To My Dear Family,

A few days after I sent my last letter, Brandy Hall received word that Men had crossed the Brandywine Bridge and were travelling west.

The Thain is keeping us here, though he and the Master are at something of an impasse. Saradoc won't continue with the search for their heirs, as (from what I gather) he doesn't want to endanger more of his people by sending Hobbits beyond the High Hay. But Paladin still wants news of his son and is refusing to give up on the search, though I feel the likelihood of them being found now is slim to impossible. For now we cannot leave until Theodand and all have returned from Bree-land.

Paladin has sent word to his wife via Quick-Post to check the state of Tookland, but as of writing we have not heard anything. He has also sent his daughter and Aldebald's party back in case there is urgent need.

I hope this letter reaches you soon, and think of you all constantly. Please send me assurance you are all well as quickly as you can.

Yours,

Father

Tiger Lily was sat on her nest of roots beneath the oak tree when she saw Rob approaching. When he was close enough to make out his expression she did her best to smile. They kissed in greeting before he settled back on the roots with her. The sun lent golden tones to his lustrous curls.

"How was work?" Tiger Lily said.

"Mm… All right." His expression soured.

"What's wrong?"

"My back hurts a bit is all."

"Oh… Is there anything I can do?"

He snickered as he rubbed his shoulder. "No. It's just the axe is heavy. You don't look that happy yourself."

She sighed and shook her head. "It's just Father. We got a letter from him today. He's fine but he's worried about us."

Rob squeezed her hand and frowned thoughtfully. Then something seemed to occur to him because his expression lifted and he started rummaging in his trouser pocket. "I've got something for you."

"Oh." Tiger Lily twisted the fabric of her skirt guiltily. "That's very kind… But I wish you hadn't."

He shook his head. "Hold out your hands."

She did as he asked, and he placed a bundle of battered, dirty feathers into her cupped hands. Tiger Lily's mouth hung open but there weren't any words. When she had entered into a courtship this wasn't something she'd anticipated. Why had he done this? What did he want her to say?

"They're for your arrows," he said smiling hopefully. "I collected 'em from our chickens."

Tiger Lily smiled as understanding washed over her. "Oh! Oh, I see."

"They're all right, ain't they?" he said worriedly.

"Yes, they're lovely. Thank you." She hurriedly stuffed them in her pocket; not sure what else to do with them for the time being. Tiger Lily stood and brushed down the back of her skirt. "Shall we go? Or since your back's hurting would you rather we just find somewhere else to sit?"

"No. We need the money." He got stiffly to his feet. "An' if I'm not there to help then it's charity."

Tiger Lily had received strict instructions through Rob that there were to be no more rabbits left in the Delvers' parlour, so instead they had worked out a system where they split Tiger Lily's kills between them and Rob would sell his share to the local butcher. Then he could put the profits in the Delvers' spare money jar and no one but them would know.

Tiger Lily didn't know how long this arrangement could last for, but for today she took up her bow and walked away with him, all worries about the future banished.

"Not gone out with your mother?" Old Mrs Grubb said as she wheeled herself into the parlour.

"No," Dalgo said, not looking up from his book. "Someone needs to make sure you don't get into trouble."

His grandmother huffed as she parked herself across from his armchair. "Cheeky little bugger."

Clover was pretending not to listen as she dusted the bookshelves. Young Mrs Grubb had gone to dinner with the Diggles at Number 2 North Bank Row. She had asked Dalgo to come, given that he was well past being of age and the master of their smial, but he had declined. Emphatically.

"When did you last go on a social call?" Old Mrs Grubb said.

"I don't remember."

"You won't find a wife in your books, my lad."

A look of distaste plucked at the corner of Dalgo's mouth. "I'm not looking for a wife."

"You should be. By the time I was your age I was married and expecting your father."

Dalgo didn't look up from his book as he took a sip of wine. "I know, you've told me. Many times."

