Chapter 3

Mel lapsed in and out of consciousness through the night, constantly jolted awake by pain and nightmares. The nightmares were strange and disjointed, bits and pieces of memory, faces morphing into other faces, speaking words and warnings that never made much sense. But after she was jerked awake by the image of Boromir's rotting face, her name rasping on his disintegrating lips, she started resisting any sleep at all. Nothing was worth see that…

By morning the excruciating pain in her left side made even the thought of sleep impossible. Even trying to keep propped up on her right didn't help. It only made her sore. On top of that, her face had swollen her left eye partially shut, her arms felt like they had been put through a taffy puller, she couldn't feel her legs anymore, her tongue felt like a lump of cotton in her mouth, and her stomach had stopped growling a long time ago, leaving behind a painful cramp that gnawed at her insides. She was a god-awful mess, basically, but she didn't dare say anything. What if they made her swallow that nasty stuff they had given Merry? She shuddered at the thought and winced with the movement.

The sun moved slowly across the sky, and when it finally reached high noon the Uruk-Hai carrying her jerked to a stop and tossed her on the ground. The impact knocked the breath out of her and she felt the twinge of an old, familiar ache in her back. That frightened her more than anything as floods of memory washed over her, of Moria and the darkness and the blinding pain.

"The Tree-Witch goes no closer to the forest!" The Uruk-Hai bellowed.

There was a disgruntled roar from the company of orcs, but Mel barely noticed. Her heart was pounding and she lay very still, trying not to be noticed as the orcs and the Uruk-Hai argued. No closer to the forest? Mel closed her eyes and concentrated her thoughts, trying to distance herself from the yelling and the fighting, trying to reach beyond where she was, calling to any trees that might be close enough to hear her. But there was nothing. The little ember of hope that had been burning in her chest sputtered and died.

A piercing orc shriek rose up out of the commotion.

"You can't expect us to run across the land of the Horse-Lords clear to the Gap!"

"Right under the nose of Edoras, that is!" Another protested.

"The White Wizard gave orders!" The Uruk yelled over them, "Don't take the Witch to Fangorn! She's to be delivered straight to Saruman!"

"And what of the Halflings? I'll not risk the master's prize to be taken by horse-riding vermin!"

"Do what you like," The Uruk growled, "But the woman goes across the plains with me!"

Mel's legs were tugged straight and the ropes around her ankles were cut. Then she was yanked to her feet by her hair. She screamed and tears started to form in her eyes, but she held them back.

"Quiet, Witch!" Her captor yelled, "You will run your piece from now on!"

Mel barely felt she could stand, much less run. The rope that had bound her feet was now tied to the rope around her wrists, like a leash. The Uruk-Hai held the other end. Her legs wobbled and she started to sink back to the ground. The Uruk jerked her up again. Another strangled shriek left her throat and she really did start to cry.

"Please, I can't, I can't, please…" She whimpered, knowing it was useless, but unable to stop herself.

The Uruk-Hai shoved his ugly black face closer to her. She could smell his stinking breath.

"Oh, I think you can." He snarled.

He uncorked a flask with his twisted teeth and shoved the neck between her lips, pulling back her head so the liquid would pour down her throat. A rotten, sour taste filled her mouth and she started to choke as the nasty stuff burned her insides. She shook her head and finally dislodged the bottle, spitting what was left into the face of the Uruk-Hai. The brief satisfaction she felt at this small act of defiance was quickly replaced with a trembling terror at what the consequences might be. But the Uruk-Hai actually laughed, tossing his head to shake the liquid from his face in a shower of droplets.

"Now you will run!" He shouted, corking the bottle and slinging it over his shoulder.

Tugging firmly on her leash, he turned back to the other orcs.

"A race to the finish then, you maggots!"

"Mel!"

She looked up and saw Merry and Pippin slung around the necks of the Uruk-Hai. She hated to admit it, but the orc-draught had actually made her feel better and her vision was sharp for the first time since she'd been taken. She could clearly see the horror on her friends' faces. She smiled, even knowing that it would be lopsided because of her swollen face.

