A/N: Dear Ghest – I can't really respond to any of your comments without spoilers, some for this chapter! Thank you as always for your kind words, patience, and continued readership.

Primrose Hobble watched as her betrothed paced up and down. There was presumably a time when they had talked about something other than Clover Delver. She wasn't sure how long ago that was.

"They're going to go soon," Monno said, chewing his nails. "I know it."

"I don't think Clover would really run away that," Primrose said. "She wouldn't leave her family behind."

"She shouldn't have gotten this far in the first place, I'm not putting anything past her. Could you convince her not to go?"

"How would I explain how I know about her and Dalgo? Unless I tell her about us."

He paused in deliberation. "Best not then."

Primrose rolled her eyes. "I don't know if I'd blame her for leaving after what happened with the Big Folk last month. She looked dreadful afterwards."

"Yes. She lost our father's watch as well." He rubbed his chin. That was the source of it. Dalgo had gotten it into his head that he needed to take Clover out of the Shire to keep her safe. It was all highly convenient, wasn't it? That she was attacked and it had gotten her exactly what she wanted…

"We could go too," Primrose said.

He snapped out of his reverie. He had heard her say something but wasn't sure what it was. "What?"

"We could go to Bree-land too," she said, twisting her hands together. "If it's so painful for you to be attached to me here, maybe we need to be somewhere else."

"Don't be silly."

"I'm not."

"You were the one saying how reprehensible it would be for Clover to leave her family."

"I just meant that I don't know what the point is of us being together if you still can't tell your family. So if we can't go to Bree then what?

"We'll tell them later."

"But when's later?"

"After Dalgo's come to his senses and everything's back to normal."

"Fine," Primrose said. "I'll leave you to your endeavours." As she walked away she called, "At least your brother puts his lady first."

It took time for Clover's bruises to heal, and longer for the nightmares to stop. She had given the rest of her money to the Big Folk without being caught, but had been terrified the whole time, and needed to vomit afterwards.

Dalgo was being surprisingly proactive. He had spoken to his lawyer to get his affairs in order and had been surreptitiously packing away some of his possessions. They had agreed to leave within the week.

Right now they were bent over a map that was rolled out over his desk. "I've had some permits made up," Dalgo said, "saying I'm travelling on work for Lotho Sackville-Baggins and that you're my wife."

"Will it work?"

"To be frank, I don't have any other plan. I'm hoping that a haughty disposition and familial connections will do the rest in terms of getting us past the Shirriff houses. The only other option is to walk the country, but we would be more conspicuous and I'm not sure either of us are up to it. I have family in Budgeford so we can stay with one of them on our way East."

"And they don't know about your recent marriage because of the dodgy post service?"

"Correct. Once we're over the Brandywine we're out and free. We can marry and rent a room in one of the Bree-land villages. Bree is closest but we can try Straddle if we can't find anywhere suitable. Good plan?"

"Aye."

"You don't have any questions? Contributions? Harsh rebukes about my hubris?"

"No."

"You've been very subdued of late."

Clover sighed and leaned against him, closing her eyes. "I just want to go."

"Are you sure you're recovered enough?"

"I'm ready."

"The day after tomorrow, then? My family are visiting the Tooks tomorrow evening, so we'll be able to prepare in private."

So that was it. Clover was going to get more than she'd ever wanted. But she had been crying most evenings. She didn't want to be Clover Delver anymore, but it was all she knew how to be. She had become so good at it that she didn't think there was anything more she needed to learn to get any further under that name. Becoming someone else and starting from nothing was terrifying.

She left Dalgo's study and was startled to find Abelia in the corridor. They still hadn't reconciled since that day Abelia had exploded. She had been angry that Clover had started spending time with her hated, irascible, eldest brother and felt like Clover had taken sides. She used to be Clover's closest ally in the Grubb's smial, and had been the one who started teaching her to read. They hadn't spoken in weeks. But Abelia didn't look angry this time. She was twisting her fingers together and looked almost… worried. An unusual stare for someone so headstrong.

