A/N: Hey guys! Just a quick announcement, April is Camp NaNoWriMo, and I will be spending the month editing yet another fanfic that I've been really excited about, this one a Loki fic set during his imprisonment before/during the Dark World. This means that updates during the next month will be sporadic, if they happen at all. Never fear! I have not abandoned you, and I assure you I will attempt to return to regularly scheduled updating in May! Until then, enjoy the next chapter! Thanks!
Chapter 7
Finding a horse in Edoras was perhaps one of the easiest things about this whole trip, and so the next morning at dawn the four companions struck out on the road to Isengard. Mel felt stiff and her shoulder ached, but she was alert and her senses tingled in the warm summer breeze. Maybe she was projecting her heightened tension onto the rest of the group, because Legolas had barely spoken a word, and Mel could clearly see the rigid set of his shoulders as he rode in front of them. This was not a side of Legolas she was familiar with. Her Legolas had been so calm, so at ease. Only when danger had threatened had he ever looked so…
Oh.
He didn't trust them. That was it. Something had happened and he didn't trust them, of course he didn't, what reason had they given him to trust them? Boromir had all but told him to mind his own business and Mel had done nothing but speak in enigmatic riddles. Only an idiot would trust them at this point, and Legolas was anything but an idiot. Still, the realization hit her in the gut and sat there like a block of ice.
He didn't trust them… didn't trust her…
"Are you well?"
Boromir's voice was low and gentle, his gray eyes flitting over her face in concern. Mel managed to force a smile.
"Yes," she said, "I'm fine."
"Only a few hours ride to the edge of Isengard, lass," Gimli said, turning around to scrutinize her from the back of Legolas' white horse, "But should you start to feel faint, you should speak up. We're in no rush, you know, and you've had a nasty scratch, for sure."
Mel blinked in surprise. Gimli's concern seemed so genuine, even friendly. Surely Legolas had spoken to his friend about his suspicions, whatever they might be, but the dwarf didn't seem fazed in the least. Mel tried to rearrange her features into a more relaxed expression.
"No, really, I'm fine. Thank you."
Gimli nodded and turned back around. Boromir was still watching her, Mel could see him out of the corner of her eye. Legolas never even acknowledged they had spoken.
They rode a few more hours, the wound on Mel's shoulder progressing from an ache to an actual pain, before they stopped on a ledge overlooking the valley of Isengard. Mel swung out of her saddle and had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. She hadn't realized how much of her weight was distributed to that arm during dismount. She managed to reach the ground, but her fists stayed clenched on the saddle, her eyes screwed shut, forehead pressed against the horse's shoulder, breathing in the scent of leather and sweat.
"Lindel?"
Boromir was beside her, his arm around her, pressing his cheek to her temple.
"You're in pain, my love," He spoke it as a declaration, not a question. "You should have asked for my help."
"I'm okay," Mel whispered, finally able to get her breath back, the pain subsided to a dull throb, "I'm alright, really."
"All the same, we should tend to your wound."
Legolas' voice was like an emotionless stab from an icicle and Mel stiffened. Boromir felt it and pressed her closer to him in response.
"Let her catch her breath," he said, his voice dangerously close to a growl.
Mel pushed him away and stood on her own. She didn't want them to fight. She'd had enough of their fighting to last her a lifetime.
"No, I'm okay," she said, facing Legolas, "I'm okay. Let's get this over with."
His face was expressionless, but he paused for the briefest moment, his eyes glancing over her. Then he turned and walked away without another word. Mel felt her fists clench and she relaxed them. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't.
She sat on a nearby boulder and tried to stay still while Legolas unwrapped her bandages and examined her injury. There was more blood than Mel thought there probably should be. The delicate scabbing that had begun in Edoras had torn apart and the deep gouges oozed scarlet. Legolas' face never changed, giving no indication of his thoughts about the wound. He simply cleaned the jagged cuts, applied more soothing balm, and wrapped her up in fresh bandages. Mel tried to keep her eyes on the scratches, his fingers, the empty air, but more often than not she caught herself searching his face for any indication of emotion or thought. He didn't seem to notice.
Boromir tended to the horses and Gimli dug through the bags for some food for their lunch. Mel wasn't feeling particularly hungry, but the dwarf pressed a bright red apple into her hand.
"Eat," he said, in a tone that brooked no argument, "Won't do to have you swooning on us now."
Mel stared at the apple in her hand, then at the dwarf standing stubbornly in front of her, waiting for her to take the first bite. And she wondered, just for a moment, if he knew. Did he remember something, even if it was just a hunch, an instinct, a gut feeling, did he know…?
