"You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on." -Dean Martin


CHAPTER TWENTY-NINEI Am Not So Think As You Drunk I Am

Meghan was drunk.

He could tell by the way she was brandishing her flagon and demanding a free refill. The fact that she couldn't stand up straight was another indication. He pushed his way through the raucous crowd, cursing his inattentiveness. He should have known that she wouldn't last long – it just didn't occur to him that she would be ragingly intoxicated after a few pints. He himself was practically immune to the weak Rohirric ale, but apparently she was not.

Legolas caught her elbow before she toppled over. She fell against him and clung woozily to his shoulder.

"Hah-loo, Leg'las," Meghan slurred, poking him in the chest. She stared at her finger for a moment, then poked again. "You're very musc'lar."

"And you are intoxicated," Legolas replied. He turned her toward the door and gently compelled her to walk. They made it as far as the hallway before Meghan batted him away and stumbled against the wall, holding herself up by a candle votive.

"Tha's because I find you… intoxicating," she cooed.

"Meghan, please. You are—"

"I know, 'm drunk." She staggered a few steps away from him. "I jes'wanna go sleep now. Leg'las, where's m'room?"

"This way," he said, gesturing down the hall and feeling enormously relieved that he wouldn't have to argue with her.

She nodded with a very serious expression, and promptly crumpled to the floor.

With a pitying sigh, Legolas knelt beside her. Pushing herself up into a sitting position, Meghan blinked around as if assessing the damage. "I fell…" she said tragically, then her eyes narrowed and she glared at him. "You tripped me!"

"I was nowhere near you."

"Hmm." Meghan's face crinkled into a look of intense contemplation. "Okay. Oh no! I forgot to say g'night to Gimli!"

"I am certain that he will not be offended," Legolas said soothingly.

"Really?" Meghan pushed a lock of hair out of her face with a shaky hand. "I wanna sleep now; can't you hurry up an' take me home?"

"I am trying," he muttered. He helped her to her feet, Meghan giggling all the way. "Can you walk?" he asked her.

" 'Course I can walk," Meghan announced, fluttering her hand dismissively. "That is very fresh of you, young man, to suggest otherwise." Pushing away from him again, she took a very wobbly step. She would have fallen again if he had not caught her.

"Meghan, I do not believe that it is wise for you to continue—"

"You talk like Shakespeare," she commented, clinging to his shirt. "That's kinda smexy."

Legolas felt a laugh in his throat at her ridiculousness. "You are not yourself, Meghan."

She considered this for a moment, then yielded. "You're right. I feel warm and buzzie. Like a bee, or sumfin. Sumfin." She tasted the last word, rolling it on her tongue. "I can't say it right. Sumfin. Tha's weird."

"Perhaps you are ready to return to your room?"

"Yes, please. I'm so sleepy."

"May I carry you?" He knew she couldn't walk a straight line to save her life.

"Are you asking me to dance?"

Without waiting for any kind of resistance, Legolas hefted her into his arms and strode down the hall. She sagged, resting her head on his shoulder. It only took him a few moments to get to her door, where her set her back onto her feet. She sank to the floor as he fumbled with the door latch.

When he looked back down, he saw tears running down her cheeks. "Meghan, what is wrong?" he asked, sitting on his heels.

She shook her head at first. "You'll think it's silly."

"Please tell me," he pleaded. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm so young!" she wailed. "I'm twenty today. You're so old, and you think I'm young and stupid. And I am stupid. You could never, never love me because I'm too young. You'll just despise me because I'm…" Her words trailed into garbled tears.

"Meghan, look at me."

Her glassy gaze flittered everywhere but him.

"Meghan, look at me." He put his hands on either side of her face and she finally met his eyes. "You are very young." Fresh tears welled over her red rims. "But you are not stupid. You have grown so much. You have become… dear to me. Please do not cry."

She sniffed and used her sleeve to wipe away her tears. "Are you going to kiss me now?"

"I do not believe that would be appropriate," Legolas replied. "You are drunk and I will not take advantage of you."

"Okay," she resigned. "I'm going to sleep now."

"Goodnight, Meghan."

"G'night, Legolas."

She didn't move.

