A/N: Do not use any remedies mentioned to treat yourself or anyone else.

After what had happened in the Green Dragon, Clover felt obliged to visit her family the following Friday. Having had a few days to cool off she'd realised there had been something about Meg's demeanour that night that put her on edge. This unease didn't lift when she saw the state of East Warren Lane. Most of the birch trees had been cut down, the road was scarred with deep ruts, and what ground was left was covered in large boot-prints that had trodden down the grass and left the road a muddy mess.

A gang of Men were loitering at the entrance of the lane, smoking and talking in deep, harsh voices. Clover slipped past them, unnoticed.

She hesitated by the gate. Rob was scrabbling about in the garden among the chickens, putting handfuls of something in his pocket. He instantly froze when he saw her.

"Clover," he said, and nodded.

"Rob."

He put his hands in his pockets and slunk away, not meeting Clover's eyes. She decided not to ask.

Clover winced as she stepped inside the smial. There were at least three different conversations going on, and one of them wasn't very happy. Even so, she could tell most of the family weren't in. She went to the kitchen, where the most sedate conversation was taking place, and stopped as she laid eyes on Nickon Hobble.

"Clover," he said, and lifted his cup to her.

Meg was sat across from him, twirling thick locks of hair around her fingers. She smiled at her. "Hello, Clove."

In addition to the couple, Jack was leaning against a wall with his arms folded and a face like thunder. His only greeting was a sullen glance in her direction.

"Hello…" Clover said, casting Nick and Jack wary looks. "Can I talk to you, Meg? In private."

"About what?"

She sighed. "I was going to apologise for the other night. I was a bit out of sorts…"

"I don't mind," Meg said brightly.

"But Maizey told us about it after she came back," Jack said. "Dad says you've betrayed your roots."

"Oh good," Clover said as she helped herself to tea. "Where is the old windbag?"

"At market with Mum an' the little'uns," Meg said. "Jonson's out… somewhere."

"Snowdrop Hayden last I heard," Nickon said.

Clover nodded and went to stand beside Jack, sipping from her cup. "How's your Primrose?

"All right, I think."

"She was upset last I saw her."

He shrugged. "She's sturdier than people think."

"She don't need you to thrash her suitors for her, then?" Meg said with a grin.

"Nah. Gives me more time to thrash yours," Nick said, repaying her smile in kind as Meg laughed.

"Sickening, ain't it?" Jack whispered into Clover's ear.

She elected not to reply to this, instead looking to Meg and Nick. "You two courting, then?"

"Aye," Nickon said.

Clover nodded. "Well, just so's you know: she wants dahlias for the proposal, a June wedding, an' at least five little'uns."

Nickon froze as Meg's face turned crimson.

"Sorry, lass," Clover said. "Couldn't resist."

"With me?" Nick said. His expression suggested he'd only just caught up with the conversation.

"No!" Meg said.

"All right, no need to be like that about it."

"No…" Meg groaned and bowed her head forward. Her hair fell over her shoulders and shielded her face from the others.

Clover decided it was time to have mercy. "It's just something she said years ago when we was little. No need to get worried, Nick."

Meg raised her head up. It was roughly the same colour as a cranberry. "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"What's that noise?" Jack said. His head was tilted to one side, listening.

"It's just Hender and Poppy arguing," Meg said. "They'll be fine."

Clover looked askance at her sister. That wasn't at all like Meg.

"No… It's not that…"

The four Hobbits listened. Over the sound of Hender and Poppy shouting about who said what to who's friends, and the excited chattering of Maizey and Myrtle in the lasses' room, the could just about hear a rhythmic thudding noise.

"That's an axe," Nick said.

Meg's stomach fell away. The sound was close. And she was the only one who could go to see what was wrong.

"It'll be nothing," she said, endeavouring to remain as calm as possible. Jack and Clover didn't look convinced. "But I'll go an' see, just to put your minds at rest."

The sound got louder as she neared the front door. When she opened it her heart palpitated.

Two men were stood in the front garden. One of them was taking an axe to the chestnut tree while the other watched, arms crossed. A third Man was sat on a waggon parked just outside the smial.

Meg swallowed. She would have felt safer if her parents were in. But they weren't. There was only her. They probably wouldn't blame her if she went back inside now. But she should probably do something. This was their home…

"Um… Excuse me."

If the woodman heard her he made a point not to show it. But the Man on the lawn turned around and looked at her like she was something he'd found on his boot.

"Yes?"

"Why're you chopping down the tree? Did Mr Goodenough send you?"

"That's no business of yours," the Man said before putting his pipe in his mouth and turning away.

