she got tired of it. She pulled her horse up short and lifted her hands to show she wasn't armed. After only a few paces Boromir realized she wasn't following and turned to stare at her. She kept her eyes on the forest around her, even as she spoke to him.

"They're already here. They have been for a while. And I'm tired of being followed and watched like some kind of criminal. I haven't done anything wrong. So I'm not moving until someone comes out and says something civilized."

That last sentence echoed against the mountain and through the trees before fading gently into silence. For a moment nothing moved. Mel gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to fidget or clench her fists in frustration. Her horse snorted and pawed the ground.

And then a man slipped out of the trees and drew back his hood. Mel stared at him in surprise. He was a mountain of man, with broad shoulders, muscled forearms, a thick middle, and legs built like tree trunks. His stern face was covered with bristling auburn hair streaked with gray, and even from the ground he seemed to be looming over her, staring her down with eyes of steely gray.

"I am Orodion, Captain of the Beacon at Eilenach. We have heard strange rumors of you, Melody of Rivendell."

"Now I never knew you to be an old gossip, Orodion," Boromir said, sidling his horse next to Mel, "Don't tell me you've turned skittish in your old age."

Orodion's eyes flashed and he tore his gaze from Mel to glare at Boromir.

"Now lad, don't you go thinking just because you've brought a lady along I won't still box your ears as I did when you were a child. You're still no match for me, I'd wager."

"Call out your command, old man; you know we mean you no harm." Boromir answered, smiling now.

Orodion's eyes flicked back to Mel.

"I know that of you, Boromir, son of Denethor. But the lady of Rivendell troubles me still."

Mel straightened in her saddle and was on the verge of a clever quip, when Boromir covered her hands with one of his own. The touch sent a jolt through her arms and she nearly pulled away, but one glance at his face stopped her. His smile was gone, replaced with a look that she had seen many times before. His face was stern and set like stone, a fire in his eyes. He was angry. Mel changed her mind, keeping silent and very still.

"I have vouched for her, Orodion," Boromir said, his voice level, but simmering, "There was a time when that was all the assurance you needed."

"Times have changed, lad," Orodion said, his eyes steely again, never leaving Mel, "Even the best of us can be deceived in a moment of weakness."

Boromir's grip tightened on Mel's hands. He was trembling.

"Who can we trust," he whispered, "If we cannot trust each other?"

Mel held her breath as Orodion continued to stare at her, searching her eyes. For a moment Mel met his gaze steadily, but suddenly she was being peeled away like an onion, layers of skin and muscle and bone ripped free until all that was left were her thoughts, open to the air, open to the world, and it was like a fire had been set in her brain. She sucked in a gasp, trying to breathe with no lungs, grabbed Boromir's arm in a flurry of panic, holding on as tightly as she could, Boromir would help her, Boromir would protect her, Boromir would keep her safe, please, please, please…

Then everything snapped back into place and Mel choked, coughing and gasping as she tried to remember how lungs were supposed to work. Boromir had her arms, holding her upright, which was good because Mel wasn't sure if she would still be in her saddle otherwise. She sucked a few gasping breaths, in and out, and the coughing stopped long enough for her to hear that Boromir was speaking to her.

"Melody, look at me, are you alright?"

Mel opened her eyes. The look of stone on his face had vanished, replaced by confusion and fear. She closed her eyes again and took a long, shuddering breath.

"Yeah," she rasped, fighting back another coughing fit, "Yeah, I'm okay."

"I am sorry if I frightened you, Lady Melody," Orodion said, drawing her attention back to him, "I had to be certain."

"What the hell did you do to me?" Mel snapped, her voice shaking. The leaves around her began to tremble.

"Melody, stop," Boromir said, his grip on her shoulders tightening slightly, as if he could hold her power back with the force of his will, "Orodion has… it's a form of Sight. But instead of Seeing the future, he Sees into the hearts of Men."

"Most people never realize," Orodion added, sounding slightly apologetic, "I can only assume that your own gifts make you sensitive to the power of others, something I have never come upon before. Had I known, I would have warned you, Lady Melody."

"He meant you no harm," Boromir added nervously, his gaze shifting to a point over her shoulder.

For a moment, Mel couldn't understand why he seemed so edgy. It wasn't like he was the one who'd just had his mind peeled apart and examined. Then she heard the murmuring and looked up. The branches over their heads were swaying and trembling, and she could feel the anger of the forest simmering in her mind. Mel felt so tired, but she knew this angry display probably wasn't earning her any brownie points. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"Be still."

She had meant for it to be a silent command, but the power in her chest bubbled over and the words slipped past her lips before she could stop them. The power left her in a rush and rippled out into the trees. The forest fell silent.

She resisted the urge to slump in her saddle, but barely. She was so very tired now. But she managed to sit up straight and open her eyes. Orodion was staring at her.

