Fluffy Thingamajig

They’re walking arm-in-arm through the streets of Minas Tirith, as they have so many times before.  It’s wonderful to see him again, she thinks—letters are great, but there’s something about talking in person.  They chat as the go, telling each other of what’s happened over the months.  He regales her with tales of patrols and skirmishes, of his home and family.  She tells him of time spent in Bree, and of patients (stubborn and otherwise) and an eccentric but kind old (well, all right, older) gentleman that she’d come to be fond of.  They bring up jokes old and new and their laughter fills the air.  It’s a grand thing, she thinks.  Nothing better than dusting off a good joke.  She recognizes the route they’re taking; indeed, she scarcely needs to think about it, after so many years.  They head into the sixth circle, toward the Houses of Healing.  She’s always liked it here.  The area around the Houses of Healing is fresh and green.  Here, the air is made sweet with the breath of trees and flowers and familiar herbs. 

A few healers—one or two near her own age—call out to them as the pair passes.  One, a tall girl called Mordis, chuckles and teasingly asks when the wedding is.  Merendis grins cheekily and jokes back that she won’t be invited, thank you very much.  Even so, she has to ignore the faint blush that rises to her face, which  just makes Mordis grin.  It’s not exactly a secret to the women of the Houses of Healing.  Once upon a time, she would have just laughed it off, without getting all red in face.  But things had changed.  Those jokes, well-meaning as they are, hit a little close to home.  Over the months, she’s become keenly aware of just how dear he is to her—in snatched letters and hastily-written lines, all more precious to her than silver or gold or a thousand fine dresses.  She glances up at Condir, and frowns slightly.  She knows that look.  The way his eyebrows furrow, the look in his clear green eyes, the way his nose scrunches up (which she’s always thought endearing)…  That’s the face he makes when there’s something on his mind, and he’s thinking of how to breach the subject.

Still, Merendis doesn’t press him.  He’ll tell her when he’s ready.  Which comes sooner than she expected.  

“Can we talk?” he asks. “…In private, I mean?”

Mmhmm, definitely something on his mind…  

“Of course,” she replies.  “Everything all right?”

They walk in relative quiet for a few moments.  He leads her to a grand old oak tree, and the friends settle themselves down in its shade.  She glances over at him.  Condir’s running a hand through his dark hair, beautiful green eyes narrowed as if in thought.  He really is handsome, she thinks.  Too late, she realizes that she’s staring; sheepishly, she averts her eyes.  

“Merendis…  There’s something I need to tell you,” Condir murmurs, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.  His face is flushed, and she can’t help but notice the way that brave Condir squares his shoulders.  He fixes her with those green eyes, and her heart skips a beat.  He continues, voice soft and steady, telling her how glad he was to get her last letter.  How much it had meant, after a trying day, to read the inspiring words of someone so dear to him.  He pauses, just for a moment, and brushes some dark hair from her eyes.  The movement is familiar, affectionate, something he’s done a hundred times before.  And yet…

“I know this is…rather sudden,” he says at length. 

Her heart begins a drumroll against her ribs, even as she puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I want you to know that no matter what happens, I’m happy to be your friend.  But over the months, Merendis, my feelings for you have changed.  Your last letter gave me the courage I needed to say this.”

And suddenly she’s all too aware of how close they’re sitting, how Condir’s gaze softens as he looks at her.  He moves closer still and earnestly takes her hand in his.  Her heart pounds so hard and fast that for a moment she thinks it’s about to burst.  Hope swells in her chest, warm and bright.  She hardly dares even to breathe. 

“I love you.” His voice is steady, sincere.

He loves her.  He loves her…!  He continues speaking.  He loves her for her kindness, her courage and strength.  He loves her for her wit, her eyes, her smile…  Her eyes widen.  Her heart leaps as he murmurs those words—words she’s longed to hear, hoped that she might hear—for months now.  Her vision blurs, and she roughly wipes her eyes with the back of one hand.  And before Condir can ask if she’s all right, or before she can give herself a second chance, the words come rushing out of her.  She loves him.  She loves his courage, his heart, what a gentleman he is.  She loves how kind he is.  And she loves him for his beautiful eyes, for his laugh…  She’s rambling and she really doesn’t care. He relaxes, takes a breath, and smiles at her.  He has a wonderful smile.  She squeezes his hand, face alight.  

“Can I…”  He hesitates, just for a second.  “Can I kiss you?”

She grins.  She knows her face is burning, but doesn’t care a whit.  

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He chuckles and shifts, drawing her closer to him.  Gently, he cups her cheek with a hand; she reaches up to put a hand on his shoulder.  Condir closes the distance between them, and as their lips meet—

“…dis?  Meren…”  

She blinks, and the next thing she knows, she’s not in Minas Tirith at all, but curled up on a bench.  Afternoon sunlight slants through the windows.  The pop and crackle of the hearth fills the still air.  She rubs her eyes and stares down at the knitting in her lap—the beginnings of a shawl that she’s making for Mama.  She can’t quite squash the disappointment that washes over her, or the longing that pierces her heart.  Merendis shakes her head briefly, as if in an attempt to clear it.

“Merendis?” the voice persists.

She glances up almost sheepishly at the mustachioed man before her, fine hat in his hand.

“Sorry, sir, did you say something?” she asks, rubbing the back of her neck.  "I was…just thinking, is all.”

Premton’s smile turns knowing, and she suddenly has the feeling that she’s about to be teased within an inch of her life.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Need I remind you, sir,” she begins quickly (perhaps a little too quickly), summoning that cheeky smile, “that we had a deal?”