Chapter 25

Mel woke up anxious the next morning. The Host of the West would march on Mordor today. She hadn't been told this exactly, but she had learned it through a rather roundabout method of eavesdropping and carefully placed questions and she had spent most of the night making sure she was ready, her bag packed, her cloak and sword laid out close by. She had slept fitfully and for only a few hours at most, but she was already up and repacking for the third time when Loriel tapped on her door. The servant girl had brought a fresh set of clothes for the march and a tray of breakfast porridge and fruit that Mel felt almost too queasy to look at, but she made a show of trying and shoved a couple of apples into her bag for later.

"Well, I won't keep you," Loriel said, with a sort of forced cheer, "I'm sure your friends are waiting and I…"

Impulsively, Mel pulled the girl into a hug that cut her off.

"You're my friend too, Loriel," she said, trying not to let her voice crack, "You know that, right?"

There was a beat when Loriel did not move. Then the girl hugged her back, her small fingers digging almost insistently into Mel's tunic.

"Come back to us, my lady," she said, her voice slightly muffled against Mel's shoulder, "The city will be dimmed by your absence."

Mel swallowed the lump in her throat.

"I'll do my best."

They pulled away, Loriel wiping away tears, and Mel took the opportunity to scrub the moisture from her own eyes.

"May the stars light your path and guide your heart, Mel, until we meet again," Loriel said, dropping a brief curtsy before she slipped away, shutting the door with a soft finality that Mel felt in her chest.

Mel tried not to let her thoughts linger, buckling her sword belt and slinging her pack over her shoulder before she strode to follow in Loriel's footsteps. But she paused at the door, just for a second, and looked back. A soft breeze blew the bed curtains and wafted by, green and fresh from the garden beyond, rustling the tapestry by her head. She watched the circle of maidens dance in thread around their shimmering green mistress and she slowly, tentatively, reached up to brush the face of Yavanna, still and peaceful in her garden.

"Help me," she thought, as hard as she could, "Please. Please, help me."

But there was no answer. Just as she'd known there wouldn't be. She was on her own. Mel dropped her hand, adjusted the strap on her shoulder, and marched out into the Citadel.

She headed toward the stables, not really sure what she was supposed to be doing. She hadn't seen Boromir all day yesterday, and she was starting to suspect that might have been intentional. Did he think that if he didn't speak to her about it, she simply wouldn't come? She had hoped they were past all that, but…

Mel pushed her way through a flurry of soldiers and stable hands just inside the doors, and froze. Legolas was there, saddling a pretty white mare, Gimli waiting at his side. She only had a fraction of a second to consider her options (which were very few) before Gimli spotted her.

"Ah, Mel!" he cried, waving in her general direction.

Legolas glanced up from the saddle and smiled at her, perfectly friendly, perfectly normal, as if they hadn't just been on the verge of a fight last time they had spoken. Mel took a moment to let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding before she returned the smile and walked over.

"Come to see us off, lass?" Gimli asked, leaning on his ax with a little smirk on his face.

"See you off?" Mel asked, letting a little indignation bleed into her voice, "Master Dwarf, if you think for one second that I am going to just stand here and let you ride off to claim all the glory of this battle for yourself, you are quite mistaken!"

Legolas stopped in the middle of cinching his horse's girth. He didn't turn, didn't look at her. He just stood there, frozen mid-pull. Mel's stomach clenched nervously. Gimli, however, didn't seem to have noticed the silent distress of his friends. His face lit up and he clasped Mel's arm, shaking her good-naturedly.

"That's the spirit! Knew we couldn't leave you behind! What did I tell you, lad? They'll be no leaving Mel behind, that's what I said!"

Mel was smiling in the direction of Gimli, but she could almost feel Legolas breathing beside her. He still had not looked at her and she was afraid to watch him too closely for fear of what she would see. He shifted slightly and Mel risked a quick flick of her eyes in his direction. His eyes were closed, his shoulders hunched, his long fingers gripping the saddle with white knuckles as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.

"Mel."

When he spoke her name it was with a soft tremble, as if he was trying to sound reasonable despite a host of other emotions. She finally looked at him directly. He opened his eyes and stared at her, his blue eyes wide in his pale face, his lips set in a thin line. He looked scared. Really scared. So scared that when he reached out and took her hand, Mel didn't have the heart to pull away.

