Disclaimer: I've said it I don't know how many times—Middle-earth belongs to Tolkien and right along with that package Tolkien owns the hobbits, elves, humans, dwarves, orcs, and wizards. It's not mine, it's his.
*note: And now our ever-so-lucky Apryl meets and gets 'entertained' by Meriadoc Brandybuck. (Heehee) Enjoy!
Ch.10
THE FALL OF GIL-GALAD
Merry was able to get a fire going in the little hearth on the opposite wall from the bed and both Pippin and Apryl huddled around it eagerly. Not before long, droplets of water had evaporated from their hair and skin. Pippin found the heat suddenly unbearable. He backed away uncomfortably while Apryl happily soaked up what warmth she could.
"You'll never dry your clothes like that, Pip," Merry pointed out, noticing his cousin backing a good many paces from the fire. Pippin's white night shift, which nearly reached the floor, was still sopping wet. Apryl looked over at the younger hobbit.
"Yes, well, its terribly warm," he said, placing his burned hands upon his wet gown.
To cool them, Apryl realized. "It's the burns, isn't it." It wasn't a question, for she knew.
Pippin nodded. "They're starting to hurt again."
"Maybe you should lie down," she suggested.
"Not in that wet piece, though," Merry argued and Apryl saw he was right. "Better take it off, Pip, then you can lie down. You'll get sick if you keep it on." He looked around, as though thinking, then said, "I'll hang it to dry . . ." Walking over to a chair by the bed, he dragged it over to the fire. "Here. We can drape it over this."
Pippin nodded, then yawned. "Ahwight."
Aw, well, it couldn't have lasted forever.
Apryl smiled wistfully and got to her feet. She was making her way to the door, when Merry noticed her. "Are you leaving?" he asked.
She glanced back at Merry, then toward Pippin and, to her surprise, he looked hurt. "I . . . was," she said, suddenly doubtful and a little confused.
"But you're still wet," Merry pointed out.
"Yes," Pippin agreed, "You're still wet."
"Well, yes, but I thought . . . I thought you were going to sleep." She looked at him and he shook his head.
"You can't leave, not dripping wet as you most certainly are." She looked down at the floor at her feet and saw tiny puddles forming. "Stay by the fire."
She looked over at the halfling, standing there very defiant-like and realized the picture was rather comical. But sweet, too. His kindness touched her. She smiled hesitantly. "You . . . want me to stay?"
Pippin looked at Merry, wondering if he had heard right. "Of course we want you to stay," Merry said, as though it should be the most obvious thing.
She made a feeble protest, more out of habit than anything. "But, perhaps you should rest. You are tired," she added, catching Pippin in mid-yawn.
He stifled it and smiled sheepishly. "Wull, I'll lay down but . . ." he glanced at his cousin and smiled broadly. "If I do fall asleep, then, Merry here will entertain you."
Merry nodded, smiled and bowed low. "It would be my honor, milady."
My honor, Meriadoc. Mine.
She beamed at them. "Alright," she said. "I'll dry by the fire after you've laid down, Pippin. I'll wait in the hall."
Pippin nodded. "I'll just be a moment, then." Even as she disappeared around the doorframe, Pippin was pulling off the night shift.
Merry, watching Apryl disappear into the shadows, turned back to Pippin at the last and, spying his cousin's bare skin, sucked in a sharp breath. For the first time, he spied the scars and blisters that covered his cousin's chest and back, arms and legs. Merry had to fight back the tears.
Catching the sharply indrawn breath, Pippin peered at his cousin. "They don't hurt half as bad as they look," he assured him, smiling, but Merry saw it was forced. He yawned. "But they do make one awfully tired." His jaw popped.
Merry took the nightshirt from Pippin. "Go lie down, then," and he draped it over the chair. The younger hobbit stumbled sleepily over to the bed, and then crawled beneath the covers, snuggling down into their great depths, hissing in pain ever so often. His head had hardly touched the pillow when he was snoring softly, drifting about in a dreamworld quite his very own.
Merry wiped the tears aside and smiled softly.
Apryl wondered vaguely what time it was. She envied Pippin sleeping in his bed. But she was terrible wet and the thought of lying down in wet clothing did not appeal to her in the least. She shivered involuntarily.
Merry grabbed a dry piece of wood from beside the hearth and placed it on the fire, watched it for a moment, then sat back in the stool he had dragged forward. He had offered Apryl another, but she had declined; afraid the wood might catch fire, being so close to the crackling flames. She scooted several inches closer.
Seeing this, Merry glanced around and, spying a spare blanket draped over the end of Pippin's bed, the hobbit took it and placed it around the human's shoulders. His light touch startled her and she flinched away.
"Sorry," they said, speaking together. Apryl smiled.
"I didn't mean to startle you," Merry apologized.
The girl shook her head. "I was daydreaming. It wasn't your fault." She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "Thank you."
Merry's cheeks reddened ever so slightly and, had Apryl not been peering intently at his face, she would have never noticed. She smiled at the sight, though, turning her gaze toward the fire. Am I embarrassing him? The thought was silly and more than a little alien to her. She was always the one getting tongue-tied around others, not the other way around. She didn't want to make him uncomfortable.
He seated himself on the stool and Apryl noted that his feet touched the floor. I wonder if it's a footstool? For the elves . . . she suppressed a giggle. Oh, how insane it was that these small creatures were for real! Perhaps I am in some crazy dream and when I wake I will find out otherwise. Whereas the thought had been meant to be on a light note, it immediately depressed her. God, puhleeez, don't make it so.
