A/N: I am been productive

Dear Ghest: Apologies for the lateness of the last chapter, and thank you for your continued support and kind words.

I like writing dumb characters who make dumb decisions. Maybe I'm writing them too stupid if they're starting to be hate-worthy.

Oddly there was a very early draft in which Tiger Lily had an unrequited crush on Merry.

Clover had been patient.

She lay on her bed, one leg crossed over the other, toying with Dalgo's watch. She held it up to let it catch the candlelight and twined the chain between her fingers.

She had waited for the scratch on her face to heal. She hadn't confronted Monno about the Men who attacked her. She couldn't prove his involvement and she liked having this to hold over him. Dalgo hadn't said anything either (that she knew of), but Monno knew. Oh, he knew. He had become nervous and jumpy around her, and she was able to be smiley and polite around him and pretend to have no idea what the problem was. He couldn't be sure how much she understood, and she was enjoying watching him squirm. Revenge that took effort and sacrifice was a pointless practice. Her revenge would be living a good life and usurping him as his brother's next of kin. He was a coward.

She had considered using Dalgo's reference to get a job elsewhere. Pros and cons. She would be out from under Monno's glare but it would place a barrier between herself and Dalgo. He'd probably go off with some useless upper class lass with a dowry and smooth hands. She couldn't trust that he wouldn't, and so it had to be taken as a given that he would. Clover wasn't going to leave her future to Dalgo's whim. He would lose nothing if she left him. She would lose a whole world of opportunities.

Really she should thank Monno. The whole ordeal with the man had given her an idea. She had needed something to convince Dalgo to elope with her, and Monno had just handed this opportunity to her.

People got beaten by the Big Folk. Everyone knew that. They had dragged Ripon Westcott away like a ragdoll. Why not her?

But how to manage it?

Breaking one of the rules would do it. The easiest way to get an immediate response from any of the Big Folk would be to defy the curfew. But how to ensure her freedom?

She got up from the bed and stared into her mirror.

There was no way to ensure it fully, but that was true of life as a whole.

If she allowed them to catch her out of curfew there would be nothing stopping them from taking her straight to the lockholes. Clover was willing to cut her own leg off if it served her interests, but she wouldn't be a prisoner. What if they never let her out again?

So she needed assurance that wouldn't happen. Some means to control them.

Pimple controlled the Big Folk with money.

Clover had money.

She glanced at her bedside table, where so many shillings lay hidden. She could feel her savings humming in the air.

But it was her money. She had earned it, it was her safety net. She needed it.

The watch had gone warm in her fingers and the chain had coiled around her knuckles like a snake.

It was probably worth more than all of her savings.

Yes.

Dalgo hadn't let them elope when she had been attacked the first time.

Maybe he needed a little more incentive.

Having slept on it, Clover realised that the watch would be worth less to one of the Big Folk than it would be to a Hobbit. It was made for a Hobbit-sized hand and the moulding on the case was done to a design that was popular among Hobbits.

So she had trekked up to Hobbiton, claiming to the Shirriffs guarding the bridge over the Water that she was running an errand for her employer.

"What errand?"

"Watch repair."

"A little late in the day for that, ain't it?"

"My employer keeps odd hours."

"Show it me."

Clover looked at him witheringly and produced the watch from her handbasket. They weren't supposed to be this officious. She dangled it in front of the Shirriff.

The Shirriff took the watch in his fingers, taking the weight from the chain. "Nice piece," he said. "Looks like it's working fine, though."

"It always does until it's important," she said with affected flippancy. "You know what it's like."

"I don't."

Clover shrugged. "I'm told that's what it's like."

"Mm." The Shirriff dropped the watch, leaving it to dangle. "Go on. You might catch the clockmaker if you run."

"Thank'ee," Clover said, hiding it away in her basket and getting as far away from him as possible.

The clockmaker lived in a neat little house in the middle of Hobbiton. The shop was closed by the time she got there, and Clover pounded on the door until it was opened. It was answered by a bespectacled middle-aged Hobbit in a checkered waistcoat. "We're closed."