"Then it really is true." he whispered.

Mel nodded, "But if you really saw into my heart, Captain, then you know I don't want to hurt anyone. If I wanted you hurt, you would be hurt already."

As if to demonstrate her point, a tiny branch of the nearest tree curled over her shoulder and Mel reached for it almost absently, allowing it to tangle with her fingers. It felt like the tree was holding her hand, comforting her. Orodion eyed the gesture with an air of awe, but not suspicion.

"I believe you, Lady Melody," he said, bowing low, "Please, forgive my doubts. Allow me to welcome you to Eilenach."

As if they had been waiting for a signal, the other Wardens began to materialize out of the trees, quiet and cautious, many with hands on sword hilts and bow strings. They would never completely trust her of course, no matter what power Orodion had. She was still an unknown, a thing to be feared. Suddenly, Mel was overwhelmed by a loneliness even the comfort of the trees couldn't ease.

"If you will both follow us, a hot meal awaits!" Orodion said jovially, as if nothing unusual had happened, "The night approaches and no one is safe after dark."

Mel shuddered, and the tree in her grip shuddered with her.

"You are safe here, Calenhiril," the little tree whispered in her mind, "The men respect the trees. No harm will come to you."

Somehow, Mel didn't find as much comfort in that as she would have liked, but she thanked the little tree anyway. After all, he was only trying to help.

The Wardens camp was small, a simple circle in what appeared to be a natural clearing. A fire burned brightly in the middle of a ring of fallen tree trunks. Several men were already seated there and they all rose when the patrol entered the clearing, their cheerful faces quickly darkening into suspicion when they caught sight of Mel. She tried not to meet any of their eyes. She longed for Boromir's touch, even just a brush of his arm to remind her that she wasn't completely friendless, but no touch came. He remained a safe, respectable distance from her. Just like she'd asked him to.

Orodion barked orders for their mounts to be cared for and food brought. When Mel smiled and thanked the man who handed her a bowl of steaming stew and bread, he paused and stared at her as if he had expected her to be mute. Then he dropped his eyes and muttered something that might have been some form of "You're welcome" before shuffling back to the other side of the fire. All of the men had shifted slightly when she sat down. There was enough room on both sides of her that she could have reached out her arms and not touched anyone. She pulled her knees up to her chest and cradled her bowl of stew, huddling in on herself.

Boromir ignored her, deep in conversation with Orodion about the state of the country and the border patrols, particularly around Osgiliath. They talked about skirmishes and full-fledged battles and tactics. Mel sipped at her stew and stared into the fire. She had been starving before they'd reached the forest. Now she seemed to have lost her appetite. She listened to the murmur of the trees, but it did nothing to sooth her. She was alone in a camp full of people.

She finished her stew and bread because she knew she needed to. Then she pulled her cloak tightly around her and shut everything out, trying to look at the situation logically. She was lonely, but that was her own fault. She had lost control of her fear and her temper, and the trees had taken over. If she had kept her head, she could have fought off Vanion herself. But she couldn't change it now, so there was no use sulking over it.

She had also been the one to push Boromir away. Sure, it sucked, but she still stood by the decision. One way or another she was going to get hurt. Better now than later. Now she would have some time to get over it before war caught up to them. Maybe she'd be able to think clearly when she had to make the most heart-rending choice of her life.

A life for a life...

Have her choose another...

I am so sorry, child...

The words of the Valar rose up out of the dark. Who would Mandos choose for her? Could she purposefully send someone to their death? The thought made her feel sick. She was going to have to kill someone, someone with a family and people that loved them. A life for a life.

Mel felt a tingle in her chest and she jerked upright. Orodion was staring at her across the fire. She looked around. All the other men were gone. How long had she sat there, just staring into nothingness? Where was Boromir? Had he already gone to bed?

"He wanted to take a watch on the border," Orodion said, still watching her closely, "His mind was troubled. He wished to be alone with his thoughts. I obliged him. It's been some time since there was anything I could oblige him with."

"I thought you just read hearts, not minds." Mel said, only half-joking. If he was telepathic, she was in trouble. She had never heard of telepathy in Tolkien's books, but she was slowly starting to get the impression that in this crazy world, anything was possible.

Orodion smiled.

"I get impressions, Lady Melody, nothing more. And it seems to me that Boromir is not the only one troubled tonight. You carry a heavy burden on your heart," He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, "Are you so proud that you would carry it alone?"

"I don't have a choice." she said firmly, turning away from his piercing eyes.

"He would help you, if you allowed him."

"He can't help me."

"Why do you send him away when it is so obviously painful to you?"

"I don't have a choice!" she snapped, finally turning back and glaring at Orodion, "You don't understand anything!"

