A/N: This chapter is told from Merry's point of veiw as he refused to go away. Also due to my persisntence and his this is rather long. About halfway through I about gave up but by the grace of Valar (and my lovely reviewers) I carried on and thus this resulted. I regret to say that this shall be my last update for a few days, but fear not, I shall return and sappy, fluffly romance shall ensue!
My dah-ling reviewers: I love you all, you pulled me out of a quite desperate time in which I was not suffering from writer's block but was just bored to tears and very weary. You encouraged me so I forced myself to keep typing and voila, it's here, measuring at about 2,000 words with hardly any Faramir loving moments!
To the one special reviewer whose good side I am trying to get on as Christmas is in approxamatly 25 hours!: Why??? Why, may I ask? What possed you to look me up? (The real question should be: what possesed me to give you my penname in a moment of pure weakness?) Nothing is more humialtating then having your mother (yes, your mother) read and review your stuff. I'll force you to write something and then send it to your mother and we'll see how you feel! And yes I would like to see it again (for the 4th time) By the way (if I haven't already told you) I want the ROTK sountrack! I expect to see it under the tree in 25 hours, savvy?
Lauren
Chapter 9
Merry
ÒMaster Perian,Ó this tall man, shrouded by the leaves of the weeping willow, beckoned. The wind, now whistling through the swaying grass, played with his forest green cape, tugging his hair, the hue of the deepest night that looms over Buckland. Buckland... The Shire... So far away it seemed. I was hardly the same hobbit I had been when I left, unaware of the war I would soon be embroiled in. It had only been mere months since I had bidden the sweet, dew laced meadows of the Shire a final goodbye yet it seemed as if many life ages of Middle Earth had flitted away since then. Nevertheless I could still recall the Shire, though my mind conjured up only a hazy, vague image. What I remembered mostly was the serene atmosphere of the Shire, the feeling of unmarred bliss that engulfed me. I had failed to appreciate the simple, rustic beauty of the Shire and now it was too late. If ever I returned, even if our struggle against Mordor was astonishingly won, nothing would ever be the same. The Shire, in all itÕs humble beauty and quaintness would be unaltered but it would be I who was forever changed. I have seen a great many things that I shall never forget, events that shall haunt me until I draw in my last shaky breath. I could continue on with my unadorned life, feigning happiness yet in the deepest confines of my soul I have been forever altered. But none of that truly matters for I doubt I shall ever look upon the gently rolling hills, the laughing springs, the tilled earth of the Shire ever again.
ÒMaster Perian?Ó
Once more I gazed up at this towering man who exuded a silent inner strength. His face was benevolent and full of sympathy, his grey eyes penetrated my very soul.
Oddly familiar was he, almost like one I had seen a long time ago but whose face I have near forgotten. But, nay, it could not be so...
ÒSir,Ó I stammered, sinking to my knees. ÒI am Meriadoc Brandybuck of Buckland. I am told you wish to speak to me of the Lady Eowyn.Ó
ÒAye,Ó he admitted. ÒBut rise, you owe no honor to me, rather I to you. For did you not assist in the slaying of the Witch King of Angmar?Ó
I nodded, my cheeks tainted with the color of modesty at being praised. ÒI brought the fell chieftain to his knees but it was the White Lady who dealt the final fatal stroke.Ó
ÒI am Faramir son of Denethor, by right the Steward of this city,Ó he stated, a grim smile on his lips. ÒBrother of Boromir of the nine who set out from Rivendell,Ó he added, his soft voice thick with oppressed emotion.
ÒBoromir, as I remember him, in life was strong and valiant. His death was not in vain but part of this broader strife against evil,Ó I stammered, searching for words to console this stern man.
He veered away from me, gazing east, briefly running the back of his hand wearily across his closed eyes before turning back to face me. ÒWhat do you know of the Lady Eowyn?Ó he solicited, his grey hued eyes, full of sorrow and yet up, pleaded with me.
ÒI first glimpsed the lady as I rode with Theoden King of the Mark as his esquire to Dunharrow, deep in the mountains of Ered Nimrais. She seemed grieved by the apparent death of Strider as he had taken the road to the Dimholt, the Paths of the Dead, or so they said.Ó I said, straining to recall the memories of a time mere days ago that seemed to allude me.