But that was impossible. The Valar had done their jobs well, she was sure. So she smiled and bit the apple and tried not to read anything into the pleased expression on his face as he walked away.
They ate in silence, and from the overlook Mel could see the dark tower of Orthanc, standing tall and foreboding on the outside edge of the empty vale. She shivered, a residual feeling of dread washing over her. She did not want to go back to that place. She remembered the dark, the pain, the terror and despair, and she didn't want to be anywhere near it ever again. It couldn't be helped, of course. Fangorn was there, and he was the only being in Middle-Earth that had any information about the Ent-wives. She needed to speak to him, if she was to have any clue at all where to begin her search. But still, her finger twinged where the metal of the Yavannacor touched her and she twirled it around her finger absently.
He isn't there, she thought to herself, He is gone, and he will soon be dead, and he isn't there…
"Lindel?"
Mel jumped and dropped her hands. Legolas was staring at her and he didn't look suspicious or guarded. He looked concerned, his youthful brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed.
"You went very pale," he said, "Are you well? Does your wound pain you?"
Mel swallowed and shook her head.
"No, I'm not in pain."
Something in her face or her voice must have reminded him of his mistrust. His expression reverted to a blank mask of indifference and he turned away from her, rising to his feet in one graceful motion.
"We should not linger here," he said, and his neutral tone stabbed at her ears. She turned away and was met by Boromir's soft, pained eyes. He stood and reached out a hand, pulling her gently to her feet.
"Will you be alright, my love?" he whispered, though they both knew the words would carry to elven ears.
Mel nodded, grateful for his use of the endearment rather than the name that sounded so hollow and fake on his lips.
"I'm fine."
Boromir's expression did not change. He cupped her face with one hand and pulled her toward him, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and she knew there was so much more he wanted to say. For once, she was thankful for Legolas' expert hearing, because she wasn't sure if she could bear it. Boromir had lost everything, and yet he worried about her. Legolas was… had been her friend, her best friend, her confidante, someone she could say without hesitation that she loved, but he was not her family. He was not her world. Mel had lost a friend and now was haunted by his ghost in flesh. Boromir had lost his life, in every sense of the word. In the wake of his loss, her own pain seemed trivial and she could not stand the thought that he might worry over her.
They mounted and began the descent into Isengard. The afternoon sun glinted on the sliver of river that flowed through the valley, wide and shallow, stark against the scarred landscape. It would be months, perhaps years, before Isengard would be green and beautiful again, as Mel knew it must have been once. Her heart ached for the trees that had lost their lives to the wizard in the tower. But she knew Treebeard would see it made right, and that thought eased her pain a bit.
The black spire of Orthanc grew larger as they approached and the closer they got, the more Mel dreaded passing under its shadow. There was phantom fire on her finger and pain in the scar on her forehead, and she caught herself repeating a steady mantra in her head: He is not here, he is not here, he is not here… It helped to a degree, but as they forded the trickling river, a shiver still ran down her spine gazing up at the torn down walls of what had once been the land of Saruman the White.
They approached the main gate, and an ent straightened beneath the arch. Legolas gave a glance toward Mel, but she ignored him, hanging back and biding her time. She had felt something in her brain shift when the ent had stood, and knew that anything she spoke now would be incomprehensible to her companions and take quite a long time to say. It would be better for everyone if she let the others make the initial introductions, at least until they saw Treebeard.
The ent raised a branch-like arm as they came closer.
"Hail and well met, travelers!" he called out and Mel perked up. She knew that voice…
"Hail and well met again, Bregalad!" Legolas answered and Mel felt a smile spread over her face without permission.
Quickbeam.
She ducked her head until she could school her expression into something a little more presentable.
"Ah, back so soon, child of the Greenwood?" the rowan ent asked, enthusiastic and cheerful.
"We met travelers on the road who wish to be brought before Fangorn," Legolas answered, gesturing to Boromir and Mel behind him.
Quickbeam glanced at them… and went still. His eyes met Mel's and held there for a long, shocked moment. And then he bowed deeply, the leaves and smattering of red berries in his branches almost touching the ground.
"Calenhiril," he murmured reverently, "You have come to us at last."
It was still strange to Mel that she had met this ent before and he had no memory of it, but she was getting used to it. She ignored Legolas' and Gimli's perplexed and suspicious looks, and instead urged her horse forward, putting all her concentration into speaking a language that all those present could understand.
"Well met, Quickbeam," she said, "Please, where is our brother, Treebeard? I must speak with him."