"Remember what I told you!" She called to them, her voice much more steady than she felt, "It's gonna be alright!"

Her captor jerked on the rope and started to drag her away. She could hear the hobbits screaming after her.

"Mel!"

"No, Mel, no!"

"Come back!"

"Leave her alone!"

Her brave smile faded as she regained her footing and started running to keep up with the Uruk-Hai.

"It's gonna be alright…" she murmured.

And it was. Merry and Pippin would find Treebeard. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli would find Gandalf. They would all save Rohan from Saruman.

The only problem was there would be no one left to rescue her.

Boromir barely noticed the rising of the sun or its slow trek across the blue sky. At noon they stopped. Aragorn had found something, a small leaf from one of the hobbit cloaks, trampled into the dirt by orc feet. He held it to the light.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall," He whispered.

Legolas turned back from the pursuit, "Then the hobbits also may yet be alive."

Aragorn felt the ground and nodded, "Less than a day ahead of us. We should rest here for a little, while the sun shines brightest and they are at their weakest."

"No!" Boromir cried, panic gripping his chest, "We should carry on! Catch up while we have the chance yet!"

He took a few steps back toward the trail, but he was stopped by a hand on his arm. Legolas met Boromir's eyes, and then flicked his gaze back over Boromir's shoulder. Boromir turned to look. Gimli was just catching up, huffing and puffing his way up the hill, his eyes bright with the chase. But Boromir could see that he was weary. Only his will was keeping him on his feet now, not strength of body.

The elf squeezed his arm reassuringly.

"We will not lose her, Boromir." He murmured.

Boromir nodded and allowed himself to sit with the others, leaning his back against a large shelf of rock. But the delay was like slow torture for him. He tried to close his eyes, to get a little rest at least, but all he could see was Melody's face, streaked with sweat and tears, looking up at him from under the point of his sword. He saw her splattered with black blood and fighting for her life as the orcs overcame her. He felt his fear and his loss as she fell into the black mass.

The fight itself he could barely recall. He remembered that the sheer numbers of the orcs had staggered him. He remembered deflecting blow after blow and killing one after another. He faintly remembered the sound of a twanging bow and arrows flying by him. But he had been trying to get to Melody; he had been trying to find her in the chaos. Panic had gripped his chest when she fell. And when he had looked up for a brief instant, the hobbits were gone as well. And then Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli had found him struggling for his life. He must have blown his horn. That is what Legolas said. The elf said he had heard the Horn of Gondor and come running. He couldn't recall bringing the horn to his lips. After Melody fell it was all a haze. After Melody fell…

His eyes flew open and he jerked up. The sun had barely moved in the sky. But he would not close his eyes again. He would not relive the nightmare. He would find Melody and he would take her away. He would take her to Minas Tirith. She would be safe there. She would never have to fight for her life again. She would never have to be afraid.

They all ate a wafer of lembas and started out again. They chased the trail of the orcs until the sun had lowered into a deep red western sky. Then Aragorn stopped them again.

"They have split up." He said.

"What?" Boromir exclaimed, pressing forward, "Why?"

Aragorn passed his hands over the grass, reading things that Boromir's untrained eye could not see.

"Two have split from the main group," He murmured, "They ran across the plains westward. The others continue north."

"But why leave the others?" Gimli asked, "Why just two orcs?"

"They were not both orcs." Aragorn said, pointing to a faint print in the grass, "One track is smaller than the other. Not a hobbit's tread…"

"One has taken Melody." Boromir growled.

But why that way? The orc risked being overtaken by the Horsemen of Rohan, passing so close to the stronghold of Edoras.

"What would possess an orc to go that way?" Gimli grumbled to himself, finishing Boromir's line of thought.

"Fangorn Forest," Legolas answered, "He doesn't want her too close to the trees."

For a moment all four were silent. There was now a choice to be made. The trail had split. Boromir knew which fork he would take. And he also thought he could guess which fork the others should take.

