Chapter 28

As soon as Mel began to dream, it was odd. Images swirled and morphed, changing and shifting, never quite taking on form. Faces floated through the mix, Saruman, Boromir, Vanion, Legolas, orcs, the hobbits. They all whirled and churned around her, passing through different events, different nightmares, but nothing seemed substantial. Nothing seemed real. Then a familiar voice echoed clearly out of the weirdness.

"Melody Calenhiril."

Instantly, her mind conjured a sun-dappled forest, a path of soft grass weaving through the underbrush at her feet. Mel knew this path. She knew where it led. She followed it until she emerged into a clearing of deep green. The path split into two branches. And Yavanna stood at the divide.

"Haven't we already done this once?" Mel asked, trying to hide her nerves. She didn't like this. And the Valier did not look happy.

"I am sorry, child," She said, her voice forlorn, "But the choice has been given to you."

A light burst onto the path to her left, and Boromir was there, a bright smile and sparkling eyes, twirling his sword playfully like he did when they were in the midst of a sparring match. Mel swallowed hard. The light faded. Anticipating what came next, Mel looked down the right hand path. But nothing happened. The path remained dark. After several moments, Mel gave up and looked back at Yavanna.

"So what are my choices?"

Yavanna's eyes were sad.

"It has not yet been decided. When the time comes, you will know."

Mel's anger flared up.

"That's it? That's all I get? How do I choose when I don't know the options? What kind of dumbass game are you people playing anyway?"

"It is Mandos who will reveal the second choice to you. And he has not yet decided who it shall be."

"Do I at least get a deadline or a timeframe or something?"

"I cannot say. It is Mandos who will decide."

Yavanna's eyes flashed. She now looked almost as angry as Mel felt, which was more emotion than Mel thought she had ever seen on the Valier's face.

"I am also forbidden to visit you again until the choice is made. Manwe has decided this is best. After tonight, you will not see me anymore."

Mel stared at her, and then took a panicked step forward.

"What?" she said, trying not to let the panic into her voice, "What do you mean? You won't talk to me anymore? How will I know what to do?"

"When the time comes, you will know." Yavanna said, her expression softening into sadness again, "I am sorry, Melody Calenhiril. I did my best to keep him from harm. The rest, I'm afraid, is up to you. Be strong. Be brave. Be vigilant. Mandos does not care which soul he claims. Be careful, little one."

Mel gasped and sat up, her hand groping for her sword hilt propped against her bed. She listened carefully, trying to quiet the pounding in her ears. She thought she heard something moving outside her door. She slid carefully out of bed and edged her way across the floor of the empty cabin. She pressed her ear to the door. The sounds were gone. But still she reached out with her mind to the bush outside.

"There is only the Son of Gondor, Calenhiril," the bush reported, "He has been here all night long."

Mel let out the breath she'd been holding and slid to the floor, back to the door and knees pulled up to her chest.

I am sorry, child… the choice has been given to you…

Mel closed her eyes and let a tear slip down her cheek. She couldn't do this. It was too much. How was she supposed to…?

She couldn't think about it. The choice was not yet hers to make. She had to put it aside or she was going to go crazy. Besides she had other more pressing issues to deal with. Like the terrified Wardens waiting for her just beyond that door, who more than likely thought she was a witch.

She stood up, quietly packed her things, and put on her shoes and sword belt. Light was just beginning to seep onto the horizon when she very carefully cracked the door open. Boromir was gone. At first she panicked, thinking something might have happened to him. But then she saw him, leaning against the log wall watching her.

"Ready for your lesson?" he asked.

Mel tried to control her racing heartbeat. Of course she was panicking for nothing. And Boromir was clearly trying very hard to act as if nothing was wrong, trying to put her at ease after… But something was wrong, more than he even knew. There were so many things wrong, most of which she didn't have a clue how to fix.

One thing at a time… she repeated to herself as they walked toward a far corner of the camp. That's all you can do, handle one crisis at a time…

"You're up early." Boromir said.

Mel hitched her bag up on her shoulder, "Didn't really sleep well."

He nodded, "Neither did I. I will be glad to be rid of this place, I think."

His face darkened for a moment. Mel didn't respond.

"Are you still having nightmares?" he asked, as if trying to change the subject.

Mel thought back to her dream from last night. It scared the hell out of her, but it wasn't what she would classify as a nightmare per se.

"No."

She tried to sound firm and decisive, but something about it still tasted like a lie. Boromir glanced at her, but she didn't meet his eyes. He didn't say anything more.

The corner of the camp he'd chosen was deserted except for a couple of trees reaching for the sky with long, scraggly branches. Mel took the time to greet them as they passed and the shudder of leaves in response gave her a strange sort of comfort. Boromir didn't mention it, though he did give the trees a sideways glance as they passed.

They unsheathed their swords and training began without words, ceremony, or even focus. They just fought over and over again. Mel lost every match. She tried not to be discouraged. After all she was fighting the best swordsman in Gondor. But after Boromir's fifth successful attempt to knock her on her ass, she was finding it difficult to feel optimistic. Boromir smiled, his dark expression long vanished, and sheathed his sword.

"You're getting better." he said, pulling her to her feet.

Mel rolled her eyes as she picked up her sword.

