Chapter 25

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.