Chapter 10
When Mel woke again, the sun had dipped just below the lip of the rock formation. She felt the briefest moment of panic and she shot up in the dark, waiting impatiently for her eyes to adjust to the shadows. Boromir was leaning against the rocks, wrapped in his Lothlorien cloak and peering down the mountainside toward Isengard. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. He was still here.
It was strangely quiet; the only sound the whistle of a chill wind through the rocks. Mel pulled the cloak she was using as a blanket up to her chin. She recognized the touch of white fur at the collar. She touched the familiar gold embroidery and smiled. It was Elrohir's cloak. She hadn't seen it since Amon Hen, she had been sure that it was lost somewhere in the ruins… The thing had to have magic powers or something! She snuggled deeper into the warmth of the soft green wool.
"The army has moved out of Isengard," Boromir's voice broke the unnerving silence, "Do you think you can walk?"
Something in his tone and the way his back was still turned to her made her eyes narrow suspiciously.
"I think so," she answered after a moment's hesitation, "Why?"
"I would like to take you to Edoras, so that a trained healer might…"
"No." Her voice was sharper than she had anticipated, but she didn't soften it, "I'm not going anywhere. Not yet."
Boromir finally met her eyes, but his face was carefully composed.
"Melody, you must see a healer. I've treated your wounds as best I can, but…"
"Did you get that jar from my bag?"
He blinked at her, his expression finally revealing a touch of confusion.
"Yes… but I don't see how…"
"Then I'm fine," Mel said decisively, "Eregwen gave that to me, I bet it'll heal just about anything. Look."
She started unraveling the cloth from her hand. Boromir jerked forward, reaching out to stop her, but she had already ripped it off, revealing fresh scars around her ring finger.
She held it up triumphantly.
"See? I'm perfectly fine."
But her words sounded hollow in her ears. The sight of her burned hand reminded her of the dead part in her brain, the part that used to speak to the trees, the part that had made her feel like she was… something bigger. Something more. What was she now? Just a nobody, stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time.
A gentle touch brushed her fingers and her eyes refocused on the present, but Boromir was already walking away, pacing the small space in the rocks that sheltered them.
"Melody," he said and his voice sounded distinctly like the beginnings of a patient lecture, "The ring is gone. Saruman has it. There is nothing we can do now."
"We don't have to do anything, but wait," Mel said, crossing her arms over her chest, "The Ents will come and when Saruman realizes he can't use the Yavannacor against them, we'll just make him give it back."
"Ents?" Boromir said, raising a skeptical eyebrow, "Am I to believe that creatures of myth are going to appear out of the forest and end Saruman's mad reign of terror in a single night?"
"Have I ever been wrong?" she asked, a smug smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"I wouldn't know," He quipped, "Until now you've hidden everything from me."
That stung a little. The tiny smile fell off her face and she dropped her hands, clenching them in her lap.
"I'm not leaving." She muttered.
There was a pause. Then Boromir sighed and when Mel looked up he was rubbing his face. He looked very tired.
"I am sorry, Melody," he said, "That was cruel and unfair of me. Of course you could not have told me everything. I know that."
He pushed away from the rocks and crouched down before her, his eyes kind and gentle.
"But you must know how futile this is. I know what it is, the desperation for a thing that you cannot have, but feel that you need. But you don't need it, Melody. Do you understand? Don't you see why I want to take you far away from this place?"
Mel stared at him, finally feeling as if she might understand.
"You think I want the power…"
The idea sounded ludicrous to her, but his eyes brightened when she said it.
"I believe that you crave something the Yavannacor offers you. That is why you cannot let it go."
"No, you don't get it, it… it's not like that." Mel struggled for words to explain how she felt, "The ring doesn't give any power to me. It's only uses me, to give power to the trees, to use however they want. I give them something useful, the ability to help if they want, not just sit around and watch as the world around them gets burned to a cinder! They need me!"
She realized that her hands were balled up into fists and she forced herself to take a deep breath and relax.
"Not having it…" She swallowed past the lump in her throat, "It's like a part of my mind has stopped working. It's all blank and dead. I feel completely cut off, small, helpless, lost in a world that has nothing to do with me…"
She trailed off. She was afraid to meet Boromir's eyes. She realized how ridiculous she sounded. But he was right about one thing. If anyone was in a position to understand how she felt, it was probably him. She risked a peek at his face. He was smiling at her gently, a smile that she hadn't seen since Rivendell.
"Well," he murmured, "At least I know what it is you crave."
