Author's Note: I have gone back through previous chapters and tried to fix all my typos. And OMG, there were so many typos! I am sure I missed several, but I think I have caught the most glaringly obvious ones. I've made minor changes to some of the dialogue as well, but nothing that changes the plot, so please do not feel like you have to go back and reread anything.
Pain, pain that he always hoped he would not experience again, drew him quite suddenly out of a deep sleep and he gasped, bolting upright, causing a deeper twinge in his right arm. He had hardly been aware of the nightmare until the familiar walls of Brandy Hall came into focus before his eyes and Estella startled awake next to him.
"Sorry," he whispered. "Go back to sleep." He was thankful this had not been a particularly bad nightmare. He had woken screaming before, unsure of where he was, needing Pippin's voice and embrace to bring him back. He knew it was only a matter of time before Estella saw him in such a state. He hoped desperately when she did, Pippin would be near at hand to help her; to help him.
"What's wrong?" she asked softly.
"Nothing. I'll be back in a bit." He pushed the quilts away and slid out of bed, hissing at the continuing pain from his arm. It felt as if icy cold was seeping into his whole body. He shuffled to the kitchen, hoping some tea would help soothe his nerves and his pain. Unfortunately, the fire needed started and he wasn't sure he felt up to it on his own.
Estella's hand on his back made him jump and wince.
"Merry, what's wrong?"
"My arm," he explained.
She shook her head in confusion.
"It can happen with the memories, the nightmares…"
She looked up at him silently asking permission before she touched his arm. "You're cold," she said. "Sit down and let me start a fire."
He did as she said. She soon had a blaze in the hearth, and he found it helped him. A hot cup of tea was pressed into his hand after a bit. She asked if he would mind her company before pouring herself a cup and joining him at the table.
"It's not like Frodo's wound, is it?" she asked after an uncomfortable silence.
Merry's heart clenched with a longing for his cousin at her question. He and Frodo had often talked of their experiences with the Black Breath. Sam and Pippin were wonderful confidants for the both of them, but neither of them understood fully what it was like.
"I thought I was dying," Merry had said to Frodo, one sleepless night in Minas Tirith.
"It feels suffocating," came Frodo's response, along with a comforting hand to hold.
Estella had not known Frodo well, especially not after his return, but she knew Rose well enough to be told how ill he was before he left. She had read bits of the Red Book too, when she had visited Bag End in the past. Had she reached the account of Weathertop? How much did she know about Frodo's pain? How he hoped Frodo had found healing across the sea!
But Estella's question was not only inquiring about the nature of Merry's own pain, but whether it would draw him across the sea too. He could hear it in her voice, a slight uncertainty, a bitterness and wondering.
"No, mine is only passing. It will disappear, and I'll be whole again. It's easing even now. Frodo had more wounds than the physical too, Estella. That's why he had to go away. If it was only the physical hurts, we might have been able to help him through here."
"But you have those too," she insisted.
Merry shook his head, his fingers clutching the mug of hot tea she had poured him. "Not like he did. Nightmares and remembering unpleasant things aren't anything like what he was enduring, especially towards the end. I'm not going anywhere, if that's what you're worried about."
She smiled softly now. "It wouldn't do for you to marry me and then run off before giving me a baby."
"No, it wouldn't," he agreed, but he was somber, not meeting her eyes.
There was more silence. Both hobbits sipped their tea and stared at the flames in the late hours of the night. Once Merry's cup was drained, Estella filled it again, her fingers lightly moving over his forearm.
"What usually helps?" she wondered.
Merry shifted his arm to find it still quite sore and aching. "Pippin," he said softly. "Pippin helps me. Athelas too, but I don't believe I've brought any to Buck Hill yet. Pippin and I keep it at Crickhollow always, in case he or I find need of it. I've not lived here in so long though that I didn't think to make sure we had any on hand."
"Kingsfoil?" Estella clarified.
"Yes."
"I remember Pippin writing something about it in my Care and Keeping guide," she told him. "He also said it can help you to write. Should I bring you a paper and quill?"
"Not tonight, no. If I need to, I'll write it all out in the morning."
He could sense the question before she asked. "Do you want to talk- "
"No," he interrupted. He did not want to discuss it with her.
Estella rose from her seat then and left the kitchen. Merry did not ask why, content to be alone or with her for now, so long as she did not press him too much on his nightmares. She did return, after a short time, a thick quilt with her. Draping it around his shoulders, taking care not to jostle his arm, she said,
"I'll send someone to get the athelas in the morning. Do you want to come back to bed, or are you more comfortable here? Or I can sleep somewhere else if you'd like to have our room to yourself."
