Dear Guest Reviewer: I'm glad you're enjoying the character growth and Tiger Lily's interactions with Rob. My apologies for the lateness of this chapter. I tried to get this uploaded for Hobbit Day, realised I accidentally added something that contradicted canon, had to rewrite it, uploaded it today instead.

"It won't be like this forever."

Primrose Hobble glanced over at Monno. They were stood on a bridge over one of the smaller streams that split away from the Water. Monno had brought a stale crust of bread and they were tossing crumbs to the ducks. Primrose had objected. Food was scarce and they shouldn't waste it on birds, but he had insisted it wasn't fit for Hobbits. She didn't completely agree with him, but it was his bread and a single crust wasn't going to change anyone's life. So she had taken her turn throwing the crumbs into the water.

"Do you mean us two sneaking around or the trouble from the Big Folk?" she said.

"Both." He tore off another piece of bread and threw it into the water, where it was immediately surrounded by a storm of feathers and quacking.

"Things seemed to have settled at home a bit. You've not complained about your brother for weeks," she said.

Monno shrugged. There was a wrinkle between his brows and his mouth was puckered at the corner – he was biting the inside of his cheek, something he only did when he was troubled, which was often.

"Which makes me wonder what's bothering you," Primrose said.

"What indeed." Monno tapped a finger on the parapet as he studied the landscape. He was working his way up to telling her, getting all of his thoughts into a nice little row before speaking them. The ducks dispersed in silence. "Clover Delver's a friend of yours, isn't she?" Monno said eventually.

"Aye. It was me that told her you needed a new maid."

"Mm." He rubbed his chin. "Is she honest, do you think?"

"Why're you asking?"

"I don't like her. She's done something to Dalgo."

"What?"

"I don't know exactly. He's given her our father's watch."

Primrose wasn't sure what to say. Monno jealously guarded his feelings regarding his father. The gifting of the watch would hold significance to him, but it would take work to understand what that significance was. "She can be a bit odd. But I wouldn't be friends with her if I thought she was crooked," Primrose said.

Monno laughed under his breath.

"I know it must be upsetting," she said. "But… is it Clover's fault if Dalgo did that?"

"Father was everything to Dalgo, he wouldn't have given up that watch by choice."

"You think she forced him?" Primrose said. The idea was so outlandish that she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly.

"It's worse than that, she's got him in her thrall. She wouldn't need to force him to do anything."

Primrose couldn't help laughing, and didn't bother checking herself when Monno glared. "Why's that worse? What sort of thrall? Do you think they're sweethearts?"

"That's too nice a term. But, no, I don't think so. He idolises her but he wouldn't pursue a servant, he's too proud."

"So you have no pride 'cus you're betrothed to a wheelwright's daughter?"

"I have exactly the right amount of pride. Enough to know when I've found something too good for me," Monno said, kissing her hand. "'Too full of himself' would be more accurate."

"I don't think you're right to be blaming her," Primrose said. "She's only a servant. Have you talked to her about all this?"

Monno looked away like a petulant child.

Primrose sighed. "She's not mentioned Dalgo to me and I'm not going to do any digging for you."

"I wasn't going to ask."

"You're blushing."

"It's the cold."

Primrose leaned over the parapet and threw the last of the bread into the stream. "Mayhap she's improved his temper."

"It would be difficult to make it worse." He sighed "I don't know what to do."

"Mayhap you don't need to do anything and Dalgo just wanted a friend to talk to. Someone odd like him." Monno wasn't amused. "You wanted him to get better and he is. You don't need to make a problem out of it."

"I want to know what she's looking to gain."

"Experience working indoors so she can become a housekeeper, if I remember rightly," Primrose said. "Other than that? The same things as most people: friends and money and food."

Monno turned away, twisting his lower lip. "Abelia was teaching her to read."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"That's kind of her."

"Is that all you can say?"

"Aye! Why does everything have to be sinister?" She stared at him hard and he averted his eyes. "I need to get back to work, my family'll be wondering where I am," Primrose said.

"Can I kiss you?"

Primrose paused and placed a goodbye kiss on his lips. "Try not to worry."

"No more than necessary."

That wasn't an adequate answer, but it was better than nothing. "I'll see you soon. Love you."

She started to leave, but Monno kept his fingers hooked around hers for as long as possible. Eventually he had to let go. When Primrose looked back at him he was leaning on the parapet, his chin rested on his hands and shoulders hunched. Maybe he was incapable of being content. He always needed something to worry about, like a dog chewing a bone.

