Chapter 14

Since Boromir just couldn't seem to accept that Mel's arms were really okay, she decided to let him take a look for himself while she explained what had happened. He listened carefully, but gave absolutely no indication of how he felt about any of it, choosing instead to focus all his attention on a thorough inspection and re-bandaging of her arms. It was starting to grate on her nerves.

"Dear god, Boromir, I'm fine!" she exclaimed, finally snatching them away from him and finishing the bandages herself, "Are you happy now? Quickbeam will be here any minute. I thought we might look around, see if we can find some stuff to take with us, like food."

Her stomach was starting to gurgle, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything since the bits of lembas the previous night. That was probably making her cranky too.

Boromir finally met her eyes.

"Are you certain…?" He glanced around and then leaned in closer, lowering his voice, "Are you certain we can trust these… these creatures? Is this the best way?"

His words surprised her, and frankly made her feel a little indignant.

"Um, yeah we can trust them. Have you looked around lately? They just destroyed Isengard!"

"That is exactly my point," he replied, his voice still lowered, "Is it safe to be traveling with them?"

"Boromir, have you forgotten who you're talking to?" she asked, waving the hand that wore the Yavannacor in front of him, "I'm Calenhiril. Trees are my thing."

He still did not look completely convinced. It was so strange. The last thing she had expected from him was skepticism.

"Trust me," she said, "It's gonna be fine. Besides, this is the only way to even have a chance of getting to Gondor in time."

At the mention of Gondor, his eyes darkened and he expression hardened into a reluctant resolve. He nodded.

"Very well. If it is the only way."

She smiled, "Okay, now help me find something to eat. I'm starving!"

Together they managed to find a flooded guard room, filled with floating foods. Most of it was waterlogged and completely useless, but some of the things on the top shelves were still edible. They were able to salvage some dried fruit and meat that looked very much like beef jerky and a few loaves of bread. While they were piling things together, Mel bumped into a small barrel that was floating on top of the water. She started to push it out of the way, but the elaborate block letters stamped into the side caught her eye.

-SOUTH FARTHING-

Mel grinned and tucked the barrel under her arm. She also found a barrel that looked like it had some wine in it and grabbed that too.

"What is that?" Boromir asked.

She showed him the words on the side of the barrel, "A parting gift for two of our favorite hobbits."

They waded back to the gate and Mel set the barrels of pipe weed and wine right beside Merry and Pippin. They were curled up together so comfortably in their little nook that she couldn't bear to wake them, even to say good-bye. Instead, she kissed them each lightly on the forehead and tiptoed away.

"What will happen to them?" Boromir asked as they started to pack the food into their bags.

"They're gonna do great things," She replied, "Brave and wonderful things that they can't even imagine."

She grabbed a stick of jerky and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. Boromir didn't say anything else.

Moments later, Quickbeam and Treebeard waded toward them. Treebeard still looked fairly rankled.

"Barum hum, I still don't like this. Traveling so far across the open plains is something we just don't do. But Bregalad seems set in his hasty ways now and refuses to take my counsel. Calenhiril, I just don't like it."

Mel felt a tiny stab of guilt. Treebeard seemed genuinely upset.

"I'm so sorry, Treebeard," she said in the most soothing way she could, "If there was any other way I wouldn't have asked."

The old Ent rumbled, but he seemed to settle a bit.

"Harum hum, I would ask only one thing of you, little sister."

"Name it." Mel replied, eagerly.

"Do you know of the Entwives?" He asked.

Something tugged on Mel's heart. The Entwives… Lost for centuries, thought by many in her world to be dead, destroyed by the Dark Lord many years ago. But she had never believed that. She had always held out hope for the Entwives, for Fimbrethil. And now something deep inside her told her that hope was not misplaced. There was hope for the Entwives.

She nodded, "If I hear anything, Treebeard, I'll let you know. You have my word."

Quickbeam held out his hand and Mel climbed on, Boromir following in her wake. She noticed that he didn't seem very comfortable settling himself in. This all had to be very strange to him, and she briefly regretted snapping at him earlier. She supposed he had every right to be wary.

When they were both finally settled in his branches, Quickbeam stood and faced Treebeard again.

