Chapter 20

At first there was only darkness. Then a murmur whispered from the black void, familiar and yet so faint, as if calling from a great distance.

"Calenhiril…"

Mel knew the voice, though she could not recall from where. It was light and fluttering but indistinct, fading even as its urgency increased.

"Melody Calenhiril, take care… There is…"

Then it was gone, leaving behind only darkness and a sense of impending threat. Slowly, the black began to take shape around her, the fear in her soul molding what she could see. It was the tower, the gray tower of Orthanc. She stood before the pedestal in the throne room, black silk draped over the form of the palantir at its center. She was shaking. The room was cold and she was so afraid. But her feet moved her forward despite the fear, stepping closer to the pedestal. Slowly, her mind screaming in protest, Mel reached out and swept the black silk away. The orb pulsed and she flinched, but she did not look away. As she watched, her mother's face appeared in the swirling inky depths, smiling, beautiful… but it did not last. The smile was replaced by a soundless scream, terror twisting her face as flames sprang out of the dark and consumed her. Mel shrieked and reached out for her, but long, bony fingers jerked her back.

"You will watch," Saruman hissed venomously in her ear, his long nails digging into the flesh of her arms, "Watch as all that you love is destroyed."

Her sisters were next, floating out of the black stone only to be swallowed by the destroying flames. Then her father. She fought against Saruman's hands, screaming, crying, begging. The hobbits, Gimli and Aragorn, Gandalf fought the flames, but he couldn't hold them off. Legolas… She watched as his beautiful smile turned to horror and panic. He burned. She sobbed, sagging to the floor, but the wizard's grip forced her to remain upright.

All that she loved…

"Not everything," Saruman whispered, "Not yet."

Boromir was in the palantir.

"No…" she whispered, "Not him. Not him, I SAVED him…"

"Did you?" the wizard taunted, "Do you truly believe the will of one foolish girl, can stand against the will of the Valar?"

Flame licked the edges of the sphere. Boromir's broad grin was slowly replaced by confusion and fear.

"No," she repeated, struggling back to her feet, "You can't have him. Not him!"

She wrenched one hand free and grabbed the palantir, ready to smash it to the floor. But when she touched it her fingers were scorched. She screamed and tears streamed down her face, but she held on as tightly as she could. She wouldn't let go… She wouldn't let Boromir go…

"NO!"

She came awake screaming. The second she realized where she was, she snapped her mouth shut. It was still dark outside. She hoped she hadn't-

There was a knock on the door.

"Melody?" Boromir called, softly, "Are you alright?"

She sighed. Apparently, she had woken someone up. She swung out of bed, but had to take a moment before she stood up. She was stiff and sore, but she managed to push to her feet and hobble to the door, leaning on the frame for support as she cracked it open.

"I'm fine," She said to a very concerned looking Boromir, "Sorry I woke you."

"It was no trouble. I was…"

"Already awake?" she guessed. Once again he was shirtless and slightly disheveled. She grinned, "I can see that."

He ran a hand through his hair in an endearing moment of sheepishness.

"Well, perhaps, 'preparing to wake' would be a more suitable turn of phrase in this instance."

"What time is it?" Mel asked. She didn't think she would be going back to sleep anyway. Ever.

"It is a few hours still until dawn," He said, "You had another nightmare."

Mel dropped her eyes and shrugged, dragging a toe along the floorboards of the cabin. Once again, now that she was awake the whole thing seemed painfully silly. Compared to the things Boromir must have seen and gone through in his life, her little near-death experience seemed trivial. And she was freaking out, while he was completely composed. It was embarrassing.

"Sorry, if I could stop them I would. Or at least the screaming part anyway. No point in us both losing sleep over it."

"I would gladly give up sleep forever if it would ease the pain you've endured."

