Chapter 4

When Mel finally stumbled into Isengard night had fully fallen, but the courtyard (or what was left of it) glowed and shimmered with heat. The Uruk-Hai never slowed as he yanked her toward the tower, but Mel managed to catch a glimpse into one of the many vents that tore through the ground. She saw sparks fly and heard metal striking metal, along with a cacophony of roars and cackles and chittering, but the view was obscured by the billowing clouds of smoke that belched out of the hole. She was yanked onward. She kept her head down, avoiding any eyes they passed, but none of the orcs seemed to pay her any attention. She was just a prisoner, nothing more.

She tripped up the long, black steps of the tower and followed the Uruk-Hai through two huge, black doors. They didn't creak ominously as she would have expected them to. They opened smoothly and closed behind her with a gentle click. It was surprisingly cool in the gray hall. The difference in temperature made her shiver. The Uruk pulled her down the hall and to another set of doors. These weren't quite so big, but they were somehow more frightening. The Uruk shoved them open roughly and dragged her inside, bellowing triumphantly.

"I have brought the Tree-Witch!"

He grabbed her by the arm and flung her forward. She stumbled and lost her balance, sprawling across the smooth black floor. She scrambled to her knees, keeping her eyes down, trying not to tremble.

There was a moment of hair-raising silence.

"You fool!" a deep voice hissed, "What have you done to her? When I told you not to kill her, I did not mean bring her to me at the point of death!"

"Nothin' wrong with her that you can't fix." The Uruk growled.

"That is not the point."

The deep voice had suddenly become deadly. Mel cringed. Behind her, there was a choking sound and she heard boots scraping the floor. She squeezed her eyes shut and resisted the urge to press her hands over her ears. How much longer would this nightmare last? Finally there was a loud thump and the room was quiet. She was afraid to move, she was afraid to even breathe. She had the brief thought that maybe, if she pretended she was dead, she might be left alone. But of course that was silly.

"Get up." The deep voice commanded.

She was shaking, but she did as she was told. She kept her eyes on the floor. She heard a swish of cloth and a steady click on the stone. The point of a white staff tapped into view, surrounded by glittering robes that might once have been white. Now it was difficult to make out what color they were exactly. The robes made a slow circle around her, the staff tapping the floor incessantly.

Click, click, click...

Mel held her breath as the staff vanished from view behind her, but she could still hear it on the stone.

Click, click, click…

Finally, it came to a stop in front of her again.

"Well, there doesn't seem to be much to you."

The sneering comment finally got a reaction from her that was not just blind terror. She felt a spark of anger, but she bit it back.

They will always underestimate you, vinimë…

Elrohir's voice in her memory was soothing and it helped her to maintain control. She worked to keep her head down and forced herself not to clench her fists. No use calling attention to her hands too soon.

"I admit I thought there might be an aura about you, a sign of some kind. After all, the Calenhiril is supposed to be one of the most powerful witches to wander Middle-Earth."

The name startled her and her mind wheeled. How did he know her name? If he knew her name what else did he know? Was her pathetic attempt to hide the Yavannacor just that, pathetic? Did he know everything and was just toying with her, playing mind games? She felt her heart sink at the prospect. But what else could she do? She forced herself to stay relaxed, trying to look small and insignificant.

"Look at me."

The command was clear, but she hesitated. If she looked at him, what would he see?

"Look at me!"

That time she couldn't refuse. She glanced up through her matted hair. Saruman's face was angular, drawn tight over his skull. Everything about it seemed thin, the nose, the lips, the skin, everything. And everything was pale, his hair, his cheeks, even his eyebrows. Everything except his eyes. His eyes were deep black pools that made her certain, as she had never been before, that he had once been very wise. But that must have been a long time ago. Now he just looked crazed. Those deep, black depths were searching her for something, anything that might give her away. But she felt far more in control than he was.

She stood a little taller and met his gaze directly. The wizard took a small step back and looked down his nose at her. He was fully a foot and a half taller than she was.

"I see it now. You were hiding yourself. But you will hide no more."

He spun and strode to the center of the round, black room, reaching toward a cloth that covered a tall pedestal. The realization of what was under that cloth hit her one millisecond before he swept the it away and she managed to avert her eyes, jerking her face away sharply.

