Content Warning: miscarriage


Returning to Crickhollow proved more difficult than Estella had imagined. Seeing Diamond's pregnancy progress, watching how Pippin made extra effort to be more mindful of her, it hurt more than she had expected.

Estella had taken to spending long hours outside in the garden, even well after nightfall, coming to bed long after Merry had fallen asleep. She rose early too, and would cook meals for everyone, but hardly ate herself. She had begun drinking coffee to get her through the days. At first, she had wrinkled her nose at the bitter taste, but soon she had become accustomed to it, perhaps even dependent on it, to not fall asleep at odd hours.

She was also very mindful of herself, looking for all the signs that her body was ready as Diamond had taught her, anxiously awaiting the days she might conceive again.

When they at last arrived, she made a point not to stay outdoors too late, sliding into bed beside Merry and wrapping her arms around him.

His body tensed at the contact. He had not expected it. He had not even expected her to go to bed at the same time as him, she knew.

"Let's try again," she said softly. "For another baby."

He turned over to face her, but his eyes were sad. She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his palm, and his thumb brushed her cheek tenderly. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she insisted, her fingers making their way to his neckline, tugging at his nightshirt. His hands rose to still hers.

"Estella," his tone was serious. "You know I want children too. But I think we ought to wait another month or so before trying again. You're not well."

"I'm fine, Merry, please, I…"

He sat up now, pushing her hands away from his chest. He had never rebuffed her like this before and it stirred a sense of hurt in Estella that she did not expect. "You are not! You're not sleeping, not nearly enough. You've completely isolated yourself from Pip and Di and from me. You don't talk to anyone. You're not eating. You've been grieving, and I want you to have the space to do that as you see fit, but I do not think you're ready yet to try again. What if we lose another one? What will you do then?"

She felt an urgent need to be understood and sat up as well, her hands seeking him out, clinging to fistfuls of his nightclothes, pulling herself close to him when he would not let her pull him to her. "What if we don't? What if things go right and we have a son, Merry? Please, I want a baby. I need to have a baby."

He shook his head just slightly. "What you need is good food, a good sleep, and a good cry."

Estella thought he might get to see her have a good cry if he kept on like this. Tears were already stinging her eyes. Why was he refusing her? He never had before. But crying would not make him give in, she knew. It was more likely to make him think he was right. He was not, was he?

"I just want a child. Please, Merry." She kissed him, but he did not return it. More rejection. It stung more than it should have.

"I know you do," he whispered. "I want to give you one. But you are not well. And I am not in the right mind tonight. Perhaps tomorrow."

She met his eyes for a moment more before she laid down with her back to him and said nothing for the rest of the night.


Merry did give in to her the next night, and she tried to show her gratitude by being more present with him, but she found it difficult. She made conscious efforts to eat more. She tried to talk with Pippin and Diamond. But she found herself looking forward to going back to Brandy Hall. There were more hobbits there, yes, but she could more easily avoid them if she so desired.

When the two weeks they had meant to stay there were up, she was glad to join Merry on Stybba and head back to the Hall. Her attitude was apparently noticeable, because Merry seemed cheered as well, and remarked she seemed happier.

"It was just… Di…."

"It was hard for me too."

"Yes. I don't think I've ever been this glad to be going back home."

She felt Merry's arms tighten around her just a bit. "Home?" he questioned.

She turned to see his face. "Well, it is, isn't it?"

He smiled. "You've never called it home before."

She shrugged and sighed. "Nowhere has really felt like home since the farm burned," she confessed. "But Brandy Hall is where we started our lives together. It's where we planted the tree for our baby. Right now, I think it feels the most like home."

She felt him press a kiss to her cheek and he whispered a soft, "I love you," into her ear. She did not have the heart to do more than lean back into him in response, but this seemed to be enough. He hummed songs deep in his chest while they rode, and she found her eyes closing. She slept until he gently shook her awake when they arrived at the stables of Buck Hill.


Despite her efforts, Estella was still withdrawn and quiet. She spent her time sketching on whatever paper was available, many pictures of ash and birch trees. She baked, so much that she and Merry could not eat it all. Esme was asking her to do precious little, even though there was much to be overseen, much to be done in the preparations for winter at the Hall.

When she realized she was indeed with child again, she was more hesitant to share the news with Merry. Estella felt nothing different. She did not even feel tired, as she had last time. And yet she could not help but hope, and so she told Merry in a hushed whisper as they lay in bed together one night at Crickhollow.