Clover snorted, and did her best to hide it with a cough. The Grubbs didn't seem to notice.

"You can't put it off forever," Old Mrs Grubb said. "People get married. It's what they do."

"Not me," he said, taking some more wine. "I'm a modern."

"Well, if being a modern means staying at home every day and making yourself miserable, I think you've got it down perfectly."

Dalgo set his glass down with a clink and said nothing.

"You're not talking to me now?" his grandmother said.

"Would you like me to help you to bed, Mrs Grubb?" Clover said, stuffing the dusting rag in her pocket. "I don't have long left afore Mistress Campanula said I could retire myself."

Old Mrs Grubb sighed. "Very well. There's no point in staying up if Abelia's locked herself away and this one's ignoring me."

Clover wheeled Old Mrs Grubb into her bedroom and helped her change into her nightgown. She took the weight of Old Mrs Grubb's right arm as the old lady lowered herself into the bed. "Is there anything else I can do, madam?" Clover said as she bent down to lift Mrs Grubb's legs onto the bed after her.

"I think not." Mrs Grubb settled herself back on the pillows and pulled the quilt up. "I'll give the bell a good ring if I need anything. Give an old lady some peace."

A light giddiness bubbled up inside as Clover left the room. While helping Old Mrs Grubb she had heard Abelia leave her own bedroom. Clover went to retrieve her notebook and the children's picture book the young mistress had lent her. She purposely left the door open. It was usually Young Mrs Grubb who assisted Mistress Victoria when she needed aid in the night (hence why they shared a chamber, though the beds were as far apart as they could physically be and there was a curtain to separate them).

As Clover approached the parlour she could hear the conversation Dalgo and Abelia were having.

"Be back by ten at the very latest," Dalgo said. He was leaning back lazily in his chair, in his usual pose with one long leg crossed over the other.

"I'll stay out for as long as I like," Abelia muttered. She was stood in front of the mirror that hung above the fireplace and turned her head as she put her earrings in.

"You'll be home by ten if you wish to remain unencumbered by me," Dalgo said. When Abelia shot him a glare he grinned humourlessly. "I could accompany you this evening, if you wish."

Clover cleared her throat, deciding that if they weren't going to notice her she would have to draw attention to herself. Abelia turned her head sharply towards her.

"Did you need any help with Grandmother?" she said.

"No, miss. Just that you said you'd help me with my letters this evening…"

Abelia's eyes widened in panic. "Oh, I forgot! I'm going out with Rico and Opal. You don't mind, do you?"

Clover's stomach sank. "No, miss. Sorry, miss."

"It's not acceptable for you to disregard a social arrangement," Dalgo said, scowling.

"It's just Clover."

"I don't care if it's just Clover."

"I forgot! I'm sorry!" Abelia shouted before storming out. The front door slammed a few seconds later.

"What's going on out there?" Old Mrs Grubb called from the other room.

"Nothing, Grandmother. Go back to sleep," Dalgo replied. "I apologise for Abelia," he said to Clover.

Clover turned her face to the ground to hide her disappointment. She couldn't bare for him to see her when she was weak. "Thank'ee, Mr Grubb."

"Monno's out," Dalgo said, thumbing at his page. "One of his usual evening excursions. He says the night air agrees with him, but I suspect he just wants to get away from me."

Clover stayed tactfully silent.

He turned his dark eyes towards her. "That leaves you and me alone."

"Yes, sir."

"That is, of course, unless you have another engagement."

Clover picked at the corner of the notebook. "No, sir."

His expression changed slightly. He unfolded himself like a spider and stood at his full, impressive height. "My study would be more conducive to learning, I think. I imagine it's rather difficult for two to sit at the desk in here, with it being tucked away in the corner."

He took a candle and walked past her into the corridor. He held the door to his study open, looking back at her expectantly.

"Sir?"

"Would you or would you not like a lesson this evening?" Dalgo said.

Without another word Clover followed him in, holding her books to her chest. She set them down on the desk as Dalgo sat in his chair.

