Author's Note: Yes, my friends, it is *drumroll* yet another Merry and
Eowyn before and after the House of Healing story! *fanfare* Heh. Yeah,
it's been done. But it's so much fun. Besides, Merry is my favorite
character, so I felt I owed it to him. You know the drill: Read it, then
review it. Writers eat reviews for breakfast; they keep us alive, haven't
you heard? *grins*
Disclaimer: Tolkien's. It's all Tolkien's. And I'm not making money from this story. But you know this already.
Where Will Wants Not
"Where will wants not, a way opens, so we say, and so I have found myself. You wish to go wither the Lord of the Mark goes; I see it in your face."
Merry looked up, startled, his hazel eyes meeting the clear grey ones of a young Rider. He shivered, recalling having met this cool glance before. This, then, was the Rider he had seen earlier, smaller and more hopeless than the rest. What was it he was offering? "I do," he replied, his voice trembling.
The Rider nodded. "Then you shall go with me. I will bear you before me, under my cloak, until we are far afield, and this darkness is yet darker. Such good with should not be denied. Say no more to any man, but come!"
Merry stared, unwilling to believe. He could go? He could ride for with the King and his Riders, not to be left behind to wonder and wait? He could- "Thank you indeed!" he said, unsure how to fully impart his gratitude; yet somehow, he thought, he saw unspoken understanding in the man's eyes. "Thank you sir, though I do not know your name."
"Do you not?" said the Rider softly. "Then call me Dernhelm." *
* * *
"Come now," said Dernhelm briskly. "Do you need to gather your things? We ride soon."
Merry motioned to his pack and cloak. "I wear all I own, and I have no proper armour. I am ill-prepared for this, I fear," he said regretfully.
"You shall have to without armour, then," said the Rider. "We have not the time to hunt for some, nor do I believe we would find any that would fit you." He looked around. "Come! We go to prepare my horse."
Merry was led between lines of Riders, each preparing his horse for the ride ahead of him. Watching them, he realized just how very big everything really was, and that he was just too small to understand. The war, these men who might never see their homes or loved ones again. It was all over his head, too much for him to comprehend at once. He felt suffocated by the feelings of uneasiness and fear that surrounded and filled him; and the hovering darkness seemed to be preparing to smother them at any moment. The fears and hopes of a hobbit seemed unimportant and unnecessary when compared with the bigger picture.
He stopped when Dernhelm did, at the side of a handsome grey stallion who leaned down to nuzzled Dernhelm affectionately. "This, good Meriadoc, is Windfola, my steed. He shall bear us swiftly into battle."
Merry nodded, gazing up at the great horse. "Please, call me Merry."
As he spoke, there was a great clamour of horns, and a shout of, "We ride! Forth Eorlingas!" Riders on all sides mounted, giving their own battle cries as their steeds pawed the ground in anticipation of the great ride.
Dernhelm reached down and took hold of Merry, swinging him up into the saddle. "Well, Merry, it seems we are about to depart. You are certain of your decision?"
"Yes," said Merry simply. "I will not be left behind."
Dernhelm gazed up at him with his clear grey eyes. Then he mounted behind Merry, giving Windfola a light kick that sent the horse trotting to join the mass of Riders. "I did not suggest that you should be."
* Another disclaimer. All conversation up to this point is straight from Tolkien, with some inserted stuff from me.
Disclaimer: Tolkien's. It's all Tolkien's. And I'm not making money from this story. But you know this already.
Where Will Wants Not
"Where will wants not, a way opens, so we say, and so I have found myself. You wish to go wither the Lord of the Mark goes; I see it in your face."
Merry looked up, startled, his hazel eyes meeting the clear grey ones of a young Rider. He shivered, recalling having met this cool glance before. This, then, was the Rider he had seen earlier, smaller and more hopeless than the rest. What was it he was offering? "I do," he replied, his voice trembling.
The Rider nodded. "Then you shall go with me. I will bear you before me, under my cloak, until we are far afield, and this darkness is yet darker. Such good with should not be denied. Say no more to any man, but come!"
Merry stared, unwilling to believe. He could go? He could ride for with the King and his Riders, not to be left behind to wonder and wait? He could- "Thank you indeed!" he said, unsure how to fully impart his gratitude; yet somehow, he thought, he saw unspoken understanding in the man's eyes. "Thank you sir, though I do not know your name."
"Do you not?" said the Rider softly. "Then call me Dernhelm." *
* * *
"Come now," said Dernhelm briskly. "Do you need to gather your things? We ride soon."
Merry motioned to his pack and cloak. "I wear all I own, and I have no proper armour. I am ill-prepared for this, I fear," he said regretfully.
"You shall have to without armour, then," said the Rider. "We have not the time to hunt for some, nor do I believe we would find any that would fit you." He looked around. "Come! We go to prepare my horse."
Merry was led between lines of Riders, each preparing his horse for the ride ahead of him. Watching them, he realized just how very big everything really was, and that he was just too small to understand. The war, these men who might never see their homes or loved ones again. It was all over his head, too much for him to comprehend at once. He felt suffocated by the feelings of uneasiness and fear that surrounded and filled him; and the hovering darkness seemed to be preparing to smother them at any moment. The fears and hopes of a hobbit seemed unimportant and unnecessary when compared with the bigger picture.
He stopped when Dernhelm did, at the side of a handsome grey stallion who leaned down to nuzzled Dernhelm affectionately. "This, good Meriadoc, is Windfola, my steed. He shall bear us swiftly into battle."
Merry nodded, gazing up at the great horse. "Please, call me Merry."
As he spoke, there was a great clamour of horns, and a shout of, "We ride! Forth Eorlingas!" Riders on all sides mounted, giving their own battle cries as their steeds pawed the ground in anticipation of the great ride.
Dernhelm reached down and took hold of Merry, swinging him up into the saddle. "Well, Merry, it seems we are about to depart. You are certain of your decision?"
"Yes," said Merry simply. "I will not be left behind."
Dernhelm gazed up at him with his clear grey eyes. Then he mounted behind Merry, giving Windfola a light kick that sent the horse trotting to join the mass of Riders. "I did not suggest that you should be."
* Another disclaimer. All conversation up to this point is straight from Tolkien, with some inserted stuff from me.