Fic: The Wooing of Primula Brandybuck - "When Pigs Fly!" Challenge
Name: Aussiepeach
Title: The Wooing of Primula Brandybuck
Challenge: Hobbit Smut "When Pigs Fly!" Challenge
Word Count:5110
Rating: N17
Pairing/s: Drogo/Primula
Warning/s: Het, duh.
Summary: Drogo narrates the story of his courtship.
Notes: Thank you to Ariel for the beta. Mwah!
I suppose I was a stuffed shirt. It wasn’t as if I had many interests outside a good dinner, a fine smoke, and an amusing book. True, there was the boat. But only because it was a convenient way to travel without bumping into a relation or giggling lass bent on becoming your wife. “You have the most lovely blue eyes, Mr. Baggins, you’re so tall, Mr. Baggins, you speak so charmingly,” and so on. I sometimes tried boring them with recitations of my family tree, but it made no difference.
Anyway, it was with this excuse in mind that I set out in my father’s old green boat for a scull on the Water one afternoon. It was a lovely Lithe day, the wind light and fresh, the dandelions a-blow in the honey-scented field. I saw two robins and what might have been a duck. There was also a lass with a basket crossing the field. She was smiling, apparently engaged in her own thoughts, and I kept the oars out of the water.
I was thinking of putting a line out for fish when I heard a shout, and saw the lass down the bank, lift up her skirt and walk straight into the water. She had an open, alert and pretty face, and thick curls of an auburny-brown, but it was quite the maddest thing I had seen a gentlehobbit lass do.
“Leave that alone!” she shouted. “Rapscallion! Thief!”
I halted, oars in midair.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I bought this boat. Yesterday. It’s mine.”
For a moment I was completely floored, but then an answer to the conundrum appeared. “Would that be from a youngster with no front teeth and red braces?”
“Yes.”
“That would be Toby Grubb,” I explained. “It’s his idea of a joke, selling things to strangers that belong to others. He’ll probably grow up to be an auctioneer.”
The lass’s face went red. Her dress was probably ruined, on top of the trick she had been played.
“Get in,” I said. “You’ll catch your death.”
There was nothing elegant in the way the lass clambered into the boat. She landed in it like a wet fish, helped by my hand. Once in she sat at the prow and wrung out her skirt. I didn’t like the way the glowered at me. It wasn’t me who had tricked her.
“So this is your boat?” she asked, suspiciously.
“It is. Drogo Baggins at your service,” I said, pointedly using my manners.
“Oh,” she said flatly. “Primula Brandybuck. I’m visiting my sister in Hobbiton.”
“Ah. Aren’t you the one engaged to Algernon Brownfield?”
Primula put her hands over her basket. “Why yes, I am.”
“I’ve heard lasses talk of him.”
“I’m sure,” said Primula. “They must envy him.”
“For being engaged to you?”
She went pink. “No,” she said. “For being - so wonderful. He’s handsome and witty! He dances like a dream. He gives me flowers, and writes me poems.”
“Yes,” I said, sculling along. “That must be delightful.”
“We’re going to be married on Midyear’s Day morning.” She played with a silk ribbon in her basket.
“How very soon,” I said.
“Daddy Gorbadoc insisted I visit Asphodel - that’s my sister - for a week before the wedding. She’s not very exciting, Asphodel, all she does is talk about how a granddaughter of the Old Took should think carefully about her marriage. How she should marry some boring, rich old fool.” She wrung out her petticoat extra hard.
“And what do you think of Hobbiton?”
“It hasn’t changed,” said Primula. “Dull. Stodgy. So quiet it snores. The butcher’s here, the post office there, the mill in the distance plashing away.”
“I suppose you prefer manic Brandy Hall.”
“I do.” She glared at me. “Since when do Bagginses have boats, anyway?”
“This was my father’s. He liked to fish.”
“He must have been an unusual gentlehobbit.”
“Indeed,” I said coldly. “He thought it good exercise. He didn’t go running off into the Blue, unlike some of your family I could name.”
“No-one I know would even contemplate going to sea.”
“If you don’t like boats, Miss Brandybuck, why buy one?”
“I do like boats. I prefer to row them myself. Properly.”
I continued to scull. A dragonfly danced over the water. The boat was a lot heavier with Primula in it.
“You can set me over on that bank, thank you,” she said.
“But how are you getting home? Your skirts are wet.”
“I’ll manage, thank you very much.”
The boat reached the shallows and ground up into the sand. Primula scrambled out of the boat.
“Miss Brandybuck?” I said. “I’ll get the money off Toby tomorrow and see it returned.”
“Don’t bother, Mr. Baggins,” she said.
I held out her basket. Primula leaned back into the boat to grab it. There was a splash of water against wood. The boat rocked under the motion and the exquisite silk ribbon fell into the water, where it was immediately eaten by a large trout.
I think it was entirely unfair of her to say what she said then, especially as I tried to rescue the ribbon with a paddle. Although rolling my eyes was probably not helpful.
At any rate, she should not have rocked the boat further. I was not expecting it and the boat tilted, wobbled, and threw Primula off her balance. Skirts flying, auburny-brown ringlets awry, Primula Brandybuck splashed into the coffee-coloured water of the Water.
Drip. Splosh. Drip. Splosh.
I had to accompany her to her sister’s, of course. She might have taken cold, and I’d never hear the end of it. ‘Accompany’ was not much of a word, as Primula spent most of it storming in one direction and treating me like poison. Asphodel’s expression, as the sodden, bedraggled Primula dripped her way into the kitchen, said it all.
I said something like ‘my apologies, hope she feels better,’ and left, but not quickly enough to hear the conversation that followed. I confess to hovering about the door to hear some of it, which was not the act of a gentlehobbit. But when my name came up I felt obliged to ensure nothing offensive would be ascribed to me.
“Take those things off at once. What happened?”
“That - Drogo person happened,” gasped Primula. “He and his boat. I’d like to wring his neck.”
“Here, put this blanket on. Don’t talk like that. He’s a good lad, is Drogo, if set in his ways.”
“Just like Rufus.”
“Rufus isn’t dull,” snapped Asphodel. “He’s a good, hard worker. And I keep a good table, as a wife should. I don’t hear you complaining, Miss!”
“I’m not.”
I could almost hear Asphodel wrinkle her elegant nose. “I wouldn’t waste my time on a Brownfield. They were never much of a clan.”
“Has he sent me a letter?”
“No, nothing yet.”
“And they call it the Quick Post,” sniffed Primula. “I intend to become a Brownfield whatever you say.”
