Harmony
This was written as a challenge on the LOTR Improv list.
Author: Andraste
Author's Email: vanessa@brandyhall.net
Improv: #5 (create, weeds, revel, band)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I'm just borrowing them for
a bit, and I'm making no money from it; I do it for love
alone. These words in this order are mine though; please
don't put them anywhere without my permission.
When she felt discontent, Estella could take comfort in
having defied the band of relatives who'd clucked and shaken
their heads and gossiped that Estella Bolger, plain as a
pikestaff, would never marry well. She could smile serenely
as she swung out of the door on her new husband's arm, or
when she appeared at festivals and formalities and meetings
by his side. She could revel in the prestige, in the security
of knowing she would never lack for companions in the environs
of Brandy Hall, in the comfort of having the very best of
everything and more even than she needed. The dark months
of suffering were behind her, and so were the years of aimless
yearning when she had seen fairer and perter lasses tumble
into marriage, and had wondered if she would always be alone.
It was a very comforting thing, when all was said and done,
to know that one's life had a purpose, that there was useful
work to be done, and ample reward for it. Estella stepped
into her role as matriarch of Brandy Hall as easily as she
stepped into her slippers each morning. She moved through
the warren of rooms, considering, listening, giving advice
and making plans. She dispensed instructions with dignity:
they needed to gather and dry more valerian, as Merry's
nightmares were getting worse; there was a small repair
to be made to the hangings in her office; the cooks were
adding too much salt to the stews again, and she wanted
them to create something really special for Merry's birthday
this year. She was efficient, assured, calm; the perfect
mistress for a smial that now housed over two hundred hobbits,
and was no easy matter to keep in order. The practical details
of ensuring the Hall ran smoothly were less difficult for
Estella than the necessity of maintaining peace among the
arguing cousins and querulous aunts. But she was patient
and unruffled and accorded all the same attention, and there
was harmony in the Hall because of it.
There was harmony of a different kind in Merry and Estella's
apartments. Merry was unfailingly courteous to her, always
considerate and kind. They shared a sense of humour, and
the greatest pleasure of Estella's evening was to tell Merry
about the small amusements of the day. A funny comment by
a small cousin, or an argument between two irascible uncles.
His face would relax and loosen with laughter, and something
inside Estella would loosen as well, carrying her into a
delicious long slide of subtle pleasure. Sometimes they
would laugh so hard that Estella feared she would fly into
pieces with it; she would fall over sideways onto the bed,
shaking and sputtering with mirth, and Merry would lean
on his elbow beside her and grin foolishly at her. These
were the moments when she was most content with her new
life.
She'd always liked Merry Brandybuck, ever since he'd lifted
her over a tree-stump while she was still disentangling
her foot from her skirts to step over it. She had been ten
years old at the time, following her brother and his friends,
lagging behind as the ground grew damp and the long weeds
dragged at her ankles. Merry had looked behind to see her
struggles and turned back, making a play of gallantry as
he put his firm hands on her waist and swung her over the
log, his eyes alight with friendly laughter.
Those same hands, long-fingered and firm-sinewed, touched
her gently now and with skill, but without passion. Those
same eyes were calm but guarded, and it was not Estella
they lit up for.
Never had they spoken of the other that lay between them,
insubstantial yet a palpable presence in the room. There
was no point. She had known ever since Merry had sat beside
her at Pippin Took's wedding, drinking himself silly, pouring
his pain into her ear; his worry over his father's ailing
health, his mother's wish that he should wed soon and ease
his father's passing with the assurance of heirs, his disgust
with his own hesitation. When he had told her that he was
"no great match for any lass", she had interrupted him angrily
and passionately. When he had told her that his heart was
already given to one who would not have him she had indignantly
railed upon any lass that would turn him down, until he
had said, his head sagging disonsolately, "It's nobody's
fault, Stella. Or mine, rather, for loving someone who's
already married." His eyes had been upon the bridal couple
as he said that, and Estella had wondered, for a fleeting
second, whether he was jealous of his cousin - but surely
he barely knew Pippin's bride?
It wasn't until later, when she caught the fleeting look
between Merry and Pippin before the latter escorted his
new wife from the great hall and Merry put his face down
on the table, that she realised the truth of the matter.
Her brother - not very sober himself - came to the table
and said gently, a look of pity on his face, "I'll look
after him, Stell." Freddy had slung Merry's arm round his
neck and staggered away with him. Estella sat at the table,
her sleeve damp and crumpled where Merry had clutched it,
and wondered how the world could contain so much loneliness.
But then Merry invited her to visit two days later, and
apologised for boring her during the wedding. When he suggested
that she tell him her problems now, she had smiled and playfully
shaken her head. But he had plied her with rich cool wine
and soft words until she had talked; about the grim months
under Sharkey's heavy hand, nursing her brother back to
health afterward, her loneliness, her desire to do something
worthy with her life. Merry took a deep breath, clasped
her hand and said calmly "Estella, I like you more than
any lass I know," and kissed her. The wine made her heart
beat too fast, but when she realised the plan that was in
his mind it seemed to her as sensible as lighting a fire
in the winter.
If Merry had loved another lass, she might have been jealous.
But Estella could find no reason to hate Pippin and every
reason to love him, with his bright eyes and quick laugh
and his face that changed expression more often than the
wind blew. To her he was still little Pippin, who had run
after Merry and Freddy and the older boys even more often
than she had, and whom she'd often been expected to look
after and keep out of trouble while the older boys schemed
and climbed and roamed. She remembered holding Pippin's
small grubby hand in her own, watching as the boys waded
through streams strong enough to have swept the little hobbit
off his feet; Merry would always turn back and call "You
be good and mind Estella, now, Pip!" before racing after
the others. In the late afternoon, when Pippin had fallen
asleep after she'd stuffed him wtih cakes and read him stories,
Merry would return and look around the door, his face lighting
up when he saw them together. He would always smile at Estella
before leaning over to wake Pippin by ruffling his hair.
These days she was pleased and calm when she thought of
the life she'd stitched together for herself here; and she
couldn't fault Merry's attentiveness, his respect, his unfailing
courtesy. There would be children, later; a boy with Merry's
strong jaw to be jounced on his father's knee, perhaps a
lass who took after Merry's mother, and might make a match
for Pippin and Diamond's little Faramir. There would be
births to attend and weddings to celebrate, old uncles to
mollify, young girls to teach embroidery to or to console
after their first heartbreak; there would be festivals to
dance at and feasts to preside over and new books to read
curled up in the library, her feet tucked under her while
Merry smoked and worked on his herb lore. The fire would
crackle, the kettle sing, the apples in their basket gleam
wholesome and sweet. There was work to do, and the sweetness
of rest afterwards, and the quiet contentment of sharing
her life with one who appreciated her quick mind and steady
nerve.
Even if he did not want her heart.
