Merry sighed as he clicked the door shut and turned to look at Estella. She stood, smiling at him, her wedding wreath askew on her brown curls, her cheeks red with what he assumed was some embarrassment from a particularly crude comment made by one of the lads outside the door.
"I'm sorry," he said, once the chatter of the lads died away with Sam's command to leave the smial. "I honestly thought he had given up on it."
Estella shook her head and laughed. "Oh, it's alright. Did you know about this? I think it made it worth it!" she held up a small leather book to him. Merry crossed the room and took it, laughing as he flipped through the pages and observed its contents.
"No, I didn't! This is brilliant though isn't it? I wish I'd had the chance to make one for Di."
Estella nodded, taking back her gift and setting it on the mantle carefully. "It was very sweet of them. Diamond really is a very nice girl, if she'll talk to you."
Merry watched her as she tried to take off her wreath. It was tangled in her curls, and some of the flowers had fallen off in her escapade with Pippin. He crossed the room to her and gently began plying curls out of the twigs and stems. Her hair felt soft today, softer than normal, and wasn't as frizzy as usual. And now it smelled of early spring flowers too. He wanted her, wanted very much to kiss her, to ravish every bit of her, smell her, taste her, feel her. But he remembered well what Esme had said to him that morning, and he was still very well aware that Estella did not feel for him what he felt for her.
The wreath now freed from her tangles, she turned and smiled softly at him. "Thank you, Merry," she said, setting the wreath next to the book.
"Estella," he said. His voice was hoarse, and he hoped she would not take too much notice. He cleared his throat a bit before continuing. "I don't know if my mother had the same talk with you as she did with me, but I want you to know that you have no marital duties to me tonight."
Estella nodded. "She did have that talk with me. She was quite adamant that if you did not agree, I should come find her and let her 'straighten you out.'"
Merry chuckled then, glad his mother cared so much for Estella. "I don't doubt you could straighten me out just fine on your own."
"That's what Rose said too," exclaimed Estella, laughing now herself and looking as beautiful as Merry had ever seen her. "And I don't know if you saw it, but Rose left me some rather… detailed advice for the wedding night in that little book."
Rose had always been an open sort of lass, but that was not the kind of thing Merry had expected her to share about in detail. "Well, I suppose it'd be better coming from her than from either of our mothers."
"Why do you say that?"
Merry snickered playfully. "She's had four babes in seven years. You don't think Sam has her between the sheets every chance he gets?" He'd half expected Estella to scold him for this, perhaps swat his shoulder, but she laughed in agreement instead.
"You don't want to wait, do you?" she asked him, more serious now.
"No," he answered, truthfully. "I will not force you, and I will wait if that's what you decide, but I want you, Estella, all of you, all to myself. I want to make you my wife in every sense of the word."
She looked down at her feet briefly, then met his eyes. "Then let's not wait." She came to him of her own accord and he folded her close, loving the feeling of her arms wrapping around him.
"I love you," he said. "I love you so deeply and truly. I wish I had better words to tell you how much."
Estella hesitated for a moment, still in his arms. "I know," she said at last.
Merry sighed happily and kissed her. He longed for a day when she might return his words, but for now, acknowledging that she knew how he felt was good enough.
He was not sure if it was the wine he'd been drinking or the overwhelming essence of her, her kiss on his lips, her hands on his neck, that made his head spin, but he imagined it was more her than the drink.
"Sweet Stella," he said softly when she drew away. Already her hands were working the buttons of his waistcoat. He shrugged it off his shoulders, then she rose onto her toes and drew Merry into another soft kiss, her arms snaking around his neck. He fought with himself to be patient, taking his time to delight in her kisses, enjoying just being with her, no more fear of being walked in on or stopped or scolded. He traced her lip with his tongue, and she opened her mouth to him. He relished the feel of her chest rising and falling against him. She let out a small noise of pleasure, and that spurred Merry on. His mouth found the delicate place between her ear and neck, and Merry then discovered the pleasures of kissing her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her throat.
His hands found the ends of the lacing of her bodice. He waited to see if she would object, and when she did not, he slowly began pulling them lose. He felt her tremble just slightly. "Are you nervous, Stella-mine?"
"I am a bit," she admitted, before a teasing smile spread across her face. "But have you forgotten that I've only married you so I can have children?"
He laughed, his hands moving up and down her sides. "That is just a bit too close to the truth to be truly funny, isn't it?"
She made no apology, only smirked at him and curled her fingers into his hair before kissing him once more. "Perhaps, but regardless of why I married you, I am yours." The last three words were spoken low and slowly against his ear.
