Chapter 7

Boromir woke as the sun was setting, just as he'd hoped. He wrapped his cloak about him and peered over the outcropping of rock that had been his shelter for the day. He was just within sight of the gates of Isengard. The activity inside the stronghold had increased and he could hear the clang of metal, and the grunts and roars of orcs as they scurried about. It looked to Boromir like they were preparing for war. Would Saruman really be foolish enough to attack Gondor? Or did he target the land of the Horse-lords instead? To Boromir that seemed just as foolish. Rohan would not topple easily. The Rohirrim were strong and clever and more than capable of defending themselves. What did Saruman hope to achieve?

But he could not dwell on that. Not now. Now, he sought for the sentries that he was sure would be guarding the gates. He found none. His eyes darted about wildly. How could there be no outside guard? Was Saruman so confident in his own power that he thought his tower impenetrable? Or perhaps he never dreamed that someone might be foolish enough to simply walk into Isengard, alone and armed only with his sword. Boromir himself could barely believe it. What chance had he against an army of orcs and a wizard?

He stopped that line of thought before despair could overwhelm him. He closed his eyes and reached deep inside himself, searching for the peace and steadiness that had guided him through so many dangers, so many battles, so many hopeless times. A vision of Melody's face smiled at him.

"Save the Daughter of Yavanna…" The voice seemed to float out of the dusk and gently brush his ears, "Save my child…"

He opened his eyes. Night had fully fallen. The glow of Isengard's fires lit the way. Without another thought, Boromir tugged his hood over his head, hoping the shadows would hide his face, and slipped down the hillside.

She lived in a dark world of ghosts and visions. Her eyes were closed. She was not asleep, and yet she dreamed. Bits of her life replayed behind her closed lids. Her mother's soft voice sang lullabies in her ear, her first kiss by the swing set from a boy with gray eyes who grew up to be a man that she read about in books. No… no that was a different boy. Or maybe it wasn't. A soft golden forest with elves and talking trees, but the trees were silent. Legolas was there and he was holding her.

"Do not despair, mellon-nîn. Your friends are with you. We will see you through to the end of these dark days."

A visit to the aquarium when she was ten. The octopus grabbed her and threw her against the wall and made her cry. But the boy with gray eyes whispered softly…

"Melody… Melody, wake up…"

She couldn't wake up. She wasn't asleep.

"Wake up, Mel!"

That was her father's voice, from a very long time ago, before he'd gone off to save the world.

"Come on, you're gonna be late for school! I'm not gonna tell you again, kid, up and at 'em!"

"John, I think she might be sick." Her mother murmured, in a voice as soft as leaves falling in autumn.

"Mom…?" Mel whispered.

She opened her eyes, but it was not her mother's face that smiled down at her. It was Yavanna.

"Hold on a little while longer, Calenhiril," She whispered, "Just a little while longer…"

"I'm not Calenhiril," Mel whispered, "I'm not anything anymore."

Mel blinked slowly. When her eyes opened again, Eregwen was leaning over her.

"What did I tell you about pushing yourself too hard?" She said with fond exasperation, "Are you trying to undo all my hard work?"

The elven healer smiled, then leaned back until the shadows covered her face, "She has pneumonia. We're doing all we can for her, Mrs. Bernston. Just give it time."

"Hold on just a little while longer, baby," Her mother's voice whispered in the dark, "Someone's coming for you. Just hold on a little while longer."

She tried to tell her mom that no one was coming for her, no one was out there to rescue her. But she couldn't find the strength to talk to the ghosts anymore. She sighed and let the words blanket her mind.

"Just a little while longer… Only a little while longer… Just hold on…"

It seemed to take an impossibly long time to cross the courtyard of Isengard to the tower of Orthanc. Boromir was reminded of why he always made his brother play the spy. He had not the patience for it, jumping at shadows and shrinking from firelight, all the while trying to move forward through the sea of enemy eyes. But as he had suspected, all eyes were turned elsewhere. Time and again he slipped through the darkness, unseen, while all he wanted to do was run as fast as he could, straight for the tower, up the steps, and demand Melody's immediate release. Over and over again he had to remind himself why that would never work. He would be dead before he reached the steps. But every moment he spent sneaking about was another moment that could be Melody's last. He fought back a fear of what he might find if he were too late, horrifying images that he had to steel himself against so he could focus on the task in front of him.

The tower loomed in the darkness as he wound carefully through the orcs and the fires that burned from the holes in the ground. He risked only a short glimpse into one of the chasms and saw what appeared to be a huge smithy with orcs scurrying through the shimmering heat, beating out weapons and armor. He hurried on before he was seen. From what he could tell, most of the orcs were in the underground cavern. He moved forward with a watchful eye. He just had to make it to Orthanc.

And when he reached the tower, what then? Would he wander aimlessly, hoping against hope that he would stumble upon Melody's prison by happy chance? Or worse yet, until he was discovered? Would Saruman show mercy and kill him quickly? Or would he be stuffed into some deep and disused corner, left to rot? Boromir cleared the thought away with a shake of his head. What choices did he truly have? There was no way to know where the wizard would keep her. All he could do was hope for a miracle.