She wondered if he knew her worries, for his joy too, seemed dampened. Still, he leaned over her, pressing gentle kisses to her lips, asked her again if they could name the babe Éowyn if it was a girl, told her he loved her. Estella returned the affection ardently, as she had not for weeks and weeks. She held him close in the dark, relishing his soft breaths on her face and his sweet whispers in the night. She had missed this, missed him, when she had drawn in on herself in her grief. Somehow though, even in the midst of her letting him pour out his love onto her, even while she enjoyed his touch, she knew that this child too, would be lost to them. Merry had been right. They should have waited. And yet she had not listened and soon, she would again endure the pain of loss.

These thoughts she did not share with anyone, however. She bore them in silence and prayed that she might be wrong. She knew though, could feel, that she would soon lose this pregnancy as well.

And her intuition was right. This time though, she did not hide it from Merry till the end of the day. She came to him in the early morning hours, before he would even be waking, and told him that she'd begun to bleed again. This time, he was the one who shed tears. Estella felt nothing. Almost nothing. Was it nothing? It was numb. It was empty. It is acceptance, she told herself. Acceptance that motherhood is not something I will be gifted with.

They planted another tree together, but she shed no tears.


Estella was determined not to let this loss affect her the same way the first one had, and she threw herself into work with Esme, helping to oversee the preparation and storage of food for winter, planning a harvest festival, helping to host a dance, she even assisted with one of the cousin's weddings. She read books and drew pictures and kept her hands busy so that she did not have to hear herself think.

One day, while working together in the study that had now become not only Esme's but hers as well, her mother-in-law confronted her.

"Estella, you are not well."

Estella turned and gave Esme a sharp look. "What has Merry said to you?" she demanded; her tone harsher than she'd meant it to be.

Esme shook her head. "He hasn't said a word, nor does he need to. As much as I would like to think this new interest in taking on the duties of Mistress is because you have a genuine want for it, I know it is not. You're hurting and you're trying not to."

Biting the tip of her tongue, Estella placed her hands down on her desk and leaned over it. She managed a smile and said in a much softer voice than before, "Esme, I am quite alright."

"My concern is not only for you. It is for my son as well." That got Estella's attention. "Merry is…" Esme's eyes softened as she sought the words. "He is a caregiver, my dear. Because he shows others he loves them by doing his best to take care of them, he hides his own hurts. He is hurting deeply right now, just as you are. He needs comforting just as much as you do. And in these last weeks, I have watched him look to you for what he needs, and I have watched you turn him away over and over again. You need him just as much as he needs you. Do not run from him. You must meet each other in the midst of this."

"I don't think…"

"It does not matter what you think, that is the truth of it. Life is short, Estella. Do not spend the little time we have closing yourself off from the ones who love you the most."

Estella closed her eyes in annoyance at being told how she was feeling, how Merry was feeling. Still, she knew better than to say these things aloud to Esme. After a moment, she opened her eyes again, fixed the sweetest smile she could muster upon her face, and said, "Well, thank you very much for your concern, but Merry and I are both perfectly fine."

With that, she swept out of the study, nearly running down the halls to escape the now suffocating atmosphere. She needed to get out, needed fresh air inside her lungs, needed the sky above her head. She needed… She did not know what she needed, only that she would not find it inside with Esme. So, she burst out of the nearest door and into the chill of the autumn air.

Gray clouds hung low over everything, and rain was falling in heavy, chill sheets, but she paid it no mind. She walked quickly down the hill, away towards the Brandywine, anger, fear, sadness, and frustration all roiling just under the surface.

She does not get to tell me what I feel. She does not get to decide how Merry feels, she thought to herself. But the more she did, the more upset she became, for now that she had let herself take a moment to reflect, she suspected Esme was right. She had been so involved with herself, so wrapped up in keeping herself busy, stopping her mind from dwelling on the pain she felt, that she had indeed pulled almost completely away from Merry.

Estella was soon soaked through, her bodice and skirts growing heavy, her hair flat and drenched. She did not care that she was now cold and wet, she did not care that Esme thought she ought to be dealing with her losses differently, and she did not care that she had been acting cold toward her husband. With a start, she realized that she no longer cared about being a mother.

Suddenly, she felt quite cold, and her teeth began to chatter. She turned away from the river, toward Brandy Hall and started back. She did not use one of the three main doors at the base of the hill, she climbed the many small sets of steps around the outside till she came to the small garden outside the Master's smial. Opening the gate, now soaked through and chilled to the bone, she rushed to the door and let herself in, skirts and hair dripping, leaving little puddles on the stone floors.