"We're off, Fangorn." He said, trying to contain the excitement quivering in his voice.

Treebeard held up his long, leafy hand, "Be cautious on your journey, Bregalad. It is a precious burden that you bear."

"I will remember it." Quickbeam replied.

Then he turned and strolled out of the gate without another look back. But Mel looked back. Treebeard still stood where they had left him and as long as he was in sight she never saw him move.

When they finally passed out of the shadow of Isengard, Quickbeam turned and started down a well-worn road.

"So, Calenhiril, at what pace must we go? Do you require speed or luxury? For though to run would prove the fastest, it might not prove the most comfortable."

Mel glanced at Boromir and she almost laughed. He looked so tense! He held onto Quickbeam's branches with white-knuckled hands and his eyes darted from the branches to the ground and back. He fidgeted, twisting this way and that way as if he couldn't quite relax into a comfortable position. Once again, it was something that she had not expected from him. But it quickly told her that she would be making this decision on her own.

"We need to hurry, Quickbeam, but don't knock us out of the branches, okay?"

Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw Boromir turn a bit pale. She turned her head so he wouldn't accidentally see her smile.

"A quick stroll then!" Quickbeam said and lengthened his stride, still keeping just short of a jog, "And now, little sister, I believe you promised me a tale on this journey. How did you injure your hands?"

Mel looked down at the bandages. She had almost forgotten about them.

"I was helping Beechbone. He was burned during the fight."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"It's just something I can do. I guess the Yavannacor does it really. I don't know how, but I can help trees that are sick or hurt."

For a moment, Quickbeam was silent. Mel used the opportunity to sneak a glance at Boromir. He finally seemed to have settled, but he still hadn't loosened his iron grip on the branches.

Finally, Quickbeam spoke again, "I have not heard tell of this power in the old stories. How did you know of it?"

"I only knew because I did it once before, outside of Moria."

Quickbeam shuddered underneath them and Boromir's face paled again, his fingers tightening their hold.

"Moria," the Ent rumbled, "A dark place indeed. I hope you did not venture inside, little sister. Even in our forests away from the world, the Ents have heard dark tidings from that dwarven mine."

Mel remembered the close feel of the air and the darkness creeping up on her in the shafts, the feeling of always being stalked by something evil in the murkiness. It made her shudder too.

"I'm afraid we did go inside, Quickbeam," she said, "And there were horrors there, but we escaped."

"Not all of us." Boromir murmured.

Mel glanced at him, but his eyes were fixed somewhere in the distance.

"Boromir, I told you," she reassured him, "Gandalf is fine."

"Gandalf the Grey?" Quickbeam asked his voice suddenly grave, "Did something happen to the wizard?"

Mel smiled, "Yes, but he's fine now."

"You have seen him then?"

"No, I just know. Maybe I should start at the beginning. This is kind of a long story to start right in the middle."

"Oh yes!" Quickbeam exclaimed, "Tell me of your journey! I wish to know how you came upon the Yavannacor. Perhaps it is a tale that I can pass down to my Entings should the Entwives be found."

Once again, Mel felt that strange twinge of hope deep inside her at the mention of the Entwives. But she settled back and pushed the feeling out of her mind. She started at the very beginning, with the story of how she came across the Yavannacor in her own world. It felt strange to be telling it again, after so much had happened. It had been months since she had been dropped into this strange new world, and it felt like eons since she had known the joys of air conditioning, fast food restaurants, and cars. In the blink of an eye she had been forced to substitute those conveniences with cool north breezes, beef jerky and traveling across the country by Ent. It surprised her how quickly she had adapted, really. Not that she'd had a choice, but still, it seemed almost impossible to believe that she had once thought she would never survive without electricity or the internet. All those things that she had thought were so important had faded from her memory more quickly than she could have ever imagined, replaced by much more pressing concerns. Like survival.

And not just her own survival. She stole another glance at Boromir. His grip had loosened a little and he seemed to be at least half listening to her story. She made sure to glaze over the bits that reminded her of the person the Ring had made him. She preferred not to dwell on that, instead describing the intense fights through orc-infested mines and hiding from Saruman's spies and spending time under the golden leaves of Lothlorien. The other parts of the story weren't that important anyway. Not anymore.