He was so matter-of-fact about it, like she was the one being unreasonable. It was unnerving.

"Only he din't say nothing about getting rid of the tree when Dad last saw him," Meg said. "And Mr Goodenough usually tells us if aught's being done, an' it's his property, so if he din't send you—"

"Make it shut up, Hal," the Man in the waggon said wearily.

Her mouth froze, open in mid-sentence. Pressing the issue wouldn't do any good. The best would be to let it go for now. She was getting the sense that the longer she engaged with them, the longer she was putting her family in danger. She started to shut the door.

"Meg?" Jack's approaching voice said from within.

Meg turned just as he pushed past her and marched up to the Men.

"Oi! What're you doing with the tree?"

"Jack, don't!" Meg said but found herself paralyzed on the doorstep.

"What's happening?" Nick said as he came to stand beside her. When he saw Jack with the Men he paled. "Oh no…"

He rushed towards Jack, not giving Meg a glance, and put a hand on his arm. "Jack, leave off."

But Jack jerked his arm away. "I'm master of this smial while my father and brother are out," he said, and turned his glowering face to the Men, "an' I'm telling you to leave."

The Man with the pipe laughed. "Good luck to you, little master."

The washing line snapped as the tree fell. It landed with a creaking thud that crushed a section of the fence and sent the chickens running in all directions.

"You can't do that!" Jack cried, and it was only the strong hand Nick had put on his arm that stopped him from rushing forward.

The woodman said something in another language that made the other two Men laugh, and Jack went red in the face.

"Lad," Nickon said softly. "There're better ways to go about it."

The Man on the waggon jumped down and started to help the other two load the tree on board.

"No." Jack brushed Nick's hand away and ran forward. He grabbed at one of the branches as the tree was dragged away. "It's not yours. You've got no right—"

One of the woodman halted in his work, and with absolute calm, hit Jack in the face with the butt of his axe.

"Jack!" Meg's senses returned to her as suddenly and sharply as if she'd been plunged into cold water. She ran to him as he fell to the ground and helped him to sit up. He kept a hand over his nose, and she started fishing in her pocket for a handkerchief.

Nick's face was pallid with rage and he grasped the handle of the axe. The Man tried to tug it out, and was surprised when it didn't move from Nick's white-knuckled grip. "I'm pretty handy with an axe myself," Nickon said in a low, guttural growl. "You try anything like that again an' there'll be blood to pay."

"Leave it, Nick" Meg said, holding her handkerchief to Jack's nose. "Please."

The Man pulled the axe out of Nick's grip. "It'll not be mine, little master," he said, and moved to help the others heave the tree onto the waggon.

Nickon reluctantly turned away and went to help Meg get Jack inside. Clover, Maizey and a cluster of younger Delvers were stood watching in the doorway. They instinctively parted to let Meg, Jack and Nick through.

"What do I do?" Hender said.

"Nothing," Meg said firmly as she walked past. "That's you too, Maizey. Close the door, Clover. I'm not having anyone going out there again."

She and Nickon sat Jack down in the kitchen while the others hung aimlessly around the door, watching the scene.

"Tilt your head back," Nick said.

"It's forward," Meg said absentmindedly, pulling a chair up as she removed the handkerchief to see what the state of his nose was.

"Thought it was back," Jack said hoarsely.

"Not unless you like swallowing your own blood. Anyone have a fresh kerchief?"

Clover hurried forward. "Here."

"Cheers…" Meg abandoned her own bloodied handkerchief on the table.

"Is it broken?" Myrtle said quietly.

Meg looked over at the frightened faces in the doorway. "Why don't you take the little'uns through to the parlour, Clove?"

"Aye. Come on." She started to guide them out of the kitchen, holding her arms out like she was herding sheep.

"I'm not a little'un," Hender muttered.

"That so? Well, you can tell me all about it in the parlour."

When they had gone Jack turned his eyes to Meg. "Is it broken?"

She sighed. "Don't know. Would you like some willow bark to chew?"

"Please."

Jack held the handkerchief to his nose as Meg searched through the cupboards for the medicine box. Nickon stood over him with folded arms.

"You're an idiot," Nick said.

"I know."

"You're an idiot!"

"I know!"

Meg found the box and opened it. There wasn't any bark left. Her heart sunk. "Sorry, lad. Looks like we've run out…" She didn't want to send anyone out for more until she was sure it was safe. "I think you'll have to do without for a bit."

Jack groaned.

"You brought it on yourself," Nickon said. "Bloody hot-head."

"I had to do something," Jack said. "That tree's always been there. It's stealing."

