Chapter 30

Mel woke the next morning and blinked. Something wasn't right. She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling for several minutes before it hit her. She hadn't dreamed. She sat up on her elbows and thought hard, just to be sure, but it was all one blank blackness of deep sleep. For the first time since Isengard, Mel hadn't dreamed, and she didn't know whether to be happy or worried. On the one hand, no more nightmares. On the other… Yavanna's last words echoed in her head.

After tonight you will not see me anymore…

A chill shivered down Mel's spine and she swung out of bed, packing quickly. She didn't want to think about it, not now, not first thing in the morning. She needed to stretch, to practice. She glanced out of a small window and could see that the sun had just risen. If she was lucky, no one would be around to see her practicing by herself. Boromir wouldn't be there, not after… Well, she'd made herself pretty clear anyway. She pulled on her boots, trying not to think about that either. All she wanted was a few precious hours, without the whole world resting on her shoulders. She slipped on her sword belt and grabbed her pack before heading out the door, a deliberate spring in her step.

As she had suspected, the camp was mostly empty and her little corner was safely nestled out of the way. She dropped her bag and unsheathed her sword, swinging it once to test the weight. It felt better in her hands now, not as heavy, as if the grip had been altered by fairies in the night to fit her hand better. Or maybe she was just getting used to it. She started one of the exercises that Elladan had taught her, what felt like almost a lifetime ago. It had been a long time since she had practiced alone. She cleared her head and focused on her sword, on everything she had learned since leaving Rivendell. The swings and thrusts felt awkward at first with no resistance to meet them, no opponent at the other end, but she focused on her feet, the way they moved under her as she pretended to step away from an imaginary attacker. She remembered to keep them lined up, just as Boromir had taught her. And when she whirled around and struck, her feet stayed firm beneath her.

She was almost to the end of the exercise when a loud clang jolted Mel from her concentration. Her sword had made contact with another and at the other end was Orodion. He looked her up and down, assessing her as if she were a project that needed tweaking.

"Curious," he muttered, tossing aside her blade and stepping back to look at her, one hand stroking the gray streaks of his beard, "You wield a sword of Rohan with the footwork of a Gondorian, yet there's still something elven about the way you move, any fool could see it." He raised a bushy eyebrow at her, "You've been a busy lass."

"I get around a bit," Mel said, still holding a defensive pose. She could hear a hint of Elladan in his tone, the gentle chiding of a teacher, and it made her cautious. She had a feeling she was about to get a lesson and she didn't want to be caught unprepared.

He pursed his lips and nodded. He took a casual step to the left and Mel moved with him, keeping him sight. His sword was held loosely at his side, seemingly harmless, but Mel had seen Elladan come at her lightning quick from a more relaxed stance than that. The elf had tried to teach her the signs of tension in others and she could just make out what might be a gentle straining around Orodion's massive shoulders. She wasn't taking any chances.

Whatever she'd done, it seemed to please the big man. He grinned at her.

"Well, at least you aren't completely daft," he said, "Nice to know my past pupils pick good students."

She furrowed her brow. Past pupils?

He saw her confusion and jerked his head toward the fire.

"Boromir used to spend hours with me in his youth, backside in the dirt more often than not."

It took all of Mel's self-control not to look in the direction he'd indicated. That was another old trick of Elladan's and she had worked hard to overcome the automated response to look where he looked. Her nerve endings were tingling now. Orodion had taught Boromir when he was a kid. And now here he was, standing in front of her, looking for all the world like he was going to give her a lesson too. If he had taught Boromir he had to be good. Her muscles tensed and she crouched, ready, her eyes flicking over his body, waiting for any kind of sign.

His grin widened.

"Alright, no more cheap tricks. Let's get on with it then."

He struck so quickly that Mel almost missed the movement. She barely blocked him, half turning and tossing his sword point away, trying to get him from the side. But he met her, spinning light on his feet in a flurry of movement that had Mel fighting to keep up with him. His size belied his speed and Mel ducked under his attack and skittered away, trying to buy herself a moment to think. But he was on her again and she found herself just trying to stay on her feet and keep hold of her sword.

It was over in a matter of moments. Mel was on her back, the breath knocked out of her, her sword three feet away, and Orodion's blade resting on her chest, with no clear memory of how she'd gotten there. Orodion was grinning down at her. He hadn't even broken a sweat.

When Mel finally caught her breath she said, "Well, at least you didn't underestimate me."

That made Orodion laugh, a big, booming sound, the way Mel imagined a mountain might laugh if something were funny enough.

"Boromir warned me there was more to you than met the eye. I believe he was right."

He dropped his sword to his side and offered her a hand up. She took it and was hauled to her feet as if she were no more than a twig.

"You have a strong foundation to build on. That's good. It means all you need is experience, and there's no shortage of that in times like these. With experience comes speed and quick thinking. You got lost about half way through, I think."