"You are right, there are many things about you that are hidden from me," Orodion said, tilting his head and still smiling as if she were some sort of delightful puzzle, "But you love him, that much is clear."

Mel stared at him. God, was it that obvious?

"You love him, and yet you shield yourself from him. Who are you protecting? Boromir or yourself?"

His eyes flicked over her face for another moment, then he stood abruptly, still smiling.

"I will leave you, Lady Melody."

He pointed to a secluded little cabin in the far corner of the clearing.

"That cabin has been emptied for your use."

His eyes burrowed into her and Mel shifted nervously.

"Boromir's watch ends in one hour. I think it would do him good to speak with you. But you are free to do as you see best. Good night, my lady."

He gave her a quick bow and strode into the dark. Mel watched him go, then rested her chin on her knees. She wanted to wait up for Boromir. She wanted to talk to him so much. She wanted all the things she had said and all the things she knew were coming to be a bad dream, something she could just toss aside and forget. Why couldn't she have fallen into this world with amnesia? Everything would have been so much simpler. Then again, Boromir would be dead if she hadn't known to how to find him, to save him. And a little part of her still stung when she thought of her world without him in it.

Who are you protecting? Boromir or yourself?

Orodion's words hung in the air around her. She had been trying to tell herself it was Boromir of course, she was protecting him from the harsh whispers, the cold reality… but when she took just a minute to sit and really look, she knew that wasn't true. Boromir didn't give a rat's ass about what other people thought. He was the Steward's son for God's sake, he didn't need anyone's approval for anything he did.

And that was really it. Mel was protecting herself from him, from his position, from the inevitable abandonment that she knew was coming the second they reached the gates of Minas Tirith, the second his responsibilities swooped down and engulfed him in a cloud of better judgment. He would finally see what an insignificant speck she really was. And he would forget her. She would be lost in a world she didn't understand, thrown on the mercy of people she didn't know without a friend in the world, helpless and alone.

She wiped away a stray tear and straightened her shoulders. She was protecting herself. But she would protect Boromir too, whether he liked it or not. She would do everything in her power to make sure he stayed safe. Because she loved him. Insignificant speck that she was, she loved him and she would continue to love him, even from a safe distance. And keep that distance she would, because maybe if he forgot her from a distance it wouldn't hurt so much.

Boromir trudged back through the woods, his mind still tumbling. Melody's silence, something he had found merely a nuisance this afternoon, now troubled him deeply. She had been silent through dinner, completely unaware of anything around her. She had finished her stew and then pulled herself inward in a way Boromir had never seen before. She looked so small. He had fought the urge over and over to go to her, to at least attempt some form of comfort. That wasn't what she wanted, she had made it clear… and yet she still reached for his hand, held on to him when she was afraid. He didn't understand. He wished she would just tell him what was wrong, tell him how he could make it right, but he suspected it wasn't that simple. It was something Melody had to work out for herself. If she would only let him help her...

He could see the flickering of the dying campfire through the trees. A figure stood stiffly, light shining softly in brown curls, glinting off of gold thread.

Melody...

His pace quickened. Perhaps if he could catch her before she walked away… but she rushed off toward the row of cabins, her head buried in her chest as if hiding from prying eyes, her steps quick and precise. He slowed. She wouldn't speak to him tonight. He watched from the very edge of the woods as she slipped into the cabin on the far end of the row. Then he stepped out of the trees and followed her path across the camp, stopping just outside her closed door. She had told him not to linger here and he wouldn't, he would respect her wishes, but he just needed… He knew not what. He lifted his hand, brushing his fingers against the rough wood, and then retreated, his shoulders hunched. A familiar plea echoed in his head, a thought that he hoped would somehow reach her, though he did not know the way.

"When you are ready, Melody… However long it takes… I will still be here."

Chapter Text

Chapter 30

Mel woke the next morning and blinked. Something wasn't right. She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling for several minutes before it hit her. She hadn't dreamed. She sat up on her elbows and thought hard, just to be sure, but it was all one blank blackness of deep sleep. For the first time since Isengard, Mel hadn't dreamed, and she didn't know whether to be happy or worried. On the one hand, no more nightmares. On the other… Yavanna's last words echoed in her head.

After tonight you will not see me anymore …

A chill shivered down Mel's spine and she swung out of bed, packing quickly. She didn't want to think about it, not now, not first thing in the morning. She needed to stretch, to practice. She glanced out of a small window and could see that the sun had just risen. If she was lucky, no one would be around to see her practicing by herself. Boromir wouldn't be there, not after… Well, she'd made herself pretty clear anyway. She pulled on her boots, trying not to think about that either. All she wanted was a few precious hours, without the whole world resting on her shoulders. She slipped on her sword belt and grabbed her pack before heading out the door, a deliberate spring in her step.

