Disclaimer: All characters, aside from the servant girl (who is mine, mine, mine!), are property of J.R.R. Tolkien. I'm just bending them to my will. ;)
Story Summary: The fellowship all have a reunion in Rohan after the war. What happens when Pippin meets a young servant girl and tries to explore her sealed past and well-covered emotions?
Chapter Summary: Merry and Pippin are soon joined by the rest of the fellowship, and Heather is forced to serve them during the night. What does Pippin find out? What will Heather allow him to find out?
A/N: Okay, the start for this is kind of slow-going but hopefully you guys don't mind it. I had a lot of nothing to add in so this chapter would be a bit longer than the first, as people were complaining about it ending too quickly! I tried to make the page and a half or so of nothing somewhat engaging, and also added some really lame humour-stuff… Probably a big mistake. Now you can all see how boring of a person I am, haha! And I apologise in advance for the terrible drama in this chapter. Also, I made a few references to some well-known LOTR parodies in here, so if you recognise them, just know that I'm not trying to claim them as my own. Also, thank you to everyone who reviewed! I really appreciated the comments and whatnot… Now, on with the story…
Chapter Two: Why Should I Care?
It was inevitable. Eomer and Heather collided at the corner joining the two passageways that they each happened to be walking along. After making contact, falling in a heap on the floor, grumbling (or in Heather's case screeching), and getting back up, Eomer was the first to speak.
"What in the name of the Valar? Who is that?" Eomer asked, peering into the face of the girl that stood (sort of) before him.
"M-my lord…" Heather stammered, while executing a rather awkward curtsy.
"Oh, it's you. Well, look, I don't have time to stall and inform you of proper hallway etiquette right now. So if you'll excuse me, I have guests that are due any moment."
Heather stood still for a moment, somewhat bewildered at the gentleness in which Eomer settled her mistake. Then she remembered why she had made the mistake in the first place. "My lord, the first of your guests are come already. They await you in your Hall."
Eomer quirked his eyebrow at this. "Come already, you say? Then what are you doing here? Come along, come along. You are a servant girl, and therefore you have duties to fulfill."
"But… My lord!" Heather pleaded, but it was too late; Eomer was already marching his way down the long corridor. Half in misery, half in aggravation, Heather lowered her head and obediently followed suit.
~*~
"Aragorn, how is it that you managed to disregard both your throne and your duties to it, coming away with a few day's trip and a clear conscience?"
The rest of the fellowship had arrived at Edoras in the time that Heather had fled from the Golden Hall and returned again, and were all seated or standing comfortably. Legolas and Gimli, who were debating who had really slaughtered more orcs in the course of their quest, had stationed themselves near a table, that was obviously where they were to be dining, as it was laden with lavish feasting utensils of polished silver and set with candelabras yet to be lit. Meriadoc and Samwise found themselves seated cross-legged on the floor at Gandalf the White's feet, listening like the eager children of the Shire as he enlightened them further of the evils that were once Saruman: the treacherous wizard who had aided in the near destruction of Middle-Earth.
And Pippin decided he was content in occupying himself with questions of Aragorn's loyalty to the kingdom of Gondor.
"Really, Aragorn. You've just become king and already you are leaving your country open and easy for attack? Bad idea, in my opinion. Are you sure that all this hype about becoming the ruler of a country hasn't killed your keen ranger sagacity?"
"Watch yourself, young hobbit." Was Aragorn's curt reply.
"Take it easy, I'm not meaning any jokes out of this. I'm being quite serious. Something bad is bound to come out of your actions—or lack of actions, as the case may be—and I'll prove it." At this Pippin turned to the blonde elf on his right. "Quick, Legolas, say something clairvoyant-like and cryptic about the ill fortunes that will come of Aragorn's ignorance."
"Well I'm the one who climbed all over that completely vulgar cave troll and—" Legolas cut off his conversation with the fire-bearded dwarf and pivoted left, tossing his hair seductively and batting his eyes, making the action seem like a clip from a late night ad for some 1-800 singles number.
"Excuse me, halfling?" Legolas twisted his golden hair between his fingers as he spoke. "Why me?"
Pippin's expression fell from smug awareness to moronic skepticism. "Well…" he paused, uncertain of what to say, "You're the one who does that, right?"
Legolas was just about to say something (you could tell because his face almost had an expression), when Gandalf snapped his head up, having heard their discussion. "No, I believe that job is handled by Lord Elrond from his post in Rivendell and Lady Galadriel from hers in Lothlorien. Legolas is just our orc-alarm and token pretty boy."
"Oh," was Pippin's response, and after a pause, "then… why is he still here? I mean, the armies of Mordor and Isengard are destroyed, and the fellowship's quest is completed."
"No one knows quite, Pip." Aragorn said, mock serious. Legolas shot him a catty glare in response, and Aragorn added nervously, almost guiltily, "But 'tis no matter, for I still love him."
The fellowship hushed.
"When you said 'I' you meant 'we', and when you said 'love him' you really intended to say 'consider him a friend', right?" Pippin said cautiously, glancing between man and elf, having heard a rather odd hitch in the tone of Aragorn's voice when he said the latter part of his comment.