"What were you and Dalgo talking about?" Abelia said.

"Nothing you need to worry about, miss," Clover said. She didn't have energy for this.

"But what's nothing?"

"He was asking after my health." Please just leave me alone.

"Are you still sick from what happened?"

"I've been better."

Abelia's eyes were wide. More than ever before, she looked like a child. "I'm sorry we've not talked much lately. We could have a reading lesson tonight, if you wanted."

Clover sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I don't really have the time for it, miss."

"You're not going to leave, are you?"

Clover's heart tripped in its cage. What did she know? How did she know? "What do you mean, miss?"

"You've been spending more and more time away from the smial in the evenings and you seem so sad and quiet all the time. I thought maybe you were giving your notice. But you're not, are you?" Abelia said, stepping forward hopefully. "We're still friends, aren't we? I'm sorry I got angry with you for being friends with Dalgo, you're allowed to be friends with whoever you like, and he's not been a complete troll of late. You're not leaving because you're angry with me, are you?"

It was too much. Clover tried to rub the thoughts together in her head in hope of lighting a flame. Too much thought, too much feeling. What was she supposed to say? Abelia was so… innocent, in an ignorant sort of way. She didn't seem to understand that other people really existed. She didn't understand when she was in the wrong so it was hard to be angry with her when she was.

"Of course I'm not angry with you, miss. But I don't have time for a reading lesson this evening, I'm visiting my family."

"Another time then?" Abelia said it uncertainly, like she knew that would never happen. Maybe she did understand that something was happening. Clover nodded silently and walked away, wondering if that was the last conversation she would ever have with her friend.

"What do you mean they didn't take the watch?"

"I'm merely reporting what my people have told me," Lotho said. "Though there was a detail you might find interesting."

"What?"

"Do you have the records I requested?"

Monno handed them over, nearly without thinking about it. Strange, but it seemed to be getting easier every time.

"She gave them money," Lotho said. "Quite a lot of it. Exactly how much do you pay your help?"

"How much did she give?"

"150 guineas in all."

Monno didn't realise he had opened his mouth until he noticed his jaw was hanging open. "That doesn't make sense. She couldn't afford that."

"I would check on your valuables if I were you," Lotho said. As he mounted his pony he added, "Though we already know of one that's unaccounted for."

Monno was left staring at the air. This wasn't news he had been expecting. This was dreadful, of course, absolutely dreadful. But… if he could prove some wrongdoing, which he had suspected for so long but hadn't got any definitive proof of. Well, that would all be for the best wouldn't it?

There was a clockmaker in Hobbiton. It might be prudent to pay him a visit tomorrow. And then afterwards, should it become relevant, he would have a quiet word with his brother.

The Delvers had been horrified when they learned of Clover's 'accident' with the Men. With difficulty she had talked her father and brothers out of doing anything stupid. What she couldn't do anything about was the coddling from her mother and Meg. But, strangely, she didn't mind the coddling much this time. She'd started visiting her parents nearly daily and found herself much more willing to put up with them and her siblings. She kept waking in the night and becoming confused that she couldn't hear her sisters breathing, before remembering she hadn't lived with them for months. She had become the clingy child again, hiding behind Meg and relying on her to know what to do. Meg didn't form mad schemes to elope with gentlehobbits. She was just kind. Clover had started using any excuse to be around her and follow her around. Today she had gone with Meg up to the haberdashers.

"I really don't need help picking out cotton reels," Meg said as she looked through a basket of buttons.

"I have very good taste in these things. You might need me."

Meg laughed. "You hate sewing."

"I need to get better at it." She would. There wouldn't be anyone else to do it for her in Bree-land.

"These are pretty," Meg said, twining a red ribbon around her fingers. "I haven't had new ribbons for months."

"I can buy it for you."

"Please don't."