She wasn't going to think about Clover and Dalgo too much. If there was anything there Clover would have said something. Primrose wasn't sure what would happen in the long term, but for the moment whatever thrall Clover had Dalgo in seemed to be doing him good. What was more troubling was Monno placing all his blame on Clover. If (Primrose forced herself to replace this with 'when') his family were told of her and Monno's courtship, would the Grubbs talk about her the way Monno was talking about Clover?

This was upsetting, but not entirely unexpected. More concerning was hearing Monno talk like this.

If this was what he thought of Clover, what did he really think of her?

Tiger Lily had been putting on her riding coat when Uncle Hortenbold arrived with a brown paper package under his arm. Her mother and brother came into the main corridor to greet him while Tiger Lily fiddled with her buttons.

"For your birthday tomorrow, Bully," he said, handing the package to Bandobold. "It's not much but I did my best."

"Say thank you," Tiger Lily's mother said.

"Thank you, Uncle!" said Bandobold, running to his room with the package.

Kinship gifts were generally given by the head of the family (or the head of a particular line in the case of sprawling family trees like the Tooks) to symbolise a birthday-Hobbit's continued membership in that family. It was considered rude to open your kinship gift in front of anyone else, particularly the gift-giver.

"If he complains you can blame that little runt at Bag End," Uncle Hortenbold said.

"I'm sure it's lovely, thank you," Mrs Took said, leading him into the breakfast room.

"Have you had any news from Tookland?" Tiger Lily said, putting her head around the door.

"If your father were able to write to anyone it would be to your mother, dear," Hortenbold said, sitting himself on a settee.

"You might have heard from one of the other Tooks."

"I haven't." He must have seen the disappointment in her expression, because his voice softened as he said, "You'll get him back eventually."

"I'm sure you know that for certain."

"Don't be impertinent."

"I'll spare you any further impertinence by relieving you of my company," she said, grinning and taking that as her excuse to leave.

"I was hoping to speak to you actually," he called, bringing her back to the drawing room door. "Opal's seeing Buffo tomorrow and I was wondering if you could chaperone."

Tiger Lily groaned. She usually managed to wheedle out of this, if only by disliking Buffo enough and being embarrassing enough that Opal was ashamed to take her.

"Do I have to, Uncle?"

"She usually asks Celestine Brownlock, but she's got a fever. I'm not sure what's wrong with Abelia Grubb but apparently she's refused flat."

"Do they really need a chaperone anymore?" Tiger Lily said, slipping on her gloves. "They're going to get married soon, there's no point in being modest anymore."

"Tiger Lily," Mrs Took said.

"But there isn't! What difference does a few weeks make?"

"If you keep talking like that you won't be riding anywhere."

Tiger Lily kept her attention on her uncle. Whatever outrage he had was skilfully hidden beneath a stern, unaffected mask. "They aren't married yet, propriety must be upheld until after the wedding, and it's unlikely to be only a few weeks," he said.

"They don't have a date yet?" Mrs Took said.

"No. I'm not sure if it will be this year, Buffo hates the thought of marrying when all this is going on."

"Oh no how dreadful," Tiger Lily said flatly. "I'm going to Overhill. I'll send Sango your regards."

"Will you escort Opal and Buffo?"

"If I must," she called as she left the doorway.

"And who's escorting you to Overhill?"

Tiger Lily froze half-way to the front door. "His mother will be there," she said.

Uncle Hortenbold called her name, and she trudged back to the morning room.

"Try to find your own chaperone next time," he said. "In case his mother is otherwise engaged, and to ensure your safety on the journey."

"Yes, Uncle."

"Come back to Bywater if his mother isn't present."

"Yes, Uncle."

"And I expect you to join me for longbow practice this evening."

"Yes, Uncle." She waited to see if he would follow this up with anything else. Glancing at her mother she wondered, Why are you letting him give me orders? I'm your child, not his. But her mother said nothing. No objection, no agreement, not even any non-verbal indications she was unhappy.

"May I go now?" Tiger Lily said.

"You may," Uncle Hortenbold said.

Tiger Lily dashed to the door just as her mother called for her to be careful. She managed to get to the stables and out of the yard without burdening herself with further obligations. As she rode through Bywater she tried not to look at the long lines of Hobbits queueing for bread, fuel and other necessities. Such lines were a daily occurrence since rationing had been put in place, though Tiger Lily had never stood in one. It was shame that kept her head down. There was a sense that she was responsible for the shortages, but she didn't know why or how. So she kept her had down.

