By: Dana
Summary: 'Will you consider my proposal?'
Characters: Frodo, Pearl Took
Pairings: Frodo/Pearl
Rating: R
Warnings: Het, sexual content
Author's Notes: The fourth of five things that probably never happened in Frodo Baggins' bed. omg this means I am almost finished with this, though I really do think more and more that when I started this set, I hadn't thought I'd make it beyond the first.
I wrote this out in one go and was quite surprised by how much I liked the draft. This is another example of a PWP that was meant to be written, and I'm very glad it wanted out. Not just because I'm now one story closer to having completed this set, but also because it has inspired at least two other stories and a good deal of content that goes into another in progress tale of mine. ♥ I'd like to thank my Pearl. I'd not have done it without her. *grin*
Once again, in case you wondered, this pretty much has to be pre-quest.
Series Index: Roads Go On and Years Go By.
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

SR 1407

'Look at me, dripping all over the place – not only have I woken you from bed, but I'll likely flood all of Bag End before I'm through. I apologise for that as well, dear Frodo.'

He looks at her, a soft smile on his mouth and then he laughs as a gentlehobbit ought to, and she's not disappointed in her fourteen mile, no matter that half of it was accompanied by a torrent of rain. 'You didn't wake me, Pearl, I keep telling you that – almost as maybe times as you've apologised, and you're hardly in the door. You keep begging my pardon, and you needn't – really, you've said it too much. Even more than time, the last he visited, when Pippin...'

She knows she needs to be here, had driven herself from Great Smials knowing that she needed to speak with Frodo Baggins. Still, for all she had followed her own instincts, she isn't quite sure why she's here.

'Frodo. Dear Frodo.' Pearl smiles back at him, standing in Bag End's front hall with water pooling about her feet. 'Do keep in mind who it is you're talking to. There are likely things I'd rather not know about my little brother. And there are likely things that I would have to tell our parents, if it required him to apologise as much as all that.'

'Well, yes.' Frodo stands there, blinks, then chuckles to himself and shakes his head. 'You're quite right, Pearl. Still, there's no reason for you to go on apologizing, for you to have apologised as much as you have.' He takes her cloak, hangs it up – she thanks him quietly, and stands there in her puddle while he goes to fetch dry linen from down the hall. He comes back, and wraps her in it, and she smiles up at him, feeling rather too doe-eyed for her own good. She thanks him again, and then he leads her from the front hall, to the parlour, where he sits her down and then kneels before the heart, taking wood from the little iron stand at the side, feeding it to the fire that still burns.

'It's hardly normal of me, I know.' She's not just talking to herself. 'You've caught me in one of my rare apologetic moods, dear Frodo, and you ought to make the best of it while you can – ask my sisters, or my brother. I'm a stubborn terror who's never wrong.' There is a crack from the hearth, the flames dance high. Frodo rises, turns, half his face lit by red-orange flame, the other falling into shadow.

Pearl's not here to dilly around. She has an agenda, of sorts.

Frodo smiles. 'Well, perhaps you are a stubborn terror. It's still good to see you, Pearl. Even if you rode through a storm, and even if it's late.'

'I am sorry about that, you know. I just didn't know what else to do, Frodo, I'd come to my end! Master Faragrand North-took and his wife are set on arriving at Great Smials on the morrow, along with their eldest son. It's not that Tolagrand... I mean, Tolly is a very nice fellow, he'll make some other lass a very happy wife. But I...' She looks at her hands, then clutches at the towel about her, gritting her teeth. She really has come to her end. She really shouldn't have let it all come as far as it has.

Frodo sits across from her, and she looks at him, the firelight rather setting the mood. 'Would rather not face them all tomorrow. And for all that Tolly is a very nice fellow, you're not his happy wife-to-be.'

She laughs, rubs at her brow. 'You're quite good at this, you know.'

He grins somewhat ruefully. 'Well, I've a bit of experience in it myself. Not when it comes to North-took lads, but you know.' But he nods at her, as if he wants her to go on.

So she does, ringing her hands in concern. 'And I... oh, it isn't that Tolly's not kind, he does seem very sweet. But it doesn't seem that we've a bit in common, and believe me, dear Frodo, I've tried. I'm not just casting him aside because... oh.' Pearl shakes her head, curses herself – years enough spent living at Great Smials, and she's not one who'll easily curse aloud in public. 'Lithe caused too much trouble. He'd not even considered me until I danced with him, you know. He must not spend much time in the Tookland, and he was there are the edge of the dance circle, looking wretchedly sweet, and so very alone. I must have been in another of my rare moods, to go to him and ask him to dance.' She thinks back, remembers how miserable he had been, but how he'd smiled at her, how he'd accepted so readily, and gratefully, too. He'd been light on his feet, and he'd thanked her with his North-took brogue.

