Chapter 2

The orcs stopped once more that night, but only for a moment. Mel could hear what sounded like an argument and one small, familiar voice shouting over it all.

"My friend is sick! He needs water, please!"

Pippin. Her heart swelled when she heard him and she tried to turn toward the sound of his voice, but she still couldn't see him. The orcs started to laugh.

"Sick is he? Give him some medicine, boys!"

There was more laughing and Pippin started shouting protests, "Stop it! Leave him alone!"

"Stop!" Mel yelled, kicking at her own captor to make sure she had their attention, "You're hurting him! Your master won't like it!"

Someone grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head up. She bit back her scream.

"Shut your face, witch!"

Then he slapped her, a bone rattling strike that snapped her head back and made her vision go black for an instant. When she came to, the orc was gone and all she had to show for it was a massive headache and a throbbing jaw. But she clearly heard Pippin calling.

"Mel? Mel, is that you? Mel?!"

"Quiet, Shire-rat!" an Uruk-Hai yelled.

There was a pause. Then one of the orcs spoke nearby.

"What is it? What do you smell?"

"Man-flesh."

There was an uneasy grumble from the group.

"They've picked up our trail!"

"Let's go!"

"Move it, you slimy maggots!"

The endless bouncing began again, but Mel felt slightly relieved. The Three Hunters were coming, just as they should be. That meant they were heading toward Fangorn Forest. She rubbed her hands together. The gloves that the Lady Galadriel had given her were still on tight. That meant either they really were magical and the Uruk-Hai hadn't been able to pry them from her fingers, or they had no idea what the source of her power was. They knew she had power though. They kept calling her a witch. That meant someone knew. Someone knew and didn't want the orcs to know. Someone wanted that power for themselves. She clasped her hands together. She could only imagine what kind of damage the Yavannacor might do in abusive hands.

Her face was beginning to swell. She brushed at her throbbing cheek with her bound hands, wincing at the sharp twinge of pain. She'd be lucky if her whole face didn't swell up like a balloon. But it would all be over soon. If she could just get to the trees…

Though the trail was easy enough to follow, Boromir soon let Aragorn take the lead. The Ranger was by far the better tracker and Boromir didn't want his distraction to cause him to miss some hint of movement. He kept a steady pace and his thoughts kept a steady cadence, repeating the last words he had heard Melody say.

Please, I don't want you to die.

Legolas had been right. He hadn't even realized that his life was in danger, and still she had been trying to save him. Boromir couldn't imagine the pain and uncertainty he had caused her over the last two months as she had wrestled with the decision, whether to save his life or keep the history of this world intact. And in the end, she had chosen him. That was what baffled him most. After all he had said and all he had done, Melody's last gasping plea had not been for her own life, but for his. She had been holding him back from a black precipice all this time, and he had been pushing her away, loathing even the sight of her as he stumbled blindly toward his own demise. And though at the end her grip had slipped, she had never lost her hold on him.

Would he have taken the same actions had she told him he was going to die? His pride told him of course he would have. Melody's attitude toward Middle Earth had always told him that the outlook was good. They would win this war. Otherwise, there would have been nothing for the author in her world to write about. Lost wars make for very dull, depressing stories. His pride said he would have done exactly as she had told him, if she had only told him. But if he had discovered anything about himself, it was that his pride had gotten him into all this. His pride had almost killed Melody. His pride was why she and the hobbits were not with them right now. His pride was why Frodo and Sam were now facing the Emyn Muil alone and unguided. His pride may have doomed them all.

And so, even though it was difficult, he decided to put aside his pride. And beneath that, he knew that faced with the knowledge of his own death, he would not have acted the same way. It would be impossible for any mortal man, no matter if he were instructed or not. Melody had been wise to keep that from him. Something was supposed to happen, something in all of this was meant to be. If she had wanted to save him, she would have waited until the very last possible second, so that events could fall into place. But now, the simple fact that he was still alive changed everything. He should not be here, chasing after the Uruk-Hai across the wide plains, ignoring the burning of his muscles and the complaints from his lungs. What events would his very existence affect? By saving his life, had Melody sacrificed the war?

Boromir didn't know if he could live with the knowledge that his life meant the end of hope for Middle Earth, for his people. But nothing was set in stone, not anymore. He was alive now and he would do everything in his power to make certain that his people remained safe. And he would start with Melody.

The night had fallen almost without notice. The four companions had not slowed pace. It wasn't necessary. The orcs cut a wide path through the tall grasses of the plains, unwary and destructive, concerned more with speed than caution. They hurried after them, none of them speaking. No one called for a halt, though they all must have been as tired as he. But he ignored his weariness, tucking his complaining muscles and drooping eyes into a small corner of his consciousness. Instead he let a happier memory overshadow his thoughts.