“You’d do better to marry Drogo,” said Asphodel.
There was a loud and most unfeminine snort. “Marry him? I wouldn’t marry him if he was the last hobbit on earth!”
“And why not?”
“He’s unspeakably stuffy and arrogant.”
“Most lasses would put up with a bit of that, if they could get a fine-looking gentlehobbit.”
“There are plenty of those where I come from,” said Primula, between chattering teeth. “If darling Algernon ever comes here, I hope he gives that horrible, hideous hobbit what for. I hate him.”
A wee
k later, there was a grand Lithe dance to welcome the spring. Hobbits never dance indoors if they could help it, and the Party Field of Hobbiton was set up with lanterns, a stage for musicians, tables for food and drink. The weather was fine, if a little chilly in the evenings, but there would be a fire and plenty of dancing. I went, of course, as did my second cousin Bilbo, a rascally bachelor who patted me on the back before being attacked by a mob of faunts.
I was surprised to see Primula among those arriving, looking well in a new blue dress with white daisies in her hair. So she hadn’t returned home yet. As soon as our eyes met we hurriedly moved off in opposite directions.
A few lasses rushed over to the table, admiring my new coppery waistcoat, and hinted that they would like dances. I made non-committal pleasantries and gathered my friends together over wine.
“Do you see that Miss Brandybuck?” I asked them. “The one in blue?”
“The new lass? What about her?” Hildimac looked keen for gossip.
“Garth, Pim, Hildimac.. none of you dance with her.”
“Why’s that?” Hildi wanted to know. “Want her for herself, old boy?”
“No, I’m out to teach her a lesson.”
“She’s pretty,” Pim argued.
“Ignore her face for half an hour,” I told him.
“Seems a bit rough on her,” Garth protested.
“Just pass the word around. She’s a spoiled, uppity little faunt.”
“Crumbs,” said Garth. “That’s the worst I’ve heard you say about anyone.”
“I shouldn’t,” I admitted. “But it’s a fact. See to it, there’s a set of good fellows.”
When the music started, I went up to Aunt Dora Chubb. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?” I asked, bowing.
Aunt Dora tittered. “Well! Aren’t you a charmer!”
The other lads had easily found partners, and we started to dance. I risked a glance at Primula. She’d realised the snub, all right. I did feel some satisfaction.
The dance ended, and the dancers clapped the musicians. A new dance started up. Again, the lads looked past Primula as if she wasn’t there. She tossed her head, and talked to the gammers knitting in the corner.
When the second dance ended the lads came back to me. “Expect the next’ll be a round dance, no partners,” said Garth. “Then she can join in.”
I coughed. “Of course.”
The next dance struck up. A jolly tune, and the lass I had partnered in the last dance looked at me hopefully.
I went over and asked Primula to dance. The truth is, I did feel genuinely sorry for her and hoped my treatment had taught her a little lesson.
To my surprise, she accepted.
“Why are you dancing with me?” I finally asked.
“Oh, just to tell you I wouldn’t fetch a bucket of water if you were on fire,” she said, with a charming smile.
She moved on in the dance to partner Olgo Proudfoot.
“You know,” I said loudly, turning to my new partner, Ruby Boffin. “I remember Primula as an annoying faunt with a messy tangle of hair. Now she’s one of the Brandybuck heiresses, the type I’m expected to court.”
“I should hope not,” the lass said, flicking a look at Primula. “She is engaged, I hear.”
I let her step under my hand and twirl. “There’s always my cousin Bilbo,” I said.
“He’s a relation of mine as well.”
Primula danced past with a Hornblower, and leaned over his shoulder.
“Bilbo’s a charmer, but he is staid,” she said to no-one in particular. “Very much a Baggins. Like Drogo.”
“Er,” said her partner, nervously. “The weather’s been lovely this time of year.”
We joined hands in a ring according to the rules of the dance, walked ourselves in, then walked ourselves out.
In. Ruby spoke in a pig’s whisper. “I’m not surprised Algernon didn’t send you anything, Primula.”
Out. Primula looked daggers at Ruby.
In. “May Cotman’s dad caught them together in the barn.”
Out. The whole group was watching them now. Primula’s face was scarlet.
In. “That’s lies and gossip, Ruby Boffin.”
Olgo tugged at Primula’s hand. She jerked it away and broke out of the circle. Some looked embarrassed, others amused. The musicians kept playing, and the dance continued.
None of the lasses went after her. To be fair, none of them knew her well, and Primula’s face was like a thundercloud.
But I went. It was presumptious of me. Yet how could I not? To have been humiliated in public over such a matter - no, it was a harsh thing for lad or lass to learn of that way.
I thought I had lost her at first, in the shadows of the trees. None had followed me however, and I heard a tiny sound that was surely a stifled sob. Primula was sitting at the foot of an oak, weeping into her hands.
I went to her and laid my hand on her shoulder.
She cried even harder. I dug my handkerchief from my pocket and gave it to her so she could blow her nose.
“Algernon,” she croaked. “I hate him.”
“It might have been a lucky escape,” I said.
She wiped her nose again. I stood beside her until her crying calmed somewhat.
“Did you love him that much?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Yes. No. I never did. There. You can go back and tell them all I’m mad.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “Sit down for a bit, shall I fetch you a cup of hot wine?”
“Oh… all right. Thank you.”
I went back to the tables and took some wine. No-one seemed to notice. I worried if she would be gone when I returned, but she was there and happily had stopped sobbing. She gulped the wine down. We sat for a while.
“I can go if you’d rather,” I said.
“No.” She blew her nose again. “Why are you here, though? You hate me.” She looked at me, eyes red and shiny with tears. I had the ridiculous desire to blot them away.
“It was awful of you,” she said, “but I deserved it I suppose.”
“He’s a fool,” I said. “No lass deserves that kind of behaviour. It’s caddish.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
I smiled. “That’s the spirit, Miss Brandybuck.”
She took a deep breath, and pressed her flushed cheeks with her hands. When she spoke, her voice was almost back to normal.
“Your face changes when you smile, Mr. Baggins. You look like someone who can be mischievous.”
“Really?” I was uncertain whether this was a compliment or not.
“I should go back now. I won’t give them the satisfaction of knowing I’m upset.”
“You’re very brave.”
Primula tucked the handkerchief into her pocket. “I won’t stay long, I’ll go back to Asphodel’s.”
“When are you returning to Buckland?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to go just yet. I daresay Father knows all about - him - by now. I expect a torrent of letters.”
“Well, the boat is at your disposal should you feel like rowing, or getting away from folk for a while.”
