They belong to Tolkien, without whom we wouldn't be so enriched in our minds. A side note...anyone who has also read Darkest Before Dawn will recognize an echo in this chapter...that piece was inspired by this...I enjoyed the image so much that I reworked it into Darkest...sorry for the slight repetition.
Merry gusted a sigh as he trudged up the hill toward Bag End. Sam had tracked him down at Brandy Hall to whisper that Frodo had asked after him that morning.
He was wearied, sporting dark circles under his eyes after several sleepless nights of planning and packing, and the trip from Buckland had worn him. He raised his hand to knock at the door, but a voice stopped him. "Merry!" He looked over to see Frodo seated in the garden, waving. Merry shuffled over to join him, slumping to a seat on the carven wood bench. Frodo looked at him with concern. "You look exhausted. Are you all right?"
Merry nodded and scooted up to sit straighter, passing his hand through his hair. "Just a mite tired, Frodo. It's a long trek from Buckland. Sam says you asked for me?"
Frodo nodded and studied his friend's weary face. "I did. I don't know quite how to put it, but I need your help." He paused, gathering his emotions. "I've been thinking a lot since Bilbo left, and I think it's time that I left Bag End as well, left Hobbiton all together actually. I was hoping that you could find me a quiet little place, somewhere out of the way, something small out by Buckleberry."
Merry made a show of surprise. "Leaving Hobbiton? What shall you do with Bag End?"
Frodo looked at his hands and said, "I have arranged to sell it to Lobelia."
Merry didn't have to feign surprise at this. "Lobelia Sackville-Baggins? How could you bring yourself to sell it to her?" he asked in horror.
"I can't really explain it, Merry. I shall only say that I need to leave Hobbiton, and I don't intend to return. It has become difficult to live here without Bilbo, and with people always calling about this and that." Frodo fiddled with his coat buttons, and his eyes were filled with sorrow. Merry bit his tongue, wanting to blurt out all that he knew, to tell Frodo that he and Sam and Pippin intended to go with him on his journey. He settled for laying a hand on Frodo's shoulder.
"Of course I shall find you a place. And we'll make it as much a home as Bag End has been to you, and you'll finally be able to have some peace," he said quietly. He paused, searching Frodo's face. "But are you sure you want to sell Bag End to Lobelia?"
A smile ghosted across Frodo's face, then he succumbed to a laugh. "I'm afraid so, Merry. Perhaps finally having it will make her a more pleasant person to have around." Merry shook his head.
"Not that one. She's as sour as week old milk, and no mistake. But away by Buckland you won't have to see her, at any rate, and that's an improvement over her weekly inspections up here on the Hill."
Frodo chuckled again. "Ever since I came here, she's been sure I would destroy Bag End, by fire or cave-in or some other disaster. She might crack a smile, yet, when I tell her."
"She may crack a smile, then she may drop in her tracks. What else has she to live for but the hope of rousting you from Bag End?" Merry elbowed Frodo in the side, grinning. But Frodo's smile had faded, and he sat silently for a moment.
"Thank you, Merry," he finally murmured. Merry looked askance at him. "Thank you for being my friend, and for helping me. It won't be easy for me to leave this place, but I know you'll do all you can to make it better." He gave a pause and a sad smile. "That's our Merry. Always taking care of everyone. You should remember, friend, that there are some things you can't help out of sheer determination. Some problems are bigger than what one hobbit can solve." Merry fought off another urge to shriek out all that he knew, but instead slapped Frodo on the knee.
"I'll do all I can. I'm here for you, no matter what." Merry got up and left the garden quickly, ducking his head to hide the tears in his eyes.
Merry opened his eyes and blinked away the dream. The moon had waned sliver thin, casting a blue glow across the flagstone floor of the room. Feeling strangely restless, Merry flung his coverlets away and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He grimaced at the memory of his earlier fall, and slid gently down the mattress, reaching with his toes toward the floor. The cold of the stone made him shiver, but he was warmed by pleasure as he found that his legs would now hold his weight. He took a few tentative steps, testing his strength and balance. He couldn't suppress a smile as he padded gently toward the window. He had never known that something so simple as walking unaided could feel like such an accomplishment. He reached the window and leaned against the sill, craning his neck to raise his face to the sky. The night was cold and hard, the stars shining like unblinking eyes in a black face.
He turned his gaze away from the sky and scanned the garden. The Houses of Healing were perched upon one of the highest walls of the city, just below the citadel, surrounded by a parapet carefully wrought of white stone. The grass of the garden was thick and well kept, and small shrubs bore tiny white flowers that lent the evening a sweet smell. Merry inhaled, deeply but carefully, mindful of the danger of another fit of coughing, and allowed himself another small smile. The Houses seemed a surreal glen of calm in a besieged city.
Quite suddenly, a slight movement caught Merry's attention. He fell into an instinctive crouch, and peeked around the side of the window.
On the stone wall of the parapet there stood a woman. Her white bedclothes were covered by a cloak of sable, and her hair was pinned into a tight knot. Her feet were bare, the color of aged ivory. A gale of wind roared by her, molding the cloak to her form, sending a few white flowers whirling around her. She lifted her hand and released the clasp at the nape of her neck. Her hair lifted with the wind, and floated free around her face. It was Eowyn.
