Chapter 21

To Mel's relief, Legolas didn't argue with her or try to dissuade her. He had clearly been anticipating this conversation. Together they walked out by the wall of the Citadel and sat on a stone bench facing out over the city. He made sure to sit a safe distance from her, still holding both her hands in his, but making sure that was all of them that touched.

Mel launched into her story without preamble, starting with her decision to follow them out of Lothlorien. She told him everything, leaving out only the choice that the Valar had given her. It didn't seem fair to burden him with something that was clearly a decision she would have to make on her own. It would do nothing but make a difficult conversation worse.

She felt comfortable telling him the story. He listened without interruption, only his face betraying his emotions, shifting constantly as her story unfolded. She was sure to tell him how much she had missed him, but also careful to make her feelings for Boromir clear. She tried to tell it objectively, as she would have told it to anyone else, shying away from nothing. It felt natural to talk to Legolas like this. It was no different from any conversations they'd had in the past. In fact, she got so engrossed in telling the story that she briefly forgot why she was having the conversation in the first place, until…

"…and then he kissed me and I…"

Legolas' hands slipped from hers and Mel felt the absence sharply. She stopped and let her eyes refocus. For the first time, his face was smooth and empty, completely void of expression. She had never seen him like that. It was like a stab in her chest.

"You really love him don't you?"

His voice was carefully neutral. It sounded strange in Mel's ears. She nodded.

"I do. I really do. And he loves me too."

"How do you know?"

Mel stared, a little dumbstruck. Legolas was searching her face, his eyes carefully hiding whatever he was thinking. It made Mel cautious.

"How do I know what?

"How do you know that he loves you?"

Mel's mind stumbled over the question. What was that supposed to mean?

"I… I just know."

Legolas sighed and shut his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose absently.

"Mel, please don't misunderstand me. I know that he cares about you. That much is clear, it always has been. But… does he love you? After everything that has been done and said…"

"That wasn't him!" Mel said, sounding slightly more panicked than she had intended. She took a breath and reined herself in, "That wasn't him. It was the Ring. The Ring made him like that."

"Mel…"

His voice was gentle, but chiding as he took her hand in his. Mel jerked away. A knot was forming in her throat. This wasn't supposed to be happening. This couldn't be happening.

"Mel, please believe me, I don't blame Boromir for those things. His actions since that time have more than redeemed him."

He brushed his fingers against her cheek.

"I will never be able to express my gratitude toward him for keeping you safe," he murmured, "Never."

Mel backed out of his touch and stood up to get some breathing space. This wasn't how she had wanted this conversation to go. She had wanted his acceptance, even joy or well-wishes. In the worst of scenarios, she might have been prepared for some hurt feelings, anger, maybe grief. But not this… this denial of everything she had told him, of everything that had happened, this questioning doubt. She wasn't prepared for this.

"I love him," she said, fists clenched as if they could hold down her panic.

"I know you do," Legolas said, standing and taking a tentative step toward her, "But Mel, has he always returned that love? Have you always felt, without any doubt, that he loved you?"

He was right and Mel hated that he was right. She hadn't always been so sure that Boromir loved her. In fact, most of her time in Middle Earth had been spent in agonizing uncertainty, wondering if all she felt, all she'd done, was for nothing. But now…

"Do you remember Lothlorien?"

Mel's thoughts stumbled again over the sudden change in topic and she stared at Legolas, who was watching her with careful intensity.

"Do you remember what I said to you there, on the banks of the Anduin?"

Mel blinked and tried to think.

"Something… Something in Elvish," she said, "Sindarin, I think. I didn't understand it."

He smiled.

"Yes, and I told you to ask me again when next we met. Do you know what I said to you that day?"

Mel shook her head, and Legolas took another deliberate step forward. He was very close to her now. He took both her hands in his.

"Uiradathon angin, mellon-nîn," he said, still smiling softly, "It means that I will always find you, Mel. And now that I have kept that promise, I will never lose you again."