“Thank you. I mean to ask - does the boat have a name?”
“No, I never thought of one.”
“Perhaps you should ask Cousin Bilbo. He’s fond of poetry and that kind of thing.”
“He would probably call it something Elvish,” I observed, and she smiled.
“They say you’re always reading. What do you read about?”
“Stories,” I said. I was taken aback really. So few bothered to ask. “Some history, because it’s interesting, really, and some things written by Men, and some on food that are very good, a few by Elves that Bilbo lends me, they’re not too preposterous.”
“They sound nice,” said Primula, and blew her nose. Then she got up. “Good night.
I’ll give you back your handkerchief later.” And she left.
Mischievous. No lass had ever said I looked like that. Could I be mischievous in any way? It was a surprising thought.
I returned to my books and my smial, where my manservant worked in the garden and his wife did my laundry and brought me the latest gossip from town. I found several reasons to go there myself, the weather being fine and the study proving unsociable. Now and then I would see Miss Brandybuck, with a ribbon braided into her hair, perusing a bolt of cloth or some new-picked apples, and we would exchange a smile, a nod, or occasionally a word. My handkerchief arrived, washed and ironed, by Quick Post. It was very appropriate and discreet. Asphodel’s doing, no doubt.
Some of the Hobbiton lasses were sometimes with her, which pleased me because most of them are a nice lot, despite the incident at the dance. I could even almost forgive Ruby Boffin for revealing the truth about that Brownfield fellow.
Once or twice I did see some lads near Miss Brandybuck, which did cause me concern. Even a stuffed shirt like me knew the expression ‘on the rebound’, and I didn’t fancy any of my friends getting their hearts bruised when Primula - however innocently - returned to the normal lass’s business of flirting and making merry. Sudden marriages could lead to flapping tongues, as well, if a babe was soon on the way. But that Algernon person was clearly unsuitable for her. Full of spark and life she was, even if she was irritating. Perhaps Brandy Hall was the safest place for her after all.
Some months had passed since the Lithe dance, and summer was in full flush. I was wearing my summer linens, and Miss Brandybuck, I was pleased to learn from Hortensia’s flapping tongue, was not yet returned to Buckland. It can get terribly hot in Buckland.
At any rate the Water flowed serenely, the fields were lush and the fruit ripening, and the bees creating honey with diligence. It was a superb summer, and it sent many lads and lasses planning out-of-doors parties, frolics, picnics and assignations. I attended a few of the picnics, suffering to have my apple crumble slathered in cream by lads and lasses who were fluttering and coying no end.
Ruby Boffin was one of these. She was attached to my side as if she tied there with a string and proved annoyingly difficult to shake off. I could not resort to rudeness, but it did bother me to think Primula might make assumptions and think I was making up, so to speak, with the lass who had been so virulent to her. It was all a matter of clarity.
At one such picnic I believed I had managed to ‘shake off’ Miss Boffin by saying I
had to walk to my Aunt Rosadora’s. She nodded sweetly and helped to pack up the picnic things with the Tunnelly lasses.
I set off. I was not, strictly speaking, going to Aunt Rosadora’s, but was heading in that general direction and would take the long way home.
It so happened that I was passing a haystack when I heard a call behind me and turned to see Ruby Boffin.
“Drogo, you must be exhausted, walking this far after such a lunch,” she called.
I stopped and took off my hat. “On the contrary I find it settling,” I said. “What are you doing here, Ruby?”
“Oh, just looking for wildflowers to take home,” she said. “Isn’t it lovely and hot? You should have a rest, Drogo. That haystack looks comfortable.”
“Thank you, but I’m not in the least tired,” I said.
“Nonsense, you’ll get heat stroke and then where will you be?” She seized my hand and dragged me over to the said haystack.
“Now, look here - ” I began.
“Now take that waistcoat off, it’s far too hot.” She began trying to pull it off. I
resisted, but the haystack was slippery and I lost my footing, landing on my behind. Ruby laughed and tumbled down on top of me.
“For pity’s sake, Ruby,” said another voice. “Get off the poor lad before he passes out.”
We looked to see Primula standing there, carrying a basket of picnic things. Pointed chin, hair a riotous mass of auburny-brown, a freckled nose. Never had they all looked so appealing.
“What are you doing here?” Ruby demanded.
“Oh, just picking flowers,” Primula said, though there were no flowers in evidence.
“Are you all right, Drogo?”
“Perfectly.” I took the opportunity to get up and dust myself off. “I was on my way to Aunt Rosadora’s. Now, to think of it, I might cut across the field to the river.”
“For a swim?” Ruby said hopefully.
“No, my boat is tied down that way,” I lied. “I’m fond of rowing.”
“That boat again,” sniffed Ruby. “Well, I - I might go that way too.”
“Oh nonsense, Ruby,” said Primula. “That old boat of Drogo’s would barely hold him, let alone you. Go along.”
“And what are you going to do?” Ruby flared. “Follow Drogo home as well?”
“Of course,” I said. “Miss Primula is a stranger to Hobbiton and will probably get lost at the first turning.”
Ruby looked at us both, as if debating with herself. Primula’s arch expression must have communicated something, for she glowered and straightened her hat.
“I shall go back a ways,” she said, “and see if Logo Banks wants company on the way home. He’s a very attentive hobbit, Logo is. He doesn’t waste time in boats. Goodbye!”
She set off back towards the picnic grounds.
“I’m sorry to have insulted your boat,” said Primula. “But you needed an escape, from the looks of it.”
“Thank you, but I am capable of looking after myself,” I said.
“You could have been compromised to death in a haystack. I declare, Mr. Baggins, you looked positively mischievous.”
I couldn’t help smiling.
“Panicked, more likely.”
She giggled. I felt a surge of pleasure.
“By the way, Miss Primula, my boat is not really down this way.”
“Does this mean you don’t want me with you? There might be other hopeful lasses about.”
I laughed. “I’d like you along very much.”
So we walked. Primula said Asphodel’s house was quiet compared to Brandy Hall. Unless her fauntling son Milo was around, demanding Primula play with him, or spilling tea on her lap. “I do miss it,” she conceded. “But summer here has been lovely.”
Smoke rose from chimneys and the bleating of sheep greeted us as we passed the smials of Hayholt Row. The dust rose under our feet, and the evidence of some pigs and horses steamed nearby.
“It is a staid place, Hobbiton,” I said. “I don’t see how you stand it.”
“No, I don’t find it staid any more. It’s grown on me. I can see why you love it.”
