"A well-known case, also, was that of Lalia the Great (or less courteously the Fat). Fortinbras II, one time head of the Tooks and Thain, married Lalia of the Clayhangers in 1314, when he was 36 and she was 31. He died in 1380 at the age of 102, but she long outlived him, coming to an unfortunate end in 1402 at the age of 119. So she ruled the Tooks and the Great Smials for 22 years, a great and memorable, if not universally beloved, 'matriarch'. She was not at the famous Party (SY 1401), but was prevented from attending rather by her great size and immobility than by her age. Her son, Ferumbras, had no wife, being unable (it was alleged) to find anyone willing to occupy apartments in the Great Smials, under the rule of Lalia. Lalia, in her last and fattest years, had the custom of being wheeled to the Great Door, to take the air on a fine morning. In the spring of SY 1402 her clumsy attendant let the heavy chair run over the threshold and tipped Lalia down the flight of steps into the garden. So ended a reign and life that might well have rivaled that of the Great Took.

It was widely rumoured that the attendant was Pearl (Pippin's sister), though the Tooks tried to keep the matter within the family. At the celebration of Ferumbras' accession the displeasure and regret of the family was formally expressed by the exclusion of Pearl from the ceremony and feast; but it did not escape notice that later (after a decent interval) she appeared in a splendid necklace of her name-jewels that had long lain in the hoard of the Thains."

From "The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien", selection edited by Humphrey Carpenter with the assistance of Christopher Tolkien, Letter #214 To A. C. Nunn (draft), George, Allen & Unwin, Publishers.

Spring

Rethe, S.R. 1395

It was that rare day that only comes once a year, the day that all creatures, whether they can read a calendar or not, know that Spring has come. 

Even if the puddles are still rimed with frost, winter has lost its hold on the world.  Birds can sense it and shout their love songs to the morning.  Crocus poke brave green fingers through still frozen soil and the sun's rays begin to bathe the world in real warmth again rather than the mocking illumination of winter.  It is the day the world truly begins to wake from its long slumber.

Their pony needed little guidance along the well-travelled East Road and Frodo gave it its head.  Bilbo had settled back in the seat of their little cart, trusting his ward to guide them, and would soon be asleep, or so the indications suggested. 

Frodo didn’t mind his companion’s silence.  He was just glad to be outside at last.  Snow had lain thick on the North Farthing and cold had kept a particularly strong grip on the rest of the Shire as well.  It had been such unusually hard weather that it had even kept his robust guardian from his usual weekly jaunts.  The forced confinement had rankled both of them, but now, in the midst of spring's emergence, they relished the fresh, newly warm air.  

They weren't exactly on a social call.  Paladin Took, cousin to them both through their respective mothers, had asked Bilbo for his counsel on a matter concerning the Thain's mother.  Lalia the Great had offered to foster one of Paladin's daughters and to teach her the keeping of the Great Smials.  She had apparently been quite taken with the girl and Paladin was seriously considering the proposition.  There were some intra-family politics involved that Frodo wasn’t privy to, but from what he could glean, Paladin had been trying to convince Lalia to support his claim of succession for quite some time.  Without a direct heir, custom dictated that Ferumbras III's title would likely pass to Paladin anyway, as he was the next most closely related male descendant, but according to Bilbo, there had been resistance to that tradition from Paladin's eldest sister, Miralinda, and her son Isengar, and there were historical precedents from Bilbo's own family that gave their arguments credence.  Paladin was eager for Lalia’s and, thereby, the Thain’s favour, to insure that his right to succeed would not even be questioned.  Bilbo had confirmed Frodo’s own sense that such a course was the most desirable one for all concerned.

Though there had to have been more to it than Bilbo had let on.  The fact that the elder Baggins had been called to advise on the matter said a great deal in and of itself.  Bilbo was one of the few people who didn’t tread lightly around Lalia, they being of an age and he being the sort who didn't worry much what others said of him.  Paladin was troubled, that was clear, but Frodo couldn’t understand why he would even begin to think of sending his own daughter away.  Buckland folk, queer though some might have thought them, parted with children reluctantly; it had taken years for Rorimac to be convinced Frodo would be better off in Hobbiton, so Paladin’s actions struck Frodo as very queer indeed.  There had to have been more at stake than his claim to the Thainship, but what, Frodo couldn't even begin to guess. 

He had met Paladin's daughters before and young Pip.  Pippin was a charming faunt with a knack for trouble, but the girls were, well, girls.  Aside from some roughness about the edges of the eldest, he'd never noted anything about any of them he would have considered remarkable.  Obviously, Lalia had seen something he hadn’t been able to. 

All he knew was he was very glad it wasn't him being sent to Great Smials.  He'd heard the talk.  'Lalia the Fat' she was called when those who might take offense weren't in earshot.  Ferumbras was thought a decent enough fellow, but the common wisdom was that she really ran Great Smials, and with an iron will by all accounts.  Even so, one couldn't say the Shire hadn't been prosperous during the years following Fortinbras' death.  Trade within the Shire was brisk and there was even talk of dealings with the south as well as renewing ties with Bree, but there was a strangely unwholesome feel to the whole business and it was clear certain families, namely the Clayhangers, had been much more prosperous in it than the rest. 

Bilbo was snoring contentedly when the cart rolled past Tookbank and into the western edge of the Green Hill country.  Little settlements like Whitfell and Holly were dug into the hills all around the Tooklands and filled with Tooks and Took relations.  Paladin's home, Greenfields, was a quaint, well-run farm with apple trees and sheep dotting the green just to the north and west of Great Smials.  His hole faced north and across the fields one could just make out the dark line of the trees along the East Road and, if the day was clear enough, the grey-blue mound of the Hill itself. 

"We're here, Uncle," said Frodo, pulling the pony to a halt in Paladin's yard.  A farmhand came from the barn and took the beast's head as Bilbo collected himself to disembark. 

"They're here!"  A high-pitched child's voice made Frodo turn in time to see a towheaded girl dart from an overhanging apple tree into the door of the smial. 

“Pervinca,” chuckled Bilbo, “if I’m not mistaken.  She was but a faunt the last time I saw her.”  Frodo helped the older hobbit down, though he hardly needed the assistance, and followed him across the courtyard.  Flowers grew in unkempt riots of colour in the beds bordering the little space, adding a charmingly dishevelled look to the home.  Careful gardening, it seemed, was not the priority at Greenfields that it was at Bag End. 

“Welcome, Bilbo!”  Eglantine Took stood in the open front door, her generous and imposing frame almost filling it.  “And Frodo!  So good to see you again!  But you are as thin as a rail!  What has this old scoundrel been feeding you?”  With open arms and many a motherly cluck, she directed them into the smial.  “You must excuse the mess,” she said, “but you know how children can be.”  She winked at Bilbo and gave a nod to Frodo as she took their coats. 

The front hall was paved with light coloured stone sanded smooth and polished, though the finish was worn were the traffic had been heaviest.  A clear set of muddy footprints lead toward the left hand doorway off the little room and low voices could be heard from behind the closed door.  While Eglantine hung the coats in the closet, the door opened and Paladin appeared.  He nodded gravely to Bilbo and Frodo and stepped back to let a truly wretched looking figure come from behind him.

It was covered from head to furry toes in thick, drying mud.  Mud coated curls laid upon the bowed head in great dangling clods so that Frodo could barely see the dirty face beneath them.  Little clumps of the stuff were falling off as he moved, framing the chastened whelp in an accusing little circle.  His torn shirt had once been white from the look of it, but Frodo doubted even the famed laundresses of Great Smials would ever get it clean again.  He turned a dirty, plaid cap nervously in his hands. 

“Eglantine?”  Paladin’s voice was disapproving and tired.  “Would you?” 

His wife sighed and took the youngster’s arm. 

At that, the lad looked up and Frodo was struck by the fineness of his features, the delicate jaw line under muddy smudges and the glittering brightness of his green eyes.  He started and stared as realization struck him.  The muddy tween was a girl. 

But she had eyes only for Paladin.  She did not cry or resist when Eglantine drew her away, but kept staring back at him as if hoping for some sign, a reprieve or repudiation.  On her face was the shattered longing of one whose heart had been well and truly broken.  She knew she would not find it. 

Frodo watched until the opposite door closed behind Eglantine and her charge.

“Having a spot of trouble?” Bilbo asked.

Paladin ran a hand through his brown curls.  “You’ve no idea, my friend.  Though, as Eglantine will surely point out, I can blame no one for this but myself.” 

“If you don’t mind my asking, cousin Paladin, who was that?”

“That,” grimaced Paladin, “is the reason I asked you here today.”

Pearl?  That girl was Pearl Took! 

“She’s growing into a lovely young lady,” chuckled Bilbo.

Paladin glared at him.  “You’re good if you can tell that under all that filth.”

“What happened?” asked Frodo.  Her abject expression had troubled him far more than the mud had. 

Paladin sighed and gestured for them to return to the room he had just exited.  “Eglantine would tell you ‘I’ happened, but it’s a long story.”

“I thought you said she wanted to go to Great Smials?”  Bilbo found a chair by the grate in the little parlour, Frodo settled beside a tray that held the fixings for a morning tea.  He looked up at Bilbo, who nodded in assent, and began making his guardian a cup.

“She says she does,” Paladin agreed.  “Though I’d never have thought she’d be the type to go in for all those high manners and etiquette.  She’s always taken after me and I never took on airs.”

“She didn’t look very happy about something,” offered Frodo and instantly felt self-conscious for voicing his opinion in the elder hobbits’ presence. 

Paladin didn’t look happy about it either.  “It’s hard to say what her motives are these days.”

“I remember when she was just a faunt,” put in Bilbo.  “She followed you everywhere, Paladin.  I think it drove Eglantine mad, but she would never mind anyone but you.”

