The spring frost was a memory and the snowdrops had wilted. More Men arrived and others left south in waggons, piled high with the Shire's timbre and produce. Lotho Sackville-Baggins ruled as a distant figure from the shadow of the Hill. He wasn't seen much around the villages anymore – possibly to avoid whatever most Hobbits wanted to do to him.

There were vague rumours of a rebellion from the Hills of Scary in the East Farthing, but no one in Meg's immediate life had any connection to it, so it remained far away and unreal. Maybe they were making a difference, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that the bread was low and the work was hard and maybe if they waited long enough they would get used to it.

Meg remained untied, dragging her way through life in a daze. Work was spent keeping her head down and trying not to pay too much attention to what was going on. Nothing changed in the sense that she was putting all her emotional energy into looking after her friends and siblings. But it was all… hollow. She had no idea where she was going. She needed something specific to focus on beyond breaking up fights between children and finding the toy that had gone missing and the ache in her back after work. She needed some kind of reason to be. This couldn't be all there was.

Her mind followed threads to their worst possible conclusions, trying to convince herself she didn't care, only for her consciousness to return to where it started and begin the whole exhausting process again.

What she did notice was that people were dying. Mostly the elderly, so no one seemed to have noticed their health failing. They were just old, so it was to be expected. But there were far too many for this time of year. It wasn't that surprising. Food was scarce and the water was often dark and stank. She wasn't sure if everyone else was really oblivious or if they were just pretending because acknowledging there was a problem was too heartbreaking. Either way it still left the same question.

What was to be done?

The cold wind engulfed Meg as she climbed to the top of the hill. It tossed her auburn hair asunder and set chills along her arms and spine. There were so few freedoms now that even this small sensation was something she treasured. No one could make money from it or take it away from her. She was walking through the fields of the Boffin's farm; the place she had grown up and traded so many hours of her life for coppers.

At the top of the hill she held her arms close around her and looked over the village. She was a part of it. She had ploughed and sowed and harvested and made it what it was. And now the skyline was one she didn't recognise. Everything was too tall, too red, too grey. She inhaled too deeply and a line of smoke entered her lungs, making her double over in a coughing fit.

When Meg had gotten her breath back she stood up straight. She took a few moments to take lungs full of clean, cold air. She put her hand in her pocket and drew out a handful of hayseed.

She held it up, allowing the grains to slip through her fingers and fall away on the wind. Speaking in a murmuring voice, she said, "Lady Ivon, I return to you your grains I reaped. Show me where I may find my true love."

This was a well-known ritual usually only practiced by curious tweenagers and frantic unwed lasses. Meg tried not to think about which category she fell into. She wasn't sure what was supposed to happen once she had completed the ritual. Would she hear Ivon's voice from the earth or would she simply be struck with a sudden understanding?

The last of the seeds dropped from her hand. The fields around her were uncompromisingly silent, dark and frozen like a great, all-encompassing shadow. She was undoubtedly alone.

Meg was preparing to go when she heard something in the distance from the direction of town. Shrieking and breaking glass and clattering. Man voices. Meg turned and ran. There was something important happening, and she didn't want to get found and thrown in the lockholes. After she'd scrambled back through the undergrowth, the hill fell silent. Presently there was rustling as a group of blackbirds flitted to the tree and squirrels skittered down the tree trunk. It was like Meg had never been there at all.

"Clover said I need to look after myself," Meg said the next day, to anyone who cared to listen. She and the Hobble sisters were on the well-worn path to Button's Haberdashery, and Clover was keeping them silent and sullen company. She had been spending more time with her old family and friend since the rupture with the Grubbs. She was also spending more time in bad humour.

"Aye? You feeling all right that day?" Lavender said, nudging Clover playfully with her shoulder. Clover said nothing.

"It was good advice, I reckon," Meg said, hoping to draw the attention away from Clover. "I can't change the Shire, but I can change myself."

"Did you spread the hayseed like I suggested?" Primrose said.

"What? Oh no, you didn't try that old thing!" Lavender said. "That's what old gammers did when their old gammers were still young. Like it ever worked. There's scores of lads in the village, just pick one."

"No, I han't done the hayseed thing," said Meg, looking ahead and hoping that her ears weren't turning red. If they were she could just blame it on the heat.

Meg realised there was something wrong. There was a thin scattering of Hobbits on the market road, gathered in small groups and talking in low voices. Meg and the others turned a bend in the road so the haberdashery came into view, and Meg's stomach lurched. "Oh no."

Button's Haberdashery was gone. In its place was a pile of blackened timber, jutting out at odd angles like broken teeth. Curls of smoke were still rising from parts of the wreckage. Only the few beams and doorways still partially intact suggested the site had once been a place of home and work.

"Should we go on?" Primrose said.