ÒStrider?Ó Faramir asked, a puzzled expression of his benign yet distressed countenance.
ÒThe Lord Aragorn,Ó I owned as way of clarification. ÒUnyielding yet melancholy she was, her stern face tear stained and that made her all the more rueful to behold. I remember her voice cracking and faltering with emotion as she struggled to restrain her tears. Yet never did I see a single tear fall unveiled, openly from her hollow grey eyes. Irate and wrathful she was that Theoden mandated that she stay behind, a similar order he issued to me also. As we rode out from the Dunharrow...Ó I began but trailed off, something striking me anew, a piece of the intricate puzzle I had yet to fit into place. ÒI saw in the ranks upon ranks of the eoreds of the Riders of Rohan as we departed to Edoras, a young man, lithe in form and less in stature then the others gazing up at me with vacant and mournful yet determined eyes. His glance frightened me and haunted my sleep for many days after. It was the look of one without a single trace of hope, not the slightest shard. The stare of one who rides seeking death and it Ôtis a lamentable thing to behold.Ó
ÒYes, it is,Ó the Lord Faramir murmured.
ÒSoon, oh, too soon we reached Edoras, a breathtaking place, Lord, set upon a precipice of rock amidst the endless, eternal plains of Rohan. I have seen nothing like it in all my travels and doubt I ever shall. There I was to part from the King and aggrieved I was to do such. I yearned for time when we would be able to sit in the Golden Hall of Meduseld and tell Theoden King of the lore of pipewee. But alas, it would not be so. Desperately I pleaded with him one last time to allow me to ride to battle but once again he denied my wishes. As I stood in desperation watching the Riders mount their horses and ride to valor a unbeknownst to me a stealthy figure crept behind me and in my ear I heard a soft, woeful voice.
Ò ÔWhere a will wants not, a way opens, so we say,Õ the youthful Rider muttered. ÔAnd so I have found myself. You wish to go whither the Lord of the Mark goes: I see it in your face,Õ the voice stated.
Ò ÔI do,Õ I confessed.
Ò ÔThen you shall go with me. I shall bear you before me, under my cloak until we are far afield, and this darkness is yet darker. Such good will should not be denied. Say no more to any man but come!Õ he cried.
ÒI recognized him as the rueful Rider I had glimpsed, penetrating grey eyes so hauntingly sorrowful, amidst the eoreds that morn. I promptly thanked him for his gracious deed, then recalling I knew not his name.
Ò ÔDo you not?Õ the Rider asked incredulously, as if he did not believe my words. ÔThen call me Dernhelm,Õ he whispered.
ÒAs we mounted the grey hued horse Windolfa horns sounded across the plain and all began to cry. In a great rush we followed Theoden King as he exited his realm for the final time. We rode to the constant, incessant, relentless cadence of hundreds of hooves beating against the ground. For five days we rode and as the sun rose on the fifth day we finally looked upon Minas Tirith, gleaming in the sunrise though she was besieged by countless ranks of orcs,Ó I said.
At the mention of this day I detected a slight quaking in FaramirÕs bearing and h seemed to have cringed, to have blanched.
ÒSir?Ó I asked gently, sensing that day, when the sun rose blood red, for him was bitter and grievous to recall.
Ò It is nothing,Ó he said, but his tone belied him and catching my earnest yet sympathizing gaze he sighed. ÒIt is nothing I wish to speak of. Or rather nothing I can yet speak of.Ó
I did not press the subject that brought to him so much anguish and for a time he was sullen, lost in his own pained meditations. Wordlessly I watched him and espied the glint of a tear in his grey eyes. Somehow this proved some comfort for me, to know that even such a proud, stern and noble man did not fear his own emotions, did not shroud his own feelings.
ÒOf the battle I remember little and most of what I do I have been trying ceaselessly to forget. I do not wish to taint the air of this oasis amidst the fray of battle with words of the slaughtering I witnessed that day,Ó I began again, stuttering and stumbling over the words at first.