Paladin winced as if Bilbo had brought up a painful memory.  “No, she didn’t,” he agreed.  “She was my girl from the day she weaned.  Always wanting to help on the farm, chasing chickens when she was just three, helping me to mow the fields when she was old enough to handle a team, and I’d never seen a lass, or lad for that matter, who had better aim with a stone.”  Paladin sighed again.  “That was what Eglantine says the problem was; I didn’t have a lad, so I made one out of Pearl.”  He shook his head.  “Though I never did encourage her, sakes, I tried to discourage her from the moment she first tottered out into the fields, but if Pearl takes after her mother in any way, it is strength of will.  The more firmly we scolded her, the harder she fought to get her way.

“When Pimpernel came, Eglantine gave up trying to gentle our Pearl.  I don’t blame her.  She had her hands full with the other girls and we both thought she would surely grow out of her ways.  There are some battles that aren’t worth fighting. 

“I daresay I did enjoy having her with me.  Together we went fishing, hiked across the width of the Tooklands just as I would have with a lad; there was nothing Pearl wasn’t game to try.”  He paused, looking guiltily up at Bilbo.  “I confess, I liked having her to share my passions with, even if she was a daughter.

“But things changed after Pippin came along.  Eglantine pointed out, and rightly, I’ll grant her, that now that she had given me a son, she needed to begin to tame her eldest daughter again.  Pearl hadn’t outgrown her boyish ways as we’d hoped and it was time she began to behave like the lady she was to someday be.”  He sighed once again.  “It has been very hard for all of us.  Lalia’s offer was the first proposition that Pearl has not resisted straight away.”

“You say the child has requested to go to Great Smials and serve her?”  Bilbo sounded as doubtful as Frodo felt.  “The picture you paint is of a spirited girl, not one who would likely submit to the yoke of such formal surroundings.”

Paladin nodded.  “When Lalia asked, Pearl said yes.  Gladly too, or I’m no judge of my own child.  Either she’s got the wrong idea what she is getting into with Lalia or the old dame has softened in her dotage.  I am as baffled as you are.”

Bilbo sipped his tea in silence.  Frodo poured the last of the pot into his and Paladin’s cups and dutifully set the empty dishes on the tray by the door.

“What kind of an agreement has Lalia offered?” Bilbo asked at length.

“It’s not a standard apprenticeship, if that is what you are asking,” Paladin answered.  “And I was very firm that my daughter retains the right to break from it at any time she wishes.  I would not even consider the arrangement unless that was a part of the contract.”

“Lalia agreed to this?”  Bilbo seemed surprised.  Paladin nodded.

“Yes.  Wonder of wonders, but she did.  And, she promises to endorse me as heir as well, even if she and the Thain later decide Pearl is not a suitable apprentice.  However, if Pearl leaves Great Smials of her own accord before her apprenticeship is fulfilled, Lalia says she will not honour my claim.”

Bilbo frowned thoughtfully and shook his head.  “I don’t like it.  What is to stop Lalia from holding the girl with her under threat of denouncing your claim?”

“I will already have the Thain’s written endorsement in hand and in the agreement itself will be a clause that says if Pearl is ever coerced by either of them, the Thain will immediately step down and install me or my heirs in his place. 

“This agreement is decidedly one sided, Bilbo.  I will have the Thain’s written endorsement in hand.  Lalia trusts me not to use it until such time as the Thain steps down, and the only exemption she has requested is that, should the Thain produce a direct, blood heir, my claim would then be forfeit to his issue.  The fellow is in his eighties.  I suppose he’s still capable of producing one, but he’ll need a wife and I don’t think he’s likely to find one who’d willingly put up with Lalia at this point.”

“And Pearl has agreed to this?  I find that fact alone highly suspicious.”

“Heaven knows why, but she has.  You must know Lalia has always got on with my Pearl.  She treats other children like the curmudgeon she is, but Pearl has always been her favourite.  When my daughter was eight years old, I lost her in the maze of the Great Smials.  Was beside myself 'til one of Lalia’s maidservants came and told me the Thain's mother was entertaining her.  I went to retrieve the girl immediately and found her in smudged petticoats playing ‘Pirates’ with the old dame.  I’d never got so much as a nod out of Lalia, but Pearl, somehow, had her positively enchanted.

“What she’s told us is that she’s finally given up on Ferumbras giving her grandchildren and has decided to engage some herself.  She’s made mention of Pearl’s recent melancholy, to rankle Eglantine no doubt, and offers her service suggesting that the girl might do better in a less crowded, more structured home where she can get personal attention.  Eglantine is fit to be tied, but we’re both at a loss for how else to handle the girl.  And Lalia insists she has nothing but the best of intentions for her.”

At that, Bilbo scoffed.  “I’ve known Lalia for too long to give that much credence.”  He pulled out his pipe and weed and began preparing a smoke.  “What does Pearl think she wants?  The girl must have some idea why Lalia has asked for her.”

“You may ask her yourself, Bilbo.  Eglantine will be bringing her back once she’s made herself presentable again.” 

Bilbo scraped the bowl of his pipe thoughtfully and knocked it out upon the grate. 

“That I will do,” he said firmly.  “In the meanwhile, have you drawn up a contract?  And may I look it over?  I’m no solicitor, but I’d like to see what scheme Lalia is concocting.  Altruism is a very fine quality, but I doubt it had anything to do with her motives in this matter.  She would not be doing this unless she saw a way to benefit herself or her family, I am sure of it.”

Paladin smiled.  “As I thought too.  You may indeed see the contract, I was hoping you would, and I would appreciate your invaluable advice on it.  I might have done my dearest girl an injustice by letting her run wild for so long, but I don’t want to make things worse by placing her in an untenable arrangement.”

Bilbo patted his arm reassuringly.  “We will find a way protect the girl and not invalidate your claim.  We owe it to the Shire.  You would be a far better Thain than Isengar, or, I’ll wager, Ferumbras.  Now, let us see this contract.”

Fallow

Chapter 2

Innocence

The warm room, slanting spring sunlight and the dry discussion of legal tenets in formal Westron were making Frodo drowsy.  Paladin’s explanation had sated his curiosity about the matter and since Pearl was reportedly content with the arrangement, there seemed little else for him to be concerned with.  He was certain Bilbo and Paladin would work out any other difficulties to all parties’ satisfaction without needing his assistance.  He slid deeper into his comfortable chair.

The knock that started him to wakefulness came some time later.  He blinked, struggled to a sitting position and tried to look cognizant. 

Eglantine had returned to the parlour with Pearl, now dressed in a manner more suited to a girl on the verge of her tweens; a pale yellow dress with ruffles of white eyelet lace and a green sash.  It looked new and Pearl looked positively defeated wearing it. 

Her light brown curls had been braided demurely down her back and her delicate bare feet had been washed and thoroughly brushed.  Her skin, now that the mud was off it, was lightly freckled and slightly browned as if she spent more time out of doors than most well bred girls liked to.  Frodo could not see her eyes, but he remembered their colour, bright green flecked with brown.  The image of them beseeching her father returned and he wondered again how content she really was with the plans her family had for her.

“Pearl,” greeted Bilbo politely.  “You know my cousin and ward, Frodo Baggins.”

The girl glanced over at Frodo without interest.  “Yes,” she answered.  “He has brought cousin Merry to see Pip a few times.  Welcome again to Greenfields, Frodo.”  She spoke the automatic politeness, as if she knew her mother would jab her in the ribs if she didn’t say something pleasant.  Frodo distractedly felt the slight, but his attention was now drawn to details about the girl that he hadn’t noted under the mud.

She’d have to have been nineteen, if his math was correct.  A child still to someone possessed of his sage twenty-six years, but poised to become a very beautiful young lady.  Her face was as perfectly formed as any lass’s he’d seen and the slim, athletic body beneath it moved in a way that was quite captivating.  Unlike most girls of his acquaintance, who walked with an exaggerated and deliberate sway that looked unnatural (and uncomfortable) to his eyes, she had a raw and easy native grace about her, even while obviously humbled.  There was no artifice; she was exactly as she appeared: a beautiful girl who seemed completely unaware of her budding femininity.  It was an intriguing combination.

“We’ve been discussing the proposal Lalia has made to your father,” continued Bilbo, peering shrewdly at the girl.  “He told me that you would not be opposed the arrangement.”

“No, I wouldn’t mind.  Lalia has always been a friend to me.  Attending her would be no burden.” 

“I’ve known others who attended on Lalia,” Bilbo pressed.  “Their experiences have not been good ones.  Are you aware of her reputation?”

Pearl looked him in the eye.  “I am,” she said, with certainly and a little defiance.  “She is a strong willed matron, but has never been anything but kind to me.  We have an understanding and respect for each other.  She values my strength.”

The defeat in her demeanour was gone and Frodo saw her lift her head in arrogant pride.  She stared down at her mother, who frowned, seemingly irritated by Pearl’s unladylike manner, and then levelled her haughty gaze at her father.

And there she faltered.  It was clearly Paladin whom Pearl looked to for support and guidance, not her mother, and it was Paladin’s stern look rather than Eglantine’s disapproval that now checked her.  Frodo felt a stab of pity for the girl.  How must she have felt being rebuffed by the parent she favoured?  He found himself wondering whether she was moving into Lalia’s service or simply running away from what must have seemed like rejection from Paladin. 

“Aye,” agreed Bilbo.  “I will agree with you there.  She’s a powerful lady and appreciates a strong will.  You may be a match for her in that respect, but take heed.  She has four times your years and experience.  Never trust her.  She will see that as weakness, mark my word.  And always remember that it is your choice to stay or leave.  They cannot compel you.”

Pearl hesitated, then nodded and thanked him. 

“Very well.”  He placed his hands on his knees as if the matter was settled and he was ready to push on to the next item on the agenda.  “If I may, I’d like a few words with Eglantine and Paladin.  Frodo?”  Absently, he gestured the boy up from his chair.  “Would you take little Pearl out for a stroll?  It seems far too glorious a day for young hobbits to miss by falling asleep in stuffy rooms.  Go outside and you both enjoy the sunshine for me.”

Frodo blushed, stood and gave Eglantine a little bow.  “Of course, Bilbo.  I would enjoy that.  Pearl?”