Frodo's says her name, 'Pearl,' scatters her from those thoughts. She looks up at him, perhaps grinning as ruefully as he had before. And he goes on: 'You're far too hard on yourself, you know.'

She laughs a little, sits back. 'You're probably right.' They sit there a while longer, in the quiet – not quite comfortable, but not nearly as uncomfortable as if might have been. Frodo stands, laughs at himself.

'I'd not thought to offer you anything to eat or drink. Wine would be a good start, I think.'

'Yes, please.'

So he leaves her sitting in the parlour, and when he comes back there's a bottle of Old Winyards and two glasses, and he offers her one as he uncorks the bottle. And they both laugh, sitting there, when the wine bubbles up, spilling a bit before she has her glass at the ready. He fills it, and then his own, and she settles back, holding her glass, looking at the dark wine. She feels rather foolish, or wretched – she's not quite sure which one it is, and it shouldn't be as complicated as all that.

It's no time for toasts, and Frodo seems to know that as well. He sets the bottle to the side, sips from his glass, and Pearl sips from hers. He nods, as if he wants her to go on. 'However did the lad end up thinking... well, for all you make it sound, you're nearly his betrothed. '

Pearl groans, and scowls, and takes a longer drink. 'He followed me about after that, at Lithe, but he went away with his parents and returned to the Northfarthing at the end of the celebration. The correspondence started up, after that, and it was pleasant enough, going back and forth. Even though I wasn't at his birthday party myself, that didn't stop him from sending me a very extravagant birthday gift – a rather exquisite set of pearls. I wrote him back, sent it back as well, told him I couldn't accept something so very extravagant. He wrote back once more, but rather than have the gift delivered he brought it to me himself. He is charming, you know, in his own North-took way...'

'But?' Frodo, and his patience. She looks at him, grinning sheepishly, and takes an even longer drink of her wine.

She laughs a little, going on. 'However did you know there was a but?'

He grins back at her, lips somewhat wet and utterly fascinating, and Pearl wonders if she's staring as hard as she might be staring. She looks away quickly, and Frodo goes on. 'I told you, I've a bit of experience in this sort of thing myself.'

She wonders just how much experience he has – he is the Master of Bag End after all, and what mother wouldn't want her daughter wed to him? She goes to take another drink, but her glass is empty – Frodo puts that at right and takes the bottle from its resting place, fills her glass once again.

And Pearl goes on. 'Yes, yes. So there he was, at Great Smials, all but down on his knee and offering me his everything, as well as asking for my hand in marriage. He must have... oh, I don't know.' She shakes her head, takes a longer drink – she feels warm, and pleasantly so. Frodo certainly is a very fine host. 'But I told him I would have to think about it, and he told me that while I did that he would just let me look after the jewels, as he'd no other use of them. He even, somehow, in a particularly stubborn, insistent fashion, made me promise him I'd wear the pearl and diamond ring. His silly little ring.' She shakes her head once more, then looks at the ring sitting on one finger of her left hand – a slender band of gold, a delicate arch of pearl and diamond, glistening at her. Pearl frowns. She never should have kept her word. 'And it went on. He wrote again and then again, and somehow I agreed to all this without telling him yes, and he will be at Great Smials on the morrow with his parents, and I...' She drains her glass, and the wine had been smooth enough before but it burns as it goes down. She gasps, rubbing at her eyes, hand shaking as she puts her glass down.

'Pearl – '

Pearl laughs, feeling free. 'Charming, yes, in his own fashion. He doesn't seem to know the meaning of the word no, and I've had experience with certain other charmers like that.' She smiles, and laughs again. Frodo would have his experience with that as well, of charmers who want his hand or their way into his bed. 'It wouldn't be fair, though. I don't love him, and for all I know he is kind, and even handsome, I... well, I don't seem to be attracted to him more than that, more than just as a soon-to-be dear friend. But it isn't him who I'll give my heart to, Frodo. I think you understand.'

Frodo. Lovely Frodo, sitting there with darkness in his hair and firelight on his cheeks, looking as perfect as a summer night in a bonfire glade. 'And tomorrow he's due at Great Smials, and your parents, I assume, are hoping for a match with The North-took's eldest son.' Once again, Frodo startles her from her thoughts. She shakes her head a little, though not to say no – she nods briskly, but then she rises, wiping her hands off absently as she does.