As she had suspected, the camp was mostly empty and her little corner was safely nestled out of the way. She dropped her bag and unsheathed her sword, swinging it once to test the weight. It felt better in her hands now, not as heavy, as if the grip had been altered by fairies in the night to fit her hand better. Or maybe she was just getting used to it. She started one of the exercises that Elladan had taught her, what felt like almost a lifetime ago. It had been a long time since she had practiced alone. She cleared her head and focused on her sword, on everything she had learned since leaving Rivendell. The swings and thrusts felt awkward at first with no resistance to meet them, no opponent at the other end, but she focused on her feet, the way they moved under her as she pretended to step away from an imaginary attacker. She remembered to keep them lined up, just as Boromir had taught her. And when she whirled around and struck, her feet stayed firm beneath her.

She was almost to the end of the exercise when a loud clang jolted Mel from her concentration. Her sword had made contact with another and at the other end was Orodion. He looked her up and down, assessing her as if she were a project that needed tweaking.

"Curious," he muttered, tossing aside her blade and stepping back to look at her, one hand stroking the gray streaks of his beard, "You wield a sword of Rohan with the footwork of a Gondorian, yet there's still something elven about the way you move, any fool could see it." He raised a bushy eyebrow at her, "You've been a busy lass."

"I get around a bit," Mel said, still holding a defensive pose. She could hear a hint of Elladan in his tone, the gentle chiding of a teacher, and it made her cautious. She had a feeling she was about to get a lesson and she didn't want to be caught unprepared.

He pursed his lips and nodded. He took a casual step to the left and Mel moved with him, keeping him sight. His sword was held loosely at his side, seemingly harmless, but Mel had seen Elladan come at her lightning quick from a more relaxed stance than that. The elf had tried to teach her the signs of tension in others and she could just make out what might be a gentle straining around Orodion's massive shoulders. She wasn't taking any chances.

Whatever she'd done, it seemed to please the big man. He grinned at her.

"Well, at least you aren't completely daft," he said, "Nice to know my past pupils pick good students."

She furrowed her brow. Past pupils?

He saw her confusion and jerked his head toward the fire.

"Boromir used to spend hours with me in his youth, backside in the dirt more often than not."

It took all of Mel's self-control not to look in the direction he'd indicated. That was another old trick of Elladan's and she had worked hard to overcome the automated response to look where he looked. Her nerve endings were tingling now. Orodion had taught Boromir when he was a kid. And now here he was, standing in front of her, looking for all the world like he was going to give her a lesson too. If he had taught Boromir he had to be good. Her muscles tensed and she crouched, ready, her eyes flicking over his body, waiting for any kind of sign.

His grin widened.

"Alright, no more cheap tricks. Let's get on with it then."

He struck so quickly that Mel almost missed the movement. She barely blocked him, half turning and tossing his sword point away, trying to get him from the side. But he met her, spinning light on his feet in a flurry of movement that had Mel fighting to keep up with him. His size belied his speed and Mel ducked under his attack and skittered away, trying to buy herself a moment to think. But he was on her again and she found herself just trying to stay on her feet and keep hold of her sword.

It was over in a matter of moments. Mel was on her back, the breath knocked out of her, her sword three feet away, and Orodion's blade resting on her chest, with no clear memory of how she'd gotten there. Orodion was grinning down at her. He hadn't even broken a sweat.

When Mel finally caught her breath she said, "Well, at least you didn't underestimate me."

That made Orodion laugh, a big, booming sound, the way Mel imagined a mountain might laugh if something were funny enough.

"Boromir warned me there was more to you than met the eye. I believe he was right."

He dropped his sword to his side and offered her a hand up. She took it and was hauled to her feet as if she were no more than a twig.

"You have a strong foundation to build on. That's good. It means all you need is experience, and there's no shortage of that in times like these. With experience comes speed and quick thinking. You got lost about half way through, I think."

"More like five seconds in." Mel said, brushing the dirt off her pants.

Orodion nodded, "Instinct took over and your instinct is to defend yourself. You did it admirably, but you can't keep defending yourself and expect to win a fight. To win a fight, you must attack and attack early."

To Mel's surprise, he lifted his sword again and motioned that she should do the same.

"When I come at you, your first thought should not be 'Keep myself safe.' It must be 'Put him in the ground.' Otherwise, you'll run yourself ragged and never get anywhere. Understand?"

She nodded and braced herself. Orodion didn't look convinced, but he returned her nod.

"Alright then."

He came at her again. And again, she was on the ground in less than thirty seconds. He hauled her to her feet and they started again. A few moments later, ass in the dirt. After a while it started to feel like old hat. Swing, lose, ass in dirt, repeat.