He burst through the doors and out into the sunshine of a brilliant Rivendell morning. The darkness of the room had been oppressive and the eyes of the Ranger had seemed stronger than they should have, deeper and with more wisdom. It made him feel small and uncomfortable. He took a deep breath and put his hands on the rail of the balcony, freeing his mind of unpleasant thoughts and enjoying the serenity of the elven city. The peace was enjoyable, but quiet. He needed company, conversation…

He turned and there sat the girl, Melody, watching him quietly and curiously. He was taken off guard. Had she been there the entire time? He realized how frazzled he must look and attempted to calm himself by smoothing his hair.

"Forgive me, Lady Melody, I did not know you were there."

"I know."

She winced when she said it and words started to tumble haphazardly from her mouth, as if to make up for some faux pas.

"I mean, I saw you and I was going to leave, but I just… sorry, I guess I should…"

She started to stand and Boromir felt a moment of panic. She wasn't a part of this world, in truth he had barely known her half a day, but if she left he would be alone again, with only his thoughts and the memory of the Ranger's knowing eyes…

"No, please," He said, raising a hand and then lowering it again before she noticed, clasping it behind his back, "Don't go on my account."

She paused, and then she sat again, staring at her hands twisting in her lap. A knot in Boromir's chest relaxed, but now that he had convinced her to stay, words would not come to his mind. He stood and waited desperately for something to come to him, some bit of mindless conversation. Company and conversation, wasn't that what he had asked for? Hadn't he once known how to make small talk? It seemed like a very long time ago.

Melody, in the meanwhile, seemed to come to some sort of internal decision and slid to make room on the stone bench, patting the vacancy beside her.

"Wanna sit?"

Just that simple gesture, so sincerely and kindly offered, felt as if a weight had come off his shoulders. He took the offered seat and leaned back with a sigh that he hadn't meant to be audible. He realized that he had not even asked after her health since her collapse the night before and he cringed inwardly at his insensitivity. His mother would have been appalled.

"I am glad that you are recovering from your ordeal yesterday," He said, "Lord Elrond tells me that there appear to be no side effects of your… unusual journey."

It felt strange to speak of it so casually, but she seemed to take it in stride. She smiled and sat back a little, her posture not quite so uncomfortably stiff as it had been before.

"Thank you," she said, "I feel fine. Well, other than the fact that I have no idea what's going on and I feel like I might be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. But yeah, I'm fine."

He could detect a hint of bitter humor in her voice which leant meaning to her otherwise jumbled words. She stared at her hands fidgeting in her lap for a moment and he watched her, twirling the pretty ring around and around her finger, before she seemed to realize she was doing it and bunched her hands in her skirts to stop herself. He suddenly realized that he had been watching her for longer than was probably polite and he turned away, staring out toward the lovely sight of the valley below them.

"How are you enjoying Imladris, Lady Melody?"

He inwardly cringed even as the words left his lips. Could he do no better than that? His skills of conversation were badly out of practice.

"You don't have to do that."

He turned back to stare at her and she was looking up at him, her eyes burning with a sort of stubborn light.

"Call me 'Lady Melody'," She explained, "We both know I'm not a proper lady and Mel is just fine."

Not a proper lady? Well, perhaps, but… Mel? What a strange choice of name. Boromir turned back to the valley, tossing the word around in his mind for a moment and found it sadly lacking. There was none of the poetry, the cadence…

"Melody is a lovely name," He replied, not meeting her eyes and therefore giving her less room for argument, "It rolls pleasantly off the tongue. And I think… it suits you."

Yes, that was it. It suited her in some wordless way. He could never call her Mel. It was too… small.

There was a pause.

"Okay, fine, but drop the 'Lady' bit," she said, with an air of resignation, "It's too much."

He nodded once, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Her dialect of the Common Tongue was fascinating. He was sure Faramir would love to study it in exhaustive detail.

"As you wish, Melody. Now tell me, what do you think of Rivendell?"

He risked a glance at her. She was staring out over the valley, a smile on her lips, but a hint of sadness in her expression.

"It's more beautiful than I could have ever imagined," she murmured, "But…"

Her brow creased in a small frown. Boromir waited as she considered her words.

"This is gonna sound weird…" she said, and he resisted the urge to smile, "It's almost too peaceful. There aren't a lot of people. I like being around people."

People. Yes, the feel of a city around you. There was nothing like the feeling of a community swarming at your doorstep, life at every turn. Had he not just been thinking something similar moments before?

"Then you would love Minas Tirith," Boromir said, knowing it was true even as the words were leaving his mouth, "There are many people of all different histories and places living there. It is always bustling and buzzing with life. And when you look out across Gondor from the watch towers as the sun sets…"

He imagined the towers, the banners, the sun burning low on the horizon and he tried to search for words to describe his city to this stranger, this woman who had been in this world for no longer than a day, and he failed miserably.