He passed into a shadow and looked up. The tower of Orthanc glowered down at him like an angry black giant. He hurried deeper into the shadows until he was leaning against the cold stones. He was on the far side of the tower, away from the glowing underground furnaces. He closed his eyes for a moment to calm his frayed nerves and steady his thoughts. He had to find Melody. Even if it meant death, he had to find her. He would find her.

He opened his eyes and began to move along the curve of the tower wall. There would be more than one entrance, it only made sense. Saruman would never leave himself with only one way out, Boromir was counting on it. He was not disappointed. Almost immediately he came upon a wooden door, set flush to the exterior of the wall. He would have missed it if his fingers hadn't been running the length of the stone and come upon the wood. He drew his sword and tugged the door open. Even in the dim light, he could tell that the door led nowhere. It was only a storage room. He closed it and continued on, his heart hammering in his chest. A few yards further and he came upon another door. This one was harder to distinguish, for it was made of the same stone as the tower. But he could feel the seam in the rock. This had to be what he was looking for. It was well hidden, with no visible way inside. There would be a catch or a password. He took a step back and sighed, running a hand through his hair. He could stare all day at that hole in the rock and never come up with the answer…

"…wisdom…"

He whirled around, sword held ready. But it was no more than a whisper in the wind. His eyes darted through the darkness, but found no one. The soft voice had been familiar, like the voice of the woman in his dreams who was not a woman at all. The voice of Yavanna…

"Wisdom," He breathed. What could that mean? His mind raced as he turned back to the door. If only he could just kick the door in! But where would be the wisdom in that? There had to be something to it. He closed his eyes and thought.

"Nolë…" he murmured. It was an old Quenya word for wisdom, one of the few words that had stuck from his lessons. It was so important to his father…

There was a soft click. His eyes flew open. Instead of a stone door, there was a gaping black hole in the wall. For a moment he just stood and stared. Could it have truly been that simple? He took a single step forward, ready to strike if someone materialized in the blackness. Nothing happened. The door still stood open, beckoning him forward. He took another step, and another. He was inside the doorway. Then inside the tower itself. Behind him, the stone door silently swung shut and clicked into place again.

A light flickered to life beside him and he jumped. But no one was there. The light was from a torch by his head that seemed to have lit itself. He allowed his eyes time to adjust, and then looked around him. He was in a small empty room. The only way out seemed to be a flight of stairs that led downward, but beyond the first few steps he could not see. Carefully, he reached for the torch. His fingers wrapped around the wood, and then he paused, waiting to see if anything happened. Nothing did. Slowly, he eased the torch from its bracket, listening for anything, a click, a twang, any sound that would indicate a trap or an alarm. There was no sound. He released the breath he hadn't known he was holding and started down the stairs.

He had gone down twenty steps when he saw another light ahead. He quickly dropped his torch and stomped it out before pressing himself against the wall, trying to calm his harsh breathing in the dark. But the other light didn't move. Slowly he crept down the rest of the steps until he was just outside an archway that opened into a long hall. He glanced both ways. It seemed to be deserted. He took a single step into the empty passage.

That was when he heard the angry shouts.

"Why won't it work?!"

The sounds of screeching hinges and a door slamming on stone broke through Mel's hazy dreams. Her body was jerked upright against its will and slammed back against the stone wall. She dimly realized that she was in pain, that her rib was still cracked and it was hard to breathe, but it all seemed so distant now. Saruman stood in the open doorway, his eyes flashing wildly. He descended on her like a vulture, his robes swirling around him violently.

"Why won't the ring summon the trees of the forest?" He shouted, clamping a hand around her neck, "Why can't I bend them to my will?!"

Mel choked out a laugh, "Maybe they just… don't like you."

The wizard snarled and suddenly she was flying across the room. She hit the wall and sank to the floor, but she was overcome with an uncontrollable case of the giggles.

"The trees don't like you," she gasped, "Imagine that! You burn up all their friends and relatives, and then wonder why they're pissed!"

She couldn't stop laughing, even though everything hurt like hell. It was all so ridiculous!

Saruman grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back until they were nearly nose to nose.

"This ring gave you unimaginable power," He hissed, "How? What did you do to control the trees?!"

Her giggles had stopped. Her fuzzy mind was slowly working. She was nothing special, not strong or powerful. She was just ordinary.

"I didn't control anything," She whispered, "All I did was ask."

"You must have controlled something!" He shrieked.

But Mel was barely listening. She could feel the beginnings of an epiphany, something wonderful and beautiful and poetic in a way. If she could only just…

"The Yavannacor isn't about taking control," She murmured, "It's about giving it."

There! That was it! The ring gave power to the trees, not to her! She had nothing to do with it. She was just a carrier, a go-between, a missing link. The Yavannacor gave the trees control of themselves! It was all so simple she couldn't believe Saruman, in all his wisdom, hadn't figured it out. It was so crazy that she started giggling again, this time with relief. Saruman would never be selfless enough to give up control of anything. The trees were perfectly safe.

