This was written as a follow-up to my other movieverse Merry ficlet, "Upon the Tide of Ruin," which can be found here: http://www.storiesofarda.com/chapterlistview.asp?SID=1836  Because it's fun to play in Peter's sandbox too. :-)

The White Lady's Champion

*~*~*~*~* 

Merry peered into the room cautiously, almost fearfully.  He desperately wanted to see her, but he was scared – scared of what he would find when he looked into her eyes, scared that in them he might not see anything at all.

She was lying on what was to him a very tall bed, her sword-arm confined to a sling, her golden hair splayed out carelessly on the pillow.  Her eyes were open, but she made no movement, not even when the door creaked as Merry pushed it wider and entered the room.  He approached the bed, wringing his hands anxiously, and he recalled the deeply troubled look that Éomer had worn after seeing her.  If her own brother had not reached her, what could Merry possibly do?

He timidly placed his hands on the side of the bed, gazing worriedly at her face as she continued to stare at the ceiling.

“You are leaving as well?”  Éowyn’s voice was soft and distant, and guilt pierced Merry’s heart.  She had stayed with him when no one else could or would, and now he felt as though he was betraying her.  What right did he have to leave her behind when she had chosen not to do the same to him at Dunharrow?

Swallowing, he said, “It was only my arm that got hurt, and Strider healed that up quick enough.  I suppose you got the brunt of…”  He trailed off, wincing as the all-too-recent memories resurfaced.  Fine work, Meriadoc.  As though she needs to be reminded of that now.

But he wasn’t even sure she had heard him.  “He will leave again…” she whispered, her features heavy with sorrow.  She turned to face him then, and seeing the frown he was giving her she shook her head slightly, squeezing her eyes shut.  “Forgive me.  I am not myself right now.”

He smiled nervously.  “Well then, it’s good to know that this isn’t normal behavior for you.  I don’t suppose the real Éowyn smiles from time to time?”

He would have been relieved when she did just that, had the smile not been so sad.  “She has been known to, on occasion.”

Merry folded his arms on the bed, resting his chin atop them.  His own smile was broken when his bottom lip began to tremble.  “I wish she would more often.”  At last the emotions that he had been suppressing – fear, anger, despair – broke through him like a ruptured dam, and he threw his arms around the young shieldmaiden.  She seemed surprised by his sudden action, but slowly wrapped her uninjured arm around his small body.

“I don’t want to leave you like this,” he said brokenly, his voice muffled from where his face was buried in her shoulder.  “It isn’t fair.”

“Now Merry,” she said soothingly, though her voice quivered ever so slightly, “t’would be pointless for the both of us to stay behind.  You would be so frustrated to stay here while all your friends went off to battle – is that not why you wanted to ride with the King’s company in the first place?”

Merry was silent for a moment, unable to think of a suitable response.  Without pulling out of the embrace, he said, “I don’t think Éomer wants to leave you, you know.”

“What?”

He finally pulled away and sat back on the bed.  “What you said before, about how he would be leaving you again.  I don’t think he wants to.”  He frowned.  “You were talking about Éomer, weren’t you?”

“Oh!  Oh…”  She broke his gaze, seeming to look for something far away.  “Yes, of course.”

Merry watched her thoughtfully.  “I’ll be thinking of you, as much as I can think during a battle.  I mean, I’ll be thinking of a lot of people, but there will be plenty of room for you in my thoughts.”  When she turned to smile at him, he looked down at the bed, where he was tracing shapes onto the blanket.  “Because… I was fighting for you out there before, and I see no reason to stop.”

A small twinkle came to eyes that were so often cold and hard.  “Does this mean I have found myself a champion?”

He grinned sheepishly at her, and then a thought struck him and he sat up straight.  “Wait!  Do you have a- a handkerchief, or a piece of cloth, or- or something?”

She furrowed her brows questioningly.  “What for?”

“Isn’t that what a lady is supposed to do, when she’s found a champion?  She gives him something to take with him, a… a token!”

“Ahh, yes, of course.”  Éowyn bit her lip and searched about herself, seeking a suitable favor for her little knight.  Her gaze rested on her free arm, and she lifted it out to him.  “There, on my sleeve, a piece of thread – do you see it?”

Merry squinted.  “Yes…”

“Pull it out.”

He complied, tugging until the tiny thread unraveled itself more fully from the rest of the fabric, then held it in place with his other hand and yanked it off the sleeve.

Éowyn smiled proudly as Merry held up the thread, which was little more than two inches long.  “There.  A token for my brave champion.  An unconventional token, perhaps, but it shall serve its purpose.”

“Well,” he said pleasantly, “our friendship didn’t have a very conventional start, so I suppose it’s only fitting.”

Her countenance slowly changed and became earnest.  “Merry… I have not yet thanked you – for saving my life.”

He regarded her steadily, but did not reply for several seconds.  “Just so long as you’re thankful about it, and not disappointed.”  His voice was low and solemn, and though he wore a small smile, there was no jest in his mournful eyes.

She held his gaze, and upon her weary face Merry thought he saw a glimmer of something like hope.

*~*~*~*~*