By: Dana
Summary: Where Estella decides that something MUST be done.
Characters: Estella, Merry, Pippin
Pairings: Merry/Estella, Merry/Pippin, Merry/Estella/Pippin
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst, slash
Author's Notes: Written as a mathom for my birthday. Post-quest, with my new favourite OT3. (omgtheyareJUSTSOCOOL. <3)
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

Estella hadn't thought much of it, at first. Tonight was different, though, and Estella watched Merry as he sat in the corner of the parlour. He had gone here to escape from the chaos of Pippin's coming of age. There were more Tooks flooding the halls and the grounds of the Great Smials than could have been imagined, Boffins and Bolgers, Chubbs and Grubbs, Bracegirdles and Brandybucks. Estella had thought that the two cousins would be inseparable. But when she found Pippin, he was alone; and he had not been sure at all where to find Merry.

Somehow, she'd known that she would find him here, that he would be alone.

Merry sat looking towards the dark window, with no light but the soft yellow glow of the lantern. It sat at his side, on a well worn desk. Estella caught the little things, the sag in Merry's shoulders, the blank defeat behind the weight of his dark gaze. Standing there, Estella could breathe in his sorrow; it choked her, made the room spin.

She steadied herself.

"There you are, Merry!" Estella announced, catching her breath. She walked into the room, caught Merry's attention. He looked up to her, and she faltered as his mask slipped back into place; he smiled, but there was a distinct lack of light in his eyes.

She stopped at his side, set her hand down light upon his shoulder. "You will miss Pippin's speech," she said, chiding him. Merry rose up and clasped her hand, bending to kiss the curve of one knuckle. Estella smiled softly. "And you know that he would never let you live that down."

Merry tilted his head up, grinned. "You are quite right. And we cannot let that happen."

Estella could tell that there was something more that Merry wanted to say; the silence seemed to pulse between them. She frowned, pressed his hands tight. Estella knew that if Merry spoke, she would listen. And if he did not, then she would still understand.

And yet Estella was certain that he would not speak.

"We shouldn't just stand around."

"No. No, Stel. We shouldn't."

Estella clung to his hands for one last, desperate moment, and then let go. His hand brushed her shoulder as he passed her by, and Estella closed her eyes, steadied herself. Her breath seemed to waver, uncertain, and she turned to look at Merry.

Merry was looking back at her.

She felt tears sting in her eyes. He had been returned to her, yes, but he was not the same hobbit that he had been, as he had been before. Not just physically; the growth was one thing, yes, but Merry was changed. More changed than any hobbit ought to be.

He wasn't the only one.

Four years. It had been four years since he had come back, four years since she had felt him slowly slipping away. Bit by bit, step by step. It wouldn't be long, and she wouldn't know him anymore.

She barely felt that she knew him now.

"Stel?"

She breathed in deeply, strode to his side. She reached out, clasped his right hand with both of hers, and smiled bright through the tears in her eyes. "Where has my mind gone? If we do not hurry, then Pippin will start without us."

But she knew, then, that something had to be done. For Merry's sake. For her own. For, a voice was saying at the back of her mind, Pippin. And Merry was tied to Pippin, now. Estella always had been, always would be, tied to Merry. This was for them all.

And she would see it through, no matter the cost.

It had been three long months.

"Are you sure?"

"I am most certainly sure."

Pippin's arrival at Budge Hall had come as a surprise. Estella had thought that it would be Merry who would come to escort her to Crickhollow. "I had thought that Merry" she began, as they went out into the courtyard. Pippin's pony sat saddled next to her own.

She turned a wry grin to her cousin as they slipped away from her relations, out into the late morning light. He must have started out at the crack of dawn, she guessed. Pippin had only had a small break, but he was already ready to go.

"Come to spirit me away?"

Pippin grinned.

"And here I thought that you would be treating me like a lady."

Pippin held his hands up, grinning. "Estella Bolger? A lady? Now when did that happen? I just can't seem to remember."

