Content Warning: Character death


The smell of impending death lay heavy over everything in the room. It was quite different this time than the smell of death Merry had encountered on his journey, but it was still familiar and unmistakable. He could feel it seeping slowly into his father. Merry felt torn between not wanting to leave Saradoc's side and desperately wanting to get as far away as he could. Thick air and the sounds of labored breathing seemed to choke him, and yet how could he leave? What if something were to happen the moment he left the room and his father died without his only son there with him? What would his mother do without him?

Esme looked worn and frail, tired and hollow, chair pulled as close to the bedside as it could get, stroking Saradoc's hand lovingly almost all hours of the day. She had slept little and eaten even less. Dark circles under red rimmed eyes betrayed her now stoic face, giving tell to the hours she had spent crying for her husband. Merry knew he should encourage her to eat, but his words would be empty, for he himself had no appetite.

For a week now they had been here by the bedside, unsure when or if Saradoc would wake from his fitful sleep. When he did wake it was not for long, and he was rarely coherent. Fever had ravaged his body for the last 48 hours and the healers had told Esme there was nothing more to be done, that it would not be long. Merry felt helpless, useless, wishing there was something he could do, if not for his father, then for his mother. But there was nothing he could do. Even if there was a way for him to help, he hadn't the energy or will now.

The door opened and Estella entered, carrying a tea tray. She placed it on the small table in the room and poured both Esme and Merry full cups without asking if they would take them. She knew the answer would be no, Merry was sure. If she just handed them cups, there was a much better chance that they would drink some just to show they were thankful for her. And by the Shire was Merry thankful for Estella. When Saradoc had fallen very ill, he had sent word and she had come right away. She had taken on the role of caring for Esme that Merry felt he ought to have been shouldering.

"Esme, if anything at all sounds appetizing, you let me know and I'll find it for you," Estella said softly, rubbing her hand over Esme's tired back gently. "That goes for you too, Merry. I'll be back in a bit. Call for me if you need anything."

He made an effort to drink what she had given him, but it was tasteless on his tongue. It did not refresh or revive, it only made him aware of how difficult it was to swallow.

Saradoc stirred in his sleep and called out for Esme. She shushed him and held his hand in both hers as tears filled her eyes. "You go have a rest in your bed tonight," she said to Merry.

"No. I won't leave him."

"He'll not die tonight, son. I can feel it. Go and rest."

Merry sighed heavily, rose from his chair and kissed his mother's head. He stroked his father's forehead lovingly before leaving the room. He knew he certainly was not ready for rest, but he did not want to be alone, so he sought out Estella instead. He listened for hints of her whereabouts in the eerily quiet smial. There was light and warmth coming from the kitchen, so that is where he went, and that is where she was, apron covering her dress, almost furiously kneading and turning a round ball of dough.

He came and sat at the table, running a hand over his tired eyes. Wordlessly, Estella stopped kneading and went to fetch him a cup of water.

"Drink, Merry." She forced it into his hands, making sure he had hold of it before going back to her work. He obeyed, sipping at the cup while he watched her hands work the dough around and around, turning, kneading, folding, kneading, then turning again. "I need something to do with my hands. Making bread seems as good a task as any. When you and Esme are hungry, there will be plenty to eat." She motioned behind her to several already baked loaves that sat on the shelf behind him.

"Been keeping busy," Merry observed. It was not only the bread. Estella had cleaned the entire smial top to bottom, with no assistance from the housekeepers. She had prepared meals and done the washing, to allow Merry and Esme the privacy they desired. Estella had been very busy indeed. Putting the dough in a bowl and covering it with a tea towel, Estella set it aside. She cleaned her hands, removed her apron, pulled a chair close to Merry, and sat.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

She had asked him many times over the last few days and his answer had always been the same, "There's nothing to be done."

"I know," her voice was sad, he imagined she might even be close to tears.

"Just be with me for a while, please."

"Of course."

He sighed and set the cup of water on the table. "It's lonely," he said at length. "I'm grieving the same hobbit Ma is, but we are grieving different people. She's losing her husband and I'm losing my Da."

