Glimmer of Hope
By Voldie on Varsity Track

Though I'm only half American and not proud of it, this was written in loving memory of those who died on 11 September 2001, their friends and families, and the people who worked so hard to rescue them. You will never be forgotten. This is also dedicated to the victims of the bombings in London and my fellow Britons and Americans. Terrorist attacks and Merowyn fics have nothing to do with each other, but I felt that this needed a dedication.

I do not own Merry, Éowyn, or anything from The Lord of the Rings. This was not written for profit; I write for pleasure… and please refrain from suing me. Thank you.

Merry had woken several moments ago to the sounds of what he had thought was merely some figment of his imagination or possibly the strange, howling winds that were incessant at Dunharrow, but then he realised that it was not. He realised, however, that whatever it was sounded like a weeping woman, and immediately Éowyn came to mind. She had seemed so strong and brave to Merry, one whom he would never suspect of showing any form of emotion, but he had seen the glazed, glossy look in her eyes all day, and there was no doubt about the fact that something bothered her.

Whatever it was, Merry would not hesitate to find out. He rose as quietly as possible, not wishing to be loud and wake the Riders, who would probably wake at anything due to their nerves, and put on the extra tunic he had placed in his pack. It was a cold night, far too cold for comfort, and definitely not a night to wander through alone. Merry stumbled out of his tent, tripping himself in the process (he was still half awake), and surveyed the camp.

It was then that he spotted Éowyn several metres away by the faint light of the moon, leaning against the cold stone wall of the mountain. She was indeed weeping, though softly, her ashen face buried in her hands, shaking from the power of her own silent sobs. Her golden hair was loose and tousled, and she was clad in a simple cream-coloured gown with a matching bodice. It took Merry's breath away to see her in this state; so sad, so beautiful, so hopeless.

He made his way over to her, cautiously, of course, and she did not stir. He doubted that she was aware of his presence, and probably not comforted by it if she was. "My lady," he said again.

"Oh!" Éowyn gasped and jumped up in surprise, realising that she had company. She calmed when she saw the young hobbit before her, and she kept him in her gaze for a long moment, unsure of what to say next. "Oh, I apologise… I did not think I could be heard… I thought everyone was asleep…" she stammered.

Merry, feeling remorseful yet obligated for disturbing her, cringed. "My lady, I can explain…"

"Meriadoc…" she started, but it was then that words failed her. Tears took the place of them once again.

"Come now, you should not be out alone at this hour. Come with me, if you please. I cannot leave you alone in this state. Truth be told, I fear for you."

"I… I could not…" Éowyn began, but she could not fight anyone anymore, let alone fight a losing battle with herself. She had given up on that long ago, and now there was no going back. "I suppose so… only for a moment… but it is hardly proper, Meriadoc…"

"Neither is your despair," he answered.

Éowyn warily followed Merry back to his tent, where he lit a small lantern, sat her down on his pillows, and draped his only blanket around her shoulders. She trembled, watching as the hobbit bustled about to make her comfortable, fetching everything from a handkerchief to dried fruit and a bowl of cream.

"Would you like a strawberry?" Merry asked, offering her the shrivelled little fruit.

"No thank you," she said stiffly.

"Then will you not tell me what ails you?" he said, setting the bowls at his side and turning towards the Lady of Rohan. "I will not say a word to anyone, I swear on my life."

"I cannot know," she sniffled. "I cannot feel anything of late, save sorrow."

Merry reached out to touch Éowyn's pale face. She did not flinch. He noticed how her icy eyes melted and fresh tears began to well up in them, how her bottom lip quivered at his touch. She was so fair, so desperate, and she could not be alone. "You are cold," Merry whispered. "Colder than a winter morning."

"I have always been," Éowyn said more firmly, quickly turning her glance from Merry to the ground. "And I shall be until I… until I die."

Merry sensed her despair at this and it was then that he realised it: Éowyn wanted to die. He should have realised the grim joy that lit her face at the songs of death and slaying and the careless mindset she had for herself. And Merry would do anything in his power to save her from the broken road she had chosen for herself, no matter if it was too late. He needed her desperately and she needed something, and he would give it to her even if he had to go to the ends of the earth to get it.

"Not always, I deem," he murmured, touching her hand. "Not always."

Éowyn pulled away from him, drying her eyes on her sleeve. "Those days are long gone, Master Meriadoc. I am not what I used to be."

He took her hand in his again, looking at her with concern. "But why should you despair?"

"Why should I not?" she almost snapped. Her voice was bitter, colder than the wind, he thought.

"Because there is always hope, Lady Éowyn, whether you can see it or not. Aurë entuluva, day shall come again, as Frodo used to say," Merry looked down at his hand, entwined in Éowyn's slightly shaking one, and felt his own hope and courage rise within him. Éowyn was clinging to him, he was supporting her, and he would save her. "There is always hope."

"I have gone without hope for so long, Merry. I could live without it." But still Éowyn clung to him desperately, without hope.

"No," he said. "You cannot. Hope is what keeps us alive."