The wizard chuckled, "So, you know what this is, do you?"

His tone made her angry again, but she fought it down. She didn't answer him.

"A palantir is a powerful tool," He said, "And it has many uses."

She continued to take deep breaths. She couldn't look into the seeing stone. She knew she wasn't strong enough. If he forced her somehow…

"But perhaps," Her heart stuttered, "Perhaps not all our secrets should be revealed just yet."

She thought she heard the cloth being settled back over the pedestal, but she didn't dare look up again. It could all be a trick.

"Perhaps there are friendlier means for secrets to be cast into the open."

Now his voice sounded pleasant, every word dripping with honey. It made her stomach turn. There was nothing friendly about Saruman. She wasn't stupid.

The ropes that bound her wrists loosened and fell away, coiling on the floor at her feet. Mel massaged the sore spots where they had rubbed through her gloves, and then realized what she was doing. She tried to put her hands back down to her sides as casually as possible.

"That's better. Perhaps now we can come to an agreement."

Not an ice cube's chance in hell, she thought. She felt him sweep by her and she glanced at his back as he passed. He walked like someone important, like the ruler of a kingdom. She tried to hide her smirk. For a wise man, he was such an idiot.

The wizard twirled and sat gracefully on his dark throne, looking down at her with steepled fingers and curious eyes.

"Now then," he said, "I know quite a bit about you, and you know quite a bit about me, so I think we can skip most of the formalities. And since you have been loath to speak thus far, I would be foolish to assume that you would give me your name."

Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. Mel fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"So I shall call you Calenhiril. I believe that you already know who I am, and that you know what I want."

Give me three guesses, but I'm only gonna need one.

"However, I am not sure that you understand what I could give you in return."

She held back a scoff. There was absolutely nothing in this world Saruman had that she wanted. Nothing could possibly…

"I can send you home, Calenhiril."

Boromir ran steadily all day, the blood in the grass swimming in front of his furious eyes. But the back of his mind kept replaying his vivid dream. The memory of it did not diminish. He remembered it as clearly as if he had just woken from it. The image of the perfect mask-like face was embedded in his brain. And the words kept repeating in his mind, over and over.

"A life for a life…"

What did it mean? And what did it have to do with Melody? He had distinctly seen her face. He would never forget the warmth her smile had brought him. But he shoved that away quickly and focused on the meaning of the words and the images. Obviously, the voices had been talking about his life. Was Melody's life to be sacrificed for his own? But that wasn't possible. He wouldn't allow it. And the perfect face in his dream had also seemed violently opposed to it.

"Not yet."

She had bitten off the words, as if finishing an argument. But he'd gotten the impression that the argument was far from over, simply postponed for more important matters at hand. What those other matters might be he couldn't imagine, but he was glad for the delay.

Suddenly, he chuckled and shook his head. Oh, if Faramir could only see him now! Dissecting his dreams as facts of the world, wondering at the conclusions of gods that he wasn't even convinced existed. No wonder the strange dream that had gotten him into this to begin with had come to his brother first. It was his brother that convinced him, after Boromir had the dream himself. Boromir was fully prepared to dismiss the notion that his dream might have been sent by anyone or anything but his own mind. He controlled his life and his dreams, not some immortal creature that watched from the stars. But for Faramir to have the same dream? It was too much to ignore. And so, despite his better judgment, he had taken his father's task and journeyed to Imladris.

It felt as if an eternity had passed since that day, since he had watched the banners of the White Tree of Gondor flutter above the battlements for the last time, since he had left his family. He had not felt comfortable leaving Faramir with Father. He pictured his brother's gentle face and hoped that he had taken over patrol of the eastern border as he had asked. His mind knew that Faramir was strong and perfectly capable of handling himself. But his heart still saw his little brother, bookish and shy, in need of protection and love, things that their father had seemed loath to give and that Boromir couldn't give enough. His heart longed for home. Nothing meant more to him than his family. After all, that was why he was here, sprinting across the plains…