"Mel, please don't do this," he whispered, "Please, you… what we face, the likelihood of our return…"

"It's no worse than what the Fellowship faced leaving Rivendell," Mel said, "You were happy enough to have me along then."

"That was different."

"How?" Mel asked, a little of her frustration bleeding into her voice, "How was it different, Legolas? We're going to the exact same place, to face the exact same danger…"

"That was stealth and cunning," Legolas insisted, his grip on her hand tightening, "This is war, battle and blood, and I am asking you Mel, please don't do this."

His jaw was set, not in anger but in fear, and Mel wanted to reach out to him, to touch her hand to his cheek and sooth him somehow, but she had no words to comfort him. If she didn't go, he might die. If she went, he might still die, but at least she would know she had done everything in her power to save him. She squeezed his hand and managed to smile through her own fear.

"I don't have a choice."

She tried to walk away, but Legolas wouldn't let go of her hand.

"You always have a choice," he said, tugging her back, his voice ringing against the stable walls, "Always! Don't do this, Mel, please, I'm asking, I'm begging you…"

"Legolas, let me go."

She tried to pull away, but his grip on her hand only tightened. It was starting to hurt and Mel didn't think he even knew he was doing it.

"Mel, please…"

"Let her go, lad," Gimli said gravely, "You know how she is, once her mind's set on a thing…"

"But she can't possibly…!"

"Legolas."

Boromir's voice rumbled through the air like thunder. Mel turned toward it and then kinda wished she hadn't. His face was as dark as his voice, his eyes flashing, his gloved fist clenched over his sword hilt. Legolas met his gaze with fiery anger, but he let go of her hand. Mel took a step back and tried to rub feeling back into her tingling fingers.

"This is how you honor our agreement?" Legolas asked furiously, "This is how you keep her from harm? You know what this is, how it will end!"

Agreement? What agreement? Mel's eyes flicked between Legolas and Boromir. They had made some kind of agreement… about her? When exactly had that happened?

Boromir narrowed his eyes and his voice was low and dangerous.

"As Gimli said, Melody knows her own mind. Would you imprison her against her will?"

Legolas opened his mouth, paused, and then shut it again. Boromir was standing very still, his hand still resting on his sword. They glared at one another for a long moment. Mel felt as if the air in the stable was about to smother her. Then Legolas turned abruptly, finished tightening the saddle girth, and led his horse out of the stable, brushing past Boromir without a word or a glance. Gimli shifted uncomfortably, and then gripped Mel's arm in his gloved hand.

"For what it's worth, lass," he said gruffly, "I would not have you left behind for the world."

Mel smiled and squeezed Gimli's shoulder.

"I am honored to ride into battle with you, Gimli, son of Gloin."

The dwarf grinned, and then slipped out the door after Legolas, nodding to Boromir as he passed, a gesture Boromir returned, but barely. Only once they were both well out the door did he seem to finally relax. He loosened his grip on his sword hilt and strode toward her.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, gently taking the hand Mel was still massaging absently.

Mel stiffened, but didn't pull away, letting him turn her fingers over in his much larger hand.

"No, of course not," she said, "Legolas would never hurt me. He's just scared."

"We are all afraid, Melody," Boromir said, his tone tense.

There was a pause.

"He said something about an agreement?" Mel asked, "What agreement?"

Boromir sighed as if he had been dreading this, and pulled her hand to his chest.

"Before making the journey up the slopes of Caradhas, Legolas came to me. He told me you felt fear when Saruman's spies passed over us."

Mel remembered. She remembered the paralyzing terror that had gripped her, the first time she had feared for her own life. She remembered shivering in Legolas' arms and his gentle voice whispering in her ear.

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

"He took an oath from me that day," Boromir said, "That together, we would keep you safe,"

He paused and then dropped his eyes.

"To my shame, I have not done all I should to keep my share of our bargain."

Mel felt a smile tug at her lips, but she resisted it. They were trying to help her. And it was true, in those early days she had needed all the help she could get. But now, as much as she still wanted, probably even needed it, they couldn't help her now. She brushed her fingers against Boromir's cheek and he lifted his eyes to her.

"Things were different then," she said, "I was a different person. You guys can't keep trying to protect me from everything, it's not gonna work. We protect each other now. I watch your back, you watch mine and that goes for Legolas too. Whether he likes it or not."

Boromir let out a long breath and brought her hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm.

"I know," he whispered, "You are so much more than you once were, Melody, I know that. But it is difficult, even for me, knowing…"

He paused rubbing a small circle on the back of her hand with his thumb.