"Then I should have been dead long ago," Éowyn murmured. Perhaps in truth Éowyn did not wish to die like she had been planning for months. Perhaps it was the glimmer of hope in the hobbit's hazel eyes that brought her back to where she had been before, or perhaps it was a fault within herself. "I should like to live and be whole again. I just need to learn how to love – to live – and that cannot be so. The Lord Aragorn…" she trailed off and collapsed into Merry's arms, sobbing.

All of a sudden Merry understood: he understood Éowyn's tears, her desperation, and the hesitation in her voice when she spoke of Strider. She was infatuated with him, he could not deny that. And even Merry could not deny the feelings he had for Éowyn herself; half of him thought it was pity, though that was definitely not the case. And something must have changed the course of her love, he thought. Strider had left Dunharrow several days previously, and Éowyn wished to die an honourable death.

Even Merry had considered it. Suicide. It was not as ignoble as he had once thought before he saw war, destruction and bondage. He remembered how his mind had wandered to the thought of taking his own life not long after setting out from Edoras several days previously, and shuddered. He could not bear to think of losing Pippin or seeing the Shire go up in flames, or the spirited Lady of Rohan in shackles and chains, an unwilling servant of the Dark Lord…

But Éowyn was alive. Merry could hear the faint beating of her faltering heart as she pressed closer to him, if that were enough to prove it. He could feel her hot breath on his chest and her arms wrapped around his waist. Yes, Merry knew, Éowyn was very much alive, but a part of her soul had left, and he hoped he could return it… if only she would let him… he could heal her, and she could heal him… if only he would let her.

"I need to know what it is like to live again," Éowyn whispered into his chest. "I need a distraction. I need something to keep me alive... I need you, Merry." She paused, sensing Merry's apparent hesitation, and sighed. Tears started forming in her eyes again, and she willed herself not to weep, not when salvation could be so near. He, however, bit his lip, at loss for what to say or do, for he was not used to Éowyn being so forward with him. It seemed as if the courage he had had before vanished into the night, and he could do naught about it; he had no hope in his cause.

"You are living, Éowyn," Merry managed to say at length.

"Barely," she sniffled, looking up at Merry. And it was something in her icy eyes that set a fire in his heart, perhaps it was the desperation in them that made Merry certain now: only he could save Éowyn, and it was now that he had no doubts about it.

"But still you live."

Éowyn nodded solemnly. "It is a sad existence, Merry, rising every morning with no indication as to who you are and what you desire. Some days I wish to be held like I am now, and other days I wish to have an honourable death so all shall remember me, as some of those I love do not. I never had anything I desired, and after years of it…"

"You are a princess," Merry found himself saying. "You had everything you could possibly have."

But Éowyn only shook her head, trembling. "I did not have love, Merry."

Merry looked at her long and hard, as if considering her. "I can change that."

"Nay," Éowyn said, and it was then that she shuddered violently and closed her eyes, sinking deeply into Merry's embrace. He held her until she could cry no longer, and she looked up at him, trembling slightly, unsure of what to say. "I… I still remember the way he touched me, Merry, almost as if it were yesterday. Wormtongue would corner me in the cellar and… and one day he stole my innocence, and I could not assail him…" she hung her proud head, unable to continue.

"That was not your fault, and I assure you that if I could, I would make that traitor wish he had never laid a hand on you," Merry said, touching Éowyn's hand and glancing at her. Still she seemed a little wary, shaking with slight fear. "But that cannot be so, and I can only assure you of this: no matter what worthless men have done to you, you will be loved."

"I am not capable of it."

"You are still capable of love, Éowyn. Does it matter whether you are innocent, upset, or joyous?"

"Aye, it does," she said dryly. "For no man would love a lady as immoral and defiled as I."

Merry was beginning to feel himself getting desperate, seeing as how he thought Éowyn to be the least dishonourable lady to ever walk in Arda, and he knew that time was limited. Éowyn's tears were about to begin again, and he was nearly powerless against them, and most certainly afraid…

"Must you reminisce so?" the hobbit started, his voice faltering. Éowyn looked at him from where she sat as unspoken and unmoving as a statue of stone, and he found himself gaining the spirit he thought he had lost. He would be her saviour. "Those times passed long ago, and I do not think you dishonourable. You have no reason to fear, but a reason to live."

Éowyn lifted her head to glance at him, sighing sadly. "Perhaps."

"You will live, I swear it," Merry whispered. "I would do anything to keep you alive, you know. Even this."

And before he knew it, he had leaned in closer to Éowyn and, placing a hand on the back of her head to support her, pulled her up and kissed her passionately, and not without avail. She gave a soft "oh!" of surprise, but responded nonetheless. And when the kiss broke and both were left alone again, in her eyes Merry saw the same gleam of hope he had kept for himself, and he grinned, kissed her again, and felt his heart soar.

"I have a reason to live," Éowyn repeated, a solitary tear running down her cheek. "And I shall."

And before Éowyn closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep several moments later, Merry could have sworn that the glimmer of hope still lived.

Fin.