A/N – A huge thank you to Dreamflower and Marigold for betaing this story.

This story was originally written for Marigold's Challenge #32.  My story had to include a mother and/or sibling and a party frock, Brandy Hall, Saradoc, and Arwen.

WELCOME HOME, MERRY

8 Foreyule, S.R. 1419

Home. At last, he was home.

The Ruffians were gone, the Shire was being rebuilt, and Merry was finally riding up the lane to Brandy Hall. It was already dark outside, darkness arriving much earlier this time of year.

Merry quietly led Stybba to the familiar pony barn and placed him in Rascal’s empty stall. So many things had been going on that he’d rarely given his dear pony a thought since he had last seen him in Bree. He was a good pony. Merry ran a finger along the name plate on Rascal’s old stall; how he dearly hoped that Rascal would enjoy his life with old Butterbur. He brushed Stybba down and made sure he had plenty to eat and drink.

Already, he missed the companionship of Pippin, Frodo, and Sam that he had grown so accustomed to all these many months. Well, at least it would only be a couple of weeks before Pippin and Frodo arrived for his birthday and Yule.

It wasn’t a far walk from the pony barn up to Brandy Hall, and it was one that Merry had made countless times during his life since he was a lad. Yet, tonight, he could feel the anxious anticipation building inside him, as if he were making the walk for the first time, unsure of what he would find in the Hall once he got there.

For although Merry had seen many of his Brandybuck relations including his father while helping to rid the Shire of the Ruffians and putting things to rights, he had not been to Brandy Hall itself since his return. Saruman’s wrath had centred on Hobbiton, and so most of the damage was there, not in Buckland. And so Merry had yet to step foot inside his own home.

There were some advantages to being the Son of the Hall, such as being able to enter the Hall through the quiet entrance reserved for the Master’s immediate family. Merry silently slipped inside the brightly lit corridor, relieved to see that it was deserted. Almost immediately, the familiar scent of apples and spices that his mother always kept in this wing of the Hall greeted him.

It was the same corridor he had been in more times than he could count, especially since his father became the Master of Buckland. Strange that he had never really noticed it before. But now he saw that there were several sconces lit upon the warm cream coloured walls. Those sconces seemed brighter than they had before, as if they were hung lower than they used to be.

He turned from the corridor and faced the thick oak door of his room. It was closed. With trepidation and a deep sigh, Merry reached his hand out and slowly turned the door knob until he heard it click open, and then gasped. It was not until then that he realised he had been holding his breath. The door yielded easily and allowed Merry into his old room.

Merry carefully lowered his rucksack onto the chair he always kept by the door and then lit the candle on his nightstand. The air was stale and the silence was deafening as his eyes travelled around the room. A soft glow filled the room, illuminating familiar memories of a hobbit that no longer existed.

Everything was different now. Merry. Pippin. Sam. Frodo. The Shire. Nothing was the same. He was no longer the bright and cheery Son of the Hall. He was now a Knight of Rohan, a soldier who had fought in battles and killed.

He lit another lamp, this one on top of his chest of drawers, and placed the glass shield around it so more light entered the chilly room. The fireplace had long ago grown cold and lonely waiting for its occupant to return. Merry looked at the small pile of logs and selected two to burn. It was not long before the room was not only warmer, but brighter.

Now Merry could see the familiar sunny yellow paint on the walls that held shelves laden with old toys from a happy childhood long gone. There, beneath the frosted over windowpane was his bed, made as neatly as if he had made it that morning. He doubted it would be long enough for him now, but hoped that it would. He walked over and sat upon it. Somehow, he had never quite paid attention to the size of his bed before he left on the journey to protect Frodo. But now that he had grown several inches… he laid down upon the bed to find out.

He chuckled lightly to himself. It certainly was not as large as the beds in Minas Tirith or Rivendell. He could see that his nights of flinging himself carelessly upon his bed were gone. From now on, he was going to have to pay attention to make sure that he was lying down in such a way that his head and his feet were on the bed. He wondered what else would seem different now.

Merry sat up again and opened the drawer of the nightstand by his bed and looked inside. Nothing had changed in the drawer. It was precisely the same as it had been when he had left; still containing two neatly folded handkerchiefs from Cousin Bilbo and the last letters he had received from Frodo and Pippin before the Quest. Merry carefully unfolded the letter from Frodo and read it again. Nowhere in it had Frodo even hinted that he was leaving the Shire, yet the hints were written all over the letter just the same. Lived beyond his means and needed to move to Buckland, indeed. He snorted at the absurdity of it all.

