"What the fortune teller said is
I'm alive now but good as dead
She claims she'd seen it all
While she was gazing in her crystal ball

If I can't evade my fate
Then I won't sit around and wait
A fallen star will be thy faith
And call you by your ancient names."

-Lord Huron, 'Ancient Name Pt. 1'.

ooOoo

Her entire body ached as though she'd been dragged behind a horse for a few miles then stuffed into a cannon and ejected into a cliff-face, only to land in a field of stampeding elephants.

"How are you feeling, Merrill?"

Merrill blinked until her vision cleared. She was in the infirmary, in a private room, and Gandalf the Gray sat beside her bed, his eyes inscrutable, his face aglow from the embers of the pipe hanging from his lips.

She groaned and pulled a pillow over her head. "Oh my god, am I dead?"

He chuckled. "No, no. You are very much alive."

"What day is it?" she asked, her voice muffled.

"It is two in the morning on December 17th, if you want to know. And you have been asleep for ten days."

A sense of déjà vu temporarily stole her voice. Where had she heard that before? But then questions bubbled to her lips. "Ten days? What happened?"

He puffed on his pipe thoughtfully for a few moments until the smoke shrouded his face. "Before I answer you, I must ask: what is it that you remember?"

Merrill's face scrunched up with the effort of thought. "Hmmm… not a lot? At least, not accurately, unless I covered the clearing in sparkly blue stuff and healed Nîdhion?"

"Nothing else?" he asked gently.

She twisted the edge of her blankets with her fingers and considered once more. "I think…" she began tentatively.

"Yes?"

"I remember everything hurting. It felt like somebody had split my back open, tore off my ear, slit my throat, and a myriad of other, unpleasant things. Then something happened, and I was happy; the pain faded away and light replaced it. I remember… light," she finished lamely. "There was so much light."

Gandalf leaned back in his seat and puffed heavily for a few minutes.

Merrill waited as long as she could before asking, "So… what actually happened? And where's Radhrion? I thought he'd be here."

His eyes glittered amidst the blue smoke. "He has barely left your side. But he asked me to sit with you this evening so he might speak with Elrond."

"Oh. Well, you don't have to stay. I'm fine. You should get some sleep."

"Ah," he said as he upended his pipe into a bin and began to stuff it full of dried leaves. "I cannot rest this night, my thoughts bustle and stumble against one another too often for that."

Merrill nodded, uncertain as to whether she could sleep in his presence, before he said smoothly, "I have been told you are a fine singer. Might you sing me a song?"

"Who in the hell told you that, and what sort of drugs were they on?"

Gandalf lit the pipe with his finger, a trick that left Merrill gaping, before replying, "Legolas and Gimli. They spoke quite enthusiastically of your talent, my dear."

She punched her pillows back into shape and resettled herself against them. "They were mistaken, then. My voice is pretty crap. I can carry a tune in a bucket, when I must, but only barely."

"I should like to judge for myself, if you don't mind. Think of it as an old man's wish."

What is it with this place? She thought irritably. I've just woken from a mini-coma, I'm in the hospital, and I feel like hell warmed over, but now the local magician wants me to sing him a lullaby? Merrill appraised him more closely than she had had the opportunity to do when they'd first met; he was tall and lean, but bowed. His eyes sparkled with mischief but, simultaneously, drooped at the corners with sorrow, and his lips quirked in a way that made Merrill think he was made of secrets.

Seeing no way to refuse, Merrill reluctantly agreed. "Well… alright, then. You probably won't know the song, but you already knew that, didn't you?"

He merely closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of his chair expectantly.

Merrill cleared her throat officiously and clasped her hands together before her. "Three, blind mice. Three, blind mice. See how they—"

"Merrill," Gandalf scolded, but the twitch of his lips belied his tone.

"Okay, okay. Keep your hat on." Merrill bit her lip as she considered. She was feeling too quiet, in herself, to sing anything upbeat, and the purpose wasn't to impress, but to lull, so she chose Hozier and began:

"I knew that look dear

Eyes always seeking

Was there in someone

That dug long ago

So I will not ask you

Why you were creeping

In some sad way I already know

So I will not ask you where you came from

I would not ask and neither would you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips

We should just kiss like real people do."

She finished, her voice husky but soft, and let the room lapse back into silence.

Both Gandalf and she turned when a sigh issued from somewhere beyond the room.

"I fear you do yourself a disservice when you run your voice down so; you have quite the talent, my dear, for capturing hearts."

Merrill rolled her eyes and replied, "I thought you wanted a song to help you sleep, so sleep. G'night." She flipped onto her stomach and pulled the blankets tight around herself, hoping he'd take the hint and leave. But he stayed for several hours more until Merrill had fallen asleep. When she woke, he was gone, and the sun had risen well beyond morning.

