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autistook · 4 months ago

Text

DAISIES - pt 19

Merry Brandybuck x fem!hobbit!reader / soft oc

Words: 5.4k

Summary: Minas Tirith is burning and you and Merry arrive on the battlefield. It's time to fight for your lives.

TW's: Blood, violence, death, near death, graphic descriptions, angst

AN: For more feels, re-read chapter 12 before this one ♡

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

It felt like every other step the horse took, a tree branch smacked you across the face. No matter how much you tried to dodge the twigs; another scratch formed on your skin. If you pressed your face down; there were leaves tickling the top of your head. Your small grunts of frustration could be heard by everyone who was riding their horses near you. Merry stretched his arm back a little to give your knee a supportive squeeze whenever he noticed any discomfort in you, but eventually even he got irritated by the tough path everyone was traveling through, and he too groaned whenever a branch made his skin sting.

There was still quite a bit of road ahead, but with the lead of King Théoden and some newly found unknown allies, you all took a more discreet route instead of traveling down the main road. Unfortunately, this meant difficult terrains and rough paths.

“Not much longer until we can rest,” Éowyn whispered in your ear. “Please try to hold on.”

“This is frustrating. I am all scratched up!” you complained quietly back to her.

“Just a little more,” Éowyn encouraged, slightly lowering her tone when she realized Merry was listening.

“Dernhelm, you can see her?” Merry asked quietly.

“Yes, Merry. Why do you ask?”

Merry tried to turn his head to see your face, but he could not move his body quite enough without discomfort.

“Would you please take a quick look at her scratches? I don't want her to get wounded,” he said. Your body felt like it went limp for a few seconds as a wave of affection rushed through you.

“Of course,” she said and called your name. She gently examined your face as Merry held the reins. After she made sure you were nothing more than a little scratched up, she spoke again. “She seems alright. Nothing to worry about, Merry.”

“Thank you,” Merry responded and squeezed your knee again. You pressed your cheek against his back and he could feel your affectionate smile even through his armor.

Your own armor had become more of a burden than useful. It was heavy on you and too big for your figure. You thought you would have gotten used to it by then, but every passing second it felt heavier, and you began considering tossing it aside completely.

You shifted your position, trying to get more comfortable and the clinking of the chainmail got the attention of a nearby rider.

“Getting heavy there?” he asked and you nodded, feeling more and more exhausted from holding the chainmail's weight. The man was maybe closer to the King in his age, and he had a few greys here and there in his beard. His green eyes seemed as desperate as any other soldier's, but behind the desperation, they seemed to be holding in a spark of hope and joy.

“Very much so,” you responded to the rider.

There was a silent agreement with everyone who had traveled near you to keep the presence of you and Merry quiet. They knew how important it was for you both to ride to war with them, so they helped to cover up for you the best they could and at times were even chit chatting you and Merry on the long, difficult road.

“You might still want to hold onto it,” he said quietly, but his tone was firm; almost commanding. As your eyes locked on his, you saw a hint of concern in them. It felt like he was reading your mind. He looked at you for a long time before resuming: “You don't want to get hurt out there. It's better for you to have some form of protection, little one.”

You gave him a tiny, wary nod. Your body was tired and you just wanted to rip off the heavy metal off your body.

Your thoughts kept circling back to the sense of relief losing the chainmail would bring, but every time you turned your head to the ground to see where you could possibly stop and get rid of it, the rider's eyes locked on yours and his firm gaze kept you in your senses. You needed the armor.

“I am going to pass out,” you whispered as the darkness surrounded all of you, the lack of rest consuming you, while everyone was riding onward slowly but securely.

“We'll get to rest soon,” Merry said, his tone heavy with worry. “Please, just hold on for a little more.”

“I can't stay awake,” you muttered, fighting a losing battle with your eyelids.

“You can sleep, just do not faint,” Éowyn said softly. She scooted closer to you and so did Merry, making you fit more securely between their bodies.

“Are you certain?” you asked, eyes already closed.

“Yes, sleep now. We will wake you when we come to a halt,” Éowyn said.

And with that, your head hit Merry's back, your cheek squished against his armor and your arms went limp around his waist. Merry took your arms in his lap and held you tightly, even though it made it significantly harder for him to keep his balance in check. He wanted to smile as he felt your warmth against him, but his mind and heart were consumed with worry for you and for his friends.

“Hey,” said Merry softly, as the tip of his finger was poking your thigh. You let out a disapproving grunt before he poked you again. Merry's voice was gentle and almost paternal. “I'm afraid you need to hop off the horse with us and get some proper sleep.”

You sat up straight and rubbed some of the sleep out of your eyes.

“What time is it?” you asked, yawning.

“Late,” Merry responded and hopped off the horse. As he landed on the ground, he reached up and took your hands in his, steadying you before helping you on the ground. His heart fluttered as he felt your delicate hands in his. “But we are almost out of the woods now. Back near the main road.”

“Is the ride long?” you asked as you started scanning for a place to lie down. Merry guided you down to a small secluded area away from the largest groups of riders.

“Not so long. We are closer to Minas Tirith than I would have thought,” Merry responded and sat you down, carefully keeping your sleepy body steady by the small of your back.

“How come?”

“You see that?” Merry asked and pointed through the trees, where in the distance was a small ball of fire.

“Is that Minas Tirith�� on fire?” you asked, nearly panicking and Merry could not hold back a soft, amused chuckle.

“No, no. It is not. It's the hill of Amon Dîn and that is their beacon. At least according to Elfhelm.”

You nodded, half asleep and clueless.

“Of course,” you responded, trying to appear at least slightly awake and aware.

Merry sat down next to you and looked at you, his lips finally curling up into a wide smile. He admired how the soft light of a nearby campfire created dancing shadows on your face that made your eyelashes look even longer than they really were, and how your lips pursed slightly when you pressed your head on his lap. His heart skipped a beat when you cradled up into his lap, but almost instinctively he put his arm around your back and began stroking your hair to soothe you back to sleep.

“Dernhelm?” Merry asked quietly as Éowyn walked past.