She knows exactly what she's doing, Merry thought. And it's working. If she would not say she loved him, those words were a fine substitute in Merry's mind.
Rays of early morning light spilled in through the window, falling across closed eyes and slowly bringing Merry fully awake. Before his eyes opened the memories of the previous day came flooding back to his mind and he smiled and stretched, content, now sensing his new bride beside him. He opened his eyes and just enjoyed being near her for a moment.
She slept on her stomach, pillows tossed aside, freckled arms tucked under her head, which was turned away from him. Her curls were a mass of tangles that he was sure she would not enjoy combing through later that day, and she still smelled very faintly of daffodils. Her back rose and fell with her breath. His eyes stopped there, her skin still covered by the bedsheets. He could see the beginnings of some of her scars.
He had felt them last night, but only briefly. Whenever his hands had made their way to her back, Estella had firmly pushed them elsewhere. He had not seen them either. She had been quite determined to keep herself facing him, never once turning her back to him, and he had not objected. He wasn't sure how much he truly would have been able to see anyways in the dim candlelight.
But now, with the daylight streaming in, he could see them quite well. Perhaps against his better judgement, he pushed the bed sheets down, exposing more of her back. His heart clenched in his chest when he did. There were many, some healed and merely white lines lying flat on her skin, some still raised, some deep gashes across her back, still discolored. How many times had she been beaten? She had said nothing of them last night, and he had been content to let it wait till another day. There had been more urgent and pressing matters forefront of mind for the both of them.
He reached out and traced one of the scars with his finger, causing her to stir and turn her head toward him. Wispy lashes lay on her cheeks, her nose temporarily scrunched up in annoyance and discomfort. Merry could not help himself and pressed a kiss to her forehead. That brought her fully out of sleep. She stretched and gave a small sigh that Merry found delightful before opening her eyes and smiling at him.
"Good morning, Mr. Brandybuck," she said, voice hoarse and eyelids still heavy. When Merry's hand found its way to her back once again, she stiffened a bit, but did not stop him.
"Good morning, Mrs. Brandybuck." He could not keep the smile from his face as he looked at her. "Aren't you just the loveliest thing breathing?"
She laughed at him. "I hardly think so!"
"But you are lovely," he insisted.
She only laughed, and rolled her eyes before stretching all her limbs and then let out a sleepy groan.
"I love you, Estella."
She smiled sweetly up at him, and her hazel eyes held in them a light of comfort and surety that he had not seen in her before. "I know you do," she said softly.
He placed an arm over her once again, watching her eyes for signs that he should stop before letting his fingers run over the textured and scarred skin of her back. She gave no sign of discomfort now, meeting his eyes unashamed and unafraid.
"I suppose you'll want to talk about those now," she said.
He shook his head. "You do not have to talk about anything until you're ready, Estella."
"There is no time like the present. What do you want to know?"
Merry considered whether or not he should ask. After all, whatever had happened to her was not something that would be pleasant to recall. He most certainly would not like being pressed about why his arm even still sometimes went numb and cold, not when he first woke up. But still, she had offered, and he had long been curious, as neither she, nor Fred would speak of it.
"What happened?" he asked, sliding his arm under her shoulders and pulling her into his side. "When were you taken? Who did this to you?"
With a sigh she began recounting the story to him at long last, beginning not long after he had left the Shire.
There was news from Hobbiton of Lotho buying up all the land he could and sending his ruffians around to steal food from the farmers. Odovacar had taken to having the hired farm hands stash away what grain and hay they could, in case the thieves made their way to Budgeford, which of course, they eventually did. Some of the lads who had been hired to help betrayed Odovacar's confidence and told the ruffians about the secret stores of food and supplies and everything was taken. Shortly after that, Odovacar had fallen ill. Estella, Rosamunda, and Fred had all tried to get a healer, or medicines, but were not allowed to bring anyone or anything back to the little farmhouse to help, and he had died shortly thereafter.
Then Fred left, taking whoever would come with him to rebel to the hills of Scary. They caused quite a bit of trouble for Lotho and his ruffians, stealing back what they could from the "gatherers" and giving it to hobbits who were in desperate need. In an attempt to draw him out of hiding, the ruffians burned the farmhouse, the barn, and the fields. The house had been set ablaze with Estella and Rosamunda still inside, but they had escaped with no injury to themselves. Still, everything they'd had was gone. They had been forced to move into one of the poorly built shacks then, with gaps in the walls and doors that wouldn't properly close because they hung crooked on their hinges.