Along Hobbiton Road, all of the new houses had been finished. The first house on the row had a number of Shirriffs gathered outside, their feathered caps stirring in the wind. Most of them were in conversation with unfeathered Hobbits, and some of them were searching through their baskets.

It wasn't clear where all of these new Shirriffs had come from. There were only three assigned to the Westfarthing and they spent most of their time in the much more populous Michel Delving. There were at least half a dozen here, most of whom Tiger Lily didn't recognise.

One of them waved her down and she brought her pony to a halt.

"Sorry, miss… um, would you mind telling me what your business is?" he said.

"Why?" Tiger Lily said.

"People've been causing trouble," a harsh voice said. A second Shirriff walked over with a rolling gait. He had two feathers in his hat to mark his authority over the others. "We're keeping the peace."

"What kind of trouble?" And what kind of peace?

"Ignoring the Rules and disrespecting the proper authorities. So the Chief's putting a stop to it. You can't just let people wander from village to village unchecked. You could be letting anyone in."

"Oh. I see," Tiger Lily said, not sure how else to respond, and not wanting to fall under suspicion. "Can I get through? I won't make any trouble."

"You've not given your business yet," the two-feather Shirriff said, folding his arms. "Could you dismount, please?"

Tiger Lily swallowed. She felt examined, like a plant under the lens of a gardener. Lotho was currently at war with the Tooks. Would she be safe if she gave her name?

"I'm visiting a friend in Overhill. Sango Boffin," she said.

"Important meeting, is it?"

"He's expecting me." She straightened her back. "He won't be happy to know I was delayed. His Cousin Lotho will be especially upset. They're related on both sides, you know. The Boffins and the Bracegirdles."

The two Shirriffs conversed quietly with each other. When they finished speaking the two-feather Shirriff apologised and told her to continue, but warned there was another Shirriff house between Hobbiton and Bywater, where she would be questioned again.

The whole encounter left her feeling uneasy. It shouldn't have. They had let her through. That meant everything was all right.

Didn't it?

Clover had gone to visit her family, mostly to prod them until she got an understanding of whether they would let her marry Dalgo. She had told Dalgo she would do this because he wanted it and he was more likely to agree to her terms if she demonstrated a willingness to compromise. If they were going to get married, things like compromises mattered, probably. When she thought about it in those terms it seemed strange. To actually be married to someone. Attached to them.

Best not to think about it. Have the wedding first and worry about being married afterwards, like a fool.

She still didn't want to settle in the Shire, but she couldn't lose her chance if Dalgo decided he didn't want to go to Bree-land. Maybe talking to her parents would assure him that she was doing all she could to meet his asks, and he would be more sympathetic to her request. If her parents gave permission, maybe she and Dalgo could marry in the Shire and then relocate somewhere better afterwards. It didn't matter. Anything to ensure the wedding took place.

The first problem was getting either of her parents alone to talk to them. The usual chaos that existed around meals in the Delver household made it impossible to speak to them in private. She didn't partake much in the conversation. There were too many conversations happening at the same time, and the subjects were too banal. Instead she watched and listened. The table was full of faces, most of them belonging to people she had known for as long as she'd been alive. The younger faces belonged to those who had known her for as long as they had been alive. Each belonged to someone who was funny, kind, and worthy.

Could she really leave them behind in the filth while she made a new life in a new country?

Try not to think about it.

After dinner Clover found herself drying the dishes with Rob while Meg washed them and Jonson put them away. Their younger siblings were playing a loud game involving a high-speed cart-chase on the floor while their mother left the kitchen with a basket of washing. Clover silently watched her go. She started drying the plates quicker get it done faster.

Rob was whistling lightly to himself in a way that made her want to smack him. She wanted to smack him even more when he slapped his dish rag over the back of a chair. "I'm off out," he said.

"Now?" Clover said, dismayed that this would slow her down further.

"I'm meeting the lads."

"You can't go later?" She fought the urge to get the watch out of her pocket to check the time. It would cause too many questions.

"I got other plans later."

Clover scowled at him as he left. "He's in a good mood," she said.

"He's been staying out late on the evenings," Jonson said, raising his eyebrows significantly.

Clover wrinkled her nose. "Why'd you have to tell us that?"

"Even with the curfew?" Meg said to Jonson. "You sure?"

"Martin keeps waking me 'cus he's worried Rob's not home."

"Who's he staying out with?" Meg said, lowering her voice so the younger ones couldn't hear.