“Yes?” she asked, smiling a little as she saw you curled up into a ball in Merry's lap. She found herself puffing her chest slightly when Merry looked her way, hoping it would somehow make her disguise as Dernhelm more believable to the young Hobbit.

“Is it far?”

Éowyn shook her head. Merry gave her a small nod before turning his gaze back to you. Éowyn observed you two for a few more seconds before walking away from you to get some rest, and to give you and Merry some privacy. Merry sighed and admired your sleepy, peaceful face. Your rosy cheeks were partly covered in faint scratches from the tree branches and he softly caressed his thumb over them. You let out a soft, quiet groan of disapproval.

“Is something wrong?” Merry asked.

“You stopped,” you mumbled back with a small pout.

“Stopped what?” Merry responded, confused, as he tried to analyze your face for any clues on your sudden disapproval.

“You stopped caressing my hair,” you pouted, barely aware. Merry's cheeks flushed from affection, and he immediately brushed a stray strand off your face and resumed combing through your hair delicately with his fingers.

“I'm sorry, my lady,” he whispered with a smirk. “It won't happen again.”

“Good,” you mumbled and gave him a tired, approving nod.

“You know,” Merry whispered after a while, caressing your curls and moving them behind your pointy ears. “You would look rather beautiful with a daisy behind your ear right now.”

He had a big smile on his face despite you not hearing him, as you had fallen into a deep sleep in his comforting embrace.

You flinched as the loud sound of the horn of Rohan reached your ears. Merry had fallen asleep with his arm on your back and the other one was still resting on the top of your head, likely left there from dozing off while caressing your hair.

“Merry?” you said, sitting up. Merry stirred and stretched his arms. His eyes were half-lidded, and he turned his head left and right, dazed from his deep sleep.

“Hm?” he mumbled.

“We need to keep going,” you said quietly.

“How long did we sleep for?” Merry asked, his voice low and heavy with tiredness. “I am still feeling exhausted.”

“Not long,” responded Éowyn with her low tone, still disguising herself in front of Merry. “A few hours at most.”

Merry nodded and stood up, stumbling on his tired feet. The chainmail on you felt heavy on your weary body, and Éowyn had to help you up on your feet.

“Are you sure you can–,” Merry started.

“Yes,” you responded, cutting him off mid sentence. Merry gave you an understanding nod, but his heart was in turmoil; in that moment he feared for your safety more than anything and a small part of him had hoped you would change your mind before arriving at Minas Tirith.

The horses were moving forward faster than before, and the sound of the horses galloping forth was filling the otherwise quiet air.

You narrowed your gaze and scrunched your nose. A nasty scent spread all around you and your stomach made a backflip.

Smoke.

“I smell smoke,” Merry stated quietly. You gripped his leather armor with your fist, slowly trembling as fear crept up your back. Merry tried his best to keep himself in check and seem courageous, but his fingers were shaking as you approached Minas Tirith.

Screams.

“Merry,” you whimpered quietly and reached for his hand. He instinctively searched for yours and squeezed it tight.

“I know,” he responded.

You closed your eyes and swallowed loudly. Your knees began to feel weak and it was not only the chainmail that was pulling your body down; fear was making your body limp, though the muscles on your arms tensed up. You opened your eyes as the horses began to slow down.

Flames and smoke.

You closed your eyes in an instant and let go of Merry's hand, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist again. Your heart was thumping in your chest, and Éowyn too could feel it as she was pressed against your back, her body tense from fear.

The sound of clashing swords. Screams of terror.

Your ears began to ring. Your body began to shut down, every other sound drowning away, but the sound of your own rapid heartbeat.

Thump.

Your ears perked up and your eyes flew open.

“Death! Death! Death!” everyone roared, their swords and spears in the air. You felt Merry raise his arm, his battle cry rumbling against your chest.

“Death!” Merry cried along with the many men and Éowyn. Your throat was too dry to make a sound. And then the horns blew again, seeding courage into the men of Rohan.

Slowly, led by Théoden King, the horses began to gallop, their speed growing faster and faster. From the distance you could see spears and arrows pointed towards your direction, each and every one of them held by orcs, each uglier and scarier than the other.

“Death!” roared Éowyn behind you and her sword swung through the air, taking an orc out swiftly.

Some men and horses fell down to your left, loud tumbling filling the air. Spears clashed against each other as the horses began running the orcs over, taking them down one by one.

To your right you saw a spear piercing through a horse's chest and an arrow taking down the soldier riding it.

Thump. Down.

You looked to your left and saw the rider, who had been so concerned for your safety, take a tumble with his horse, both crashing to the ground. As you looked over your shoulder at the man, there was no more hope or joy in his green eyes. There was nothing.

Another one down.

You clung to Merry more tightly and he was swinging his sword in every direction he could, as fast as his body allowed him to move. His heart was beating fast, distractingly fast, but his mind was set on protecting you at all cost.

You heard a roar from an orc, and before your brain had a chance to comprehend what was happening, your arm was already gripping your sword, pointing it towards the source of the roar and piercing the creature with a loud swoosh and splat.

Thump.

The orc was down.

Your eyes widened as you pulled back your sword and saw that it was covered in black blood. Your hand trembled as your head was filled with images of the orc lying on the ground all those months ago when you were protecting Rath with all the courage you could muster.

You could not move for a while. You held your sword with your right hand and with your left you clung to Merry, your knuckles turning white. All around you were the burdening sounds of war and death. The air smelled rotten and smokey, the chainmail on your body felt more heavy than before and your heart was beating so rapidly you feared it might burst out of your chest.

You looked up at the white city, the first layer of it burning, the front gate busted to dust. Loud cries of women, men, children and orcs were rumbling through the air, and in the sky you could see creatures that looked like they crawled out of your darkest nightmares; they looked like dragons, but much more terrifying and you could only describe them as an omen of death.

As one of them let out a screech far away, you instinctively felt the need to cover your ears to muffle the horrible sound that pierced your ears; the sound that felt like it emptied your soul. You let go of your sword and Merry and pressed your hands firmly on your ears. Your ears were quivering with fear and your hands were cold. You thought about the first time you had heard those cries; back in Buckland, when Merry, Frodo, Sam and Pippin had first left for their journey.