Meg shut the box with a snap. "Stop it." She went to Jack and tentatively removed the handkerchief to examine his nose again. The bleeding was slowing. "I wish you han't done that…" she murmured as she tried to dab away some of the blood. "There's lots of trees. Only one of you."

Jack rolled his eyes at this.

The front door opened. "What's happened? Is everyone all right?" It was Mr Delver's voice.

The relief was like rain on a windless summer day in the fields. "We're in here, Dad. Jack's got a bloody nose."

There was a sudden rush of footfall and her mother was in the kitchen a moment later. "Oh, my babe," she said, dropping her basket on the table and hurrying to Jack.

"I'm fine, Mum," he grumbled as she took the handkerchief from him to see the damage.

"Lawks!" Danny said. He, Fastad and Martin were stood in the doorway. There was a look of delighted fascination on his face. "How'd you get that, Jack?"

"Oi. Away with you," Mr Delver said, ushering them away from the door as he came into the kitchen. "Jack don't want you gawping at 'im."

"How bad is it, Mum?" Meg said.

"Not sure. We'll need the pellar, I think," Mrs Delver murmured, gently touching Jack's nose. "What happened?"

Meg told them about the Men. When she had finished she saw her father's face was grim.

"Jon," Mrs Delver said, submerging a cloth in water, "don't do anything rash."

"I'll give 'em torture."

"No," she said patiently and pressed the cloth to Jack's nose. "First you're going to fetch the pellar to tend our son, and then you're going to see Mr Goodenough to tell him what's happened."

"Jack's bleeding. D'you expect me to do nothing?"

"I expect you to be sensible and fetch the pellar. I don't want another invalid. If it is broke we might need to send for Mr Brownlock."

"We can't afford him."

"Baggins'll pay," Nickon said.

Mr Delver, Mrs Delver and Meg all turned to him in silent surprise.

"What?" Mr Delver said.

"For the doctor. Mr Sackville-Baggins has been giving coin in recompense for trouble the Men cause," Nick said. "They pulled up some of Farmer Yardley's hedges, an' Mr Sackville-Baggins paid 'im when he complained."

"Why him?" Meg said. "Mr Baggins, I mean."

"Everyone knows it's him the Men work for," Clover said, stepping through to the kitchen. "How is he?"

"Bloody annoyed at being talked over," Jack said, sniffing and dabbing at his nose as the.

"'Bloody' is right."

"Very funny, Clover," her father sighed.

"Why're you still here?" Mrs Delver said, looking at her husband. "You're meant to be sending for the doctor."

"We're not accepting any charity."

Mrs Delver groaned. "Jon—"

"This ain't right, an' no amount of gold'll change that," Mr Delver said firmly. "I'll tell Mr Goodenough what's happened with the tree, an' it's up to him what he does about that. An' I'll give our complaints to Mr Sackville-Baggins—" he said the name with the tone of mocking disgust he only used to described the airs of the uppers "—But I'll not accept aught he offers."

"Jon…"

"I'll not grovel to anyone, Joy, no matter what his name is."

Mrs Delver smiled blandly. "As you say, love. Now run along to Mr Goodenough's. I'll send one of these for the pellar."

He seemed startled by this. "Aye. Right. You don't mind?"

"No. I'm your wife, an' I'll do as you bid me."

"Yes. Right. Well. I'll be off, then."

As soon as he'd gone Mrs Delver got to work. "Nick, be a love an' send for Mr Brownlock, would you? I'm going to Hobbiton to see Mr Bagville, or whatever he calls himself."

Clover raised her eyebrows. "But Dad said—"

"I know what he said. But the way I see it we've got a dozen mouths to feed, no money, an' I've just lost my good washing line. I'm not too proud to beg if it'll put bread in my children's mouths."

Clover was struck by the realisation that, in some ways, she was very like her mother. "Can I go?"

Mrs Delver frowned at her. "What for, lass?"

Clover shrugged. "There's Men about. Someone needs to mind you."

Her mother grinned. "All right then."

Clover went to get her cloak. She was curious about this Mr Sackville-Baggins. His name seemed to be everywhere these days.

Meg had been looking down at her lap for the last few minutes, lost in deep thought. Mrs Delver put a hand on her shoulder. "You'll be all right here 'til Mr Brownlock comes?"

"Yes." She blinked up at her mother. "It don't seem right. How can you put an amount of gold on Jack's blood?"

Mrs Delver turned her eyes to Jack. "What do you want me to do?"

Jack scowled through the bloodied handkerchief. "Get whatever you can."

