The sun had now long ago sunk below the horizon.  Estella had her head on Merry’s lap (the act of laughing having taken up so much energy), and was looking at the stars.

“Well?” said Merry.

“Well, what?”

“What did you think?”

Estella squeezed his foot.  “What became of the magpie?”

Merry laughed.  “She wouldn’t leave until Strider talked to her and promised her she could watch the treasury for him and attack anyone who broke in.  She thinks it’s all hers now, of course.”

“And everything worked out all right in the end?”

“Yes,” he said, “even for Éomer King.  Lothíriel’s his wife.”

“Is she now?”

“Yes, but he makes her ask him every time she wants him to kiss her.”

“Really?”

“He claims so, anyhow.”

Estella laughed.  “D’you know what I think?”

“What do you think, my heart?”

“I think, love, that the women of Gondor are all the cleverest folk I’ve ever heard of.  If the Queen, or the lady Éowyn, evercomes up here, you must take me to her that I may make her acquaintance.  And,” she added, laying her finger on his nose, “I also think that this story was perfectly all right to tell under the context of marriage.”

Merry laughed.  “You—you realize I’ll never tell this to anyone else?”

“Yes, of course.  I only request that when your dear cousin Pippin finally marries her, I may tell Diamond the full tale.”

Merry could not help but smile at the thought.  “Better yet—we’ll make him tell her!”

“Why, yes—that would make things so much easier.  Now, I’m thinking of a dark green gown for you and perhaps something pink for him…”

Merry paled.  “Estella, you wouldn’t...”