Estella laughed. It rang out sharp in the cool November air. "Perhaps the same time that Peregrin Took became a knight."

Pippin's grin was subdued. He turned and bid the servants farewell, and went so far as to help Estella up onto her pony. She turned his gaze to Pippin as he mounted his own. He turned to her, nodded. She nodded, sharp, in silent reply. There was no sound but the click and clack of their pony's hooves on the cobbles as they left the courtyard, and then the clop of those hooves against the dirt path.

There was something about Pippin that put Estella at ease. "Have you had much luck with your father?"

"Well, he has not sent for me to return from Crickhollow, if that is what you mean." Pippin looked out as the scenery passed them by, shaking his head. "It will not be long, I suppose. I have come of age, it is time for me to come into my own."

"Yes. And how is Merry?"

She thought back to that long-ago night, and Pippin's smile was shadowed. "He is planning a great surprise, you see. But you did not hear it from me."

Estella grinned. "No, not at all."

After that, they rode in silence. Was Merry well? Estella wondered. What was this surprise? It had been too long since she had seen him last, and this invitation to dine at Crickhollow had come as a great surprise. Perhaps because she was more used to facing Merry on other hobbit's terms; never had she faced him on his own.

"Is Merry well?" she asked at length.

"He is busying himself with his writing, for the most," said Pippin. "I suppose that he would write the story of our adventure, if Frodo had not done it himself." A smile ghosted Pippin's lips. Estella felt it again, gripped her reins tight. That weight of silence; it pulsed between them, heavy and foreboding. There was something, too, that Pippin wished to say.

And yet he did not speak.

Estella fancied the silence, as they continued to ride. They would make it to Brandy Hall by supper, and at Crickhollow they would dine.

Something was wrong.

Perhaps they could not tell it, though they lived so close; but Estella could feel it, a certain something that was wrong. She felt it when they sat down to their meal, and Estella wondered if this was Merry's great surprise. And yet the meal itself didn't seem to be out of the ordinary.

Merry, however, did.

?He wished to hear the news from Budgeford, and Estella was happy to comply. Estella could at least think, then, that nothing was wrong.

After dinner, they sat together in the parlour. The silence seemed welcomed at first; as it stretched on, Estella felt that it was not normal at all. She left for a while, and Merry and Pippin were at opposite ends of the room. When she came back from a breath of fresh air, she found them sitting close on the sofa. Yet it had been Pippin who had moved, and Merry was a statue as he had been before. Pippin looked up at Estella's entrance, and smiled; Merry, however, continued to look into the flames.

Estella frowned.

Pippin rose up, went to greet Estella. "Do not mind him," he said to her, in a whisper. "It comes and goes."

'What is it?' she wished to ask, but held her tongue. She nodded, instead, and Pippin gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"I will leave you together, then," he said, and passed her by. Estella felt strikingly alone, suddenly. And she remembered the party night, with clarity, watching Merry as he sat in silence.

"Merry?"

He did not seem to hear.

"Merry?"

He did, then, frowning slightly as the present came into focus. He smiled, then, and nodded his head in the direction of the fire. It crackled merrily behind its dark grate, and Merry extended his hand to her. "Come sit with me by the fire."

Estella breathed in then exhaled. She stepped lightly to Merry's side, sinking down. His gaze was fettered to the fire. Estella put her hand on Merry's, and Merry turned his hand, threading their fingers together. He squeezed tight.

"Thank you for coming."

She could taste his sorrow, once more, and Estella felt on the verge of tears. "It's been too long."

"Indeed," he said, though he did not look to her.

"Merry?"

"Yes, Stel?"

"I saw it then. I see it now. What troubles you so? Your despair is too strong."

Merry's laugh was brittle. "Oh, my dear."

She turned his face to his, fingers urgent against the strong line of his jaw, the tears gathering bright in her eyes. "Oh, Merry, Merry, where have you gone? Why can I not follow? Why must you suffer?" Merry sighed, softly, caressed her cheek.