She glanced up. His eyes flitted over her face, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if he could pinpoint the source of her distress and eradicate it with nothing more than the power of his stare. His eyes paused their roving on a spot just above her eyes and the furrow of his brow deepened. He reached up and gently brushed her forehead with his thumb, where Mel knew that dark purple scar marred her skin. She jerked out of his touch and dropped her eyes again, embarrassed by the ugliness that had inevitably drawn his attention. She gripped the door in a white-knuckled grip, her jaw clenched. She didn't want his pity. If all he could see in her was 'poor sheltered little girl, weak and helpless'that would be the worst thing she could imagine, worse even than the embarrassment and the ugliness. She would rather he didn't feel anything at all.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, Melody," he murmured and there was no trace of condescension or pity in his tone, "You are a warrior. The scars that you bear are tokens of battle, of horrors and hardships no one should have to endure. And not only did you survive these trials, in the very stronghold of evil, but you fought on, long after others would have lost all hope. I know it is difficult to see now, but you have shown strength and courage beyond anything I have ever seen."

She hadn't felt strong or courageous. She had felt exhausted, heart-broken, and terrified. She could remember the grip of the Uruk-Hai as he jerked her to her feet, the sharp pain as he kicked her, the chill of her prison in Orthanc. She could still feel the searing pain as the Yavannacor was wrenched from her, see the light of furious madness in Saruman's eyes, hear the sharp crack as his staff landed a blow to her head. She shuddered and felt a tear slide unbidden down her cheek. A warm, calloused thumb gently brushed it away.

"You need not hide from me," Boromir whispered, "I know that it is difficult. But I will help you if you allow me."

Mel sniffed, but she made herself pull away from his comfort. She had to get past this. Not just the pain and the fear, but the fluttering in her chest when he looked at her, the tingling on her skin where he touched her. She remembered the distance that had sprung up between them in Rohan, among people that were his equals, and she knew she had to prepare herself. It would only get worse the closer they got to Minas Tirith. She had to steel herself against it, or it would only get more painful.

His hand lingered in the air by her cheek for only a moment before he lowered it back to his side, his face carefully blank now. Mel hated it. It made her angry, not at him, but at herself, at how stupid she was, that she couldn't even figure out how to talk to him without saying or doing something that somehow felt fundamentally wrong, and then having no idea how to fix it! In her anger, she blurted out the first thing that popped into her head.

"I want to hack at something with a sword."

Boromir jerked in surprise, but a broad grin quickly spread across his face.

"I believe I can help with that," he said, "I will meet you in fifteen minutes."

Fifteen minutes later, Mel was beginning to second-guess her impulse. She was still aching from the ride yesterday, not enough to keep her off her feet, but enough to make her question her sanity. The gleam in Boromir's eye when he met her at the door, now fully dressed and almost bouncing with energy, only further confirmed that she was probably nuts to go through with this. But despite the little voice in her head begging her not to do this to herself, she smiled and followed him outside.

The remnants of last night's cooking fire still smoldered in the semi-circle, but there was no one else to be seen in the chilly pre-dawn quiet. While Boromir stoked the fire back to a decent blaze, Mel pulled out her new sword and gave it a few tentative swings. It was so heavy! It was easy to tell that her balance was off. She was clumsy, more than usual anyway, and it was driving her bonkers! She swung around and threw herself into the beginning of a warm-up exercise, something that Elladan had drilled into her so many times that she should have been able to do it in her sleep, but everything still felt so… off. She pivoted, bringing the sword down over her head and was met with a resounding clang. Boromir had caught her sword on the downswing and was giving her a small smirk.

"Not exactly an elf-blade is it?"

He tossed her sword aside casually and Mel stumbled back. He settled into an easy stance and Mel crouched defensively, furious that she'd allowed herself to be caught off guard. Elladan would have had her on the ground by now. Slowly they circled one another, waiting for the other to make a move.

"I promised I would never underestimate you again, Melody," Boromir said, his grin sharp and his eyes bright, "I want you to know that I intend to keep my word."

He lunged and Mel blocked him, but she felt that she was off-balance immediately. Damn sword! She danced back out of his second attack, close on the heels of the first, and righted herself, lunging forward as soon as she had her footing again, trying to catch him while he was recovering his own bearings. Their swords clashed and he easily shook her off, coming back with a few straight-forward blows meant to wear her down. It was working. The heavy sword and her sore muscles were already taking their toll. She ducked and spun under him, coming at him from the side. But he was so quick! He parried her blows and struck back. This time Mel couldn't see any way out of it. She blocked for as long as she could, but her back slammed into a tree and the jolt startled her into dropping her guard, allowing Boromir to pin her there, blocking any chance of escape.