"Are you going to sleep in your bed?" Legolas asked after a moment.

"I don't wanna get up," she sighed.

Once again he maneuvered her into his arms. By the time he was in the door, she had fallen asleep. Her hair pooled in a tousled mess on her pillow when he lay on the bed and arranged her cloak around her to pass as a blanket. He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"Sleep well," he murmured before he slipped out of the room.

Meghan snapped awake to the stomach-curling sensation of being watched. It felt like she was just out of the direct gaze of a very, very inquisitive glare. Her heart clawing at her ribcage, she quickly glanced around the room and saw no one. But the sickening sensation remained.

As soon as her feet touched the floor, she realized that her boots were still on and that she had a slight headache. It also occurred to her that she didn't remember going to bed that night. But her skin was crawling and all she wanted to do was find human company. The very moment she opened her door and peered into the dark hallway, two man-sized figures came tearing past her room. The silver-blond hair gave away at least one of them as Legolas, and sudden panic joined the first feeling of surveillance.

She didn't even bother to grab her cloak as she bolted after them. She found that she couldn't quite keep her balance, and she almost tripped before she skidded through the door of the men's chamber. The whole room was awake, tense, and staring at Gandalf, who hunched over something. Meghan leaned against the doorframe, panting partially from lightheadedness and partially from relief that the crushing weight of scrutiny had somehow lifted.

"The city was burning—" Meghan could hear Pippin's frantic voice, and realized that he was talking to Gandalf.

"Minas Tirith? Is that what you saw?" Gandalf sounded sharp.

Meghan saw Aragorn's shoulders tense, and she tried to remember what Minas Tirith might mean to him. She didn't even know where Minas Tirith was.

Pippin was still speaking. "I saw… I saw him! I can hear his voice in my head!"

"And what did you tell him? Speak!" Gandalf growled.

"He asked me my name… I didn't answer. He hurt me."

Who are we talking about? Who's "he"? Pippin doesn't look hurt…

"What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?"

A pause, and finally Pippin blurted, "Nothing. Aragorn took it away before I told him anything."

Meghan was practically bursting with questions, like, What are we talking about? Is everything going to be okay? How much did I drink last night? but it didn't seem like the appropriate time to ask them.

Gandalf glared at Pippin for a moment longer, then sighed. "To bed, everyone. There is much to be done at first light."

All the men hastily moved back to their blankets. Gandalf himself moved a few feet away to a roughly spherical shape buried under a blanket, and wrapped it even more securely, grumbling the whole way. Meghan took the opportunity to lay a hand on Aragorn's arm.

"Are you okay?" she asked in an undertone.

"Yes," he replied, although he looked very sleep-deprived. "And you?"

"Just a little spooked. What happened? I don't understand."

He hesitated, then gestured for them to go outside the chamber. Once they had begun walking down the hallway, he continued. "While we were treating with Saruman, Pippin discovered a palantír."

"What's a palantír?"

"It is a seeing stone. There were eight forged before this age began, but most are ruined or lost. It seems that Saruman was using this particular palantír to communicate with the Dark Lord. When Pippin touched it the first time, it planted an itch to gaze into it. Though Pippin did not understand the danger, he did just that. The Dark Lord saw Pippin, and questioned him."

Like a crystal ball. Oh man, those stories always turned out badly. "And that's bad."

"Yes."

"Oh, Aragorn? What's Minas Tirith?"

Again, that tension. "It is the capitol city of Gondor. My homeland."

"You have a homeland? That's great, Aragorn! For some reason I thought you were kinda, you know, a gypsy nomad or something. What's Gondor like?"

"That is a topic for daylight," Aragorn said. "You need to rest. Your eyes are bloodshot." They had reached her room. Meghan could only tell it was hers because the door was ajar.

She remembered the horror of waking up alone with that terrible feeling that she now knew was the most evil creature in the entire world staring at someone close to her. "Would it be weird if I slept in the boys' room?"

"I believe it would cause a minor sensation if an Elf maiden shared quarters with half of the King's guard," Aragorn replied with the faintest smile. "Perhaps you could sleep in Lady Éowyn's quarters?"

"That's alright," Meghan sighed. "I guess I'd have to sleep on the floor either way. I'll stick to my room."

