Chapter 5

Sleep had overcome Boromir as he sat on the hill, lost in despair. When he woke, the sun was already setting. His eyes and mind were clearer and he studied the workings of Isengard intently, trying to determine the purpose of all the activity. Something was about to happen. If he could determine when the activity would reach its peak, perhaps he could slip in unnoticed in the chaos of preparation. In essence, walk right through the open front door. No one would be expecting him. Most likely they would pay little heed to one more lone, ragged figure hurrying through their midst. If he were caught it would be the end of him and most likely the end of Melody, but he saw little else that he could do. He just couldn't allow himself to be caught.

He pulled his elven cloak out of the pack and threw it around his shoulders, tugging the hood up over his head to shadow his face. The Lady of the Wood had said that it would shield from unfriendly eyes. He could think of few eyes that would be more unfriendly than the ones he was about to encounter. As the first stars began their unhurried trek through the sky, he stood and began to make his way carefully down into the rocks of Isengard. He wanted to be as close to Orthanc as possible before first light. And the next night he would make his move on the tower. He just hoped that one more day would not be one day too many.

When Mel woke again, she was sore and stiff and hanging from her wrists. She got her feet underneath her and managed to stand. Metal clanked above her and she looked up groggily. She was shackled to the dark, dank wall. Her fingers started to tingle when she relieved them of the pressure of her full weight. She flexed them and winced as the blood worked its way back into her hands. Her head was fuzzy. She tried to remember where she was. A dungeon… A dungeon in Orthanc… Saruman's furious face floated up through the blackness of her consciousness and she shivered. But that could have just been the cold. The black stone floor was freezing on her bare feet and the cold metal digging into the skin of her wrists…

Her muddled thoughts froze in fear. Her gloves… Where were her gloves?! She could see her naked fingers above the metal cuffs that kept her prisoner. And there, glaringly obvious in the dark, shone the Yavannacor. Someone had taken off her gloves. But why leave the ring? An image flashed in her memory, one of her first in Middle Earth, the memory of a red hand print on Lord Elrond's face. Maybe whoever had taken off the gloves hadn't been able to take her ring. Maybe she had fought back. She tried to think, tried to remember if she had been conscious when her gloves came off, but she didn't remember anything. And really it didn't matter. She was sure they had noticed the ring and if they noticed they would tell Saruman. And if they didn't tell him, he would soon see for himself. Either way, she didn't have a lot of time. She refocused on the room around her.

There wasn't a lot to look at. It was round and small and frankly looked more like a storage room than a dungeon. The only light came from a small barred window in the heavy wooden door across from her and that was faint and flickering like torchlight. She was only bound by her hands and she yanked at the chains experimentally. It was useless of course, the links were heavy and pounded firmly into the stone wall. There was no way she could pull them free. She felt like she would be lucky if she could cut through soft butter. How long had it been since she'd eaten solid food? Her stomach clenched at the thought.

As if on cue, she heard skittering footsteps outside the door. Panicked, she quickly worked to spin the Yavannacor around on her finger so the emerald was inside her palm. Then she clenched her fists as tight as she could, praying it would be enough. The door creaked open and a small orc scurried into the room bearing a tray.

"Lord Saruman bids you eat." He wheedled, his voice breathy and high-pitched.

He shuffled toward her with the tray. She could see a loaf of bread and a mug. She pressed her back against the wall. The orc was right in front of her. He picked up the bread and held it in front of her.

"Eat."

She glared and turned her head. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him set the bread back on the tray. Then he backhanded her. Her head snapped around and she gasped, feeling a sharp pain in her side that reminded her about her cracked rib. She could taste something coppery in her mouth and she tried not to think about it.

The orc picked up the bread again.

"Eat." He repeated in the same bored tone.

She regained her composure and managed another glare at him. But some little part of her mind told her that she wouldn't have much chance of saving anyone, least of all herself, if she was starved. Grudgingly, she opened her mouth and the orc stuffed the bread inside. It was tough and dry, but she chewed and swallowed, only barely admitting to herself that it was damn near the best thing she had ever tasted. When she had finished half of the loaf, the orc snatched it away from her and lifted the mug.

"Drink."

She put her lips to the rim and sipped. She was surprised to taste cold, clear water. She gulped until the mug was ripped from her lips and replaced again with the bread. She finished the loaf and the mug. Then the orc shuffled out the door without a word and she heard the scrape of a lock being turned. She sighed. She felt better and her head was clearer. She wondered how long she had been down here. Then she wondered how much longer she could expect to stay. How much longer did she have before Saruman realized that all he needed to do was take the Yavannacor, that he didn't need her? How much longer was she going to live? Could she possibly drag out her confrontation long enough for the Ents to arrive? And would that even save her? If he saw the Ents coming, would the wizard just kill her out of spite?

She sagged against her chains. Hopelessness filled her chest and made it hard to breathe. She didn't have a chance of fooling Saruman. He was one of the most cunning men in Middle Earth. He would see right through her. And even if he did decide to keep her alive out of some twisted desire to see her suffer, there was no one coming for her, no one to save her. She was alone in this world of monsters. A sob burst out of her. She cried out loud, not caring who heard. She wasn't a strong person. She was small, and alone, and terrified. And it wasn't fair that she had been dragged here to die!

"What the hell was the point of that!" she screamed, "What the hell was the point in any of it!"

Then she just screamed wordlessly, as loud as she could, stomping her feet and yanking on her chains until she wore herself out and her voice was hoarse. She sagged back against the wall again, exhausted. She closed her eyes and unbidden, Boromir's face lifted itself out of the darkness and smiled at her.

I do not lack the strength. I will carry you if need be.