"Bring the other chair around," he said.

She did so while he thumbed through the children's book, a look of disdain on his face.

"I remember these," he muttered, and glanced at Clover. "Dismal, aren't they?"

"It was a gift, kindly given by Miss Abelia," Clover said levelly as she sat beside him.

Dalgo cocked an eyebrow, and a stirring of amusement flickered across his face. "Very diplomatic. But I suspect that Abelia's teaching methods are somewhat lacking."

"She's got good intentions," Clover said softly.

"I don't doubt it," Dalgo said. He opened a drawer to his desk and started to rummage around. "Good intentions are admirable. Very sweet. But if they don't produce anything of substance then they don't count for much."

"I think they count for a great deal, sir. I hope you'll forgive me for disagreeing."

"Certainly." He produced a small, battered book from the drawer. "How well can you recognise different letters? Are you able to make out any whole words?"

"I can read 'the' and 'and'. Not many others." She twisted her fingers together, suddenly feeling inferior. "I can read all the letters…"

"Perfectly?"

"I get some of 'em mixed up," she said very quietly. "An' I can't always remember which ones go together to make different sounds."

"I don't know why you look so ashamed," Dalgo said. "That's good progress considering how recently you took up your studies. And that, Miss Delver, is why children's books do not suit you."

Clover tried not to react to this new form of address. Dalgo drew no attention to it either, but opened the little book. She frowned at the wall of text that greeted her on the pages.

"That's lots of words," she said uncertainly.

"It's not as difficult as it looks. The language is simple enough."

"What is it?"

"It's about the history of Buckland."

Clover raised an eyebrow. "Why'd you have that in your desk?"

"I get bored on occasion."

At this answer she had to purse her lips to prevent herself from smiling, but Dalgo must have noticed because his mouth twitched.

"I happen to know that until very recently Monno kept a leaf jar in his desk. And brandy on bad days. I think a history book is fairly benign in comparison. Stop stalling. "

Clover cast him a sharp glance at this. Maybe he understood her better than she thought…

"Focus on one word at a time." He placed his finger at the top of the first page.

Clover let out a sigh, sensing that she was going to make a fool of herself. "Uh… n… tuh… ih… luh."

"Un-til," Dalgo said, moving his finger to point out the different sounds. His speech was slow, but not patronising.

"Un-til. The." She frowned at the next word. "Buh… ruh… ah… n…" She stopped, and looked ashamedly at Dalgo as her face became hot. She felt like a child. "Is that a duh or a buh?" she said.

"Duh."

"Duh… yuh…"

"Ee," Dalgo said. "Brand-y-bucks."

They went through the book together, Dalgo deliberately pronouncing each syllable along with Clover as he pointed them out on the page. Eventually they reached the bottom and started on the next block of words. And then the next, and the next. It wasn't until Clover looked up from the book, bleary-eyed, that she realised how much the candle had burnt down.

"Could we stop for a bit?" she said, closing her eyes and pressing her fingers to her lids.

"As you wish." Dalgo set the book aside without further comment.

Clover looked around the room to allow her eyes to re-adjust, still not being used to staring at something so close or fine for such a length of time.

"Do you find the subject matter more engaging?" Dalgo said.

The book had gone over Buckland's occupation by the Stoors and the Oldbucks and the various debates over whether it was officially part of the Shire. While it was more engaging than the children's book, that wasn't saying a much and Clover couldn't say she found this new book interesting.

"I do," she said

Dalgo nodded, and again one of his elusive smiles touched his face. "I remember I found those old picture books dull. Father read his history books with me, and I learned that way."

He turned his head slightly, and Clover followed his gaze to the portrait on the wall. The subject looked to be in his fifties or sixties and his expression was severe. Though his skin was paler and his hair darker than the other Grubbs, there were certain other features that were familiar to her: Abelia's nose, Monno's eyes, Dalgo's jawline…

She looked back at Dalgo and found there was a tenderness in his expression that she had never seen before. "You look like him," she said.