It was much more a case of Pearl taking Frodo for a walk than Frodo taking Pearl. 

Once out of the smial, she abandoned all pretence of feminine deference and headed out for the Green Hills at a run.  After a moment’s surprise, Frodo followed, his longer legs allowing him to catch up and keep pace with relatively little effort.  She ran up the slope of a sparsely forested hill and wove her way through thickets of spruce and fir.  Next she dropped down into a sandy dell, its bowl filled with rainwater and small green frogs, emerging cattails and hummocks of rushes.  Cold seemed to have settled into the hollow as well and Frodo was glad when the tireless Pearl climbed back out of it.  The next hill was tall and crowned with thick oaks, and he found himself growing warm as she pushed on. 

She hadn’t spoken, had barely even deigned to look at him, and Frodo was beginning to feel very put out by the behaviour.  When they came to the peak of the hill under the oaks, Frodo grabbed at her arm just as her mother had done.

But though Pearl had tolerated Eglantine’s censure, she would have none of it from Frodo.  With a contemptuous snort, she wrenched herself free and dashed across the hill’s barren crown to dive into the thick growth on the other side.  Frodo muttered angrily and followed.

“See here!” he cried, pushing away the laurel and stumbling down the slope.  The next hollow was broad and open and warmed well by the sun.  Pearl had come to a stop at a small rivulet that ran by the foot of the hill and this time, when Frodo came up behind her, she didn’t flinch.  “At Bag End, we welcome our guests and make them comfortable!” he said, picking laurel leaves out of his hair.  “We do not lead them in a frantic chase across the countryside!”

She flicked him a look but didn’t answer.  Her attention was on a great apple tree that grew by the stream, the wrinkled remains of last year’s crop still clinging to its branches.  Further up the far bank lay the remains of an old, forgotten smial, overrun with weeds and brambles, its garden still sporting a bloom of crocus and forsythia.  As they caught their breath, she studied the tree’s gnarled branches, as if reading its enigmatic story in the pattern.

“This was my tree,” she murmured suddenly.  “Mother wouldn’t allow me come out this fall and pick it.  No one else would come so far for one tree’s crop and so its apples went to waste.  See?  Most lie rotted at its feet.”

“I see,” answered Frodo, not certain what else to say.  Pearl looked sideways at him. 

“If I leave those last few on the branches, they won’t bear this year.  Someone should at least pick them off.”

Frodo looked up at the tall, twisted tree.  “It’s awfully high – and I am not exactly dressed for climbing,” he said.

“No one has asked you to,” she retorted.  A flicker of contempt crossed her features and Frodo felt a responsive spark of anger flare up inside him. 

“I suppose you are going to climb up there?  You are hardly dressed for it either.”

Her head snapped around defiantly, but there was something else in her eyes; weariness, as of someone who had had to prove a point far more times than should have been necessary.  She unfastened her cloak and then immediately began unlacing the yellow dress.  Frodo took a step back as she pulled the frilly contraption over her head. 

“Now I am.”  She pushed the dress towards him.  “Hold this, there’s a good fellow.” 

He sputtered cotton away from his face.  Pearl wandered the little opening as if searching for something, dressed only in her undergarment.  He felt his face grow hot when she bent to pick up a long stick that had fallen by the stream.  Her small clothes were thin, not translucent but nearly so, and as she tested the stick’s strength and reach, Frodo could see every curve of her developing form clearly. 

But Pearl seemed not to care, nor to have any idea that her scantily clad form might have elicited a response from him.  Intriguingly, she did not seem aware of her own invigorating, youthful beauty.  Frodo found her manner unexpectedly appealing.

“Aren’t… aren’t you cold?” he managed, trying unsuccessfully to avoid staring.

She propped her stick against the apple tree’s trunk. 

“A little,” she admitted, her brief irritation seemingly forgotten, “but I’d rather not incur mother’s wrath again today.  Which I would if I ripped that dress.”  She swung nimbly into the branches as she talked.  “Though now that she’s taken away all my trousers, I expect I will end up shredding a few of them.  Perhaps she thinks she can make me a lady by forcing me to dress like one?”  She pulled the stick up into the tree after her and began knocking the shrivelled apples off their branches. 

“I’ll grant you, that is probably what she’s hoping to do," she continued.  "Poor mother, she’s never been able to fathom me.  What a mercy she has Pimpernel and Pervinca.”

Frodo sat on the bank of the little stream, safely out of the range of the falling apples.  “Everyone thinks their parents don’t understand them,” he shrugged, “and that they are the only ones that have ever been so misjudged.  That’s part of growing up.”  He cast a pebble into the brook.  “Be thankful you have parents to rail against.” 

The girl stilled in the treetop and Frodo felt her eyes upon him.  Trying to think of a really stinging retort, most likely, he thought.

But when she spoke, her voice was not indignant, but soft and sad.

“I suppose it would be harder not even having them.  I am sorry, Frodo.  I didn’t think.”  After another moment’s silence, she started on another branch.  “You are right, I should not complain.  My parents have been very understanding, considering.  And mother isn’t trying to aggravate me, she simply wants me to be happy, to marry someday and be accepted.”  The bitterness in her voice made Frodo look up again. 

“Is that such a terrible fate?”

She thrust determinately at a wizened apple at the very top of the tree.  “It is not a fate for me, cousin.  I’ve no desire whatsoever to become someone’s wife and bear a herd of children for some dull-eyed gentlehobbit.  I’ve not even the slightest whim in that regard.”  She gave a last thrust at the fruit that remained defiantly out of the reach of her stick.  “Things changed after Pip came,” she sighed.  “I don’t blame him, please don’t think I do, but…”  She shook her head.  “I just wish I had been born a boy.  If I had, no one would think ill of me for wanting to feel the dirt under my fingertips, the sun on my back, and for preferring the wild places of the wood to a kitchen hearth.”  She propped her bare arm against a branch, looking tired.  “Instead, they tell me that one day I’ll grow out of all those things that I now cherish.”  She blew the curls out of her face with a frustrated sigh.  “I’m sorry, Frodo … I don’t mean to burden you.”

“It’s all right,” he assured her, feeling suddenly very mature and wise.  He'd been nineteen during his last year in Buckland; not a tween yet, but beginning to feel the uncertainties of adolescence.  He knew what a difficult time it could be.  “I am happy to listen.  I was your age once.” 

She laughed and the sound ran up his spine like the shock of ice.  “You sound like Bilbo, and yet are you so much older than I?  I don’t believe you’ve come of age yet either, Mr. Baggins.”

Frodo flushed.  “I dare say I’m more experienced in the world than you, Miss Took.  You should listen to your elders.”

She made a rude noise and dropped her stick out of the tree.  It landed neatly by Frodo’s feet.  Then she began her own careful descent.  The bark was rough and it left fresh scratches over the marks of many older, like scars on her legs.  She didn’t complain, but when she reached the ground, Frodo took out his handkerchief.

“Here, let me take care of that.”  He brought her to the water and sat her on the bank.  Pearl paddled her feet while Frodo washed her scrapes in the icy water.  Her legs were muscular, lean and warm, but after he bathed them, they broke out in goose bumps that made the soft, golden hairs on her leg rise.  Frodo shivered and retrieved Pearl’s cloak, bidding her wrap herself in it for warmth, and so that he would not stare at what else the cold water had raised. 

“I don’t understand, Pearl," he said, trying to guide his mind back down more wholesome paths.  "You describe yourself as a person who values her freedoms, and yet you say you want to bind yourself to Lalia?  How is that freedom?” 

Pearl shifted uncomfortably.  “It’s not like that,” she insisted, looking away from him.  “Mistress Lalia understands me.  She is not bitter and spiteful like people say, she’s just strong, like me.  She’s had to be.  It makes her seem hard to those who don’t know her.”  She frowned in silence for a long moment.  “She's the only one who understands," she whispered at last.  "And she wants to help.” 

“She is going to teach me to be the keeper of Great Smials," Pearl continued, more firmly.  “No matter who succeeds Ferumbras, though of course that will be father, my situation would be secure.  She is getting old and needs to pass the ordering of the house to someone she can trust.  And she’s chosen me as that person.  Don’t you see, Frodo?  As the keeper of Great Smials, I would have power enough not to have to bow to the dictates of convention.” 

That sounded to Frodo more like something Lalia would have said than Pearl herself and it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth.  “That doesn’t seem much like freedom,” he said.

She avoided his eyes again.  “It… isn’t.  Not true freedom.  But it’s independence of a sort, and I fear it’s the closest thing to it that I can ever hope for.”  She rolled the hem of her cloak between her fingers as she continued.  “And from there, I can help father.  Lalia listens to me.  I’ll make sure she endorses him.  He’ll see.”

Frodo shook his head.  “It’s your decision, Pearl, but I must tell you, as an impartial observer hearing the details, I am not entirely comfortable with this.”

She cocked her head at him ruefully.  “Have you another suggestion, cousin?” 

“Well…”  He hesitated.  With the bees buzzing about them and the call of unseen songbirds filling the bright air, what he’d wanted to say suddenly seemed impossibly forward.  He wished to tell her that she was lovely and that there would surely someday come a lad who would win her heart.  But the morning had grown comfortably warm in the little hollow and Pearl had let the cloak slip from her shoulders.  In her damp, sleeveless shift, she looked breathtaking and yet as innocent as the first bloom of spring.  He could not help but stare. 

"I think…"  

The bright sun made the material almost translucent.  Gauzy shadows defined shapely, emerging breasts and the sweet curve of a feminine waist.  Where he had washed her scratches, her thighs remained bare so they could dry and the sight reminded him what her creamy skin had felt like.  She then turned to look up at him and a reflection off the water made her green eyes glow.

He almost forgot he was a gentlehobbit. 

“That is, I believe… I mean, it is my opinion that you are being premature dismissing your parents’ hopes for you out of hand.  You are quite… lovely.”  He had to avert his eyes to finish his thought.  “And, and I think you do the lads of the Shire a disservice by not even giving them a chance to win you."