"Sorry, my master's sent me on an errand, I couldn't come earlier. It's only four o'clock, you can't have been closed for long. Please, I've come from Bywater."

The shopkeeper sighed and stood aside to let her in. "What's your business?"

"My master bid me come to sell you this," she said, holding the watch out to him.

The clockmaker adjusted his spectacles to look at it. "A fine piece. Why does he wish to sell?"

"I din't think it my business to ask."

"Quite. May I examine it?"

He lit a candle on his desk, which was covered with shining metal tools: coils and sharp points and lenses. He held one of the smaller lenses to his eye and, holding the watch close to the light, opened the back to inspect the gears. "Well maintained," he murmured. "It's good work. Locally made." He glanced at her. "Two hundred years old?"

"I don't know."

"How much was your master hoping to get for it?"

"As much as it's worth," Clover said, jiggling her leg. Why was it talking so long? Couldn't he just give her the money and let her go? She felt like Dalgo was going to jump out from behind a door at any moment.

"I'd prefer to inspect it further when the light is better. It's very fine," he said, clicking the case closed. "I'd also like to ask the owner some questions about the materials, provenance, et cetera."

"My master wanted to sell today."

"Any reason for the hurry?"

"I don't know."

"I see. Who did you say your master was?"

"He asked me to be discreet." Clover cleared her throat. "I don't think he wants his neighbours to know he's selling."

"All very clandestine," the clockmaker said dryly. He placed the watch on the workbench and pushed it towards her. "I can give you 150 guineas."

Clover's heart stopped. Who would pay that much for something so unnecessary? To her, 150 guineas was all the money in the world. Someone else would haggle, but it was such a bafflingly high amount of money that to ask for more seemed ridiculous.

"Yes," she said.

"Are you sure? Your master doesn't want to negotiate?"

"No."

"Fine then."

And then the watch was whisked away and Clover left with 30 five-guinea pieces. She should have counted them herself but she was too flustered, she just needed to get it done with.

She shouldn't have done it. But what other choice was there? It was only a watch. No one would know what had happened.

Unfortunately, the next bit would be even more painful.

"You need to get going, it'll be curfew soon. I won't have you getting caught by the Big Folk," Mrs Delver said.

"Rob's not back either," Clover said. She was sat on the floor of her parents' smial, in a pile of Delver siblings of various sizes. Poppy was squished into her side and Fastad's head was rested in her lap. Behind her, Meg was sat on the crumbling old settee, braiding Clover's hair.

"Rob's not a 2'5" slip of a thing. And just 'cos he's a tomfool, don't mean you have to be."

"I reckon I'm more dangerous than him. The Big Folk should be scared of me," Clover said, bending her head down to rest her chin on Fastad's head.

This brought an explosion of laughs and half-joking mocking, all of the words overlapping and clambering over each other to be heard. It was too loud, but it was the sound of home. The only words she could clearly make out came from Meg, who bent close enough to Clover's ear that she didn't need to raise her voice.

"Mum's right, you'll be in trouble if you don't go now."

Clover was borne up by Meg, their mother and various other siblings, and transported to the front door.

"I'm not having my little lass get hurt out there," said Mrs Delver. "Why don't I get your dad to walk you back to your fancy smial?"

"Don't, don't, it's fine," Clover said, tugging her cloak about her shoulders. "I'll be fine."

"Pop in on us tomorrow so we know you got home safe then."

Clover nodded. Each movement she made felt like she was walking closer to the edge of a cliff. She had hoped they would lose track of the time and let her stay past curfew. Dallying between home and the Grubbs' would lose some of her plausible deniability. Instead of taking the direct path to the Pool she took a long, meandering, rural path. She would have to think of a 'why' later.

Eventually she came to a group of Men sat by one of their stone houses. A bottle was being passed between them and there was the smell of pipeweed smoke on the air. How would she approach this situation if she were really caught out after dark?

There was a hedgerow opposite the doorway to the house. Clover ducked behind it and started to crawl along on all fours, careful not to implement the Hobbit ability to move noiselessly. She purposely made stupid mistakes, placing her foot on a crunchy leaf or brushing the undergrowth aside with her hands. But still it didn't work. She managed to get all the way past them without gaining any attention. She crouched in the grass as her heart pounded in her ears. What do you do, what do you do?