"I can't think how awful I look," Mrs Delver said, trying to push her fringe out of her face. "I din't brush my hair afore coming out. Does the hat cover it?"

Clover smiled slightly. Her mother had put on her best hat to see Mr Sackville-Baggins. They had managed to catch a lift up to Hobbiton on the back of a hay waggon, which Mrs Delver thought was highly undignified, but had relented to when she weighed it against the alternative of walking the whole way. Now they were stood on the front step of Bag End, waiting for someone to open the door.

"It's fine, Mum. Show's you're a hard worker."

Mrs Delver scowled. "Thank you, Clover."

"Should I ring the bell again?" Clover said.

She was reaching for the bell rope when the door opened.

There was nothing very impressive about Lotho Sackville-Baggins. Of average height and build, it was completely possible that Clover had passed him in the street without noticing. The only thing even a little unusual about him was his hair, which was golden. Clover had expected more; someone of impressive height, a quick eye or noble baring. That seemed more right somehow.

But no. He was a completely ordinary person of flesh and bone.

"Can I help you?" he said, glancing from mother to daughter with an expression that said he very much hoped he couldn't.

"I've come about recompense," Mrs Delver said. "We've had a visit from some Men, an' I was told you would pay for aught that was damaged."

A patronising smile spread across his face. "Yes. I see. Do come in, Mistress…?"

"Mrs Jolson Delver," she said primly. "That shan't be necessary, thank you."

Clover raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in her mother's speech. The attempts at refinement were mangled by her country accent.

That's not the way to do it, Mum…

His smiled remained, and a cold irritation entered his eyes. "I see. And you own the property, do you?" he said in a tone usually reserved for young children.

Mrs Delver bristled. "My husband's gone to see our landlord, an' I'm sure you'll be hearing from him presently. But one of the ruffians dealt my son a nasty blow. We'll need to send for Mr Brownlock, and I'm here cus' we were informed you might be able to pay for his service."

Clover relaxed slightly. At least her mother had been wise enough not to tell him the doctor had already been sent for.

"Oh dear," Lotho said in a disinterested voice. "I'll certainly pay the good doctor for you, if you're unable to provide for your children yourself."

"He might be off work a few days," Clover said, before Mrs Delver had a chance to respond.

Lotho glanced at her as though only noticing her for the first time. "And how would you know that if the doctor hasn't been yet…? I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Clover Delver at your service, sir," she said, giving a little curtsey. "It'd be awful for us to be a-fretting over whether we'll make ends meet this week if our Jack don't manage to get 'imself to work. The family works down on the farm as used to belong to Mr Boffin afore you took it over, an' we're a good, honest working family what always do our best to serve our gracious masters. If you could find it in your heart to give us some assurance—"

"Yes, yes," Lotho said irritably. "Look." He held out a handful of coins. "Is this sufficient?"

"Oh, thank'ee, sir, that's right kind of you, sir, that is," Clover said, taking the coins and trying to hide her glee. "You're a proper gentlehobbit, you ar—"

"Yes, all right. Is there anything else, or might I be allowed to return to my business?"

Clover turned to Mrs Delver. "Mum?"

Her mother seemed to have lost track of things slightly, but drew herself up now. "They broke our washing line. I'll need a new one."

Lotho scowled and dug in his pocket. "There." He pushed a handful of coppers into Mrs Delver's palm. "Good day." And he shut the door.

Clover glanced at Mrs Delver. "You happy with that?"

"Aye."

They started to walk back down the path in silence.

"That," Mrs Delver said eventually, "was a bit much."

Clover shrugged. "You were a bit much in the other direction. I was just balancing things out."

"It's broke, then?" Meg said, watching concernedly as Mr Brownlock gently palpitated Jack's nose. The bleeding had stopped now, but Meg could see the sore flesh underneath the smears of blood.

"I believe so," Mr Brownlock said. He started moving his finger from right to left and watching how Jack's eyes followed. "Are you having any trouble breathing?"

"No," Jack groaned.

"Does your head hurt at all?"

"No."

"Jolly good," Mr Brownlock stood up straight, reached into his leather bag and set two bottles on the table. "This should help with the pain. One dose now and one for if you have trouble sleeping."

Jack immediately downed one of the bottles.

Mr Brownlock raised an eyebrow. "Quite. Try to avoid any heavy work for the next few days. Send for me if things get worse."

Meg heaved a sigh. "Aye. I remember from when Rob got his nose broke."

Mr Brownlock shut his bag with a snap. "Might I ask about payment? Ordinarily I would charge four and six for the medicines and house call, but given your family's situation…" He cast a cursory glance around the kitchen. "I'm willing to drop to four shilling."