"I want to."

Clover pulled the ribbon from Meg's fingers and went to the desk, where a red-haired lad was counting change. She and Meg didn't say much as they left the shop.

"You din't need to do that," Meg said.

"I can afford it."

"But you already send us a bit of your wages. You shouldn't spend what's left on me."

"Ribbons are cheap. It'll go with your good dress."

Meg stopped walking. She frowned at Clover like she had just said something obscene. "Your birthday was last month, weren't it?"

"Aye."

"Are you sick, then? Only I don't know why you're acting like this."

"I don't have to be sick to be nice."

"I'm worried 'cus you're scared. Normally you're the bravest person I know."

Clover hugged her. It was the impulse of a child that needed to know there was someone in the world who loved them unconditionally. It wasn't rational. But right now it was all Clover wanted.

"Are you still sad about the Big Folk hurting you?" Meg said.

Clover hid her face further into Meg's shoulder. If only they could stay here forever, always on the verge of getting all she needed but before she'd had to lose anything. If only this feeling would go away… "Mm."

Meg's hand cradled her head, as she had comforted Clover after so many childhood nightmares. "You know you could always come to live back at home if you wanted. I don't know if that would help, but you'd be welcomed back if that was what you needed."

Clover inhaled and forced the feelings deep down where they couldn't bother anyone. "I'm fine now. Let's go."

She set off at a sharp gait. Meg caught up to her with ease. "I'm going to walk you home. No need to worry about the Big Folk then."

Clover didn't want to reply. Everything was horrible. "Please take care of yourself, Meg."

"I… already do?"

"No, I mean really. I'm not just saying it as something to say, I am actually asking you to look after yourself because you don't."

"All right. I will," Meg said in the voice of someone placating a frightened child. "You don't need to get worked up. I think mayhap you should stay with us tonight, you're acting properly strange. I'm worried."

"It's not allowed under the Rules."

"Mum and Dad would prefer to break the rules than have you be unhappy. If you won't stay with us, will you come to see us tomorrow?"

"No. Sorry. This is the last day I can see you for a while."

"That's fine."

No it's not, because I won't be here anymore. You might never see me again.

They hugged and Clover found herself wishing a second time that they wouldn't let go. They had parted at the end of North Bank Row. Meg always avoided going close to the Grubbs' smial after the incident on Maizey's birthday, when Meg and their other siblings had come to the Grubbs's smial and embarrassed Clover. Clover felt bad about that now.

It was dark when she got inside. The only light was a dull candle coming from Dalgo's study. The door was wide open, casting writhing shadows into the hall. Dalgo nearly always kept the door closed out of hours. Clover approached cautiously. Dalgo was inside, hunched over his desk like a spider. The light from the single candle reflected off his spectacles and obscured his eyes, hidden deep in the shadows under his brows. She couldn't make out the rest of his expression.

"The others out at the Tooks'?" Clover said.

"Yes." There was something wrong. His tone was wooden.

"Shall I pack my things while you pack yours?"

He inhaled tightly. "Plans have changed." And he pushed something across the desk towards her.

Clover approached to see, feeling like she was walking into a fire.

It was the watch. Even before she could see what it was, part of her had already known.

"Monno took me to a shop in Hobbiton where it was for sale. The proprietor had bought it from a young maidservant on behalf of a wealthy Hobbit who wished to remain anonymous. His ledger said it was the same day you were attacked." Dalgo inhaled deeply and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk. "I'm not going to say anything. I'm only going to ask how this happened, because I don't understand."

This was it. This was what everything had been leading to. Her mind was screaming but she did her best not to let it show. Was there any way out of this? She always talked her way out of everything, so surely there must be a way to avert this.

But she felt hollowed out. There wasn't anything left of her, no clever words or cunning. There was just her and the truth.

"What do you want me to say?"

Dalgo glowered at her and snatched the watch back. "You're not even denying it. Can't you even deny it?"