"I will go after Melody," He said decisively, "You three stay with the hobbits."

"No, Boromir, I will go with you." Legolas protested.

"No!" Boromir shouted and Legolas took a step back, his eyes wary. Boromir calmed his voice, "No, Legolas. The bulk of the orcs went north. Merry and Pippin will need all three of you to escape. I can manage one orc."

"I do not know that any of us should travel alone in these dark days." Aragorn said, cautiously.

"You are already far outnumbered," Boromir replied, "I would not further hinder your chances by taking a companion when none is needed. And the longer we tarry, the further our enemies fly."

There was a pause. Everyone watched Aragorn as he pondered the choices. Even Boromir found himself looking for some sign from the Ranger, a symbol of approval. Perhaps this man from the north was what Legolas had claimed him to be, a son of kings.

Finally, Aragorn nodded, "You are right, Boromir. We shall wait no longer. Go to the west, we three will go to the north."

Boromir let out a little breath of relief.

"Perhaps we shall meet again in the White City, Lord Aragorn." He said.

Aragorn nodded, his expression grim, "I hope that to be true, Lord Boromir."

"Boromir."

He turned to Legolas. The elf gave him a hard look, his expression searching and intense. Boromir did not shy away from it. Finally, Legolas nodded, as if satisfied with what he saw.

"Bring her back to us," was all he said. Boromir nodded and gripped the elf's arm, the most reassuring gesture he could muster. He knew how much Melody meant to the loyal elf-prince.

There was a pause. Then Gimli slapped Boromir on the back, and gestured toward the western horizon.

"Well, what are you waitin' for? Go get her, laddie!"

Boromir clasped the dwarf's shoulder, and then took the trail westward into the rapidly fading sunlight. He did not look back. There was only forward now, only Melody waiting on the other end of this trail of destruction. Boromir picked up his pace, first jogging, and then running. His pulse pounded in his ears and his mind took up the steady mantra that had plagued his every step since he had left the river Anduin.

I don't want you to die, I don't want you to die, I don't want you to die…

But instead of hearing Melody's voice, he heard his own. Melody's face wavered in front of him and he was chanting the phrase.

I don't want you to die, I don't want you to die, I don't want you to die…

The night wore steadily on and even though Mel knew she should be tired, she wasn't. The Uruk-Hai kept a grueling pace, but her limbs burned with an energy she knew came from the nasty stuff she had drunk earlier, helping her to keep up despite herself. The march became monotonous and her mind started to wander.

She was going to Saruman. She searched her memory for everything she knew about him. He was like Gandalf, a Maiar, the White Wizard. He had once been very wise, but he was proud and greedy. He wanted to rule Middle-Earth, either with Sauron or against him. He had cut down the forests to fuel the fires of his underground smithies and that had (or rather would) royally piss off the Ents. And he didn't care. If he didn't care about the trees, what could he possibly want with her? If he thought she was going to be his advocate to them, he was out of his magic-wielding mind! Nothing in this world could convince her to help him, much less hurt the trees. Hell, they were probably more human than he was!

But as she rolled it over in her mind, she couldn't come up with a better explanation. He wanted her for something, he needed her power. Otherwise, Big Ugly here would have killed her two days ago and saved himself the trouble of lugging her through what was, obviously, a very dangerous situation for him.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of rushing water. That didn't sound right.

"Hope you can swim, Witch." The Uruk-Hai growled.

She could swim. Though how she was supposed to swim with her hands tied she had no idea, and she didn't have a lot of time to ponder the question. The river water was up to her knees almost before she realized that they were in it. The Uruk-Hai jerked on her rope leash, pulling her farther into the freezing cold. Already, she couldn't feel her toes as she scrambled against the stones under her feet. She was neck deep now and the water was lapping at her mouth. She gasped and tried to push herself higher. But the current pulled at her legs and she slipped, her head dropping below the surface into the swirling dark. She tried to stay calm, but she could feel her clothes pulling her down, the river's current twisting her so she wasn't completely sure which way was up anymore. She could feel something tugging at where her hands should be, even if she couldn't feel them anymore, and that was the only sense of direction she had. She kicked off her shoes, trying to lose some of the weight that was holding her under the water. Her lungs were burning as she searched for some kind of purchase on the river's bottom, kicking and flailing as she was dragged in two different directions, both downriver and across the current. She finally found the bottom of the river again and shoved against it with all her might, just as her chest felt like it might explode. She broke the surface of the water and gasped, coughing and sputtering, just trying to stay afloat. She didn't have to move forward, the Uruk-Hai simply pulled her along. All she had to do was keep her head above water, which took all of her rapidly fading strength.