"I hope so…" Dalgo murmured. "He was the sharpest person I knew. The best of Hobbits." He looked at her earnestly. "Some people said he was harsh. He wasn't. He had certain standards, that's all."

Clover didn't have the nerve to say anything more than, "Yes, sir."

Dalgo didn't seem motivated to continue, and Clover wasn't sure what more she could say along those lines. But the silence was unnerving, and she had to fill it with something. It could also be a good opportunity to gain some useful information.

"Why are you interested in Buckland, sir? Do you have family out there? Brandybucks?"

"None that I know of…" he said, raising an eyebrow.

She smiled, trying to look unconcerned. "Right. I know it's far away, but I've heard that a lot of the gentry have connections all over the place. So even though you're Grubbs you could have relations that are Brandybucks or Bankses or… Bagginses."

She could see Dalgo was confused and changed the direction of her questioning slightly.

"I've always wanted to go to Buckland, y'see. An' you're so knowledgeable about such things that I thought you might know of any Brandybucks in your family, even if it was from generations back."

Dalgo swelled with pride, and any trace of confusion or suspicion that there might have been had disappeared in the moment.

"I'm afraid I don't know of any Brandybucks. But Mother was a Banks, as it happens."

"What about Bagginses?"

"Certainly. Through Grandmother's side."

She grinned. "Right. So… what's the difference atween the Bagginses an' the Sackville-Bagginses, then? I've heard both names, an' I don't understand what they are to each other."

She listened patiently as Dalgo gave her a very long and not-very-interesting explanation about the headship of families, succession crises and the origin of the double-barrelled surname convention.

"I get it now," she said when he paused for breath. "I was asking 'cus I've been hearing a lot about this Lotho Sackville-Baggins of late… Do you see much of him, being a bit Baggins yourself?"

"Hardly. We are cousins, but only very distantly."

"How distant?"

"He's my third cousin once removed on the Baggins side, and my fourth cousin once removed on the—"

"Sackville side?"

"Boffin."

"What?"

"And again on the Grubb side. Twice over."

"What?" Clover's mouth hung open. She grew incredulous as Dalgo laughed and set her jaw. "You're making fun of me."

"I promise you I'm not. It's all a bit tangled, isn't it? You may check for yourself, if you've the inclination."

Clover looked at him witheringly. "You know I can't."

"And why not?" He gestured around the room. "We have the resources."

"I can't read well enough for that."

"Then you must learn faster."

"Do you think I can?"

"I do. You could trace your own family's history as well, if you wanted."

Clover considered this. She had no lineage that she knew of, and the idea that she could be the first in her family with the knowledge and skill to construct a family tree was appealing. But then she remembered something significant: the Grubbs thought she was of age.

If she were to look through her family's records (and she would need Dalgo or Monno's help to do so) then her true date of birth would be uncovered. The problem wasn't that she was young, it was the fact that she had lied about it, and had been lying about it from their very first meeting. What reason would they have to keep her after that? If they couldn't trust her about something as simple as her age, how could they trust her to clean their belongings, live in their home with them or take care of their grandmother?

"I'm not interested in my own family, sir," she said. "What's there to find but sowers an' reapers? Best to look forward, I think. It don't matter where I came from, only what I can make of myself. I think I could make something…" As happened so often, there was no word she knew that could express what was going on in her head. Her realisation that domestic servitude wasn't for her had banished any thought of becoming a housekeeper, but the kernel of her ambition remained.

"…beyond," she said.

"Beyond what?"

"Anything. I'll not stay in the dirt."

"Ambition like that is rare, I find," Dalgo said. He looked oddly amused, and she knew it was because it sounded so vague, like she didn't understand what she was talking about.

"That's why I know I can do it. No one else thinks like I do."

"I see." Dalgo leaned forward on the desk. "And what's your plan to achieve this?"

