Marigold really was starting to wonder how she'd ended up in this mess. And even if she knew all that had brought her here, and all that she had wanted, it couldn't have been her own want or her own greed that had put her – here.

"Please – "

That one word stuck on her tongue when Pervinca's fingers (and this being Pervinca Took, the Thain's own daughter), twisted and stroked her, and she moaned despite her best attempts not. It wasn't greed, it wasn't, she thought as want bubbled up delirious and she moaned, again, this one a long and low one that she felt wrenched out forcefully from her throat. It just was that she had wanted a chance with Frodo Baggins, and she had always been – affectionate for him, even when she'd been far too young, and he far too old. It didn't help that she could hear her dad's voice, and him saying that this wasn't what any decent hobbit would do – but propriety was the least of Marigold's worries, at the time, given that a Took's hand was lost up under her – ah – skirt.

"Yes?" Pervinca pressed that question to the hollow of Marigold's throat, sucking lightly at the skin there as her fingers pushed and pressed and slid and teased. Marigold couldn't answer, not when the words stuck in her throat in a tight ball that felt near to bursting, and she could only whine, long and low.

"You need to – stop," Marigold shuddered, and though she had wanted Pervinca to stop, at first, she wasn't so sure she wanted that now. Not that Pervinca had done anything so wicked as push herself upon someone who was less than willing – not that Pervinca wasn't wicked, or so Marigold was beginning to believe, and if she'd ever heard talk, well, she had hardly thought it knowledge that she should keep in mind – but it hadn't been right that the lass had kissed her, and it couldn't be right what she was doing, now. Still, she wasn't so sure that she disliked it. No, it wasn't that she disliked it, at all. But still –

She let out another great shuddering breath, and it didn't help that Pervinca's fingers slid and teased. She managed, though her voice shook weakly, "This is – ah – wrong." Why she didn't want to say that she presumed more about the Took's reputation than she might or mightn't heard, it was very clear to see that Pervinca, bold as she was, was not one who easily took to being kept from what she most wanted.

Pervinca had a bright laugh, and that she pressed it against Marigold's skin, letting a warm kiss tasting of that joy slide its way to Marigold's mouth. Pervinca filled her mouth with Marigold's and she laughed again, with lips and tooth and tongue, and kissed Marigold deeply, more deeply than Marigold could ever recall having been kissed. It was slow and sweet, fluid and like Pervinca's fingers, and they were still in motion, unfathomable and unstoppable as they moved, as they sang. It was, well, to Marigold's addled mind, very, very nice.

And Pervinca said, in a low but husky voice, the sort of tone that made Marigold very quietly wonder what other things Pervinca might be able to do with that tongue, "Do you really want that I should stop?"

Marigold wanted to say yes, stop, please stop, yes, but she shut her eyes tight instead and felt her hips moving to the timing of Pervinca's clever fingers, felt herself pinned beneath Pervinca's devious mouth. And Pervinca ground into her, hot and flowing, and Marigold grasped at her and felt the fabric of the throw rug pressing rough and hard into the back of her thighs. There was loud birdsong in the air – the window had been left opened, and if Marigold tried and focused on what she was thinking and not on what she was feeling, she could smell a loud chorus of blooms hanging gentle on the spring-born breeze.

And Marigold tried, when Pervinca's fingers slid against her and rubbed hard, when Pervinca's mouth pressed against her ear and licked, to think about what had led her here, and it was very, very, difficult to remember, when Pervinca was making it so very, very, difficult to think.

("Are you sure, Missus Rumble?" she'd asked, eyeing the small cork-topped vial with a look that was half one of disinterest, but half one of new-born hope. "I can't see as what good this will do me, when Mr Frodo is so – well, oh, you know." For Marigold, putting words to Frodo seemed an impossible thing. But he was good and noble and she liked him, for all his book learning and his strange hobbit sense, and how good he'd always been to her brother. And he was a fair sight to see, that was sure, but she thought it most all be more than just that. She wouldn't have a chance, any other way – but she really would like to have herself a chance.

Widow Rumble might have been an elder hobbit lady, but her laugh was smooth as the Water, and Marigold hadn't been able to help it, and as the lady had laughed, she smiled. "Just put this in the good master's drink, and he'll come round, and soon enough."

Then she had put it in Marigold's hand, and Marigold had closed her fingers about the bottle. She looked at it, and the glass was not as opaque as she'd thought at first. Now, translucent almost, and the fluid within was a pale purple-blue with highlights of rose-grey. The Widow's hand closed over Marigold's wrist, and Marigold lifted her gaze. "Just have faith in it, Marigold, and it will give you all you're wanting, and your dear heart's desire. But if your trust fails, then there's no good it will do."

Marigold nodded. What else could she do? "I want him to know," was all she managed, and that in a whisper. Really, it was hardly something right that she was wanting but oh, oh, how she wanted her chance.