"What would be the point in that?"

"I don't know! There must be some plausible explanation: a coincidentally similar watch, or some strange chain of events that could have led to this. You could at least try."

Clover shook her head, too tired to do anything else. "I can't."

Dalgo threw his spectacles onto the desk and covered his eyes with his hand. "Why did you do this?"

"You wouldn't leave with me. I needed a way to convince you."

"So you sold my dead father's watch. That doesn't make any sense."

"I thought you cared more about the watch than me," Clover said flatly. "Apparently I was right."

"I was abandoning my entire life for you!" he said. His chair fell backwards as he stood up abruptly. "You've made a complete fool of me."

Clover stared back at him suddenly. She was ready to face this. "I'm sorry."

He turned away from her, sitting on his desk and covering his mouth with his hand. "What did you do with the money?"

"I gave it away."

"To who?"

Clover groaned. Wasn't it enough for him to have some of the truth now, did he really need all of it? What did it matter what she did with the money?

Now her hands were shaking. She twisted her fingers together to direct her attention somewhere else. "The Big Folk I paid to hurt me. So you would see we couldn't stay."

Dalgo sagged forward and swore under his breath. "I don't understand. None of it makes sense."

"It made sense to me."

"I can't take this!" he cried, turning around to face her again. "You're just standing there. Say something. Deny it. Beg for forgiveness. Shout at me, weep, laugh—I don't care which. Don't you have any feeling?"

"There's nothing to say."

"There is. You could say you did it because you love me."

"I can't do that," she said quietly.

Dalgo sat on the desk. "So that's it? One long lie." He looked lost. He was silent as he stared at the dusty corner of the little study. "Why?" he whispered. "Why would you do all of this?"

Clover looked up at him, her old defiance shining through the bleak fog she had been stuck in until now. "What I did was no worse than the quiet, slow cruelties you see every day and think are acceptable. That me and mine are bound to spend our lives and bodies and misery bringing happiness to others through no fault of ours. I don't know why it's like this and it's killing us. A little but every day, dripping like poison. And I can't fix it. There's nothing I can do but save myself and let it take everyone else while you do us the banal cruelty of looking away because you can't see we're there.

'I needed you to save me. You have every advantage over me and marrying you would raise me higher than I could ever achieve by my own efforts."

"Poor you," he spat. "So is that it? We're all just game pieces to be moved around for your benefit."

Clover glared back at him. "Marriage is the easiest way for any lass to better herself. Even families like yours that have more than they need try to get even more by marrying their daughters to someone richer. I had so little to start with that I have to use whatever means I can to pull myself up. I can't not marry for money. And if I wasn't ambitious, if I didn't take all opportunity to better myself," she said, keeping her voice steady as possible, "if I wasn't myself, would you still care for me?"

Dalgo slammed a stray book down onto the desk. "Get out!"

It was all running away through her fingers. If she could only work out the right words to say, it could all be fixed. In a final burst of desperation, she put her hand on his arm, like if she held him now he wouldn't be able to leave her. "Dalgo, let me make amends. I know I've done wrong but we understand each other so well, this isn't worth throwing all that away. I know no one else I can connect to as I can you, if we just—"

"Did you not hear me?" he said, rounding on her and pulling his sleeve out of her grasp. Clover refused to turn her back on him and stared defiantly into his eyes as he moved towards her to back her out of the room.

"You will not address me by my given name," he said. "I loved you, can you understand that? You can never undo the hurt you've caused. I never want to see your face again."

He slammed the door and Clover was left alone on the other side, stuck in the corridor.

Wrapped in the shade of a dying candle, Monno was leaning against the wall of the hallway, hands folded behind his back. From the smug smile gashed across his face, she didn't doubt that he had heard every word of the confrontation.

"Things don't always go your way, do they?" he said. He laughed lightly and threw his head back. "Thank goodness Dalgo finally came to his wits. I've so enjoyed this."