And you thought of your dear friend Pippin, who you knew was somewhere in the layered white city in front of you; the city that was starting to get covered in flames and death, and in your heart grew a fear that Pippin might not make it.

‘Poor Pippin!’ you thought. ‘Poor Frodo. and poor Sam! I wonder if they’re alive at all. Is there any hope left?’

Before you had time to give any more space to those thoughts, there was an almost deafening low rumble near your ears, announcing itself and its purpose to destroy.

Thump. Rough ground hit your back.

The horse that was just beneath you let out a loud whinny before getting crushed with a sound that you could never forget.

Éowyn screamed your name. She screamed Merry's name.

But there was no response from Merry; and no response from you. You were laying there in shock, overstimulated by all of the sounds and movements around you, fear darkening your vision and your back hurting severely from the fall.

‘Why is he not answering?’ you thought.

You sprung up on your feet and dodged a few horses that ran past you. Your eyes widened and your knees buckled as you saw a large oliphaunt, harnessed with red banners, charging towards your direction, making it clear it was what brought down the horse the three of you were riding. On top of the mûmakil were war towers, and on them spearmen and archers, each more terrifying than the other.

You stumbled to your left and the large creature stomped its way past you and towards other soldiers. Your breathing was ragged and your legs quivered in fear; you could not see Merry or Éowyn anywhere. All you could see was people facing their demise and the chaos that was surrounding them.

Your eyes scanned the battlefield relentlessly. There were splintering spears and clashing swords, enemies like you had never seen before, and many faces you had seen before - and many that you had not - laying lifeless on the ground, and around the field were spots of ground that were covered in black and red splatters of blood.

There was a round rumbling sound behind you and a crash so loud followed, that you felt your heart stop. Dust and sand spread in the air and blinded you for a moment.

You rubbed the specks of dust out of your eyes and when you opened them and turned around, you could see a large oliphaunt lying dead on the ground. For a split second it felt like Eru himself had laid protective arms over you, for you could not comprehend how you got so lucky the oliphaunt did not crush you to death.

You turned around again, desperately seeking for Merry with your gaze.

“Merry!” you yelled, your voice raspy and faint from the fear in your heart and the dust in your lungs. “Merry!”

Your eyes widened as you saw an orc sprinting towards you. Its eyes were wide and green, with vertically slit pupils that it used to pierce right to your very soul. The orc's body looked like it was thrown in a bath of boiling water with sugar, and then thrown into a puddle of mud afterwards. As the enemy charged towards you, your knees buckled again. You took a few quick steps back and landed on your back, having stumbled on something.

You could not believe your luck. It was your own sword you had dropped a moment before when you fell off the horse.

The orc screamed in a high-pitched tone before your sword cut its cries short, piercing through the orcs throat and making it fall limp on the ground next to you, a gurgling noise coming out of its mouth.

Your stomach twisted from the sound and you felt sick; but this was not the time to stay there and linger in dread.

You sat up as straight as you could, wincing as you started to climb back on your feet. Your heavy armor kept pulling you towards the ground and it limited your ability to stand up, let alone fight. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest.

“Screw this,” you muttered to yourself in desperation.

Your palms and fingers hurt from pulling the chainmail off, but the second it hit the ground with a clang and a thump, you felt lighter and less fearful. Moving was easier and very swiftly you made it to your feet, the ground steady beneath you.

“Merry!” you screamed again. No response.

You saw a glimpse of a helmet you thought might have been Éowyn's, so without a second thought, you were already running.

Another cry from an orc caught your ears as it ran towards you, but swiftly you took it down, its legs giving up under your quick reaction time and the pierce of your sword. Your feet pattered on the ground and the wind howled in your ears. You called Merry's name and you called Éowyn's, but there was no answer. And she was nowhere to be seen anymore. But you kept running.

It was quick. Suddenly you were at the grumbled gate of Minas Tirith, dodging arrows and crawling by people's feet. It was one of those moments when you felt glad about your small size; you mostly tended to go unnoticed past the enemies, and the ones that saw you, fell to the ground fast.

The stone beneath your feet would have been cold to touch, had it not been taken over by the battle and Sauron's army. Now the lower streets of Minas Tirith were hot and burning, the smoke making it hard to see forth and forcing you to keep crawling at times in order to move forward.

“Merry!” you called out again, but all you could hear were unnatural sounds from orcs and trolls, the screams of dying soldiers and the cries of helpless people, forced to face their doom.

You ran up a street, not seeing two feet in front of you. Your fingers crossed you went forward, hoping to find Merry, Éowyn - or even Pippin; anyone who could give you comfort and a sense of security. And more than anything, you needed to see they were alright.

The smoke was making you cough uncontrollably and your eyes were stinging and watering. Finally you stepped on stone that felt a little cooler than the others as you made your way closer to the next level of the city.

You gasped for air as you finally pushed through the smoke and made your way above it, onto a platform. You looked around through a misty vision and tried to search for any familiar faces through your growing desperation, but it was no use.

Nipping pain.

Merry was crawling on all fours, eyes closed and his body trembling in fear. His mind was set on finding you, but he could not get his body to respond. The large shadow passing over him felt too overwhelming and both his head and body refused to follow his orders.

And then he heard a strange noise. A high-pitched, almost proud laughter.

“No living man am I!”

As he opened his eyes, he saw her. There was Éowyn, her hair golden and her eyes sparkling with bravery, yet grim with an acceptance of death.

In front of her stood the Witch-King, large, terrifying and dark, and he made Merry's blood cold. He was standing there, speechless as in front of him stood a woman, threatening to smite him if he laid his hands upon what Éowyn held the dearest; King Théoden.

The black figure swung his flail at Éowyn, and though many she dodged, one stroke fell on her shield and splintered it, along with it her arm.

