A Shadow and a Thought

"It is but a shadow and a thought that you love. I cannot give you what you seek."

Even now, two days since leaving Dunharrow, the words rolled over in Éowyn's mind as she sat upon the grass by a crackling fire. Two days she had ridden with the Rohirrim, never letting her helm fall from her head while under the sun. This night, as the past night, she lay beneath the stars on the edge of the camp – one spear out of six-thousand, doomed to die against an army over twenty times that number. Two days from now, she knew she would lie upon the Pelennor Fields, either in victory or defeat, fated to be unremembered, unmourned, unloved. The truth of the world left a bitter taste upon her tongue, but not as bitter as the poison that flowed through her veins with every beat of her heart.

"Hmm."

She glanced down at her companion. Meriadoc Brandybuck, a.k.a. Merry, a.k.a. the hobbit whose name could not be applied to any part of this world. Oh what a land his home must have been, she supposed, where one could be called "Merry" and not be out of place. How blessed his people were, to not know centuries of carnage as the hand of Mordor crept ever westward. Scarce wonder then, she supposed, that he was now having a nightmare, so removed from the dream that was the land known as the Shire.

"Get away."

She bit her lip, wondering if she should intervene. She'd had nightmares as a child, and nightmares for years beyond that as well. Her brother had told her to confront them – face her dreams, wake up in fear, so that come the dawn, she could face the true world with courage. Her cousin, Théodred, had said that she should talk about them. Her uncle, though she loved him with all her heart, had not said much on the matter at all. So as the years passed on, as the walls closed in, as the wood and gold of Meduseld became the iron bars of a cage, she'd said little on nightmares, and less as she saw the nightmares take her uncle. Poison, like that which coursed through her veins, had flown through him in turn. Perhaps that was why he led his people on a valiant charge against the tides of darkness that threatened Gondor, and by extension, all the lands beyond.

"Get away!"

She sighed and began shaking the hobbit. She didn't know how to deal with nightmares, but she knew that if the hobbit kept it up, more of the riders might wake. If they woke, they might see her. So far, they'd turned a blind eye to the hobbit the rider known as Dernhelm was carrying, but she doubted that they'd turn a blind eye to her.

"Wake up master hobbit."

"No…move…"

"Merry…"

"Told you, I'm not-"

"Merry!"

"Gah!" Her sprung up, and for the briefest of instances, Éowyn smiled. An odd feeling, one she hadn't experienced since leaving Edoras.

"My lady?"

"You were having a bad dream." She gave him a playful nudge – she knew that she shouldn't treat Merry as a child (he was thirteen years her senior, after all), but given the difference in height between them, it was an instinct that she had trouble fighting against at times.

"Bad dream." Merry snorted. "Could say that."

"Care to tell me what it was?" Éowyn forced a smile again. "I understand it may be uncomfortable, but-"

"Bacon."

Éowyn blinked. "Bacon."

"Bacon," Merry said. "I was dreaming about bacon."

"I…see."

"Yes. Very good bacon as well. But then the bacon turned into pigs, or at least some of the bacon did. And the pigs didn't like me eating bacon, so then they tried to eat me, and-"

"Fascinating," Éowyn murmured. She leant back down on the grass and rubbed her eyes. Eorl preserve me, I am with a child.

"Not the worst nightmare I've had since leaving home," Merry said.

Éowyn grunted.

"Did I wake you?"

She couldn't help but snort at that. As if sleep was something that she could embrace this night. As if sleep was something she could ever return to before sleep eternal took her.

"My lady?"

"No Merry, you didn't wake me."

"Oh. That's good." He got to his feet and looked around. "Any idea what time it is? I'm starving."

"Not yet dawn. And if you're hungry, don't worry – I'll bring you some stew like yesterday."

"Ah yes, about the stew…"

"Stew I won't have made myself." She frowned, thinking of yet another lie she had once lived. "Fear not master hobbit, I know my limitations when it comes to making food." And many other limitations likewise.

She lay there for what may as well have been the passing of an age, and indeed, perhaps it was. The First Age of the Sun had ended with the downfall of Morgoth, the Great Enemy. The Second had ended with the defeat of his lieutenant, Sauron. She could only assume that the Third Age of the Sun would end with Sauron's defeat or, more likely, his success. Whatever the case, there was no going back. Her cousin would still be dead. Her parents would still be dead. And she would have no recourse but to return to the cage, unloved.

I wished you joy since first I looked upon you.

The words rolled over and over in her mind. She had seen the look in his eyes. Compassion. Worse than that, pity. But not love. Long had it been since she'd seen the look of love in anyone's eyes, but she would have still known it if she had seen it. Of all the emotions there were in the hearts of Men, pity was the one she desired least. Pity from others. Pity made by herself, going into herself. She had known self-pity for years, but had at least kept it in the cage with her. Until she'd seen the lord Aragorn in the Golden Hall. Until she had voiced her fears, and seen hope – hope that it would not be her fate to be in that cage. Hope that she might know something more than pity, or the nebulous, abstract form of love that one called allegiance.

"Merry?" She asked.

"Hmm?"