Meg realised she, Clover and the Hobble sisters had stopped walking. As they approached the little shop they tried to gaze into the mess. Bits and pieces were still scattered across the floor. Partially burnt reams of fabric, blackened furniture and shards of crockery were scattered about. A framed tapestry of a tree had fallen from a wall that no longer existed and the protective glass was shattered. People had been happy here.

"It must've happened last night," Clover said. "I wonder what they did."

"Who's to say they did anything?" Lavender said.

"They must've done something or it wouldn't've happened," said Primrose.

"It don't matter," said Meg. "If they did anything, whatever it was din't warrant this."

Meg had heard of ghosts, but she thought they were only for people. She hadn't realised places could have them as well.

"I hope Mr and Mrs Button are all right," Primrose said. "Especially with Mr Button's leg."

This was a surprise of course, no one had expected it. But what really shocked Meg was that they had all assumed it was deliberate. She didn't know of any other houses that had been burned deliberately by Pimple's men, but this did seem like a logical next step. Things like this shouldn't happen in the Shire, but Meg found that her horror was outweighed by her exhaustion. Was this another thing they had to worry about now?

"Shame, ain't it?"

The four of them turned around and saw the pair of Shirriffs stood nearby. One of them was a two-feather Sihrriff, unknown to Meg. The other was Winden Hale. He wouldn't look at Meg as they sidled up. Meg stared hard into his downcast eyes, so that as soon as he looked at her, he would be forced to make eye contact. She wanted him to know she could see him.

The senior Shirriff leaned on his club and Meg was aware of Clover shifting behind her. She had been wary of Lotho's agents since she had been beaten by the Big Folk. Meg subtly stepped in front of Clover to get between her and the Shirriffs.

"There weren't much going on in this town in the first place. Sorry if this has ruined your day, ladies." His accent told he wasn't from Bywater or any of the surrounding villages. It sounded like he was from the North Farthing.

"Do you know why it happened?" Lavender said.

"One of 'em attacked the Big Folk," the Shirriff said with a shrug. "Fool thing to do."

"What – Mr Button?" Primrose said. "He's nearly 100 with a limp."

"I don't know, Mrs Button's a proper wrong'un, I know it. Have you seen how she looks at you when you're browsing?" Lavender said.

"Not them. But they're looking for their lad." The Shirriff scratched his nose. "Don't suppose any of you've seen him?"

"No, sorry," Lavender said. "We'll be sure to tell you if we do."

Meg and the others walked away in silence, periodically looking over their shoulders to check if they Shirriffs were out of hearing distance yet.

"What'll you do if they find out the Button lad's friends with your Nick?" Clover said.

"Don't know," Lavender said grimly. "Same as what you'll do if they find out he's friends with your Jack. Don't worry, you've only got the one window they can smash in."

"That's not funny, Lavender."

"We all have ways of managing."

"We shouldn't have to," Clover muttered.

"I'm surprised you din't give 'em hell, Clove. You forgotten to sharpen your tongue this morning?"

Clover said nothing. She wanted to bite back, but the sting of her beating from the Big Folk still hung over her. Even if it had been self-inflicted, it had reminded her of how delicate they were. The Hobbits had lived most of their lives without physical threat. To realise that she was now surrounded by people who would and could hurt her was terrifying. Something needed to change but shouting at Shirriffs in the streets wasn't going to do it. Or maybe she just wanted to believe that it wouldn't do anything because she couldn't face it and didn't want to be the problem through inaction.

Meg seemed to know what she was thinking. She smiled and said, "Never mind. You have other talents."

There still wasn't any word from Tookland.

Tiger Lily worked and worried and managed Sango's moods. His depression had lifted considerably since Lavender's departure, until it hadn't. Despite drink having been outlawed for all except the Men, he seemed to be able to steal his own away from somewhere, from either his father's wine store or those of his friends. Then his mood would crash through the floor and become inconsolable. Tiger Lily would let him cry and murmur substance-less comforts and hope it would be the last time. When not with him she helped her mother and went shooting with Uncle Hortenbold. Opal and Buffo didn't marry: they wanted to wait until times were better and Opal's family in the Marish could attend. It wasn't clear how or when that would happen.

Be a good friend, good daughter, good niece. She didn't go to Tookland, but thought about it more often than she should have. They didn't know the state of Tookland. Even if Lotho's arm hadn't reached beyond the borders, it wasn't clear how or if they were managing without supplies from other parts of the Shire, or how often the Men were attacking the Tooks, or how much success they were having. The Thain hadn't fallen yet, but it was probably only a matter of time.

Tiger Lily often thought about her father, alone in the Great Smials at best. She tried not to think about the worst, and often failed.

