The beginning of November brought with it chilling winds that seemed to cut right through Merry's cloak. And yet, Estella's most requested way to spend time together was to go for walks. He knew most of this was a scheme to get out of the house and thus away from Rosamunda. He did not mind this much. Time spent alone with her tended to yield what he thought were more productive opportunities to grow the tender plant of her feelings.

So, they went for daily walks, despite the cold, despite the wind, and they would talk of anything that came to mind. Estella loved telling him about the farm they had lost, she spoke of her friends and who they were courting or marrying. She asked him to tell her tales of his travels and adventures, and he would tell her, in more detail than he shared with others. As the years since the Quest wore on, he was more ready and willing to share the darker parts. Time was a healing balm, after all, and Estella was a good listener.

Estella's directness was refreshing, in a way. As they walked through the biting winds, she would tell him what she thought about anything he asked. Sometimes she took a moment to consider which words she would use, but this was never done in attempt to hide or conceal her true feelings from him. He had learned much about her in a short time because of this, which he appreciated.

Her frank nature did not leave everything in the open though. There were some things she kept guarded, some things she did not speak her opinions on. The conversations that had been had with Fatty lately seemed to revolve around one such subject, the Bad Times when Lotho's hooligans and Saruman and his ruffians had taken over almost everywhere.

There was to be a feast celebrating the harvest and the Battle of Bywater soon. Merry, Pippin, and Sam were to be honored of course, for their help in liberating the hobbits. Fatty would receive his fair share of accolades too. Estella did not share in the general excitement surrounding the festivities to come, and on their walk, Merry brought it up.

"Fatty told me you'd been put in the Lockholes."

She had yet to breech the topic on her own, willing to discuss Fatty's captivity, but never her own. Her hold on his arm tightened as they walked, and her pace slowed. "Yes," she said simply. "I was."

"Do you mind if I ask why?" He wanted to make the same joke about Lobelia Sackville-Baggins here, but he refrained, remembering that Fatty had not found it to be humorous. He doubted Estella would either.

"They wanted to find Freddy. He'd been causing trouble for them, hiding out in the hills with his band of rebels. They thought I knew where he was."

"But you didn't?"

She shrugged. "No, I knew. I wasn't supposed to, but I knew. It was easy enough to pretend I didn't. Merry, I'm getting quite cold, I'd like to go home now."

This was her way of letting him know she did not wish to discuss it any further. They turned on the road and headed back toward her house. "Let's just go and sit by the fire," he offered.

Her brown curls were being whipped wildly in front of her eyes and she fought to keep them out of her face, all in vain. The cold wind and walk had made her face pink. The freckles so prominent on her nose in the summertime had faded now that she did not see the sun as often.

Estella was so unlike Rose, and unlike Diamond too. The brides of his dear friends had a roundness to them, and a softness that was altogether hobbit-like and beautiful. Estella had very little of that. She was angular and sharp, and yet Merry found her beautiful. That hobbit-like spirit, the one that longed for hearth, home, and family burned brightly within her. Her desire for motherhood was very much a part of the reason she had agreed to this courtship in the first place, Merry was very well aware. He earnestly hoped she would allow him to give that to her someday; hopefully someday soon.

He found that as he looked at her, heard her voice tell him it might be nice for them to read together, felt her hand on his arm, he very much wanted to kiss her. She'd not expressly forbid kissing altogether, just kissing in public. What would she do if he kissed her? Would she shout at him? Slap him, perhaps, he thought, unable to keep himself from smiling a bit at the thought. Would a kiss kindle any feelings of romance in her? He did not know.

Merry put away that thought as they walked in the front door and hung their cloaks before cozying up by the brightly burning fire. Rosamunda fussed about them for a while, prattling on about this and that and how absolutely delighted she was to have her humble little Stella courting the Master of Buckland's boy.

"Mam, could we have some time to ourselves, please?" Estella asked at last, her voice sharp. Rosamunda did leave, but only after making sure Merry had quite had his fill of tea. Once she had gone, Estella's face brightened, and she excused herself to her room. She returned a moment later, a stack of papers in her hand.