Clover reached up to the hedge and, willing it a silent apology, snapped off one of its branches.

That did it. The Men fell silent. There was the sound of swishing fabric as one of them stood. "Anyone there?"

Clover shuffled further under the hedge, making sure to brush lots of leaves aside as she did.

"You little ratlings are meant to be indoors," the voice said, closer this time. "Orders of your Chief. Come out and we'll be kind."

Would they find her here? Clover's mind swirled as she tried to work out the best options. If she made a break for it would they definitely be able to outrun her?

It was almost a relief when they started beating the hedge with their cudgels. They moved along closer, ripping through the hedgerow. Clover stayed frozen under the hedge like a rabbit listening to the fox's footsteps.

How exactly had she gotten here? What decisions had she made to get to this point? Maybe there was a way to flip back to the beginning of the book and start the story again, in case it went differently this time.

A cudgel was brought down the hedge from above her and struck her along the back.

"Got it!"

A large hand gripped the back of her bodice and lifted her into the air. She was dropped onto the ground on the other side of the hedgerow, grazing her skin on the rough dirt path. The Men towered in a circle around her. There was no more time for changing her mind.

"It's past curfew," one of them said. "You're not supposed to be out of doors."

Clover inhaled. Speaking was difficult but she managed to choke out the words, "Says who?"

"You think you've got a smart mouth?"

"If you think that's smart you're stupider than you look, cur."

Clover was thrown to the ground again, air knocked out of her and jarring her bones. The blows that followed were painful, but she felt them land triumphantly.

One of her eyes wasn't opening properly. In the dark and the pain-addled mess of her brain she had to feel her way along the fence to find the entrance to the Grubbs' smial. The lights were still on in the window and when she opened the door she could hear the soft conversation of the Grubbs in the parlour.

What now? How would she explain what had happened? She'd probably had a plan about it, but she couldn't remember anymore. It would have been a good plan, she told herself.

She opened the door to the parlour, but couldn't think of what to say. She didn't have to think for long.

The scene was perfect, but only for a moment. Dalgo was reading in a corner. Young Mrs Grubb was talking softly with her mother-in-law while she brushed Abelia's hair. Then Abelia looked into the doorway and shrieked. The other three Grubbs all looked up and Young Mrs Grubb gasped, dropping the hairbrush. "Clover, what on earth happened?"

Clover tried to think of something unsuspicious to say but her brain didn't seem to be working as well as it usually did. All she could say was, "Men…"

Young Mrs Grubb moved towards her, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "Let's get you to the kitchen to clean you up. Dalgo, can you send for the doctor?"

Dalgo had stood from his chair, his eyes wide with a genuine fear and horror that Clover had hitherto assumed he couldn't feel. He seemed to be frozen in place, too shocked to know what he was supposed to do.

"Send who?" he said.

"Clo—" His mother stopped herself and shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Go yourself if you need to. Don't send Abelia," she called as they left the room.

Clover numbly allowed Young Mrs Grubb to usher her into the kitchen where a cold cloth was pressed to her bleeding forehead. Dalgo arrived back with the doctor within a few minutes. Dalgo stood mutely in the doorway as the doctor worked, watching over them like a silent shadow in the distance.

"I've tended a few patients who've been injured by the Big Folk," the doctor, Mr Brownlock, said. "Though none quite as badly as this."

Clover wasn't fully listening to him. He was grinding herbs in a mortar and she was almost entirely focused on watching the movement of the pestle. Back and forth, back and forth. The gentle crunching of the dry leaves. Don't think about the throbbing in your forehead.

Someone was speaking to her. Wearily she brought her attention away from the pestle and looked to Young Mrs Grubb, whose voice she could barely recognise through the haze.

"I asked what happened," said Young Mrs Grubb. "Did you break any of the Rules?"

"I… was… out past curfew." She tried not to look at the blur in the doorway, which she assumed was still Dalgo. It was about the right height.

"Was that all?" Young Mrs Grubb said.