“I’m glad to hear it. And Brandy Hall is a grand, fine place. It’s not your fault you’re one of that Brandybuck clan.” There, I’d tried to do that mischievous thing and probably insulted her again.
A silence fell. I didn’t quote poems or offer flowers. I was a bore. A complete stuffed shirt.
“There’s no point in any lass marrying me,” I said. “She’d be bored silly, with my reading all the time, and I am no company at all.”
Primula laughed and patted my arm. “I’m sure she wouldn’t be bored.” She looked up at the sky. “Do you know, it looks like rain. Is your boat tethered further along?”
“Back towards my smial,” I said. “We’ll barely get there by nightfall.”
“We’ll just have walk faster,” she said.
So we did.
The rain held off. Nevertheless it was satisfying to reach the boat so rapidly. It was up on the bank and tipped over to keep the damp out, with the oars underneath.
I’d been carrying the basket for Primula, and now I handed it back.
“It’s funny,” she said. “But I feel like sitting in the boat.”
An odd suggestion, but the evening sky was clearing, and there were the first stars coming out, and it was still quite warm. I had a few old cushions in the boat, and when we had turned it up and spread them out it was a cosy enough place to sit. There were a few leftovers in the picnic basket, so we shared them. It smelled good, the boat - of timber and paint and slightly fishy.
When we had finished we both leaned back against the cushion and admired the stars, and talked about food, as I recall. Primula’s head was close to my shoulder, and her hand was very close to my knee, and her hair smelled like nutmeg. The scent made me tremble, which was peculiar, because I have never had odd reactions to nutmeg before.
Deep down, I had the dire premonition that I, Drogo Baggins who had never done anything remotely ridiculous, was going to hang it all and make a fool of myself.
“Egg salad is my favourite sandwich filling,” remarked Primula.
“I prefer ham and cheese,” I said. “By the way, dear Miss Brandybuck, will you marry me?”
I don’t suppose I ever thought I’d ask a lass that question. But there it was, and there she was, eyes sparkling and beaming most beautifully. It went straight to my heart. I wouldn’t forget that smile for the rest of my life.
“Yes,” she said. “I will.”
Somehow we ended up with our arms around each other, lying against the pillows. Primula’s lips were soft and hot and stirred my blood disarmingly. We kissed until I felt thoroughly stirred up in all directions. Muzzily, I thought I had better escort her home.
“Well, Mr. Baggins, what next?”
“Next?” There was a next? Of course we were now engaged, but Primula - well. She looked down at her bodice, and at me. Ah.
One pillow was in the way of her bodice laces. I tried to undo them. They were knotted. I threw the wretched pillow overboard.
“Sorry,” I said. “Confounded laces. I don’t want to rip your dress.”
“If you don’t get it off, Drogo, I shall bite your ear.”
You probably won’t believe me, but she started undoing the laces herself. I lay there,
as she straddled me with stars above her hair, and felt I was the luckiest fellow alive. There seemed to be a dragon in my blood, rousing me to extraordinary heat.
The bodice came away, then.
I couldn’t think of anything to say, except to put my arms around her and press her to me, in case she felt embarrassed or immodest. Primula’s reaction did not suggest she felt embarrassed, but I kissed her again just in case, as a means of reassurance.
It occurred to me I was still wearing a lot of clothes, and it must have occurred to Primula as well, because she pulled my shirt open so fast I heard a button snap off. Then she was kissing my bared chest. My hands were being quite licentious, sliding down to her bottom, pushing up the froth of skirts. It was amazing. Then Primula took my hand and moved it to another part of her, and that was even more astounding. A lass’s body was quite a marvellous creation.
She liked the touching very much, and we enjoyed that for a bit. Then it was back to the kissing (hurrah!) and then, oh then, Primula was unbuttoning my breeches. I’d never had a lass do that before. I wasn’t sure what she’d think of the result. Did lasses really like that sort of thing?
Primula would never cease to amaze. She not only touched me right there, with a grip an oarsman would envy, but wriggled down and licked it. With her tongue. Stars and fire, you never could imagine how that felt. I thought, I’ll give my married friends what for, not telling me about that!
Then she came up all breathy-warm and kissed me again, and where her tongue had been was strange to think of, but I had actually gone past caring. The skirts were all tangled above her waist now and we were rocking together in quite a desperate manner.
I was not innocent of what should happen next. I moved her as gently as I was able, and felt her breath catch as her legs shifted apart. The stars glowed above us.
I tried not to hurt her, though I am sure it did at first. I withdrew and she caught her breath and said, “it’s all right, darling, take your time”. So we kissed for a bit more.
Then we tried again. It took some time, but we managed to get further along, as it were. I knew I wasn’t going to carry on as I should, though I tried to concentrate, thinking of details of the family tree, and got very sweaty with the effort.
But you know, I think the boat helped. We rocked and Primula wrinkled her nose and gritted her teeth and then her lower lip trembled. “Oh,” she said. “Oh. Oh.” Her lashes widened in the moonlight.
The feeling of pushing in, and sliding out, was taking my last semblances of control. It felt wonderful. Primula gave one of my nipples a hard pinch, and I felt a corresponding rush and throb. Oh, my.
I felt her tighten around me and well, suffice to say I didn’t have the control to stop things at that point. I said her name, three times, and she gave a breathy little gasp, her eyes shutting and her head snapping sideways.
“That,” she said, as I reeled under the stars, “was unbelievable.”
“You don’t hate me any more?” I said.
“Under the circumstances, absolutely not,” she replied.
It was hard to believe that a bookish, blue-eyed Baggins could attract a lass like Primula. I still found it hard to believe in the next few weeks, although the servants just grinned at each other and dropped hints about Master Gorbadoc coming after me with a pitchfork.
But there came a day, a delightful sunny day, when I sent a letter to Primula inviting her to tea at the Party Field with Bilbo and some of his relations. I asked her to wear her prettiest dress so she could charm them. She arrived at my door at the appointed time, and I beamed as my servants tried to brush my hair and straighten my waistcoat.
“This must be a very grand tea,” she observed.
“Well yes, the Mayor is coming,” I said.
We walked up to the Field, where a grand table of food was set out on a white cloth. Small hobbits were much in evidence, and the Mayor was accompanied by no less than Master Gorbadoc himself.
“Pa!” said Primula, and kissed him. Then she looked at me.
“This was your idea!”
“Yes,” I admitted. “Er - will you? Marry me? Now?”
Thankfully, she beamed at me. The Mayor coughed, ready to proceed.
“It’s very mischievous of you,” said Primula.
“I know. I’m starting to get some practice.”