"I only live to please," Clover said dryly. Her arms were hanging tense at her sides as her brain whirred, trying to understand how everything had spun so far away from her. What happened now? This gnat was getting in the way.

"Don't pity yourself," Monno hissed, bringing his face close to hers. "You've gotten exactly what you deserved."

Clover smiled cruelly. "I think you're more like your father than you realise."

Monno's expression snapped into blank horror and he stepped back from her.

"Thank the Holy One's you'll be out of my home," he mumbled, turning away.

Clover spent the rest of the night packing the scuffed old carpet bag she had first used to carry her possessions to the Grubbs' smial a little over five months ago. Glancing in the mirror she realised she was still wearing her vibrant green serving clothes. She had taken to wearing them more often than her own clothes. Reluctantly she started to remove her pinafore. This was it. She was losing her home. No rich friends, no reading lessons, no work in a clean smial away from grime and dirt and sweat. She was going to be exactly where she was last autumn, only worse off because now the Grubbs would spread the word around and she would never find work again. She sat heavily on the bed and covered her face with her hands. And her father would be angry that she'd tried to cut ties with her working roots and her mother would be hurt that she tried to leave them.

She was going back to being Jon Delver's second daughter. That was all she would ever be. She tore the pinafore from her front, one of the pins scratching against her thumb. The apron was thrown onto the floor and she nimbly undid the hooks that ran down the front of her bodice. The strings of her waistband were undone and her skirt pooled on the floor around her feet. The ribbons and pins were torn from her hair, allowing her curls to fall loose. She paused to take her breath back; she hadn't realised how quickly she'd been breathing. She caught her reflection in the small mirror on the wall.

The figure was dim, only outlined by the fragile yellow light of a single candle. Her nut-brown hair famed her face and fell in loose curls down to her waist; simple and uncontained. Her white shift hung loose on her body and contrasted her dark skin. Simple, unassuming and natural. She was only herself. This was all she had been before she came and it was what she was going back to. In a way it was all she had ever been.

Clover didn't sleep that night and instead lay on the stone floor trying to cool herself down. In the morning she dressed in her old clothes and heaved her carpet bag out into the hallway, hoping to get away before any of the family were up so as to avoid any awkward confrontations. When she moved into the hallway she could hear soft voices in the parlour. She tried to get away before anyone noticed her but the weight of her bag hampered her and the parlour door opened behind her.

"Clover, could you give me a hand with… What are you doing?"

Clover reluctantly turned around. Young Mrs Grubb was staring at her. Her eyes flitted briefly down to the carpet bag. Clover hesitated, unsure of what Mrs Grubb was thinking and so unsure of what her own response should be.

"Where are you going?" said Young Mrs Grubb.

"I thought…" Clover said, unaccustomed to giving such poorly thought-through answers.

Young Mrs Grubb glanced back up the tunnel and sighed. "I don't have time for this. Victoria's had a fall. Help me get her back into her chair and then change out of those ghastly outdoor clothes."

Clover followed Mrs Grubb down to Mistress Victoria's room, trying to work out what had or hadn't happened. Young Mrs Grubb obviously hadn't fired her. But she couldn't not know. Dalgo would have told her. Wouldn't he? Why would he not?

But Young Mrs Grubb seemed wholly unaware. So why ask questions?

Clover helped Old Mrs Grubb, changed into her maidservant uniform and set about helping Young Mrs Grubb with the family's breakfast as she did every morning. It was surreal, like the events of the previous evening hadn't taken place. Clover's nerves were tightened beyond natural realms. What would Dalgo do when she saw him? She imagined him making a scene in which he exposed her deception in front the entire family. Like the final scene from one of Old Mrs Grubb's dramatic romances, adding humiliation to the pain of losing her position.

Her hands started trembling as she served up the family's breakfast and only answered Mrs Grubb's pleasantries with mumbled agreements she was only half-aware of giving. She kept glancing at the clock on the wall, expecting minutes to have passed, only to find it had been mere seconds.