She could barely tell when her feet touched bottom again. Her whole body was numb. She stumbled to shore and collapsed on the bank, dripping wet and shivering. But she was jerked up by her collar and the nasty black bottle was shoved in her mouth again, pouring the burning liquid down her throat, searing her veins and bringing her limbs back to tingling life. She choked and coughed on the last of the stuff as it was ripped from her lips.

"Well, you're no fish are you, Tree-Witch?" The Uruk guffawed as he took a swig of the disgusting concoction. The idea that her lips had touched the same bottle as his was enough to make her retch. Mel glared at him, but stayed silent. He laughed again, "Too bad about those shoes though. You'll be wantin' 'em again before it's over."

Mel had completely forgotten about her shoes. Her bare toes wriggled in the soft grass of the river bank. Surely it wouldn't be that bad. She had run barefoot before. A sharp pang of homesickness accompanied the sliver of memory, chasing two giggling little girls through the woods behind the house…

The Uruk-Hai yanked her to her feet without warning and they were running again, the memory lost. At first the grass was soft and actually felt good on Mel's feet. But then the soft grass abruptly ended. Weeds started to poke at her and tiny rocks with sharp edges dug in and tore her soles. She gritted her teeth and ran anyway, partly out of spite, mostly because she didn't have a choice. She didn't look at her feet. She didn't want to see the damage being done. Instead she kept her eyes on the plains, watching for anything that might be a sign of a horseman. Because at that first sign, she was gonna make a break for it.

But she didn't see anything. Nothing moved in the darkness. Once she thought she caught the sound of a horse whinnying and her whole body tensed to spring. But nothing appeared. And the sound could have been from anywhere. She sighed and kept running. By now her feet were burning and she felt something warm and sticky between her toes. She tried not to think about it too much. Her head was pounding and her side was starting to pulse. It was the left side. She had almost forgotten about the broken rib. The orc-draught must have dulled the pain. But now it was breaking through, shooting through her side with every gasping breath, which was painful in itself, her lungs feeling as if they were on fire. She gasped and her side screamed in agony, which made her gasp again. It was an endless cycle.

Just as the sun started glowing over the tops of the distant mountains, she stubbed her toe on a rock and fell. And she didn't have the strength left in her to get back up again. The Uruk-Hai dragged her for several feet before he realized that something might be wrong. He stopped, whirled around and kicked her in the stomach.

"Get up, Witch!" He yelled.

Mel curled inward and just lay still. She couldn't have moved even if she had wanted to. Her legs wouldn't allow it. He kicked her again. This time his boot caught her forehead. She blacked out for a moment. When she came to again, she felt something warm and sticky trickling down her face. Slowly, she realized it was blood.

"Get up!" He yelled again.

She didn't move, waiting for him to keep kicking her. But he didn't. Instead, he grunted and then picked her up, slinging her over his shoulder.

"Weak humans…" He grumbled before devolving into some muttered comments in his own unintelligible language as he took off running again.

Mel could feel unconsciousness start to surround her like a blanket. In the darkness, Boromir's face still lingered like a ghost and for a moment she imagined that he was alive and he was running to her rescue. But he wasn't alive. And even if he was, she wasn't entirely certain he would have come for her anyway. She could still remember his face in Lothlorien, livid with rage and hate, when he had been convinced she had betrayed him.

It didn't matter. Boromir was dead. And if all went as it should, no one was coming for her.