"It will pass."

"That is not what I asked," she replied, sharply. She pressed her hands to his cheeks, stared intent into his eyes. "You are far away, now. Further with each day."

Merry seemed at a loss for words, covering her hands with his own. "You would not understand. I would not wish for you to need to, Stel."

Estella drew in a deep breath. "And I wish to know, Merry. What can be so terrible, that you cannot tell me? You have confided in me since we were children. What has changed now?"

Merry sat back, confused, torn. He shook his head, and Estella's hands ached with a distinct feeling of loss. "No, no. I would not have you know."

"You needn't be alone."

"But I am not," he whispered, harsh. "There's Pippin -"

Merry's voice dropped off, and he drew back. "No, Stel. No."

"Merry?" She moved forwards, and he put his hands on her shoulders. Merry struggled with something, some force that she could not see. Estella wished that she could take it, store it away. But she was not certain of what she could do, should do. And when she kissed him, she wasn't even sure of that.

Merry was still.

She felt at first like she was kissing some great wall. And it wasn't as thought they had not kissed before; there had been a summer, years ago, when she had been thirty-two and he had been thirty-five; and all the rest of their lives waited before them. She thought that they would marry, some day. Now, feeling Merry slipping away, she could not be sure.

She wasn't sure, either, that he was kissing her back; and his touch was tentative, his hands curving the caress her shoulders, and Merry sighed against Estella's lips. She br?ke the kiss, drew back so that she could speak. "I love you, Merry, and it hurts to see you draw away. It hurts, knowing that there's nothing that I can do."

"Oh, Estella. It's just - you see. Oh, Estella."

She went to reply, and something hit her, and she finally felt that she could see. Estella's eyes widened, her lips parted in surprise. "Oh, Merry. It's Pippin, isn't it?"

A dark look passed over Merry's face, and Merry looked trapped. He took a deep breath. He said, at length, "It isn't what you think."

"Then what is it?" she replied, tentative.

"I am not so sure," Merry responded, laughed out loud. His expression sobered. "Oh, Stel, I am not the same as I was before. If it hadn't been for Pippin, then I would not even be alive." His gaze grew heavy again, and Estella was certain that he was not there; some other place, instead, some other time. She could nearly feel the darkness, and his hands had grown cold. She took them, clasped them tight, and willed what warmth into them that she could.

Merry's breath caught.

"We are changed, Stel." He freed one hand, touched her cheek. "I would not wish to see you, so."

"But it is my choice. And Pippin - oh, Merry, what does this mean?"

"I am not sure. But he is a part of me, Stel. A part of me that I did not know that I lost. He saved me, once, he found me when I was lost. I would not be here if it wasn't for Pippin, Stel. And I cannot let go of him, now. I do not think that I know if I can."

"But what does this mean?"

"I told you, Stel," and Merry laughed, bitterly. "I am not so sure."

But Estella thought that she might just know.

"You know that I love you, Merry. And do you - would you - could you call this love?"

Merry's gaze grew distant, fading in and out of focus. "I think that he could be my everything, Stel. He rules the part of my heart that does not belong to you."

Estella felt a new, dizzy rush of tears building up, threatening to explode. "I wish that I could own the greater of that, Merry. But what you can give me, will be a gift."

"I would sully you," sighed Merry, drawing her close. He did not speak again, after that. Estella sat in the silence, clung to his warmth. When she was certain of what she needed to say, only then did she speak.

"And does he know?"

"In his own way. Yes."

"How does he feel?"

"He cries my name out, in dreams. Sometimes, he loves me so hard, he forgets to breathe."

Estella felt faint, pressed her lips to his. There was silence again, and it was sweet and warm. When Estella drew back, Merry's gaze drifted to the door. Pippin stood there, tall and still. Estella drew a soft breath, kissed Merry's cheek, then turned to face her younger cousin.

"What are you waiting for, then?"