And now, the same cousin whom Merry had looked up to all his life as his older brother, so confident and full of life, seemed empty, as if the fire that burnt within him was fading. Perhaps that was why Arwen had given him that stone that he was now wearing around his neck. Merry had seen Frodo clasping that stone tightly, as if it could give him the strength and comfort he no longer could find within.

Pippin’s letter. It seemed cheery and enthusiastic enough, yet Merry could see in it the nervous energy of a tween about to leave his home without even telling his parents for a world where the only certainty was danger. That Pippin was gone now. He was gone just as surely as the old Merry who had lived in this room, replaced by wearied travellers who had seen more of the world and of its horrors and evils than they had even known existed. This room belonged to a different hobbit.

Yet, there on his old writing desk was his old lamp with stars punched into the tin shade – he could remember clearly looking at the patterns of light cast on the walls from that shade at night as a lad and imagining that he was on some great adventure with Bilbo and Frodo, and, after he was born, with Pippin, too. And on the desk were his old quills and inks, and the blotter with a wooden pony on top that his father had made for him when he came of age. His father had been so proud of him then, so proud that he could assist him with some of the duties of the Master of the Hall. But then Merry had left without a word, thrusting all of those duties back upon his father’s shoulders without even an apology or explanation.

Everything in this room was the same as when he had left. And maybe that’s what was so eerie about it; for it did not seem to notice that he had been gone at all. Merry ran a finger across the desk. There wasn’t even a layer of dust on it.

A sudden knock on the door startled Merry, causing him to jump. He looked toward the door and saw a smile on the most welcome face he could ever imagine.

“Your father said that he saw your pony in the barn. I thought I’d find you in here.”

“Mum. I…” Merry shrugged his shoulders, unable to explain why he had not sought out his mother straightaway. Instead, he went to the door and relieved his mother of a heavy basket after kissing her on the cheek as he always had before.

“Although I’ve heard a few stories from your father, I won’t pretend to know what you’ve gone through. It’s no wonder that you came back here first, though I thought you might be a bit peckish.”

So nervous had Merry been about finally going back home that he had not even thought of food. However, a sudden rumble from his stomach was all it took to make him realise that his mother was indeed right. He reached for a crisp green apple and took a bite, the juicy tartness running down his chin.

Esmeralda smiled at her only child. “You always were rather fond of apples,” she said with an uncertain smile. That look of motherly love on her face was all it took for Merry to put the apple down and embrace his mother in a real hug. Already, he felt more at home.

At last, he pulled away from her, but held onto her hand, the same hand that had always been there for him, always comforted him when he was little.

Merry closed his eyes and lowered his head, feeling the weight of a sadness he had carried with him throughout the Quest. “I am sorry to have worried you and Da so, Mum. I wanted to leave a note, so did Pippin. But we couldn’t. The only reason we left at all was because Frodo was in grave danger and needed us, whether he knew it or not. And the only way we could be there for him was to leave with utmost secrecy.”

“Yes, you explained all of that in your letters from … where was it? Ah, yes. Minas Tirith. With all the troubles we had with the Ruffians here in the Shire, it's a miracle those letters even got through,” Esmeralda patted her son’s hand and pushed a lock of his hair away from his eyes. “You don’t know what a comfort it was for all of us to receive those letters from the four of you. I hope you don’t mind, but we all shared them, trying to glean as much information as possible.”

“I’m afraid there was really too much that was … unsuitable… to put in a letter,” Merry said sadly.

“We gathered as much. But at least we knew that all of you were still alive,” Esmeralda smiled as tears of joy began to slide down her cheeks. “And now you are back home where you belong, and in your own room. You don’t know how many times I used to come in here and make sure everything was just as you left it, ready for your return.”

Merry reached in his nightstand for one of Bilbo’s handkerchiefs and gently dried his mother’s eyes without a word. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he continued to dry his mother’s tears even after they were gone.

“Merry?” Esmeralda looked at her son questioningly. “What is it?”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing, Mum. You’ll think me quite foolish.”

“I would never think you foolish, dear. Now what is it?”

Merry shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “It’s being home again. All the time that we were away, all any of us really wanted to do was to come home again, back to the Shire. To a world where everything and everyone we knew was safe and exactly the way it had always been.”

“And?”

“Well, we came back to the Shire, but not the Shire we knew. It was a horrible nightmare. The evil we had seen and fought in the outside world was here, in the one place we were sure was protected from it. And nothing was right.”

Merry went over to his chest of drawers and picked up the old stuffed sheep Aunt Eglantine had made for him when he was born. He fingered it absently before continuing.