"Then go to him. And make sure that he drinks it, but no more than two drips. Remember that, lass. You can't forget."

She nodded. She'd not.

If only Mr Frodo hadn't been attending to a visit by Tooks.)

By then, Marigold forgot about stopping and hitched her leg up, instead, making it easier for Pervinca's hand to do as it wanted. Pervinca's free hand busied itself with the ties of her bodice laces, and Pervinca's mouth flowed smooth against Marigold's lips, and she kissed her, hard but still somehow teasing, and Marigold moaned against Pervinca's tongue, before Pervinca was able to once again swallow her mouth whole.

"Please, oh, please," she muttered, and that was muffled, and Pervinca laughed again, and her free hand was now not so free, pressing against skin, stroking Marigold's breast. Marigold bent beneath her, pressing up, and Pervinca drew back from her, away from her touching and her kissing, and a wet finger trailed up her breast, and to a hard nipple. One that she then lightly pinched, and gave a tug.

Marigold felt empty, and she didn't like that feeling one bit at all.

"Please," she pleaded, reached for Pervinca's hand and taking hold of it, both hands about her wrist. She brought slick-looking fingers to her mouth, and sucked her own taste from Pervinca's cunning, slender fingers. Pervinca was the one who shuddered, then, and pressed her knee up between Marigold's legs, into heat and wetness and something glorious happened, glorious and impossible, and Marigold shuddered as she let Pervinca's hand go back to her wrist.

She decided that she wanted this, and whatever else she might have, and if that was anything but greed, then she couldn't think of the proper name.

"You've not finished with me," she said, and she tried to pull herself out from under Pervinca, and into a proper sitting position, but she couldn't. "And we've not even finished with our undressing," though she could have said, instead, and you've not even started with yours.

She wanted to look at Pervinca, to see what she hid beneath cloth, against skin. She wanted to laugh out, glorious and delirious, but she instead grinned, and thought it might be sly.

"Why, my dear, you're right," Pervinca said, eyes dark and filled with what something rich and deep and shuddering that could only be lust. She sat back, slowly, and then she turned, pulling her long hair back over her shoulder. Her back was left to Marigold, and she looked back over her shoulders, eyes dark, smoldering.

"Please. Could you, ah, give me a hand?"

Shaking, Marigold sat, and did.

(If Sam had been about Hobbiton, then Marigold would not have had a chance to see if the Widow Rumble's secret brew would do the job that Marigold hoped that it would do. Given what she'd been told, all she had to do was put it in his drinks – two drops, and only that – and then she'd have her answer.

She should have waited. But Sam was off with their Dad, and away from Hobbiton, and Mr Frodo was attending to his guests and it was only right that he have a deft hand attend to their tea.

The fluid in the vial smelled sweet and she watched as the first drop fell, and then the next, and because she wasn't sure if that would be enough, she tilted it further and counted out three more before corking the vial once again and putting it into the front wide pocket of her apron. She then took up the tea tray, and went into the parlour, where Frodo was sitting and talking with his cousins – Tooks, yes, and not just any, but the Thain's youngest children, Pervinca and Peregrin. And Pippin, she might have known, but Pervinca Marigold only knew – well, not well at all.

"Thank you, Marigold," Frodo said. "You know, I could have seen to the tea, myself."

"Oh, I know, and I trust you more than my Sam might, in the kitchen. But you've company, Mr Frodo, and it's only right that you not have to run about for their sake." And she put the tea tray down, and not wanting to act anymore presumptuous than she already was, she didn't hand Frodo his tea cup directly, but instead made it so that his was the closest at hand.

Well, she thought it was his.

No. She knew it was his.

What Window Rumble had said was that his interest would be peaked, and it would show near enough to right away. But Marigold had stood as disinterested as she could at the parlour arch way, and watched as the cousins sat and talked and drank. But Frodo's interest didn't look peaked at all, and Pippin played the fool and talked Frodo into an after-tea talk and pipe and walk – and chattering on, as seemed his wont, about how this visit would be best if Merry only thought to drop by, even if it he'd be unannounced.

But Marigold was crushed. The drink hadn't worked, after all, and when Frodo and Pippin had gone from the room, Marigold did the duty that she could and went to retrieve emptied tea cups, and pick up the tray. She felt the vial against her stomach, heavy like some sort of betrayal. It hadn't worked. Oh, goodness, it hadn't worked.

She'd forgot about Pervinca. But Pervinca'd not forgot about her.

The tea tray crashed down impressively. And Pervinca pulled Marigold down to the floor.)

Pervinca's skin was smooth and lightly freckled, and though Marigold didn't know what the urge was or where it had come from, she suddenly wanted to kiss her across the back, one shoulder blade to the other. She did, and Pervinca's breath hitched after that, and she kissed the nape of her neck, too, making sure to hold her dark curls out of the way. And Pervinca's hair was smooth as fine silk, or at least, that was what Marigold believed.