Quickbeam listened intently. When she had finished her story, ending with her capture and rescue from Saruman's dungeon, Quickbeam immediately launched into a flurry of questions. Had they seen signs of the Entwives in their travels? Were there Ents in her previous world? How did the trees govern themselves with no tree-herders? Had Trees and Men finally found a way to exist together in harmony?

Mel fielded all of his questions as best she could. Some of them she didn't have answers to, but she enjoyed discussing it with him. She enjoyed the easy way that Quickbeam spoke, as if every word was a joy to utter and every sentence held behind it some private punch line that only he could understand. They talked all the rest of the night and well past dawn. It was almost noon and Mel had just pulled out her pack and was rummaging around for some lunch when Quickbeam became unusually quiet. He slowed to a gentle stop. Mel glanced up. His eyes were staring into the distance. Mel looked, but she didn't see anything.

"What is it?" She looked at Boromir and he was looking in the same direction as Quickbeam, "What's going on?"

"Can't you hear it, little sister?" Quickbeam murmured.

Mel strained her ears, but she couldn't hear anything.

"It is the sounds of war."

Mel's mind immediately flashed to Helm's Deep.

"Saruman…" she whispered.

Quickbeam nodded, "Though his body is imprisoned in his tower, his evil spreads of its own accord. I fear for the horse-lords that govern this land. Though they are sturdy and strong, the might of Saruman's armies might still overpower them."

"No," Mel said, "Not the Rohirrim. They'd die before they'd let Saruman's army take them over. They'll fight till there's not one left standing. We don't have to worry about them."

But despite her own words, Mel worried. She missed her friends. She knew they were facing uncertainty and fear in the face of impossible odds. She missed Gimli and Gandalf and Aragorn and Legolas. She wished she could be there with them, to tell them that everything was going to be okay, that they were gonna make it through the night with only a few scratches and scars for their trouble. God, she missed them.

But that was not the way they were going. She could feel Boromir's eyes on her, like he was waiting for her to speak. She knew that if she asked, Boromir would probably agree to turn toward Helm's Deep, to help their friends, but that wasn't where his heart lay. He wanted to go home. And he could have already been there if it weren't for her. If he hadn't come to rescue her he could already have been on the walls of Minas Tirith, getting ready for the war that was coming. But he had come for her. She couldn't ask him to turn away again.

"Quickbeam, can we go around without attracting too much attention?" she asked.

"I think that most of their attention is focused on the horse-lords, Calenhiril." He answered, "If we continue to follow the road east to Edoras, I believe we can pass by."

"Then, let's go. I don't want to waste any time standing here in the open."

As quick as that, Quickbeam turned and started on the road again, at the same steady pace. But now they were quiet and all three of them kept their eyes on the road and the plains around them, searching for any sign of trouble. Mel took out a loaf of bread and tore it in half, handing one half wordlessly to Boromir, along with a strip of jerky and an apple. They ate in silence, as if any noise they made might turn the attention of the entire orc army onto them. Even the crunch as Mel bit into her apple made her cringe.

For hours they traveled like that, not making a sound. The silence bothered Mel more than if she had heard the sounds of the battle. The silence left time for her mind to wander, to the past, the present, and her increasingly hazy future. What would they do when they reached Gondor? What would she do? She no longer held any information of real value. Now that Boromir was alive, everything that she thought she knew was no more than an informed guess. No longer were the writings of Tolkien set in stone. The endless possibilities made her head swim. She didn't want to think about it anymore.

"Quickbeam, tell me more about you," She asked, quietly, "I'm really curious."

He smiled and his eyes brightened. He started to tell her stories, stories of his home on the mountain slopes west of Isengard, tending to the groves of rowan trees like children and listening to the birds chatter in the branches in the early morning, before the orcs came and destroyed everything. But he didn't dwell on that. He spoke only of the happy times, of how he and Fladriff the old birch Ent would come together and talk of the world. He told her stories of the beginning of the world, stories that Fladriff had told him as an Enting, for he was one of the three eldest Ents that were left. And as he spoke, the shadows of doubt that had started to roll over her like rainclouds began to part and she could feel happiness pouring into her heart like sunshine. She listened intently, only asking questions occasionally. Well into the afternoon, he paused for a moment and Mel asked him for a very important story.