Her stomach growled loudly, and she curled up around it at the pain. She was starving.

"Excuse me? Anyone there?" she called hopefully.

The door opened and in came Nîdhion, his dark brows drawn down low over his warm brown eyes. "May I come in, my lady?"

Merrill pounced, unable to contain her hunger. "Do you know if there's any food for me out there? I'm starving."

His eyes widened and his lips parted but he immediately bowed low and vanished through the door, returning moments later with a platter of fruit, bread, and cheese. "Is this sufficient, my lady? I can fetch something else if it doesn't suit."

Merrill tumbled out of bed and snatched a hunk of bread off the plate, shoving it into her mouth with one hand while reaching for a pear with the other. "'s good. 's there more?"

Nîdhion set the plate down and vanished once again. By the time he'd returned, two more plates in hand, Merrill had long ago polished off the first plate and sat, jittering, on the edge of her bed, her blankets wrapped tight over her head and under her chin. When she saw him, her eyes lit up and she sprung.

"'ank you!" she managed to say around a mouthful of cheese, grapes, and bread.

"Of course, anything for you."

But Merrill wasn't listening. Within two minutes, she'd demolished his second offering and eagerly searched for more. "Is there any more?"

He blinked, concern creasing his brow. "More? Umm, no. The cooks are at their own midday, so the kitchens are empty. But… what are you doing?"

Merrill had stood, sliding her bare feet into her boots. He reached out to steady her, blushing fiercely when the blanket slipped and her shoulder peeked out.

"I'm going to the kitchens. Thanks… Do you have a nickname? A pet name? I guess I could call you, 'Niddy'… but it just sounds like there should be a 'P' before it, you know?"

The question clearly threw him, her mind jumped about wildly, but he replied earnestly, "My name means… honeycomb. But my naneth always called me 'honey'." He blushed even darker at this revelation, but Merrill barely noticed.

She clapped him on the back. "Okay, 'Honeycrisp' it is. So will you help me to the kitchens, Honeycrisp? Or do you have somewhere you need to be?"

"I… well… yes, of course, my lady," he stuttered breathlessly, utterly bewildered by her behavior.

They set off only after she had given him explicit permission to wrap his arm around her waist, a venture he found too daunting or, possibly, too suggestive to attempt without approval. He asked after her health, her well-being, and filled her in on who had visited her while she slept, two names of which shocked her: Legolas… and Glorfindel.

Nîdhion was so well-informed that Merrill, almost dizzy with hunger, asked, "Have you been watching over me this entire time?"

He averted his face. "You saved my life. I owe you a debt."

Merrill knocked her head against his shoulder to get his attention, then said firmly, "You don't owe me a thing, Honeycrisp. You were injured defending me, don't you remember? So if you're really into this whole 'life-debt' thing, then I'd say we were even, wouldn't you?"

His mouth fell open, and he appeared stricken, so much so, in fact, that Merrill regretted saying anything.

"Okay, okay. Hold on there, Honeycrisp. How about we be friends? Debts don't exist between friends, they just care about, and worry for, each other. How's that sound?"

He beamed at that, looking away and then back up bashfully, his eyes bright with happiness. "I would like that very much, my lady…" Nîdhion met her scowl and quickly amended, "… I mean, Merrill."

"That'll do, pig." She towed him through the kitchen door and almost cried aloud with joy. Gimli sat before her on a high stool, cutting into an entire pie. "Gimli! Is there any more? I'm starving!"

Gimli clapped his hands together, a wide grin peeking out from his beard, and gestured her over enthusiastically. "There's plenty, lassie, plenty. Come sit down and tell me all that has passed with you." As Merrill sat down and immediately began to stuff her face, Gimli added stiffly, "And I s'pose yer friend can join us, if he will."

Nîdhion inclined his head politely and took a seat beside Merrill, idly toying with a bit of bread while he watched the others eat.

"This is Honeycrisp. Honeycrisp, this is Gimli," she introduced after swallowing a half a slice of pie whole. "Honeycrisp saved my life, and he's been super sweet to me. He even fed me; brought me three plates."

Merrill knew that both of these things would endear her shy elf friend to the wary dwarf, and she wasn't disappointed. Gimli's shoulders relaxed and he shoved a mug of ale over to Nîdhion, who gazed into its' depths doubtfully.

"Young 'un like you needs some ale 'round midday," he said gruffly. "Eat, eat! There's plenty."

Nîdhion lifted the mug to his lips, his face screwing up at the taste, but swallowed it down and murmured something about it being delicious.

Gimli, never one to turn away a stray, refilled his glass – six more times.