Meg tried to smile. "That's very kind, sir. Uh…"

She went to the large jar on the side where the Delvers usually kept what spare income they had. She tipped the contents on the table.

"There's two and eight here," she said, counting through the pennies and farthings as quickly as she could. "I'm sure Mum'll be back soon. Would you like some tea in the meantime?"

The doctor brought out his pocket watch. "I need to be on my way."

Nickon had been sat on a table watching, but now he stood and put a hand in his pocket. "I've got a shilling here. That only leaves four pence."

"It will do for now," Mr Brownlock said, pocketing the shilling. "I can drop by later to settle the rest. I'm only doing this once, mind."

Meg saw the doctor out, vaguely wondering if he could give her anything for the headache she was developing. When she returned to the kitchen Jack and Nick were talking in hushed tones.

Nickon placed a tender hand on Jack's shoulder. "Please don't do that again."

"Don't get soft," Jack said, brushing his hand off. "I know what you're doing, an' I don't like it."

"Feeling any better?" Meg said as she walked into the room.

"A little," Jack said, standing up, a little unsteadily. "I think I'll have a lie down."

"All right," Nick said, looking after Jack as he left. "Take care of yourself."

Jack sloped off to the lads' room without saying anything.

Meg approached Nick and rested her hand on his arm. "You din't have to do that."

He shrugged. "I wanted to."

Meg sat on the table and let out a long sigh. "Thank you."

The door opened and Meg immediately snapped out of her stupor. "Are you all right, Mum? Did you get the money?"

"I'm not your mother," Mr Delver said, coming into view. "Gone up to Bag End, has she?"

"Uh…" Meg twisted her fingers together, embarrassed at having given away her mother's plan. "Aye."

He sighed. "Reckoned she might. Ah, well." There was a very slight, fond smile on his lips; the kind made of forty years of loving companionship. "Where's the lad?"

"Went for a rest. What did Mr Goodenough say?"

"He was amiable enough. Said he'd send supplies for us to fix the fence. He din't seem surprised when I told him what happened." He frowned. "Not sure what to think of that. How's it been here? You've not had any more trouble?"

"No."

He nodded and looked at Nickon. "Thank'ee for staying."

"Not a problem, Mr Delver," he mumbled. "But I'll be on my way now."

"Oh…" Meg trailed after Nick into the corridor, worrying her fingers. "I'm sorry today's been… like this."

"Don't be. I'm glad I was here."

"When will I see you next?"

"I'll let you know," he said. Then he was gone.

When Meg returned to the kitchen Mr Delver had poured himself a cup of tea.

"It'll be cold by now," Meg said.

"Oh, aye. But there's no point wasting fuel for another pot," he said.

"Dad, I'm sorry," Meg said.

He raised his eyebrows. "What for, lass?"

"I should've stopped Jack from going out an' confronting 'em. Now he's hurt an' it's my fault, an' he couldn't even have any willow bark because I used it all when I was sick."

"Jack's not a faunt. He made a choice to do a foolish thing. You're not to blame for that, an' you couldn't help getting sick neither." He sighed. "You dealt with it well, I'm proud of you. Would you like some cold tea?"

Meg didn't say anything. She wanted to tell him that she'd been scared the whole time. More than that, she'd been scared for weeks now and it was exhausting. It felt like the world was going rotten.

The door opened, and there was a rush of children.

"Jack told us to get out of our room or he'd throttle us," Martin said cheerfully as he eased himself up onto his father's knee.

"Did he now? I'll give him a talking to later," Mr Delver said, running a hand over Martin's floppy brown hair.

"Who'd like to help me make bread?" Meg said cheerfully as she pushed her concerns to the back of her mind. The scarcity of flour had caused the price of bread to increase, compelling the Delvers to make their own on a more regular basis.

She retrieved a bucket from the corner and offered it to the twins. "You two can get some water while me an' Martin put the food away."

The twins shifted nervously and Fastad inched closer to their father. "What if we meet the Big Folk?" he said in a quiet voice.

Meg did her best to keep the smile on her face, while Mr Delver put a hand on Fastad's shoulder.

"You don't need to worry about that. We'll keep you safe," Mr Delver said.

"I'll get the water," Meg said, taking the bucket and going to the door. "See? There's nothing to be afraid of."

Her father called after her as she left, but she didn't pause. She couldn't let the children know she was afraid.

The garden was covered with evidence of the altercation. The grass on the lawn had been crushed and dragged by the tree and the loose, broken planks that had made up the fence leaned against each other sadly. As she left the garden she did her best not to look at the fresh tree stump.