Boromir ran well into the night, following the clear trail left by the orc. Eventually, his mind went blank and he only concentrated on the steady rhythm of his feet and the sounds around him on the plains. Slowly, he began to hear the rush of water flowing and realized he was approaching the Entwash. He began to watch the trail carefully to see when the orc branched off in search of the Entwade, the only safe place to cross the river. But the trail never deviated from its course westward, straight to Isengard and the tower of Orthanc. He had guessed the course several hours before. It was the only haven of betrayal and deceit that lay west. The orcs were taking Melody and the hobbits to Saruman. What vile purpose he had in mind for them, Boromir couldn't begin to imagine, and he had no intention of finding out. The thought of the wizard laying even one finger on Melody pushed all weariness from his mind and quickened his step without conscious thought.

His eyes continued to seek out signs of the trail turning to find the ford. The sound of the water grew louder in the stillness of the night. Where was the turn? Surely the orc didn't plan to…

He stumbled and his foot went ankle deep into the river. He cursed and stepped back. Had he misread the signs? He backtracked, searching carefully, but there was no mistaking it. The trail led straight into the roaring Entwash. The orc had dragged Melody through the deepest part of the freezing river, exhausted and frightened. It made his blood boil. He would not lose the trail now.

Carefully he removed his boots, Elven cloak, and tunic, stuffing it all into Melody's pack and slinging it over his shoulder. Then, without hesitation, he plunged into the icy water. He waded out as far as he could go, keeping his feet planted on the riverbed. But he wasn't even halfway across when he lost his contact with the bottom. He quickly threw himself against the current, swimming as hard as he could. He lost feeling in his limbs. The only way he knew he was still moving was because he could see his arms flailing before him in the water and he willed his legs to do the same. The sound of the water roared in his ears. He thought he would never find the shore in the darkness. But suddenly, his body rose out of the water, almost as if by a miracle. It took him a moment to realize that the miracle was his feet pushing against the rocky shore. He scrambled up the riverbank and collapsed in the grass, exhaustion finally overwhelming him. He curled into a tight ball, shivering uncontrollably. A tiny part of his mind knew that this was bad, that he needed to get up, that he needed to move. But a larger part of him just wanted to rest, wanted to sleep, just for a little while in the soft grasses. His eyes closed and he felt himself drifting away…

There was a strange face in the blackness, a woman's face, framed by long hair like brown silk. Her eyes were closed, as if in deep thought, but the face didn't crease. There was not a wrinkle in the pale skin. The delicate, pointed nose didn't move, the small, pink lips were perfectly straight. There was no blemish. It was the closest thing to a perfect face that he had ever seen. But it was not a beautiful face. It was bland, almost as if it were molded as a mask for something else, something other than the human skin it wore. It was not a face prone to humanity of any kind.

Then he heard a whisper in the dark, a whisper like a thousand voices murmuring together softly.

"A life for a life."

There was a blinding flash. He was surprised when his own face materialized and stared out at him. He looked more worn than he remembered himself to be. Then, out of the bright light, Melody's face replaced his own. She was smiling at him. He felt something warm fill his chest and spread out to his limbs.

Then the light faded. The voices mumbled again.

"A life for a life."

As the light faded the perfect face emerged out of the darkness, still motionless in concentration.

"A life for a life."

Suddenly, the eyes opened and the green was so brilliant and pure that he felt pierced by it, as if by a flaming blade. There was power in that glance, such as he had never seen or felt before, and he wondered how that perfect face that was not a face could contain it all. It was a mask, he was sure of it now. Superstitions or not, this was no mortal creature.

The perfect lips parted for the first time, and the whisper that left them reminded him of leaves rustling in a quiet wood, and yet more, so much more than that.

"Not yet." She said and he flinched, "Awaken, Son of Gondor. Save the Daughter of Yavanna."

As he felt his mind being forced to the surface of his consciousness, he heard the power of the voice soften into what he supposed was the equivalent of affection.