He was so close. Mel's heart fluttered wildly, she couldn't catch her breath, and she wasn't entirely sure it was because of the exercise. He was grinning down at her, almost smirking, waiting for the inevitable forfeit, his eyes dancing in the dim light of the still morning that had not even properly begun yet. Mel's mind was racing and she had the crazy thought that if she leaned forward, just a few inches, she could…

She panicked and spit out the first thing that popped into her head.

"You still went easy on me."

The words came out a little breathless, but they had the effect she was going for. Boromir's smile widened and he took a step back, allowing her to slip free of the tree trunk.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Melody," he said, swinging his sword casually and obviously avoiding her gaze.

Mel rolled her eyes, still trying to catch her breath and slow down her heartbeat.

"Boromir, please! If you had really been giving me everything you had, I'd have lasted two seconds. Trust me, I know."

She had a flash. Gray eyes, possessed by an evil light, and angry words spat at her.

The men and women of Gondor mean nothing to you! Nothing! We are just meaningless pawns in this damned war, this fairy tale that you've created! I mean NOTHING to you!"

Her sword clattered on the stones at her feet and she jumped at the noise. She hadn't known she'd dropped it. Her hands were shaking and she clenched them into fists to make them stop.

"Melody?"

Boromir had taken a step forward, his hand reaching out as if to catch her, concern in those same gray eyes, eyes that were no longer possessed by madness. Kind. Safe. He was safe now. It was okay. It was all going to be okay.

A voice cut through the still air behind her, making her jump again.

"My lord?"

It was only Elenion. Mel forced her heart to start beating again.

"Forgive my intrusion, but you wished to be taken to Elendil's resting place before you were on your way. It will take a bit of time to make the ascent and I imagine you wish to depart as soon as possible."

Boromir nodded and sheathed his sword.

"I do. I am ready."

He caught Mel's eye and hesitated. Mel smiled and jerked her head toward the lean-to on the other side of the clearing that served as a stable.

"I'll make sure everything's ready by the time you get back."

Boromir smiled and lifted his hand. Mel got the strange impression that he was going to touch her face. But after hovering for a moment, his palm landed on her shoulder and he squeezed her arm gently.

"Thank you." He said.

Mel didn't get a chance to reply. He was already gone, following Elenion into the shadows of the forest.

"Make sure they don't get in any trouble." Mel joked as they disappeared, to a scattering of chuckles and reassurances from the surrounding trees.

She picked up her sword, cleaning the dirt from the blade before sheathing it, and then made her way back to the cabin to pack. She made sure to leave everything exactly as she had found it, or as close as she could get, before shouldering her bag and shutting the door firmly behind her. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, and she could see someone sitting next to the fire, taking out pans and various cooking implements. It was Anaril, the young man that had cooked for them last night. Mel dropped her bag next to a log and sat down next to him.

"Could you use a hand?"

Anaril looked up and grinned, his face even more boyish in the early light.

"Oh no, my lady, you needn't trouble yourself," He said, "You have a long journey ahead of you."

"It's no trouble, it's the least I can do," Mel said, spotting a basket of potatoes, "Those look like they need peeling."

Anaril considered the basket for a moment, then he shrugged and handed her a small knife out of the pile of cooking utensils.

"If you wish."

Mel pulled the basket of potatoes closer and began carefully cutting away the skins. She had never done this with a bare knife before and the last thing she wanted to do was cut off a finger. She was about half way through her second potato when she realized she was being watched. She glanced up and saw Anaril staring at her, clearly amused.

"What?" she asked, mirroring his infectious smile.

He shook his head and started slicing an onion, "You peel like my sister."

Mel didn't quite know how she should respond to that.

"And… how old is your sister?"

"Nine."

Oh, so that's how it was. Mel shook her head and chuckled.

"Okay, I admit, it's been a while since I peeled a potato."

"You're just so careful about it," he said, "It reminded me of home."

Mel looked up. He was still smiling fondly and she decided to let him be, thinking about her own sisters instead. She wondered how their first year of high school was going. They had always been able to make friends so easily, but homework was a problem. They were smart, but restless. She managed to blink away any hint of tears.