Fred had come back then, to check on his sister and mother, to make sure they really were unharmed, but had run off to hide before they could catch him, this time down in the Woody End. Someone then had told the big men how close Estella and Fred were, how dearly they loved each other. And that's when they had come for Estella. They pulled her from her bed in the night, to Rosamunda's shrieking, and no one would help. Estella had broken none of the rules, but they took her anyways, tying her hands behind her back and dragging her to Michel Delving. Once she had been imprisoned, the endless hours of questioning began, but she would not say where Fred had gone. She acted as though she did not know, sure that they would kill him if they found him. They had begun killing hobbits, she'd heard, and she would not risk it. Better her than her brother, if one of them had to die.
After a day of her not answering, the beatings began. One of the big men, perhaps it was more than one, Estella could not be sure (for she always refused to look at them, and their voices were all the same to her), brought with him a whip. But she still would not tell where Fred was.
It had been only 3 days, but it seemed like longer. Minutes and hours had seemed to drag on and on for her then. But news had reached Fred that she was being tortured on his account, and he came out of hiding himself, saying he would willingly go to the Lockholes if they would let Estella go. And so, Fred and Rosamunda came to Michel Delving together, Fred to stay, Rosamunda to see what state her daughter had been left in.
They did not make it back to Budgeford, only as far as Hobbiton before they had to stop and request a place to stay. They were granted another one of the new shacks, and there they stayed. Estella's wounds had become infected, but Rosamunda was unable to find anything to help. Until the Cotton lads came one day, to the back window of the shack, shoving a sack of food and herbs through, and not waiting for so much as a thank you before darting back to their farm. Rose and Lily Cotton began visiting too, though that was also against the rules. They would sneak in healing salves and small bits of bread, tucked up beneath their skirts. Rosamunda spoke often of how those supplies saved Estella's life, gave her the strength to heal so they could return home at last.
Merry sat silent for a long moment when she finished her tale. Sorrow and anger burned in him. Imprisoning a lass was wickedness enough in its own right, but to beat her? To beat her and leave her sick and give her no chance at healing? That was positively orcish behavior. "Who ratted you out?" he asked at last, an edge to his voice that he could tell surprised his wife. "Who told them that Fred would come if you were hurt?"
She shook her head. "I don't know Merry. Many folks said and did things they otherwise wouldn't have then. Even if I did know, I don't think I'd tell you. What good would it do? What good would it do for you to confront them now? What is done is done. I already have the scars. They won't go away. It won't be as if it never happened just because you frighten some hobbit near to death."
She was right, and Merry knew it. Yet he longed to avenge her still, to find who had caused her to be captured, to find the men who had beat her, to run them through with his sword and… but these were not thoughts he could dwell on. Frodo's face came to mind. Frodo, who was so forgiving even when his own life had been under threat. No, he would not dwell on these thoughts. He would be better. For Frodo, for Estella, he would be better.
"I still wish I could undo it for you. I promise I'll never let anything like this happen to you again." He bent to press a kiss to her bare shoulder, and she tilted her head to the side to allow it, but said,
"Do not make such promises. Freddy did and it tears him up every day that he was unable to keep them. He promised Dad and Mam he would protect me, and I was hurt anyways. Do not… I don't want you to promise me that."
Again, she was correct, but he hated that she was. He pulled her tight against him, breathing her in, thankful that she was here, and his, and whole.
She turned on her side then, looking closely at his face. Her fingers reached out and traced the town scar on his forehead that stubbornly refused to fade.
"You have your own hurts. Tell me more about this one. Really tell me."
He did. She'd heard the story before. Most folks in the Shire had, but he told her a version that was a little more detailed, a bit darker, than the version he told most people. He shared the fear he felt for Pippin, who was so young and who never should have been there at all. He shared with her how nearly every time he closed his eyes during those horrible days, all he could see was Boromir pierced by arrow after arrow, over and over. He shared the horror of the feel and smell of the orcs and uruk-hai, the terror at being chased, and the uncertainty once they'd escaped.
"Is that what you have nightmares about now?" she wondered, fingers entwining with his.
"Sometimes that," he told her. "Sometimes even darker things. Do you have them too?"
"I used to. Not often anymore." There was a pause before she brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. "Look at us, newly weds, sitting and talking of darkness and old hurts and scars! This is not what a honeymoon is for."
Merry chuckled. "And what is a honeymoon for, my love?"
"For celebrating," she said softly, drawing him into a kiss.
"Well, then," Merry said teasingly against her lips. "Celebrate we shall."