She blinked and then peered up at him critically, as if just noticing his nervous sweat and growing agitation, though if she suspected that she was the cause of it, she gave no sign.

“Going to Great Smials doesn’t mean I can’t marry,” she said thoughtfully.  “But honestly, Pervinca’s the one the lads will be knocking down the door for, not me.”  Her mouth twitched into a frown.  “I’ve played with the lads from Tuckborough since I was old enough to walk, but even though fellows my age have already begun courting, none have ever shown an interest in me.”  She shrugged.  “I used to think that I would marry one of those lads, but…”  She studied him thoughtfully.  “Mother says the way you feel about a hobbit you want to marry is different from how you feel for a friend.”  She said the words almost as a question, but when Frodo didn’t comment, she shrugged.  “I guess it doesn’t matter anyway.  It’s not as if there’s a path beaten to my door.” 

In profile, her pensive face lit by the sun off the water, she was even more striking. 

Frodo knew he was widely regarded by the mothers of Hobbiton and Bywater as the most eligible prospect in the East Farthing.  They were constantly setting daughters, carefully coached in the game of flirtation, unguarded in his path.  He was well practiced in the game, and it was relatively easy to resist a manipulative or cunning coquette, but against Pearl’s lack of guile, he found himself utterly defenseless.  She simply was as fresh, untouched and radiant as she appeared, and against such honest purity he had no counter.  His guard was completely undone.  He drew in a breath.

“If there isn’t one, then the lads ‘round here are blind."

~*~

TBC

Chapter 3 - 

The Easy Pupil

She stilled like a hare being stalked.  Her frown deepened slightly and she drew herself in, running her hands up her arms as if finally sensing how vulnerable she was.  "They are my friends," she said guardedly.  "You should not speak ill of them."

Frodo felt his face grow hot.  "I did not mean…"  He paused and shook his head.  "Forgive me.  I spoke unwisely.  It is not meet of me to speak so of lads I do not know.  But…"

She drew the cloak up to cover her exposed flesh.  Now that she was aware of his gaze, she seemed quite ill at ease in it.  Whether due to a sudden realization of how foolishly she had endangered herself or some belated modesty, her easy comfort with him, a precious moment in the sun, seemed over.  Frodo felt keen regret prick his heart, but realized it was probably for the best.  She was developing into a stunningly beautiful lass.  A less scrupulous fellow might have taken advantage of her innocence.

“I am sorry, Pearl.  I spoke without thinking.  Forgive me.”  He reached down to help her straighten the cloak over her shoulder, but when he touched her, she flinched as if struck and a shiver ran through her frame. 

“Pearl?” he asked, bending over her in alarm and putting his hand more firmly on her back. 

She looked up at him again, but this time with shock.  Her mouth opened wordlessly and she searched his features as if she had never seen him before.  Frodo felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck.  There was something in her expression; surprise or perhaps fear that seemed directed at him.

“Pearl?” 

She stumbled to her feet and backed quickly away from him.  The swift water and slime-covered rocks gave her no purchase and before she could take more than a couple of steps, she slipped and fell backward into the water. 

“Pearl!”

It was only a little brook, hardly deep enough to wet one’s toes in, but it was icy cold.  Pearl squealed and scrambled up in a flash, but the damage was done; she and her heavy cloak were soaked.

“Are you all right?”

“No!” she sobbed, her lip already trembling. 

“Silly thing, come out of that water before you catch your death!”  Frodo grabbed for the only piece of dry clothing she had left; her dress. 

Though the dip seemed to have momentarily startled Pearl out of her alarm, she still hesitated to come to him. 

“I won’t eat you, girl, now come out of that water straight away.”  Frodo averted his eyes as he held forth the garment.  Her shift was positively transparent when wet but he was more concerned with her health at the moment than her suddenly revealed body.  Pearl folded her arms over her chest and trembled before darting back onto the bank.  The gentle breeze had picked up.  It felt pleasant to him but she shivered uncontrollably.

“Change and do it quickly or you’ll be shaking too much to be able to.”  He thrust the dry dress at her and turned his back.  A gasp followed the sound of the cloak dropping and then came the wet slap of sodden fabric against skin.  A muttered curse followed a different rustle, that of dry clothing and Frodo imagined her struggling her wet body into the cumbersome dress, but he did not turn to investigate until she spoke.

“This won’t be enough,” she muttered, her voice still shaking with cold.  “With the cloak, I was all right, but I’m freezing in this.”

Frodo turned back.  She no longer looked tempting; she looked more like a drowned rat in ruffles.  He suppressed a smile.  

“We’ll hang the cloak and the shift in the sun.  They should dry soon enough.”

Pearl nodded and attempted to attend to the dress’ lacings, but after a few moments, she gave up and sighed, exasperated. 

“I can’t… can’t make my fingers…”

Frodo had laid her shift on the grass and draped the cloak over a low hanging apple branch.  “They’re stiff,” he nodded.  “Not surprising after the plunge you took.  Come here and I’ll help warm you.”  He gestured towards the lee of the cloak.  “It'll keep the wind at bay,” he explained.

Though she still trembled, the wariness returned to her eye. 

“Please,” Frodo sighed, “I am sorry for frightening you, but I am no cad who would press an advantage.  You are safe with me.”

The frown twitched the corner of her mouth again.  She started to speak, but then seemed to think better of it.  She came towards him hesitantly and then fairly leapt into the little shelter when the breeze gusted again. 

Frodo chuckled as he rubbed her arms.  She was quite chilled, even in dry clothes, and he tucked her as far into his coat as he could manage before settling them both onto the ground.  She still seemed extremely uneasy in his embrace and it took many softly spoken assurances before she relaxed enough to lay her damp head upon his breast.

“I can’t believe I did that,” she whispered, the shivers at last beginning to subside.  “I must have looked a fool.”

Frodo smiled and rubbed her back comfortingly.  “It was my fault for frightening you.  But I did have a purpose in it.  Though I would never have compromised you, you must realize others may not be so noble.  I have been to Great Smials; it is no worse a place than Brandy Hall, I suppose, but I would not send you to either without alerting you to the danger.”  He chuckled ruefully.  “You are not a child anymore, Pearl.”

She stiffened against his chest again and drew back till she could look him in the eye.  For many long moments she searched his face and Frodo kept perfectly still so that she could see and feel the truth of his words.  Though he had certainly been charmed by her youthful candour, he had mastered himself again.  Innocence was a weapon none had ever used to snare him, and it was a formidable one.  She’d simply caught him unprepared. 

The lines of worry on her face deepened and she shivered again, though it did not seem to be from cold.

“I knew what you were trying to warn me of, Frodo.  Mother has tried as well, but I’d only listened with half an ear.  She said it would be different when…, that I would know, but it’s so much more than I realized…”  She swallowed with difficulty, but her eyes never left his.  “I’ve never felt anything like this before, not for anyone.”  She bit her lip and Frodo wondered if it was indeed worry written on her face or shame.  “It wasn’t you I was frightened of, Frodo,” she whispered, her face colouring a disarming pink.  “It was me.”

And then, to Frodo’s utter surprise, she brushed a kiss across his lips.  Delicate fire seemed to erupt from the touch and the control he had so recently regained evaporated before it.  This was not a move that he had expected from so innocent a lass!  She made a little, pleased sound in her throat; so soft Frodo could more feel than hear it, and the desire that cold water and reason had quelled surged in him again.

She pulled back and gazed at him.  Rather than a self-satisfied smirk like that he had seen on the few other lasses who had managed to kiss him, her face bore an expression of unabashed awe.  He had no doubt this had been her first real one;  she licked her lips with shameless delight such as only one who had no idea what dangerous waters could lie beyond a kiss could enjoy.  Her next venture was deeper, hungrier, bolder, and with an enthusiasm that was so contagious Frodo could not resist engaging in a measure of it.  It was only a kiss after all.  He certainly would not let it go farther.  Better that he, who had the self-control maturity afforded, should give her a taste of what she had so off-handedly dismissed than to send her unknowing into the reach of some slicker talking denizen of Great Smials who would gladly mistake naivety for assent.  

And what easy prey she would be, too!  Frodo stroked her back and marvelled at the captivating way she arched into him.  The hesitance she had shown earlier seemed forgotten.  She had given in completely to experiencing this strange new delight.  A flicker of warning crossed the back of his mind.  She was so willing, so ready to follow where he could lead her.  He thought of the dark halls and sophisticated realms of his youth.  Pearl would be a tragically easy mark for the jaded palates of such society.  He pushed into her open mouth and she offered no resistance.  No.  She would not last a week in Great Smials.

Her tongue wonderingly stroked his as it delved deep into her mouth and she began to whimper as if hungry for him to go further.  It was a tantalizing sound that Frodo could not help but respond to.  Pearl took his increasing boldness without protest but the warning in his mind grew more insistent.  He should stop, before things went too far, but all was happening so very quickly.  His feeling of alarm grew stronger.  Where was her sense of propriety?  Such innocence was all very charming, but she was nearly a tween.  She must guard herself more dearly than this or risk ruining any prospect she might have!  He hesitated a moment, but her sweet mouth and lush, willing body were impossible to resist.  Perhaps, if he dared a little further than was proper, she would see how easily such play could be come serious.  Surely then she would rise to her own defence.  He rolled her beneath him. 

The call of warning rang shrilly in his mind.  Even through trousers and dress, he could feel her warmth and she, with a gasp, opened her legs so that he dropped heavily upon her.  For the first time, Frodo wondered if perhaps he was the one being played for a fool.  Her exclamation had not been one of fear, as he had expected, but of keen desire.  Before he could resist, she pulled him in even tighter, stroked mercilessly against him and moaned, her eyes glassy with passion. 

