Author's note: This is my first attempt at fanfic so I hope I don't offend anyone or make any major faux pas. All comments/reviews gratefully received. I have set the opening of the story in the weeks before the four hobbits leave Crickhollow, and you will see my guide is mainly the book, however, I, like millions of others can see no other Merry than Dom, and no other Pippin than Billy – they are my inspiration. There will be sexual content in further chapters, so if that freaks you out, you know what to do.

Disclaimer: Of course I don't own any of it, except the maids Dandy and Pennyroyal, it all belongs to Newline and ... what's his name? Some Tolkien bloke, that's right.

Rude Awakenings

Estella awoke to a crash and the sound of breaking glass. She sat up immediately, throwing back the bedclothes, but she was almost inured to the shock of it. Budgeford, a large and imposing hobbit-hole of great antiquity had these last years been the scene of many such dramas, mainly due to her father's ever increasing reliance on the ales and fruit cordials served at the local inn and his own ever dwindling cellar. It was only as she wearily got to her feet and shivered a little in the cold night air that she remembered – her parents were not at home, they had been away visiting the Took at Great Smials this last week. Her heart began to thump, a horrible, hasty jig. "Not Papa," Estella made herself move to light a lamp from the embers in the hearth, although what she really wanted to do was get back into bed and pull the covers over her head. She was alone in the house with only two servants, one elderly and apt to take on hysterics, and one young and silly as might be. It was up to her...
Out in the passage, two frightened faces peered from behind another door. "Miss Estella, a madman's got in-,"The Bolgers maid-of-all-work, Dandy Fleetfoot was bug-eyed with excitement and let out a small scream when another crash came from the parlour.
"That, or the master has come ho..."Pennyroyal, slightly more sensible, but devoid of tact began. Over the throb of her heart and their chatter Estella almost didn't hear the muffled laughter, also coming from the parlour, but when she did, her terror almost instantly turned to white-hot anger. "I could slip out through the kitchen and run to Bridgefields for a shiriff in no time at all, Miss..."
Face set, two spots of hot pink high on her cheeks, Estella shook her head, ebony curls appearing to dance in inappropriate merriment. "No need," her voice had an element of steel well known to both maids. Miss Estella was a right demon when roused and no mistake, "go back to bed, I'll deal with this."
Dandy had started shaking. "But Miss, if it's burglars..." Such a thing was virtually unheard of in the Shire, and rare even in the wilds of Bree, but if her master was not responsible for the sounds which had woken them, Dandy could not but think of some strange evil...Maybe even trolls! Estella Bolger, however, was made of sterner stuff. She marched past the two maids, down the hall and threw open the parlour door. It did not swing all the way back, instead hitting something with a sickening thump, that noise being followed by a deep groan. The sight that greeted Estella confirmed all she had deduced in the last moments since hearing smothered male laughter.
She turned back to Dandy and Pennyroyal, who were slack jawed and silent with wonder that she should dare confront a possible maniac with such audacity. "My brother has decided to come home with some of his friends and they are-," she paused, nudging Fredegar's prone form with what passed for a dainty foot in the Shire. He was clutching his head where the door had hit it, while a string of drool slid down his double chin, "they are all disgustingly drunk."
"Not drunk," corrected one of their number, winking at the uncommonly pretty young hobbit Pennyroyal, "not I. I am merely Merry."
The third of the male hobbits, Peregrin Took, was most assuredly intoxicated, and shrieked with laughter at this pallid witticism, collapsing almost on top of the prostrated Fredegar. Merry Brandybuck, however, merely smiled at his own cleverness and continued trying to gather up pieces of broken china from the ruins of the small table that had once stood beneath the parlour window. Evidently, Estella's brother had thought it might take his weight as he climbed in through the window, and, well, he wasn't known as Fatty for no good reason!
"You," Estella began, "you utter nincompoops..." Her voice trailed away into inarticulate fury. Merry's bright blue eyes traveled over her nightgown-clad body, then he met her gaze with a cheekily raised eyebrow.
"Lost for words? That's not like you, Stella."
What she resented, more than the indignity of her brother's drunkenness, and the broken table which was a valuable antique and a gift from Bilbo to her mother, or even the smashed vase, painted over with delicate anemones in one of her first attempts at painting, more than all that, she hated the betrayal of her body's response. He had only to look at her for her stomach to be a mass of quivering butterflies, and when he said her name...