"Guess."

"Not the Took again?" Meg groaned. "I thought that was all finished with."

Jonson shrugged. "He cheered up pretty sharp in January and he's not mentioned any other lasses since."

"By the Holy Ones, Rob," Meg said, sighing and rubbing her forehead. "I'm afeard for him."

"Will you tell Mum and Dad?" Clover said.

Meg said, "Yes," at the same time that Jonson said, "No."

"We have to," Meg said.

"It's none of your business what he does with lasses," Jonson said.

"It becomes our business if the Tooks come after us, and we're at the mercy of the Thain."

"I'm surprised you think so harshly of the Thain," Jonson said, grinning like a cat. He dipped his fingers in the dishwater and flicked some at Meg. "You're turning to a rebel are you?"

Meg shook off her hands, the last of the washing up dealt with. "Don't be stupid. They do things strange in Tookland, that's all. If they're reasonable they'd see he's just a silly tween but Tooks ain't known for their good reason and I don't know what they have the power to do. They wouldn't cast him out of the Shire, would they?"

"Summon Black Riders…" Jonson murmured, staring into space.

Clover winced internally. Why a Took? That was twice the scandal; a rich family and an odd family. What was wrong with farmers' daughters?

She was aware of her hypocrisy but justified it with the notion that she had a plan while Rob certainly didn't. He was just chasing pleasure wherever he found it.

Meg finished drying her hands and Clover immediately handed her the dishrag. "Can you finish the drying? I'm going to help Mum outside."

"Oh aye, just leave us to finish your work for you, no need to thank us," Jonson called after her as she left for the front garden.

Mrs Delver was in the process of pinning a tall pile of linin shirts and shifts onto the washing line. The sky was grey but there wasn't any damp in the air – good enough for an outdoor drying day.

The tree that used to support one end of the zig-zagging washing line had been cut down by some of Pimple's Men, and several posts had been hammered onto the garden fence to replace it. Though the word 'post' implied more stability than they deserved. They each consisted of several pieces of scrap wood nailed to each other until they were of the right height. Each one looked like it would collapse the next time a fly landed on it. That they managed to support any washing made them miracles of craftsmanship.

Clover bent down to take a shirt out of the washing basket.

"You don't want to be helping me on your afternoon off," Mrs Delver said.

"When's your afternoon off?"

"I'm a mother, I don't get one."

Clover threw the shirt over the washing line. "I'm a daughter, I don't get one either."

Mrs Delver smiled sadly. "You're a good lass. I wish we saw more of you."

"Sorry. I've been busy."

"Anything exciting?"

"Mayhap." She cast a glance at the front door. There was no sign of anyone coming out to join them. Clover went to stand on the other side of the line to keep out of her mother's way. It had the double advantage of partially hiding her face. "How's Meg doing?"

"Oh… she's Meg," Mrs Delver said. "She likes to keep her own council."

"Any lads?"

"Not that she's told me about."

"Shame. A wedding would cheer things up."

Mrs Delver snorted. "I think we're a long way off from that."

"Aye. And since Meg's the only one of age she's the only one who can get wed right now. Barring any accidents," Clover said.

"Mmm."

"Or if any of us found a really good match."

"Eh?"

"Rob and the Took lass."

"Oh, don't start."

"You know it's back on?"

"I guessed. He's been so happy, it breaks my heart. I hate tweens sometimes. Present company excepted of course," she said, glancing at Clover.

"I'm only a tween for a few more weeks."

"You old gammer. Can't you stay young forever?" Mrs Delver said, nudging Clover with her elbow.

Clover tried not to sigh. "People wed younger than him. And he wouldn't make a better match than a Took."

"Or a worse one, in its way."

"Surely all the scandal would be worth it if he could get a fancy smial and gold."

"Fairy gold," Mrs Delver said. "And d'you know what's wrong with fairy gold?"

"No," Clover said flatly, sensing a morality lecture on the horizon.

"It's all a fantasy. The lass wouldn't have any gold herself anyway. It's all tied up in the family and they wouldn't give her a thing if she wedded our Rob. So he'd be stuck with a wife who din't know how to look after herself or manage on a farmhand's wage, in the middle of a family feud. I wouldn't let a tween land 'emselves in that mess."

Clover pursed her lips. Dalgo had his own money. Probably. He had to, didn't he? The Grubb's smial belonged to his grandmother and most of their possessions had been passed down from his ancestors and probably belonged to her as well. But Dalgo had his own income and wasn't dependant on his family gifting him a dowry. So they would be without a home, but Dalgo would have some savings.