ÒThere is no need,Ó the Lord Faramir said and I was astonished to hear his voice, laced in heartbreaking woe. ÒThough during that fateful day I was till wandering, lingering in the valley of death, on a great precipice, teetering between death and life, I have been in a great many battles in my lifetime.Ó
ÒWhat memory I do retain of that day is the image of countless Riders, courageously confronting most certain death with stern, resolute faces and unwavering hearts. And that image I shall never forget, it shall be the image I remember as my death looms before me, an image of the strength, valor, and honor of men.Ó
Faramir merely nodded, apprehending what I meant in my speech embellished with fine words that could still not capture the essence of that feeling that engulfed me that blood red dawn.
ÒThen as Dernhelm and I rode after the mighty king, whose pace outmatched any mortal being, a poison laced arrow smote the kingÕs steed Snowmane and Theoden King was ensnared under the corpse of his faithful mount. A shadow then passed overhead, a shrill shriek rang out across the field, and all, friend or foe, halted, quaking and trembling. In her terror Windolfa threw both Dernhelm and I to the ground, stained and saturated with the blood of men and orcs alike. The Witch KingÕs fell, winged steed swooped onto SnowmaneÕs lifeless body and it delved its webbed claws into the horseÕs side. Dernhelm, weeping, rose up from the filth and staggered toward Theoden and the Witch King. I crept on my hands and knees after him, dazed and bewildered in the chaos that had ensued. Then above the clash of sword upon shield, the screams of the dying, and the battle cries of the living I heard a clear voice cry out.
Ò ÔBegone, foul dimmerlaik, lord of carrion! Leave the dead in peace!Õ
ÒDernhelm... I fought the urge to succumb to my fear and remain cowering on the ground and rose my head. There was Dernhelm, standing strong, not blanching and unwavering before the Nazgul that for so many miles had pursed the Fellowship.
Ò ÔCome not between the Nazgul and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shriveled mind shall be left naked to the Lidless Eye.Õ the ring-wraithÕs cold voice replied.
ÒMy very blood ran cold and I shuddered but still I hobbled ever closer to where Dernhelm still stood, now unsheathing his blade, already drenched in the crimson blood of countless orcs.
Ò ÔDo as you will; but I will hinder it, if I may,ÕDernhelm answered defiantly.
Ò ÔHinder me?Ó the Witch King mocked. ÔThou fool. No living man may hinder me!Õ
ÒThen, rising above the din of the battle I heard an odd sound. A grim, austere laugh echoed through out the field. DernhelmÕs laugh...
Ò ÔBut living man I am!Õ came a clear voice ringing across the battered, tainted field. ÒEowyn I am, EomundÕs daughter. You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living of dark undead I will smite you, if you touch him.Õ
ÒThrough the smoke of the battle I saw hair tumbling like a river of golden waters down that who I called DernhelmÕs back, escaping its bounds and the confines of her helm. In that instant, as the Nazgul remained silent and struck mute, the long shrouded and concealed courage within me stirred and I leapt up. Yet, I was too late, the winged creature beat its ghastly wings and swooped down upon Eowyn, driving itÕs claws and beak into her stern form. Yet with one fateful, skilled stroke he dealt, hewing the head of the foul beast asunder from itÕs heinous body. Out of the wreckage of his mountÕs corpse rose the wraith, wielding both a mace and the very sword that smote Frodo on Weathertop, Amon Sul. He struck her shield and it shattered like fragile glass, her arm broken. Eowyn fell to her knees, awaiting the final swing of the Witch KingÕs mace that would break her body, claiming her life. But it did not come. Driven by courage and love and wonder for this fair lady I brought the wraith to his knees, shearing right through his onyx cape. That stroke traveled up my arm, rendering it numb, devoid of all feeling. As my eyes darkened I saw Eowyn rise of faltering limbs and drive her sword between the mantle and crown on the Witch King of Angmar. And that was all I saw,Ó I finished wearily.
Faramir nodded, puzzling over all that I had told him.
ÒWhy, sir, did you wish to know this? It could not be because you wished for the company and full tales of a witless hobbit.,Ó I asked.
