Name Calling
(Corresponds to Book 6, chapter 9)
"I said," Merry's laughing voice came close to her ear, "who are you looking out for?"
Estella jumped a little, but she smiled when he slipped his hand into hers and gave a little squeeze. "No one. I was wishing for a little snow, that's all. It's been such a perfect year, I think it deserves to be topped off with snow at Yule-tide." She smiled as she stared out the round window in front of them.
They stood in one of two small libraries at Brandy Hall, a cheerful dusty comfortable room painted in reds and pale browns and crammed with full bookshelves and plush chairs and little tables cluttered with mathoms. A single round window looked out toward the rolling fields of Buckland below a gray winter morning sky and beyond that the brown line of the Brandywine, edged with ice but not frozen.
Estella and Fatty and Rosamunda and Odovacar were staying in the Hall for the winter festivities, along with several hundred Brandybucks and Brandybuck relations. Really, the sheer size of the place was dizzying; it was more like a small town than a single hobbit-hole. She had begun to understand Merry's childhood desire to escape, but all the same, it was lively and wonderfully decorated with holly and candles and red bows and filled with laughter and old songs. She loved it, every nook and cranny and mathom in the place. She tried hard not to think of what it might be like to live here all the time. It was hardly a month since she had really started going with Merry; it would be some time more before any new step was thought of.
The heir of the Hall hummed agreement and let his eyes follow her gaze out the window to the slate grey winter sky. "You know, I had a deal of a time finding you. You might leave me a map next time."
"And supposing someone else found the map first?" she answered airily. "Then all my effort in finding a quiet hiding spot would be wasted." With her free hand, she idly adjusted the sleeve of her dress - a dark gold cotton affair trimmed with white rabbit fur at the cuffs and a pale green sash at her slim little waist. It had been a present from her father last week and though it was fussier than her wont, she liked it for his sake.
"Are you hiding, Stella?" he inquired half-seriously, turning from the window to face her. She was pleased and flustered by the fact that he had not yet let go of her hand.
"I suppose so, a little," she admitted. "There's just such a lot of them all at once. And, well, I may possibly have been exiled from the kitchens after Augustina said I burned the fish stew."
"Ah, a kitchen offense," he teased, shaking his head solemnly. "One of the worst kind. It's a wonder old cousin Auggie didn't have you exiled to the Shire."
Estella stuck her tongue out at him. "I didn't really burn it, or at least I don't think I did. I was just… distracted. And I let it sit a minute or two longer on the fire, but it wasn't irretrievable. I am a decent cook."
"Well, come sit by the fire and tell me what distracted you, then, oh decent cook of the Bolger clan." His tone was solemn, but he couldn't manage a straight face as he gently tugged her toward the low sofa positioned in front of a stone hearth which sheltered a cheerful little blaze.
She smiled a bit and shook her head, even as she took a seat next to him and let him tuck her hand between both of his. "Old wives gossiping, that's what. Nothing important, darling."
"Darling?" Merry sat up straighter, making his sapphire velvet jerkin rustle against the couch cushions.
Estella half-wilted and stammered, "It just… slipped out. I won't… I don't have to-"
"I like it," he interrupted, grinning. "Only now I'll have to think up one for you."
She stared at him a moment, her cheeks glowing pink as summer roses, before she hid her head on his shoulder, much to his satisfaction. "Anything but 'honey bun'. My Aunt Tulip calls her girls that," she muttered.
He snickered and lightly kissed the top of her head. "No, you're no kind of pastry at all."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the fire and listening to the distant whirl of activity and voices and just enjoying the warmth of the other's hand. At last, he broke the quiet with:
"What was the gossip that made you nearly scorch the fish, sweetheart?"
She sat up and beamed at him. "Is that my new name?"
Merry arched one eyebrow. "It is if you like it."
"Nearly better than 'Stella'," she proclaimed, resuming her position with her head on his shoulder. The soft foreign fabric was comfortable but the firm muscle underneath it was very unlike the usual hobbit plumpness. She didn't mind a bit.
"So what was it? The gossip," he repeated, shifting to let her snuggle in closer.
"Merry Brandybuck, you're as curious as an old maid."
"I know and it's brought me a lot of grief, but it's so much more interesting than minding my own business," he responded, letting go of her hand to tap the tip of her nose. "So?"