“Good,” she said, taking my hand. “Let’s get married.”
Title: The Wooing of Primula Brandybuck
Challenge: Hobbit Smut "When Pigs Fly!" Challenge
Word Count:5110
Rating: N17
Pairing/s: Drogo/Primula
Warning/s: Het, duh.
Summary: Drogo narrates the story of his courtship.
Notes: Thank you to Ariel for the beta. Mwah!
I suppose I was a stuffed shirt. It wasn’t as if I had many interests outside a good dinner, a fine smoke, and an amusing book. True, there was the boat. But only because it was a convenient way to travel without bumping into a relation or giggling lass bent on becoming your wife. “You have the most lovely blue eyes, Mr. Baggins, you’re so tall, Mr. Baggins, you speak so charmingly,” and so on. I sometimes tried boring them with recitations of my family tree, but it made no difference.
Anyway, it was with this excuse in mind that I set out in my father’s old green boat for a scull on the Water one afternoon. It was a lovely Lithe day, the wind light and fresh, the dandelions a-blow in the honey-scented field. I saw two robins and what might have been a duck. There was also a lass with a basket crossing the field. She was smiling, apparently engaged in her own thoughts, and I kept the oars out of the water.
I was thinking of putting a line out for fish when I heard a shout, and saw the lass down the bank, lift up her skirt and walk straight into the water. She had an open, alert and pretty face, and thick curls of an auburny-brown, but it was quite the maddest thing I had seen a gentlehobbit lass do.
“Leave that alone!” she shouted. “Rapscallion! Thief!”
I halted, oars in midair.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I bought this boat. Yesterday. It’s mine.”
For a moment I was completely floored, but then an answer to the conundrum appeared. “Would that be from a youngster with no front teeth and red braces?”
“Yes.”
“That would be Toby Grubb,” I explained. “It’s his idea of a joke, selling things to strangers that belong to others. He’ll probably grow up to be an auctioneer.”
The lass’s face went red. Her dress was probably ruined, on top of the trick she had been played.
“Get in,” I said. “You’ll catch your death.”
There was nothing elegant in the way the lass clambered into the boat. She landed in it like a wet fish, helped by my hand. Once in she sat at the prow and wrung out her skirt. I didn’t like the way the glowered at me. It wasn’t me who had tricked her.
“So this is your boat?” she asked, suspiciously.
“It is. Drogo Baggins at your service,” I said, pointedly using my manners.
“Oh,” she said flatly. “Primula Brandybuck. I’m visiting my sister in Hobbiton.”
“Ah. Aren’t you the one engaged to Algernon Brownfield?”
Primula put her hands over her basket. “Why yes, I am.”
“I’ve heard lasses talk of him.”
“I’m sure,” said Primula. “They must envy him.”
“For being engaged to you?”
She went pink. “No,” she said. “For being - so wonderful. He’s handsome and witty! He dances like a dream. He gives me flowers, and writes me poems.”
“Yes,” I said, sculling along. “That must be delightful.”
“We’re going to be married on Midyear’s Day morning.” She played with a silk ribbon in her basket.
“How very soon,” I said.
“Daddy Gorbadoc insisted I visit Asphodel - that’s my sister - for a week before the wedding. She’s not very exciting, Asphodel, all she does is talk about how a granddaughter of the Old Took should think carefully about her marriage. How she should marry some boring, rich old fool.” She wrung out her petticoat extra hard.
“And what do you think of Hobbiton?”
“It hasn’t changed,” said Primula. “Dull. Stodgy. So quiet it snores. The butcher’s here, the post office there, the mill in the distance plashing away.”
“I suppose you prefer manic Brandy Hall.”
“I do.” She glared at me. “Since when do Bagginses have boats, anyway?”
“This was my father’s. He liked to fish.”
“He must have been an unusual gentlehobbit.”
“Indeed,” I said coldly. “He thought it good exercise. He didn’t go running off into the Blue, unlike some of your family I could name.”
“No-one I know would even contemplate going to sea.”
“If you don’t like boats, Miss Brandybuck, why buy one?”
“I do like boats. I prefer to row them myself. Properly.”
I continued to scull. A dragonfly danced over the water. The boat was a lot heavier with Primula in it.
“You can set me over on that bank, thank you,” she said.
“But how are you getting home? Your skirts are wet.”
“I’ll manage, thank you very much.”
The boat reached the shallows and ground up into the sand. Primula scrambled out of the boat.
“Miss Brandybuck?” I said. “I’ll get the money off Toby tomorrow and see it returned.”
“Don’t bother, Mr. Baggins,” she said.
I held out her basket. Primula leaned back into the boat to grab it. There was a splash of water against wood. The boat rocked under the motion and the exquisite silk ribbon fell into the water, where it was immediately eaten by a large trout.
I think it was entirely unfair of her to say what she said then, especially as I tried to rescue the ribbon with a paddle. Although rolling my eyes was probably not helpful.
At any rate, she should not have rocked the boat further. I was not expecting it and the boat tilted, wobbled, and threw Primula off her balance. Skirts flying, auburny-brown ringlets awry, Primula Brandybuck splashed into the coffee-coloured water of the Water.
Drip. Splosh. Drip. Splosh.
I had to accompany her to her sister’s, of course. She might have taken cold, and I’d never hear the end of it. ‘Accompany’ was not much of a word, as Primula spent most of it storming in one direction and treating me like poison. Asphodel’s expression, as the sodden, bedraggled Primula dripped her way into the kitchen, said it all.
I said something like ‘my apologies, hope she feels better,’ and left, but not quickly enough to hear the conversation that followed. I confess to hovering about the door to hear some of it, which was not the act of a gentlehobbit. But when my name came up I felt obliged to ensure nothing offensive would be ascribed to me.
“Take those things off at once. What happened?”
“That - Drogo person happened,” gasped Primula. “He and his boat. I’d like to wring his neck.”
“Here, put this blanket on. Don’t talk like that. He’s a good lad, is Drogo, if set in his ways.”
“Just like Rufus.”
“Rufus isn’t dull,” snapped Asphodel. “He’s a good, hard worker. And I keep a good table, as a wife should. I don’t hear you complaining, Miss!”
“I’m not.”
I could almost hear Asphodel wrinkle her elegant nose. “I wouldn’t waste my time on a Brownfield. They were never much of a clan.”
“Has he sent me a letter?”
“No, nothing yet.”
“And they call it the Quick Post,” sniffed Primula. “I intend to become a Brownfield whatever you say.”
“You’d do better to marry Drogo,” said Asphodel.