Control of the situation was a rapidly vanishing option.  His body was responding to her eagerly, whether he wanted it to or not.  He broke off the kiss and fought to regain his mastery, but Pearl still moved hungrily against him.  It was far more than any poor hobbit lad should have been expected to take.  Perhaps, as long as he kept his trousers on and she remained in her unlaced but cumbersome dress, no harm could come of their play?  To his lust fogged brain, the assurance sounded as logical as anything else and he answered her teasing strokes with a hard, dry thrust. 

He felt her shudder beneath him, but the subsequent moments blurred into frenzy.  Convulsions began rippling through her body and set off an answering firestorm in his.  Frodo was dimly grateful that a shield of fabric kept their virtue intact, but he was at the mercy of an unquenchable fire, overcome by primal need, newly discovered and gleefully engaged.  She was as fervent as the spring itself, lush, fresh and pure… and young!

“Aaaai!” 

Frodo reeled and pushed away, collapsing into the cloak and tearing it from the branch.  Wet fabric entangled his limbs and brought his addled brain swiftly back to cognizance.  Nerves still on fire, he struggled to stand and stared down at his dazed cousin.

And I feared for her among Great Smials’ lads? he berated himself, shaking with unspent desire.  What was I thinking?

Pearl looked confused.  She stared up at the sky, blinking at the bright blue and then she saw him.  The raw need and hurt in her eyes hit him like a fist.

“What did I do wrong?” she gasped.

“Excuse me,” he cried and dashed off to the stream.  Cold water, he needed cold water, or at least privacy to finish what she had started. 

When he had himself under control again, he returned to find his cousin huddled miserably under her cloak.  She said nothing, but watched his every movement with haunted anguish.  The defiant and strong willed teen of the morning had vanished and the girl who was left was uncertain, bereft and very young indeed.  He knelt before her, feeling almost as wretched as she looked.

“Pearl, I am sorry.  That was my fault, I…”

“Mother said… Mother said it would different when I found the right...” she gulped, trying not to sob.  “And when you looked at me that way, suddenly I knew what she meant.  It tingled inside and was… warm.  So warm….  Was that not what I was supposed to feel?  You said I should not fear it, didn’t you?”  The words stumbled out as if they could not longer be held inside her but her voice was pitiful and full of tears.  “But you pushed me away.  What’s the matter?  Am I so objectionable that you can’t love me either?” 

“No!  Yes, I…  Not as such.  Oh, dear…”  He laid the hood back from her mussed curls.  “You are passionate, beautiful, sensual and desirable…”  She looked up at him, her cheeks glistening in the sun.  “But you are too young for such sport, and far too precious.  I… It’s my fault, I should not have been so ham-handed.  I had thought to teach you caution, but it seems I had something to learn about myself as well.”  He cupped her chin in his hand.  “Never, ever again be so willing, cousin.  You can trust none of us!”

She blinked back her tears.  “I trusted you.”

He ran a hand through his hair.  “And you nearly paid dear for it!  Pearl, you are nineteen!  You have a lifetime ahead of you.  What you are feeling is not ‘love’ – it is only desire.  Love is so much, much more.”

“I don’t care what it is called,” she whispered, pitifully, “It felt right and all I know is I want to feel it again.  Please…”

“Pearl!”  He backed up a little nervously, not wanting things to get out of hand again.  “You’re nineteen!  Who even knows what you will want in a year, let alone who you will love once you are truly ready to!”

“I will love you,” she pleaded.  “Always.  You are the only one I have ever felt this way for.  I’m certain you are the one my mother spoke of and I will keep myself for you always, no matter how long you make me wait.  You have my promise.”

Frodo opened his mouth to assure her that such a vow was wholly unnecessary, but stopped.  He thought of Paladin and Eglantine.  Surely they could not have known how guileless and forward Pearl could be.  Cousin Paladin would not have let her out of the smial if he had!  Yet, they had trusted him to take her for a simple walk and he had very nearly betrayed them.  And Bilbo as well, he thought.  He looked at the girl who, though she was still wretched and ashamed, gazed up at him as if afraid to hope. 

“I don’t want to bind you, Pearl,” he said slowly and deliberately.  “You will, I warrant, have your fill of vows very soon.  Much can happen between now and your coming of age.  You should be free to follow where your heart leads.”  She nodded, solemnly agreeing.  “Yet I can’t help but think that you, in particular, would be well served keeping yourself for… someone… That is, considering your, ah… proclivities?”  He coloured a bright red; the demonstration of her enthusiasm still fresh in his mind.  “Innocence may be a virtue, Pearl, but naivety will serve you very poorly where you are headed.” 

“I make no claim,” he continued sternly, “and no promises, but if a vow keeps you from even considering taking such a foolish risk as this again, then make it.”  He wagged his finger at her.  “And I will hold you to it!” 

Her expression slowly brightened.  “I do so promise,” she sighed in a grateful whisper.  “I will keep myself for you forever if need be.”  She positively glowed with devotion and with the light of it in her young face, Frodo easily understood how she had overcome his defences. 

He blew out a deep breath.  “Very well.  I will release you when you come of age, and may your vow keep you until then.”

Her smile wilted.  “But that’s ages away…” 

“Pearl!  You’re NINETEEN!  Be reasonable, girl.”

“But I will be twenty six when you come of age,” she pressed.  “You could come for me then.  That’s not unheard of, you know.”

Frodo shook his head.  “Pearl…”  He was rapidly finding the end of his patience.  “All right.  We will discuss this when I come of age, but please remember that I make no claim on you and you have none on me.  I do not hold you with a promise of marriage.  That must be clear.  You but keep yourself in trust to discuss the subject when you’ve reached a more fitting age.  Do you understand, my girl?”  

The light returned to her face and Frodo wondered if she had even heard his words.  He felt exasperated, but also guilty.  He had been a fool for underestimating her, and for overestimating himself!  He deeply regretted trying to teach her a ‘lesson’ and wondered if he would one day live to regret accepting her vow as well.  At least if she kept it, it would provide some check on her behaviour since she remained determined to apprentice herself to Lalia and place herself in harm’s way.  She would have some defense against the kinds of predators that thrived in houses such as Great Smials. 

“I will do as you say, Frodo.”  She lowered her eyes and smiled, and Frodo again saw the hints of the stunning beauty she would one day become.  “When you come of age, we will speak of this again.  Thank you for everything.”  She rose from the grass and gathered up her still damp small clothes.  She looked happy, hopeful, but still artless and innocent.  She would do as she had sworn. 

Seven years.  Frodo gave a sigh, feeling reprieved, but also strangely wary.  Even as lovely and innocent as she was, he was far from ready for marriage.  She had slipped under his guard as no other lass had, but her raising of the subject had steeled his humbled defences.  Was she not in the end just as fixed on it as all the others had been?  He watched as she dusted herself off in the spring sunshine, her movements still marked with her native and unconscious grace. 

Even so, a lot could happen in seven years.  In that length of time, he had gone from being a poor relation at Brandy Hall to the coveted heir of Bag End.  What could befall him in the next seven was beyond his power to guess.  She looked up and met his eyes.  There were indeed far worse fates that could befall him than to be someday wed to the compelling Pearl Took.  Yet even as he smiled back at her, he felt the spring wind blowing strangely cold and felt fingers of omen combing uneasily through his hair.

 TBC

Chapter 4 - A Long Appointed Meeting

Winterfilth, S.R. 1401

It was dark and October the night a cart drove up Bagshot Row.  It stopped before Bag End's gate and Frodo Baggins took the pipe from his mouth, listening.  The creak of old wood, the shake of a harness and the low murmur of questioning voices suggested someone was coming to see him. 

He set down his mulled wine.  The hour was late; it was not likely a social call.  Saradoc had collected Merry that afternoon after his extended visit.  The youngster had proven invaluable in helping to get Bag End back in order after Bilbo's Farewell Birthday Party.  Frodo wondered if he and his father had met with difficulties on the road and had found it necessary to return.  He extracted himself as quickly as he could from the comfortable chair by the fire. 

Whoever had come had paused by the gate.  Though distance and the door muffled them, Frodo could hear two distinct voices.  He took up his small lamp and passed from the sitting room to the entry hall.  One voice was gruff, low, and disapproving and did not sound at all like the even-tempered Saradoc.  The other was soft and even toned and more difficult to discern. 

Through the little window in the hall, Frodo could see the glow of a single lamp.  A driver leaned from the seat of his small farm cart towards a cloaked figure that had apparently just alighted.  The figure shook its head and raised a hand as if to wave goodbye to the driver.  Fine hands, pale and graceful.  A lady?  The driver, his round face flushed in the lamplight, seemed disinclined to leave his passenger.  He began to climb down from his seat. 

Then Frodo heard the lady’s voice clearly.

"It's quite all right.  I will find my way."

Frodo frowned.  The cultured voice sounded vaguely familiar, but he could not imagine who might be stopping by his home at such an indecent hour of the night.  He opened the door and came out onto the step, holding his lamp up.

"Hello?" he said, in a manner he hoped showed he considered it too late to be receiving callers.  "May I ask who is there?"

The cloaked hobbitess turned, seeming startled by his voice, and her hooded gaze fixed upon him.  Frodo came down the path to the other side of the gate. 

The driver took his cap in hand and stepped forward, nodding to Frodo. 

"I'm sorry for disturbing you so late in the evening, Mr. Baggins, sir."  It was Toby Whitehall, a stout fellow who worked a farm below Bywater.  "But as I was coming along home from Waymeet this evening, I chanced upon this here young miss on the East Road.  Looked like she'd walked a far piece too, poor thing.  Says she was coming to see you."  Toby paused, looking curiously at him.  The lady had not moved, Frodo could almost feel her eyes upon him.  "Well, now, I guess I can see you wasn't expecting a visitor.  If you don't mind my saying, I thought it mighty queer that a young lady'd be out on the road by herself, coming to visit a gentlehobbit such as yourself so late in the evening." 

Frodo held up his lamp.  The lady's face remained in shadow, but her pale hand, raised halfway to her mouth, was clenched so tightly the knuckles were white.  "Yes, mighty irregular,” he agreed.  “It was most considerate of you to offer her a ride, Toby, thank you."  Frodo frowned and gave a slight bow of greeting.  “Is there anything I might help you with this evening, ma’am?”