In the night she found comfort in Rob's arms. All things changed but him. She was safe just as long as they were in bed together, and they were the only two people in the world. But he always had to go before morning, and nothing had changed by the time the sun rose.

Tiger Lily worried the corner of the book she was reading as she considered whether to invite Rob to see her that evening. They hadn't arranged it, but she was feeling strange and hollow. The transient pleasure of his company would be able to sooth it, for a night if nothing else. She was only half-aware of the conversation Uncle Hortenbold and her mother were having in the parlour, where she had ensconced herself in the corner armchair.

"I don't like to do this," Uncle Hortenbold said, "but I think it would be in your best interest to know that there are some unsavoury rumours going around."

"Rumours?" her mother said.

"Unfortunately. Concerning you, young lady. Tiger Lily? Are you listening?"

"Mm?" Tiger Lily didn't look away from her book as she turned the page.

"What sort of rumours?" her mother said.

"Concerning a lad."

"What lad?"

"I don't know. Could you enlighten us? Tiger Lily?"

"No…" she murmured dreamily, still not fully listening. She wasn't worried. She and Rob were as careful as they could reasonably be. And even if they were caught, what was the worst that really could happen? Rob probably wasn't worried. Probably.

"I had hoped you would be more concerned," Uncle Hortenbold said curtly.

She shrugged. "People will think what they think."

There was silence. Then a shadow passed over her and the book was unexpectedly tugged from her hands. She blinked up at her uncle, who was looking down on her with unveiled disdain.

"I once told you I wouldn't have a hussy in this family," Uncle Hortenbold said, "and nothing has changed since then. Even if times are hard, I expect you to conduct yourself in a manner befitting your name. I trust there's no foundation to these rumours."

"I don't think there's any need for this," Mrs Took said, her voice trembling slightly.

But Hortenbold didn't move. He was tall for a Hobbit, with a broad and sturdy frame. Even in his nineties he had a draw weight that would put hobbits in their forties to shame. Sat in her chair with him towering over her, Tiger Lily felt very small indeed. She tried to smile convincingly. "Of course not, Uncle."

He regarded her for a long, awful moment. Tiger Lily pressed her back against the chair, willing herself to merge into the fabric. Then, apparently satisfied that she was telling the truth, he returned the book and went back to his own seat. Tiger Lily curled herself up tighter and turned her face back down to the pages so it would look like she was reading, and she wouldn't have to engage with people. Though that didn't make much difference apparently.

She was too frightened to mention it to anyone else in case she said the wrong thing and everything came out.

She only trusted herself to mention it to Opal when they were walking together a few days later. Opal had friends and was clever, and wouldn't turn Tiger Lily in if she slipped up. It was an inadvisable day to walk – grey clouds blossomed overhead and there was a dampness in the air. But the arrangements to meet Buffo and Sango had already been made, so they had to keep the appointment if only to announce the relocation indoors.

"Opal, are there rumours about me?"

"Probably. People love to gossip, there's rumours about everyone."

"But specifically about me? I know people think oddly of me because I'm a Took and I hunt and my father's strange, but… is that it?"

"No, you're far too uninteresting. Don't look at me like that, I was joking." Opal sighed. "Not everything is about you. And if there were any rumours, I certainly wouldn't be informed of them. You may not be aware of this, but it's generally considered impolite to gossip about someone to their close kin." She playfully nudged Tiger Lily with her shoulder. "You would be happier if you didn't care about gossip."

"I thought you would care more than me. You always behave so respectably."

"No, I just remember how superior I am to everyone else and then anything they could say is irrelevant."

"You can't really think that. You always do everything right."

"That's not true. Last week at Celestine Brownlock's house I made this horribly insipid joke, and my friends all went quiet and moved on as though I hadn't said anything." Opal gritted her teeth like she was in pain.

Tiger Lily frowned. "I was there. I don't remember that."

"There you go, then. And thus, I remain superior."

Buffo and Sango were waiting for them at the crossroads north of the main village. Sango waved his hat to them as they same into view. "Ahoy, Tooks!"

"Ahoy yourselves," Opal said. "We need to get going, the grey clouds are gathering."

"We would have brought flowers but you'll have to settle for boring talk instead," Buffo said, bowing and taking Opal's arm.

"The flowers are scarce this year. I would have thought the cornflowers would have blossomed by now," Opal said, running her hands over the barren green stalks that grew by the side of the road.

"Maybe the smoke doesn't agree with them," Tiger Lily said. She usually managed to get out of being Opal and Buffo's chaperone. This arrangement normally agreed with Opal, who was wary of Tiger Lily's usual awkwardness.

This was one of those occasions. The comment regarding the smoke was met only by silence and Opal's glower. Tiger Lily told herself the comment had only been a misstep; one of her usual verbal blunders that had earned her too many awkward silences over the course of her life, the fear of which silenced her at large gatherings. It wasn't as though she was purposely trying to disrupt the atmosphere. It had absolutely nothing to do with her dislike of Buffo.