Merry's heart was full of pity, fear and determination. He could not allow her to die, not alone. She meant a lot to him; and even more to you. He thought of you and how much you meant to him; how much he hoped you were alright; and how much he hoped you would forgive him, for he was certain he was now facing the end.

He crawled quietly behind the dark figure, lifted his blade and struck.

With a deafening screech the Witch-King crumbled down to his knees and Merry's right arm fell cold.

“Éowyn! Éowyn!” Merry cried, and the shieldmaiden pierced the enemy with her sword. The Witch-King of Angmar withered before them and all that was left was an empty helmet and cloak.

Éowyn fell unconscious before Merry, and he did not know if she had died. Whether or not, in front of him was also lying Théoden King, death in his eyes and blood on his mouth. Merry crawled up to him, to the man who he had started to see as a father, tears in his eyes, his gaze darting between the King and the pale, unconscious shieldmaiden of Rohan.

You looked to your right and the orc lifted its sword again. You swung your own weapon so quickly the orc did not have time to defend, and with a loud crash it fell through rubble and onto the street below you.

You touched your lower belly and winced. Something did not feel right.

The cries had quieted down. Some of the most courageous ones were still fighting, but many enemies had either retreated or had been slain. Many soldiers, good and bad, were lying dead on the battlefield and the streets of Minas Tirith.

Merry did not look at them. All he could do was try and stay awake; his arm had gone numb and cold, his eyes were misty and his brain was in an overdrive. Were you hurt? Was Éowyn dead? Were Pippin, Boromir and Gandalf safe inside the walls of Minas Tirith? Or was everything lost?

He was following other people who carried the King and Éowyn towards the upper levels of the city, but at some point he absent mindedly made a turn to an alley, where to his surprise and joy, he ran into Pippin.

“Merry! Thank goodness I've found you!” Pippin said, his heart lighter and his eyes lighting up from relief. He was wearing a black armor, decorated by the white tree of Gondor.

“Pippin?” Merry asked, tears in his eyes.

Merry stumbled into his arms, hugging him with his working arm as tight as he could and Pippin helped him to sit down.

“Gandalf sent me to look for you when you didn't arrive with the others. I am so glad to see you again!” Pippin said, hugging him tightly. He pulled back slightly and looked at him, worried. “But are you hurt? Are you wounded?”

“No,” Merry stammered. “Maybe. I can't feel my arm. I can't use it at all. Not since… Where… where is she? It's all going dark again, help me, Pippin!”

“It's alright,” Pippin reassured and put one of his arms around Merry, lifting him up on his feet. “Come now! Foot by foot. It's not far.”

“Are you going to bury me?”

Pippin's heart filled with pity and fear.

“No, Merry. I'm going to look after you. We are going to the houses of healing.”

They walked the streets of Minas Tirith together and Pippin quietly listened to Merry, who was mumbling to himself; mostly mumbling your name. Pippin’s heart twisted and stomach turned. ‘Poor Merry,’ he thought. ‘Still feeling burdened from leaving her behind.’

“Pippin!” shouted Boromir as the two came to his view and he quickly ran towards the Hobbits. He kneeled in front of Merry and touched his cheek gently, trying to get eye contact with him. “Merry, can you hear me?”

Merry did not respond vocally, but he lifted his gaze to Boromir. He felt the urge to smile, but he felt too weak to do so. Merry had missed him dearly; like a big brother he was, but his arm was burdening him and it felt like death was trying to claim him.

And suddenly Pippin pat Merry's shoulder.

“Merry?” Pippin asked in distress and shock. Merry looked at Pippin and turned his gaze to the direction his friend was gesturing at.

Merry’s stomach turned and a surge of adrenaline pumped through his veins. He sprinted off of Pippin's and Boromir's grasps.

“Merry!” Boromir called out and before he had time to do anything, Pippin was running after Merry.

Merry knelt beside you and with his uninjured arm he lifted your head on his lap.

“No, no,” Merry mumbled, his heart shattering at the sight. When he got your head comfortably on his lap he reached his hand on your wound, blocking the bleeding the best he could. “It's alright. You're alright.”

“Merry,” you gasped through your tears. “Please, help me.”

“You're alright,” Merry said, visibly panicking. Pippin knelt down on your other side, looking at the blood leaking out of your stomach, his eyes widening in horror. He thought you were safely in Buckland.

“Boromir!” Pippin called. Boromir made his way beside you and he too kneeled down, a confused look on his face.

“Who is–”

“Help her!” Pippin begged. Boromir nodded and ripped a part of his cloak off, pressing it on your wound to slow down the bleeding. You winced from pain and more tears poured from your eyes.

“You're alright,” Merry repeated. He couldn't manage to say anything else; he needed to reassure you and himself. “You're alright.”

“I'm going to die,” you sobbed, gasping for air, while your brain was fuzzy from the shock and your ears ringing from the pain. Your fingers were cold in Pippin’s hands as he held to you, trying his best to provide some comfort.

“You're not going to die,” Merry said, his voice cracking. He put his hand on your cheek, firmly, but with care. He gazed into your eyes with a stern look. “You're not allowed to die.”

You nodded, though your vision was growing more blurry. You looked up at the sky and noticed there was a twinkling, bright star showing for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. A small smile crept up on the corner of your mouth as you gazed at the sky above, gasping for air again, your chest heaving raggedly.

“I've heard much about you, Miss Baggins,” Boromir said suddenly, trying to soothe down your nerves, hoping to calm Merry and Pippin down in the process.

You chuckled through your tears of pain and fear. “And I of you. Boromir, son of Denethor, I presume?”

“What gave it away?” he asked with a soft smile.

“You look like a true soldier,” you responded. His smile would have comforted you, but you could see it in his eyes; he was certain you were dying. You looked back up at the sky, your heart pounding faster from fear.

“You're alright,” Merry said again, his voice cracking from dread. He turned to look at Pippin and Boromir. “Is… is there… she needs help,” he stuttered, tears in his eyes.

“Gandalf is coming,” Boromir said, but his tone was not reassuring. “He said he would follow me right behind.”

Merry nodded, trying to find relief in Boromir's words, but as he looked back into your eyes, his relief was long gone and he began to feel hopeless.

