Chapter Twenty-Four: Consequences

Ameron looked up at the menacing clouds above him and frowned. It looked like it would rain and for him it wasn't a pleasant thought. 'One more delay,' he thought. 'The rain will slow us down. At this rate the war will be over by the time we reach Gondor!' He looked around him and saw his army making ready to depart. All save one.

"They're coming," she whispered as he approached. Mélanyë was sitting on the ground hugging her knees with her head down as if afraid to look up. "They're coming and we're not going to survive." He sighed and knelt in front of her. He placed a hand on her head in comfort and she finally looked up at him.

"Mélanyë," he said in a soft voice, "look around you. All of us have been in many battles. These are the most skilled elves you could hope to be with. If there are Wildmen out there they're no match for us." She began to shake her head but he cupped her face with his hand. "All I ask is that you trust me." She held his gaze for a long time and he saw such intensity in those depths that he had to look away.

"Why don't you believe me?" she whispered, almost a desperate plea. He sighed again and stood, turning away from her. He looked at the others, his friends and colleagues. For so long they'd been looking to join the fight, to help their friends and end the war. He watched as they cleaned their swords and polished their armor. His people were restless, morale was low, and it looked like another week of travelling before they reached their goal. He didn't know whether he believed her dream or not, but he wished it were true. They needed a good fight, any fight, to feel useful.

He looked back at Mélanyë and frowned. There was, however, the chance that elves would die in the conflict. He didn't want to admit this to her, but he suspected she already knew. He had heard of her. The girl from Imladris who followed her love into battle and nearly got herself killed. The girl who could 'see' things. At that moment she was looking at him and he wondered what she saw. Sometimes he even wondered what he saw when he looked at his own reflection.

"I do believe you," he whispered, almost to himself, "I do." Mélanyë watched, puzzled, as he walked away. She sat on her own for a long moment before taking out her weapons and began to sharpen Laspis.

A few minutes later she heard shouting on the edge of the camp. She stood in alarm and ran towards the sound before she knew what she was doing. Even before she arrived she heard Ameron's voice demanding what had happened. She found the circle of elves and saw Tiranen holding Calen who was on the ground with an arrow in his shoulder. One of the healers shouldered his way into the circle and began to treat the other elf.

"We were scouting the way ahead when we were attacked," said Tiranen. "There were two of them; I think they were Men. They were so fast, I didn't get a good look. I think there may be more of them."

"Much more," said Mélanyë. The others all looked to her and then to Ameron. He looked down as the healer tried to help Calen.

"Arm yourselves," was all he said. He looked up at Mélanyë and then stumbled back out of the crowd to find his weapons. As he did, almost like magic the Wildmen appeared all around them. They had used stealth to sneak up on the camp while they were occupied and unarmed. All around her elves were falling under their attack.

Mélanyë ran through the fight towards where she'd camped to get her weapons, cursing herself for not being prepared. She was knocked to the ground from behind a few meters from her weapons and turned to see a huge man looming over her with a big toothless grin.

"You're pretty..." he said. She screamed and began squirming out from under him. He rolled off of her as he was shot in the back by another elf. She reached her weapons and strapped them on as quickly as possible before joining in the fight.

She drew her sword, turned around and stopped dead. Already there were bodies all over the ground, and the majority, she saw, were elves. There was still fighting around her but most on their feet were Wildmen. She took aim with her bow and shot several of them before a thought hit her- she hadn't seen Cóume at all. Not fighting, not on the ground. Her heart leapt into her throat at the thought of him dead somewhere and she began searching the battlefield for her friend.

Several times she was attacked as she looked for Cóume and she managed to fight them off, but just barely. She noticed with great trepidation that these Men were a much more difficult adversary than the Orcs and Uruks she'd fought before. The Orcs had fought with the sheer force of their hatred, while these Wildmen fought with skill and purpose. She realized that her training was insufficient when compared to her enemy. The words of her dream came back to her with painful clarity as she struggled to hold her own in the fight.

She continued her search for Cóume, stumbling over bodies and praying that he wasn't one of them. She had to force herself to not think about who had been struck down, if she knew them or not, who they were and where they came from. There would be time to mourn later. She called repeatedly for Cóume but received no answer. All she could hear was the sound of clashing swords and the screams of the injured.

Suddenly she was stopped by the arm. She turned and saw Ameron looking at her with an unreadable expression. It could have been sad, or intense, or regretful. They shared a long look that said many thoughts they could never hope to express aloud. Then Ameron spoke to her for the last time.

"I'm sorry," he said. She held his eyes and saw tears forming in them. She nodded sadly.

"Me too." She took his hand and squeezed it before resuming her search for her friend.

She finally reached the edge of the fight, where the action was the thinnest. Still she had to fight her way through several Wildmen to see what was going on. Then she spotted the silhouette of her friend struggling with one of the Wildmen.

"Cóume!!" she cried as she ran to him. Suddenly as she neared he fell to the ground with his attacker. Neither got up. She ran as fast as she could towards him and turned him onto his back when she reached him. She saw the growing red stain on his chest as she gathered him up into her lap and he tried to focus on her face. In a glance she saw the broken arrow shaft in his hand and looked down to see the metallic glint of the arrow head buried in the wound. "Oh, Cóume, what have you done..." she whispered. She was about to call for a healer when she felt the sharp point of an arrow on the back of her neck. Hot breath hissed in her ear and she felt the chill run up her spine.

"Move and you're dead," it said. Shakily, she began to turn, but before she could see who was behind her she was struck down and all went black.