ÒNay, yet if my mind was untroubled and your tales held mirth I would rejoice in your company. I must confess, however, the Lady Eowyn has stolen my heart and I yearn to know all can about her past and what troubles that are plaguing her, besieging her,Ó Faramir said. ÒFor I love her.Ó
My dah-ling reviewers: I love you all, you pulled me out of a quite desperate time in which I was not suffering from writer's block but was just bored to tears and very weary. You encouraged me so I forced myself to keep typing and voila, it's here, measuring at about 2,000 words with hardly any Faramir loving moments!
To the one special reviewer whose good side I am trying to get on as Christmas is in approxamatly 25 hours!: Why??? Why, may I ask? What possed you to look me up? (The real question should be: what possesed me to give you my penname in a moment of pure weakness?) Nothing is more humialtating then having your mother (yes, your mother) read and review your stuff. I'll force you to write something and then send it to your mother and we'll see how you feel! And yes I would like to see it again (for the 4th time) By the way (if I haven't already told you) I want the ROTK sountrack! I expect to see it under the tree in 25 hours, savvy?
Lauren
Chapter 9
Merry
ÒMaster Perian,Ó this tall man, shrouded by the leaves of the weeping willow, beckoned. The wind, now whistling through the swaying grass, played with his forest green cape, tugging his hair, the hue of the deepest night that looms over Buckland. Buckland... The Shire... So far away it seemed. I was hardly the same hobbit I had been when I left, unaware of the war I would soon be embroiled in. It had only been mere months since I had bidden the sweet, dew laced meadows of the Shire a final goodbye yet it seemed as if many life ages of Middle Earth had flitted away since then. Nevertheless I could still recall the Shire, though my mind conjured up only a hazy, vague image. What I remembered mostly was the serene atmosphere of the Shire, the feeling of unmarred bliss that engulfed me. I had failed to appreciate the simple, rustic beauty of the Shire and now it was too late. If ever I returned, even if our struggle against Mordor was astonishingly won, nothing would ever be the same. The Shire, in all itÕs humble beauty and quaintness would be unaltered but it would be I who was forever changed. I have seen a great many things that I shall never forget, events that shall haunt me until I draw in my last shaky breath. I could continue on with my unadorned life, feigning happiness yet in the deepest confines of my soul I have been forever altered. But none of that truly matters for I doubt I shall ever look upon the gently rolling hills, the laughing springs, the tilled earth of the Shire ever again.
ÒMaster Perian?Ó
Once more I gazed up at this towering man who exuded a silent inner strength. His face was benevolent and full of sympathy, his grey eyes penetrated my very soul.
Oddly familiar was he, almost like one I had seen a long time ago but whose face I have near forgotten. But, nay, it could not be so...
ÒSir,Ó I stammered, sinking to my knees. ÒI am Meriadoc Brandybuck of Buckland. I am told you wish to speak to me of the Lady Eowyn.Ó
ÒAye,Ó he admitted. ÒBut rise, you owe no honor to me, rather I to you. For did you not assist in the slaying of the Witch King of Angmar?Ó
I nodded, my cheeks tainted with the color of modesty at being praised. ÒI brought the fell chieftain to his knees but it was the White Lady who dealt the final fatal stroke.Ó
ÒI am Faramir son of Denethor, by right the Steward of this city,Ó he stated, a grim smile on his lips. ÒBrother of Boromir of the nine who set out from Rivendell,Ó he added, his soft voice thick with oppressed emotion.
ÒBoromir, as I remember him, in life was strong and valiant. His death was not in vain but part of this broader strife against evil,Ó I stammered, searching for words to console this stern man.
He veered away from me, gazing east, briefly running the back of his hand wearily across his closed eyes before turning back to face me. ÒWhat do you know of the Lady Eowyn?Ó he solicited, his grey hued eyes, full of sorrow and yet up, pleaded with me.
ÒI first glimpsed the lady as I rode with Theoden King of the Mark as his esquire to Dunharrow, deep in the mountains of Ered Nimrais. She seemed grieved by the apparent death of Strider as he had taken the road to the Dimholt, the Paths of the Dead, or so they said.Ó I said, straining to recall the memories of a time mere days ago that seemed to allude me.
ÒStrider?Ó Faramir asked, a puzzled expression of his benign yet distressed countenance.
