Author's Note: I'd just like to take a moment to acknowledge the fact that I started this story five years ago. I am not even the same person that started this story!
Super Brief Recap: Legolas and Meghan convalesce in the Houses of Healing, until it is decided that the army must march on Mordor. Meghan intends to go with them but Legolas doses her up with the infamous tea.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN – In Which Meghan Wakes Up
Meghan's stomach growled.
Then she opened her eyes.
At first, all she could comprehend through the haze of grogginess was that she was so, so hungry. She struggled upright, blearily pushing away the heavy blanket that somehow seemed to be more like a straitjacket. The chilly air soaked through her soft linen tunic and she could feel goosebumps rising on her skin.
Where am I? she wondered, glancing around. A wan shaft of sunlight peeked through the windowslit to illuminate a small grey room with two cots and precious little else. Where is… oh no.
She scrambled off the cot, hissing when her bare feet touched the cold stone floor. Her things were at the foot of the bed, so she stuffed her feet into her boots and grabbed her sword. The wooden door opened easily when she shoved against it. Beyond was a wide corridor, dancing with firelight. A grey-garbed girl with folded blankets in her arms was walking by.
"Wait," Meghan choked around the sudden ache in her throat. It felt like she had forgotten how to speak. "Are they gone– Did they–"
The girl just looked confused. "Who, m'lady?"
Insensible rage swept over Meghan. "Who do you think?" she shrieked. "Who could I possibly be referring to? Oh I don't know, maybe an army of men going to their death!"
Another figure rounded a corner of the hallway and hurried over. "Go and fetch Lady Éowyn," she said to the girl as Meghan realized that it was Ioreth.
"YOU!" she screeched. "Did you help him brew that tea? Did you help him drug me?"
"Now!" Ioreth hissed, and the girl scampered away. "Lady Meghan, you must be famished. Perhaps you would like—"
"I would not 'perhaps like' to do anything! He drugged me with my own tea and I know somebody helped him boil water. I trusted him! I—"
Ioreth put a hand up to interrupt her. "My lady, I understand that you are upset, but you mustn't shout. This is a house for the sick and wounded, and I expect quiet in this place."
"Did. You. Help. Him."
"I must insist that you return to your chamber until you regain your composure." Ioreth reached for her arm to pull her back into the bedchamber.
"I AM GOING TO KILL HIM!" Meghan screamed, twisting away from the older woman.
By this point she heard footsteps echoing down the hall. A moment later Éowyn appeared, flanked by two guards and the girl from before.
"Meghan," Éowyn said in a firm voice. "This is no way to comport yourself."
"Éowyn? What are you doing here?" Meghan reeled, anger momentarily forgotten amidst her confusion.
"I rode as a man in my uncle's army," Éowyn replied brusquely. "I wish I could have done the same when the company rode for the Black Gate."
The ache and the fury flooded back in. "Are they too far gone? Couldn't we ride after them?"
"You have been asleep for nearly three days," Éowyn said.
"But I was going to stay with him!" Meghan could feel the hysteria creeping up her throat. "I was—I was going to—" I was going to die with him…
"I know," Éowyn murmured. She waved the guards and the healers away. "Come. Legolas left something for you."
Every fiber of Meghan's body felt raw. She helplessly followed Éowyn back into the small room and watched her rifle through a short chest of drawers.
"These are our quarters," the blonde explained. "There is a common hall down the corridor to the left where you may take your meals. Ah, here it is." She handed Meghan a folded square of heavy parchment. "Would you like to be alone?"
Meghan took the square and turned it over in her hands. Is this a break up letter? It's going to be something about setting me free. Oh my god. He's going to set me free because he's going to die and he doesn't want me to stay faithful to his memory. Oh my god.
"Please don't go," she said, realizing that Éowyn had already started to slip out the door. "I don't know what this says, but I could use a friend."
Éowyn nodded and closed the door again. "Very well."
Willing herself to breathe, Meghan sat down on one of the cots and unfolded the paper. The most beautiful handwriting she had ever seen made just a few lines on the page.
Meghan,
I love you. Please forgive me for giving you the tea.
Legolas
Meghan started to cry.
I lost him! The thought twisted in her throat. And he loves me! Oh Legolas, how could you? She felt the pallet shift as Éowyn settled next to her, then one of Éowyn's calloused hands slid over her own. It occurred to her that Éowyn was a rare friend, the kind that knew when not to speak but offer comfort in silence.