"Quickbeam? Tell me about the Entwives."

The Ent didn't speak for a long moment. And when he did, his voice was somber.

"I was but an Enting when the Entwives disappeared," he murmured, "I remember very little myself. But Skinbark, Fladriff that I spoke of earlier, used to speak a little of them, Fangorn more so when I came to live in his forest. Tall and slender with long hair like that of ripe corn and rosy cheeks on smooth skin that would brown with age and sunlight. They loved to garden and help things grow. They taught your people much in their time, Boromir of Gondor," Boromir jumped, but Quickbeam didn't seem to notice, "For the Entwives loved to pass their knowledge on to any Man that would listen. They did not wander much as Ents do. Instead they chose a place that suited them and tended it lovingly, coaxing up good things from the earth until they were put out by the Enemy. Treebeard used to sing an old elvish song about the Ents and the Entwives that he seemed to enjoy. I can remember only the last few lines:

"Together we will take the road that leads into the West;

And far away will find a land where both our hearts may rest."

There was a long pause while the echoes of Quickbeam's song faded into the setting sun.

"What do you think happened to them?" Mel asked softly.

Quickbeam smiled at her.

"I cannot say, Calenhiril. I, like all my kindred, still hold hope that someday the words of the elves' song will ring true and we will find the Entwives and a land where we may live in harmony together. After the Enemy burned up the gardens, the Ents searched long and far for their fair maidens. But no word was ever heard. We hope now that the War will soon end and the Entwives will come out of their own accord, eager to grow new gardens and spread their knowledge once again. Some believe..."

He hesitated.

"Some believe that the Entwives await the arrival of Calenhiril, the Daughter of Yavanna, to seek them out and bring them home. But who can truly know the mind of Mother Yavanna? Her ways are not our ways. And so we wait and we hope, each in his own belief."

Mel sat back and tried to shut her gaping mouth. Find the Entwives? Her? How in the world was supposed to do that? Or... maybe she wasn't. Like Quickbeam said, who could know the mind of Yavanna? And she seemed to be the one pulling most of the strings in Mel's life lately. All Mel could do was keep doing what she believed was right. Worrying about whether she was doing the will of a goddess was only going to make her needlessly second-guess herself and she had a feeling she was going to have enough on her mind as it was. She glanced at Boromir again. He was staring at her, watching her with a curious expression.

"What?" she asked, a half-smile on her lips.

He shook his head, "I was simply wondering what was on your mind. You looked to be in deep thought."

"Everything is on my mind lately," She replied, looking out toward the open road. The sun was beginning to set behind them, lengthening Quickbeam's already long and spindly shadow. "There's so much that I'm not sure about anymore. I guess that's what you get when you mess around with history."

She smiled at him, but his own smile had vanished. He looked very intent now and it made Mel's heart pound.

"And… the choices you've made? Do you question them?"

Mel gaped at him for a moment before she managed to shut her mouth and form a coherent sentence.

"Never," She said with a definitive shake of her head, "I do not regret one single thing I've done since coming here."

She paused, moving her eyes over the darkening plains. Then she smiled.

"Unless of course you count letting you leave Lothlorien without me in the first place and having to catch up with you. I should never have let you out of my sight. I knew better."

When Boromir didn't answer she glanced back at him. His eyes were fixed on the road, but Mel could see his smile.

The sun slowly set behind them and the stars twinkled to life one by one in the purple twilight. Mel could feel herself being rocked to sleep by the gentle sway of the Ent's stride. But just as she started to nod off, Quickbeam drifted to a halt. She yawned and stretched.

"What is it?"

The Ent pointed, "The lights of Edoras, Calenhiril."

In the distance Mel could see tiny pinpricks of light burning on a plateau, the ringng of metal and the call of voices drifting on the wind.

"I dare go no closer to the city, little sister," Quickbeam said, "The people will fear my presence and I wish not to cause panic in an already frightened land. Here we must part at last."