God, she needed him right now. Why couldn't he be here? Then she shook her head, clearing away the remnant of thought. Even if he was alive, she wouldn't want him here. Because if he were here, it would mean that he was going to die anyway. One man could not stand up to a wizard, not even one as great as Boromir. No, if he were alive she would want him safely on his way to Minas Tirith, to defend his city from the Enemy that was coming, to give his father and his brother hope in a hopeless time. And she was sure if he were alive that was where he would be. His city meant more to him than anything. And he loved his family. He would have done anything for them.

But he wasn't alive. She had failed him, and in doing so had failed Gondor and Minas Tirith and Denethor and Faramir. She had failed in so many things. Hell, she couldn't even keep herself alive! What had Yavanna been thinking, bringing her here?

"The ring chooses its mistress… You were chosen, Melody Calenhiril… part of the song we sang at Eru's feet before the world came into existence…"

"Yeah well, Eru is an idiot." Mel muttered bitterly. She instantly felt bad for saying it.

"You may choose how you wish, but every choice has consequence…"

So… Had she made the wrong choice? Was that the point? Was that why she was going to die at the hands of a madman? Because she had chosen to try to save the man she loved, despite everyone telling her the choice was foolish? Was it a foolish choice? After all, what had she accomplished? A whole lot of nothing. Boromir had still died and now she was going to die too and the Yavannacor would be in the hands of a power-crazed wizard intent on controlling the world! Fat lot of good she'd done!

She sighed. But she had made the choice. She couldn't change it. All she could do was suffer the consequences, and mourn for those she had failed, until her captor saw fit to end her suffering. And pray that outside this little hell, everything else was going to plan. Because if anything else was ruined because of her… She didn't think she could bear it.

Merry's feet slipped and Pippin shot his hand out to catch him.

"Merry!"

But he wasn't quick enough and Merry tumbled out of the old tree, landing on his back with a loud whump. The orc straddled him, a sword at his throat. Pippin watched helplessly as Merry tried to fight him off…

Something under his fingers twitched. Pippin froze. It twitched again. Slowly, he turned. A giant pair of yellow eyes blinked back at him. Fear paralyzed him. The tree was blinking. Pippin snatched his hand from the trunk in terror.

"Agh!"

He lost his balance. The wind rushed past his ears and he closed his eyes, waiting to hit the ground. But instead he was snatched out of the air by a huge hand. His eyes flew open. A tree branch was wrapped around his middle. He tried to free himself, but the tree barely seemed to notice him. Half its trunk lifted from the ground and crashed forward, followed by the other half. The tree was walking! Pippin's head reeled. He looked down. The orc was running, a loud squeal ripping out of its throat. The tree's trunk came down and squished the orc like a beetle. Merry lay on the ground, staring up with wide eyes.

"Run, Merry!" Pippin screamed. If Merry could only escape…

His cousin scrambled up, but he got no more than two steps before the giant walking tree scooped him up in his other hand. Then, as the tree strolled through the dim forest, Pippin saw a hole rip open below the eyes.

It's going to eat us!

But instead, a sound like wood on wood came out of the hole.

"Little orcs! Burarum."

Talking… Talking…

"It's talking, Merry. The tree is talking." Pippin babbled in awe.

"Tree? I am no tree! I am an Ent!"

The tree… Ent… whatever it was, it sounded indignant.

"A treeherder!" Merry exclaimed, suddenly excited, "A shepherd of the forest!"

Pippin wanted to tell Merry not to talk to it, not to encourage it in anyway, but then he remembered Mel and how easily she had spoken to trees.

"Yes, Pip, they're just like real people. They have distinct voices and personalities. And most make very good conversation."

"Treebeard, some call me…"

The Ent was still talking. Pippin swallowed and made his first attempt to talk back.

"And… who's side are you on?"

"Side? I am on nobody's side. Because nobody is on my side, little orc. Nobody cares for the woods anymore."

"That's not true!" Pippin yelled, now feeling it was his turn to be indignant, "Mel is on your side!"

"Pippin, shut up!" Merry hissed, "We aren't orcs!" He said louder, addressing Treebeard, "We are Hobbits!"

"Hobbits? Never heard of a hobbit before. Sounds like orc mischief to me…" Treebeard growled.

Pippin felt the wooden fingers tighten around him and he gasped and struggled. Treebeard didn't seem to notice.

"They come with fire, they come with axes, biting, breaking, hacking, burning! Destroyers and usurpers, curse them!"

"No, you don't understand!" Merry cried out, struggling against the Ent's ever-tightening hold, "We're hobbits! Halflings! Shirefolk!"

"Please!" Pippin cried out, "We know the Lady of the Yavannacor!"

Treebeard paused midstride.

"The Yavannacor?"

His iron grip loosened slightly. He seemed to be mulling the name over in his head and Pippin wondered if he had made a terrible mistake. Merry was glaring at him as if he had.

"You are friends to Calenhiril?" The Ent asked finally.

"We call her Mel," Pippin said, ignoring Merry's warning look, "But she talks to the trees and they do what she asks and she heals them and she has a ring called the Yavannacor, and she's on your side!" He added in a rush.

There was a long pause. Then the Ent started to stroll through the forest again, humming to himself.

"I don't know how you would know of these things, or if you are orc or other creature, made for good or evil. But the White Wizard will know, harum hum."

Pippin's heart fell all the way down to his toes. Merry had been right, as usual. Pippin had made a terrible mistake.

"The White Wizard…" he muttered helplessly.

"Saruman…" Merry whispered.

Suddenly, the giant fingers let go and they both went rolling to the ground. Slowly, Pippin raised his eyes, and saw the White Wizard.

"Gandalf?"