"Come on, lass, what are you afraid of?" Orodion said as he hauled her to her feet for the fifth time, "I'm a big man, but you're young and nimble. You could take me if you wanted to."

"Not likely," she gasped, hands on her knees. If he swung at her now, she would just lie down on the ground and save him the trouble.

He shook his head, leaning on his sword.

"That's the problem with you. In your mind, you've already lost. You've got to at least pretend that you might win, otherwise what's the point?"

"I've only ever really won once, you know," she said. She'd regained enough energy to look up at him and smile a little bit.

He grinned and bent down to look her in the eye.

"And how did that feel, lass?"

She tried to remember. It felt as if it had been years ago, not months. She tried to remember what it had felt like to be with the Fellowship, to feel safe, before the paralyzing fear set in. She looked at her sword. This wasn't the sword that she'd won with, but she had to stop blaming the sword. The sword was a good one, well made and well balanced, even if it was a little heavy. It wasn't the sword's fault. It was hers. Orodion was right. She'd been defending herself for too long.

She straightened and twirled her sword, facing Orodion with a new glint in her eye. Instead of waiting for him to strike, she was deciding where she should strike first. Suddenly, her sword whirled through the air, arcing toward the Warden. He lifted his sword to meet her, but she didn't stay put. She struck again and again, searching for that hole, that inevitable weakness that always showed itself given enough opportunity. It had been a long time since Mel had actively looked for a hole in a person's defenses. She had been so busy protecting her own weaknesses, she'd forgotten about looking for her opponent's. Now she forced herself to trust her training to defend her while her mind remained on the task at hand, finding a weakness in the giant in front of her.

It appeared as a touch of slowness in his right hand. If she could time one powerful swing perfectly, she could maneuver under...

Before she could complete the thought, Orodion struck out, knocking her sword from her hands and bringing the point of his blade to rest on her collarbone. She had lost again. But she wasn't in the dirt. And as she watched, a bead of sweat trickled down the side of Orodion's otherwise impassive face. It was enough to make her smile.

"Forfeit." she said, but she said it proudly. Orodion grinned and lowered his sword.

"Well fought, Melody of Rivendell." he said.

Someone cleared their throat and Mel glanced over her shoulder. Boromir was standing behind her. She started to smile at him, but stopped when he didn't return the expression. That's right, distance. Reality came crashing down on her again. She was alone.

"It is a long ride to Amon-Din. We must make haste if we are to reach the beacon by nightfall." Boromir said.

She felt Orodion step up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Nonsense, you've plenty of time, Lord Boromir!" he said jovially, as if the tension in the air meant nothing to him, "Besides, I've run this poor girl ragged on an empty stomach. If you wish to reach Amon-Din at all, you'll at least allow her to eat something first."

Mel's stomach took the opportunity to announce to the world that food would be a very good idea. Mel blushed and dropped her eyes, but Orodion only laughed and slapped her on the back, eliciting a smile from Mel almost against her will.

"Well, I think that settles it! Come by the fire, Lady Melody, I'll have Eredin make you a meal fit for the work you've been doing."

The captain led Mel right past Boromir, who reluctantly turned and fell into step beside them.

"You've done well, Boromir," Orodion said cheerfully, "She's quite the swordsman, er… woman I suppose."

He looked down and winked at Mel. Boromir glanced between them, then down at his boots.

"Yes," he agreed, "Her skill is improving."

"I've learned a lot from Boromir," Mel said impulsively.

Orodion's cheerful eyes flicked over Boromir, who was still watching his own feet.

"He's a fine soldier, our Boromir," he said, "But even the best of us have our weaknesses."

The captain flexed his right hand absently and it drew Mel's eye. There was a scar, barely visible, that cut between his thumb and first finger before snaking its way up his arm and disappearing under his shirt sleeve. She wondered what had happened to him, but didn't have the courage to ask.

They reached the campfire and Orodion sat Mel down right next to him, handing her a bowl of what looked like fried potatoes and ham. The men seemed more relaxed this morning and far less suspicious of her. Maybe it was sitting with the captain or the fact that nothing horrible had happened to them in the night. Or maybe they were just glad to know she was leaving. Mel didn't really care which it was, she just felt better knowing she wasn't being scrutinized by every pair of eyes she met.

By the time they'd finished their breakfast, horses had already been prepared for them. But before Mel mounted up, Orodion approached her, glancing around to be sure they were alone before allowing a grave look to pass over his face. Mel's own smile faltered.

"I have seen the fear in you, Lady Melody," he said.

Mel swallowed, "I have a lot to be afraid of."

He nodded, "Aye, that you do."

He reached down and brushed his scarred right thumb over the scar on her forehead.

"We all have our scars, lass," he whispered, "Don't let yours ruin you."

He dropped his hand and smiled again, dispelling the shadow of sadness.