'Yes.' Pearl scowls. 'With his mother and his father, and he'll give me his proposal properly – with all the appropriate witnesses looking on – and I'll have to give him my answer, and then I'll end up breaking his heart. Oh, Frodo, what am I to do? I'm old enough, I know, but it isn't him, I know it isn't him, and the time... well, it isn't quite right.' She turns and looks at him, sitting there on the sofa – wearing his fine jacket, the copper buttons all done up, and her gaze drifts... downwards, and finds itself fascinated next with his trousers.

She blinks. Blushes. Feels positively hot.

And Frodo goes on. Does he even know? 'Tell him to truth – if you think his heart is at risk, you shouldn't mince your words. You're not that sort, Pearl, and we both know it.'

She runs one hand back through her hair, still somewhat damp. 'Yes, yes. I do suppose you're right.'

'I am. Now, I think – ' He stands, putting his glass to the side as he does.

She steps away, closer to the fire, holds her hands out, savouring the heat. 'It's me, I think. There's something wrong me – oh, goodness, Frodo. I think I must be broken.' She looks down at herself, runs her hands down her sides, the curve of her hips.

He laughs at that, sounding shocked. 'Dear Pearl, you look rather... whole, to me.'

'Yes, yes. Physically, I'm in one piece.' She laughs a little like that, feeling even hotter. Then she turns, and looks at him, rests her hands on her hands on her stomach. 'I suppose any other lass would be ecstatic right now, but I'm hardly any other lass. I don't want to hurt him, Frodo, and I'm beginning to think I'll have to.' She's not that sort, really – she doesn't delight in breaking hearts, just to say she has.

She wobbles a bit, feels Frodo's presence. She opens her eyes (hadn't even thought she'd shut them), and there Frodo is, offering her his arm. She takes it, gratefully, and leans against him, savouring his warmth as well. 'Now, what I think is that you've had perhaps too much wine, and you should – '

She laughs a little more, rests her head against his shoulder. 'I could marry you. I would, if you'd only ask.' She pulls away, though she doesn't let loose her hold on his arm. 'Yes, I've had too much wine. But I'd not mind another glass of it or three.'

'Pearl – '

'Would you? I could always tell dear Tolly that I'd never meant to lead him on, that I'd not wanted to hurt him – but I can't marry him, not when I'm set to marry you. Mistress Pearl Baggins.' She shuts her eyes, licks her lips. 'Oh, I do like the sound of that.'

'Pearl, please – '

Her thoughts are all in a whirl. 'Is there a problem, dear Frodo? There seems to be a... problem. If my little br...' She looks at him, then steps away, and stumbles and then finds herself in his arms. For a moment only, and she laughs and drags him downwards, back onto the sofa.

'Goodness, Pearl, there's no need to – what I mean is, I'd not want you to do something you'd regret come morning. It isn't that I'd rather you were someone else.' His face is dear, sweet, and utterly sympathetic, cheeks pink but she guesses it's not from drinking too much wine (she'd never had a stomach for Old Winyards, anyhow, though she'd not thought to tell him so).

'Well then – I can't see as how we'll know if I regret it all in the morning, unless it comes to that.'

'Is that what you want?'

'Is that what you want, dear Frodo?'

'Pearl, I – oh. You really are a stubborn terror.'

'Is that what a Baggins' considers sweet-talk? I think I like it, though.' And she smiles, ducks her mouth against his throat, kisses him and then tastes him, finding that he's hardly any sweeter than one might think. But he groans, and his arms are still about her, them in a tangle on the sofa.

'Will you consider my proposal?' she whispers against skin, breathes out and then slowly, very slowly, licks. Frodo shudders, draws back, grins lopsidedly as he looks down at her.

'Stubborn but dear. I think – '

'If you say anything about a certain other Took right now, I will exit to my own room and sleep away the night. You might profess to be high and mighty, and quite untouchable, but I feel you're interested in seeing this through to morning, as well.'

'Well, you do seem to be right.'

'Happens from time to time,' she says, turns her mouth to his, lips parted, waiting. His breath is hot, only slightly hesitant, but then he kisses her, and if he were the coming storm, she would be the falling rain. It is that sudden, that persevering – she shudders and might have been undone. No wonder Pippin...

Really. For all she goes on, not wanting to know, there are just things that she should not think.