"I wanted you to read this with me," she said. "I had Sam and Rose send it from Bag End for me to borrow. It's some of the history of the Riddermark that you and Frodo wrote together."

"What? Of course, I'll read with you. Why have you chosen this?"

She gestured for him to come closer so they could look at the pages together. "You've talked so fondly of the people. I know Rohan is important to you, so I thought I would learn what I could. I don't find it terribly interesting, I admit, but I thought you might, and maybe you'd be able to tell me more than what has been written down already."

Merry looked fondly on the unmistakable handwriting of his cousin as he was flooded with memories of compiling the letters they had both received from Strider, Faramir, Gandalf, and later Lady Éowyn, once she had been taught to write. There was no written history of Rohan, at least not any in the Shire, and Merry and Frodo had begun a journey of writing one to preserve. He had nearly forgotten it after several years. Seeing the pages now in Estella's lap put in him the desire to finish what he'd begun, to bind it into a fine book to keep in the library of Bucklebury.

Perhaps he would write to Sam and request that he be allowed to keep what he had sent to Estella. He knew Sam could be fiercely protective of anything written by Frodo, but the fact that he had let these pages leave the old study, practically untouched since Frodo had departed, made Merry believe he would be willing to part with them.

They sat together on the floor like tweens, flipping through the pages carefully and slowly. She read to him a little of Brego building up the great hall of Meduseld and he read to her some of Helm Hammerhand. He kept looking down at her face, watching her lips as she read aloud. Estella read well for a hobbit who would have only been taught what was necessary to help her family run the farm they'd used to have. He wondered if this was something she had been taught or if the love of reading was something she'd had to nurture on her own.

Regardless, he was delighted that she had taken the time and made the effort to do this for him. It was not something that was of any interest to her, and yet she had asked for the papers to be sent, had taken the time to familiarize herself with them before even sitting down with him, and she smiled and laughed and listened as he added more that he had learned since the pages had been written, hazel eyes bright. Merry had thought he had loved her when he watched her with Rose-lass in Bag End, but the feelings were stronger now, taking even more of a foothold in his heart than they'd had before.

"The flowers on the graves of kings seems so…" she turned to face him as she spoke, and he found then that his face was quite close to hers. She had stopped speaking, eyes wide.

"I want to kiss you," Merry whispered. "May I?" He watched her response carefully. Her gaze flicked down to his lips, but there was no want, no desire in her. There was, however, curiosity, and lots of it. He smiled when he realized she would base her answer on how badly she wanted to know what it was like to be kissed.

"Yes," she slowly said at last, so he did. He gently, chastely even, kissed her lips then drew away, wanting desperately to know what she would say or do.

Her soft, "Can you do it again?" was not what he expected, but he obliged with no hesitation. She kissed him back this time, again surprising him, but he was greatly pleased.

"Hey!"

Startled, Merry drew away from Estella to see who had shouted at them.

The outraged voice belonged to Fatty, who stood in the doorway, his Sheriff's hat still upon his head, face red enough to rival a tomato. Merry was unsure of what to do and looked to Estella for guidance. She seemed unbothered. She did not move away from him, she did not stand, only rolled her eyes.

"Oh, honestly Freddy, it was only a kiss."

"Only a kiss my- "

"It was just a kiss! Did you think I was going to let him make love to me right here on the parlor floor?"

Merry's face blushed bright red to match Fatty's, and he looked anywhere except for at Estella or Fatty, feeling like he wanted to melt into the floor due to embarrassment and wanting to burst from laughter simultaneously.

"Estella!" Fatty cried, appalled at his sister's bawdy language.

"Well, did you?" she pressed.

Fatty stuttered and stammered, lost for words before he finally turned to Merry. "Just go," he commanded.

"Yup, I'll be off now." Merry clambered up off the floor and didn't even bother putting his cloak on before he walked out the door. Once it was closed behind him, he laughed loud and long before setting off for Crickhollow.