"Stella?" she heard Merry's voice call. "Is that you? Where have you been?" He appeared from the kitchen before her then, and his shoulders slumped when he saw her, bedraggled and shaking in the hallway. "Ma said you'd run outside," he said. He opened his arm to her, offering to put it around her shoulders to warm her some, but she refused it, hurrying past him to stand before the fire in the kitchen. She could hear his disappointed sigh.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes," was her only reply. She began the work of removing her thoroughly soaked clothes then, but a firm hand at her back pushed her out of the kitchen and towards the washroom.

"I've warmed a bath for you already."

Her instinct was to tell him no, to simply get undressed by the fire and go to bed, but she bit it back. She let him lead her into the washroom, where the tub was indeed full of steaming water, and the fire was built up. Merry helped her to strip off her thoroughly drenched clothes, hanging them to dry by the fire.

"Have I hurt you?" she wondered, as she sank into the hot water, not even truly meaning to say it aloud.

Merry's head tilted to one side at her question. "You've been… distant," he said at length. "Tilt your head back."

She did as she was told and found the steaming water being poured over her head, warming her even more. He was caring for her, whether she asked for it or not, whether she wanted it or not.

"Why didn't you pull away from me when your Da died?" she asked him.

"You're full of odd questions today."

"Why didn't you?"

Merry sighed, beginning to rub a cloth over her back after having lathered it with soap. "Life is short. Grief is lonely. But it's unique too, and there is no right or wrong way to go through it. You want time to yourself to think through things in yours and there's nothing wrong with that."

Estella scoffed, leaning forward a bit to make his job easier. "Your mother seems to think I've been going about it wrong."

"She worries about us."

"It's not her business!"

"Estella…"

She turned pushing his arm away, tears filling her eyes. She blinked rapidly to keep them from falling. "I don't care if we ever have any children," she said.

Merry's brow furrowed in concern now. "What?"

"I don't care if we ever have a baby. I don't want to be a mother. And it frightens me because I do not know who I am without that." Tears started to fall then, and Estella angrily wiped them away. "I don't know who I am without wanting to be a mother and I hate it!" Everything she had been suppressing, every fear, every sadness, every thought she had fought to keep away all flooded her heart. Was she doomed to be a failure at everything? She knew she had not been a good wife. She was not suited to work as Mistress of Buckland either, and the one thing she had wanted seemed far out of reach and she could hardly stand the thought of reaching for it once again.

Without another word, Merry took her hand and kissed it. The sobs came in earnest now, and she no longer tried to stop them. She no longer tried to stop Merry. She let him bathe her, let him scrub the chill out of her skin, and rinse the soap from her body. He pulled her from the tub, wrapped her in warm towels, and dried her hair as if she were a child. She let him. She had no energy, will, or desire to push him away.

"Who you are is the same person you have always been," he assured her, pulling a nightdress over her head. "You are Estella. You are a fiercely loyal sister, a good and loving daughter. You are smart, you are capable, you are caring. You are my wife," he whispered. "You are loved, and you will always be loved, Mistress of Buckland or not, mother or not. That at least, will not change."

Merry said nothing more, only let her cry till her tears were spent, holding her to his chest. When she felt she had no more left, she looked up at him, and he smiled kindly before kissing her brow. She marveled at him, at his willingness to love her, his tenderness and gentleness toward her, even when she had been very unlovely.

"We will be alright," he assured her. "Both of us. This is one of those times Sam spoke of at our wedding when the knot will grow tighter. But I need you to stop closing me out so I can help you."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Estella shut her eyes tight, burying her face in his chest so she would not have to meet his gaze. She thought she could stay right there for the rest of time and be content. His heartbeat against her ear, steady and strong, his scent grounding her in reality, the soft linen of his shirt against her cheek, and his arms putting pressure on her as he held on, held her tight, as if he were afraid to let go.

"I meant it when I said there is no right or wrong way to grieve, Stella. But it is not good to go through it alone as you've tried to do. Let me help you through this. You need me. And I need you too, you know."

"Do you?" she asked, and he said that he did.

Of course, Esme had been right. Of course, he needed her. She was his wife, wasn't she? And it wasn't only her children that had been lost. Something rose in her chest then, another swell of emotion she had not expected, coming up in words that did not want to remain unsaid on her tongue. "I…" Love you, I love you, just say I love you! she thought. Love him? Do I? Is this love? I cannot tell him now when I have not shown him any love at all for weeks. She felt him go tense in her arms. He knew what she was about to say, she was certain. And now she doubted. She did not want to say those words till she knew that she meant them. Merry deserved that much. She did not know anything right now, only feelings of fear and anxiety, and that was no time to be making a declaration he had longed to hear.

"Thank you, Merry," she said at last, and his body relaxed.

"We're going to be alright," he told her again. "Things are going to be alright."