Somehow, Estella maintained a grim countenance. She looked to the servants. "Turn down Mister Fredegar's bed, then go back to your own," concern and trepidation was written in Dandy's eyes as the older servant looked down at the heir of their house – was Fatty going to be just like their father, Ordovacar? Who would ever marry him if they thought that? They might as well give the keys of Budgeford to the Sackville-Bagginses now, as they'd never be able to pay them the money they owed without Fatty making a good match. Her painting didn't bring much in the way of money, most people, while more than happy to have her paint them or their house, spoke of her art as of an eccentricity, which was hardly to be wondered at considering she was half Took. They couldn't live on pretty pictures when the house and all their lands were gone...
All of these panicked thoughts had quite successfully pushed Merry from her mind, and when he spoke again in that soft Buckland burr of his, Estella was recalled to the present with a start. She was suddenly very conscious of the cold night air streaming in through the open window, and of the flimsiness of her nightdress, not to mention Merry's continued appraisal.
"Would it be possible to stay tonight? I don't think Pip's in any fit state to continue to Brandy Hall."
A wry smile twisted Estella's lips. "Why even ask when you can just break in? I suppose my halfwit brother has already invited you, so far be it from me to deny you the hospitality of Budgeford."
Merry smiled again, that damnable, knowing smile and made a little half bow. "I humbly accept your kind offer, such as it is." He didn't seem anywhere near as drunk as Fredegar, or Pippin, who was still rolling about at their feet, chuckling to himself and occasionally wiping his eyes. Merry gazed at Estella as she bent over Fredegar, trying to rouse him. She shook his shoulder, but he only groaned again. "I think you knocked him out when you hit him with the door."
"It's no laughing matter, Meriadoc!" Estella spat.
At that same moment Pippin stopped laughing, turned pale, convulsively moved towards the fireplace and threw up into the cinder box. Both Merry and Estella made two involuntary steps away from Pippin, who slumped against the settle and moaned softly. "Urgh...my...head..." A spark came into Estella's violet eyes as she looked from Pippin to Merry, a spark he knew of old, and which made him take another backward step, raising his hands as if to ward of evil. "Now, don't over-react..."
She shook her head. "You are a disgrace to the name of Brandybuck," her voice was icier than the breeze lifting the autumn leaves outside the window, "my brother-," she swallowed hard, trying not to cry, "well, my brother is his father's son, but Pippin – he's little more than a child! Look at the state of him..." Estella moved to Pippin and put a protective hand on his forehead, brushing back the chestnut curls.
Silent for a moment, Merry half shook his head, an aggrieved expression at last replacing his smile. "You're always so hard with me Estella, I don't..."
"Sorry," Pippin's groan drowned him out. He looked up at Estella with his best puppy-dog eyes, allowing himself to be helped up, "I'm so sorry...If I could just lie down..." He staggered against her, "I feel so ill..." Putting her arm about the young hobbit, Estella led him out of the parlour. "Pip can't you see how stupid all this drinking makes things..." Her voice was gentle, quite the reverse of what it had been to Merry. She led him to the great bedchamber, and pointed to the high feather bed, indicating Merry should pull back the covers. Pippin leaned heavily upon her and shot Merry an arch look from beneath long lashes. However drunk, the Took was never beyond mischief. "Here's a nice soft bed for you," Estella soothed.
"Bridgefields beer isn't a patch on the Green Dragon's," Pippin slurred as he eased into the embrace of the Bolgers' best bed. He groaned slightly, "Mmm...soft, nicely soft...but not as softly nice as your bosoms, Estella." He chuckled and turned over.
"You can share with him." Estella said, not looking at Merry, a hot red flush on her cheeks. She turned to leave the room.
"I'll help with Fatty, you can't move him on your own."
"No thankyou."
Merry made a gesture of impatience, "You'll never move him on your own! Let me hel..."
Again, her eyes sparkled a warning. "You've done quite enough!"
The door slammed behind her.
"Oh," Pippin put his hands on his head, "oh why..."
"Shut up." Merry stood indecisively, looking at the door. He wanted to follow her and have it out, apologise if he had to, he hated it when it was like this between them...Sometimes it felt like she didn't...
"You didn't ask her about the portrait."
The voice from the bed, a great deal less slurred than only a small while before, interrupted his troubled thoughts, but Merry chose to ignore Pippin's opening gambit and said, "Don't look at her like that," he'd noticed that Pippin had been quite open in his inspection of Estella's body through that gauzy nightgown, "she's not some tavern drab, or a piece of salted pork to be salivated over."