ÒThe Lord Aragorn,Ó I owned as way of clarification. ÒUnyielding yet melancholy she was, her stern face tear stained and that made her all the more rueful to behold. I remember her voice cracking and faltering with emotion as she struggled to restrain her tears. Yet never did I see a single tear fall unveiled, openly from her hollow grey eyes. Irate and wrathful she was that Theoden mandated that she stay behind, a similar order he issued to me also. As we rode out from the Dunharrow...Ó I began but trailed off, something striking me anew, a piece of the intricate puzzle I had yet to fit into place. ÒI saw in the ranks upon ranks of the eoreds of the Riders of Rohan as we departed to Edoras, a young man, lithe in form and less in stature then the others gazing up at me with vacant and mournful yet determined eyes. His glance frightened me and haunted my sleep for many days after. It was the look of one without a single trace of hope, not the slightest shard. The stare of one who rides seeking death and it Ôtis a lamentable thing to behold.Ó
ÒYes, it is,Ó the Lord Faramir murmured.
ÒSoon, oh, too soon we reached Edoras, a breathtaking place, Lord, set upon a precipice of rock amidst the endless, eternal plains of Rohan. I have seen nothing like it in all my travels and doubt I ever shall. There I was to part from the King and aggrieved I was to do such. I yearned for time when we would be able to sit in the Golden Hall of Meduseld and tell Theoden King of the lore of pipewee. But alas, it would not be so. Desperately I pleaded with him one last time to allow me to ride to battle but once again he denied my wishes. As I stood in desperation watching the Riders mount their horses and ride to valor a unbeknownst to me a stealthy figure crept behind me and in my ear I heard a soft, woeful voice.
Ò ÔWhere a will wants not, a way opens, so we say,Õ the youthful Rider muttered. ÔAnd so I have found myself. You wish to go whither the Lord of the Mark goes: I see it in your face,Õ the voice stated.
Ò ÔI do,Õ I confessed.
Ò ÔThen you shall go with me. I shall bear you before me, under my cloak until we are far afield, and this darkness is yet darker. Such good will should not be denied. Say no more to any man but come!Õ he cried.
ÒI recognized him as the rueful Rider I had glimpsed, penetrating grey eyes so hauntingly sorrowful, amidst the eoreds that morn. I promptly thanked him for his gracious deed, then recalling I knew not his name.
Ò ÔDo you not?Õ the Rider asked incredulously, as if he did not believe my words. ÔThen call me Dernhelm,Õ he whispered.
ÒAs we mounted the grey hued horse Windolfa horns sounded across the plain and all began to cry. In a great rush we followed Theoden King as he exited his realm for the final time. We rode to the constant, incessant, relentless cadence of hundreds of hooves beating against the ground. For five days we rode and as the sun rose on the fifth day we finally looked upon Minas Tirith, gleaming in the sunrise though she was besieged by countless ranks of orcs,Ó I said.
At the mention of this day I detected a slight quaking in FaramirÕs bearing and h seemed to have cringed, to have blanched.
ÒSir?Ó I asked gently, sensing that day, when the sun rose blood red, for him was bitter and grievous to recall.
Ò It is nothing,Ó he said, but his tone belied him and catching my earnest yet sympathizing gaze he sighed. ÒIt is nothing I wish to speak of. Or rather nothing I can yet speak of.Ó
I did not press the subject that brought to him so much anguish and for a time he was sullen, lost in his own pained meditations. Wordlessly I watched him and espied the glint of a tear in his grey eyes. Somehow this proved some comfort for me, to know that even such a proud, stern and noble man did not fear his own emotions, did not shroud his own feelings.
ÒOf the battle I remember little and most of what I do I have been trying ceaselessly to forget. I do not wish to taint the air of this oasis amidst the fray of battle with words of the slaughtering I witnessed that day,Ó I began again, stuttering and stumbling over the words at first.