Aragorn looked around at the eager faces of his companions. "Y-yes, of course; we all consider Legolas a friend." He half spoke, half choked out. "Um, liquor, anyone?" Aragorn stood and stalked over to a small table with drinks, and poured himself a tall mug of ale.
Heather, who had since been busying herself with minuscule tasks, couldn't help but make a face at the obvious near-display of affection between man and elf. It wasn't the deed of interracial relations that unsettled her; in fact, it was that that made her be not completely off-put by their kinship. It wasn't the notion of same-sex relationships, either, though those didn't exactly appeal to her personal liking.
She just couldn't seem to understand how someone could love someone else. To love meant to entrust your entire being with another, to knock down your guard and let someone in. To praise their skills and highlights, to accept their faults and shadows, to be praised and accepted… and to set yourself up for a let down. Because no matter who the person is that you are trusting, no matter how much they claim they care, they always have a change of heart.
Heather picked up a box of matches and carefully selected one to be used. Hearts change too often for their or anyone else's good. People get hurt when they try to help one another. Romance, lust, love… come to life with something as little a single word or stroke of the hand. Heather was at the dining table now, and she leaned over, careful not to knock anything, and struck the switch. Emotions get fired up… She lit the candle now. Her gaze locked on the still blazing stick, being consumed by the raging flame. And just as easily as they are ignited, she breathed on the match, watched it flicker, then go out, they are stifled and forgotten.
Pippin, at this time somewhat removed from the exchanges between the remainder of his companions, watched Heather's movements carefully. Her hair had changed since he had first seen her, now tied back in a long braid that ranged the length of her back, and a good thing too, or she surely would've been ablaze same as the candles she was so attentively lighting. Lit silhouettes cast off by the flames danced across her face, warming her skin and setting a twinkle in her eyes. Her brow was knit together ever so slightly, as if she were concentrating on some invisible impression, and her actions were slow and meticulous, cautiously thought out and planned before performed.
In short, she seemed too afraid to act on impulse.
For though she moved slowly and carefully, Pippin could see past her façade to the actual rigid stance of her body and limbs. He observed that she constantly kept her arms close to herself, and she also held one foot always poised as if she were expecting to have to make a sudden pivot and run. Her back was stiff and unbending, and the muscles in her neck were strained and tense from the effort of maintaining such a needlessly complicated, though wholly shielding, stance.
Heather lifted her eyes from the glare of the light and took a quick scan of the room around her. Consequently, her gaze fell on Pippin. Who, by happenstance, still looked upon her.
In Heather's eyes Pippin saw some ancient and untreated wound hidden behind something cold. Very cold.
In Pippin's eyes Heather saw a maturity above his years and an unquenchable curiosity.
Their contact was broken by a shout from behind Heather. She turned and dashed into the kitchen to the one calling for her, thankful for the break in the spell that had seemed to be holding her. She had let her guard down when she looked at Pippin, she knew this, and he had seen more of her than she had intended. She knew that this would only multiply the already dangerous amount of interest he took in her, and she regretted her moment of weakness. She would not allow it to happen again.
"You know he watches you."
In front of her Heather saw a fellow servant, a female, taller and slightly less lean than Heather. Her hair of light auburn fell in careless strands out of a loose bun fastened atop her head, and whispered and tickled at her cheeks that were flushed from working. She held her body erect, and her arms guided her hands quickly with the dishes she was frantically washing and rinsing. She positively glowed with pride, and even though her face was downcast and tired, her gray eyes shone with sheer defiance.
"Aye, I know."
"And you watch as well. You cannot deny this." The girl looked at Heather, her eyes searching for the ones that kept avoiding her own.
Heather stared at the floor. "Aye, you are right, Shannon."
Shannon sighed to herself and turned to again look at the wall in front of her. She leaned her head to the left, to the right, and dropped it down to her chest for a moment, then with another sigh resumed her former position. After a moment of silence, her pale lips moved.
"Go to him."
Heather lifted her head slowly. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me perfectly well. I think you should go to him."
"And why, pray tell," Heather's said with a voice of ice, "would I want to do that?"
"Because he interests you. Because he looks further than others care to. He is new to you. He could help you. He may care for you, Heather."
Heather's eyes burned a hole into the wall. "I'm not interested."
"Do not deny yourself this opportunity."
"And just what do you expect me to do, anyway? Would you have me approach and start chatting him up?" Heather's voice turned fiery, full of frustration and contempt.
"If that is what it takes, then yes!" Shannon replied, her voice equalling the fury of Heather's. "If you do not do this, you will regret it! He will go, and you will spend the rest of your life wondering what would have happened."
"Why do you care? And why should I? I know what will happen. He will laugh. Besides, I am not interested, now sod off!" Heather spat the words at Shannon, and turned, leaving the kitchen and the Hall silently. She walked slowly and solemnly down the halls to her living quarters, and threw herself down onto her bed. She buried her face in the cold linen sheets.
"Why should I care?"
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There ya guys go… Chapter two, at last. Hope it was alright. Once again, thank you to everyone who has reviewed! Please, keep going! I need to know how it is to a mind outside of my own.