"Estella, I am not kicking you out of our bed, stop that nonsense. I think I'd prefer to stay here. You go back to bed."
"Wake me if I can do anything for you," she instructed, then left him after refilling his cup one last time.
He loved how caring she could be, when she felt so inclined. Flexing his fingers and feeling the pain easing, he smiled to himself. Yes, he thought. Only passing. Still, he felt chilled when there was no reason to be, even with the quilt, tea, and fire, and he missed Pippin.
Estella was a comfort to him, but she could not understand fully, and he did not wish her to. Pippin had seen the same darkness already, so it was no more burden for him to bear than what he already carried in his heart. Estella was still… she was not untouched. She had the scars to prove it. But even so, she still carried an innocence about her that Merry did not wish to corrupt with his darker thoughts and dreams.
His thoughts strayed to Lady Éowyn. Surely, she sometimes felt these pains too. Or was she better off? She now knew much of the healing arts, he was sure. And if things went poorly for her, Strider could help. He had written to Éowyn of his marriage. He wondered what she would think of Estella, and what Estella would think of her.
When the light of dawn began to be visible through the windows, and the fire burned low, Merry rose and returned to the bedroom. Estella was up now, and fully dressed. She had built up the fire, and when she looked at him, he could feel her compassion and warmth.
She pulled back the quilts for him and motioned for him to get into bed. As he lay down, the soothing smell of lavender surrounded him.
"That was in my guide too," she told him, before he could ask. "Diamond wrote that it sometimes helps Pippin after nightmares. I thought it wouldn't do any harm to put some in your pillowcase. I'm going to send someone to Crickhollow for the athelas and when it gets here, I'll wake you."
"No," he said firmly. "Wake me in half an hour. I have work to attend to."
Estella crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. "You will not be attending to any work today, Meriadoc. At least not this morning. You've been up all night and you're not well."
He closed his eyes, in spite of himself. He could feel warmth coming back to his arm and shoulder. "Very well."
Pleased, Estella drew the curtains closed, and left him to rest.
He awoke from another nightmare only a little while later, but with no renewed pain and no panic this time. He heard voices; Estella's and Pippin's.
"He is resting," his wife said, insistently.
"He will want to see me, let me through."
"Pippin!" she protested, and Merry hoped desperately she would give in. He did not want to have to come out of the room and openly contradict her.
"Estella," he could hear the calm authority in Pippin's voice. His heart swelled with pride for his little cousin who had grown and changed so much. "I don't doubt that you're taking wonderful care of him, but he needs me. There are certain things that you and Diamond cannot do for us. Let me help him while I can."
Merry heard no more protest and a moment later the bedroom door opened, and Pippin was there. He could not deny his relief. In an instant, Pippin was at the bedside, Merry's still slightly stiff hand in his.
"You're awake. How bad?" he questioned.
Merry sat up and shook his head. "Not bad, fortunately. I'm hopeful the first time she must see a really terrible one will be a night in Crickhollow."
Pippin sighed in relief. "Good," he said. "I was so nervous when the lad from the Hall came, pounding on the door… You can work yourself into quite a state, Merry."
Merry gave a rueful laugh and rubbed his forearm; still sore, but no longer cold. But he was weary. His sleep had not been restful, and he'd not had nearly enough of it. "I did not this time. Thank you for coming, Pippin. Will you stay for breakfast?"
Offering his arm to help Merry out of bed, Pippin laughed. "It's past time for second breakfast, I'm afraid. I will stay, if Estella will have me. She wasn't pleased to see me."
"She'll have you. I won't give her the choice. Can't have you ride all the way here and then not feed you before sending you off."
Pippin set a firm hand on Merry's shoulder. "Do you want me to leave once I've eaten?"
Merry nodded. "I'm alright, Pip. Thank you for coming to check."
They found Estella in the kitchen, much as she had looked the night only a few months past when she had been baking bread to keep her hands busy as she cared for Merry and Esme. Today though, she was more at peace. Her eyes held no unshed tears. Her shoulders were not tense. Kneading, rolling, turning, she smiled at him when they entered.
She served tea, and the second breakfast she had set aside for Merry as well. He was glad to see she was unfailingly polite to Pippin, even going so far as to thank him for coming to make sure Merry was alright. He could see that she was pleased though, when Pippin told her he would be taking his leave after tea.