Oh god… His eyes… Did that mean…? Mel felt as if all the air was being squeezed out of her chest. This couldn't be happening. She had to fix this, before… She pulled herself away again.

"No," she said, trying not to gasp for air, "No, you don't understand. Legolas, I care about you, I do. There have been so many times that I thought about you, worried about you, wished I could see you and talk to you, but Legolas I love him, you know that, you said it yourself…"

"I know."

"Then why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice cracking.

He was slipping away from her. The longer this went on the further he would get, until there was no way to get him back again. She didn't know how much time they had left, but now she was terrified that she would lose him before she was ever even given her choice.

"I just want my friend back," she whispered, "I've missed you, and I just want you back."

Legolas' expression softened into a frown, but before he could do or say anything, someone cleared their throat, making Mel jump. A boy stood behind them, looking uncomfortable. She wondered how long he had been standing there.

"Lady Melody, please forgive me. I wouldn't have interrupted, but Lord Hurin has summoned you to the main gates. He said it was urgent, my lady."

The Sentries. Suddenly Mel's quarrel with Legolas, if she could call it that, faded into the background of her mind, replaced with worry and guilt. She swallowed and nodded to the boy.

"Of course, I'll come immediately."

She turned a sharp eye back to Legolas, who looked thoroughly confused.

"We'll talk about this later."

She rushed out of the courtyard, leaving the boy scrambling to catch up with her. She had given the elf something to think about and for now, that was enough. Once he'd had time to digest what she had said, he would understand. He would. He had to.

The messenger finally caught up and led her down the streets toward the front gate. As they descended the levels, the scars of war became more and more apparent. Men were at work clearing the roads of debris, sweeping piles of rubble hastily to the side and into corners. Some were salvaging what they could from the broken and burned remnants of what had once been homes. There was a determined hush over the work. Everyone went about their tasks in stalwart silence, speaking in gruff tones only when spoken to and even then as little as possible. It was hard for Mel not to rush past at a run. The silence made her uncomfortable.

They finally reached the first level and Mel could see that work to repair the gates had already begun. Scaffolding had been erected and men were trying to beat the metal plates back into place with sledge hammers. Lord Hurin was standing in the courtyard overseeing the project, but when he saw Mel approaching he raised his hand to stop the work and rushed over.

"I am glad to see you so well recovered, Lady Melody," he said, and he seemed to genuinely mean it, "When they brought you from the field, I feared the worst."

Mel was surprised by his kindness. That he might have been concerned about her well-being had not even occurred to her.

"Thank you, my lord," she managed to say, "It was nothing really, just exhaustion I'm told."

He nodded gravely.

"Yes, it was a long, dark night, for you especially I am sure."

Mel would have been offended if his eyes had not strayed to the charred fragments of the Sentries that still clung to the gates. He wasn't talking about any lack of strength, he was talking about the strength she had given up.

"How are…" She paused and rephrased, "How is he?"

"That is why I sent for you. I was unsure how we should proceed. The gate must be repaired, but…"

He hesitated.

"I ordered that they not be touched," he said finally, "I thought it might be best to wait for your guidance."

Mel was touched by this small thoughtfulness, for her and for the Sentries. She would never have expected it, least of all from Hurin. Her voice was quiet and on the verge of breaking when she spoke.

"Thank you, my lord. How long do I have?"

Hurin's eyes softened in sympathy.

"Take all the time you need, my lady."

He walked away, motioning for the men on the scaffolding to follow, leaving the gates empty. Mel took a deep breath, before she made her way forward, stepping around the scaffolding and standing in the gap that opened out onto the decimated plains of the Pelennor. She closed her eyes and searched out that small light that was still linked to her by a single golden thread, but she didn't know what to say. She didn't even know what to call him, the poor lonely creature that lay shattered outside these metal doors. She didn't want to call him Sentry. That seemed too cold, too painful, too reminiscent of what he'd lost. But he knew nothing else. That was all he had ever been. What could she say?