"You still awake."

"Yes. Just about. Bloody cold out here."

Éowyn smiled sadly. "If I may ask master hobbit, if you were to die on the field of battle…would there be anyone to miss you in the land you call home?"

There was no answer, and Éowyn found herself regretting the question immediately. Self-pity had become aggrandisement. So she sat up and looked at the hobbit, sitting by the fire as well. Scarce different in size from a child, but as the fire danced in his eyes, she could see the man behind them.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have asked that."

"No, no, it's fine," Merry said. "I mean, there's plenty of people who'd miss me. Or I hope they'd miss me, I mean…"

"Anyone…is there any for whom may have offered their heart?"

She had to know. She hated herself for asking it, she hated seeing the look in Merry's eyes, but she had to know.

"Their heart," Merry said. "Well, there's a big question."

"You don't have to-"

"No," he said. "I mean, not yet. Like, me and Pippin…" He leant forward. "I mean, want to talk about love, we had our fun with Sam."

"Sam?"

"Yes, Sam. There was a girl, Rosie, and we know that she liked him, and he liked her, and everyone in the Green Dragon knew it, only he was the only one who didn't." Merry scoffed. "It's funny. Only person I think Sam loved as much as her was Mister Frodo."

Éowyn supposed she must have given him a funny look, because Merry gave her a look in turn and said, "not like that, you understand. When I say love here, it's...as in, when there's a bond of fellowship so strong, so great, that one lacks any other word than love to describe it." He shrugged. "Do you understand what I mean?"

Éowyn smiled and gestured to the 6000 men around them. "Look around you master hobbit – men, willing to fight and die for their country, for their families, for each other." Merry did look around. "I know full well what you mean."

"Oh. That's good." After a pause, he asked, "if I may say so my lady, I understood that King Théoden bid that you rule in his stead while he led his people to war."

Éowyn remained silent – she wasn't sure where this was going, but she didn't like the sound of it.

"When you spoke of love, I meant to ask-"

"There's none who would miss me," Éowyn said bluntly.

"Oh, but…" The hobbit took time to collect his words. "But surely your people would miss you? Even now, perhaps they seek you at home?"

"As yours do?" Éowyn asked.

"I'd like to think that some would miss me," Merry said, his grin telling Éowyn that at least some in the Shire would be glad to see the back of him. "But then, I'm no great lord nor lady-"

"Great lords and ladies do not have love," Éowyn said.

"And yet those who ride to war do?" Merry asked. "If the bond of fellowship extends between them, and stretches to Rohan and Gondor both, would it not include yourself as well?"

"Perhaps," Éowyn said. She glanced to the north. To Rohan, to Dunharrow, to where she had last seen the one she loved, but whom had offered her nothing other than pity. "But I have known the 'love' of my people for over twenty years master hobbit. And that love, that allegiance…it cannot sustain one's heart everlasting."

Merry fell silent.

"Take rest, master hobbit," Éowyn murmured. She laid back down on the grass. "The night grows cold, and the next day will be long."

No word from the hobbit, but Éowyn didn't doubt that he'd still heard her.

Late was the hour, and sleep had still to take her.

She lay there on the grass, by the crackling fire, her eyes closed to the world, but likewise closed to sleep. If her mind was the fortress of Helm's Deep, and sleep the armies of Isengard, they'd so far failed to do anything bar through ladder and grapple at the Deeping Wall. She smiled as she thought of the analogy, but it turned to a frown when she remembered that for all the deeds of the Siege of Helm's Deep, hers would not be remembered. Still frowning, she opened her eyes, and looked up at the stars and moon above. In turn, she took something out of her pocket – a golden necklace, gifted to her by her brother on her sixteenth nameday. It wasn't the most ornate piece of jewellery available to the White Lady of Rohan, but it was the one she treasured most dear. Squinting, she held it up to the stars above, placing it beside the moon.

"How big and bright you are," she murmured. "Gold and silver together."

Silver, the colour of the stars. Gold, the colour of the sun. She thought of the old tales, how elves were said to be the children of the stars. How many ages later, the race of Men awoke in the east with the coming of the sun. Taking the tales as being true, how fitting, she reflected, that her simple broach be gold, while the jewel around Lord Aragorn's neck had been white-silver. So given to him by a child of the stars, bound for lands west of Middle-earth. In hindsight, she should have understood at that moment that he would never offer her more than pity, that at the moment when his companion had returned the jewel to him at Helm's Deep, she should have understood that no broach such as this would ever be worn round his neck. That the stars would eclipse the sun, that silver would eclipse gold, and to him, she herself was nothing but a shadow and a thought.

She lay back down and pocketed the necklace. Under the light of the stars. Waiting for the rising of the sun, its light hiding the darkness that lurked within the east. Waiting, as pity flowed through her veins, as her heart beat slower, as sleep at last took her. As Meriadoc Brandybuck snored, his mind free of the darkness of nightmares. Waiting, as the dying embers of the fire crackled, its light casting a shadow upon the ground.

Waiting, until at last, sleep took the shield-maiden of Rohan, like an ever lurking shadow.