"Yes," she said.

"They're ruffians, there's no telling why they do any of what they do," Mr Brownlock said, mixing the herbs with a small tub of grease. Clover didn't object or ask questions as he started to apply the foul-smelling salve to her injuries. She reasoned that she couldn't feel any worse than she did right now.

"I'll return in the morning to re-dress the wounds," the doctor said, putting a small bottle on the table. "You can chew some willow bark for the pain. If it's too much you can take this to help you sleep. She won't be able to work tomorrow."

"Yes, of course. I'll show you to the door," Young Mrs Grubb said.

Dalgo and Clover were left alone. She was too weary to turn her head to him or speak. She only wanted to sleep. Dalgo walked to stand beside her chair, absent of what little grace he usually moved with. He fell heavily onto his knees, his head bowed in shame or grief. He put one of his hands over her own.

"I'm so sorry, love," he said.

"Not your fault," she murmured. She had planned so carefully what she would say at this point, but now her mind was everywhere and she couldn't properly recall the words or summon the energy to put on a proper show of it. She painfully turned her head to Dalgo, but her sight was obscured by the worsening swelling of her eyelids. "I can't stay here," she said.

"I'll do better," he said. "I'll protect you."

"You can't always be there," Clover said, even more exhausted. She paused for breath. Everything was so difficult. "They took your watch."

He blinked at her through his spectacles. His brows drew together, like he didn't understand. "My father's watch?"

"Yes. Sorry."

He lowered his head to press his forehead against her hand. "It doesn't matter."

Clover withdrew her hand, forcing him to look into her face. "I can't stay here," she said.

Dalgo looked at her silently, then nodded. "I'll start making arrangements. We'll be gone by the time you've healed."

He jumped back from her as his mother re-entered the room. "You go and rest," she said guiding Clover up by the arm. "Perhaps you could stay with your family a while until you recover."

Clover mumbled a, "Maybe". Once she was alone in her room she stiffly stripped down to her shift and, too tired to change, flopped onto the bed. In her draw was half of the money she had gotten for the watch: her ransom. She had given the ruffians the other half and promised what remained in exchange for keeping out of the lockholes. It was the only thing she could have given them.

So that was it. She had done it. She and Dalgo would marry and she would never have to be hungry or cold again. She was going to get everything she wanted.

It would start feeling like victory in the morning. Probably.

There was a candle still alight in the Smial when Monno returned. Usually everyone was asleep by the time he got home from seeing Primrose Hobble, allowing him to return to his chamber without drawing any notice. He opened the front door as quietly as he could. Silently sliding the latch to, he trod carefully and lightly over the stone tiles. Without warning he found himself slammed against the wall with a hand tightly gripping his cravat, constricting his throat.

"It's you," Dalgo said, releasing Monno and turning away, covering his face with his hand.

"Of course, it's me!" Monno cried, rubbing his neck and taking deep breaths. "What on earth was that for?"

"I thought you an intruder."

"Apparently!" Monno said, glaring at him. "What possessed you?"

"There was an incident."

"An incident?"

"Clover was attacked by some of the Big Folk."

"Attacked how? Is she all right?"

"She's hurt," Dalgo said, turning his back on Monno and returning to the parlour. Monno followed, frustrated at Dalgo's incomplete truths. He was always too consumed in his own feelings to understand the impact he had on others.

"Gravely?" Monno said.

"No, not gravely. But it's enough." He passed a hand over his face and sunk into his chair. "We're leaving the Shire once her wounds have healed."

Monno groaned. "No, Dalgo! Why?"

"We can't stay here now!" Dalgo said. "Am I to endanger my wife's well-being by keeping her confined to a land she can't walk freely in?"

"Your wife," Monno scoffed.

"Yes, my wife," Dalgo said, glaring up at Monno. "I address her as our attachment befits."

Monno groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Can't you hear yourself? She's a maidservant, you're not going to marry her!"

"Who are you to tell me what to do?" Dalgo hissed, rising from his chair.

"But… but if you elope with her then me and Abbie will have to both make good matches to make up for your disgracing the family," Monno finished lamely.

"What's that to do with it?"