"I confess a small part of me had hoped not to find you here."

Mel smirked and squeezed his hand.

"You should know better."

He smiled, albeit reluctantly.

"I knew the likelihood was small, but I still held hope," He cupped her face in his hand, "But here you are, and I discover now that there is no one else I would rather make this journey with."

Mel's chest filled up with warm flutters as Boromir leaned down and kissed her softly.

He left her standing in a little bit of a daze while he found them horses, bringing Mel the same war horse that had led her into battle on the Pelennor Fields. Together they tacked up and rode down to the first level, where others were starting to gather before the main gates. There was a large group of riders, but Mel was surprised at the number of soldiers on foot. Mordor wasn't exactly a short jog from the city. This was going to be a much longer march than Mel remembered.

Work had been postponed on repair of the gates, but they could at least be opened and closed relatively freely now. Mel dismounted, leaving her horse with one of the young pages running around, and wove her way through the crowd until she was able to step outside the gate. She could feel the energy crackling in the air around the single tree standing guard. She placed her hand on his blackened trunk.

"Hello, Andonil."

He shivered under her touch and she heard his branches creaking above her.

"Greetings, Calenhiril."

He sounded stronger and when Mel probed deeper she could feel the pulse of his life beating a strong rhythm. She smiled.

"I wanted to make sure you were alright," she said, "I'm going away for a while. I don't know when I'll be back."

"You march to the Dead Land?"

Mel guessed 'the Dead Land' was the name the trees had for Mordor. It seemed fitting.

"Yes. I have to go."

"To save the ones you love."

Mel jerked her hand away from the trunk, even though she knew it didn't really make any difference.

"How do you know that?"

"We are the children of Yavanna," Andonil answered, "When her Daughter is distressed we are not deaf to her anguish."

"You can hear her?" Mel asked, suddenly anxious for anything, any connection to Yavanna at all, "What does she say? What should I do?"

"She weeps for you, Calenhiril," Andonil said, "But her tears are silent. We know only that she weeps for your broken heart."

Mel felt like kicking something. What was she supposed to do? Keep fighting? Give up? How was she supposed to do this, just choose between the two most important people in her life? How was she supposed to just watch them die? She couldn't. She just couldn't accept that those were her only options. There had to be another way. She pressed her hand to the blackened trunk once more.

"I will find a way," she said, "Can you tell her that? Tell her I will find a way."

"Mel?"

She jumped and turned. Elrohir stood at the gate, watching her with a furrowed brow. Mel smiled at him, trying to dispel any hint of lingering frustration from her face.

"Are they waiting on me?"

He shook his head and stepped through the opening.

"No, there is still time yet. Only I saw you slip away, and I wondered…"

He trailed off, his gaze wandering up into Andonil's devastated branches.

"I have heard the tale," he said, "The men speak in hushed whispers of the Sentries of Minas Tirith, Guardians of the Gate."

He reached out as if to touch the tree, but hesitated and then withdrew.

"I am sorry for your loss, vinimë."

It was so soft and sincere that Mel felt her chest heave with lingering pain, but she shook it off before it could filter down to Andonil.

"It's not so much my loss as his," Mel said, brushing her fingers along the tree's charred bark, "I should have protected them."

"They say you stayed to the point of death to keep them safe."

"It wasn't enough."

"If it was all you could do, then it was enough," Elrohir reached out and clasped her shoulder in his long fingers, squeezing gently, "You cannot save everyone, Mel."

"I have to," she whispered, wistfulness slipping into her voice, "There has to be a way."

"Hanar."

They both turned. Elladan was leaning against the gate, looking perfectly at ease except for his eyes, which were flicking back and forth between them in serious contemplation.

"We are ready."

Elrohir nodded and gave Mel's shoulder one last squeeze before he turned away. Mel looked back up into Andonil's branches, but she had no words for what she was feeling.

"Farewell, Calenhiril," Andonil whispered, "I wish you fair skies and fine earth."

Mel smiled. What a tree-ish thing to say. She reached out and pressed her hand to his trunk one last time, trying to radiate as much care and warmth through the skin of her palm as she could muster.

"Until next we meet, Andonil, Keeper of the White City."

When she finally turned away, she was surprised to see Elladan still leaning against the gate, his arms folded, watching her with those deeply intense eyes that somehow felt as if they were penetrating her soul. It was one of those exceedingly rare moments when Elladan looked just like his father. Mel managed a small smile as she approached him, but for one of the first times in their acquaintance, Elladan did not return the expression, which made her pause.