After a time, Meghan spent all her tears. She sucked in a shuddery breath and scrubbed the salt from her eyes. At that moment her stomach grumbled and she tried to laugh a watery laugh.
Éowyn smiled. "I am hungry as well. Perhaps a bite to eat would put us both in better spirits."
The commissary was different than the one Legolas and Meghan had been to, but it still reminded her of their simple meal there. Éowyn did not seem to want to talk, so they ate in silence. Meghan spent the time regathering her frayed nerves. She felt like she had shattered. All she wanted to do was stitch herself back together, but she couldn't hang on to all the pieces at the same time.
"Éowyn," she burst out, "couldn't we follow them? Surely two people can travel faster than a whole army, even with a three day lead."
"There are no horses fit to ride," Éowyn replied. "Only unbroken yearlings and old carthorses."
We could go on foot, Meghan thought, but she didn't say it.
Éowyn reached across the rough wooden table to put a hand over Meghan's again. "There is nothing to be done. We can only wait."
"Oh," Meghan said. They both went back to their food.
"Meghan," Éowyn said after a moment. "I hope you know that you will always have a home at Edoras."
She means if they all die.
"Thank you," Meghan said, tears welling into her eyes. No, I'm not going to cry anymore.
They spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the halls of the Houses of Healing. Neither particularly wanted to talk, and nobody spoke to them. Meghan decided to never become a ghost.
The next three days were much the same, except most of the time Meghan was alone. Even though she shared a chamber with Éowyn, the blonde always rose much earlier than she did. Meghan soon discovered that she was allowed to leave the Houses, so she sometimes roamed as far as the third level of the city. Hardly anyone even looked at her, let alone tried to talk. Everyone seemed too wrapped in their own grief to see anything else.
On the fourth day, Meghan drifted into the main hall of the Houses of Healing. It was something of a common room, courtyard, and family den all on one. Those that were not confined to their beds came there to read or dice or talk. Meghan had avoided it so far because she didn't like the crowd, but by then she wanted company.
When she got there she saw Éowyn talking with a tall, ginger-haired man. His back was to Meghan, so she could only just see the side of his face. She hung back to watch them. Éowyn seems so… at ease. A moment later, the blonde laughed quietly at something the man said.
Just then Ioreth bustled over and said something to him that made him nod and take his leave of Éowyn. As he turned away, Meghan got a glimpse of him. He has kind eyes, she decided as she hurried over to Éowyn.
"Who was that?" Meghan asked, trying to be casual so as not to spook Éowyn.
"His name is Faramir," Éowyn replied. "He is the Steward of the city."
"Why is he here?"
"He did not say." She stared in the direction that he had walked, a far away look on her face – and perhaps just the faintest suggestion of a smile.
"Oh Éowyn," Meghan said with an involuntary little hop. "He's really cute. Did you get his number? Wait, how does that… do you have like carrier pigeons or something?"
"I hardly think he is cute," Éowyn said, looking startled.
"Handsome, I meant handsome." Meghan giggled. She probably thinks "cute" is just meant for babies and kittens.
The next morning, Meghan found Faramir and Éowyn talking again. This time she just smiled and turned around, hoping they wouldn't be interrupted like the day before. Instead she hunted down Ioreth.
The older woman looked wary when Meghan cornered her. "Do you intend to throw another tantrum?" Ioreth asked with a sniff.
"No," Meghan said, the heat rising to her face. "I know you thought you were being kind when you helped him make the tea. I just… I can't…"
Ioreth took pity on her. "Come come, child. You have had plenty of rest, perhaps some hard work will turn your thoughts away from those things."
"Thank you," Meghan sighed in relief. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I'm no good with blood but there's got to be something I can do to help."
"Oh, there is always work to be done in the Houses of Healing, so long as you do not mind roughening those dainty Elvish hands of yours."
Meghan decided that Gimli and Ioreth would get along like a house on fire, until she remembered that Gimli and the rest were not coming back. "No, I don't mind," she said.
From that point on, she became charwoman, dishwasher, sous chef, busboy, and handyman. There seemed to be no end to the jobs Ioreth could find for her. She scrubbed pots and ran errands and diced potatoes until her shoulders tightened into knots that would make a sailor proud. It felt so much better than aimlessly wandering.