"Of course, of course!" he said, straightening hurriedly and gesturing them all forward, "He will be anxious to greet you at last. Come, little sister, come!"
Quickbeam's long strides forced the horses into a trot to keep up as he hurried through the archway and across the wide courtyard of Orthanc. Mel remained at the head of their group, keeping her head high and ignoring the feeling of eyes burning into her back. She felt a strange sense of satisfaction in knowing that she held the respect of the Ents and Legolas had not anticipated it. There was much that he would not anticipate about this meeting.
"Fangorn!" Quickbeam shouted, waving a lithe arm in the air, "Come! We have distinguished guests!"
Mel pulled her horse up short and allowed herself a moment to clear her head of the burning memories of this place. Darkness and despair tried to crawl up the back of her throat like bile, and she swallowed, forcing the feelings down. She sat a little straighter in her saddle to avoid the outward appearance of pain, the binding on her shoulder digging into her skin in protest, but she welcomed it. The discomfort helped anchor her in the present.
Treebeard turned from his conference with two other ents as Quickbeam approached him.
"Harum hum hoom, what's this?" Treebeard said, and Mel smiled at the familiar tone of irritation in his voice, "Guests again already? How are we to see to our tasks if we are always plagued with guests?"
"I assure you, Treebeard, you will wish to see these guests," Quickbeam said, and gestured to their party, waiting just beside the tower steps.
Treebeard grumbled, but he pushed himself forward until he stood just before their company. It was then that Mel realized she now stood alone, the others at her back. She looked into the eyes of Treebeard… and knew that he knew her. He didn't remember her, but he knew her. She smiled. Then she took a deep breath and spoke.
"I bring greetings to the one called Treebeard, keeper of the forests of Fangorn and lord of Isengard, from our Mother Yavanna, Giver of Fruits and Lover of the Green."
The words came to her without thought, flowing freely from her mind to her lips, though it took a solid five minutes to say in Old Entish, which felt so natural when she spoke it, but sounded so strange when it was heard. She would never understand how her human vocal cords could possibly make the sounds of leaves rustling and wood creaking. Fangorn swayed and hummed as he listened, waiting a few seconds before replying back in kind.
"Welcome and well met, Little Sister, Calenhiril, Keeper of the Ring which gives power and understanding to our peoples."
This took almost as long to say and when it was over, Mel had to work hard to revert back to speaking in the common language.
"Forgive me, but for the sake of my companions, I believe it would be best to converse in the tongues of Men," she said, "We have much to discuss."
She allowed herself one glance back over her shoulder. Boromir, of course, only smiled with a hint of pride and devotion on his face. Legolas and Gimli both stared at her in open-mouthed shock. She allowed herself only the hint of a satisfied smirk.
"Well, well, harum hoom," Treebeard said, bringing her eyes back to meet him, "Two of your companions I have met before, Calenhiril, but the third is a face unknown to me."
"Esgalion," Mel said, gesturing to Boromir, "My husband and protector. He has traveled far with me, through many dangers and trials.
"And will continue through all dangers and trials to come," Boromir said, nudging his horse forward to stand at Mel's side.
Treebeard made a pleased sound.
"Well met, Esgalion, favored of Men and Tree-folk alike. I would like to hear the tales of these trials and dangers which have kept our sister from coming to us in our hour of need."
Mel felt a stab of guilt. He thought she had abandoned them. That she hadn't heard their call. If only he knew…
"I am grieved by what happened here, Treebeard," she said, "The treachery of the White Wizard is beyond measure or forgiveness."
She was shaking. She gripped her reins more tightly to make it stop.
"If I could have been here, if I could have done something, anything, I would have. You must believe me."
Treebeard's eyes crinkled sadly.
"Of course, I believe you, little sister," he rumbled, "Forgive my harshness. It has been challenging these last few weeks, some of the most challenging times of my very long life."
"I know," she said, "I know it has. And I'm sorry there isn't more I can do to help you."
"But you are here now, Calenhiril, and that counts for something," he said, his face brightening, and Mel felt another little stab of guilt.
"I'm sorry, Treebeard," she said gently, "But I'm afraid my assistance here will be short lived. Our Mother has sent me on an errand and I've come to ask for your help."
She saw his face fall, but he quickly rallied his expression and Mel felt her heart twist for him. He was doing so well, but he had never asked for this. All he had wanted was to tend to his trees and now he was saddled with the healing of a land that should never have been marred to begin with. She wanted desperately to help him, but she didn't see how she could.
"What help could I possibly give to the daughter of Yavanna?" he asked.
Mel smiled.
"I need you to tell me everything you can about the Entwives."
