Shield and Sword

Lea of Mirkwood

Disclaimer: Same as always.

A/N: Do not attempt to use this medical stuff on yourself. It would not be wise to do so. DO NOT. This is only a story, FICTION, not a medical handbook.

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The sun was baking, shining down through the trees and laying dappled shadows on Boromir's face that darted and dipped like spirits as the leaves moved. He lay cold and bleeding under the great tree, his body cradled like a babe between the roots. Their firm embrace kept him still, and he had not moved more than a finger's breadth for two days. He felt the warmth of the sun on his cold skin, and it stirred him to awakening. His eyelids fluttered, and then opened.

What happened?

Where am I?

In a rush, every memory of Amon Hen flooded back to him, and a whimper of pain and shame escaped his chapped lips. Blood pouring down his arm, through his fingers, onto the forest floor. He weakly lifted his head a few inches and saw the arrow protruding from his shoulder. He gasped and nearly slipped into darkness again, but took a deep breath and tried to move. Immediately a spurt of blood flowed from the wound on his shoulder, like wine. He tried to stop the blood, but realized that the weight of the arrow was pulling at his flesh whenever he moved. The heavy feathered end dragged down if he sat up, and ripped into him further. There was no question about it. He would have to break it off.

"Curse this arrow, curse the orcs," growled Boromir as he grasped the shaft of the arrow. He gritted his teeth and bent the wood. Pain shot through his shoulder, and he nearly let it go. Almost...

He tried to bring his left arm up to help, but the tendons were so badly ripped he could not move it. Just then he felt the arrow scrape against bone. Ignoring the excruciating agony, he braced the tip of the arrow against the bone in his body and pulled. The shaft broke neatly in half, about the length of his finger still sticking out of the wound. Blood covered his hands and chest, and it was all he could do to keep from passing out from sheer pain.

"Elendil," he prayed. "Please..."

He did not know what it was he was asking, whether it was to take away the pain, let him die, let him live...what? Boromir, Captain of Gondor and the sword-arm of the White Tower, raised his good hand to his eyes and wept.

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"Well, this is a fine pickle I've found myself in," muttered Melanwen as she shuffled across the water, trying to let her feet push aside sharp rocks and scare away stinging fish, rather than stepping full on them. "Far from home here, well, perhaps not so far, and look at this! Wet skirt, wet boots, and still no food. Ah, more's the pity. Why I ever decided to come and live here is far beyond my reckoning." She frowned at the water sloshing at her ankles. "Particularly now."

She stepped out of the water and shook out her skirts, smiling at the clear blueness of the middle of the Anduin.

"Ah, Great River. So lovely and blue in the center. Pity you couldn't see to giving a little clarity to the edges, hm, instead of all this blasted mud!"

She pushed her hair back from her face. It was only grey at the temples, surprising for a woman who was four-and-fifty. She kept up her chatter as she walked along the woods, lifting her skirts to her knees to keep it from being snagged and ripped on the forest floor.

Melanwen, or rather Melly, chattered to herself to keep from going insane. She lived alone in a small cottage, with only a cat for company.

"I feel so lonely sometimes, I feel like I could just explode in on myself. It's not a nice feeling. Oh my."

Melanwen halted suddenly, staring all around her.

"What happened here?"

Tall creatures with tortured, mutilated faces covered the floor before her. They were sliced in two, stabbed, all around her their tar-colored blood covered the soft leaves. She stepped back in terror at the eyes, yellow, red, green, staring blankly at the sky or at her. A cry of horror escaped her lips at the horrific sight. At her cry, she heard something replying. A soft moan of pain from behind the tree. Melanwen, her curious nature overriding her wisdom that told her to run, run, run, walked over. For once her chatter was silenced.

"Oh, Melly," she whispered to herself. "This is a fine thing. I am possibly the stupidest woman to ever walk this land..."

Peering around the corner of the tree she saw a tall man, a great bear of a man, laying in between two roots, a cairn on his still rising and falling chest. The stump of an arrow protruded from his shoulder, and a shield was pinned to his arm by an arrow through his forearm. He shifted his head when he heard her gasp, and keen grey eyes looked into her brown ones. His lips formed one word. Please.

Melanwen fell to her knees beside his prone body and took his face in her hands.

"Dear Eru," she whispered. "What devilry is this?"

A faint smile crossed his lips, but pain clouded his eyes again and he moaned, turning his face away from her. She studied it for a moment, seeing strong, noble features and a carefully trimmed beard. The face of a noble lord, wise and fair.

"Goodness," said Melanwen, and he looked back at her muzzily. She smiled reassuringly. "We need to get you to my house, don't we? Yes, we certainly do. Where is your pack?"

At his hazy look of confusion, she frowned.

"Come now, you are far from Gondor, and certainly wouldn't come out here without a pack, would you? Where is it?"

His lips moved soundlessly, and though Melanwen leaned her ear next to his face, she heard nothing.

"Oh, this is ridiculous." She fumbled at her waist and found her flask of water. She lightly dribbled some of the liquid on his lips and then wiped caked blood from his mouth with her sleeve.

"Beach," he croaked. "Pack...boat..."

Melanwen listened carefully and nodded. "Very well. On the beach, there is a pack and a boat. That's good news. I suppose I can take you back up the river then."

At his look of shock, she shook her head. "No, not straight up the river, up the shallows at the side."

The man looked even more horrified, and tilted his head weakly at the field of corpses. Melanwen stifled a shudder and shook her head.

"No, I just came from there, and there are no more."

He still looked worried, and a little like Melanwen's son when he was afraid to do something, so she impulsively leaned over and kissed the man's brow, cold with sweat.

"There, come now. You'll be all right here. Everything will be fine."

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