When the table had been laid, Clover wheeled Old Mrs Grubb in. She took her usual place beside the old lady and awaited the rest of the family with dread.

Abelia was the first, chatting cheerfully with her mother. There was no sign of the others. Clover occupied herself with helping Old Mrs Grubb, trying not to make her fluster obvious. Evidently she failed because she was torn from her frantic inner visions by Abelia saying, "You look so strange and drawn, Clover."

"She's been very quiet," said Young Mrs Grubb, smiling archly. "I hope she hasn't taken my advice regarding keeping one's opinions to one's self too much to heart."

Clover only smiled. The occasional habit of gentlehobbits to talk about her like she wasn't there (which normally infuriated her) gave her leave to withhold a reply.

Her heat jolted as the door swung open, but it was only Monno. There was no triumphant light in his eye, no cruel turn of the mouth. Neither did he have his usual light air he wore for his family. His countenance was cast in rigid neutrality – determined not to supply any evidence of what he was feeling. But the slight indentation between his eyebrows and the want of smiles gave away his troubled mind-set.

"Are you well, Monno?" said Young Mrs Grubb.

"Quite well, Mother," was his too-curt response. As he ate, his eyes moved unsettled about the room – finding anywhere to rest as long as it wasn't on Clover.

If he was planning to make a public display of Clover's betrayal, it wasn't going to be now. This was some comfort. Monno was the one who would take actual pleasure from her downfall. Dalgo could still be a problem. Fury would be his motivation. It would not be spite or pleasure, it would be the fury of injured pride and the consuming, irrational desire to punish the wrongdoer in the hope that it would quell the hatred congealing in his stomach. To try and make things right. Clover knew this, because this was what she felt when people wronged her.

She didn't have long to wait – Dalgo entered the dining room soon after his brother, a very different Hobbit from the one who had risen the day before. All the progress he had made over the last months had evaporated. He was wearing the same clothes as the night before, but much scruffier. His waistcoat was undone and his absent jacket presumably abandoned elsewhere in the smial. His tightly curled hair hadn't been combed and his cravat had been loosened. A network of creases covered his breeches. What good humour he had cultivated had gone silent and sullen; unlike Monno there was no attempt to hide his feelings.

"What's wrong with you?" Old Mrs Grubb said.

"A great many things," was Dalgo's sour reply.

"Everyone's so foul today," Old Mrs Grubb said, falling back in her wheelchair. "What's happened to you two? Did you have a fight?"

"Was it over a lass?" said Abelia, grinning wickedly.

"Abbie don't," her mother said, putting her hand on Abelia's arm to silence her. Dalgo turned his dark eyes to Abelia to glower at her but didn't raise his voice. Monno – as always – remained detached.

Nothing more was said and as the family members trickled away to their respective occupations. Clover was left to clean up after them and ponder what all this meant. In a way it would have been better if there had been a big revealing spectacle – at least then she would know where she was. She had cleared the table and finished the washing up. She was wiping down the kitchen table when Dalgo appeared in the doorway. He froze when he saw her – stiller than a figure in a painting. Then his eyes turned downward as though in bashfulness.

"Apologies," he said. "I thought you would have finished by now."

He turned to go. Clover knew she should leave it, that detaining him was tantamount to interfering with a festering wound. But she couldn't stand to live in this state of uncertainty, and so she called out, "Dalgo."

He stopped his retreat and winced.

"Mr Grubb," she corrected herself. "I didn't… I thought you would have told your family about th—" she wasn't sure how to describe the events that had taken place. "Everything. And I thought that would mean… But nothing's…" she twisted her fingers together, not enjoying this position of vulnerability. "I don't know how to say what I mean…" she finished lamely.

Dalgo straightened his back and started to toy with one of his cufflinks. As he spoke he kept his whole body turned aside, to avoid looking at her.