Estella's eyes were full of sympathy, and he thought he saw her blink back unshed tears. "I know. I am so glad I had Freddy to lean on when we lost our dad. Losing your father is such a unique grief, and I couldn't share it with Mam. Having a brother to share that burden with was wonderful for me. I'm so, so sorry." She turned away for a moment, he assumed to wipe away tears she didn't feel were hers to cry. "I'm so sorry you're going through this alone."

"Not quite alone," he told her tenderly.

She took his hand and led him out of the kitchen to the front parlor room. It was only a few weeks ago that the four of them had spent evenings here together. Merry knew he ought to be starting the fire now, not Estella, but he found he could not. Just as he could not care for Esme. Just as he could not heal Frodo. Just as he could not save King Théoden. Just as he could not save his Da. Tears began to slide down his cheeks unbidden and unwanted. He had avoided crying till now, fearing if he began, he would not stop.

Once Estella had a bright blaze going, she stood before him, her own cheeks damp. Merry met her eyes and his tears began in earnest then, sobs wracking his body as everything he'd kept pent up for the week came pouring out.

Estella did not speak, but Merry, surprised, felt her pushing his shoulders back just slightly and then found she had seated herself in his lap. Slender arms wrapped around his neck and drew his head to her shoulder, and she wept bitterly with him for a long time. He cried and clung to her, his tears making her sleeve and the neckline of her dress wet. She did not attempt to soothe him. She offered him no words of sympathy and he was glad of it. No words she could say would make it hurt less or change the situation. She must have known no words would be of help. She had lost her father too, after all.

Despite his fears, he found that eventually, his tears were spent. Estella ran her fingers through his hair repeatedly. Perhaps that's what she needs to do with her hands now that there's not bread to knead, thought Merry. He was grateful for how she was sharing in his grief. It made the loneliness easier to bear.

She rubbed his back lightly before rising and disappearing into her room. She came back to him with a damp cloth and gently wiped his face. "You need to try to sleep," she told him. "I will check on your mother, I promise. You've done enough crying. Now it is time to rest some if you can."

Merry stood and took her in his arms, hugging her tight. "I love you, Estella. I know you don't want me to say it but let me for tonight. I love you dearly, and I'm so thankful you are here."

He felt her inhale, as if preparing to speak, but she did not, she only let him hold her a moment longer and gave him a reassuring smile, before leading him back to his rooms. She pulled his sheets back for him and left a cup of water by his bed. "Call if you need me," she said, before closing the door softly.

He changed into his nightclothes and slid into bed; sure he would not sleep. How could he when his father lay dying just a few rooms away? He was troubled, to say the least. How could he have gone on such a Quest as he did, see the things he saw, and do the things he did, all to end up so pathetic and useless? Unable to save his mother from being widowed and unable to keep himself from ending up fatherless. Remembering the sound of his father's labored, rattling breath, he closed his eyes.


Pelennor Fields… Frodo lay before him, sick, no, dead, his skin pallid, his shoulder swollen with veins of black spreading from his wound. King Théoden, to Frodo's right, body broken and crushed, eyes open and unseeing, his father, still breathing, but barely, to Frodo's left. He turned, only to see Pippin and Lady Éowyn, also dead. He wanted to go to his father, wanted to cry for the loss of Pippin, but he could not. He could only turn to see all those he had lost, who he had not been able to help.

"Merry!" Was that Estella? Did she need his help too? Where was she? Would he fail her as well? Would she join his friends here?

"Merry!"

He woke with a start, and found Estella standing over his bed, brow creased with concern. He breathed deeply; the horrors of his dead friends still fresh in his mind's eye.

"Are you alright?" Estella urgently pressed him. "You were crying out."

"Nightmares," he said. "Just nightmares."

"What can I do?"

He looked at her, also in her nightclothes, candle in hand, and felt a small sense of comfort in her presence. "Stay with me." Merry knew this was a most inappropriate request, but he was too tired and too grieved to care. Estella looked towards the door with apprehension. In the heaviness of the impending grief, Esme had disregarded her rule about having a chaperone. Merry could see her weighing the possible consequences in her mind before she asked,

"Do you want me to sit with you or do you want me in the bed?"

