Disclaimer: All hobbits and Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien. In my dreams, they belong to me.

Fair-weather Friends 

8 Lithe, 1421, Crickhollow

The young lass stood by the partially open window in their bedroom staring out into the dark void beyond it. The light from the lantern inside the bedroom made the darkness outside impenetrable, much like the cloud of gloom that currently hovered over the master bedroom at Crickhollow, where newlyweds, Merry and Estella Brandybuck, were spending their honeymoon.

In spite of the tension currently in the room, this same bedroom would become their permanent sanctuary throughout their tenure here at the little house. Meanwhile, the other resident of the house, Pippin Took, was off on a month-long holiday to Great Smials so that his best friend and new “sister-in-law” could become better acquainted in privacy.

Sitting upon their bed, dressed only in his nightshirt, was her husband of just one week. He sat with his head resting upon the palm of one hand, eyes and nose red from tears.

“I thought you understood about the…,” he faltered, “the nightmares. I thought I explained it all in great detail…so that this…this…” he trailed off.

Without so much as taking her eyes from the window, Estella replied absently, “So that this wouldn’t happen? I thought I understood, too.”

Nevertheless, no matter how much they spoke of the Journey or how much they talked of the nightmares beforehand, despite how ready Estella thought she was, she was not. She was not prepared for what happened tonight. In reality, when she woke up feeling her husband thrashing about beside her, Estella froze with fear. He bolted upright in bed, his eyes darting here and there as if he were a trapped animal ready to spring. Estella became very frightened…and then gave a cry as she leapt from the bed to stand shivering beside the window.

“I am sorry,” said Merry, still wiping away tears. He spoke with deep sorrow, “I can make the arrangements if you want to sleep in a separate bedroom.”

Estella could not believe what she’d just heard…they were just married a week ago! Yet…Merry spoke the truth. If she was that uncomfortable with his terrifying dreams, then this was an issue to be considered.

However, this consideration, this craven thought endured for less than a fleeting moment in her mind before she took herself to task. Within the dark windowpane, Estella saw the reflection of her husband sitting on the bed. She gazed at the lad who at one time blushed a bright red when he first asked her to dance at a friend’s birthday party. Estella smiled to herself; she was barely a tween then. She remembered the day when he gave her his jacket as the night air became unexpectedly chilly one summer day. She never gave it back, and he never asked for its return, though she wore it on occasion merely to take in his scent. Estella again saw one of the Shire’s champions--part of the group of Travellers who raised the Shire to rid their land of Ruffians. But above all, Estella saw the lad she fell hopelessly in love with years and years ago--the same lad who could take her breath away with a single kiss. “How could I not be at my husband’s side--especially when he needs me the most?” she asked herself.

When Estella finally turned to look at her husband, she observed just how miserable he felt. “Absolutely not,” Estella replied aloud to Merry’s suggestion, “I will not be a fair-weather wife. It will take time, but I will adjust--you’ll see.” Estella walked over to the bed to sit beside Merry, her fingers combing through his bed-head curls. She looked into his deep blue eyes, “We will sleep side by side until I take my last breath, my love.”

Eyes and nose still red, Merry gaped wordlessly at his wife. He thought for sure that the life he had dreamed of had perished before it ever had the chance to begin. He took her hand in his, giving it a tender squeeze, “And I promise you--I will not be a fair-weather husband. I love you.” He leaned forward, gently pressing his lips against hers. Estella responded warmly…as they slipped between the bedclothes, nestling closer than ever.

The End

P.S. Happy Birthday, Anso!