Chapter 25
Of course, when Mel came limping back to the healing flet, leaning on the arm of Legolas, Eregwen was furious.
"What did I tell you about pushing yourself too hard? I knew this was going to happen, days of work undone! Get back in bed this instant! And you two!"
Eregwen whirled on Merry and Pippin, who were both staring at the floor, hands behind their backs, identical forlorn looks on their faces.
"What were you thinking taking her off gallivanting through the woods? You should be taken out and whipped, all of you!"
Mel, now safely back in bed, tugged on the raging healer's sleeve, "It was my idea, Eregwen."
She spun back to Mel, eyes flashing, "I don't care whose idea it was, they should have known…!"
"Please," Mel said, her eyes half closed, "Just leave them alone. We've been through hell today."
Eregwen narrowed her eyes and looked up at Legolas, arms crossed.
"Well? What happened?"
Legolas' face remained emotionless, "There was a fight. She was pushed and hit a tree."
Eregwen nodded, "Right. Let's get you turned over."
Mel obeyed, but she couldn't hide the wince. Eregwen pulled up the back of her shirt and sighed, exasperated.
"Days of work," She mumbled, "Whoever did this should be strung up by his ears! May the Valar have mercy if I ever find him!"
"May the Valar have mercy whether you find him or not," Mel muttered.
"You just keep quiet," Eregwen ordered, but her tone had softened considerably, "You three, out."
Mel heard the scuffling of feet and then sounds of glass clinking, followed by the familiar cool, tingling sensation as the healing salve was smoothed onto her skin.
"Estë be with us or you'll never be healed in time." Eregwen murmured, almost to herself.
Mel sighed, "It doesn't matter now."
Eregwen hesitated, and then continued rubbing in the ointment.
"I think it would matter a great deal to the little ones. They adore you."
"I told you, they'll be fine."
"And the elf-prince? And the dwarf, who will look after him?"
Mel rolled her eyes.
"They'll all be fine, Eregwen, and Aragorn too, in case you were thinking of asking. They don't need anyone looking after them."
The elf was silent for a long moment.
"And… the other? The one who does not come?"
Mel took a deep, slow breath and sank further down into the emptiness that had so far kept her safe.
"Everyone that is supposed to be fine will be fine." She answered.
Eregwen stoppered her jar, "I see. And you are content with that?"
Mel pulled her shirt down herself and turned over gingerly so she could look the healer in the eye.
"Eregwen, I can't save a man that doesn't want me to save him."
Eregwen nodded solemnly. Then she briskly turned and cleared the night stand, washing her hands in the water basin.
"Your back isn't as bad as I first thought. I think a few days of good rest and everything will be as it was."
She dried her hands and then sighed, smoothing back Mel's hair in a gesture of surprising tenderness.
"Get some sleep, Mel. I'll bring your breakfast in the morning."
Mel smiled obligingly and closed her eyes, sinking deeper into the hollow shell where her heart should be.
Legolas wasn't angry. The emotion he was feeling was too raw, too powerful to be defined in such simple, common terms. It flowed through him, unchecked, uncontrolled, setting his blood on fire. He stalked through the trees with no thought to anything, not the hobbits hurrying to keep pace with his swift strides or the sounds of the forest as he passed. Nothing occupied his mind…
…except for the look on her face.
He had seen Mel happy, sad, angry, even terrified, but he had never seen anything like what he had seen tonight, that heartbroken emptiness. He had only ever seen such an expression on those of his own kind, the ones that left the forests and traveled West, searching for the boats that would carry them away toward the lights of Valinor. He had never seen it on the face of Mankind, whose lives were so fleeting and whose hearts were quick to heal. Somehow that made the expression all the more devastating in its finality, like there was nothing left in the world that held meaning or would ever hold meaning again. And she was so young. Too young. She would always be too young for such things. It was… unimaginable, that she should give up now.
In truth Legolas had never known exactly what Mel was trying to do, but she had been struggling with it in her heart since the moment he had laid eyes on her. And now it was finished, before it had even properly begun. He had watched the light of hope disappear from her eyes and that had been when this feeling had descended on him. It felt very much like he would feel on a hunt or before a battle, his senses heightened, focused on everything and nothing, all in pursuit of a target. His vision was clear, but his mind's eye was clouded with rage.
He slipped into the clearing on silent feet, the hobbits left far behind. He reached for the first of his weapons, his knives, and smoothly drew them from their sheaths. Legolas was nearly upon him before Boromir realized there was any danger.
But the large man was quicker than the elf had anticipated. He was on his feet, sword in hand, before Legolas had time to strike. The sword parried the knives and swung wildly as Boromir tried to gain his footing. But the elf was agile and swift, even in his fury. He dropped to a crouch, missing the blade easily and came up again, knives flashing, trying to catch him under his guard. Once again the sword came about and deflected the blows, throwing Legolas back a bit. The elf would have thrown himself back into the battle while Boromir was off balance were it not for Aragorn stepping between them, sword drawn.
"Enough!"
All activity in the clearing had ceased. The only sounds to be heard were the sounds of the night and the fighters' heavy breathing.
"How are we to have strength to fight our enemies when we are fighting amongst ourselves?"
"Or being stabbed in the back!" Boromir spat.
"Death in combat is too good for you!" Legolas snapped, his nerves tense and trembling, "What honor is there in a man who would treat a lady, a friend, with such disrespect and disdain, as if she were nothing more to him than the ground he walks on? There are others who would die for her!"
"Like you?" Boromir snarled.
Legolas glared, but did not answer.
"Would you die for her affection, elf? As I said, if you want her, have her!" He sheathed his sword, "It is of little matter to me."
"You really don't understand, do you?" Legolas said, still glaring, "It matters not what I want, or what you want."
"What I want," Boromir hissed, taking a step closer, "is not to be lied to and betrayed by someone I once called a friend. I wonder if you will think so highly of her if it is you that is the next to die and she does nothing to stop it."
Something finally fell into place in Legolas' mind, something that had puzzled him since the moment Mel had been discovered in their camp outside of Rivendell. Something he should have seen long ago.
"And I wonder if you will think so little of her if it is you that is to die and she has been doing everything in her power to prevent it."
Boromir snorted derisively and stepped back, "She uses her power only to make sure that all goes according to whatever plan she has in her mind. If you believe anything less you are a fool, Legolas."
Boromir turned his back on the elf and slunk away. But Legolas was no longer angry. He watched him go, a sad smile tugging on his lips and heart.
"No, Boromir. I fear you are the fool."