Heya everyone! Good thing I didn't take near a year this time. . . glad to see most of you are still reading!

About the whole new plan for writing. . . yeah, throw out that idea hehehe. I'm so anxious to get a chapter out once I finish writing it, I'm afraid I wouldn't have the patience to wait til I have completed another one! :)

By the way, HUGE THANKS to Mint Sauce for her help on this chapter! Could have done it without you! #hugs Minty#

Serena: Yeah, I'm sorry, dear. :/ At least I seem to be back in the swing of it now!

MLynnBloom: Hehe thanks, for your support in my not-so-efficient updating. Sorry, No Pippin in this chapter unfortunately.

Estella Brandybuck: Thanks for the reviews! Means a lot to me. And thanks for coming back to check to see if I came back to life :)

Christina B: Thanks!

Canadian Coco Chick: lol, no, Bets on feelings are never good. Let's go get the popcorn and see how it turns out, eh?

RosieLemondrop: Yay! We're both alive! #dances a jig# Silly missing stars. . . the number signs just don't work right! I can't even use them for page breaks. . .I gotta figure out how to get them back hehe (Oh, and I have some very intricate plans in mind for Pippin's kiss. . . muahahaha)

BedTimeMonster: Thanks a bunch! Glad to see I didn't disappoint! Hopefully I can avoid another long hiatus until this story is finished. :)

Okay, on with the story!

-

Scritch.

Scratch.

Scritch.

Scratch.

Estella threw a pillow angrily at the window, in a vain attempt to muffle the aggravating sounds of the tree branches scratching against the glass. She slumped down for a moment and attempted to ignore it, busying herself instead by counting the number of rosebuds painted on the frame of her bedside table. But it was no use.

Scritch.

Scratch . . .

Stifling a frustrated scream, she picked up a candleholder and almost hurled it at the offending noise – but halted mid-throw. The sounds of her Grandmother cleaning the dinner table only a few rooms down the hall reached her ears. Disgustedly, she let the candleholder fall with a clunk to the floor. She flopped down onto her bed, and traced her angrily convulsing fingers over the seams on the coverlet.

What does one say to a family member they have not seen in several days?

"Oh hello dear, how was your trip? That's good to hear, why don't you come in and warm yourself by the fire? Don't worry your little head, dinner is almost ready!"

Estella sighed raggedly.

"There you are, Estella!" Hetta had screeched, "Get in here this instant young lady! I have no idea what your folks were thinking, letting you gallivant about with them at their dinner parties and whatnot! You probably weren't even fed properly! NOT a word out of you, missie! I see you thinning out already! I'll fix you up a good dinner to thicken you up! Set the table! NOW!"

Estella buried her face in her pillow. She loved her Grandmother. . . most of the time. Sometimes she was just a pain in the neck . . . in the back and head sometimes too. Not twenty-four hours had passed since the Bolgers returned home before they sent Estella back to "Grandmother Hetta's house, for another visit." Permanent visit. Might as well say HER home. Her exile.

Estella closed her eyes wearily, partly from the still annoying sounds of the tree at the window and half from a sudden and nearly painful feeling of loneliness. Her eyes were inexplicably drawn to her small garbage can in the corner of her room.

"Estella," her Grandmother had said through a mouthful of food, "is there something you want to tell me?"

Estella had been picking at her food discontentedly through the whole meal. "Besides the fact that your new dress makes you look fatter than a-"

"Bite your tongue, missie," Hetta had grinned crookedly, "You bought me this dress, remember?"

"Just hush up, Grandmother, and say what you want straight out. No going around the long way this time. I have not the patience today."

"Don't be saucy now, I only wanted to know if you've been seeing a lad."

Estella's fork had dropped from frozen fingers with a clatter. "What!?"

"This letter was delivered for you this morning. . ."

Estella rolled off her bed and inched closer to the garbage can. Her hands twitching tentatively, she reached down inside and pulled out a crumpled envelope. It had not been opened. As soon as Estella had seen the name on the return address, the letter had gone straight into the trash.

Meriadoc Brandybuck.

She stared at it for a long time.

-

Almost every hobbit knew of "Old Gnarly." It was an tree just outside of Frogmorton and right along side the road, where hobbits passing by could stop and look at the strange old being. True to its name, the tree was a twisted, coiled mess of tangled limbs and roots, crawling to not so great a height. The branches splayed out almost parallel to the ground, sagging under the weight of heavy bunches of leaves.

It was no secret that hobbits were not fond of heights, but Old Gnarly was one of the few trees in all of the Shire that small hobbits dared to climb. The limbs were thick and sturdy, and none too high. In fact, a few young lads at one point in time had built a small platform in the lower branches. They had long since abandoned their tree fort, but it was still there, hidden from view of the road by a curtain of leaves. It was the perfect spot for young lads to play make-believe. . . or for a young couple to steal away for a few moments alone.

At the moment however, the fort was occupied by only one person – a hobbit lad, fancied up in one of his better waistcoats and reading a cloth-bound book titled: A Tale of a Dreaming Love. Beside him was a small covered basket that gave wonderful mouth-watering aromas. Every so often, his hand wandered over to the basket, pulled out a strawberry, and slowly took it to his mouth.

Whenever a bird cried out, or the wood of Old Gnarly creaked, his gaze shot from the book and darted around excitedly. When he saw that he was still alone, his expression died and, disappointed, he focused back on the book. And he would eat another strawberry.

Suddenly, a sound reached his ears. It was not the creaking of the old tree, but a clattering and rattling, the bouncing of wood up and down the path. A wagon. Merry slammed the book shut, and ran over to the edge of the platform. Drawing the leaves aside, he peeked out.

He was disheartened by the sight of not the person he was looking for, but an entire family crammed into a small farm wagon with a bit of luggage. It was part of the Grubb family, most likely off to visit some relatives in Frogmorton. Merry had met them before when he and Pippin went off questing for the ladies, and had found the Grubb family to be sadly lacking. It was true that there was a young lass in this particular group named Hilda Grubb, who was about Merry's age. At the moment, she sat like a lump in the back of the wagon, her chubby finger contentedly exploring her cavernous nostril. Merry shuddered and drew back into the safety of the fort.

Popping another strawberry into his mouth, he listened to the wagon as it bounced and clattered away. He sighed, and picked up the book again, losing himself in the melodramatic speech of the two lovebirds described . . .

"'Oh Lily, your eyes are beautiful pools of blue! I am lost in my love for you, my dear!'

'Oh Mardo. . .'"

Not too bad, that. Merry pulled out some paper and wrote down the line. He'd have to change blue to brown somehow. Beautiful pools of brown? No, that didn't sound right. Her eyes were lovely, but he didn't want to sound like he was describing mud. He'd have to work on it.

"'I pour out my heart to you, love of my life! My life would not be complete without you!'

'Oh Mardo. . .'

'And now I shall ask if you, fair flower, will make my life complete. Will you marry me?'"

"Merry?"

Merry jerked forward, dropping the book. He spun around to see two lovely brown eyes peering through a gap in the leaves.

"Estella?"

TBC