He stumbled as the impact of his thoughts hit him. Melody… Melody was family. He shook his head trying to clear his mind. How had this happened? Where had it all come from? It was as if it had sprung out of the ground like a sapling overnight. He pushed it aside and ran on. He would ponder it later. There wasn't time now. Maybe when he got home he would discuss it with Faramir. His brother was more of an expert in such things. Feelings had never been a strong point for Boromir. But Faramir could read people, just like Father. There were so many things that they shared, Boromir often found it impossible to believe that the two did not get along. Faramir had more in common with Denethor than Boromir could ever hope to have. He envied his brother's mind, his ability to see a problem and patiently muddle it out, using all of the information he had carefully stored away in his memory from the countless books he had read. In many ways, Faramir was a stronger man than Boromir, a better man, the voice of reason when all Boromir wanted to do was charge into battle with his sword held high and the Horn of Gondor sounding on his lips. He couldn't even begin to count the number of times that Faramir's cleverness had saved his life.

He longed for that cleverness now. The sun was already setting in front of him and he knew that without a miracle he would never catch the Uruk-Hai before they reached Isengard, if they were not there already. And once Melody was in the tower of Orthanc he would have to find a way to get in and get her out again. He had no idea how he was going to accomplish that impossible feat. But he knew that he would try. And he had a feeling that he was going to need a voice of reason to keep him from charging up to the front gates and trying to fight his way through. It was a foolish idea, but not one that he was beyond pondering. Which was why he needed Faramir.

Day turned to night, the stars twinkling brightly against the deep blue sky, obscured only by the Misty Mountains rising out of the plains of Rohan like a wall. The darkness enveloped him in his own thoughts. Time seemed to disappear in the night as he ran, ignoring his body's protests against the strain of the chase that was not even a chase anymore. It was just a headlong sprint into the arms of the enemy. He focused all his energy on the trail that he followed, mulling through plan after plan in his head, incorporating all the experiences he had from scouting and spy missions, trying to see a clear way to bring Melody home safely.

Suddenly, he smelled sulfur on the air. He stopped and refocused his tired eyes in front of him. He was standing on a hill, the last before the hills turned to mountains. Below him spread a small valley, a pocket cut into the stone, burned black for miles. Smoke rose from the far side of the valley. The wind had turned and brought the smoke right to his face. In the dim light of the gradually brightening dawn he could barely make out the shape of a tower reaching for the last of the rapidly fading stars. Orthanc, Saruman's tower. And as the sun rose and threw light into the small valley, he could see that it was swarming with activity. Little shapes hurried to and fro about the blackened circle that made up Isengard, a great force gathering and preparing. Boromir sank to his knees on the hillside and felt despair start to seep into him.

"Melody…" he whispered.

At first, the possibilities of Saruman's proposal sent Mel's head spinning. Home… He could send her home. The faces of her mom and dad and her sisters flashed before her like an old dream. It had been so long since she'd even had a chance to think about them, to truly miss them... and she could go back. She could go back and pretend that none of this had happened, that she had never met any of these people, had never been affected by them. It was all just a long, vivid nightmare, brought on by her overactive imagination. Talking to trees, how crazy was that? Elves, dwarves, wizards, everyone knew they didn't exist. She could pretend that she had never known Boromir…

A stab of pain brought reality crashing down on her again. She held back a hiss as her side reminded her exactly who she was dealing with. This wasn't a figment of her imagination. The pain was real, and the man who had caused it was looking right at her. He was a master of deceit, willing to say anything to get his way. He couldn't send her home. And even if he could, he wouldn't. The shocking realization washed over her, just as painful as the day Lord Elrond had lost hope. But she didn't have time for pain.

She glared at the wizard and finally spoke through clenched teeth.

"You don't even know where home is."

His grin broadened and he clasped his hands before him gleefully.

"Ah, good! I was beginning to fear that the idiot had cut out your tongue."

She bit her tongue and glowered at him. She was going to speak as little as possible. Every word they exchanged made her nauseous. His smile faded when he realized she wasn't going to say anymore, and he sat back in his seat again.

"I don't have to know any more than that you don't belong here," he said, waving a hand in the air flippantly, "Simply tell me where you would like to go and it is within my power to send you there. I don't need to know anything other than where you desire to be," The smile returned, "In exchange for the power I seek of course."

She almost lost it right there. Her fists clenched and she bared her teeth. Her mind flew through pictures of the trees that she had spoken with. The feisty little bush at the Council in Rivendell; Birch and Rod in their tiny library world; the Tree embedded in the rock of Eregion, standing tall and lonely against the wind; the tree by the shores of the Watcher's lake that she had saved and had in turn tried to save her; Maltalda, the gentle giant with beautiful golden leaves, who had lived more lifetimes than she could possibly imagine.