"I hope to see you again, my lady, when the land is less treacherous and time more abundant."

Mel returned his smile, "Me too, Captain. Thank you. You've been very kind."

The Warden helped her onto her horse and said his farewells to Boromir, clapping him on the shoulder good-naturedly and speaking in fond, murmured tones. Then they were riding out of camp and through the woods, Boromir silent, but his posture relaxed. He wasn't angry, just quiet. Mel thought it might be safe to ask just one question.

"What happened to Orodion's hand?"

He glanced at her, as if startled that she was even speaking. Then he turned away again.

"An orc."

Mel bit back a frustrated huff, "Okay, but what happened?"

Boromir hesitated.

"He was leading a band of men patrolling the Anduin," he said finally, "They stumbled upon a lone orc fleeing toward the mountains. They killed him of course, but Orodion chose not to scout the rest of the bank. He felt certain it was simply a lone scout and, since he hadn't given away their position, they were safe. That night a large band of orcs descended from the mountains and attacked their camp. Only three men escaped. Orodion was one of them. But in the fight an orc blade nearly severed his thumb. He is lucky to have the use of his hand."

Mel let that sink in for a moment. The Warden's last words echoed in her head.

We all have our scars, lass. Don't let yours ruin you.

"Something else happened, didn't it?" she said.

Once again, Boromir looked at her as if surprised she was speaking, but he answered.

"He blamed himself for the loss of his men. He refused another command for many years."

"He said he taught you when you were young."

Boromir nodded.

"He was my first instructor in swordsmanship and combat. He was and still is the best teacher I've ever had."

"But he's a Warden Captain now. So something must have changed."

Boromir shook his head, "I do not know. I had not spoken to Orodion in many years. I asked him often when I was a child why he did not lead men into battle. He would always say the same thing. 'Not all wars are fought on the field. Some of the most important battles are fought in the hearts and minds of men.'"

Mel thought about that for a minute.

"Maybe he finally won his war." she said.

Boromir looked at her again.

"I sincerely hope so, Melody."

They were silent for another few moments. This time, to Mel's surprise, Boromir was the one to break it.

"May I assume that we are now speaking again?"

He sounded bitter and the tone, more than the words, startled her.

"We don't have to."

He sighed, "That is not what I meant."

"What did you mean then?"

He looked at her, really looked at her, like he was trying to read her mind.

"I meant are we friends once more? We have both spent much time and energy pushing each other away. I am tired of trying to remember how I should act toward you. Can we not just remain friends and let our history determine how we behave? Or must I attempt to relearn the delicate art of gentlemanly manners to protect your dignity? Because frankly, I feel we moved past that long ago."

Mel opened her mouth, but no words came out. She had been trying her hardest to distance herself from him, but it did seem like she kept coming back. She couldn't stay away. So why did she keep trying? If he abandoned her, it was going to hurt. If she lost him, it was going to hurt. There was nothing she could do to change that. But if she kept wasting her energy trying to protect herself from it, what would she have left to keep him safe?

You can't keep defending yourself and expect to win a fight …

Apparently, Orodion's lesson didn't just apply to her sword skills. Mel took a deep breath and nodded, decisively

"You're right," she said, "I'm sorry, you're absolutely right. We're friends and we shouldn't have to act any differently. I guess I was just freaking out because of the thing, you know, back at Nardol..."

"Vanion-" Boromir spit the man's name like it left a bad taste in his mouth, "-is a vile, pathetic excuse of a human being who isn't even fit to lay eyes on you. And if I have any word in the matter, he never will again."

Mel stared at him. He wasn't looking at her, but his eyes burned. She hadn't expected to that level of anger from him. It was strangely comforting. She smiled.

"Thank you, Boromir."

Boromir blinked, as if coming out of a daze. He looked back at her and his eyes lost their fire. He smiled.

"I would do anything to protect you, Melody."

Mel returned his smile.

Yeah, she thought, me too.

Chapter Text

Chapter 31

They reached Amon-Din just as the sun was setting. Their reception at the beacon was predictable. The Wardens had been graced by the presence of Vanion and his escort, regaled with terrifying tales of the woman who commanded the trees, tales that seemed to grow in the telling. If it kept up, by the time Mel reached Minas Tirith she'd be ten feet tall and green, with eyes of fire and smoke coming out of her ears. But the men were willing to listen to Boromir's reassurances, while Mel sat on her horse and tried to look as harmless as possible. They were led to camp and fed, and when Boromir suggested that they go to bed early Mel was so tired she didn't think twice about it.