“You're alright,” he said again.

“Merry,” you stuttered, tears falling from your eyes as you whimpered in pain. Boromir pressed your wound harder and you let out a loud cry of pain. “Merry, I'm going to die. And I….I…”

“You’re not going to die,” he said, his tone desperate and his last bit of bravery crumbling. He had now forgotten about his own pain completely, his mind consumed by looming grief.

“I…”

“I know. You're alright,” Merry said and ran his hand through your hair tenderly, his eyes wet and his gaze pleading desperately. “You're not going to die."

You swallowed as your vision started to blur more.

“I don't want to die,” you said, your voice barely a whisper now. Merry let out a sob. Pippin closed his eyes, crying silently, his heart growing heavy with fear.

“You're not going to die,” he said, lips quivering. He moved his hand to caress your cheek again. “I promised Frodo I would keep you safe.”

You tried to get a word out, but your mouth had gone dry and it took all of your strength just to stay awake. You focused your gaze solely on Merry, and you squeezed Pippin's hand weakly. Your ears were ringing loudly.

“Boromir, do something!” Pippin weeped, and Merry's fingers trembled on your cheek. Boromir kept pressing the wound; it was all he could do.

“You can't leave me,” Merry whispered through tears. You said nothing as your vision grew more hazy and your grip on Pippin's hand weakened. Pippin looked at Merry, falling apart, trying to hold your hand harder, hoping it would somehow give you enough strength.

“Merry!” Pippin panicked.

“Please, don't go,” Merry begged in despair and held your cheek more firmly, caressing it lovingly. “Please. Don't leave me. I need you here. You can't… you can't leave me behind. Please, don't go.”

Your ears stopped ringing and everything went black.

NEXT CHAPTER

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sarafangirlart · 3 months ago

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Gorgophone and Perieres:

Gorgophone and Oebalus:

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maccreadysbaby · 4 months ago

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part i ; chapter iii

❝ semblance of starlight ❞

all chapters linked here

⚔︎

THREE DAYS INTO THE JOURNEY, AND ADAVERA WAS ENTERING MIRKWOOD.

The winding, dark paths that cut through the large forest were how they always were... dark, grim, and unnerving enough to keep away even the darkest of creatures that lurked outside its borders. Adavera had been to the wood elves' domain a few times on previous business, but, with its nearness to Dale, she never stayed any longer than she had to. The wood had a way of making her vision tunnel and skin crawl after too much time spent inside.

During her first journey into the dreaded forest, she was revisited by hallucinations of the broken, battered, and blood-ridden bodies of past targets, looking just as she'd left them, but standing, watching her, whispering things of unintelligible speech. Cepheus ended up having to lead Adhara through the forest via whistles, for Adavera was too incoherent to ride.

She swore off Mirkwood for a good while after that.

This time, she was pleased to say, she was only passing through.

The massive, winding trees reached far up in the sky, their large, dark leaves keeping the morning sunrise from reaching the forest floor. It created this type of veil that kept the wood separated from the rest of the world -- trapping its own darkness inside to fester and broil into something intoxicating, volatile. Adavera could feel it each time she stepped into Mirkwood, and each time, it was a little heavier. Denser. Colder.

Adavera's company seemed affected by the darkness very minimally, or, in Cepheus's case, not at all. Elves had a strange way of seeing through the thickness that laid over the sick forest. Adavera couldn't explain it, but she knew it were true, seeing as the woodland elves continued to live within the borders even as the forest grew more and more ill.

She wondered what made man so much... weaker.

Adhara, like the good horse she was, was mostly unbothered by the aura the forest gave off. While she had been a little hesitant and antsy upon first entering the wood, she was getting into a groove now — and sticking to the elves' path seemed to help. The trails were typically difficult for non-elvish horses, but they seemed clearer, somehow, like a group had trodden on them in the very near past. The beautiful red horse, a horse of Dale, no less, was doing a good job staying focused and moving at a steady pace.

Adavera, now adorned with her cloak, a leather belted scabbard, and a dagger sheath on her left thigh, looked nothing short of someone ready for battle. Which she would have to be, should she come face to face with any inhabitants of the wood. Animal or elven.

The deeper into the forest she went, the more her brain fogged. She tried to focus solely on Adhara's hoof-falls, the pat-pat-pat of her steps. She hadn't been in the forest but for a few hours -- and, yet, she could already feel the darkness building on her skin like a dust-storm. Threads of the sickness floating though the air, slithering into her ears, coiling around her brain. A certain familiar coldness settled in her hands and feet.

But onward she went, for she could not delay if she wished to reach the heir to Gondor before he arrived in Rivendell.

Adavera trodded onward, carried forward by nothing more than a little confidence and sheer force of will. She knew Cepheus was traveling alongside her, even if she couldn't see him. He could lead herself and Adhara to safety should she become incapacitated like the first time. The black-haired elf was hidden amongst the trees, slinking along, undetectable. Adavera wasn't sure where he'd learned that level of stealth -- but she did know he'd been doing it for much longer than she'd been alive. Maybe she could evade the darkness pooling in her fingertips, if she were like him.

She continued to watch Adhara's hooves to distract herself -- to think about the job at hand. Reminding herself of the young Lord's appearance, of the path she would take to intercept him, of how she would carry out the job should he make it to Rivendell before her.

Adhara chuffed as her hooves dug into some sturdy-but-slick mud, her front-left hoof sliding before it found purchase in an imprint previously left in the wet earth. The horse soon found her footing again, and it took Adavera uncomfortably too long to brush the cobwebs from her brain and realize that these weren't just fortunate imprints Adhara was using to walk in. They were the large, round prints of elvish horses, dug deep into the dirt and mud. Adavera looked up, her eyes bouncing around the trail -- she caught sight of broken sticks on the undergrowth that lined the path, and plants stamped down into the dirt, indications of swiftly-moving, recently-passing steeds.

Adavera leaned forward and stroked Adhara's mane, trying her best to blink away the fog. "The elves have been moving," She whispered with an exhale, "Urgently. Keep your eyes sharp, darling. I will do likewise. These forests are not for the faint of heart."