The lady hesitated and her head flicked towards Toby.  After another moment's hesitation, the shapely hands rose to the hood and slowly pushed it back.

Frodo drew in a breath.  No wonder her voice had sounded familiar, although it had been many years since they had spoken more than a few words to one another.

“Pearl.” 

“Hello, Frodo.” 

She was no longer the rough and tumble lass of her youth.  Her hair, bound at the crown and falling in luxuriant ringlets down her back, glittered dark copper in the lamplight, a striking contrast against her ivory skin.  A dress of rich blue over a snow-white chemise displayed a well-developed breast to great advantage and a pair of sapphire earrings sparkled in the lamplight. 

Her neat, sharp little face reminded Frodo of Eglantine, her mother, whose features Pippin had also inherited, but the elegant dress and bearing were undoubtedly products of the girl's tutelage at Great Smials.  Paladin was as well bred a Took as they came, but had never been one to 'take on airs'.  There had once been a time that Pearl hadn't thought much of such behaviour either.

“I had wished to speak with you at Bilbo’s party,” he said.  “I was expecting you all afternoon."

Pearl flushed.  “Yes, I know.  I’m so sorry for that.  I was eager to talk with you, but…" She gave him a quick, apologetic shrug.  "I was called away.  Mistress Lalia is…” She seemed to search for a word that would suit, but in the end shrugged again.  "She doesn't like me to leave her for long." 

“I see."  When Frodo had asked her to meet him in Bag End's parlour to discuss her vow, he had been certain she would want to be released from it.  He was quite disposed to doing so; they having drifted in such seemingly different directions in hobbit society, but looking at her now, with only the puzzled farmer as witness, Frodo could see there was something hungry within her eyes, something haunted, desperate, and yet resolute.  Frodo found her intense gaze strangely unsettling. 

"Your mistress can be quite formidable," he agreed.  "I could understand you not wanting to cross her, but it's been nearly a month.  Couldn't you have sent me an explanation by post?  Why have you come all this way at such an… unusual time?”

Her mouth thinned into a worried line.  “It is difficult for me to correspond from Great Smials.”  She peered up at him as if willing him to understand a wordless entreaty.  "And this was the only time I could get away to discuss…"  She flicked a glance towards Toby.  "What we promised," she finished in a strangled whisper.

There had been a time when he had thought his young cousin fair, when even Bilbo had thought her a possible match for his nephew, but she had changed a great deal over the last seven years.  It was said she was now very important in the hierarchy of the Great Smials, favoured of the Thain and never out without a cluster of Tooks by her side.  By all accounts and evidence, she had long since forgotten him and the promise she had made on that innocent spring day. 

But she was here at his doorstep, and it seemed she had not forgotten it.  Not in the least. 

“I wish you had got a message to me somehow, Pearl.  I'd have met with you wherever you wished, but, if you don't mind my saying, it is quite late for a visit now."

Frodo saw her resolution waiver. 

“I…”  She searched his face as if looking for some sign of his mind or mood.  There was something troubling the girl, troubling her deeply.  Whatever it was she was searching for, she seemed not to be finding it.   Her intense gaze grew more anxious.

Frodo frowned.  His mood, if she'd cared to ask, was tired and he did not relish the prospect of having to drive her back to Great Smials in the dark. 

“Pearl?” he asked again, his patience wearing thin.  "What can I do for you?"

It was as if his words had struck her a physical blow.  She flinched and drew in a little gasp.  Once more she looked up at him, searching, but now seemed to realize that what she was looking for was not in him.  Hope, a fragile mask she had borne so carefully, shredded like a fog in a rising wind.  Desperation lay beneath it.  She lost her tenuous hold on decorum.  Disbelief and then despair washed over her features.  Her lip quivered and silent tears spilled onto her cheeks, but she never took her haunted eyes off him.  Frodo had seen that look on her before; at Greenfields, she had gazed back at her father, Paladin, that way; with the same shattered, hopeless longing, but even then she had not looked so utterly devastated. 

“Easy, girl,” he said more gently. “It can’t be as bad as all that.”

Her expression said differently.  She drew a pained breath and tried to collect herself, but though she managed to keep her feet, it was plain something inside was tearing her apart.

“Oh, no…”  Her voice was soft but choked.  She forced back a sob with sudden and almost violent desperation.  “No, no, no…”

Turmoil was raging within her and the toll on her body was beginning to tell.  She closed her eyes tightly and swayed.  Toby leapt forward and supported her arm.  She looked at him for a moment and something in her expression shocked the farmer so badly he almost let her go, but then her body went limp and he was barely able to keep her from crumpling into a heap on the ground.

“Sir!” he yelped.  Frodo had already opened the gate.

“Bring her inside, quickly!”  He helped Toby gather the girl into his arms.  She was a dead weight, completely overcome, and though she made no sound, tears still flowed from her tightly closed eyes. 

“Take her through the first door to the right after the entrance hall,” Frodo commanded.  Toby complied and laid her out on the bed in the lower guest room. 

“Shall I call for the healer?” the farmer asked breathlessly.  Frodo was in the process of nodding when Pearl reached up and grasped the poor fellow’s coat. 

“No!” she cried.  “No healer, please.  I… I will be all right.”

“But miss!” Toby looked as if the hand she held him with would eat him. 

“No healer,” she repeated, releasing him.  She drew several deep breaths and then opened her eyes.

Her gazed darted past Frodo as if the sight of him pained her and she pleaded with the farmer. 

“I need only rest a moment.  Please do not trouble anyone else over my… foolishness.”  Toby frowned.  Pearl said the word with unusual bitterness.  “If my illustrious cousin will permit me to, I will stay here and be off in the morning.  Please.  I have inconvenienced you enough on my account.  Go home to your family.” 

Toby looked distraught.  “But, miss!  It ain’t,” he looked at Frodo and shrugged as if in apology, “proper.  I mean, for a lady such as yourself to stay the night with an unmarried gentlehobbit.  Meaning no disrespect to Mr. Frodo and all, but it’s not seemly for either of you.”

Frodo nodded.  “You are quite right, Toby.  Which is why, as soon as Miss Took is settled, I will fetch my neighbour, the Widow Rumble, to come tend her.  That should answer the requirements of modesty quite well.”

Toby nodded hesitantly.  “You are a gentlehobbit of quality, sir, I was sure you’d see the right of it.”  He looked down at Pearl and gave her a heartfelt nod.  “And I hope you are soon cured of whatever’s struck you so sudden-like.  You looked… well, I’d not want anyone to feel as bad as you looked, ma’am.  Fare you better.”

Frodo saw Toby to the door with many thanks and a coin for his trouble that the farmer tried to refuse.  He said any would have done the same, but Frodo assured him that the protection of his cousin’s virtue was worth at least what he offered.  With that and a strange look, Toby took the money and climbed back onto his cart.

When Frodo returned to the guest room, Pearl struggled to sit up, but would not meet his eyes.

“I’ll ask you not to disturb your neighbour, Frodo,” she said, in a voice once again steady and controlled.  “I have been most selfish this night.  The fewer people are inconvenienced by my actions, the better I should feel about it.  Just allow me a room for the night and a flannel and I will be on my way before anyone is the wiser.”

Frodo shook his head.  “There is nothing that goes on in Hobbiton that isn’t marked by someone, believe me.”  He spared her a little smile.  “Even if Farmer Whitehall said nothing, word would still spread that you had spent the night here alone.  Please, allow me to call the Widow Rumble.  It would protect your reputation and she would not mind.”

Very slowly, Pearl looked up at him.  For a long time she searched his face again, but this time with little hope of finding what she sought.  Frodo felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as he realized what she was looking for; his answer in the matter he had promised they would discuss.  Until she had appeared at his gate, he had never considered she might still be so taken with him.  Had she kept her promise of chastity these seven years?  Despite the changes that fortune had visited upon her and the strange and distant manner rumour had credited her with, she must have.  And she had now come to discuss a marriage. 

Though she had grown fully into the promise of her youth and was by any measure as lovely a maiden as one could wish for, Frodo felt strangely reserved towards her.  Perhaps he was simply in the habit of resisting the offers of ladies who wished to court him, or that he still saw her as too young to consider, but he felt no desire to commit to Pearl Took, even if she had kept her virtue for him.  He frowned and toyed absently with the fine chain that hung from his belt.  His response to the question she had not asked must have shown in his face, for when he could meet her eyes again there was a deep and overwhelming sorrow shadowed in them.  She had not asked her question, but she now knew what his answer would be.  He flushed, feeling very uncomfortable, and had to look away again.  She had come chasing the ghost of something that had never really been…  And had not received the response she had hoped for. 

“What use have I for reputation?” she asked at last, her voice even more bitter than before.  “Believe me, cousin; I would be much better served by a soiled one.”  She straightened her rumpled dress and gathered the cloak she’d let fall onto the bed.  Then she looked at him and the pain in her eyes had been consumed by a fey, savage coldness that made Frodo step back in shock.  “If you insist on disturbing your neighbour, then I will leave.  I will find my way back to Great Smials this night and trouble you no more.”

“Cousin!”

This elegant Pearl had a ruthlessness to her that Frodo would never have expected from her innocent former self.  She meant what she said.  The fields and forests of the Shire held no dread for her; they had been her playgrounds as a child, and Frodo could see the resolve in her suddenly rigid frame.  She reminded him again of his aunt Eglantine who, when she set her will, was also impossible to sway.

“This is highly irregular,” he complained.  “What would your parents say if they heard of it?”

She laughed, but it was not a joyful sound.  “They would believe it sooner than most,” she said.  “Will you offer me a place to rest or will I be off?”

Frodo fingered the trinkets in his breeches-pocket and when he touched the smooth gold of the ring Bilbo had left him, he felt a strange, rising anger.  How dare the girl put him in such a position?  She was being selfish and childish and mean spirited, and had gone out of her way to make him feel accountable for her foolishness.  He was so put out that, for a moment, he almost considered letting her go.  How was it possible that he had once entertained the notion of someday marrying her?