"I'm gonna have to take your word on that. I don't feel like I'm any better."

"Sometimes you must ignore what you feel and accept the truth."

Mel brushed the hair out of her eyes and looked up. The sun had fully risen now. Birds were chirping. The sky was blue. The air was clear and clean. It certainly didn't feel like the end of the world, but she knew that it could be. She looked back at Boromir. It didn't feel like he was in danger, but he was. He smiled and held out her bag.

Her heart stuttered. She wanted to reach out and touch him. It would be so easy, so innocent, just a brush of fingers… The urge only lasted for a second or two before she remembered. She glanced at the campfire, already surrounded by men talking quietly in the early morning calm, occasionally peeking over at them. What were they whispering?

Witch…

Whore…

Fear and rumor. That's what she was battling now, not flesh and blood. There were so many battles that she couldn't fight, so many things that she couldn't fix. But this wasn't one of them.

Mel steeled herself and took the bag, making sure she didn't get any closer to him, didn't even touch his fingers, though she could have. She even took a step back once it was safely in her hand.

"Shall we go to breakfast?" Boromir asked, reaching out for her.

But Mel stayed where she was. It was probably the hardest thing she'd ever had to do.

"Look, I think we should get some things straight."

Boromir's smile disappeared, replaced by a furrowed brow. He dropped his hand. Mel pointed toward the fire and forced herself to keep talking.

"Those guys over there are not my friends. In fact, they don't think very highly of me at all, I think what happened last night made that pretty obvious. I don't want to do any more damage to you than I already have, so I'm just gonna go ahead and back off. I think maybe you should too. Better now than have to deal with culture shock when we get to Minas Tirith anyway."

Boromir had taken a step back, his face still furrowed in confusion.

"Melody, what are you talking about?" he said, his voice soft and shaky, "I don't understand."

Mel shook her head and slung her bag onto her shoulder. Focus, Mel, stay focused…

"I'm saying that if last night proved anything, it's that I can take care of myself. So while I appreciate the gesture, don't sleep outside my door anymore."

She turned on her heel and headed for the campfire so he wouldn't see her face. If he did, he would know she was lying. She wanted nothing more than to know that Boromir would be close, somewhere just outside her door. But she had to ignore what she wanted. She had to stop being so selfish. She didn't need him to protect her. It was the other way around. And she couldn't keep an eye on him if she was constantly watching her own back for fear-mongers and sleaze-balls. Boromir was right. Sometimes you had to ignore how you felt and accept the truth that was in front of you. And she knew this was for the best. For both of them.


Boromir felt as if he'd been punched by a troll. She wanted him to stay away. That was what she meant. Stay back. You're too close. He had to force a breath into his lungs before he could follow her to the fireside, but he still felt dazed. He was intently aware of the wide berth the men gave Melody, the nervous glances they cast her way. She sat on one side of the fire, while they all sat on the other. Boromir seated himself between them, feeling ripped in two. He couldn't leave her alone. But she didn't want him with her. So then, where was he supposed to go?

He didn't taste the food. He ate mechanically until his plate was empty. Then he got up to saddle the horses, unconsciously placing himself where he could see her, could get to her easily if she needed him. But he shifted when he realized what he'd done. It was uncomfortable not to have her in sight. He'd never felt like this, lost, adrift. He'd always been so certain of his place, confident in his position. And it had been so easy to step into the role of Melody's friend and protector. It suited him as few things had. Now he felt like a man without a map and no stars to guide him. What was he supposed to do?

He glanced toward the fire and Melody was gone. He panicked, dropping the bridle in his hand and whirling about, searching… There she was, brushing the pretty white mare that she would ride today. He let out a breath and picked up the bridle, wiping the bit before settling it on his gelding's head. As he finished tacking up, he told himself that his concerns were normal. After all, she had saved his life. He owed her his protection. But these thoughts were fleeting excuses that sounded hollow even in his mind. This wasn't about the past. He wasn't sure if it had ever been about the past. The simple truth was that if anything happened to her, Boromir didn't know what he would do. And that frightened him more than all the orcs in Mordor.

After only a few moments of tense farewells, they were on the road again. They didn't speak. Boromir's thoughts were still scattered. He didn't know what to do with himself. Now that they were safely out of the camp, could they speak as friends again? Or were they to be forever locked in this awkward silence? What if he never heard her laugh again? The thought was unbearable, like a weight threatening to crush him. He desperately cast about for something to say, something she couldn't object to, something safe.

But he had never been well-versed in the art of casual conversation, and the longer he searched for words that would not come, the angrier he became. What right had Melody to cut him off? They were traveling companions if nothing else. How could she expect him to spend hours upon hours in her company and not speak a word? And what about their friendship? Did it mean so little to her? How could she expect to isolate herself from him after all this time? And what reason did she have? Some half-conjured notion of his reputation? How could she possibly base anything on one man's flawed and demented opinion? She was going to throw away all of her pleasant experiences with the Wardens, all of the good men she had met, because of one ghastly incident. It didn't make sense!

As he got angrier and angrier, he decided that it was not his place to lift the silence. If Melody insisted on being unreasonable, he would not argue with her. If he truly meant so little to her, then he would leave her to her brooding. Perhaps by the end of the day she would come to her senses. Deep down, he hoped and prayed she would.