Work Text:
‘White?’ asks Frodo.
‘It’s traditional,’ Marigold replies dismissively, checking another item off her list. ‘And you’ll look even more beautif—’ she stops short under the jealous frown her brother directs at her, ‘—you’ll look very well in it,’ she amends.
‘All white?’ Frodo is having trouble with the concept of white breeches. ‘It’s a fib, anyway,’ he objects.
‘And whose fault is that?’ Which, she realises, is something she really doesn’t want to talk about. Ever.
Logically, Sam must have… But…
‘Yes, well, we can’t all be virgins,’ she says airily, ‘and at least you’re not showing yet.’