“So we dealt with the Ruffians. And with Wormtongue. And Saruman – you know, Sharkey. Once we could see that things were being rebuilt, that the Shire was beginning to look like the Shire again, Pippin and I left Frodo and Sam in Hobbiton and went back to our homes.”

Esmeralda waited patiently as Merry paused. She had waited long enough to see her son that she was not going to rush him now.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come see you straightaway, Mum,” Merry at last said quietly. “But I … I don’t know. I wanted to feel safe and secure in my own home, my own room again,” he said quickly.

“And, do you?” Esmeralda asked gently.

Merry shook his head, the corners of his mouth rising into a slight smile. “Not until you came in here, held my hand.” The corners of Esmeralda’s mouth creased gently into a hint of a smile.

“My room is the same as when I left it,” Merry continued. “But I am not. You know what has happened, or at least, something of it … and of how the Shire has changed… and that I have changed,” he ended in almost a whisper. “I have so many stories to tell you, Mum, but I know you can already tell that I am not the same inside as I was before.”

Esmeralda walked over to Merry and hugged him gently. “No, I already knew that. You’ve seen too much, been through too much to pretend it never happened. Mothers always wish they can protect their children from all of the bad things in the world. But it’s part of growing up, even here in the Shire, even in the Shire as we knew it before you left. There have always been unpleasant burdens which we have to bear.”

Merry dissolved into tears upon his mother’s shoulders as he hugged her back fiercely, letting go of all of the fears and hurts he had felt these many months.

“I’m sorry, Mum. And here I thought Frodo was the only one who would have difficulties now,” he sniffed.

“Oh! My silly Merry!” she laughed. “Perhaps you have inherited some of my foolish Tookishness after all!” She continued laughing for a moment before regaining control of herself as she peered into her son’s sad grey eyes. “No, my Merry. Frodo may have suffered the worst, but my dear, you are all still hobbits. To go out there … oh, no, even the Tooks who did leave the Shire to go adventuring met with hardships they had never imagined. Why, didn’t you ever listen to those stories of Cousin Bilbo’s? And from what I have gathered thus far, what you lot went through was far worse. It is no wonder that you have changed. But, Merry, I think that with a little time for resting and healing, you will find your old smile again, though you will always bear the scars of your journey,” she said as she brushed a lock of Merry’s hair away from his forehead, revealing his memento from his time with the Orcs.  She did her best not to wince.

Merry smiled slightly. His mother had always known how to make him feel better, even after Frodo had gone to live with Bilbo. He hadn’t even minded when she touched his scar.

“You just have to get used to things here at home again, Merry. And I think once you have unpacked and taken off that … whatever it is you are wearing,” Esmeralda said, indicating his sword and livery, “that you will begin to feel more like a hobbit again. Leave those things in your wardrobe next to your finest party weskits. You may find that it will help you accept what you have seen and who you have become. It will always be a part of you, even here at home in the Shire.”

This made Merry laugh out loud. “My finest party weskits, eh? Already thinking ahead to my birthday and Yule I see,” he joked. “You should be more patient. We still have … sixteen more days until my birthday.”

“Well, I suppose some of that Brandybuck planning has rubbed off on me after all these years,” Esmeralda said, her Tookish green eyes twinkling. “Besides, I am planning on wearing an extra special party frock on your birthday to celebrate your coming home.”

“I would like nothing better, Mum,” Merry said seriously. “While I was gone, I saw the most beautiful Elves, including our new queen and the ageless queen of an Elven realm. And I saw a most fair maiden who is now my shield sister. Yet, the most beautiful sight I ever shall wish to see is you in your new frock at my birthday or Yule. It’s been far too long since our whole family has been together.”

Esmeralda blushed to the tip of her pointed nose before quickly thinking of the perfect response. “Oh, Merry! So I am the most beautiful sight you ever wish to see, am I? Then I don’t suppose you would mind if I tell that to Estella Bolger!”

Now it was Merry’s turn to blush and then clear his throat. “Perhaps it would be best if we kept that just between us, Mum. After all, we wouldn’t want to hurt Estella Bolger’s feelings.”

Esmeralda grinned. “That’s quite sensible of you, dear. How kind you are to think of the poor lass’ feelings.”

Merry sighed in relief.

“Besides,” continued Esmeralda. “It won’t be that long before you start telling Estella instead of me that she is the most beautiful sight you ever wish to see!”

Merry turned an even darker shade of pink as he tried several times unsuccessfully to speak. Esmeralda broke out into a large peal of laughter. A mother always did know her son, and Tooks always did know how to get the better of Brandybucks. Oh, how she had missed her son!