She sighed and wrinkled her nose. "It… wasn't very nice. Just Shire-talk; you know how old cats can be."
He pulled away a bit so that he could meet her eyes. "Stella, did it bother you?" The teasing had gone out of his voice and the little furrow between his brows showed genuine concern.
"A… a little bit," Estella admitted, shrugging. "They didn't know I was there, I think. Three or four old Buckland matrons wondering what you were doing with… with a 'snooty, queer Shire-lass' when there were so many 'decent pretty girls' here."
He frowned sharply and reclaimed her hand. "Does it bother you what people think?"
"A little," she answered honestly, "but not really, deep down, if… if I was sure your da and mum didn't see it that way."
His frowned reversed into an affectionate smile and he tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "Well, you can stop worrying, then. My old man loves you. He thinks because you're a sensible Bolger you'll steady me and make me stop haring off on adventures with Pippin."
Estella couldn't help it; she snorted. "I'll only insist on following you two and bringing my bow."
"I know," he grinned, letting go of her and standing to mend the fire, which was starting to pop incessantly. "Just don't tell him. And as for my mother, she likes you for being a merry lass," he grinned at the play on his own name, "who isn't afraid to fire a bread roll at me when I kick you under the table. She was worried I'd pick someone like Clover Banks or Nevina Shrub-Brandybuck." Seeing that she did not recognize the names, Merry explained, "Silly girls who wouldn't ever do anything unexpected or improper. Rather stiff and dull."
She tucked her legs beneath her and settled one of the cushions in her lap, hugging it comfortably. "I can't picture you with a dull lass. Even before your adventures. Tell me again about the Lady Éowyn and the Battle of Pelennor?"
He grinned and laid aside the fire iron before sticking his hands in his pockets. "Don't you want to hear about the Old Forest instead? Aren't you curious about the headless white wolves and ghouls and all that?"
She snorted in derision. "As if you wouldn't have told Fatty all of that long before now if that were true. Pippin, at least, would never be able to resist frightening him out of his wits."
The young lad chuckled. "True. Do you want to know what we really found in there?"
Estella nodded, smiling eagerly and hugging the pillow tighter.
He lowered his voice until it was appropriately mysterious. "Well, we found the way to the Bonfire Glade, but the path to it had moved away altogether. The trees move, you know, and talk to each other in voices just under what we can catch. So all you hear is a sort of whispering and a sense, maybe, of what the words are. And the trees didn't fancy being disturbed by a group of Shire-folk, particularly not when Frodo started singing about the end of all woods. The trees were herding us, really, since we couldn't even walk the ponies anywhere but down to the Withywindle, the heart of the power of the place. And the further we went, the more awake and angry the trees were."
She leaned forward to ask a question and jumped when the door of the library was flung open.
"There you are!" Pippin exclaimed, bustling in and shutting the door behind him with his elbow, as his hands were engaged in carrying two platters of pasties. "I've run into just about every relation in the place but you two. Charmed old Auggie into giving up these for a mid-morning snack, and I thought I'd share. Though you two ought to have told me you'd found a neat little hiding spot."
Merry grinned, snatched two of the handpies off one of the plates, and threw himself onto the couch at Estella's side. He offered her one of the treats before biting a rather large piece off the other. "Good thinking, Pip," he said through his mouthful.
"I know," the heir of the Thain replied with self-satisfaction as he selected one for himself. With the pastie held in his mouth, he set the two plates on the floor between the couch and a low unoccupied armchair, the end table being completely occupied by trinkets and knick knacks. He promptly made himself comfortable on the armchair and swallowed enough to speak. "Was he boring you, Essie?"
"Not much," she teased back, elbowing Merry in the arm as she took the pastie and bit through the flaky crust. She swallowed and added, "He was telling me about the terrors of the Old Forest."
"Did he get to Old Man Willow yet?"
"Pippin, you'll spoil the whole thing!" the narrator complained, still smiling through his mouthful.
Pippin leaned forward conspiratorially. "Did he tell you about how a tree nearly ate him because he wanted a nap?"
"It got you too!" Merry protested. "And you were asleep more than me! I at least woke up halfway in!"
Estella giggled and settled in to hear the two playfully argue about how the rest of the story went.