He made room for her on the mattress, almost certain she would deny so bold a plea, but she quickly blew out the candle, then snuggled in beside him. He drew the covers over her as she settled herself, then he pulled her close, taking comfort in her scent and the even, easy sound of her breath. It was full of life. It was certain. It was quiet and calming. Her head came to rest on his arm, and he felt her fingers run over his forehead, then his eyelids and nose.

"Sleep, Merry."

He found it much easier with her beside him.

The next morning, he woke slowly, unusually warm. He couldn't feel his arm. Why couldn't he feel his arm? It was the wrong one. When he woke unable to feel his arm it was always the right arm, but this morning it was the left. When he opened his eyes, Estella was already awake, staring at him. Ah, that's why. That sweet lass was using it as her pillow.

"Good morning," she whispered. Merry wished very much that he could wake up like this often, numb arm and all.

"Good morning," his voice was thick with sleep, but he felt better rested than he had all week. "You are a treasure, Estella," he told her. Her slight, sad smile, the way her hair was tousled and lying across his arm, the way she had cared for him and his mother for the last several days all culminated into an even deeper love than Merry had felt before.

Without thinking, he brought his lips to hers. She responded in kind, moving her mouth slowly over his, tenderly, innocently comfortingly, again and again. And he let her. Despite knowing he should not, despite the impropriety, he eagerly accepted her affections. He could easily let himself imagine now that she loved him as he loved her. She must, surely. She would not have put herself in this position if she did not, yes?

"Estella…" he managed, between her kisses. "Marry me… please."

She drew back. He could not read what was in her eyes. "I suppose I ought to say yes, but are you sure this is the right time to talk about it?" At that moment, Esme calling for her caused Estella to nearly leap out of his bed and run across the smial.

She returned only a moment later and Merry's stomach dropped when he saw the tears in her eyes. "Go to him," was all she said.

Merry panicked, throwing back the covers and dashing to his parent's room, afraid he would find his father already dead. Esme was on her knees at the bedside, Saradoc's hand in hers. She was not crying, but calm and still. Saradoc's chest heaved with a gurgling, rattling breath that was in some ways, even more disquieting than some of the noises Merry had heard in battle. He noticed Estella closed the door softly, giving the family their privacy.

"Take his other hand, Meriadoc. It will be soon. He ought to feel both of us with him."

Merry came to his mother, placing his hands under her arms and pulling her to her feet. "You lie with him, I'll sit here." He helped Esme into the bed and began talking to Saradoc as he did so. "Ma's going to lie down with you, Da. I'm going to sit next to you and hold your hand. We are going to stay with you. Estella has been here too, Da. She's been taking good care of me and Ma. I don't want you to worry about her one bit. I'll make sure she is taken care of, and Estella and I will give her a dozen grandchildren to dote on soon."

Esme took her turn now, telling stories to her husband of their days as young lovers, just taking over as Master and Mistress, the story of Merry being born and how much trouble he caused them.

Time seemed to slow to a standstill. Saradoc's breaths came further and further apart. Merry hated the sound. He hoped with everything in him that each one would be the last, so there would be no more suffering. Goodbyes were whispered over and over, assurances were made again and again until finally, Saradoc breathed his last, and Esme and Merry wept.


That night, Merry sat around the kitchen table with Esme and Estella, finally eating some of the bread Estella had made together. Funeral arrangements were discussed, and plans made for Merry to take on the title of Master of Buckland were formed, all while Estella held tight to Esme's hand.

While he would have rather planned almost anything other than his father's funeral, this was something he could do for Esme, he found. This was one way he could ease the pain of Saradoc's passing.

"Estella, my dear girl," Esme said, her hand coming under Estella's chin fondly. "What you have done for Merry and I has not gone unnoticed. You are family now, whether or not you marry my son. My heart will always have a place for you." Estella's face turned slightly pink as Esme drew her into a warm embrace.

Merry almost wanted to tell his mother right then that he fully intended to marry Estella as soon as was appropriate, but he knew it was not the time. Not when the shock of Saradoc being gone had not truly set in. Another day, perhaps. Another day after his father had been buried and after he had talked with Fatty.