"I'd do anything," she said, and hesitated. "In reason, obviously."

While this line of discussion had originally started as a way of getting Dalgo off the subject of her family history, it had begun to scratch too close to Clover's true feelings, and she was starting to feel uncomfortable. Time to divert it back. She grinned to make it look like she was joking.

He looked at her thoughtfully and a shiver went down Clover's spine.

"You said all that to distract me," he said.

Damn.

Clover did her best to hide her fear. She hadn't expected this and she wasn't used to it. She decided she preferred it when he didn't understand her.

You should have stuck to the flattery, you fool.

"You know so much about the old families," Clover said quietly. "I just thought your time would be better spent looking into them. Not mine. Mine would be a waste."

Dalgo didn't speak at first, and for a moment Clover thought she had overstepped some mark. Then he slowly removed his spectacles. "I suppose it must seem like I spend all my time studying family histories. I don't. At least, I don't anymore. I have a good memory for things learned a long time ago."

He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. "It suddenly all seemed very morbid. Looking through all those names of Hobbits long gone… Names and dates don't tell me anything of the person's passions or hopes. And one day that's all you'll be: a name on a page, with no one who remembers what you were in life." He smiled wryly. "It makes one feel rather insignificant."

Clover ran her hand over the desk, feeling the grooves of the wood beneath the varnish. "I've got eight younger siblings," she said. "I've never felt significant."

Dalgo turned his eyes towards her. Without the reflection of the candlelight on his spectacles she could clearly see that his eyes were a warm shade of brown.

"It gets terribly lonely, doesn't it?" he said.

Something stirred in her. Something she didn't like. "Sometimes," she whispered.

They sat in silence for a time, the book forgotten. The quiet was perfect and boundless, like clear water.

Clover jumped at the sound of Old Mrs Grubb's bell, her heart pounding.

"Clover! I need help getting to the privy."

"I need to see to her," Clover mumbled, still flustered from the unusual baring of her heart. It was easy to understand why Meg seemed to keep hers closed so much of the time.

"I can help in getting her up," Dalgo said, putting his spectacles back on and standing. "She is somewhat taller than you."

"Uh… Yes, thank you," Clover mumbled, trying to hide how flustered she was.

Dalgo rose from his chair and moved swiftly to the door. He held it open for her. "After you, Miss Delver."

Monno stared blankly across the table as he ate his breakfast and the family chatted around him. Clover was stood in the corner, hands folded, waiting for instructions. Young Mrs Grubb had a number of letters spread in front of her and was reading them while she ate her toast.

"When I was young ladies didn't read their post at the table," Old Mrs Grubb said sharply.

"I'm sure," Young Mrs Grubb murmured, but made no move to put them away.

"And we didn't have to settle for half a bread roll each for first breakfast."

"I'm sorry about that. I'll be sure to pass it along," Young Mrs Grubb said, putting one let aside and taking up another. "Otto and his wife are having another baby."

"Who's Otto?" Abelia said, picking at her egg.

"You know. Uncle Corbus's second son."

"I'm going to the Brownlocks," Abelia said, standing up. "Celestine has some new watercolours she promised to show me."

"Have fun, dear."

"Take my tea cup to the drawing room on your way out," Old Mrs Grubb said and she wheeled herself away from the table. "I want to read in the morning sun."

Monno wasn't paying full attention to all this. His mind's eye was occupied with the evening before. Primrose's petal-soft hair. The sound of her voice, softened to a whisper. The moonlight on her arms…

"Could you pass me the water jug, Miss Delver?"

This cut through Monno's daydream like an axe. He looked up sharply at Dalgo as Clover handed him the jug. Old Mrs Grubb and Abelia had gone, and Young Mrs Grubb was still going through her letters and didn't seem to have noticed.

"Why are you calling Clover 'Miss'?" Monno said.

Dalgo poured his water without looking at his brother. "I understand that's the proper way to address an unmarried lady."