"We are just a little ways down the hall," Aragorn said.

Meghan nodded with a grateful smile. "Thanks, Aragorn. You make a great older brother type person."

"Sleep," Aragorn said. "As Gandalf said, the morning will be busy."

"G'night."

"Goodnight."

Meghan did not sleep well that night. At first, she left the door open in case she had to make another hasty exit. But then it seemed like shadows were creeping around in the hall, so she scurried over and shut it, then leapt back into her bed from several feet away on the off chance that any cold, clammy hands would grab her feet.

After that, she sat at the head of the bed with her knees drawn up to her chest, trying to shake the uneasiness that had settled over her. At long last, she drifted off to a fitful sleep.

The quiet movements of a maid woke her. Meghan jerked up and immediately regretted it. Not only was her headache worse, but she also had a crick in her neck from the odd angle she had been sleeping in. The maid smiled and set down a basin of water on the table.

"Lady Éowyn says good morning, miss," she said with a curtsey. "Will you need any help to dress?"

"Oh, no thanks," Meghan said, putting a hand on her throbbing forehead. "I do have a headache."

"You might try feverfew leaves, miss," the maid suggested helpfully. "I brought a dress and laid it out on the chair. Will that be all?"

"Yes, thanks," Meghan said although she had no intentions of wearing a dress that day and no idea was feverfew looked like. The maid dropped another curtsey and left.

By the time Meghan had wiggled out of her dress, found enough clean clothes to put together a decent outfit, and braided back her hair, the sun was peeping through her window. Her stomach grumbled, so she headed toward the Golden Hall, where she hoped a breakfast buffet might be waiting.

Sure enough, breakfast and almost all the principle people were gathered in the main hall. Gandalf apparently was recapping the events in the middle of the night for Théoden, and everyone else was listening grimly. A smallish table of light food stood off to the side, and Meghan quietly put two biscuits and a slice of cheese into the shallow bowls provided.

Pippin and Merry were both seated a few paces away from everyone else, so Meghan skirted around the company to join them. She sat down next to Pippin and held out a biscuit. "Hungry?" she asked quietly.

"No," he replied in a disconsolate tone. "I already ate, thanks."

Wow, he really must be unhappy if he's not eating, Meghan thought. Her memories of the party were very blotchy after the first pint of ale, and the midnight scare seemed a little hazy, too. "Did you sleep much?"

"A bit," he said, then gave her a sidelong glance that had a bit of mischief in it. "You were pretty soused last night."

"Was it really bad?" Meghan wrinkled up her nose and thought about eating her breakfast. Even though her stomach felt empty, the mental picture of putting food into her mouth seemed unappealing. She was ragingly thirsty, though.

He shrugged. "At least you didn't bring it all back up. Legolas had to take you back to your room, at any rate."

"WHAT?" Meghan screeched loudly enough for everyone to turn and look at her. "Oh hey guys," she grinned uncomfortably. "Sorry."

Once everyone had focused their attention back on the more serious subject at hand, Meghan turned to Pippin and hissed, "What do you mean, he took me to my room?"

"Well, I wasn't really paying it much mind," Pippin said. "He had been having a bit of a drinking game with Gimli, I think. Once that finished, he came over and guided you out of the room. He looked a bit grim. I do remember that."

Meghan felt all the blood draining from her face. She snuck a furtive glimpse at Legolas, but he didn't look at her. He seemed to be engrossed in the discussion taking place, which Meghan tuned into.

"I will go," Aragorn was saying, his voice quiet and determined.

"No!" Gandalf interjected.

"They must be warned!" Aragorn insisted.

"They will be," the wizard said, then lowered his voice. Although he was speaking very softly, Meghan could still hear him. "You must come to Minas Tirith by another road. Follow the river. Look to the black ships." He addressed the entire room again. "Understand this: Things are now in motion that cannot be undone. I ride for Minas Tirith. And I won't be going alone."

His eyes fell on the Hobbits.


Author's Note: Soooo. When I first wrote this chapter, I forgot about the palantír and stuff. As I was preparing to send the chapter to ElvishKiwi, I had a vague feeling that something was missing. So I looked at my RotK script and almost passed out.


08.25.09