But once she was safely in her cabin and crawling under the blankets, it finally dawned on her where they were and what it meant. Amon-Din was the last beacon before Minas Tirith. Only they weren't going to Minas Tirith. They were going to Osgiliath. They hadn't spoken of it since they'd fought almost three days ago, but Mel knew nothing had changed. Reports of the outnumbered troops trying to hold the border had upset Boromir. And she knew he was thinking of his brother. If it had been her, that's what she would have been thinking.

The idea of going into the besieged city, watching as it was overrun, made Mel sick to her stomach, but she would go because she had to keep Boromir safe… and because the thought of waiting for him in Minas Tirith made her feel even worse. She could not face that city alone. She would rather face all the orcs in Mordor. At least she could fight the orcs. How did one fight a rumor? Mel had no idea what she was up against. Word of her existence, of what she could do, would reach the Tower of Ecthelion long before she set foot there and she suspected that the report would be less than stellar. Fear preceded her like a tidal wave, but even worse was the suspicion that she had more to worry about than just the gossip of Gondorian citizens. Denethor loomed in the back of her mind, a shadowy uncertainty. The Steward of Gondor had a reputation for being nearly as desperate for power as Saruman. His motives were completely different, but the end result was similar. Mel wasn't sure what that meant for her. She shuddered.

That wasn't even the only rumor that bothered her. Word had spread quickly that Boromir was alive, not dead as everyone seemed to have believed, but something about that still bothered Mel. Why would they have thought he was dead in the first place? There was nothing to suggest that he wasn't alive, but someone had started the rumor anyway. Who would do that? And why?

On top of all that, Minas Tirith was like a different world entirely, full of rules and expectations she'd never had before. The social anxiety alone was enough to keep her mind racing, even if she weren't worried about gossip and rumors. Not to mention the siege that was coming, events she could no longer predict. There were so many variables. Everything had changed.

Once Mel's thoughts started running, processing idea after idea, worry after worry, she couldn't get them to stop. She tossed and turned, forcing her eyes closed, but her brain even worked behind her eyelids, conjuring scenarios for her entrance into Minas Tirith, for her introduction to Denethor, some good, some horrible, until they all ran together and Mel couldn't tell if she was dreaming or imagining. Her only indication that she had fallen asleep was being woken with a start by a soft tap on the door. She shot up in bed and listened carefully. Maybe she had imagined it, or dreamed it. But there it was again, three soft taps. She pulled on her boots and strapped on her sword (just in case), then slowly opened the door a crack.

Boromir stood on the other side, almost completely engulfed in the deep darkness that comes just before dawn. His eyes gleamed.

"I'm sorry to wake you." he said.

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

"It's okay, I wasn't sleeping very well anyway. Is everything alright?"

He nodded and held out his hand to her.

"I want to show you something. Come with me."

She didn't even question it. She took his hand and followed him outside. The camp was deserted. Even the fire had burned down to only one or two embers. Everyone was asleep or on watch somewhere in the trees. Mel could hear the forest rustling around her, but their voices were strangely still, as if the trees were waiting for the sun to rise and wake them.

They passed out of the camp and headed into the forest. Before long, Mel realized that they were going up, winding steadily through the thinning trees and over rock formations. They were noticeably climbing now and Mel had to work to keep up with Boromir's long, confident strides. He had clearly made this trek before. He kept a firm grip on her hand as he led her even higher onto the mountain. A brisk wind blew and Mel began to wish she had grabbed her cloak before they'd gone.

She didn't know how long they climbed, but the horizon was just beginning to show color when they made one final turn and Mel could see the beacon of Amon-Din. It burned brightly even in the fading darkness, flames licking toward the sky, sending up the desperate cry for help. They were still quite a distance away so it was only a bright flickering spot at the top of the mountain, but Boromir stopped on a ledge that faced away south.

"I want you to see something." he said, her hand still held in his.

They waited. Mel had gotten a thin sheen of sweat from the climb and when a gust of wind blew past she involuntarily shivered. Boromir glanced at her, then without saying a word, pulled her to his chest and wrapped his fur-lined cloak around her. She sighed and settled back into the warmth, letting his arms fold her up. It felt safe, a feeling that was in short supply these days. His breath next to her ear made her heart stutter.

"I'm sorry. I should have had you bring your cloak. I forget how cold it can be on the mountain."

She shook her head, "It's alright. I'm fine."

She felt him rest his cheek on top of her head. She was more than fine. She was perfect.

"I wanted you to see this," he murmured, "It's the perfect place. Watch there."

He pointed toward a chunk of white stone sticking out of the mountain to the south of them. Mel watched and waited.

Then the sun finally peeked over the horizon, flooding the world with its light, and that spot of white rock lit up with a brilliant flash. Mel caught her breath. It sparkled and shone, bright gold against the brilliant white, dazzling her eyes. And suddenly, Mel knew what she was looking at.

"Minas Tirith," Boromir whispered, "Home."