There was a loud and most unfeminine snort. “Marry him? I wouldn’t marry him if he was the last hobbit on earth!”
“And why not?”
“He’s unspeakably stuffy and arrogant.”
“Most lasses would put up with a bit of that, if they could get a fine-looking gentlehobbit.”
“There are plenty of those where I come from,” said Primula, between chattering teeth. “If darling Algernon ever comes here, I hope he gives that horrible, hideous hobbit what for. I hate him.”
A wee
k later, there was a grand Lithe dance to welcome the spring. Hobbits never dance indoors if they could help it, and the Party Field of Hobbiton was set up with lanterns, a stage for musicians, tables for food and drink. The weather was fine, if a little chilly in the evenings, but there would be a fire and plenty of dancing. I went, of course, as did my second cousin Bilbo, a rascally bachelor who patted me on the back before being attacked by a mob of faunts.
I was surprised to see Primula among those arriving, looking well in a new blue dress with white daisies in her hair. So she hadn’t returned home yet. As soon as our eyes met we hurriedly moved off in opposite directions.
A few lasses rushed over to the table, admiring my new coppery waistcoat, and hinted that they would like dances. I made non-committal pleasantries and gathered my friends together over wine.
“Do you see that Miss Brandybuck?” I asked them. “The one in blue?”
“The new lass? What about her?” Hildimac looked keen for gossip.
“Garth, Pim, Hildimac.. none of you dance with her.”
“Why’s that?” Hildi wanted to know. “Want her for herself, old boy?”
“No, I’m out to teach her a lesson.”
“She’s pretty,” Pim argued.
“Ignore her face for half an hour,” I told him.
“Seems a bit rough on her,” Garth protested.
“Just pass the word around. She’s a spoiled, uppity little faunt.”
“Crumbs,” said Garth. “That’s the worst I’ve heard you say about anyone.”
“I shouldn’t,” I admitted. “But it’s a fact. See to it, there’s a set of good fellows.”
When the music started, I went up to Aunt Dora Chubb. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?” I asked, bowing.
Aunt Dora tittered. “Well! Aren’t you a charmer!”
The other lads had easily found partners, and we started to dance. I risked a glance at Primula. She’d realised the snub, all right. I did feel some satisfaction.
The dance ended, and the dancers clapped the musicians. A new dance started up. Again, the lads looked past Primula as if she wasn’t there. She tossed her head, and talked to the gammers knitting in the corner.
When the second dance ended the lads came back to me. “Expect the next’ll be a round dance, no partners,” said Garth. “Then she can join in.”
I coughed. “Of course.”
The next dance struck up. A jolly tune, and the lass I had partnered in the last dance looked at me hopefully.
I went over and asked Primula to dance. The truth is, I did feel genuinely sorry for her and hoped my treatment had taught her a little lesson.
To my surprise, she accepted.
“Why are you dancing with me?” I finally asked.
“Oh, just to tell you I wouldn’t fetch a bucket of water if you were on fire,” she said, with a charming smile.
She moved on in the dance to partner Olgo Proudfoot.
“You know,” I said loudly, turning to my new partner, Ruby Boffin. “I remember Primula as an annoying faunt with a messy tangle of hair. Now she’s one of the Brandybuck heiresses, the type I’m expected to court.”
“I should hope not,” the lass said, flicking a look at Primula. “She is engaged, I hear.”
I let her step under my hand and twirl. “There’s always my cousin Bilbo,” I said.
“He’s a relation of mine as well.”
Primula danced past with a Hornblower, and leaned over his shoulder.
“Bilbo’s a charmer, but he is staid,” she said to no-one in particular. “Very much a Baggins. Like Drogo.”
“Er,” said her partner, nervously. “The weather’s been lovely this time of year.”
We joined hands in a ring according to the rules of the dance, walked ourselves in, then walked ourselves out.
In. Ruby spoke in a pig’s whisper. “I’m not surprised Algernon didn’t send you anything, Primula.”
Out. Primula looked daggers at Ruby.
In. “May Cotman’s dad caught them together in the barn.”
Out. The whole group was watching them now. Primula’s face was scarlet.
In. “That’s lies and gossip, Ruby Boffin.”
Olgo tugged at Primula’s hand. She jerked it away and broke out of the circle. Some looked embarrassed, others amused. The musicians kept playing, and the dance continued.
None of the lasses went after her. To be fair, none of them knew her well, and Primula’s face was like a thundercloud.
But I went. It was presumptious of me. Yet how could I not? To have been humiliated in public over such a matter - no, it was a harsh thing for lad or lass to learn of that way.
I thought I had lost her at first, in the shadows of the trees. None had followed me however, and I heard a tiny sound that was surely a stifled sob. Primula was sitting at the foot of an oak, weeping into her hands.
I went to her and laid my hand on her shoulder.
She cried even harder. I dug my handkerchief from my pocket and gave it to her so she could blow her nose.
“Algernon,” she croaked. “I hate him.”
“It might have been a lucky escape,” I said.
She wiped her nose again. I stood beside her until her crying calmed somewhat.
“Did you love him that much?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Yes. No. I never did. There. You can go back and tell them all I’m mad.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “Sit down for a bit, shall I fetch you a cup of hot wine?”
“Oh… all right. Thank you.”
I went back to the tables and took some wine. No-one seemed to notice. I worried if she would be gone when I returned, but she was there and happily had stopped sobbing. She gulped the wine down. We sat for a while.
“I can go if you’d rather,” I said.
“No.” She blew her nose again. “Why are you here, though? You hate me.” She looked at me, eyes red and shiny with tears. I had the ridiculous desire to blot them away.
“It was awful of you,” she said, “but I deserved it I suppose.”
“He’s a fool,” I said. “No lass deserves that kind of behaviour. It’s caddish.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
I smiled. “That’s the spirit, Miss Brandybuck.”
She took a deep breath, and pressed her flushed cheeks with her hands. When she spoke, her voice was almost back to normal.
“Your face changes when you smile, Mr. Baggins. You look like someone who can be mischievous.”
“Really?” I was uncertain whether this was a compliment or not.
“I should go back now. I won’t give them the satisfaction of knowing I’m upset.”
“You’re very brave.”
Primula tucked the handkerchief into her pocket. “I won’t stay long, I’ll go back to Asphodel’s.”
“When are you returning to Buckland?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to go just yet. I daresay Father knows all about - him - by now. I expect a torrent of letters.”
“Well, the boat is at your disposal should you feel like rowing, or getting away from folk for a while.”
“Thank you. I mean to ask - does the boat have a name?”