On the eighth day, she was jarred awake by the blasting of trumpets. The sound was dimmed by the thick walls of her room, but even so, Meghan could hear at least a dozen individual horns.
They're coming back! she thought with, a thrill racing up her back the same time as her stomach dropped.
Éowyn had already bolted halfway to the door. "So soon!" she said in a concerned voice.
Together, they hurried through the halls toward the main entrance. Meghan's heart was in her throat, in her toes, in the clouds – but her mind seemed to be stuck in a loop. Is he alive is he alive is he alive? She couldn't get outside fast enough. The walls of the Houses of Healing were crushing her.
They finally made it out into the courtyard. It was chaos. Three impossibly huge eagles were screaming at over a dozen archers that circled warily around them, while Gandalf – Gandalf? – shouted overtop the din.
"Stay, stay!" he bellowed. "Do not loose your arrows! These are Gwaihir's kin. Make way for the Ringbearers!"
The archers lowered their bows uncertainly. The eagles stopped screaming uncertainly. Meghan looked at Éowyn uncertainly. Then one of the eagles spread its wings, revealing two tiny, huddled shapes on the ground.
Hobbits! Meghan surged forward, irrationally certain that one was Pippin and he was dead. She was cut off by an army of healers that suddenly gushed into the courtyard as soon as the eagles ceased to be an immediate threat. At least ten grey-garbed women swarmed around the Halflings, quickly moving them to roughspun stretchers. The charge was led by none other than Ioreth, shouting orders like a true soldier.
"Steady with them, now! Bring them to the northern wing. You, Calima! Fetch hot water and more of that athelas. What ails them?" This last was directed at Gandalf, who looked like he was a thousand years old.
"They walked from the Shire to Mount Doom, woman!" Gandalf exploded.
Ioreth was entirely unperturbed as she followed her two tiny patients. "Be that as it may, I shall require more specifics if I am to treat…" Her voice faded away as the entire procession disappeared into the Houses of Healing. After a moment, all the remained in the courtyard were the eagles, the archers, and Meghan and Éowyn.
"So the army isn't back," Meghan said.
"No, my lady," one of the archers said helpfully.
At that, the biggest eagle gave one great, echoing caw and the three of them swept into the sky. Their wings churned the air into a windstorm, swirling Meghan's hair into her face. She didn't care. The army wasn't back.
It was two days until she could talk to Gandalf. Everyone seemed to need him, and she couldn't be selfish. Frodo was still unconscious, and Sam weak and malnourished. Everyone in the Houses tread softly and willed them to health. Meanwhile, the city rejoiced. Sauron had fallen! The darkness over! A new age for Middle earth!
Finally, Meghan saw an opportunity. It was late, past moonrise. She had been prowling the hallways, unable to sleep, when she tiptoed to Frodo's door. Hunched beside the Hobbit's bed was the old wizard, perhaps asleep, but likely not. She slipped in the door.
"Melethriel," he said in his deep growly voice. I forgot all about that terrible Elvish name, she thought.
"Gandalf, I—" Now that it came down to it, she didn't know how to ask. In all the pandemonium of the battle, did you happen to notice if Legolas was alright? It tasted silly.
"My dear," he said, turning toward her. His face was kind, and tired. "I am sorry. A wizard I may be, but I cannot tell you what befell any of our companions after the eagles arrived."
She could feel the tears forming in her eyes. "But he was alright," she whispered. "Before the eagles came."
"Who?" Gandalf's eyebrows drew together.
"Legolas." She snuffled.
"Ah," he said in a pleased, sing-song sigh. "So that tree did take root. Yes, Melethriel, Legolas was quite well the last I saw him."
Meghan tried to grab her soaring spirits before they raced away from her. After all, Gandalf made no promises about the battle after the eagles had flown him away to rescue the Hobbits. But quite well! The words were a balm. She sucked in a deep breath.
Gandalf had turned back to Frodo, who looked like a small shadow against the white sheets. He still hadn't woken.
"Will Frodo be alright?" she asked.
"He is drawing back from the darkness," Gandalf said thoughtfully. "Though I do not know that he will ever be alright again."
Meghan saw that the wizard was sinking into his contemplations again, so she crept back to her own room. Éowyn was asleep, something of a small smile on her face. Meghan wondered if a certain Steward of the Citadel had anything to do with that. The thought made her smile, too.
Six days later, the horns blew again.
07.23.12