"Calenhiril?"

His whispering voice floated up into her thoughts and she let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

"I'm sorry I was away for so long," she said, "What can I do to help you?"

She felt a shudder run through her that was not entirely of her own making.

"They are rebuilding the gate."

"Yes," she said, "They have to."

She felt, rather than heard, him sigh.

"Yes. It is necessary. He will have to be moved."

This time it was only Mel who shuddered. She had wanted to keep the conversation from taking this turn, but it seemed they were already there. She opened her eyes and glanced right. The black, brittle remains of the unmoving Sentry made her stomach roll. It was her fault. It was her fault that this had happened. And now all she could do was try to make it bearable.

"Yes. What can I do? How can I help?"

There was a painful pause.

"Just… Don't let him be burned anymore."

Mel got a flash, a vision, an old and withered trunk being chopped into pieces and thrown into a wagon, firewood. She felt a shiver of horror from the remaining Sentry.

"I won't let that happen. I'll do everything in my power," she assured him, "Is there nothing I can do for you?"

She gathered up a handful of the light inside of her, that green flickering orb that throbbed in time to her pulse, and reached out to him, but he shied away.

"No," he said, "No, Calenhiril, you are still weak and the path that lies before you is long and dark. I will heal in my own way."

Mel retracted her offer respectfully. She understood the need to heal in your own way.

"I don't even know your name," she said weakly.

He seemed to ponder that for a while. Mel realized that it was probably painful and she immediately regretted bringing it up, but when he spoke again he didn't sound upset.

"You may tell them to call me Andonil."

"Andonil?" Mel didn't recognize it, "What does it mean?"

"It is symbol of my loyalty. The Son of Gondor will know. Tell him, Calenhiril. Tell him Andonil stands watch."

Mel still didn't understand, but she supposed she didn't have to. She just nodded, and then broke their connection. She didn't want Andonil to be attached to her as she did what was necessary. He would mourn his brother in his own way, while she took care of the arrangements. She knew what needed to be done, if not for Andonil's sake then for her own.

She carefully picked her way back through the scaffolding. There was still no movement. All the men that had been working on the gate's repair were standing in a wide semicircle around the courtyard, watching and waiting. Lord Hurin hurried forward and took her elbow gently.

"Are you well, Lady Melody? You look pale."

He sounded so concerned that Mel actually took a moment to consider how she felt. She was still a little queasy, but she pushed that aside. She had to do this. It had to be her and it had to be today.

"Yes," she said, pulling free of Lord Hurin's gentle grip, "I'm fine."

"What did he say?" he asked in a hushed voice, glancing nervously behind her like he expected Andonil to come bursting through the broken gate at any moment, all writhing branches and blind fury. How very wrong he was.

"He's in pain," she said, "His injuries were severe, but he will recover. His brother…"

Her voice cracked a little and she paused to gather herself.

"His brother will have to be moved."

"I will arrange to have the men…"

"No!"

The force of Mel's voice made Lord Hurin take a surprised step back. Mel carefully toned it down a few notches.

"No. I'll take care of it."

Now he looked skeptical.

"My lady, I am not entirely sure that would be the best thing in your current state…"

"I said I'll do it," she snapped, "No one is to touch them without my express permission. No one, got it?"

Lord Hurin still looked unconvinced.

"My lady, if I may, what exactly are you planning to do?"

Mel looked back at the burned bits of wood that still clung to the bent gates.

"I'm going to bury him," she murmured, "He deserves it."

She gave the lord a glare that dared him to challenge her, but to her surprise, his expression of disbelief had melted away into soft compassion. He nodded.

"Very well. What do you require of us, my lady?"

If Mel hadn't felt so overwhelmed with the sorrow of her task, she might have smiled. She thought carefully about what she would need.

"A shovel for sure. And a wagon."

Lord Hurin snapped his fingers and two of the men standing by ran to his side.