“I will expect you to assure Paladin and Eglantine that nothing has happened here.  If you care nothing for your own good name, have a care for mine.” 

He’d spoken more sharply than he’d intended and Pearl looked up at him again, but this time without the shield of bitterness hiding her hurt and sorrow.  He suddenly wished he could take back his words.  It was now clear to her that she had come there for nothing if, after her wordless query, she'd had any remaining doubt.  He felt a swift stab of pity for her, but it was not enough to soothe all his discomfiture.  

“You may trust me, cousin,” she said and the stiffness left her back.  “And now, if you would direct me to a room where I may sleep, I will do so and trouble you no more.”

“You may stay here,” said Frodo.  “The windows face east, but you may draw the curtains and sleep in as long as you like.  In the morning, I will call a coach for you.”

Her head was bowed but she nodded.  “Thank you,” she said.

He turned but paused at the door.  “I’ll bring you water for the basin.  There are towels in the wardrobe.”  She looked up dully at the carved cabinet.  Frodo stepped into the hall but hesitated shutting the door.  She truly did look wretched despite the sophisticated clothes and coiffure.  She looked as she had 7 years ago on that spring afternoon, embarrassed, scorned and heartbroken.  He still had that effect on her. 

“Pearl…”

This time, when she met his eyes, she just looked weary. 

“I’m sorry…”

She didn’t reply.

Frodo found it difficult to sleep that night. 

Visions of a mud covered girl looking longingly back over her shoulder haunted him as did his uncharacteristic irritation with her current incarnation.  Part of him argued that, though the break had been painful, Pearl was old enough now to know the difference between a girlhood crush and a real compact.  It was for the best that she learn the truth so that she could salve her heart and move on to find someone who could truly love her. 

But the other part of him wondered why he felt so adamantly opposed to even considering her.  She was lovely.  And she had kept her vow, he was certain of it.  She would not have come to see him if she had not.  It was plain that she was smitten, perhaps even more hopelessly than a crush, but he could not return the feeling.  It was as if some other love had stolen his heart already. 

But there was no one else.  He was alone, of age and the Master of Bag End.  It was high time he considered marriage, if not to Pearl Took, then to someone.  Bilbo would have wished it, though he himself had never married.  The old hobbit had once confided that he’d thought to take a wife several times in his life, but somehow his adventures had quieted the need for such companionship.  It was as if something he discovered in those far-flung lands had fulfilled all his yearnings and enabled him to remain contented as a bachelor.

Frodo had also found life as the Master of Bag End satisfactory.  Though he missed Bilbo, he had already settled into a quite comfortable routine.  That wasn’t a reason not to marry, perhaps, but it did not stir him to seek a wife.  It all seemed such a bother, something he could attend to after he had enjoyed a few quiet years on his own.  Wasn't it strange how all lasses seemed to crave marriage?  Even the independent Pearl.  She'd walked all the way from Great Smials for such a hope only to have it dashed on his doorstep.  Frodo tossed and turned in his bed, his mind refusing to let him rest.  Hadn't she claimed once that wedded bliss was not a fate for her?  He opened his eyes to the restless dark.  She had said that, it was true.  He sat up and fluffed the pillows again, but found he could not dismiss her seeming hypocrisy.  In his heart he knew that it wasn't really marriage that she had sought this night, just as it hadn't been marriage she had wanted in that springtime glade.  It was him. 

His bedroom was on the far side of the smial in the deep recesses of the back of the western side.  He heard nothing from his guest that night, though once, when he rose to retrieve a drink from the kitchen, he thought he caught a faint sound that might have been sobbing.  It ceased the moment he entered the hall and Frodo wasn’t certain then if he’d heard it, or if indeed it had not been part of a half remembered dream.

He woke late, dressed and went to the kitchen for tea and breakfast.  There was a bowl and knife washed on the drain pan and a simple note of thanks on the table.  Pearl had already risen and left. 

“Without so much as a word,” muttered Frodo as he prepared his tea.

“Good morning, sir!”  Sam Gamgee called from the garden.  “Was there something wrong with Mr. Merry this morning?  I’d thought he’d left yesterday.”

“He did, Sam,” said Frodo, coming out onto the step with his mug.  “Yesterday morning.  Saradoc came and collected him and I haven’t heard from them since.”

Sam sat back from the beds he was retiring for the winter.  “Well, that’s mighty queer,” he said.  “Then who was the lad in the guest room?  I saw him when I passed by the window and thought it strange that Mr. Merry would be sleeping in his shirt and trousers.  And then when I came back from filling the woodshed, I saw him, or who I thought was him, headed down the lane with a bundle.  I gave a shout, but I suppose now I see why he didn’t answer.”  Sam shook his head.  “If that wasn’t Mr. Merry, then who was it, sir?”

Frodo was looking back over his shoulder.  “Shirt and trousers?” he said wonderingly.  “Half a minute, Sam.”  He returned to the kitchen and set down his tea.  After wiping off his hands and knees, Sam followed, hesitating at the back door as if to make certain he wouldn't track dirt into the Master's smial.

Frodo opened the guest room door.  The bed was made tight and the basin had been wiped and dried.  If Frodo had not seen his cousin in the room the night before, he might have doubted she had even been there.

“Well, now, that can’t have been Mr. Merry, I see,” said Sam.  “I’ve not once seen him make a bed, never mind one so tight.” 

“No, it wasn’t him.”  Frodo’s brief smile faded.  “It was another cousin, come to me for something I couldn’t give them.  I am afraid they left disappointed.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Sir.  But I’m sure you gave them all you could.” 

“Did I?”  Frodo stared thoughtfully into the little room and then looked out the window to the little path that led down to the lane.  “I am not sure.  Not sure at all.”

**********************************

TBC

Chapter 5 - The Colour of Rain

She returned to Great Smials the secret way, along farm trails and overgrown paths to the hidden door at the edge of the Green Hills.  It led to a tunnel that came up into damp, disused smials under the pantry.  The entrance was well hidden from either end and none were supposed to know of it save the Thain and his agents.  Pearl wasn't sure if the Thain did know of its existence, but she knew Lalia did.  Her people used it often.

In the hollow under the stairs, she donned her blue dress and folded the carefully patched trousers and shirt before tucking them into a fold of her cloak.  With luck, no one who saw her would notice that she wore the same gown she had the day before.  With even greater luck, she would make it to her small chamber in the Thain's apartments without being seen at all.  Word would reach Tuckborough of Frodo Baggins' late night visitor soon enough.  She wanted rest and to nurse her wounded heart before she had to face the tumult that would soon ensue. 

Lalia, who kept a close eye on comings and goings in her realm, was likely already aware of her absence and would be watching for her return.  She would be furious, no doubt.  If Pearl had been in better spirits, she might have enjoyed watching her mistress sputter with rage.  Lalia had always placed particular value on Pearl's virtue and, until now, Pearl had given her mistress no reason to think it at risk, being singularly disinterested and disdainful of Tuckborough’s lads.  But last night had changed all that.  The dame would keep a much more vigilant guard on her from now on. 

When the voices in the room above faded into distance, she climbed the musty stair.  No one was in sight, but the chatter of a sunny breakfast spilled into the hall from a nearby dining room.  To the right lay the banquet hall.  The passage leading to it was dark.  Folk whose rooms opened onto that corridor were either still sleeping or at breakfast already. 

She darted into the shadows and made her way to the Thain's back stair.  Pearl's little room was the first one on the windowless side of the main corridor.  Deep in the centre of the smial and directly above the arch of the great banquet hall's roof, it was her only sanctuary at Great Smials.  But even there she couldn’t be completely unguarded.  Sound travelled almost as well as gossip in a crowded warren such as Great Smials as many years of Clayhanger mockery had warned her.  She'd since learned how to weep in silence. 

She had proven herself a fool before, but never quite so eloquently as she had this night.  Seven years.  Perhaps some part of her had known that having so much faith in any hobbit was folly, but she had waited, hoped and endured because he had asked her to.  Looking upon his coming of age as her salvation had kept some spark of her old self alive, but after seven years, especially these last seven years, how could she have been so gullible? 

She came to the top of the stair and rounded the corner silently.  No one was in this hall either.  She crept down the corridor and eased open her door.  It was dark inside her room.  She slipped quickly in. 

Pearl loved the dark.  Hobbits are generally at ease in the underground, but Pearl was so habituated to the blackness that she rarely used a candle in her inner room.  Darkness was her only remaining friend at Great Smials, the only one left she could trust with her secrets and her sorrows.  She let it flow around her like a familiar embrace, but this time, rather than filling her with its cold comfort, it wavered and fretted, as if disturbed by a single shuttered candle… 

Pearl stilled.  She was there, waiting.  The need to weep that had seemed overwhelming a moment before was shunted aside in an instant.  Pearl's guard snapped into place with a swiftness that would have impressed a seasoned warrior. 

"My Lady?" Pearl asked, her voice pitched to the softly cultured tone her mistress had taught her and perfectly under control.

A candle shade was lifted and a pool of yellow light spilled onto the night table. 

"A late evening," the dame snapped.  Lalia Clayhanger Took emerged from the waiting dark like some kind of venomous spider.  Great wooden wheels creaked as she rolled forward.  Lalia was so large that her legs could no longer support her bulk and she had taken to being pushed around in the chair that her late husband, Fortinbras,had used near the end of his life.  It took up most of the floor space in Pearl's tiny room.  Behind it stood Lalia’s diminutive footman and frequent companion, Bart Clayhanger, his cold, black eyes glittering beneath heavy lids. 

"Or an early morning." 

Lalia dismissed Pearl’s suggestion with a derisive snort.  "Dressed like that?" she asked.

If fighting men fought with sword and spear, Pearl Took had learned to do battle with words.  Though her combat was bloodless, it was just as fierce. 