“No, I never thought of one.”
“Perhaps you should ask Cousin Bilbo. He’s fond of poetry and that kind of thing.”
“He would probably call it something Elvish,” I observed, and she smiled.
“They say you’re always reading. What do you read about?”
“Stories,” I said. I was taken aback really. So few bothered to ask. “Some history, because it’s interesting, really, and some things written by Men, and some on food that are very good, a few by Elves that Bilbo lends me, they’re not too preposterous.”
“They sound nice,” said Primula, and blew her nose. Then she got up. “Good night.
I’ll give you back your handkerchief later.” And she left.
Mischievous. No lass had ever said I looked like that. Could I be mischievous in any way? It was a surprising thought.
I returned to my books and my smial, where my manservant worked in the garden and his wife did my laundry and brought me the latest gossip from town. I found several reasons to go there myself, the weather being fine and the study proving unsociable. Now and then I would see Miss Brandybuck, with a ribbon braided into her hair, perusing a bolt of cloth or some new-picked apples, and we would exchange a smile, a nod, or occasionally a word. My handkerchief arrived, washed and ironed, by Quick Post. It was very appropriate and discreet. Asphodel’s doing, no doubt.
Some of the Hobbiton lasses were sometimes with her, which pleased me because most of them are a nice lot, despite the incident at the dance. I could even almost forgive Ruby Boffin for revealing the truth about that Brownfield fellow.
Once or twice I did see some lads near Miss Brandybuck, which did cause me concern. Even a stuffed shirt like me knew the expression ‘on the rebound’, and I didn’t fancy any of my friends getting their hearts bruised when Primula - however innocently - returned to the normal lass’s business of flirting and making merry. Sudden marriages could lead to flapping tongues, as well, if a babe was soon on the way. But that Algernon person was clearly unsuitable for her. Full of spark and life she was, even if she was irritating. Perhaps Brandy Hall was the safest place for her after all.
Some months had passed since the Lithe dance, and summer was in full flush. I was wearing my summer linens, and Miss Brandybuck, I was pleased to learn from Hortensia’s flapping tongue, was not yet returned to Buckland. It can get terribly hot in Buckland.
At any rate the Water flowed serenely, the fields were lush and the fruit ripening, and the bees creating honey with diligence. It was a superb summer, and it sent many lads and lasses planning out-of-doors parties, frolics, picnics and assignations. I attended a few of the picnics, suffering to have my apple crumble slathered in cream by lads and lasses who were fluttering and coying no end.
Ruby Boffin was one of these. She was attached to my side as if she tied there with a string and proved annoyingly difficult to shake off. I could not resort to rudeness, but it did bother me to think Primula might make assumptions and think I was making up, so to speak, with the lass who had been so virulent to her. It was all a matter of clarity.
At one such picnic I believed I had managed to ‘shake off’ Miss Boffin by saying I
had to walk to my Aunt Rosadora’s. She nodded sweetly and helped to pack up the picnic things with the Tunnelly lasses.
I set off. I was not, strictly speaking, going to Aunt Rosadora’s, but was heading in that general direction and would take the long way home.
It so happened that I was passing a haystack when I heard a call behind me and turned to see Ruby Boffin.
“Drogo, you must be exhausted, walking this far after such a lunch,” she called.
I stopped and took off my hat. “On the contrary I find it settling,” I said. “What are you doing here, Ruby?”
“Oh, just looking for wildflowers to take home,” she said. “Isn’t it lovely and hot? You should have a rest, Drogo. That haystack looks comfortable.”
“Thank you, but I’m not in the least tired,” I said.
“Nonsense, you’ll get heat stroke and then where will you be?” She seized my hand and dragged me over to the said haystack.
“Now, look here - ” I began.
“Now take that waistcoat off, it’s far too hot.” She began trying to pull it off. I
resisted, but the haystack was slippery and I lost my footing, landing on my behind. Ruby laughed and tumbled down on top of me.
“For pity’s sake, Ruby,” said another voice. “Get off the poor lad before he passes out.”
We looked to see Primula standing there, carrying a basket of picnic things. Pointed chin, hair a riotous mass of auburny-brown, a freckled nose. Never had they all looked so appealing.
“What are you doing here?” Ruby demanded.
“Oh, just picking flowers,” Primula said, though there were no flowers in evidence.
“Are you all right, Drogo?”
“Perfectly.” I took the opportunity to get up and dust myself off. “I was on my way to Aunt Rosadora’s. Now, to think of it, I might cut across the field to the river.”
“For a swim?” Ruby said hopefully.
“No, my boat is tied down that way,” I lied. “I’m fond of rowing.”
“That boat again,” sniffed Ruby. “Well, I - I might go that way too.”
“Oh nonsense, Ruby,” said Primula. “That old boat of Drogo’s would barely hold him, let alone you. Go along.”
“And what are you going to do?” Ruby flared. “Follow Drogo home as well?”
“Of course,” I said. “Miss Primula is a stranger to Hobbiton and will probably get lost at the first turning.”
Ruby looked at us both, as if debating with herself. Primula’s arch expression must have communicated something, for she glowered and straightened her hat.
“I shall go back a ways,” she said, “and see if Logo Banks wants company on the way home. He’s a very attentive hobbit, Logo is. He doesn’t waste time in boats. Goodbye!”
She set off back towards the picnic grounds.
“I’m sorry to have insulted your boat,” said Primula. “But you needed an escape, from the looks of it.”
“Thank you, but I am capable of looking after myself,” I said.
“You could have been compromised to death in a haystack. I declare, Mr. Baggins, you looked positively mischievous.”
I couldn’t help smiling.
“Panicked, more likely.”
She giggled. I felt a surge of pleasure.
“By the way, Miss Primula, my boat is not really down this way.”
“Does this mean you don’t want me with you? There might be other hopeful lasses about.”
I laughed. “I’d like you along very much.”
So we walked. Primula said Asphodel’s house was quiet compared to Brandy Hall. Unless her fauntling son Milo was around, demanding Primula play with him, or spilling tea on her lap. “I do miss it,” she conceded. “But summer here has been lovely.”
Smoke rose from chimneys and the bleating of sheep greeted us as we passed the smials of Hayholt Row. The dust rose under our feet, and the evidence of some pigs and horses steamed nearby.
“It is a staid place, Hobbiton,” I said. “I don’t see how you stand it.”
“No, I don’t find it staid any more. It’s grown on me. I can see why you love it.”
“I’m glad to hear it. And Brandy Hall is a grand, fine place. It’s not your fault you’re one of that Brandybuck clan.” There, I’d tried to do that mischievous thing and probably insulted her again.