That surprised her. "What?"
"Purpose," He said, "Still, after all this time, you feel that you don't have a place here."
He took her hand, and pressed her palm against his chest.
"Do you feel that, Melody?"
She did feel it, the steady drum of his heart.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
"That is because of you," He said, "I do not understand why or how, but I am alive because you exist, of that I am certain."
She didn't move, couldn't move, just stared fixedly at the spot where her hand touched his chest, his larger hand easily covering her own.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
"Is that not reason enough?" He murmured, "You belong, because I belong."
Mel finally met his eyes. He was smiling, his eyes glowing. She wanted to say something, something nice, something beautiful. But the words that came out were not even close to that.
"But, you don't belong anymore," she whispered, "You're just like me now. You shouldn't even be here."
His eyes dimmed and she knew that she had said the wrong thing. She'd known it as the words were leaving her lips. But she didn't know how to fix it. There was nothing she could say that would ring true. Boromir turned away and leaned back against the rocks, his gaze fixed once more on Isengard.
"We will wait one more day," He said definitively, with no hint of emotion, "Then, we will go to Edoras, even if I must drag you there."
Drag.
The word slammed Mel in the chest and suddenly she was floundering in images, swirling memories: dragged by her hair, kicked over and over, that foul tasting liquid forced down her throat. It was all so vivid. She felt like she might throw up. She tried to run her hands through her hair, something that should have been a self-comforting gesture, but all she felt were the tangles and the mats and the stickiness and it made everything worse, because it was real, it was right there, reminding her…
"Boromir…" she managed to choke out.
He turned, brow furrowed in instant concern. Mel held out her hand, the other gripping the knot of her hair.
"Give me your knife."
He looked confused and cautious, but he didn't argue. Slowly, he drew the short blade from his belt and handed it to her, watching every move she made. She was careful as she grasped it, knowing that her hands were shaking a little, knowing that the knife was sharp. She wanted a clean cut, but not through her finger.
She gripped the knife tightly in one hand and squeezed the handful of hair in the other, fighting the urge to vomit as she was reminded of all the times that filthy Uruk-Hai had grabbed her by the hair…
"Melody, are you sure…"
But before Boromir could finish, Mel jerked the knife sharply through the rope of hair with one clean slice. She gave no thought to convention or fashion or convenience. All she could think about was how she had been thrown around, tossed like garbage, treated like an object, and ripped up by her hair. Her long, beautiful hair. She threw the nasty knot of hair as hard as she could over the rocks and into the mountains somewhere. She didn't care. She just wanted it as far away as possible. She shuddered and wrapped her cloak tightly around her, curling up against the rocks and closing her eyes, pressing a cheek against the stone. She was so tired all of a sudden. Why did the life continue to get sucked out of her?
She heard Boromir's boots scuff the rock behind her, pausing near where she lay. She didn't open her eyes. Then, she barely felt the tips of his fingers brush what was left of her hair. She had to work hard not to flinch away.
"Why?" he whispered.
She didn't have an answer. Not one that made sense anyway. A few minutes ago, her anger and revulsion had seemed perfectly logical. Now it just seemed petty and ridiculous. So she gave him the only answer she could come up with that might make any sense.
"It was in the way."
His hand brushed her forehead.
"You still have fever."
"I'm fine." She murmured, even as she involuntarily leaned into the cool touch of his fingers brushing her cheek.
She tried to tell her heart to stop fluttering, afraid he might hear. That would be embarrassing. If he took her pulse and heard the clamor rattling around in there he would really think something was wrong with her.
He pulled his hand back and she heard his boots scrape the stone as he walked away. She tugged the cloak up to her nose and breathed in the scent of the fur. It still smelled fresh and clean like Rivendell. It was a comforting, calm smell. She sighed and opened her eyes. Stars twinkled overhead and she searched the sky for the familiar glow of Eärendil. She finally found it, but something else in the sky caught her eye too, something vaguely familiar.
When she finally recognized it, she gasped and shot upright.
"Orion?"
Boromir's reaction was instant. His sword flew into his hand and he whirled around, his eyes scanning the night around them. Mel felt a little bad about it, but the shock had been overwhelming. What was Orion doing in this sky?
"What did you see, Melody?" Boromir asked, his eyes still searching the darkness.
"Nothing," she stuttered, "Sorry it's nothing, never mind."
But her eyes were drawn inevitably upward again. The familiar constellation still glimmered down at her. It was undoubtedly the Hunter with his belt of stars. She wondered how she had missed him before. What was he doing here?