She was very like her brother, Pippin, and Marigold had always thought she only fancied lads. But maybe for the day, since it seemed clear what had brought her to this place, she would fancy this lass, for what time they had.

And Marigold said, "You're lovely. I think I want you to kiss me again."

By then, they had done away with the top of Pervinca's dress, and she stood when Marigold finished undressing, leaving an expanse of smooth fair skin for hands to explore. Pervinca stood there, trembling and grinning and with her eyes shining, but they were hungry eyes, too, and Marigold blushed at the fire they put in her. She was shaking when she brought her hands to Pervinca's breasts.

"Well, then."

"Oh, yes."

Pervinca kissed her, hard, and took her down to the floor again, pinning her wrists to the ground and drinking Marigold's breath from her mouth. They were skin against skin and Pervinca was slick and slightly sweaty, as the day was very warm. Marigold shuddered and moaned and the throw rug rubbed hard against her backside and Marigold did the only thing she could do, wordlessly spreading her legs wide, begging Pervinca for her touch to return.

And it did, though Pervinca's right hand still clutched at Marigold's wrist. But it was Pervinca's left hand that pushed between Marigold's legs, it was those devious fingers that slid and touched and teased. It had been hard before, and fast, and Pervinca shouldn't have been hard, she should have been smooth, soft and smooth.

But not now, and she teased her until Marigold could take no more, and she cried out loudly and must have shocked birds into flight, and the spring air caught and broke and the world fell down about her. Pervinca's hand was moving, her fingers were sliding against skin, and she only whispered that she wasn't yet finished, and kissed her way down Marigold's chest and then across her belly. There she spread Marigold's legs even wider, hands pushing against her inner thigh, and she licked and sucked and kissed and once again, made Marigold scream.

And all that had been given, Marigold wanted something to return, and she squirmed out from beneath Pervinca, and Pervinca still looked hungry, and that made Marigold delirious or, at least, feel that she was falling. It was a very good feeling, she decided. Given how her skin felt, and how her belly twisted and in such a delightful way, perhaps this was the sort of thing that she should make habit – but then, she was hardly thinking right and straight at all.

"It's my turn, now, I think, or so it should be," and she hadn't ever felt so out of her place, but Pervinca had given and Marigold had to have something that she could give back, and she pushed Pervinca back down with the empty hearth watching them, and the garden window letting sunlight pool about them (and Pervinca was almost glowing, and it seemed she was on fire), and Marigold put her mouth to Pervinca's, and let her hands have their way on Pervinca's body. But it wasn't as if she was doing that Pervinca wasn't wanting – not the way she twisted and she panted, how she moaned, as if she was about to scream.

It wasn't until she had made Pervinca scream her name, and that having been three times, did Pervinca's hunger at last seemed sated. And it was only then that Marigold thought about what a sight they could have made, if her tea had ended up being given to the proper hobbit.

She doubted Mr Frodo's cousins would have wanted to see all that, and though she was warm enough and sated and still out of her sorts, she was sure she would have rather had it been Mr Frodo who had been the one to push her to the parlour floor. Even if that would have been talk for two Tooks to take back to Great Smials. For all she knew, that talk would still go.

Pervinca's voice was low and drowsy but perfectly pleased, "I think I might help you clean up your mess," she said, while her fingers made slow, slightly slick circles on Marigold's bare stomach. That was right, wasn't it? The tray had fallen, and the cups – ah. She felt a pang of remorse but Pervinca's lazy fingers made her forget about that easy enough. At least it hadn't been the good dishes, she told herself, thinking that might make a difference. And it must have, as that almost made Marigold laugh. Instead, because it seemed to fit the moment, she turned until her mouth found Pervinca's, and she kissed her.

And after, she only said, "Do you plan on visiting for very long, Miss Pervinca?"

She really did hope that Pervinca would say yes. At least, that was what she thought she would, all tangled up in warm flesh, as she was. And if Pervinca had something else to say, well, and if she and that brother of hers would be leaving very soon, at least Marigold knew that Widow Rumble's old potion would work, given the next opportunity she had to serve Frodo his tea.

"Up and up, Miss Pervinca," she murmured, as Pervinca's lashes drooped. It was difficult, just to make herself move, but she managed it somehow. And Pervinca was a solid, warm weight, and her hair smelled of cinnamon and sun. "I've a mess to clean, and oh, you're a mess, too. And if you can just… sit… ah, I can give you a proper hand with your dress."

Pervinca just smiled at her, bright curls, and laughing eyes. "I think I like you, Marigold. Ah, yes, I would like it if you leant me your hands." And she was smiling, still, though she'd not yet given Marigold her answer, but on one hand or the other, no matter what Pervinca might or might not say, this rather awkward tumble had left her with the knowing that she'd have her chance with Mr Frodo, and next time, she'd not let a Took get in between.