"Not servants," Monno said before he could stop himself. Clover glanced at him but didn't say anything and his face went warm with embarrassment. He drew in a deep breath and drank some tea to try and mask his fluster. He noticed for the first time that Dalgo was better turned out than usual. His cravat was tied neatly and he had actually bothered to brush down his jacket, though he still favoured his unusually dark palette.

Monno dawdled with finishing his breakfast. When Dalgo had gone to his study and Clover was washing the plates he finally took his chance and turned to his mother. "Aren't you at all concerned?"

She looked at him over the top of her spectacles. "About what?"

"Dalgo. Clover."

Young Mrs Grubb sighed and looked back at her letters. "He can address her as he wishes."

"People will speculate."

"I trust he's wise enough to return to proper forms of address in front of company."

Monno laughed harshly. He rubbed his chin as he stared at the opposite wall.

"You're not speculating yourself, are you?"

"I don't know."

Mrs Grubb purposely set her pen down. "I don't believe Dalgo would take advantage of a servant like that. Are you honestly concerned that he would?"

"It's not him I'm worried about. It's her. I don't like her."

"For what reason?"

"I'm not sure. Her baring. Her words."

His mother sighed and picked her papers up again. "I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm not going to send her away without good reason."

"You know Abelia's teaching her to read?"

"I'm aware."

"And you find that agreeable?"

"If it makes Abbie happy and it gives her something constructive to do, I find it very agreeable."

Monno scowled. "She's ingratiating herself. It's not proper."

Young Mrs Grubb gathered up her letters and moved briskly to the door. "We haven't been proper for a long time, Monno, and I don't have the energy to care about it as much as I should. If I were being more officious I could ask you were you go at night."

"Mother—"

She turned to him sharply. "Yes?"

"I…"

Mother, I've been betrothed to a wheelwright's daughter for the last six months, I hope you don't mind.

But he couldn't continue the sentence, and his mouth hung open lamely.

She smiled tenderly at him. "I'm not going to pry. You're a grown Hobbit."

When she was gone Monno found himself staring at the wall. Clover opened the door from the kitchen and started when she saw him.

"Sorry, sir. I thought you'd gone to your study."

"I should have. I'm just going," he said. He considered apologising, but was too embarrassed to acknowledge it. Besides, he hadn't said anything that wasn't true. "Uh… thank you, Clover." He moved swiftly to the door.

"Very good, Mr Monno."

He stopped and turned. Clover was wiping the table down with a damp cloth.

"I'm sorry?" he said.

Clover looked up at him. Her face was blank and innocent and when she spoke it was in a voice to match. "Yes, sir?"

They looked at each other. Monno realised he wasn't going to be able to prove that she had put just a little too much emphasis on the word 'Mr'. "Nothing. I think I misheard you."

She smiled blandly and insincerely, and he turned away. He was going to have to keep an eye on her. Nothing good would come from her being in his smial.

A/N: This fic was in development for a number of years before I wrote anything down and in that time I made about 12 family trees of varying levels of complexity. I'm not proud of myself and I don't like adding explanatory notes to the text but I've put too many hours into this and by God I'm not letting it go to waste.

It was mentioned in chapter 16 that Old Mrs Grubb was a Bolger, but I didn't mention that I intended her to be a granddaughter of Fastolph Bolger and Pansy Baggins, hence the Baggins connection.

There's also the matter of all confirmed canon Bagginses being descendants of Buffo Boffin and Ivy Goodenough. Lobelia's mother was a Boffin, so therefore she's related to the Bagginses and the Poolside Grubbs by extension.

It's also canon according to Appendix C of LotR that both Otho and Lobelia were descended from a pair of Grubb sisters: Laura and Lavender respectively. Laura and Lavender's father was Dalgo et al's great-great-great-great uncle.

This also all means that Dalgo, Monno and Abelia are distantly related to Sango and Rico, something I didn't realise until recently.

I'll see myself out.

(Stay safe)