She made it through about half the potatoes before Anaril decided to lend her a hand. He was twice as fast as she was and twice as efficient. He lost almost none of the potato in the peeling. Mel looked at her sad little potatoes, riddled with gouges and quite a bit of flesh still clinging to the skins on the ground. It was embarrassing.

"You're good at this," Mel commented as Anaril diced up the potatoes and added them to the skillet over the fire, along with some onions and mushrooms.

"I should be. My father is a cook in the Steward's kitchen. I grew up in the kitchens."

"Wow, you learned from the best!"

He grinned, "I most certainly did."

There was a pause. Mel thought maybe she should leave him alone, but… He seemed like a good kid, honest, trustworthy. Mel liked him.

"Anaril? May I ask you something?"

"Of course, my lady."

"In Minas Tirith, are people…?"

She hesitated, not really sure how she should phrase the question.

"I mean, in the court, are people… you know… snobby?"

He looked at her inquisitively and she knew she'd used the wrong word. She tried again.

"I mean, do people look down on you if they don't know who you are? Are the rules really strict? I've never been, you see, and I'm just trying to figure out what I'm walking into."

Anaril turned back to the sizzling skillet, stirring absently and considering her question with great care before he finally spoke.

"If you mean, will they treat you badly when you come riding in with Lord Boromir out of nowhere, I would say mostly no. I imagine you will be met with quite a bit of skepticism and curiosity, but I don't think anyone would dare treat a guest of Lord Boromir with anything but complete courtesy and respect."

He paused, but it was easy to see that he had more to say.

"What, Anaril? Tell me."

He glanced up and then away again.

"I… do feel I should warn you that your traveling together is rather… unusual. There will be talk, most likely."

Mel sighed, "I thought that there might."

"But I wouldn't fret, my lady. There would be talk either way." Anaril reassured her, "You are a point of interest, a mortal that has lived among elves, a woman who wields a sword and yet can't peel a potato. You mustn't worry about such things. On the whole, the people of Minas Tirith are kind and good. They will treat you well."

She smiled, "Thanks, Anaril."

He returned her smile and turned back to the skillet, stirring and then sampling a spoonful. He considered for a moment, then grabbed another spoon and dished out another sample, blowing on it before he handed it to her.

"I don't know how well you like your potatoes cooked, my lady. Try that."

She took the offered bite. The potatoes were crunchy on the outside, perfectly tender on the inside, and the onions and mushrooms were cooked to perfection. She nodded as she chewed.

"That's fantastic!"

Anaril grinned and served her up a plate. She dug in while Anaril continued stirring the skillet. When he caught her looking at him curiously, he shrugged.

"Brilruin likes his extra crispy."

"Is that hashed potatoes I smell?"

Mel jumped as the red-headed man from last night popped his head out of one of the cabins.

"Anaril, are those potatoes cooked right, boy?"

"For a normal person, Brilruin," Anaril answered cheerfully, "They have a few minutes more before they are burnt black as you like them."

Anaril glanced up at Mel and winked.

"Did I hear hashed potatoes?"

Another head appeared out of a different cabin. Mel thought she recognized him, but couldn't remember his name.

"Save me a plate, Anaril, before Brilruin ruins it! Hey! Out of bed you lazy trolls! Daylight's wasting!"

The man popped back inside his cabin, but Mel could hear muffled exclamations still emanating from it, presumably from the lazy trolls he was rousing.

"Better start plating up, Anaril," said another man, appearing like a ghost out of the forest, "You know how Dunion feels about those potatoes."

Mel recognized him as the man who had caught her when she'd stumbled off her horse. He smiled down at her, nodding his head respectfully.

"My lady, I trust you had a pleasant night's rest."

She noticed the special emphasis on the 'lady' part and it made her smile.

"Yes, thank you."

It was just a polite little fib. After all, it could have been worse.

A full plate was shoved into the man's hand.

"Best get it while you can, Hindur," Anaril said, gesturing toward a group of men, disheveled and possibly still half-asleep, stumbling out of the cabins and toward the campfire.

Mel decided that was her cue to exit and handed her empty plate to Anaril.

"I'll get out of the way. Thanks again."