Adhara chuffed, stamping one of her feet. Adavera smiled lightly and patted her neck. "Of all the hearts of horses, yours is the least faint of all."

Adhara settled back into a pleased trot.

Suddenly, a whistle pierced the air — rhythmic and melodious and precise, like a long-forgotten bird.

Adavera and Adhara both perked up, the former's gaze training solely on the dark, whispering forest around them. Like a predator in search of prey, she paused Adhara in her tracks to scan the woods for signs of life.

All she saw was darkness -- winding trees, creeping plants, the small shimmer of the sun far above, and darkness.

That particular whistled melody, tedious and delicate as it was, was no bird. That particular melody was Cepheus, and that particular melody meant that someone was approaching.

From behind.

Adhara chuffed, her head swinging to look around in alarm. Adavera stroked her mane again, urging her onward at a quicker pace. "Stay vigilant, my darling. We'll have come out of the other side in just ere of a week."

Adhara didn't seem to calm, as she kept peering around at her surroundings thanks to the unsettling whistle. It was just then that a new sound met Adavera's ears -- the beating of hooves, coming up quick at their rear. Very quick.

With a soft inhale, she reached subtly toward the daggers that were strapped to her thigh and kept Adhara moving, urging her faster. She listened closely to the hoof-falls behind, trying to decipher the distance, the speed.

Another bird whistle came, melodic and fluttery as the first, but more urgent -- the rider was only one stone's throw away. Which meant, if it were an elf, they could see her.

As the approaching rider grew nearer, Adavera veered Adhara off the path and into the thicker brush beyond. She pulled one of her daggers from its sheath and kept it beneath her cloak, spinning it between her fingertips like a card in the hand of a magician -- a twitch of anticipation, like a bull huffing and scraping the ground before a charge. Most would see it as her being jittery, nervous; Adavera saw it as the wind-up to a perfectly accurate knife-throw.

As the loud hoof-falls came to a climax, a silky, dazzling white horse thundered by as though it were late for something. Its rider was undeniably an elf. They were dawning a silver cloak and long, flowing platinum hair. The horse was moving quick, but Adavera managed to catch sight of a bow and quiver strung across their back, and the horse's carefully crafted saddle -- which was quite unusual, seeing as elves typically preferred to ride bare-back. That either meant that this particular elf wasn't a very good rider, or they wanted more control over their steed for a swift, urgent journey.

Merely five or six yards ahead, the horse whinnied and bucked up onto its hind legs as its rider tugged on the reins. Adavera clung tightly to her dagger, moving Adhara slowly, deeper into the underbrush.

Unsurprisingly, the rider's elvish gaze landed on her anyways.

"If your goal is to remain undetected-" The elf started, in a soft, strangely fluttery tenor tone that indicated it was, in fact, a male. "-it would be in your best interest to veer from the path before a second rider approaches. I have been watching your horse for just ere of ten minutes."

Adavera, keeping her dagger tight in her hand, slowly nudged Adhara out of the underbrush and back onto the dark path. The elf's icy blue eyes followed her all the way. Even beneath the canopy of illness inducing forest, he still managed to catch the golden glimmer of sun and starlight that elves always seemed to have. His platinum hair, twisted out of his face by intricate, dainty braids was very nearly glowing in the darkness of the wood. His white horse, silver cloak, and unblemished skin were doing likewise. He made no moves to grab his bow, though Adavera kept her dagger close; as elves, nimble and agile, could go from unarmed to releasing an arrow before she could blink. Especially woodland elves.

And for some reason that she couldn't quite place through her permanent brain fog, Adavera knew this one's face.

"I was unaware who was approaching," She replied lightly, keeping her eyes trained on the elf's hands, should he make a move for his weapon. "So you have spotted me; now be on your way."

On the contrary to her words, his horse shimmied closer, which had Adhara chuffing and scraping at the dirt beneath her with her hoof. The elf's eyes were trained on something at Adavera's torso -- she shifted uncomfortably.

"Your dagger," He started, eyes flicking up and back down. "You've come from Dale."

Adavera glanced down, and quickly realized her dagger was slightly visible past the hem of her cloak. The engravings on the blade were more than a telltale sign of her origins -- for the dragon Smaug had been skillfully embedded in the blade, along with a rune of old.

"What of it?" She questioned.

"It is not often a lone rider from Dale passes through; even less often a lone rider whose face I know," He started, his eyes straining to comprehend every detail of Adavera in an oh-so-elvish way. He kept his posture poised, his expression neutral, though there was something she couldn't quite place hidden among the starlight in his eyes. "Tell me, who are you?"

Adhara shifted beneath Adavera, and she shushed her by stroking her mane. "I am just as you said; a lone rider from Dale."

The elf shifted again on his horse, a look of realization falling over his soft, ageless features. "You are the young blacksmithing master who came for my father's permission to study our weaponry."

Adavera drew in a deep breath, knuckles turning white around her dagger as she drew it farther into her cloak. She remembered her first trip into the heart of the woodland realm like it was yesterday — if the ride hadn't been troubling enough, facing King Thranduil in all his elvish glory was an experience beyond any other; and quite possibly the most she had ever feared for her life. The King of the woodland realm was a cryptic, unreadable being of immense power and knowledge, and, to be completely honest, she had underestimated just how easy it would be to get inside his kingdom. Just how easy it would be to talk to him. (The fact that he had to be at least two and a half feet taller than her didn't seem to help her social skills in the slightest.) But alas, he did not cut off her head.

Though he probably would, if he knew what she'd done while she was there.

If this elf said she had asked his father for permission, then that meant...

"My apologies, my lord. I did not realize I was in the presence of the prince," She started, sheathing her dagger and managing a small bow even on Adhara's back. She knew now where she'd seen his face before — at his father's right hand. "All I wish is to be granted travel through your land; for I am seeking safe passage to Rivendell."

A soft smile quirked up on the prince's lips, almost one of amusement. "I am not your prince. You need not bow to me."