"What's brought all this on?" Mrs Delver said. "Don't tell me Rob's set you onto this."

"He didn't."

"Then what're you after?"

"Nothing!"

They continued to work, neither attempting to resume the conversation. The echoes of their neighbours' voices drifted in from other gardens and filled the cavernous silence. The sensible thing would be to drop the subject to avoid suspicion. But Clover couldn't just leave it there. It was like leaving a poem half-read.

"I'm just saying that if one of us had a good match it should be all right to wed afore we're of age," she said.

"If Rob wants to wed the Took lass he needs to speak to me himself so I can talk sense into him. You can't really think he's ready to wed if he's hiding behind you."

"It's not to do with Rob!"

"You won't tell me what it is to do with, so I don't know what else to think. It's not you, is it?"

Clover slung a nightdress over the line to hide her face.

"Oh lawks. It is you," Mrs Delver said.

Clover took a moment to get her story in place. "I've been seeing a lad. On and off. And he's… hinted that he might like to wed me."

"What's his name?"

"That don't matter."

"Does he not have one?" Mrs Delver said dryly. "I ask 'cos you've not mentioned him afore."

"It's embarrassing. I don't want him meeting you and Dad 'til I know how it'll go."

"You like to keep a tight hold on things, don't you?"

Clover ducked around the hanging washing to confront her mother face to face. "I'm not being unreasonable. He's a good match, he'd be good for me."

"How good a match? A shopkeeper?"

Clover huffed. "Aye, Mum, he's a shopkeeper."

"And you're in love with him, are you?"

Clover opened her mouth to insist that of course she was, but no words came out. Mrs Delver raised an eyebrow and Clover's face and neck flushed with embarrassment. She folded her arms defensively. "We'd get along well enough if we were married," she said.

"Huh." Her mother picked up the empty washing basket and headed for the door.

"It's not your business if you think I'm in love with him or not," Clover said, following her like an angry terrier. "I'd be happier married to someone rich and tolerable than someone poor that I loved. What does being in love even mean, anyway? You can't eat love."

"I never said otherwise. I wouldn't give you permission to marry a penniless lad you loved to distraction," Mrs Delver said calmly, turning to face her. "But I won't allow this either."

Clover sighed, exhausted. She was so close. "Please, Mum."

"I'm not having people think you're in the family way."

"But—"

"Me and your father was betrothed for years, you can manage it too."

"I am not you!"

"I do know that, Clove." Mrs Delver turned to swiftly make her way inside again. "If your lad really wants to wed you he can come and talk to us in person like a grown-up."

She went to push the door open but was beaten to it by Meg, coming through from the other side.

"I came to help with the washing," she said, looking at the scene with her open, stupid face.

"All done I'm afraid," Mrs Delver said, brushing past her into the smial.

If it was raining then the water would have been steaming off Clover. Blood rushed in her ears. She clenched and unclenched her hands as she tried to bring her breathing back to normal speed. She hated this place, she hated these people, all of it.

"You all right?" Meg said, approaching with caution.

She needed to get back to the Grubbs. There were plans to be made and people to be managed. Clover wordlessly turned for the garden gate.

"Wait! What's wrong?" Meg called after her.

Clover stopped. If she turned around she would end up shouting at Meg, who really didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve any of the bad things that happened to her, no matter how annoying she was. "Nothing as concerns you," Clover said.

"It's just that it's been weeks since you've come to see us and you're leaving like this. I miss you."

Clover covered her face with her hand. Stop talking stop talking stop talking—

"Is there anything we need to do to make you feel more welcome?"

"Mayhap I don't need to visit my Mum and Dad every single week," Clover snapped. "Mayhap I'm a grown-up who has my own life. Why don't you, Meg?"

Meg's eyes were wide. She stepped back, like a child that had just been told off like a parent. "I just wanted to know if you was all right," she said weakly.

Clover knew on some level that she had done wrong but Meg was being so infuriating that she couldn't get past it. She didn't have time for this. "I'll see you later," she said.

She turned on her heel and continued home to the Grubb's smial, not looking back. She needed to talk to Dalgo. She needed to convince him to leave. She needed to get away from the Big Folk and the Shirriffs and all these bloody people.

Her family.

She didn't want to be Clover Delver anymore, to be patronized and talked down to and made fun of. No one would ever think to make fun of her when she was Clover Grubb.