"What do you see?"
She jumped. Boromir had sat down beside her, looking up into the sky as well.
"You said Orion," he said, his eyes searching, "Who is Orion?"
Mel hesitated for a moment. Then she reached out and took his hand, forcing herself not to tremble as she touched him. She pointed his fingers in the right direction.
"See those three stars there?" she asked.
"The belt of Menelvagor?" he asked.
The name sounded vaguely familiar, as if she'd read it somewhere, but she couldn't quite remember. She shrugged.
"I guess. Where I come from, we call it Orion's belt. He was supposed to be this great hunter. I think he was killed by a giant scorpion or something. There are so many versions though. I can't remember it exactly, but I could always find his constellation back home."
She sat back and Boromir did the same, still staring at the sky.
"Menelvagor was a great warrior," he said, "The Swordsman of the Sky."
He paused, then shook his head and smiled.
"I'm afraid I do not remember the tale. Faramir could probably tell you all the stories," His smile became sad and his eyes glazed over, seeing something in his mind that Mel could only imagine, "That has always been to his liking, great tales of old, hidden away in musty libraries with aging scrolls containing the names and legends of the stars," He sighed, "It is a shame that his intellect and knowledge is wasted on war."
"It's not wasted," Mel said, "It's being put to very good use even as we speak."
His eyes flicked toward her and then back to the sky.
"I hope you are right."
"I wouldn't lie to you, Boromir. Not about family." She paused. Then she added, "Not about anything. Not anymore."
"And why is that?" he asked, turning his full attention toward her, "Before, you could tell me nothing. And I understand that is how it had to be. But now… You speak as if you would tell me the whole tale if I asked it."
Mel shrugged, fiddling with the hem of her cloak.
"I guess I just figure we're kinda like two peas in the same pod now."
He huffed a laugh and when she looked up at him he was shaking his head, an amused smile on his lips.
"Your analogies are very strange, Melody."
She grinned and rolled her eyes.
"I mean, now that neither of us is really…" She hesitated, but then forged ahead, "…really supposed to be here, I guess it doesn't matter if you know what's coming or not. Just by existing we're going to mess it all up anyway. So you might as well know what to expect. I would hate for you to be pointlessly blindsided."
"Blindsided? By what?"
It couldn't have been more perfectly timed. A horn sounded, a wooden, hollow sound that echoed through the clear night. Boromir leapt to his feet and Mel even started a little, even though she had been expecting it, if not tonight, then the next night, or the night after that. She had known they would come.
Boromir's sword was drawn and he faced Isengard. Mel smiled at him.
"You're looking the wrong way."
He glanced down at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. She got to her feet, pulling her cloak around her against the chill. She was still bare-foot, so she was careful to avoid the sharp edges of the stones as she scrambled to the other side of their little haven in the mountain. She poked her head over the rocks and stared as hard as she could toward the ruin of what had once been Fangorn forest, straining her eyes, trying to distinguish anything in the dim light from the half moon and the stars. She heard Boromir shuffling behind her, but she didn't dare look up to see if he'd followed her or not. She didn't want to miss this, not for the world.
Finally, she thought she heard something. A hum, a rumble, something… Boromir's feet scuffed the rock again and she flapped a hand behind her in his general direction.
"Shhh!" She hissed, "Listen!"
He stopped fidgeting. Mel could feel something reverberating through the boulder under her hands, up through her arms and into her chest. And she heard a murmur, a murmur that was getting closer and more distinct with each passing moment. Finally, she could distinguish words, a chant, just barely above the whisper of the wind.
"To Isengard! Though Isengard be ringed and barred with doors of stone;
Though Isengard be strong and hard, as cold as stone and bare as bone;
We go, we go, we go to war, to hew the stone and break the door;
For bole and bough are burning now, the furnace roars- we go to war!
To land of gloom with tramp of doom, with roll of drum, we come, we come!
With doom we come, with doom we come!"
She could see now. It was only a shimmer of movement on the edge of the desolation, a flutter, almost unrecognizable. The chant started again, louder, closer, almost a roar. She could see the trees moving, swaying, making way for the unstoppable force that had awakened in Fangorn's depths.
Boromir's breath caught in his throat.
"Do my eyes deceive me? Or my ears turn the wind to war chants? Melody, what is that?"
Mel smiled, an angry, almost feral, anticipation building with every beat of the cadence in her chest.
"He shouldn't have pissed off the trees."