Saruman's face darkened. He tossed her head away and stood up, glaring down his nose at her.

"You are more useless than I thought."

Then his staff cracked her on the head and everything went black.

The shouts were the shouts of a man. Boromir leapt into action, sprinting down the hall in the direction of the voice. The sound bounced and echoed off the walls and he hoped that he was going the right way, that he wasn't making some terrible mistake. He passed a few hallways and briefly wondered if he should have turned. But there was no time for debate. He ran on. Torches were becoming fewer and fewer, and he began to believe that maybe he should have kept his with him. He stopped for a moment to remove another from its bracket. He could hear laughter now. A woman's laughter… Melody's laughter. His heart pounded and he tried very hard to quiet it, listening with intensity, hardly daring to believe… Then he turned right and kept running. Could it be possible?

He clearly heard the man's shriek.

"You must have controlled something!"

He stopped. That had been from just around the next corner. He quickly doused his light and pressed himself against the wall as he edged forward. Then, slowly, he peered into the hallway beyond. A single orc stood outside a large open door, shuffling and fidgeting nervously.

Laughter floated from inside the open door. Boromir felt his heart stop. Something was wrong. It was Melody's laugh, but it sounded odd, wild and uncontrolled. There was a murmur from inside the room and suddenly the laughter was cut off. His heart jumped to his throat. What had happened? His hand tightened on his sword and his breath quickened.

Please… he thought, afraid to even think the terrible fear that gripped him, please not when I'm so close…

An old man with long white hair swept out of the room, slamming the door and throwing a deadbolt behind him. His robes were dingy white and he walked with a white staff. It could only be Saruman. The wizard turned to the orc, who was standing very still, as if it hoped not to be noticed.

"Leave her for the moment," Saruman commanded, "She won't be doing any harm, so close to death. If she's still alive by morning, finish her. I grow tired of her games."

The orc bowed low.

"Yes, my lord." He rasped.

Boromir's breath caught in his throat. She was close to death. What had they done to her, to bring her close to death in just a few days? His blood scorched his veins as he watched Saruman stride so confidently down the hall away from him, the orc scurrying along behind. He realized how easy it might be to come up behind him, to run him through, so quickly he wouldn't even see him coming. He imagined the look of shock and horror on the wizard's face as he lay bleeding on the floor of his own tower.

He forced himself to remember that it would never work. Even if he managed to kill the wizard, which he doubted, he would never make it out of the tower alive. And then who would save Melody? So he watched and waited until Saruman and the orc had passed out of sight and their footsteps had faded into nothing. Then he grabbed the single torch that lit the corridor and crept toward the prison door.

Her next conscious thought was for the torchlight she could see flickering beyond her closed eyelids. She cringed and tried to press herself into the seam between the floor and the wall, screwing her eyes shut against the light. If she could just make herself small enough…

"Melody?"

That voice… She knew that voice… But she had never heard it tremble quite like that before…

A boot scraped the stone.

"Oh, Melody… What have they done to you?"

Was this all just another dream, another hazy vision that would morph into something horrible when she opened her eyes? And even if it was, how could she resist the lure of that voice? She heard the sounds of someone kneeling beside her and she couldn't help herself. She opened her eyes, squinting past the firelight, too frightened to believe…

Gray eyes wavered before her, set in that same strong face, framed by long dark hair. She sighed and relaxed.

"Thank god," she whispered, relief washing over her, "I'm dead."

The vision shook his head.

"No, Melody. I've come to get you. To take you away from here."

She smiled up at him, her hand reaching out, but not quite touching, afraid that he might shimmer and disappear if she got too close.

"They couldn't have picked a better angel of death. At least I get to see your face one more time, even if you are a ghost."

The vision snatched her hand out of the air and pressed it to his chest, his face set with a grim determination.

"You are not dead," He said, "Nor will I allow you to die. Not here, not ever."

She heard his words, but they were nothing. All she knew was his touch, the pressure of his hand against her fingers. Something wasn't right. She was cold and dirty and aching and her head throbbed. She couldn't be dead. But she could feel his hand on hers. The skin was rough and calloused, but the touch was gentle and warm...

Real…

Her breath stuttered and she jerked herself up a little, her other hand scrambling for something to hold on to, something to ground her in a world that threatened to spin upside down and dump her into a black abyss. She found his arm, covered in tattered cloth and leather, but solid beneath her trembling touch. She gripped it hard, squeezing it to steady herself, then allowed her hand to travel upward, elbow, shoulder, neck. And finally… that face… the face that had worn so many masks, anger, hatred, betrayal, greed, pride. But now all masks were gone. What was underneath was real. His eyes flickered over her, watching her as she watched him… his real eyes…

"Oh my god…" she whispered, her voice breaking.

She cupped his face with both her hands, reveling in the feel of the stubble under her fingers, the warmth and the soft pliability of his skin.

"You're real."

She slid her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of leather and earthiness, distinctly… undeniably…

Boromir…

"Oh my god, you're real…"