Mel nodded. Boromir swung out of the branches quickly and then reached up to help her to the ground. Together they turned back to Quickbeam and Mel allowed herself to speak in the Old Entish.

"Thank you, Quickbeam."

Once the long, drawn out phrase was finally uttered, the young Ent grinned.

"To serve the Calenhiril, even in this small task has been an honor. Take care on your journey, little sister."

The Ent fixed his large gray eyes on Boromir with the most intensity that Mel had seen on his face yet.

"Son of Gondor, the task you have taken upon yourself is not light. The Daughter of Yavanna is a precious treasure to all the growing things of the world. Watch over her, I beg of you."

Boromir nodded gravely, "It is already done."

The heaviness of Quickbeam's expression melted almost effortlessly into a cheery grin.

"Then back to my post I go, traveling beneath the stars and in the company of a favorable wind to rustle my leaves! Farewell, friends!"

He turned and strolled off into the night, humming an energetic tune to himself. Mel and Boromir watched him go, but Boromir was the first to turn away.

"I admit your friends seem like pleasant folk, Melody, but I am glad to be on my own two feet again."

Mel laughed and fell into step beside him, "Yeah, I noticed you never did get really comfortable up there."

When Boromir answered he sounded just a little bit flustered, "A walking tree is not something you see often, Melody. It was simply a new experience, one that I confess I would not be too fond of repeating."

Mel was still grinning, but she dropped the subject. The last thing she wanted was to injure his pride. The fact that he admitted he didn't want to ride an Ent again was probably a big deal to him. For a while they walked in silence, Boromir setting a quick pace that brought them steadily closer to the city on the hill.

Boromir was the one to break the silence, "Melody?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why did you not tell the Ent the whole tale of our journey?"

"What do you mean?" she asked innocently, kicking at the dirt with her toe.

"You know precisely what I'm talking about."

Boromir's voice was quiet, but firm. Mel kept her eyes on her feet.

"It was none of his business," She said, quietly, "What was said and done then, it's not who you are now. It's not who you were before the Ring. You're different now and I don't want anybody to judge you for what you did before. Because I don't."

There was a pause. Mel thought maybe the conversation was over. But finally Boromir murmured, "I am only a different man because you gave me the chance to live as a different man."

"That's not true!" Mel said, her head whipping toward him, "You were a changed man with or without me. Never doubt that for a second!. You made a mistake, Boromir, but everyone makes mistakes! What separates a good person from a bad person is whether or not they can admit their mistakes and learn from them. And you did. Even if you had…" She hesitated. The words were still hard to say, "Even if you had died at Amon Hen, you still knew that you made a mistake. And you did everything in your power to make it right. You are a good man, Boromir; don't ever let anyone tell you differently, not even yourself."

He was staring at her. Mel went back to studying her feet as they plodded along. She could feel her cheeks heating up against the cool night air. She was a little embarrassed. She hadn't meant for that to turn into some kind of a rant. She was glad she'd said it, but…

Boromir did not answer. Mel didn't know whether to be disappointed or grateful. Silently, they continued their walk toward Edoras.

"You are a good man, Boromir," Melody said, while he continued to stare at her, "Don't ever let anyone tell you differently, not even yourself."

Boromir felt a warm glow in the pit of his stomach, as if he had just sipped at a steaming mug of milk on a cold night. A good man… She thought he was a good man. After all that he had done, all the things that he had said to her, even after he had abandoned her, she still thought he was a good man. He wanted to believe it himself, with all the conviction and unshakable faith that she seemed to have. But his own words repeated themselves over and over again, burning holes through him.

Am I also just a pawn in the little game you are playing?

You speak lies, woman. Let the elf care for you, but I will not.

You don't belong here… You aren't welcome, Melody. No one wants you here…

Those last words were the most painful. Each echo in his mind was a like a stab wound in his heart. He couldn't imagine now that he had said those things. The reasoning that had seemed so clear to him was now hidden in a fog of anger and mistrust that he couldn't begin to understand. It didn't matter though. He had said those things. He had hurt her, more deeply than he could possibly fathom. But things were different now. He was different now. And he would never allow her to be hurt again.