"Get a wagon from the stables, find shovels and axes…"

"No axes."

Lord Hurin raised an eyebrow, but Mel stood firm.

"No axes. We're not chopping him up."

For a moment she thought he might finally argue, but instead he just turned back to the men. Lord Hurin was full of surprises today.

"Very well, no axes, but we will need some rope. And bring an extra pair of stout horses. It seems we will be pulling him out of the ground."

The two men looked at each other skeptically, but they hurried to obey just the same. Mel pushed up the sleeves on her gown.

"I need to clean him up."

She sounded more confident than she actually felt, trying to steel herself against the revulsion she could feel burning the back of her throat. She tried to tell herself it was just like trimming a bush or weeding a garden, but none of that rang true. This wasn't just a bush or a garden, or even just a tree. This was one of the Sentries. He had been brave and strong and loyal, with thoughts and feelings that Mel herself had experienced. And now he was dead. And she was going to have to bury his body.

Lord Hurin looked like he might say something kind or comforting, but she turned her back on him and headed toward the gate. She had to do this. She had to do it before she lost her nerve, or her mind, or started crying. She couldn't cry. She strode through the gate and turned sharply right.

There he was. Mel didn't pause. She bunched up her skirt in one hand and stepped gingerly past the charred twigs that littered the ground, reaching out and touching what was left of the complex lattice work that had covered the gates of Minas Tirith. The branches cracked under her touch, disintegrating in black puffs of soot. She jerked her hand back and stared at her blackened palm. She could feel the burning, the pain…

She pressed on, carefully following the line of the wall, searching for where the trunk began through all the lattice work of branches. Everything was black, and brittle, and no matter where she put her hands or feet bits of charred wood broke and crumbled, covering her in soot and ash. She could feel the heat of the fire, hear the ringing of the metal, the screams of the men dying on the wall, the screams of the Sentries as the fire roared through them, licking its way over their leaves and branches, the crushing force as Grond struck again and again…

She couldn't see. Her vision was a blur. She stumbled over a fallen branch, the arm of what had once been a great warrior, and landed in the blackened earth. She couldn't see because she was crying, tears streaking down her face. She pressed against the blackened trunk of the dead Sentry, gagging out strangled sobs against the soot and ash floating in the air.

"I'm sorry…" she choked, "I'm sorry…"

"Melody?"

Boromir's soft, gentle voice attempted to bring her back, to remind her that there were people here and they were watching her. But she couldn't, she couldn't leave him. She heard the thump of boots as Boromir drew closer and she pressed further into the trunk of the tree, not wanting to face anything yet. She was crying over a tree. No one was going to understand that. There were many good men who had died defending this city. What difference did one tree make to anyone but her?

Boromir settled on the ground beside her, but he didn't touch her. Gradually Mel's sobs settled into sniffs, but she didn't look up. Not yet. She couldn't leave the Sentry alone. This was her fault…

"His life was not in vain, Melody," Boromir said softly, "Nor will it be forgotten. Generations from now, songs will echo through these streets, in the halls and taverns, of the night the trees held the gates and the bravery of the Sentries of the White City."

Mel still didn't move. Boromir reached out and pressed his hand to the trunk of the tree.

"I know we cannot mourn him as you do. But we will mourn him, in our way. You need not carry this burden alone. Please, Melody, let us help you."

His hand slipped down and took one of Mel's, gently tugging her until she was facing him, though still nestled in the tree trunk.

"Let me help you," he whispered.

A weight that Mel hadn't even known she carried lifted from her soul. She believed him. Boromir would not let her Sentry's sacrifice be forgotten. It wasn't in vain. It meant something. She didn't have to carry his memory alone. She wiped her face with the back of her free hand. It came away grimy and black. She took a shuddering breath, but quickly steadied herself.

"Help me up, Boromir."

He pulled her to her feet. Then together they prepared the Sentry of Minas Tirith for a hero's burial.