Mel let her eyes drink it in, straining against the distance, trying to see everything. She hadn't realized how big the city was. It was like a spike of mountain all to itself. And the way it glittered in the morning sun made it seem almost magical.

"Oh, Boromir," she whispered reverently, "It's so beautiful."

His arms tightened around her and they stood there for another moment, just watching the sun light up the mountainside.

"I'm so scared." Mel said suddenly.

"I know," Boromir said, "But as soon as my business in Osgiliath is finished I will find you. You can wait for me by the gates if you like-"

"No."

Mel felt him tense.

"No?"

"I'm not leaving you alone."

"Melody, I'll be surrounded by men and my brother will be there, you said so yourself."

"They have to take care of each other. You aren't supposed to be there. Who's going to take care of you?"

She could hear the smile in his words.

"Melody, I took very good care of myself long before I met you."

"Says the man who's supposed to be dead."

Mel turned her head so she could meet his eyes. He was staring hard at her, clearly trying to form a reply and failing.

"The rules change when you're out of sync with the rest of the world, Boromir," Mel said, "My predictions are going to be sketchy at best from now on. There are just too many unknowns."

"Then can't you see why I want you as far away from there as possible?" he asked, a slightly desperate undertone in his voice that Mel ignored.

"I want you there even less than you want me there and that doesn't seem to be stopping you. Why should it stop me?"

"Melody..."

"Boromir, you've tried to leave me behind twice now, in Rivendell and in Lothlorien. How has that worked out for you so far?"

That brought him up short. He stared down at her for a long time, considering every inch of her face. She decided to give him one more kick in the right direction.

"I can't go into Minas Tirith alone. I just can't. I need you there with me and this is the best way to make sure that happens."

He set his face, like a man making the best of a bad situation.

"You'll have to fight. It will be dangerous, like Moria."

"Worse, but as least we won't be underground."

"You cannot leave my side, not for a moment, do you understand?"

"Well I'm not planning to shop for souvenirs."

She said it just a few seconds before she realized that he probably had no idea what she was talking about.

"I have no intention of going anywhere else. I'll watch your back, you watch mine, okay?"

He was still searching her face.

"I don't like this, Melody."

"Neither do I, but you seem pretty determined so I guess we don't have much of a choice."

That was the end of it. Boromir sighed like a man defeated and pulled her against his chest again, resting his cheek in her hair.

"You stubborn, foolish woman," he muttered fondly, "Whatever was Yavanna thinking bringing you here?"

Mel grinned, "Trust me, I've asked the same question."

There was a pause.

"Would you go back? Knowing what you know now, the consequences of your actions, would you go back?"

Mel didn't even have to think about it.

"Not a chance."

Osgiliath

March 10 th , 3019

Just before dawn...

Faramir stared into the dark, his gray eyes searching the black waters of the Anduin. Something felt strange, he could taste it in the air. Something wasn't right. But his eyes found nothing but empty night. He kept looking.

Madril came to stand beside him as if he could read the thoughts of his commander.

"It's been very quiet across the river. The orcs are lying low. The garrison may have moved out. We've sent scouts to Cair Andros. If the orcs attack from the north we'll have some warning."

Faramir knew that Madril was trying to reassure him, but he still felt that twist of doubt in his stomach. Something was wrong. He searched the dark again, wondering what could be making him feel this way.

Suddenly, he wished for his brother. Boromir would have slapped him on the shoulder and told him to stop worrying like an old woman. Boromir would have said that whatever came they would fight it and they would win and he would have believed it. Because Boromir did not lose. That's why it was so difficult to believe the strange news of his death. It didn't make sense. Boromir did not lose.

The last he'd heard of his brother from the two Halflings had done little to ease his mind. Madness didn't fit Boromir either. How could it be that he could resist the pull of the Ring and Boromir could not? Boromir, who was always the stronger of them, who could win any fight, who could rally men to him like moths to a candle flame, was not one to give in so easily.

Most of Gondor was in mourning for the eldest son of the Steward, but Faramir refused. Because in his heart he didn't feel that his brother was dead. And until it was proven otherwise, he would continue to wait for his return.

Faramir finally turned from the river and started to make his way down from the open balcony. Perhaps if he stood on the bank he would see more. But as he reached the bottom of the steps, a muffled thud pulled him up short. A soldier, one of his men, laid on the ground before him, crumpled, dead, an arrow in his chest. And everything came sharply into focus.

"They aren't coming from the north."

He rushed forward, gathering his men as quietly as he could, pulling them all toward the silent waters.

"To the river! Quick, quick!"

And as they stood in the early morning quiet and waited, Faramir's heart uttered a single, silent prayer.

Boromir… if you're still out there… please come… come quickly…

End of Part Two

Stay tuned for Part Three- Changing History: Second Chances