A silence fell. I didn’t quote poems or offer flowers. I was a bore. A complete stuffed shirt.
“There’s no point in any lass marrying me,” I said. “She’d be bored silly, with my reading all the time, and I am no company at all.”
Primula laughed and patted my arm. “I’m sure she wouldn’t be bored.” She looked up at the sky. “Do you know, it looks like rain. Is your boat tethered further along?”
“Back towards my smial,” I said. “We’ll barely get there by nightfall.”
“We’ll just have walk faster,” she said.
So we did.
The rain held off. Nevertheless it was satisfying to reach the boat so rapidly. It was up on the bank and tipped over to keep the damp out, with the oars underneath.
I’d been carrying the basket for Primula, and now I handed it back.
“It’s funny,” she said. “But I feel like sitting in the boat.”
An odd suggestion, but the evening sky was clearing, and there were the first stars coming out, and it was still quite warm. I had a few old cushions in the boat, and when we had turned it up and spread them out it was a cosy enough place to sit. There were a few leftovers in the picnic basket, so we shared them. It smelled good, the boat - of timber and paint and slightly fishy.
When we had finished we both leaned back against the cushion and admired the stars, and talked about food, as I recall. Primula’s head was close to my shoulder, and her hand was very close to my knee, and her hair smelled like nutmeg. The scent made me tremble, which was peculiar, because I have never had odd reactions to nutmeg before.
Deep down, I had the dire premonition that I, Drogo Baggins who had never done anything remotely ridiculous, was going to hang it all and make a fool of myself.
“Egg salad is my favourite sandwich filling,” remarked Primula.
“I prefer ham and cheese,” I said. “By the way, dear Miss Brandybuck, will you marry me?”
I don’t suppose I ever thought I’d ask a lass that question. But there it was, and there she was, eyes sparkling and beaming most beautifully. It went straight to my heart. I wouldn’t forget that smile for the rest of my life.
“Yes,” she said. “I will.”
Somehow we ended up with our arms around each other, lying against the pillows. Primula’s lips were soft and hot and stirred my blood disarmingly. We kissed until I felt thoroughly stirred up in all directions. Muzzily, I thought I had better escort her home.
“Well, Mr. Baggins, what next?”
“Next?” There was a next? Of course we were now engaged, but Primula - well. She looked down at her bodice, and at me. Ah.
One pillow was in the way of her bodice laces. I tried to undo them. They were knotted. I threw the wretched pillow overboard.
“Sorry,” I said. “Confounded laces. I don’t want to rip your dress.”
“If you don’t get it off, Drogo, I shall bite your ear.”
You probably won’t believe me, but she started undoing the laces herself. I lay there,
as she straddled me with stars above her hair, and felt I was the luckiest fellow alive. There seemed to be a dragon in my blood, rousing me to extraordinary heat.
The bodice came away, then.
I couldn’t think of anything to say, except to put my arms around her and press her to me, in case she felt embarrassed or immodest. Primula’s reaction did not suggest she felt embarrassed, but I kissed her again just in case, as a means of reassurance.
It occurred to me I was still wearing a lot of clothes, and it must have occurred to Primula as well, because she pulled my shirt open so fast I heard a button snap off. Then she was kissing my bared chest. My hands were being quite licentious, sliding down to her bottom, pushing up the froth of skirts. It was amazing. Then Primula took my hand and moved it to another part of her, and that was even more astounding. A lass’s body was quite a marvellous creation.
She liked the touching very much, and we enjoyed that for a bit. Then it was back to the kissing (hurrah!) and then, oh then, Primula was unbuttoning my breeches. I’d never had a lass do that before. I wasn’t sure what she’d think of the result. Did lasses really like that sort of thing?
Primula would never cease to amaze. She not only touched me right there, with a grip an oarsman would envy, but wriggled down and licked it. With her tongue. Stars and fire, you never could imagine how that felt. I thought, I’ll give my married friends what for, not telling me about that!
Then she came up all breathy-warm and kissed me again, and where her tongue had been was strange to think of, but I had actually gone past caring. The skirts were all tangled above her waist now and we were rocking together in quite a desperate manner.
I was not innocent of what should happen next. I moved her as gently as I was able, and felt her breath catch as her legs shifted apart. The stars glowed above us.
I tried not to hurt her, though I am sure it did at first. I withdrew and she caught her breath and said, “it’s all right, darling, take your time”. So we kissed for a bit more.
Then we tried again. It took some time, but we managed to get further along, as it were. I knew I wasn’t going to carry on as I should, though I tried to concentrate, thinking of details of the family tree, and got very sweaty with the effort.
But you know, I think the boat helped. We rocked and Primula wrinkled her nose and gritted her teeth and then her lower lip trembled. “Oh,” she said. “Oh. Oh.” Her lashes widened in the moonlight.
The feeling of pushing in, and sliding out, was taking my last semblances of control. It felt wonderful. Primula gave one of my nipples a hard pinch, and I felt a corresponding rush and throb. Oh, my.
I felt her tighten around me and well, suffice to say I didn’t have the control to stop things at that point. I said her name, three times, and she gave a breathy little gasp, her eyes shutting and her head snapping sideways.
“That,” she said, as I reeled under the stars, “was unbelievable.”
“You don’t hate me any more?” I said.
“Under the circumstances, absolutely not,” she replied.
It was hard to believe that a bookish, blue-eyed Baggins could attract a lass like Primula. I still found it hard to believe in the next few weeks, although the servants just grinned at each other and dropped hints about Master Gorbadoc coming after me with a pitchfork.
But there came a day, a delightful sunny day, when I sent a letter to Primula inviting her to tea at the Party Field with Bilbo and some of his relations. I asked her to wear her prettiest dress so she could charm them. She arrived at my door at the appointed time, and I beamed as my servants tried to brush my hair and straighten my waistcoat.
“This must be a very grand tea,” she observed.
“Well yes, the Mayor is coming,” I said.
We walked up to the Field, where a grand table of food was set out on a white cloth. Small hobbits were much in evidence, and the Mayor was accompanied by no less than Master Gorbadoc himself.
“Pa!” said Primula, and kissed him. Then she looked at me.
“This was your idea!”
“Yes,” I admitted. “Er - will you? Marry me? Now?”
Thankfully, she beamed at me. The Mayor coughed, ready to proceed.
“It’s very mischievous of you,” said Primula.
“I know. I’m starting to get some practice.”
“Good,” she said, taking my hand. “Let’s get married.”