Adavera said nothing, glancing up into the trees in search of a black haired elf she knew she wouldn't find. This was a detour they simply could not drag out, if they wished to intercept the heir of Gondor before he arrived at the elven city.

"As it comes to be, I am also traveling to Rivendell. If it please you, we will grant you safe passage by allowing you to ride alongside us," The young prince started, flicking his eyes away from Adavera and looking into the forest beyond. Even his eyes moved gracefully, bouncing from here to there like some kind of animal or machine, seeing far deeper into the undergrowth than she could. His expression was quick to fall. "Darkness lurks far closer than it ever has before — I can feel it."

Adavera watched his gaze grow long, his eyes bore deeper into the forest. It was quite an offer, though not so strange since she'd been in his presence before, she supposed. A kind offer; one that not a single common traveler like herself would ignore.

He tugged on his white horse's reins, spinning it back toward the open path but keeping his eyes on her. "I must take my leave, though the offer stands."

Adavera looked down at Adhara, who seemed to have calmed in the presence of the elf prince. She stroked her mane indecisively.

To refuse his offer would be suspicious, for no human woman in her right mind would refuse an escort from an immortal elf prince with luscious hair who seemed to glow even in the darkest forest. Especially a human woman who had met him before. (Though she could only really remember seeing him standing near his father's throne.)

To accept his offer would be putting herself at the mercy of the elves' timing, which, while she assumed they didn't stray off-course very often, wasn't high on her priority list. She worked only with Cepheus for that exact reason, for groups were slower than individuals, and timing was of the utmost importance in her line of work. How was she to double back and intercept the heir of Gondor if she was traveling with a pack of woodland elves?

With a quick decision made, she ushered Adhara forward, behind the spritely elven horse as it took off prancing. "I will join you — but I must take my leave before we reach Rivendell. I have to intercept a parcel from a village at the base of the misty mountains; it will require me to double back and go south, toward the river Bruinen."

The prince wasn't looking at her anymore, but instead riding ahead, Adhara having to gallop lightly to keep up with his trotting steed. "It is safer west of the mountains — do as you must."

Adavera nodded lightly even though he wasn't looking, glancing up at the treetops above her. Cepheus was most likely preparing a long speech for the end of the journey about how stupid this decision was. Or, in fancy Cepheus talk, highly unintelligent and precarious.

Adavera didn't mind, for exactly that reason — he'd have to wait until the end of the journey, when they returned to Dale, to let his opinions slip.

She would revel in it.

"May I have your name, now that you travel alongside me?" The prince questioned, sending a graceful glance over his shoulder.

The assassin straightened. "Adavera."

"I am Legolas,"

There was a moment of silence, and Adhara chuffed in annoyance.

"And my painfully-prideful steed is Adhara."

The horse made a sound of disapproval, and Adavera could've swore she saw the prince — Legolas — smile.

⚔︎

a familiar face already! trying my absolute best when writing this boy I swear~

⚔︎

tag list!

@inkedmoth

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meliabrandybuck · 30 days ago

Text

Sweet Talk

Merry x OC who is Sam's younger sister

First date to Bilbo's 11th birthday party.

“What do you mean? I thought you liked Fredegar!” the old Gaffer said to his daughter after she protested to the arranged date for Bilbo’s 111th birthday. “I mean�� I do like him as a friend… but I just wanted to go to the party and spend time with my friends! Not having to go and behave on a date!” Melian retorted. Ever since her coming-of-age birthday a few years ago, her old man was determined to find her a spouse, though she was never too keen on his choices.

“I made a promise to Rosamunda, so my hands are tied… you’ll have to go with Fatty,” Gaffer concluded. “Ok, fine…” Melian replied, still not happy with having to go with Fatty as her date to the party, but she loved her father enough to tolerate it. “Oh, I promised Mr. Bilbo I would help with the set-up this morning, so I’m off!!” Mel added, realizing the time. She headed toward Bag End to give her old friend a hand with his party planning.

*Meanwhile in the Green Dragon*

Fatty searched through the pub until he spotted the pair of companions that he was looking for… Merry and Pippin. “There you guys are!! I’ve been looking all over town for you!” he said, taking a seat next to Pippin across from Merry. “What are you on about??” Pippin asked him, realizing how out of breath he was. “Sorry,” Fatty replied, taking a sip of Pip’s ale, clearly still reeling from his running around. “I had to find you and tell you… sounds like my mum set me up on a date tonight during old man Bilbo’s party,” he said, breathing between sentences. “Well, that’s great, Fatty!” Pippin said. “Yeah, good on ya, mate!” Merry added before taking a big swig of his mug.

“It’s a date with Melian,” Fatty replied, causing Merry to spit/choke on his ale at the same time. “Mel??” Pippin said, looking over at Merry to see his reaction. “Why tell us that??” Merry said, looking down into his mug thoughtfully. “Oh, don’t play dumb, Merry… I know how much you like her! That much has been apparent ever since her big coming of age party! Ever since then, you’ve viewed her as more than just a childhood friend!” Fatty said. Merry blushed wildly but knew there was no way he could deny his friend’s claims.

“Anyways, I had to tell you that I don’t feel right in bein’ Ms. Melian’s date to the party… I hope you know that I’d rather you be goin’ out with her,” Fatty concluded. Pippin giggled, causing Merry to look at him confusedly. “Y’know, if you’d just asked her out when I told you to, you’d be the one taking Melian to Bilbo’s party,” Pip explained, trying to hold his laughter. “No point in thinking about the ‘what-if’s’ now,” Merry retorted, taking one final swig of his ale and then getting up and leaving. Once he knew it was just the two of them, Pippin nudged Fatty’s arm. “Y’know… I have a few ideas of how to arrange it so that Merry and Melian end up becoming dates…” he said, piquing Fatty’s interest. “Let’s hear them,” Fatty replied, leaning in as if to conspire.