Pearl draws back, breathing hard. She reaches up, touches Frodo's cheek, runs her fingers back into dark curls. 'Dear Frodo. It is simply too late. You must march me to your room, right this instant, and put me to bed.'

And he grins at her, kisses her once more, sudden and hard and it doesn't linger, but afterwards she feels even hotter, and her breath comes short. He rises up, reaches out and takes her hand, stumbling a bit but determined to go on. He leads her from the parlour, down the hall to the master bedroom. He'd not been sleeping, but the fire is on and the room is cheery, though not as brightly lit as the parlour had been. They find themselves beside his bed, and Pearl looks from him, to the ordered chaos of his bedroom. To him again, and she kisses him and deftly manages the buttons of his jacket, then pushing it off.

But he stills her, takes her hands – kisses one palm, and then the other. 'You are my guest, tonight – let me be a proper host.'

She grins, laughs a little, feels dizzy. He lets her hands go (she'd liked that, though, being held) and standing there, at the bedside he patiently, so patiently (kissing her, and touching her as he does) undresses her, and she is left nude before her, warmed by his touch.

'Dear Frodo...'

He presses one finger to her mouth, then brushes that finger sideways, across her now shut lips. 'Pearl. Let me, please.'

It seems to be what she wants, and she must be in another of her rare moods – she climbs onto the bed, and Frodo stands at the bedside, watching her. She laughs again, cheeks colouring. 'I'm hoping you like what you see.'

'Oh, I do.' And he stands there, watching her, taking off his shirt and then dealing with his trousers. He does seem to like what he sees, for all his body has reacted. And Pearl waits, feeling quite patient though she'd like to shout at him, to urge him on. But then he joins her on the bed, crawls close, runs one hand up her bare thigh, and Pearl lets out her breath, shuddering.

'Oh.'

'I told you. Let me, please.'

So she does, sitting there with Frodo sitting in front of her – he tangles one hand in her hair, and he pulls her mouth to his, in a kiss that lingers. Her head spins and her body aches, but he's not touched her, not yet – and then he does, and Pearl supposes that must be the spark of starfire, sudden, intense, the burning of that passion. She clutches at him, bows her forehead against his shoulder, shudders and gasps and his fingers work. She shuts her eyes, falls into darkness, but he is there, holding her, working her. She gasps again, cries out and shudders and then, somehow, she has collapsed to the bed, still shaking.

And there Frodo is, his eyes dark, his mouth lovely. 'Well then, Master Baggins. I can't say I don't like it when you take the lead.'

He grins, kisses her chin and then her lips, long and slow and not at all sudden. She wants to wrap herself about him, but it doesn't seem he's quite finished with her – he draws back, and she looks at him, puzzled. He makes her cry out two more times before he looks to his own pleasure, and she's melted atop the bed, with him being the only thing that holds her together.

He runs one hand up her leg, and she wraps her arms about his shoulders, and when he pushes into her, she pushes her mouth against his, draws him into her kiss. She shuts her eyes once more, but she can see him still, as if there is some glow about him, faint perhaps but it's there. Endless, perfect, and she rolls against him as he rocks into her – she remembers a trip beyond the Bounds, when she was very young, still recalls the endless repetition of the falling waves. His breaths comes hard, controlled, steady and steadier, the quickening of his pace.

He smothers his own cry against her shoulder, kissing here then, then sucking, leaving marks. The moment stills, and Frodo stills as well.

Sometime later, when she gathers breath – when he's moved and they've cleaned themselves up a bit, and she wonders at the state of her hair, knows what a mess of tangles it could be by now. She looks at him, in his long robe, and she smiles.

'Well then, dear Frodo. Have you considered my proposal?'

'It isn't quite morning yet, you know.'

She considers that, but then she nods and if they've till morning, still, perhaps she'll talk him into it by then – or he will talk her out of it, this half-cracked idea of hers. She considers Tolly as well, and will see that through in the afternoon. There's miles still till dawn, and miles longer until any of that. Then Pearl smiles, and rises, and goes to embrace Frodo, only to have Frodo draw her close.

So many consequences. She'd think about them all in the morning, and deal with them after that. Maybe she won't give her heart to Tolly, but she doesn't think she's set on giving it to Frodo, either, though she has made grand talk.

For all she'd come to Bag End, knowing that she had to, she really hadn't expected all this.

'You're quite right, as always,' Pearl says, ducks one slow kiss into the crook of his neck. Drawing back, she grins. 'You really are good at all this.'

'Experience, you know.'

One: Linens
Two: Fever
Three: Secrets
Four: Proposals