Anaril had just enough time to throw her a quick grin before he was assaulted by a camp full of hungry men. Mel slipped away to the lean-to stable, glancing briefly up the mountain and wondering if Boromir had found what he was looking for.

Boromir watched as the sun rose over the emerald hill glistening with fresh dew, filling him with the same humbling awe that he had felt over twenty years ago when his father had first brought him to this place. He knelt in the sunlight and bowed his head, closing his eyes to fully absorb the power that lingered in air around him…

"…Boromir…"

Brilliant green eyes flashed behind his closed lids and he jerked back, his eyes snapping open.

Yavanna. He knew her, knew her voice, knew those eyes, but this… this was no dream as it had been before. He glanced around the clearing, but he was alone. Elenion had retreated back into the forest, allowing him a private moment. There was a desperate urgency in the power swirling in the air, tugging at Boromir like a tangible thing. He hesitated. Then he shut his eyes once more. Yavanna's gaze pierced him from the darkness, almost too much for his mind, but he kept his eyes firmly shut and waited.

"Boromir," Yavanna's voice whispered in his mind, gentle but firm,"Son of Gondor, be watchful. You are not safe. Mandos has laid a claim on your life. I am doing all that I can, but you must be cautious."

"Why are you coming to me?" He asked, "Melody has reclaimed the Yavannacor. She is yours once more."

"I have tried, but… her mind… her mind is surrounded by fear. I cannot reach her. Be watchful, Son of Gondor, be watchful!"

Before he could speak again there was a pulse of raw power, knocking Boromir onto his back, and she was gone. The glade felt strangely empty.

"My lord!"

Elenion's cry brought him swiftly back to the present moment and he pushed himself upright before the Warden had even reached his side.

"My lord, are you alright?"

Boromir shook his head and forced a chuckle from his lips as he got to his feet.

"I must be wearier than I thought. A strong breeze is apparently enough to topple me!"

Elenion did not seem convinced by his ruse. In a way that was comforting, knowing there was at least one soldier left in Gondor with some wit about him. However, Boromir did not think it wise to attempt an explanation of his current or previous encounters with the Valar, especially considering his own initial skepticism. He chose to ignore Elenion's pointed look.

"We should head back to the camp. I'm sure Melody will have everything prepared by now and be waiting for my return."

Elenion nodded and the two men stepped back into the trees, leaving the eerily quiet clearing behind them. Boromir was grateful for the small forest noises that had been noticeably and unnervingly absent during his talk with Yavanna. However he was not allowed very long to contemplate the Valeir's visit or her words, before Elenion was speaking again.

"My lord, may I speak freely with you?"

Inwardly, Boromir cringed, but he managed to retain his open and friendly outward appearance.

"Of course."

"I do not believe that Lady Melody has been honest with us and it distresses me that you are traveling alone with her."

Boromir nearly stumbled, only just managing to keep both his feet and his temper as an overwhelming surge of protective outrage filled his chest. It took a very deep breath and several seconds for him to regain his composure enough to respond.

"As much as I appreciate your concern, Warden, I assure you, there is nothing to fear."

"Do you not find it strange that she claims to hail from the Lord Elrond's house, is neither elf nor Dunedain, does not know our stories, stories most are taught as children? When questioned she is skittish and fearful. She does not strike me as trustworthy and to be traveling alone with the Steward's son…"

"Are you accusing me of something, Lieutenant?"

Boromir could not suppress his glare or the ice in his tone. The young man was shocked silent for only a few seconds.

"No! No, of course not, my lord! I am simply concerned…"

"Warden, just because the full truth has been concealed from you does not mean that we are all in the dark. I am fully aware of Melody's history and if it ever becomes necessary that you be privy to that information, I will see to it that you are told. Until such a time comes, I suggest you put your trust in the judgment of your superior officers, is that understood?"

For a brief moment, he thought Elenion might argue with him. It would be a terrible shame. Boromir really didn't want to have to break the young man's nose. Wisely, Elenion shut his mouth and simply nodded. Boromir felt a knot relax between his shoulder blades and he managed a smile, putting a hand on the Warden's shoulder.

"Good man. Now, is there any chance that young Anaril has saved us any breakfast?"