"Save my child…"

His eyes flew open and he shot up out of the grass. He was on his feet and running before he realized that he hadn't put his boots back on. He skidded to a stop, flung the pack onto the ground, and started digging for them, but slowly the urgency in his blood, in his bones, in his skin, started to fade and he began to notice things. Everything he had with him was still soaking wet. But he had dreamed. He must have been asleep for hours to have dreamed so vividly. He looked up at the stars and saw that they hadn't moved. And the sun should have been rising, pink and burnt orange in the sky to the east. But everything was still dark. He could only have been by the river for mere minutes instead of hours.

That was impossible. He should be exhausted and shivering still, possibly freezing to death. But despite his wet clothes, he felt warm and rested. He grabbed a wafer of lembas and chewed on it thoughtfully as he pulled on his boots. How could this be?

Then he thought back on the dream. And he remembered the power of the eyes. There were many things those eyes were capable of, many things that he might not be able to understand.

He shook his head and got to his feet. Those eyes were just a dream. Dreams didn't cause men to swim a freezing river and come out warmer than when they had plunged in. And dreams didn't make a few minutes rest feel like hours of deep sleep. Dreams were only dreams.

He sighed and looked down, expecting to see only untrodden grass. He would have to backtrack to the river and pick up the trail fresh from the riverbank. He would waste hours searching…

But there were footprints. He knelt down and studied the impressions in the dirt. It wasn't possible. They must be prints from some other source, a horse maybe. But no, these weren't hoof prints. There were two sets of prints, one large and one small. And they were heading due west.

"It's not possible." He whispered. He couldn't have reached the opposite side of the river in the exact spot as the orc had. The current was too strong, there were too many factors that made it an impossibility.

And yet here he was. The trail was clear. He rose to his feet in a daze and followed, expecting at any moment that the trail would veer off to the left or right and his hopes would be crushed. But it didn't veer. Slowly, he began to jog, then to run. His spirit soared. He didn't understand how or why, but that feeling of being watched from the heavens came over him again. He looked up for a moment as he ran and found Eärendil anew. Had someone heard his plea?

Save the Daughter of Yavanna… Save my child…

The Daughter of Yavanna... Melody, it had to be Melody. Someone was watching over her. The thought brought him hope. But as the sun started to rise at his back, something in the grass startled him to a skidding stop. The footprints were slightly garbled here, not as clear as before. Something had stopped them for a moment. But that wasn't what made Boromir's heart flutter and his breath catch in his throat.

He knelt in the grass, unwilling to believe what he saw. It was a trick of the light, the red sun reflected off dew in the grass perhaps. There had to be a better explanation, one that didn't make his chest ache or his head swim. Slowly he reached out and touched the dark red patch of grass. It was sticky and he recoiled. He felt his stomach roll. It was blood, human blood…

Melody's blood…

He sat back and tried to catch his breath. Blood… It had made her bleed. The numbness that had swallowed his limbs when he saw it was slowly replaced with a deep, sweeping fire. He clenched his teeth and launched himself across the plains.

It had made her bleed.

She didn't regain consciousness until the Uruk-Hai threw her to the ground hours later. Her side exploded with pain and her head spun until she thought she was going to be sick. She just lay for a moment, trying to get her bearings and make the world sit still, but she was yanked up by her hair. She hissed as she felt her skin tear open at her hairline. Something thick and warm ran down her face. But she managed to keep quiet. Screaming did her no good anyway.

"Welcome home, Witch." The Uruk growled.

Home? Her eyes flew open. The sun was setting and for a moment she was blinded as it reflected off the snow of the mountains that seemed to have sprung out of nowhere. But she blinked quickly, trying to force her eyes to adjust. Nestled into a little valley below them, a gray tower rose out of a cloud of grimy smoke. She tried to control the terror that filled her chest, forcing the air out of her lungs. Her breath came in gasps and her heart stuttered.

The Uruk-Hai barely seemed to notice. He yanked at her rope leash.

"Come on, you'll run yourself to your own funeral!" He cackled as he led her stumbling into the valley, toward Isengard, Orthanc, and Saruman.