She glanced over at him and felt a dull ache in her chest. She heard Pippin's light snores and suddenly, and to her horror, felt tears pool in her eyes. Turning her head away from Merry, Apryl rapidly blinked, hoping to dispel them.
"Are you alright, milady?" Merry asked in quiet concern. He saw her nod but she did not turn back around to face him. Not yet.
"Wh-what time do you suppose it is?" Apryl asked, her voice wanting to break and reveal her weakness.
"A little after dawn, I think."
"So early?" she asked, turning back to him.
Merry studied her for a moment, then gave a reluctant nod. It seemed something else was on his mind. Finally, he voiced it:
"Is something the matter?"
She gave him a weak smile.
Only if this is a dream, Merry. Only if I must wake and find this to be nothing more than an illusion created by my overactive mind. His brow creased in worry. Don't let it be so.
"No," she assured him. "I'm just tired, I think." And she was. She had slept very little the night before. What if I should fall asleep, only to wake and fine everything had been a dream? I have to sleep eventually-- she reasoned, stifling a yawn.
"Oh." He jumped to his feet, suddenly, looking terribly sorry and wretched. "I didn't think . . . I should have realized--but, then, hobbits do get up early--excluding Pippin of course," he said offhandedly. "Would you like me to take you back to your room?"
She smiled up at him; shook her head. "No."
--but not now. Later . . . perhaps.
"You promised Pippin you would entertain me," she said, snuggling down into the blanket he had given her. "I wouldn't want to rob you of that." She grinned at him.
He laughed. "Nor would I want you to." He made as if to sit back down but seemed to think better of it. "Very well, what would you like me to do?"
She could hardly suppress a squeal of delight. Meriadoc Brandybuck is asking me what I would like him to do. Outwardly, her appearance remained calm. "That depends entirely upon what you would like to do."
"Wull . . ." His cheeks turned a faint pink.
Don't be embarrassed, Meriadoc, she thought, almost mournfully. Not on my account.
"I could . . . "--he glanced over at Pippin's sleeping form, then back at Apryl--". . . sing, if you like."
Apryl's eyes widened.
"I-I don't have to," he said hurriedly, mistaking her reaction. "I could tell--"
She shook her head emphatically. "No," she said, her voice little more than a whisper. "Please . . . I would like that . . . very much," she breathed.
"Truly?" he asked, doubtful.
She nodded, unable to speak, hardly able to breathe. You would sing to me? I have died and gone to heaven, I know it.
His blue eyes sparkled in unvoiced delight--farely matching Apryl's own, though her's held a fare bit of disbelief, too. "What should I sing?" he asked.
She didn't care; she was too overcome to care.
"Anything."
Merry was silent a moment, thinking, and Apryl watched him patiently. Finally, the hobbit looked up. "On our way here to Rivendell, Sam--he's a friend of Frodo's--" she nodded "--sang us a song about an Elven-king. It was very good and it's not a hard one to remember . . ."
Sam . . . oh, I wonder where he is. And Frodo. Why haven't I seen them, yet? But her curiosity fled just as suddenly as it had come. She could wait.
"Will you sing it for me?"
"Very well," he smiled shyly, obviously pleased. He took a deep breath, exhaled, then sang . . . .
Gil-galad was an Elven-king.
Of him the harpers sadly sing:
the last whose realm was fair and free
between the Mountains and the Sea.
His voice was high and clear--as pure as a newborn babe and as warm as the embrace of a man grown.
His sword was long, his lance was keen,
his shining helm afar was seen;
the countless stars of heaven's field
were mirrored in his silver shield.
She felt the tears slide down her face and did nothing to cease their flow.
But long ago he rode away,
and where he dwelleth none can say;
for into darkness fell his star
in Mordor where the shadows are.
Slowly, his voice faded to be replaced by the murmuring approval of the rain outside. It pattered softly upon the wooden balcony, content with where life had landed it. Merry's gaze fell away from the gray mist outside to fall on the huddled form of Apryl before him. And to his horror, he saw that she wept.
"What is it?" he asked, coming to stand beside her, fearful he had somehow upset her. "I did not mean to make you cry, milady. Forgive me. If you like--"
She was shaking her head. "No, no," she said, even as the tears streamed down her face. "It's not you, Meriadoc," she tried to assure him.
She looked up into his eyes and smiled. "But, then, perhaps it is," she said thoughtfully and laughed suddenly. But the laugh turned into a sob and she buried her head in her hands. Her body shook.
With a look of helplessness, Merry put his arms around her and, though at first she flinched at his touch he did not release her but held her and comforted her. He did not understand what had so upset her, surely not the song, but he did not ask, only held. It wasn't long before she quieted and Merry realized she had fallen asleep in his arms. He held her for a long while after, almost reluctant to release her, before he set her gently into the depths of the blanket.
*****
For Christmas/my birthday, I received the BBC production of LotR not to long ago and just recently I was listening to it, and the man that played the voice of Sam sang the Fall of Gil-galad. (And, mind, it sounded just like him—or sounds like I think he sounds like.) I had tears in my eyes when I listened to it, for it was like being in Middle-earth and actually listening to him sing. Can you imagine if I actually was there and if Sam or, say, Merry sang a song like that? Do you have any idea what I might do? Anyway, that's why I put it in there and I thought it fit, what with Merry being so precious.^^