He did not move at first, and when he did he went to sit at their feet. But Estella shook her head, and Pippin looked to her, and then Merry, and back to Estella. He sat on the very edge of the sofa as he could, as close as was possible to sit to Merry and Estella. That was how Estella wanted it.

All was silent.

Estella looked to Merry, could see the silence. She took Pippin's hand, pressed it to Merry's. There was an invitation, there, and she was the one who was hanging it out in the air. She felt that this was needed; that it was something that both Merry and Pippin had to have. Estella would do anything that she could, if Merry could find himself again. And if Pippin could help, and find himself as well, then Estella did not think that she could complain.

"I do not think" Pippin began, and Estella felt chance slipping away like fine grains of sand.

"No, no. This is what you need. I can see it, you know." She gathered her reassurance, looked to Pippin. "I am a lady, you know. And I know what love is, Pippin, what it feels like." She gave their hands a squeeze.

"I can feel it, here."

Pippin's smile faltered.?"Perhaps we should not"

He turned to Merry, though, a sharp jerk of his head. Something was said between them, a something that needed no words. Estella could feel, where her hand was tangled with their own, that something was rising up; a build up that had burned slow, but now it was raging out of control.

There was need, and want, and it was close, too close, and it was right in reach. Estella knew she should leave.

"No," and Merry's sudden word startled her, and Estella swung that gaze to his. "No. All, or none. You could not ask of me, to choose."

Blush crept onto Estella's cheeks, but she clung to their hands tighter. "Very well, then. But what does Master Took have to say?"

"That this most certainly is one of our stranger encounters," and Pippin laughed. But he did not say no. Estella felt her own mirth bubbling up, and Pippin bent forwards and gave her a kiss. A fragment of laughter was trapped between their mouths, and Estella pulled away. It seemed right, at that moment, for Merry to lean close; and Estella could feel, in her held breath, the tension melting away. It couldn't be wrong, because nothing so beautiful, could be anything but right.

Estella's chest ached. Pippin drew back. He smiled slightly, licked his lips. "Well, then."

Merry laughed. Estella thought she might cry.

"Oh, this is silly of us all," she laughed, short of breath. And she lost what little she did, when Merry hooked an arm about her waist, and pulled her onto his lap. "Merry!" Estella gasped, and Pippin moved close, to take up the place that she had unwillingly vacated. But Merry did not speak, then, and another long breath of silence went between the two. She sought out their gazes; Pippin and his smile of life-long restraint, and Merry with the first glimpse of real joy she had seen since before they went away.

Something that had troubled him had been laid to rest.

"I feel that I am rich beyond my means," Merry said, grinning faintly. He kissed Pippin, rubbed Estella's side. When he kissed Estella, Pippin kissed his palm. Estella sighed and stroked Merry's jaw, cupped his cheeks and stared straight into his dark eyes.

"It is all that you deserve."

"It is too much," Merry replied, shook his head. "How can it be so?"

"You should not ask so much," Estella chided, reached up to the buttons of his shirt. "It is simply so."

Pippin laughed, clasping Merry's hand. "Estella has the right of it, Merry."

Merry's laugh was faint; he at least wanted to see. He pulled them both as close as he could, clinging to that comfort. That this was the right path. And it was right, as well, to shed clothing, to give the firelight to play over their skin. And this was right, as well, and Estella decided that if this was giving her all, then she was getting more than that in return.

She woke in the morning, and Merry was stroking her bare side. Estella sighed, softly, though she did not open her eyes. She knew Merry's touch, know, as well as Pippin's; knew them better than her own. She floated in dark silence for an age, and Pippin's voice broke through the quiet and calm.

"There's something that you haven't said."

"There's so much that I haven't said."

And was this right, as well. And Estella listened to Merry, and Pippin listened, as well; all of those things that he had doubted, that he had feared. It was better than Estella had hoped. And she wasn't so sure that she had hoped for too much.

Merry's voice lulled Estella back to sleep.