Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even my mind for that is a gift that will someday be taken from me as well. Enjoy the story. MornieGalad
Chapter Two
"Mellanir, what is it? Mellanir, Mellanir!" She was shaking, tears in her eyes. Her entire being seemed consumed with unspoken fear. Her brother had never seen her as terrified as this. He knew not what to do or say to comfort her. He held her in his strong arms, trying his best to be her shield against whatever this terror was. After a few moments, she tried to speak the words in her mind, but they caught in her throat, mixing with the tears and thoughts. Finally, she choked them out in broken, fragmented sounds, tears seeping from her eyes.
"I saw . . . you . . . dead," she sobbed, burying her head in her hands. "Arrows pierced your chest in some distant forest, and surrounded by faces I knew not." Her sobs nearly drowned all the words from her lips. Boromir looked deeply into her young eyes, lifting her head from its hideaway.
"Everything will be all right, Mellanir. I have no intention of leaving Minas Tirith at the moment. You'll see. There's nothing to worry about." At that moment, a voice echoed down through the corridor.
"Boromir! Boromir!" Denethor's urgent call met their ears seconds before the door opened. "Your brother has failed me again. Osgiliath has nearly been over run. You must take your men and save what has been lost, my son."
"Yes, father," Boromir agreed, following the steward from Mellanir's room. "Sleep well, dear sister," he wished gently as he left. Mellanir couldn't sleep, though. She stared after Boromir. Then, as his footsteps died away, she rose as silently as a dream and slipped from her room.
"What good can you do?" she thought to herself. "You've never even seen battle and you presume to save your brother, a skilled, brave, and noble warrior. Your vision did not even happen in Osgiliath. It was a forest," Mellanir argued as she moved toward the stables.
"Perhaps I was mistaken. Besides if he does incur trouble, it would be insufferable to be uselessly dawdling in Minas Tirith with my father," she countered as she mounted her horse, not realizing she was utterly vulnerable, devoid of armor. Into the night she raced on her steed, Valhisse.
"Mellanir, I am leaving for Osgi . . ." Boromir broke off as he scanned the room for his sister. She was nowhere to be found. The bed did not appear to have been used since he had left. The sheets were devoid of warmth when he lay his hand on them. Her boots as well were gone, but Mellanir was terrified of the darkness. What would possess her to abandon the security of this bedroom for the dark dangers of the outside world? He scanned the room for a clue to where she had gone, a sign, a not, footprints, but there was nothing to be found.
What had they spoken of when father had interrupted with distressed pleas? She had seen death, his death! Did she seek now to prevent it in some way? Boromir's mind snapped from much needed repose and he dashed toward the stables, understanding wakening in his thoughts.
Mellanir began to droop wearily on Valhisse's back. Odd as it was, this darkness seemed a second home to her tonight. Her typical fears had not arisen, yet exhaustion had. Her eyes closed to slits, seeing only darkness, sensing only the steady tread beneath her body.
"Mellanir, daughter of Denethor," a voice addressed her. Her head jerked up and her eyes flashed open to see a shining figure. "I am Lorien, the Vala of dreams." Mellanir nearly fell from her perch atop Valhisse's back at this. She caught herself, though, and gracefully dismounted and knelt to the Vala. He took her hand and helped her to her feet.
"Daughter of Gondor, why do you ride to battle without armor or a sword?" Mellanir, who had not realized this, blushed, feeling rather stupid, and tried to hide the tears that pricked here eyes.
"I wanted to save Boromir," she cried. Lorien smiled.
"My child, trust your dream. It is not in this battle that your brother will fall. You were right to think of Lothlorien tonight, which is where you must go."
"If you please, my lord, I have no companion and I do not know the way."
"You do not know, but your friend Valhisse does. You must trust her and your dreams. Trust me, Mellanir."
"I would be a great fool not to do as you say, my lord," she replied, "and I am not such a fool as that. Farewell, my dear brother. Shall we ever meet again?" A voice inside Mellanir seemed to answer 'we shall' and these two words echoed through her head as she drifted to sleep on her northbound steed.