She would never give them over to this monster. He couldn't have them to treat as his puppets, laying down quietly, giving themselves up to his whims. She would never leave them helpless like that.

His eyes swept over her as she pulled away from him in disgust and anger.

"This is not your world, Calenhiril," She ground her teeth as the name passed his lips, "You don't belong here. You were pulled here against your will and then left to fend for yourself. It wasn't fair and it needs to be corrected. I can do that for you. You have no responsibilities here, nothing tying you to this place. You don't have to live the nightmare. This is not your home and this is not your war."

His words so closely mirrored her previous thoughts that she jumped. Was he right? Without Boromir… what was tying her here now? What did she have here that was worth all of this?

Unbidden, faces started parading through her mind. Frodo and Sam. She could just imagine the little gardener's face twisting in agony at the horrors that would be wrecked upon his home. Merry and Pippin, who would be here soon, riding on the branches of trees, Ents that would be the best friends they could ask for, that would teach them courage and patience. Aragorn who would fulfill prophecy whether he liked it or not. Gimli, who was only now starting to see her as something other than an object of fear and suspicion. Legolas… Calm, steady, eternal Legolas who cared about her and protected her from her own fear and despair, who seemed to know her heart better than she did.

She was flooded with memories, with emotions and sensations, the sound of Aragorn's harsh whispers of warning, running her hand through Pip's curly hair, eating Sam's sausages, slightly burned, but perfectly cooked in the middle, the feel of Legolas' arms around her, steadying her fearful shaking…

The smell of Boromir in the garden under the stars, the tingling sensation that a simple handshake left on her palm, the sound of his whisper bringing her back from the edge of unconsciousness, his passionate gray eyes when he spoke of his city…

A tear swelled and escaped her eye, making a long winding trail down her cheek. She was crying. The realization stopped her short. She blinked and refocused on the White Wizard. He was staring at her, his dark eyes intense. A small grin creased the corners of his mouth. He had no idea what she was thinking. He had no idea that he had already lost.

She straightened and squared her shoulders. His smile vanished. She stared directly into his black eyes.

"You're right."

She saw the surprise light his eyes, but she ignored it.

"I was dropped here against my will. I didn't ask to be here, it wasn't fair. But I have more tying me here than you could ever hope to have. This is my world, this is my home, and this is my war. I'm not going anywhere."

She took a bit of satisfaction from the slack-faced look of shock on the wizard's face. But it didn't last long. The wizard's face tightened into a black scowl that made Mel want to cower in a corner, but she stood perfectly still and waited, watching for any sign of what he would do next.

But the movement was so quick and small that she had no time to prepare herself. Not that you can really prepare yourself for being thrown against a wall by an invisible force. She slammed into the stone and her side shrieked in agony. The impact knocked the breath out of her which meant she couldn't scream, but she did manage to gasp as she hit the floor. She didn't have any time to recover before she was flung back onto her feet and shoved against the wall by a force so powerful it was hard to draw breath. Or maybe that was her broken rib…

Saruman was on his feet, his staff leveled at her. He walked with a calm, purposeful stride, but rage twisted his features into a white mask of hate, his eyes crackling with black fire. He stopped a few feet from her.

"I will have your power, Calenhiril," He hissed, "One way or the other. I will not be overrun by the force that I have seen coming from the forests! I will not be destroyed by the giants that sleep, by trees!" he spit.

With a twitch of his staff, he tossed her across the room. She hit the floor and lay still, clenching her teeth until her jaw ached, her hands pressing into the cool marble. Without command, two orcs entered the room and grabbed her by her arms. A wordless cry tore from her throat, but she cut it off as soon as she heard it escape.

"Take her to the deepest dungeon and shackle her there," Saruman snarled, "Perhaps she needs rest to clear her head and help her see reason."

The orcs grunted and dragged her out of the room. The pain dulled as the edges of her vision started to grow dim. The worst wasn't over. Mel knew it, even as sweet unconsciousness started to cloud her mind. And she wondered briefly if she would live to see her friends again, friends she was willing to die for and they didn't even know it.