"Nothing."

"I've given my word and my heart and I won't forsake my own happiness for your benefit."

"Your heart? You don't know what being in love is, I'm not even sure you're capable of it, you're just like Father was! Do you think he would have approved of this disgusting affair?"

Dalgo's face darkened. Monno immediately realised what he had done. Dalgo idolised their father and this would only push him further away. Away towards her, to drip poison into his ear. Dalgo turned away and swept out of the room.

"No, Dalgo, wait, I'm sorry," Monno said, following him. "She's turning you against us."

Dalgo laughed suddenly and bitterly. "You claim that, after you say I'm without feeling? Is it not you that's trying to turn me against her?"

"I am your brother, I don't like seeing you taken in by a grasping doxy."

"Well, I'm incapable of brotherly love apparently, so that's irrelevant," Dalgo said, adjusting his cufflink.

"You're being such a bloody, selfish fool. You couldn't find any other lass?"

"Oh, it's easy for you," Dalgo snapped. "Well-mannered, sociable Monno who doesn't have a stick up his own arse and knows just how to get along with everyone and finds everything so easy."

Monno stopped, red faced and furious. "And whose fault is that? Hanging around like a shabby old crow in your unwashed waistcoats and your sullen face. It's not hard, Dalgo, to put some bloody effort in."

"Well, I'm glad it's so easy for you!" Dalgo snapped. "And you wonder why I wish to leave for one who sees value in me."

Clover couldn't sleep.

Her mind was fizzing. Not in a good way. Every time she tried to sleep she could hear their voices and see their towering forms, frozen like illustrations in a story. Everything hurt and all she wanted was to be at home.

Disorientated, she kept reaching out, expecting to find someone else there. She hadn't slept in a bed with her sisters for months, but tonight all she wanted was that old comfort of home, to know there were other people near, people who cared about her.

She couldn't go home tonight, and she couldn't have Meg, who treated Clover like a baby when she didn't need it and especially when she did. There was another option.

She got up painfully and shuffled out of her chamber. The soles of her feet throbbed in protest. All was dark and quiet. She was blurrily aware that there had been candles burning and raised voices previously, but they were gone now. Bent over as she walked, she went to Dalgo's chamber. He was tucked up under his quilt and didn't look up when she came in. She trusted him enough for this. Clover flopped on top onto the bed beside him

Dalgo stirred and turned over to look at her, peering through barely-open eyes. "Shouldn't be here."

"I don't want to be alone."

He sighed something and his fingers curled into her hair. His eyes closed again and his breaths smoothed into slumber. Satisfied that she was with someone who cared about her, Clover eventually followed him into sleep.

The night passed. And the day after that.

Monno walked up and down restlessly. It was a March night. He could see his own breath. He should feel cold. But he always felt like he was on fire when he was waiting for Lotho to make his entrance. There was a stack of family records under one arm. He hoped Dalgo wouldn't get suspicious. His brother had recently made a comment about how he couldn't find the Bunces' records and Monno had needed to replace them sharpish once he got them back from Lotho. Eventually the thudding steps of Lotho's pony came to his ear.

"Good evening, Mr Grubb," Lotho said as he swung himself down. He untied a pack of records from the back of his pony. "You're well, I trust. I found these highly useful, thank you. I assume you have some new ones for me."

Monno didn't speak until after they had exchanged their cargo. He'd rather pretend this part wasn't happening.

"Could I beg another favour of you, sir, as a cousin?"

"That would depend on the favour."

"Our maidservant was caught out of doors past her curfew last night. She had our family pocket watch on her person, which was taken by some of the Big Folk in your employ. Would you be able to retrieve it for us?"

"I shall certainly do my best. I don't want my allies to be wronged for the irresponsibility of others. Why did she have it with her?"

"A loan from my brother," he said, sighing. "I told you about his over-familiarity. I don't like to rely on your… kindness a second time, but it's a valuable heirloom."

"Certainly. It's a small thing for a friend." He nodded to Monno. "Until we meet again."

As he left Monno wasn't sure if he was relieved or frightened. He also wasn't sure which of those he should want to be.