Buffo cleared his throat to fill the gap in the conversation. "It's a little early for cornflowers, I think, especially with the cold winter we've had."

"But what if it is the smoke?"

"Tiger Lily," Opal hissed.

"We don't know."

"No, we don't. And you don't know that it is. Let's talk about something else. And let's get inside before the rain starts properly," Opal said, putting up her umbrella.

"What else is there to talk about? We can't just pretend everything is normal." She turned to Sango, hoping he would take her side.

He smiled weakly. "There's no point in talking about it. Talking doesn't change anything," he said.

There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and his hair was even more of a mess than usual. Tiger Lily had made fun of him for how many cravat pins he owned. Now she would give anything to see him wearing one, or at least to tie his cravat properly.

"The rain will certainly agree with them," Buffo said crouching under Opal's umbrella as it started to shower. "I think my smial is closest."

What followed was a mad dash under spluttering rain. They jostled into each other, shrieked and trod on each other's toes. Tiger Lily hadn't brought an umbrella and irked at having to huddle in such close quarters with Buffo. She was supposed to stay there. But really… she didn't want to be here, so why should she stay?

"There's not enough room for all of us under here." She turned to Sango and grinned. I'll race you."

She ran out into the rain, relishing the water on her skin as she flew over the grass, ignoring Opal's fleeing berating. She was the wind and the rain and the earth. She was alive and only herself, not chained to the expectations of others, boring betrothals and imposing uncles. She didn't look back until she was under the awning of Buffo's smial.

She had left Buffo and Opal far behind (or maybe they had purposely left her ahead) but Sango was visible a few yards behind her. He jogged half-heartedly to meet her under the awning, his waistcoat spotted with rain, which was falling freely now.

"I beat you," Tiger Lily said, wringing her hair out. "You're getting slack."

"Yes."

He didn't care. He shouldn't care, but he didn't even have the energy to play the game of pretending he did.

"Are you all right?" she said. "Please don't tell me 'yes' because I know that's not true. I'm only asking as a formality."

"It's a bad day. I miss Lavender, and I miss the Shire."

Sango was rarely unsure of anything. He was Tiger Lily's opposite like that. Maybe that was why she had always loved him so much.

"I'm sorry you're in so much pain," she said. "I wish I could take it all away from you."

Sango nodded vacantly but she couldn't tell if he had absorbed her words or was just agreeing because that was what you were supposed to do.

"You said speaking doesn't do anything," she said. "Have you tried doing instead? Would that help?"

"I don't know."

Tiger Lily squeezed him into a hug, because it was the only thing of value she had to give.

"So that's why you went on ahead," said Opal. She and Buffo had arrived at the gate. Still infuriatingly presentable and dry. "Have you fixed a wedding date?"

There was a brush of air over Tiger Lily's neck as Sango sighed. But he pulled back and put on his winning smile. "Not until you have, of course."

"Don't do this," Tiger Lily said, softly so Opal and Buffo wouldn't hear. "Don't pretend. Please."

Sango grinned at her and went to meet Opal and Buffo. "You're too slow. You're both getting old."

"You two are half-feral, I swear," said Opal wiping Tiger Lily's face down with a handkerchief.

Tiger Lily grumbled and tried to push her away. "Get off. You're not my mother."

"Well, according to Sango I'm a decrepit old gammer so clearly I'm too old to be your mother."

"And that makes Buffo too old to be my grandfather?

"Shh!"

The four of them bustled inside. Fuel was being rationed but there were blankets and tea. Tiger Lily was allowed to snuggle up next to Sango on a settee as the four of them passed a book between them to read aloud. The gentle thrumming of the rain on the window should have been soothing, but it kept reminding her that there was a world outside she was missing, where the weather was wild and the colours were vivid and air was fresh and earthy. Rob was out there somewhere. Sango's head was rested against hers, his eyes closed as if asleep.

"I want to dance in the rain," Tiger Lily whispered. "Will you dance with me?"

Sango lazily opened one eye, then closed it again. "You hate dancing."

"I like it in the rain."

"You're silly."

"What if we sailed away, like Basso Boffin? Would that make you better?"

He shifted slightly to get more comfortable. "I couldn't leave everyone behind, Tills. Especially not like this."

It hadn't been a serious suggestion, but Tiger Lily was troubled that maybe she would be happy to leave everyone behind.

It was probably a good thing he hadn't agreed to dance with her. Opal would have complained to Uncle Hortenbold and then it would have gotten back to Tiger Lily's mother.

It was fine. The rain would return. There was time to be the other Tiger Lily later. And for now that would have to be enough.