ÒThere is no need,Ó the Lord Faramir said and I was astonished to hear his voice, laced in heartbreaking woe. ÒThough during that fateful day I was till wandering, lingering in the valley of death, on a great precipice, teetering between death and life, I have been in a great many battles in my lifetime.Ó
ÒWhat memory I do retain of that day is the image of countless Riders, courageously confronting most certain death with stern, resolute faces and unwavering hearts. And that image I shall never forget, it shall be the image I remember as my death looms before me, an image of the strength, valor, and honor of men.Ó
Faramir merely nodded, apprehending what I meant in my speech embellished with fine words that could still not capture the essence of that feeling that engulfed me that blood red dawn.
ÒThen as Dernhelm and I rode after the mighty king, whose pace outmatched any mortal being, a poison laced arrow smote the kingÕs steed Snowmane and Theoden King was ensnared under the corpse of his faithful mount. A shadow then passed overhead, a shrill shriek rang out across the field, and all, friend or foe, halted, quaking and trembling. In her terror Windolfa threw both Dernhelm and I to the ground, stained and saturated with the blood of men and orcs alike. The Witch KingÕs fell, winged steed swooped onto SnowmaneÕs lifeless body and it delved its webbed claws into the horseÕs side. Dernhelm, weeping, rose up from the filth and staggered toward Theoden and the Witch King. I crept on my hands and knees after him, dazed and bewildered in the chaos that had ensued. Then above the clash of sword upon shield, the screams of the dying, and the battle cries of the living I heard a clear voice cry out.
Ò ÔBegone, foul dimmerlaik, lord of carrion! Leave the dead in peace!Õ
ÒDernhelm... I fought the urge to succumb to my fear and remain cowering on the ground and rose my head. There was Dernhelm, standing strong, not blanching and unwavering before the Nazgul that for so many miles had pursed the Fellowship.
Ò ÔCome not between the Nazgul and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shriveled mind shall be left naked to the Lidless Eye.Õ the ring-wraithÕs cold voice replied.
ÒMy very blood ran cold and I shuddered but still I hobbled ever closer to where Dernhelm still stood, now unsheathing his blade, already drenched in the crimson blood of countless orcs.
Ò ÔDo as you will; but I will hinder it, if I may,ÕDernhelm answered defiantly.
Ò ÔHinder me?Ó the Witch King mocked. ÔThou fool. No living man may hinder me!Õ
ÒThen, rising above the din of the battle I heard an odd sound. A grim, austere laugh echoed through out the field. DernhelmÕs laugh...
Ò ÔBut living man I am!Õ came a clear voice ringing across the battered, tainted field. ÒEowyn I am, EomundÕs daughter. You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living of dark undead I will smite you, if you touch him.Õ
ÒThrough the smoke of the battle I saw hair tumbling like a river of golden waters down that who I called DernhelmÕs back, escaping its bounds and the confines of her helm. In that instant, as the Nazgul remained silent and struck mute, the long shrouded and concealed courage within me stirred and I leapt up. Yet, I was too late, the winged creature beat its ghastly wings and swooped down upon Eowyn, driving itÕs claws and beak into her stern form. Yet with one fateful, skilled stroke he dealt, hewing the head of the foul beast asunder from itÕs heinous body. Out of the wreckage of his mountÕs corpse rose the wraith, wielding both a mace and the very sword that smote Frodo on Weathertop, Amon Sul. He struck her shield and it shattered like fragile glass, her arm broken. Eowyn fell to her knees, awaiting the final swing of the Witch KingÕs mace that would break her body, claiming her life. But it did not come. Driven by courage and love and wonder for this fair lady I brought the wraith to his knees, shearing right through his onyx cape. That stroke traveled up my arm, rendering it numb, devoid of all feeling. As my eyes darkened I saw Eowyn rise of faltering limbs and drive her sword between the mantle and crown on the Witch King of Angmar. And that was all I saw,Ó I finished wearily.
Faramir nodded, puzzling over all that I had told him.
ÒWhy, sir, did you wish to know this? It could not be because you wished for the company and full tales of a witless hobbit.,Ó I asked.
ÒNay, yet if my mind was untroubled and your tales held mirth I would rejoice in your company. I must confess, however, the Lady Eowyn has stolen my heart and I yearn to know all can about her past and what troubles that are plaguing her, besieging her,Ó Faramir said. ÒFor I love her.Ó