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Ruffians  by Lindelea

Anso asked for a glimpse of Merry and Estella reaching Bree after being rescued by the Rangers, from murderous ruffians. It is rather more Estella than Merry, I fear, but hopefully it will suit.

***

It was a difficult choice to make, no choice at all, really. It was a choice between a thorough scrub--more than thorough, but the water was steaming when she got into it, clear and clean and hot, and so she lathered the flannel with the soap again, and again, and yet another time, scrubbing at her skin wherever the ruffian's hands had touched, scrubbing even at her mouth. Though the soap tasted awful, still, the touch of it was clean on her tongue, and surely it tasted better than the ruffian's kiss... A choice between a thorough scrub, as was first mentioned, and returning to the side of her sleeping beloved.

The Rangers had removed the arrow from Merry's shoulder; they had drenched it in medicinal-smelling stuff and bound up the wound and then tied his arm to his side to keep it from moving. Crouching in the best of the rooms set aside for hobbits at the Prancing Pony, the chief of the Northern Rangers now kept watch over Merry while Estella bathed in the next room, and scrubbed away the ruffian's touch until her skin was reddened, both by the heat of the water and the scrubbing. Surely she was clean by now, surely clean enough to return to her husband.

Reluctant-eager she hauled herself out of the cooling bath at last, assuming the clothes that Nob's wife had provided, to take the place of her torn and muddied garments. Her towelled hair fell in a damp tangle of curls over her shoulders as she peeped into the bedroom where the Ranger sat.

She'd have seen that his smile was kind had she looked up, but her body clenched tight in fear at his proximity, and he rose, slowly and cautiously. His voice was soft, soothing as if he spoke to a wary creature of the Wildlands. 'I'll leave you now,' he said. 'Call if you need anything.' As if the chief of Rangers should be an errand lad at her beck and call.

She sat carefully on the edge of the bed, a stranger and an alien, certainly not the same Estella who'd been so eager to savour the novelty of Bree. Not the same...

It could have been worse, she whispered inside her mind. It could have been much worse. But she didn't believe herself.

Merry's eyes opened, he whispered her name.

Ashamed, she looked away.

His good hand rose to caress the bruises on her cheek and jaw. Her eyes filled with tears.

'You're safe,' he whispered. 'I didn't dream it, then...' He looked at the shadowy ceiling. 'Bree?'

Beyond speech, she nodded.

'Come,' he murmured, and she hesitated. 'Come, my dearest,' he said.

Her eyes met his, huge with misery and shame, and he winced as he sat up a little, to pull her close. 'Best beloved,' he said. 'Nothing will ever change that.'

'He... he...' she said. 'And I couldn't stop him. He...'

Merry pulled her close, his lips finding hers, a thorough kiss, a lingering kiss, that somehow washed away the taste of the ruffian. 'You are as I loved you,' he murmured, 'as I shall always love you. It is done, he is dead, and will trouble you no more.'

She rather doubted that, but snuggled into the crook of his arm. His arm tightened about her, and soon he slept once more, the warm puffs of his breath against her neck, his arm holding her close, and in his sleep he murmured her name in love, and she thought perhaps she might begin to feel clean, some day, again.





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