How do I use the athelas?" she asked once Pippin had gone.
"We put it in hot water. The smell is what helps the most, we find."
Estella quickly crushed some of the herb in her hands and put it in a pot she'd had set to boil before pulling it away from the fire. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes as the steam rose around her face. "It smells like…" she paused. "Hay, and late summer and just… it smells like the beginning of harvest time."
Merry laughed. "Truly a farmer's daughter, aren't you, Estella? I think it smells different to everyone."
She brought the pot close to him and he took his turn to breathe it in. "What do you smell?" she wondered.
"Heather, apple orchards and sunshine. You know it changed for Pippin after he'd been with Diamond for a bit? He says it used to smell of honey and spring rains, but after Diamond it smells like the North Farthing winds and winter air." As he finished his breakfast, he yawned and stretched both arms, wincing still, at the soreness that was still there.
"Back to bed then?" Estella wondered.
He shook his head. "I don't think I would sleep tonight if I laid down again. I really ought to get to work."
He stood then, but Estella placed her hands on his shoulders. "You will not. If you will not go to sleep, come sit with me and read a while, or just rest your eyes. Please, Merry, you need to rest. I can see how tired you are."
"Do I truly look that awful?"
"Yes, you do," she smirked and held out her hand to him. He took it and they went to the sitting room. She told him to rest his head in her lap, which he was more than happy to do. When she began running her hands through his hair, he let out a pleased hum, letting his eyes shut. He knew what she was trying to do, and he knew it was likely going to work if he did not stop her. He did not want to stop her; he loved her hands in his hair. He wanted to surrender to the aching tiredness he could feel settling heavy over him.
"Don't let me sleep too long," he softly told her.
"I'll let you sleep as long as I feel you need it," she whispered back, raking her fingers through his curls once again before he could protest. "Sleep, Merry."
No nightmares plagued him the rest of the morning and early afternoon. His dreams were of Estella, her laugh, her scent, her smile, her kiss. When he woke, he found her looking down at him, her hand still in his hair.
"Good morning, sleepy head," she teased. "Are you hungry?"
"Not for dinner," he said.
"Oh?"
He sat up and pulled her to him, kissing her neck hungrily, his hands already exploring the now familiar curves of her waist and hips. The way she turned her head, allowing him easier access to her neck, the way she arched her back so her chest pressed into his made his head spin.
"Now what could you have been dreaming of Mr. Brandybuck?"
He pressed his lips against her ear, and she shuddered. "You, my love. How would it be if we tried for that baby you want so badly?"
"I think that sounds agreeable," she let out a pleased sigh when he placed another heated kiss to her neck. "So long as your arm isn't hurting."
"No more pain, Stella-mine." The kiss she pressed to his lips was urgent and hungry and her hands were already at her back, undoing the buttons of her dress, and then she was gone, having slipped from his arms, making her way quickly to their bedroom.
Later, when they lay against each other, resting and spent, he pulled her more into his side and kissed the top of her head, her frizzy curls tickling his nose.
"I love you, Estella." He lazily, almost absentmindedly traced his fingers over her back, noting that she no longer moved away, no longer went rigid in his arms when he did.
"I know," she softly said. She ran her thin fingers over his chest and softly added, "I am only yours." This sentiment was saved for the days she felt the most affectionate, or, Merry suspected, when she felt badly for not loving him as he loved her. He had become fond of it in the months since they had married.
Again and again his hand made its way over the textured map of her back. "It's a wonder you don't still dream about this," he said into her hair.
She sighed. "I do still, just not often. It's not anything near as bad as what you went through though, Merry."
"Pain is still pain," he reminded. "And it wasn't nothing."
Before he was ready to let her go, Estella rolled away from him and out of their bed, dressing herself much too quickly for his liking.
"Come back to bed, Stella," he begged.
She smirked and began fastening her skirts back around her waist. "Oh, now you want to stay in bed!" she laughed. "I can't, Merry. Someone must cook for us."
He reached out for her, knowing she would not come. "Let one of the kitchens make us dinner and come lay with me." She declined this request too, and Merry contented himself with watching her dress.
"You'll be hungry soon if you're not already," she told him. "And it's part of my job to make sure you're fed." She left the room then, but Merry could not find it in himself to begrudge her for it. Yes, Pippin would always be his first choice of friend for comfort when he felt that familiar pain, when he had the repeating nightmares, but he would always prefer Estella's food to Pippin's, that was for certain.