"It is one of the great sights of Middle Earth."

He looked over and Melody's eyes were closed, as if she were visualizing everything and could see it perfectly. She sighed and he could hear his own longing in her voice when she finally spoke.

"I would love to see that."

And in that moment, Boromir had believed her. He had believed that Melody would love to see Minas Tirith, would love it like her own city, as much as he loved it. He still believed that. And he believed that he would show it to her. He would see her face light up as the sun rose over the towers and the morning watchmen lifted the banners of the White Tree into the blue sky. He believed it, now more than ever. Because he needed it to be true.

In front, Aragorn's dark form stopped and raised a hand. The other three gathered around him as he knelt in the trampled grass.

"Something happened here."

Boromir felt his breath catch in his throat. He searched the ground for any clues, but his eyes were not as sharp as the Ranger's. It all looked like trampled grass to him. So he waited anxiously for Aragorn to read the signs.

"There was a struggle," Aragorn pointed to a shape in the grass, "There was someone small pressed to the ground here."

"A hobbit?" Gimli asked, still trying to catch his breath.

Aragorn shook his head, "No, bigger. But not an orc."

"Mel." Legolas whispered.

Boromir felt his heart stop. What had they done to her?

Aragorn nodded and followed some invisible line in the grass with his fingers, "She tried to crawl away and they held her down."

His heart fluttered to life again.

"She tried to crawl? So she is alive?" He tried to calm his voice, but he couldn't keep it from wavering.

"Yes, I believe so. And if they have allowed her to live this long, then they must mean to keep her so," Aragorn said, rising out of the grass, "They passed earlier this evening. Come, we will cover more ground tonight!"

Aragorn leapt back into the chase and the others followed. But as they ran, Boromir looked to the stars. He found Eärendil in the sky. It brought another memory, one that was more painful now.

"Right there," He murmured, "The star of Eärendil the Mariner, born of the light of the Silmaril which he risked all to carry beyond the Circles of the World."

Melody's hand was so small that his own almost hid it from view as he guided her eyes toward the star. Her hair brushed his cheek. It smelled lightly of roses. He closed his eyes and tried to memorize the smell. The task kept him from thinking about anything but this moment, here with this strange woman who knew everything about him, this woman who had lost her home and everything she knew. How must it feel, to have everything you know ripped from you? Was it anything like how he had felt leaving Faramir behind that morning in Minas Tirith, with no guarantee that he would ever see his home or his family or his people again? But that had been a choice he had made, of his own free will, for the good of his people. What choice had Melody been given? And now, even as she had just begun to settle into another life, it was being taken away once more, everyone she knew being sent on a perilous journey, and she could do nothing. What must that be like, to have everything you care about taken away, not once, but twice in as many months? How could he even begin to comfort her? What could he possibly say…?

"I'll come back for you, Melody."

The words left his lips without thought.

"When this is over. I'll come back and I'll take you to my city, and anywhere else you want to go. We'll explore the whole of Middle Earth if you wish it."

Yes. Yes, he would return, just as he would return to Minas Tirith, and he would take her with him, he would give her a new home, one that would never be taken from her again. He would give her the world that she so clearly loved. Was that not the least he could do?

The strangled laugh in her throat made his chest clench. Had he said something wrong, done something…? But he felt her relax against his arm and the words that she spoke were sad, but somehow content.

"I'd… I'd like that. I really would."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting his emotions settle once more. The pine trees over them creaked and he could smell the needles beneath them. It was soothing and…

"Boromir?" Melody whispered.

He worked to memorize the sound of her voice, to embed it in his mind, to keep it with him on the road ahead.

"Hmm?"

"Are you scared?"

His body stiffened and his eyes flew open. Of all the questions she could have asked, she asked the one he did not want to answer. He wanted to lie. To laugh and tell her what a silly idea that was, he was the Steward's son, the strongest man in Gondor, he wasn't afraid of anything.

But she would see through the lie. And even if she didn't, it wouldn't make it any less of a lie. He couldn't lie to her.

"More than you can imagine."

He turned and searched her face for any sign of contempt at his weakness, any twist of a laugh in her mouth, any dimming in her eyes as she looked at him, condemning him for his truth. But nothing changed. Her green eyes still sparkled with starlight and her mouth remained straight as if he had answered a deep question and she was now pondering its meaning. She didn't know everything about him. For some reason, that gave him comfort. There were still things to learn. And they would have time to learn them.

Boromir had never been one to ask the stars for favors. That was more of his brother's avenue. He didn't know if he believed that the Valar were up in their council room watching the comings and goings of the world, or if it was all a bunch of superstitious nonsense created by the Elves to give them a sense of purpose and significance. But looking up at Eärendil he felt strongly that someone was watching him, that if he spoke, he would be heard.

So as he ran, he sent up a silent plea.

"Please… Please, keep her safe until I come for her."