*Later that evening*

Melian put on her long yellow dress, the same one that she wore at her coming-of-age birthday, and now brought out only on special occasions. “Melian!” she heard with a knock on her bedroom door. “Come in!” she said, finishing up pulling her hair half-way back into a ponytail. Her brother Sam opened the door and peeked his head in. “Fatty is here to walk you over to the party—say, you look so beautiful tonight,” he said. “Thanks, Sam,” she said, smiling at him. “I’ll see you there!” she added, slipping past her brother and kissing his cheek as she did so.

“Hey Fatty…” she said, once she was outside their yellow door, cordial as ever. You wouldn’t be able to tell by her countenance that she wasn’t too thrilled about going to the party as his date. “Ready to go??” he asked with a smile as the two of them began to walk down the street to where the party was being held. They chatted a bit about their days, with Melian telling him about the party set-up and everything to expect. Once the pair arrived at the already bustling party, they found their hands full with plates of food and looked for a free spot to sit.

“Listen, Melian,” Fatty began. “I know neither of us want to be on an exclusive date with each other. It was my mum that set this whole thing up… anyways, with all the Shire here tonight, I think it’d be more fun if we just relaxed and hung out with all our friends,” he said, much to Melian’s delight. “Really?? I couldn’t agree more… I’ve been looking forward to spending tonight with my friends… no offense to you of course, you’re a good friend,” she replied. He nodded and said, “I’ve been wanting to catch up with some of my old cousins that I don’t see too often, so I’m off to find them!”

Melian, now solo, looked for any of her friends in the crowd of hobbits that she could sit with, but to no avail. She did find an empty table for two and decided to take a seat, as the plates she was holding were getting heavy. She started to eat, while still looking around for her friends, and noticed Pippin up on the stage playing with the band. He always had a knack for music, so she was proud to see him up there and using his talents.

Frodo and Merry walked together with hands full of mugs of ale. “Say, isn’t that Melian over there?? Why is she sitting by herself?” Frodo thought aloud. “Not sure… I heard she was going out with Fatty tonight,” Merry observed. The pair sat down side-by-side at a table, joining Sam and another hobbit their age. While the other three hobbits chatted, Merry kept his eyes on Melian. Partially because he found her so nice to look at, but also because he was waiting to see if Fatty would show up and sit with her.

“You should just go talk to her already,” Frodo prompted, causing Merry to come out of his trance. “I don’t know how you mean,” he replied, causing even Sam to shake his head. “C’mon, Merry… everybody knows that you’re fond of my sister… well, except her maybe… the fact is, I saw Fatty sittin’ with the Bolger crew, meanin’ Mel is over there all by herself,” Sam said. Merry looked over at her again, and then mustered up his courage to pick up his ale and stroll over there. What was wrong with him?? He always talked to Melian and had no problems hanging out with her… ever since they were kids… but… why was his heart beating so fast now?

Melian was so entranced by Pippin’s singing that she didn’t notice the young hobbit in a plaid yellow waistcoat approach her from the side until he was right next to her. “Oh!! Merry!!” she said, beaming as she stood up and hugged him out of instinct. “I’ve been looking all over for you! Where have you been?” she asked, sitting back down as he sat down in the seat across from her. “Oh, just drinking some ale with Frodo,” he said, motioning to his mug, and not mentioning anything about her brother or what he said.

“Where’s Fatty? I thought you two were coming together tonight!” Merry observed. “I guess he told you, huh?? Well, we came together, but only because our parents wanted us to… truth is, neither of us wanted to come together… and he wanted to spend some time with his family,” Melian explained. Merry twiddled his thumbs under the table. “Well, you can just stick around with me tonight instead,” he replied, not wanting to know how badly he was probably blushing. “You mean, as… a date?” Melian asked, able to read between the lines after seeing Merry’s bashful face.

“Only if you want to, that is! You look too lovely to not have a date tonight,” he replied, causing Melian to chuckle. “Meriadoc Brandybuck… since when were you such a sweet talker??” she teased him. “Don’t poke fun at me, Mel!! I mean it!! Yellow is such a lovely color on you,” he said. “I like yellow because it’s such a happy color, I guess… but I think the reason I like yellow so much is because you wear it often,” she said, blushing. “Who’s sweet talking now??” Merry teased as they both laughed. With similar senses of humor, the pair were used to making each other laugh with their sarcasm and wit.

Pippin watched the whole encounter from the stage… and though he couldn’t hear what they were saying, he could tell that things were going according to plan. As their song ended, he turned to the rest of the band and whispered to them to play one of Melian’s favorite songs. A love ballad that Pippin had written earlier that year, one that she thought paired well with his singing voice. Melian recognized it right away and turned her attention to the stage mid-conversation. “I love this song!!” she said, watching Pippin and listening as she stuffed her mouth with another bite of food.

“Melian Gamgee,” Merry said, getting up from his seat and bowing. “Would you give me the honor of dancing with you?” he asked as he offered her a hand. Her mouth was still full as she chewed, so she couldn’t exactly give an answer, but before she knew it, Merry had taken her hand and swept her off to the dance floor. After swallowing she said, “Mer, you know I’m not a good dancer!” she said embarrassedly. “Don’t worry, just follow my lead!” he said, placing one of her hands on his shoulder and the other in his hand. With his other hand, he placed it on her waist and then began swaying her to the music.

Though she knew Merry was a gentleman, this was one of the first times he had treated her like… well, like a girl. “I don’t think I ever gave you an answer to being your date tonight,” she observed, causing Merry to stop in his tracks and drop his hand. “You’re right… I’m being too hasty, aren’t I?” he said, embarrassedly. She chuckled and took his hand, putting it back on her waist and holding his other hand said, “not at all! If I were to be here with anyone tonight, I wanted it to be you.” Merry grinned from ear-to-ear as they continued to dance, and he wondered if he could be any happier in this moment.

At one point during the dance, Merry locked eyes with Pippin on the stage, who winked at his friend and gave him a thumbs up, making Merry nod at him, as if acknowledging Pip’s apparent working in making sure he and Melian ended up dancing together at this very moment.

#meriadoc brandybuck #merry x oc #merry lotr #merry brandybuck #merry imagine #samwise sister #merry x gamgee reader

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