Pippin smiled to himself and laid a hand over his throbbing temples,"Oh, so you can look at whomever you like... but no-one can look at her?"
"No," Merry frowned and came to sit on the opposite side of the bed. He gave his chin a thoughtful scratch, then began to remove his coat, "Don't read more into it, Estella isn't..." What?
"Get on with it Merry, if you don't marry her soon she'll end up with Pimple."
The thought of Lotho "Pimple" Sackville-Baggins and Estella made Merry feel very strange indeed. That was what had brought them here tonight, Fredegar casually mentioning that Estella had begun a portrait of Lotho, and that she hadn't wanted to do it but after much wheedling and arm-twisting had agreed. "Mother and Lobelia seem to think that twice weekly exposure to the charms of Pimple will be enough," Fredegar had looked sadly into his tankard of ale and shrugged, "I must admit it would solve all the money problems Papa has put us in."
Pippin had given Merry what he thought was a significant look at that moment. Had the world gone mad? Merry just looked stupidly down at the table, so Pippin had prompted Fredegar, "Enough for what? What are you talking about Fatty?"
Fredegar shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Our estates are mortgaged to the hilt and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins holds the debt."
Shaking his head in disbelief, Pippin kicked Merry under the table. "Are you saying that Pimple thinks Estella would..." he couldn't help laughing, "Fatty you can't be serious!"...
Now he uncovered his eyes and looked up from the pillows at his best friend and cousin, saw the furrow of deep thought etched between his brows and wondered. "Merry?"
"Go to sleep Pip."
"Ask her about it," Pippin insisted, "Tell her that if she marries Pimple I'll never speak to her again so long as she lives." He laughed softly.
Merry stood up and went out of the room.
Pippin gave a small nod, which he instantly regretted, and closed his eyes.
Merry went back to the parlour. Pippin was acting as though all he needed to do was ask Estella to marry him, when they both knew it was far more complicated than that. There was something hanging over their group of friends, Frodo most of all. Soon, very soon, Merry thought, Frodo would need to leave the Shire and he couldn't be allowed to go alone... How could he make plans or promises knowing that at any time he'd have to leave and she couldn't know why?
Fredegar was still lying on the floor, but a pillow had been placed beneath his head and a thick blanket was tucked about him. Merry went to the window and latched it, noticing the absence of the despoiled cinder box, and that most of the shattered table and china, other than that on which Fredegar lay, had been gathered into a basket for removal. Estella's light step in the doorway made him turn in time to see her reaction to his presence. His heart sank. "Don't be angry, I..."
There was a long silence during which Estella mastered her need to feel his arms about her. Her voice was barely audible and halting when she eventually did speak, "I'm not angry, I'm just tired..."She was pale with cold and fatigue, and as she set down the newly clean cinder box a tear slid down her cheek. Dashing it aside, Estella folded her arms, "as you see, I'm practiced in this sort of drama."
Her father, of course, was a noted drunkard, for all that the Bolgers were an old family, at least as good as any Brandybuck, Took or Baggins.
"Poor Estella..." the words were out before he could think and instantly the fire was back in her cheeks. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me!"
Merry was stung by the look in her eyes, and made a small gesture of self- deprecation, again speaking without real thought. "Of course, you do such a good job of it yourself."
Immediately tears shone in her eyes, dropping uncontrolled from the sooty lashes. He longed to hold her, beg forgiveness, but a small part of him also felt satisfaction that he could hurt her – she must feel the same way he did, that was all it could mean. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I ..."
"You did mean it," she was sobbing, her face in her hands, "You meant it all. Bringing them here- drunk- it makes me sick-you just go on your stupid, 'merry' way...and you never think ..." Estella stopped, aware of her incoherence. She wiped her cheeks with her knuckles and shook her head.
In a moment he was across the room, barely a hands breadth away from her, somehow holding himself back from touching her, reminding himself that Fredegar lay at their feet. "Stella...please..." She raised her eyes to meet his and he felt his heart turn over in his chest – she had never been more beautiful to him than at that moment, tear stained and wretched though she was. His hand moved uninstructed by reason and stroked her cheek, but she stepped away, out of his reach, "Stella..."
There was a loud groan from the floor, followed by Fredegar sitting up and looking about him with bleary eyes. "Help a chap to bed, there's a good Brandybuck, eh?" Merry squeezed his eyes shut and made fists of his hands for a second, then nodded. "Of course Fatty, come on..."He offered Fredegar his arm and watched Estella's departing form with pained eyes.