To his credit, Nîdhion swallowed it down each time, always with something kind to say afterwards, but Merrill took pity on him and began to accept the mugs for herself, claiming she was a growing lass in need of ale, too. Gimli, ever amused by her attempts at drinking, rapidly lost interest in Nîdhion in favor of focusing on her.

Sixteen savory pies, seven berry pies, two cheese platters, and a bowl of soup later and Merrill put her fork down for the last time, rubbing her stomach while Gimli belched in satisfaction beside her.

"I think I'm finally full," she remarked dreamily.

Gimli snorted. "Never in my life have I seen a lass put away so much food in one sitting. Are ye sure ye aren't a dwarrowdam? Yer a bit tall, true, but stranger things, and all that."

"No, Gimli. I'm not a dwarf. I'm not even an elf, I don't think. Just… a really confused human."

Gimli's lips disappeared in the wild, red tangle that was his beard. "Yer not an elf? How ye figure? You sure got the ears and the…" He stared up at the ceiling, batting his eyelashes, his hands clasped together in front of his breast in what he clearly considered to be an apt imitation of all elves. "Ye know, the flowery, whismy, elfy stuff," he finished, waving his hand as though to encompass her entire being with a gesture.

Merrill, a little drunk, knocked into a moaning Nîdhion, who had passed out the hour before mumbling something about apples, his head cushioned by a loaf of bread. "You take that back!"

He shook his head stubbornly, an expression of smug superiority lighting his face. "I shan't. Beat me in practice, tomorrow, and we'll see."

"Shake on it," Merrill insisted.

He accepted her hand and they shook, both serious, until their eyes met and they burst out laughing.

"Ach, well," he said, wiping tears from his brown eyes. "Ye cannae blame me, lassie, if I seem a wee bit out 'ah sorts. You left me with Nordir for two days. Damn near killed him before Radhrion stopped by and told us ye wouldn't be needing yer lessons for a few days." He shifted in his seat, his face growing serious. "Speaking of, what happened to ye, lassie? Radhrion would only say you were out on guard duty, and that dinnae make any sort of sense."

Merrill exhaled gustily, half of her toying with the idea of attempting a second serving of dumpling stew, the other half sifting through her memories from the week before and scratching her head. "If I knew, I'd tell you. Short version? Went out with Glorfy and a few others and got attacked by a group of Orcs. Didn't die, so, you know, that was good."

"And did ye fight?" Gimli's eyes gleamed as they always did when he spoke of fighting.

"Well, sorta. I only had a stick to fight with, so nothing fancy, but I did manage not to die for quite a while before someone saved me. I think it was Glorfindel, come to think of it."

Gimli took a swig of his ale, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and said ruminatively, "Ah, the Golden One. If the talk is true, he and Radhrion had a wee chat about his treatment of you, as did he and that healer elf of yours. Came out to the training fields next day with a split lip, a bruised cheek, and a limp."

Merrill's jaw hit the floor and she flitted over the information about Nestadis in favor of reassuring herself as to the condition of her friend. "What about Radhrion? Is he permanently maimed? Missing a leg, or a foot, or an elbow or something? Does he still have all of his own teeth?"

"Not a scratch on 'em, lassie, donnae worry so."

The pleasant after meal fatigue had worn off and now Merrill was practically chomping at the bit to find, and yell at, her odd, elf friend. "Do you know where I can find him?" When she discerned his reluctance, she added, "It's really important, Gimli."

He took another hasty swig and then slammed his empty mug down. "Ach, blast it. Elrond sent him to the other side of the valley to collect himself or some nonsense." Gimli leaned precariously to peer out towards the window. "He should be back by now, though. Dinner's almost upon us. Speaking of," he said, looking around the kitchen with some consternation, "where are the cooks? They went off to midday and never returned."

Merrill got to her feet, bolting the rest of her ale down before kissing a stuttering Gimli on the cheek and speeding out the kitchen door. She called over her shoulder, "Make sure Honeycrisp gets back home safe, please!"

Gimli pushed the door open and bellowed at her retreating back, "I'm no nursemaid, ye bleedin' minx!" He scowled, finally noticing the hall was filled with elves wearing aprons and horrified expressions, and exclaimed, "By Durin's saggy left nut - where in the void have you been? It's almost time for supper!"

A/N:

The song Merrill sings is, 'Like Real People Do,' by Hozier.

Thank you all so much for your comments!

I wanted to go over this, but you are, as usual, getting the first draft. I may take some time to go over what I have typed up and revise before posting again.

I promise I'll thank you individually next chapter - working on two presentations due Monday with indolent and unresponsive group members and slowly losing the will to live, lol. Gotta get back to it.

Best wishes ~