"More like five seconds in." Mel said, brushing the dirt off her pants.

Orodion nodded, "Instinct took over and your instinct is to defend yourself. You did it admirably, but you can't keep defending yourself and expect to win a fight. To win a fight, you must attack and attack early."

To Mel's surprise, he lifted his sword again and motioned that she should do the same.

"When I come at you, your first thought should not be 'Keep myself safe.' It must be 'Put him in the ground.' Otherwise, you'll run yourself ragged and never get anywhere. Understand?"

She nodded and braced herself. Orodion didn't look convinced, but he returned her nod.

"Alright then."

He came at her again. And again, she was on the ground in less than thirty seconds. He hauled her to her feet and they started again. A few moments later, ass in the dirt. After a while it started to feel like old hat. Swing, lose, ass in dirt, repeat.

"Come on, lass, what are you afraid of?" Orodion said as he hauled her to her feet for the fifth time, "I'm a big man, but you're young and nimble. You could take me if you wanted to."

"Not likely," she gasped, hands on her knees. If he swung at her now, she would just lie down on the ground and save him the trouble.

He shook his head, leaning on his sword.

"That's the problem with you. In your mind, you've already lost. You've got to at least pretend that you might win, otherwise what's the point?"

"I've only ever really won once, you know," she said. She'd regained enough energy to look up at him and smile a little bit.

He grinned and bent down to look her in the eye.

"And how did that feel, lass?"

She tried to remember. It felt as if it had been years ago, not months. She tried to remember what it had felt like to be with the Fellowship, to feel safe, before the paralyzing fear set in. She looked at her sword. This wasn't the sword that she'd won with, but she had to stop blaming the sword. The sword was a good one, well made and well balanced, even if it was a little heavy. It wasn't the sword's fault. It was hers. Orodion was right. She'd been defending herself for too long.

She straightened and twirled her sword, facing Orodion with a new glint in her eye. Instead of waiting for him to strike, she was deciding where she should strike first. Suddenly, her sword whirled through the air, arcing toward the Warden. He lifted his sword to meet her, but she didn't stay put. She struck again and again, searching for that hole, that inevitable weakness that always showed itself given enough opportunity. It had been a long time since Mel had actively looked for a hole in a person's defenses. She had been so busy protecting her own weaknesses, she'd forgotten about looking for her opponent's. Now she forced herself to trust her training to defend her while her mind remained on the task at hand, finding a weakness in the giant in front of her.

It appeared as a touch of slowness in his right hand. If she could time one powerful swing perfectly, she could maneuver under...

Before she could complete the thought, Orodion struck out, knocking her sword from her hands and bringing the point of his blade to rest on her collarbone. She had lost again. But she wasn't in the dirt. And as she watched, a bead of sweat trickled down the side of Orodion's otherwise impassive face. It was enough to make her smile.

"Forfeit." she said, but she said it proudly. Orodion grinned and lowered his sword.

"Well fought, Melody of Rivendell." he said.

Someone cleared their throat and Mel glanced over her shoulder. Boromir was standing behind her. She started to smile at him, but stopped when he didn't return the expression. That's right, distance. Reality came crashing down on her again. She was alone.

"It is a long ride to Amon-Din. We must make haste if we are to reach the beacon by nightfall." Boromir said.

She felt Orodion step up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Nonsense, you've plenty of time, Lord Boromir!" he said jovially, as if the tension in the air meant nothing to him, "Besides, I've run this poor girl ragged on an empty stomach. If you wish to reach Amon-Din at all, you'll at least allow her to eat something first."

Mel's stomach took the opportunity to announce to the world that food would be a very good idea. Mel blushed and dropped her eyes, but Orodion only laughed and slapped her on the back, eliciting a smile from Mel almost against her will.

"Well, I think that settles it! Come by the fire, Lady Melody, I'll have Eredin make you a meal fit for the work you've been doing."

The captain led Mel right past Boromir, who reluctantly turned and fell into step beside them.

"You've done well, Boromir," Orodion said cheerfully, "She's quite the swordsman, er… woman I suppose."

He looked down and winked at Mel. Boromir glanced between them, then down at his boots.

"Yes," he agreed, "Her skill is improving."

"I've learned a lot from Boromir," Mel said impulsively.

Orodion's cheerful eyes flicked over Boromir, who was still watching his own feet.

"He's a fine soldier, our Boromir," he said, "But even the best of us have our weaknesses."

The captain flexed his right hand absently and it drew Mel's eye. There was a scar, barely visible, that cut between his thumb and first finger before snaking its way up his arm and disappearing under his shirt sleeve. She wondered what had happened to him, but didn't have the courage to ask.