"What?" she asked.

He tilted his head ever so slightly to the side and a tiny frown furrowed his brow. Then he sighed, as if frustrated and reached out to clasp her shoulders in his hands, shaking her slightly, as if to emphasize an important point.

"Man cerig, maethoreg-nîn?" he murmured, in a frustrated tone, "Will there ever be a time that you do not worry me?"

Mel's smile twitched at her lips again.

"Den ú-iston, Elladan," she said, "Someone has to keep you on your toes."

His sudden laughter echoed against the stone walls and he clapped her shoulders good-naturedly.

"Tolo," he said, "They will be waiting."

They passed through the gates together and Elladan joined his brother, who was watching them with anxious eyes, and the two elves slipped away, whispering furtively in their own tongue. Mel's eyes found Boromir and she slipped up beside him, taking her horse back from the stable boy and checking his tack one last time.

"I thought you might have stepped outside for a moment," Boromir murmured, glancing over his shoulder toward the gates, "How does he fare?"

"He seems much better," Mel replied with a small smile, "I think he's going to be alright."

"Mel!"

Pippin's enthusiastic cry drew Mel's attention and she grinned as the hobbit hurried through the crowd toward her, decked out in his Citadel Guard uniform. What she wasn't expecting was Merry following behind his cousin, his face downcast and stormy.

"Mel, I'm going on the march!" Pippin exclaimed without even pausing to catch his breath, "Gandalf says I shall represent the Shire!"

Mel smiled at Pippin and tried to be happy for him, but her heart went out to Merry. She knew he was still far too weak to make such a journey, which meant Pippin would be going off without him. Again. And there was no chance of him following after this time. It had to be so hard for him. She took a moment while Pippin was rambling away at Boromir to grab Merry's shoulder and squeeze.

"I'm glad to see you up and about, Merry," she murmured with a smile, "You'll need your strength for the trip home."

He jerked his face up, his eyes wide, and seemed just on the verge of voicing a question…

But he never got the chance. A hush fell over the courtyard and through the crowd of soldiers Aragorn stepped out, leading his mount. He was dressed rather plainly, just a dark blue tunic emblazoned with the White Tree, but the hushed awe that followed in his wake gave him all the regal air he needed. Gandalf followed behind him, along with Prince Imrahil and Lord Eomer, and they all lined up next to Boromir, facing the army that was waiting for their order to march. Mel suddenly felt very self-conscious. This wasn't her place. She was no one. She shouldn't be here, standing with these men; leaders, princes, and kings. She must have shifted without realizing it because Boromir glanced down at her and, without a word, took her hand in his, gripping it tightly. She froze, and then let out a breath, long and slow. If Boromir wanted her there, then she would stay.

She caught a glimmer of movement in the corner of her eye and glanced toward it. Legolas had lined up on her other side with Gimli, and was adjusting his mare's bridle with fluttering hands. His eyes flitted her way, and when he caught her looking at him, he gave her half of a tentative, apologetic smile. Mel felt a weight lift from her chest that she hadn't even realized was there. Boromir on her right side, Legolas on her left… and Mel knew then that she was exactly where she ought to be.

"Raise the banner," Aragorn said, his voice resonating over the silent army.

Behind him, a large deep blue cloth was unfurled. It was the flag that had flown from the mast of the corsair ship, rippling lightly in the breeze that wisped through the courtyard, the jewels of the seven stars glittering in the morning sun. No one made a sound. No one moved. Mel was pretty sure every soldier was holding his breath. After a moment, Aragorn mounted his horse and the lords did the same, Mel following suit. Aragorn took a moment to cast his eyes over the army that had gathered, ready to defend Middle Earth, down to the last man if necessary. To Mel it seemed like a huge force, but she knew that they were tiny compared to the enemy they marched to face.

Finally, Aragorn turned his horse toward the open plains.

"Forward!"

Boromir put the Horn of Gondor to his lips and blew three long mighty blasts. The sound was deep and sorrowful, and reverberated in Mel's heart. The Last March of the Host of Gondor had begun.

Elvish Translations:

(all translations are Sindarin, unless otherwise noted)

mellon-nîn- my friend

vinimë- little one (Q)

hanar- brother

Man cerig?- What are you doing?

maethoreg-nîn- my little warrior

Den ú-iston- I doubt it

Tolo- Come