Chapter Twenty-Six: Help Unlooked-For

Mélanyë stared at the rising sun before her. She sat hugging her knees to keep warm and praying the sun would rise faster. Her eyes moved from the horizon down to her bound wrists. Gingerly she touched the red welts that had risen under the rough ropes they'd tied her with. The pain was like fire burning her skin, but she'd quickly learned to block it out. She realized then that she couldn't remember what it felt like to not be hurt or bruised. It seemed to her that she'd been away from Imladris for so long that it was merely a dream or another life long ago. As the sun rose higher, however, its rays played on the surface of some small white and yellow flowers that grew on the bank of the Isen not too far from where she sat.

'Or maybe it wasn't a dream,' she thought as she slowly reached out to pick one of the flowers. She breathed deeply the smell of it and smiled, letting it take her back years ago when her mother had brought her to this very spot as a child. She then inched closer to the edge of the water and looked down. The rapids crashed against the bank below with such speed that she sat back, surprised. She looked back at the flower and then froze as a terrifying thought occurred to her.

'They would never notice if I jumped, would they?' she thought. She glanced over her shoulder at the guard behind her. He was leaning his back against a bare tree trunk and snoring loudly. 'They just assume there's no fight left in me. I'll show them.' She was about to turn back to the water when something caught her eye.

The Wildmen's camp, in contrast to where she sat, was still dark, untouched by the new rays of the sun. It was almost frightening- shades of black and grey all around with a dark spike in the distance ahead. Every figure was shadowed in the pre-dawn darkness save one. In the middle of the camp surrounded by guards was Cóume. His fair Mirkwood robes caught even the slightest light that reached them and shone, giving him an ethereal look among the dirty Men about him. Even his skin seemed to shine in contrast to theirs. She sat down again and stared at him, despair anchoring her back in reality.

'How could I abandon him? I can't leave him like this after all he's done for me. I have to stay.' She sighed and lay down, closing her eyes and allowing herself to rest for the few minutes before they got moving again. Not two minutes had gone by before she heard shouts across the camp. She sat up and saw a crowd gathered around where Cóume lay.

"Cóume?" she said quietly. She sat up to get a better view and was roughly picked up from behind and shoved in her friend's direction. The crowd parted for her and she saw him weakly shaking, struggling to breathe. Her bag was once again thrown at her.

"Cóume?" she said again, louder. He didn't seem to hear or see her and she had no idea what was happening. She searched through her bag looking for anything that could help him, but she simply didn't know what to do. His shaking then became more violent. "Cóume, no!" she pleaded. His eyes began to grow dull as the tried to focus on her. "Cóume, please, don't do this…don't leave me here alone!" Cóume's hand found hers and he pulled her to him with all the strength he had left.

"Mel," he whispered, "you have to go now." He let her go and she watched as his hand fell limp and his eyes closed. She stared at him in disbelief, feeling heat rise in her cheeks and hot tears stinging her eyes. Swiftly an uncontrollable despair took over of her and she wept, not caring who saw her or what possible punishment could result. She lay over his body and wept bitterly, begging Cóume to come back to her, but soon she heard the sound of Rachun's heavy boots behind her.

"Get rid of it," he growled. Before she could understand what he'd meant, one of the other men grabbed Cóume's body and dragged him away from her. Her eyes widened in shock and horror as the man picked up her friend and dumped him into the Isen.

"No!" she cried. She tried to escape her captors in a hopeless attempt to rescue Cóume, but it was too late. Mutoh laughed harshly as they all heard the splash.

"Let's go," said Rachun. As the others began to move out he looked down at the sobbing girl on the ground. "And stop whining." She was then roughly picked up and forced to walk. Before her she could see in the near distance a great black spike piercing the sky.

The next morning dawned dim and cold. Mélanyë lay curled up hugging her knees and shivering as the camp began to stir. She did not look up, but kept her eyes closed as if asleep. After they had made camp the night before she had stayed awake, partly from fear of her captors and partly to think.

Cóume was gone, there was no reason for her to stay with these men any longer, and yet she no longer felt she had the strength to escape. Cóume's words to her days ago came back and laughed at her- '…go now, while you still can…' She slipped her hand under her shirt and felt her still-bruised ribs, a sign that her strength really had left her. She pulled her hand away, but as she did, felt the hilt of the small knife Cóume had given to her. She wrapped her hand around the handle and rubbed it thoughtfully. She then began to think about what she could do with it.

Although she may not be able to escape, she mused, at least she could take out a few of the Wildmen before they killed her. Better to die here in battle than to be taken to Isengard and tortured for news of her brother.

Even as she made her decision, she felt rough hands on her shoulders and was turned onto her back. Rachun hovered above her. He was about to say something, when before she could think better of it Mélanyë slipped the knife from her shirt and buried it into his stomach. His eyes went wide with shock, and he looked as if he was trying to speak, but no words came out.

Suddenly a fierce anger overcame her and she buried the knife deeper into him, twisting it and attempting to cause as much pain to her tormenter as she could. She felt his blood flowing over her hand as it held the knife, but she ignored it, forcing the blade in as far as she could, until the tip came out through his back. The only way Mutoh knew there was anything wrong.

He stood and rolled Rachun off of the elf, only to see that she was covered in his master's blood. In a blind rage he drew his sword and raised it over her head. Mélanyë backed away but knew that escape was impossible. There was one of her and sixty of them. There was no way out. She closed her eyes, bracing for the blow when instead he fell to the ground beside her. When she opened her eyes she saw a green-feathered arrow buried in his back. Mélanyë looked up in awe and saw a figure clad in a long dark cloak running towards her. It picked up her weapons from where they lay and brought them to her.

The camp had been raised by the clamber and quickly armed themselves as the figure pushed back its hood. Mélanyë saw with surprise that it was female.

"You are Edain," said Mélanyë.

"There's no time for introductions just yet," she said as she cut the girl's bonds, "arm yourself, we'll make for the Isen and lose them in the river. Hurry!" With that she drew her sword and began fending off the angry Wildmen. Mélanyë quickly did as the woman asked, strapping on her weapons, her cloak and her backpack, and then drew her own sword. The two fought their way through the camp and finally came to the edge of the swift-flowing Isen.

"Jump!" said the woman. Mélanyë looked down at the rapids and then at the Wildmen running towards them. The woman took Mélanyë's sword and sheathed it. "Jump! There's no time!" The girl again hesitated, and before she could look back she felt herself being pushed off the cliff. Mélanyë hit the icy water below, and remembered nothing more.