They reached the campfire and Orodion sat Mel down right next to him, handing her a bowl of what looked like fried potatoes and ham. The men seemed more relaxed this morning and far less suspicious of her. Maybe it was sitting with the captain or the fact that nothing horrible had happened to them in the night. Or maybe they were just glad to know she was leaving. Mel didn't really care which it was, she just felt better knowing she wasn't being scrutinized by every pair of eyes she met.

By the time they'd finished their breakfast, horses had already been prepared for them. But before Mel mounted up, Orodion approached her, glancing around to be sure they were alone before allowing a grave look to pass over his face. Mel's own smile faltered.

"I have seen the fear in you, Lady Melody," he said.

Mel swallowed, "I have a lot to be afraid of."

He nodded, "Aye, that you do."

He reached down and brushed his scarred right thumb over the scar on her forehead.

"We all have our scars, lass," he whispered, "Don't let yours ruin you."

He dropped his hand and smiled again, dispelling the shadow of sadness.

"I hope to see you again, my lady, when the land is less treacherous and time more abundant."

Mel returned his smile, "Me too, Captain. Thank you. You've been very kind."

The Warden helped her onto her horse and said his farewells to Boromir, clapping him on the shoulder good-naturedly and speaking in fond, murmured tones. Then they were riding out of camp and through the woods, Boromir silent, but his posture relaxed. He wasn't angry, just quiet. Mel thought it might be safe to ask just one question.

"What happened to Orodion's hand?"

He glanced at her, as if startled that she was even speaking. Then he turned away again.

"An orc."

Mel bit back a frustrated huff, "Okay, but what happened?"

Boromir hesitated.

"He was leading a band of men patrolling the Anduin," he said finally, "They stumbled upon a lone orc fleeing toward the mountains. They killed him of course, but Orodion chose not to scout the rest of the bank. He felt certain it was simply a lone scout and, since he hadn't given away their position, they were safe. That night a large band of orcs descended from the mountains and attacked their camp. Only three men escaped. Orodion was one of them. But in the fight an orc blade nearly severed his thumb. He is lucky to have the use of his hand."

Mel let that sink in for a moment. The Warden's last words echoed in her head.

We all have our scars, lass. Don't let yours ruin you.

"Something else happened, didn't it?" she said.

Once again, Boromir looked at her as if surprised she was speaking, but he answered.

"He blamed himself for the loss of his men. He refused another command for many years."

"He said he taught you when you were young."

Boromir nodded.

"He was my first instructor in swordsmanship and combat. He was and still is the best teacher I've ever had."

"But he's a Warden Captain now. So something must have changed."

Boromir shook his head, "I do not know. I had not spoken to Orodion in many years. I asked him often when I was a child why he did not lead men into battle. He would always say the same thing. 'Not all wars are fought on the field. Some of the most important battles are fought in the hearts and minds of men.'"

Mel thought about that for a minute.

"Maybe he finally won his war." she said.

Boromir looked at her again.

"I sincerely hope so, Melody."

They were silent for another few moments. This time, to Mel's surprise, Boromir was the one to break it.

"May I assume that we are now speaking again?"

He sounded bitter and the tone, more than the words, startled her.

"We don't have to."

He sighed, "That is not what I meant."

"What did you mean then?"

He looked at her, really looked at her, like he was trying to read her mind.

"I meant are we friends once more? We have both spent much time and energy pushing each other away. I am tired of trying to remember how I should act toward you. Can we not just remain friends and let our history determine how we behave? Or must I attempt to relearn the delicate art of gentlemanly manners to protect your dignity? Because frankly, I feel we moved past that long ago."

Mel opened her mouth, but no words came out. She had been trying her hardest to distance herself from him, but it did seem like she kept coming back. She couldn't stay away. So why did she keep trying? If he abandoned her, it was going to hurt. If she lost him, it was going to hurt. There was nothing she could do to change that. But if she kept wasting her energy trying to protect herself from it, what would she have left to keep him safe?

You can't keep defending yourself and expect to win a fight…

Apparently, Orodion's lesson didn't just apply to her sword skills. Mel took a deep breath and nodded, decisively

"You're right," she said, "I'm sorry, you're absolutely right. We're friends and we shouldn't have to act any differently. I guess I was just freaking out because of the thing, you know, back at Nardol..."

"Vanion-" Boromir spit the man's name like it left a bad taste in his mouth, "-is a vile, pathetic excuse of a human being who isn't even fit to lay eyes on you. And if I have any word in the matter, he never will again."

Mel stared at him. He wasn't looking at her, but his eyes burned. She hadn't expected to that level of anger from him. It was strangely comforting. She smiled.

"Thank you, Boromir."

Boromir blinked, as if coming out of a daze. He looked back at her and his eyes lost their fire. He smiled.

"I would do anything to protect you, Melody."

Mel returned his smile.

Yeah, she thought, me too.