"You were settled for the evening."  She straightened defiantly.  "And Peony was across the hall.  I had thought my duties well discharged."  Her perfect emotionless mask betrayed none of her inner tumult, but she knew better than to lie outright to Lalia.  "Or has a Took no right to visit family?"  He was a cousin after all.

"Took," Lalia hissed.  "You use that name as a slight, as if I cared that I was not born of this house."  The old dame rocked her great bulk in agitation.  "I am just as much mistress of it, am I not?"

Pearl did not rise to the goad.  Lalia both loved and hated the great family, but it would always rankle her that she was not born one of them.  The point was Pearl's. 

"Where were you?" Lalia growled, returning to the matter at hand.  "You were seen leaving before dusk and did not return till this morning.  I could scarcely believe my ears when I heard of it.  You might be known for your temperance, but do you think you can spend your evenings abroad, unattended and not risk your reputation?  Let alone your virtue!"

Despite her control, Pearl felt daggers of cold anger rise in her belly.  "Is it not MY virtue to risk, my lady?"

"Whoa ho!" Lalia waved Bart to light another candle.  "Well, now.  It seems we've touched on something, haven't we, my girl?"  She studied Pearl in the brighter light, her eyes glittering intently. 

“It’s rare that someone pulls the wool over my eyes, but I begin to think you might have managed it.  Have you finally been trying out your femininely wiles?” said Lalia.  Pearl knew it was not a question that required her answer.  “Very interesting," the dame murmured.  "Though you hide it well, I sense mortification rather than triumph in you.  Perhaps the evening did not go as planned?”  Pearl looked away to avoid her mistress’s gaze.  A heavy silence grew between them.  At last, Lalia spoke again.  “Not like you thought it would be, was it?” she said sounding strangely distant and almost sympathetic.  “Nothing like it is in those silly stories ladies tell across the quilt*?" 

Pearl shivered under the dame's assiduous and piercing inspection.  Lalia might have been old and fat, but she was as cunning as a fox.  And, as much as Pearl hated knowing it, Lalia did understand her.  They were, in fact, so frighteningly alike that it was almost as if the older hobbitess could read Pearl's thoughts.  Almost.

"Be that as it may,” Lalia continued, "while you are in my charge, your virtue IS my concern.  Your parents entrusted you to me and I take that responsibility very seriously."

"Virtue," Pearl muttered.  "I'm damned sick of virtue."  She met her mistress' eye again.  "I am twenty-six years of age.  Isn't it time I got something from this 'virtue' everyone seems to value so highly?  You were courted at my age, weren’t you?"

Lalia's eyes narrowed in thought.  "I wasn’t as young as you are and when I married it was to keep a roof over my head.  You have no such worries.”  She sat back in her chair and laced her fat fingers together over her ample belly.  “My, this is an unexpected change.  I'd never have thought my prudent Pearl to become so suddenly interested in the lads.  And yet, for all your talk, I suspect you still remain… untouched?"  The smile that crept across the older lady's face made Pearl's blood boil, but she reined her fury back with an effort.  Lalia laughed.  "My, my.  Things did not go as planned, did they?"

"I'm very tired, my lady.  May I rest?"

The old dame continued to study her for several more minutes.  "Of course, child," she answered.  "Far be it from me to keep you from your rest.  But, as you no doubt expect, I will require you to spend your nights here from now on.  With the door locked, if necessary."

"May I not even visit my family?"

"Your family?"  Lalia's voice took on a sadder, almost caring tone.  "Take care, child.  I now know what you were trying to do.  You think your virtue is all that I value, so you would throw it away to spite me."  Lalia shook her head.  "You misjudge me, Pearl.  In my own way, I care for you deeply and, unlike your family, I appreciate the sacrifice you have made.  My concern is for you.  This isn't a game you are dabbling in.  Reputation is the only thing one can possess that is truly one’s own.  If you continue on this path, you may one day ‘succeed’, but your fortunes will be inescapably damaged if you do."

"You taught me to be most careful, my lady."

"I didn't teach you how not to get yourself with child,” she snapped, leaning forward and wagging a finger at the girl.  “I didn't think it necessary yet!  You've always been such a good girl, so quick and clever…"  She again peered into Pearl's face as if trying to delve the events of the evening from it.  "Perhaps it is time for those lessons," she sighed sounding genuinely sad, and then she sat back and rearranged herself in the chair.  "Until that time, you must be in this room after ten o’clock each evening.  Do I make myself clear?"

Pearl didn't answer.

"I have ways of assuring your obedience in this, girl.  Mark me."

"I am tired, Lalia.  May I please rest?"

Silence again filled the space between them. 

"Of course, child.”  The dame finally answered.  “Have your rest.  Bart will see to me today.  Take your ease for as long as you need."

Pearl made no reaction.  Even if her mistress knew this reprieve was welcome, Pearl refused to show her how much.  She stepped away and held the door for Bart to push the great lady's rolling chair through. 

"Sleep well," Lalia called over her shoulder.

Pearl slowly eased the door shut.  The sound of her mistress’s progress faded into distance.  She moved toward the bed and, with bare fingers, snuffed out the candles Lalia had left. 

The tears she had wanted so desperately to shed wouldn't come.  She felt detached and numb, as if observing the wreck she had made of her life from somewhere beyond it.  In the restored sanctuary of darkness, she stood, removed her cloak and began undoing the laces of the fine dress.  Her motions were mechanical, automatic, detached. 

A curfew was no hardship on her.  She had expected it.  There had only ever been one place she had needed to be able to go on her own.  And now… 

The laces came undone and she pulled the garment down her arms.

What had she truly expected of him?  She'd thrown herself at him shamelessly when she was nineteen, but had not been really able to speak with him since.  And yet, she had dreamed of him welcoming her with open arms so often that she had almost come to believe that he would.  The costly dress slumped into an unheeded mound at her feet.  What a fool she was.  A gullible, desperate, idiotic fool. 

She let out a long, trembling breath into the silence.  This agony was her own doing.  She could no more fault Frodo for it than she could blame her disastrous apprenticeship on Lalia.  The great lady had promised to teach her the ways of Great Smials and she had done exactly that.  Quite well, in fact.  It was pigheaded stubbornness and a need to be loved that had caused her to view Lalia as she had - as someone who really cared for her, as a friend, or even daughter - as Pearl had wanted to see her and not as she truly was.  A tear fell from her eye at last and slid down her flushed cheek.  Lalia wasn’t even motherly toward the Thain.  Pearl stepped back and picked up the dress. 

Lalia's favour was a fickle thing.  It was given grudgingly, if at all, and only where it could be used to her advantage.  Pearl had served the Thain's mother for months before she’d finally been able to face that truth.  And now that stubbornness and desperation had caused her to make the same kind of mistake with Frodo Baggins.  She had created a champion of him, one who would save her if she could but endure until he came of age, but unlike Lalia, his reality had not been there to shatter the image desperation had created. 

But she remembered a bright spring day when her dreams had not seemed so impossible.  The feel of his kiss had been burned into her mind and heart.  The touch of his hand, the warmth of his skin, the hungry purpose with which he moved; nothing had ever felt so magical or perfect or so utterly right.  She had built a fortress on that memory and it had protected her spirit for many years.  Pearl stroked the cooling silk, heedless of the tears that now streamed silently down her face.  Even if such protection had been built on hope alone, it had been a way to escape Lalia. 

The old dame kept an iron grip on all those who surrounded her.  She had a talent for reaching inside of people, even those who did not share her jealous temperament, and wringing truth from them, controlling them with their deepest desires and fears.  Pearl’s love for Frodo had kept her strong because it was secret, a truth Lalia couldn't know and so could never use against her or take away.

But Frodo himself could take it with one dreadful 'I'm sorry'.

The sobs escaped before Pearl could control them.  She crammed tear stained silk into her mouth and bit down hard. 

Why did she go to Hobbiton?  It had been a month since his coming of age and, other than a perfunctory appointment that Lalia had prevented her from keeping, he had not attempted to call on her again.  Even had they more than a one sided promise between them, any lass with sense would have understood what his lack of notice meant.  But Pearl was a fool and had to have the truth battered into her.  He didn't love her.  He never had.  She had founded her hope on a construct of lies and had saved herself for a love that would never be. 

Sobs kept coming, racking her body, but barely a whimper emerged from her mouth.  She stumbled back onto the bed and buried her torment into the silky fabric.  Lalia could not know her pain.  She would use it to torment her.  Pearl gripped the blue silk till her knuckles turned white.

He didn't love her.  The truth was inescapable.  At least it hadn’t taken months for her to begin to understand it.  But despite the pain of that realization, she could not find it in her heart to hate him.  He had never promised her anything in return for her vow.  He had behaved as a gentlehobbit, nothing more, protecting her virtue when she had been too dim to know it was in danger.  She released the dress and drew in another trembling breath.  Frodo had kissed her out of kindness, nothing more.  This heartache was her doing not his. 

She curled up, exhausted and pitiful, on her bed.  She had used him selfishly, putting his face and his name on a paragon that no hobbit could live up to.  It was no wonder she had fallen in love with it.  But no matter how desperate her need, that alone could not make dreams into reality.  Reality was a flesh and blood gentlehobbit with his own mind and heart.  He was not her fantasy and he did not love her.

The trouble was that the reality of him was even better than her fantasy had painted him.  Memory had not recalled the velvet clarity of his voice, or the heady feel of his arms holding her body.  At their cousin's eleventy-first birthday, she had drunk in the sight of his elegantly noble face, the soft, mahogany brown curls, and eyes so clear and bright in the sunlight, they shone as if they glowed, but last evening, his scent, native and intimate, had bound her heart as surely as that springtime kiss so long ago; tobacco and leather, books and something indefinable and mysterious.  It lingered in her memory like a sweet and forbidden song. 

But it did not matter.  Even if her pain was the bitterest pill she had ever had to swallow and despite the fact that she knew he did not love her, she could not change the cruellest reality of all; she was completely and hopelessly in love with him.

TBC