A sudden fear gripped Merry that she would leap from the wall, and with great effort he lifted himself through the window. He crept up beside her, taking care not to make any noise that might startle her and cause her to lose her footing. As he peeped over the edge of the wall, he felt sick at the sight of the cliffs falling away in sharp crags. Far below winked the lights of the watchmen of the gates. Merry considered grabbing at Eowyn's robes with both hands and yanking her back to safety in the garden, but it seemed somehow too crass an action to use on the Lady, and he feared injuring her further. Instead, he whispered, as quietly as he could manage, "My lady..."
She did not turn to look at him, but Eowyn's shoulders tensed slightly. A deep sigh lifted her breast, then she stepped down from the wall, her feet sinking deeply into the dewy grass. Merry let out a gasp, only then realizing that he had been holding his breath. Eowyn gathered her hair into her hands and lifted it back into a light bun, but did not turn to look at him. "Merry," she said quietly.
"Are you all right, Lady?" he asked quietly, lifting his hand to brush her elbow. She smiled, but it did not reach into her eyes. She laid her strong hand over his and squeezed it lightly.
"I am all right, Merry. I was merely trying to see something of the battlefield." She turned and walked wearily back toward the Houses, still holding his hand in her own. Halfway there, she faltered, and sank to the grass, folding her legs underneath her cloak. Merry knelt at her side and laid his hand upon her shoulder, worried, but he said nothing. She stared back toward the cliffside, her eyes clouded and sad, but without tears. "How could this have happened?" she said, though Merry could scarcely catch her words. "How could I have let this happen..." Her voice broke and she fell silent.
"Lady Eowyn, you did everything you could have done to save the King," Merry whispered, lacing his arm around Eowyn's back. "The Captain of the Black Riders was a foe beyond all of us. We are both fortunate to be alive ourselves."
"Fortunate?" Eowyn gave a harsh bark of laughter, then caught herself and sighed. "Fortunate," she said again, quietly. "I would have been fortunate if I had been able to take the King's place there, killed by that beast."
"No!" protested Merry, horrified. "No, my Lady, you were not meant to die there! You are too..." Merry stopped himself, and tempered his volume. "You did not do anything wrong, my Lady. The King's death was not your fault."
Eowyn gave a barely perceptible shake of her head. "I was distracted, my mind was not on the battle. If I had not allowed myself to think of..." Her voice hitched, as if she had sobbed, but her eyes were dry.
As Eowyn opened her mouth to continue, strong hands clapped down on both of their shoulders. Merry gave a little shriek of surprise and whirled to shield Eowyn's body with his own. Aragorn stood there, the thin moon sending a sheen of silver light through his dark hair. "I should have known that my two most stubborn patients would find one another and conspire to ignore my instructions as to their healing," he said wryly. Merry's body sagged with relief and he turned to smile at Eowyn, but she would not meet his eye, staring instead into the distance. "As bad as it is that you would get out of bed before I gave my leave, you both choose to do so in the chill of night and wander barefoot in the wet grass. I suppose I should have foreseen it." Aragorn reached out and took Merry's hand. He extended his other hand to Eowyn, but she ignored it and struggled to her feet without his aid. She brushed by Aragorn, her shoulder bumping audibly against his, and stumbled back toward the Houses of Healing. Aragorn looked after her, and Merry was startled by the sad light in his eyes.
"What is wrong with Lady Eowyn, Aragorn?" Merry asked quietly. "Why is she so sad? Why does she think the King's death is her fault?"
"Does she think that?" asked Aragorn, concern furrowing his brow.
"She does." Merry looked at his hands, twisting his fingers together. "I feel as though I'm betraying her trust even telling you this," he said, giving a short, strangled chuckle. "She thinks, somehow, that she did not do enough, that her whole mind was not on the battle, and that if it had been, she could have saved the King. But what could she have been thinking about that would distract her from something so important?" When Aragorn did not answer, Merry bit his lip hesitantly. "Perhaps it is nothing, Strider, but when I came upon her here in the garden, she was standing atop the wall." Aragorn looked sharply at him, and Merry thought he saw a flash of fear in the ranger's eyes. Discomfited, he hurriedly continued. "I was afraid that she was going to jump off, but she said she was only trying to see the battlefield."
"Thank you for telling me this, Merry." Aragorn knelt and took both of Merry's shoulders in his hands. "You shouldn't worry about the Lady Eowyn. She is going through the same things you are, having dared to battle that deadly foe. But she also has a deep sadness, my friend, which I do not know how to heal. We can only hope that she finds the strength within to battle that foe as well." Aragorn took Merry by the hand again and led him back to his bower, where he silently installed him back into the bed. Merry watched as Aragorn stoked the fire. The man's eyes were hooded and darkened with some strange sadness. He straightened and walked quietly from the room, leaving Merry in confusion and fear. He shut his eyes and thought hard about Eowyn, and why she might seem so sad, and about the look of sorrow in Aragorn's eyes.