"I haven't told the remainder of my family about our attachment. I thought to save myself some pride." He stopped twiddling with the cufflink and folded his hands behind his back.

"I acted rashly and thoughtlessly. I'm in a position of power over you and my conduct was inappropriate. You shan't lose your position as a consequence of my folly. Monno has sworn secrecy to this effect. However," he fixed his gaze on her now with all the malignity of the Dark One, "I strongly advise you to cease any further concord with my sister or any other members of my family. You are a servant and a servant only. Is that understood?"

Clover nodded. Her mouth had gone dry. "Yes, sir."

He nodded sharply and left the room. Clover let her gaze drop to her hands. Still spread palm-down on the table, their skin was hardened and cracked around the joints, and her nails were uneven. A servant only indeed.

Meg was nervous. She had been nervous ever since Clover's 'accident' as the family had started calling it. It rankled Meg, though she hadn't said anything. It wasn't an accident. Someone had deliberately done that to her little sister. She didn't understand why, though she didn't understand much about the Big Folk or why they were here or… anything. They must be very desperate to be here, acting like this. But she was finding it increasingly hard to believe that.

Something felt off tonight. She couldn't sleep and tried to sit up in the kitchen. It was cold and quiet and she was too uneasy to sit still for long. She stepped outside for air, and nearly tripped over Clover, who was sat on the front step with her head in her hands.

"Clove, what're you doing here? If the Big Folk find you…" She stopped, mid-moralisation. Why would Clover be on their doorstep? Nothing light, if she was willing to risk another beating to be there. "What's wrong?"

"I've messed everything up, Meg."

"No! Nothing that happened was your fault," Meg said, sitting next to her. "It was Pimple and the Big Folk and… everything. Not you."

"Why'd you always have so much faith in me? Can't you just accept that I'm a bad person?"

Meg tried to give some eloquent answer, the kind Clover would give, but it got lost somewhere between her brain and her tongue, and she couldn't remember what it was. She settled on a sensible, factual statement. "You're my sister."

This seemed to make it worse. Clover whimpered and sagged against Meg's shoulder.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?"

What followed was one of the strangest conversations of Meg's life. She knew there was part of Clover she couldn't see – they were too different for her to understand Clover fully. But she had never dreamed of anything like… this. Betrothals and clandestine courtships and manipulations. She wondered if anyone had ever done the things Clover had. Probably not. Meg really didn't understand her sister.

Part of her was bitter. Clover had always thought Meg was silly for wanting to marry, but here she was winning the hand of a gentlehobbit she didn't really want. By the time Clover had told her everything, Meg didn't know what to say. There was too much there to comment on one particular thing.

"Well…" she said. "You've been busy."

Clover snorted. "That's all?"

"I don't know. It's just… like you've been living in a different world since last October. Are all those things you said really true?"

"Aye. Are you angry that I was going to leave you all behind?"

"A little. But I can't blame you for wanting to leave this mess. I can't believe you hurt yourself like that on purpose. Do you know how worried we all were? Mum and Dad were arguing about you quitting service and coming back to live with us."

"What else was I supposed to do?"

"Trust him when he said he'd stand by you. You can't marry someone you don't trust."

"It wasn't a real marriage."

"It would've been real to him. He must love you."

Clover looked down and swallowed. "Yes."

"But you don't love him back?"

A smile tugged at Clover's mouth. "He's like me: all clever words and arrogance. I can tell him about the things in my head, and he understands. He was kind to me."

"That don't answer my question."

The smile disappeared as subtly as it appeared. "I like him well enough. Maybe I could love him. I couldn't marry some farming lad with a head full of hay and ale. If I'm going to marry someone… it should be him."

Meg inhaled. "Good thing it fell through, then."

"Don't be sentimental, Meg."

"I'm not. But, Clover, he asked you to marry him. He thought you'd make him happy until he dies. You have to have some faith in people or you'll never be happy, not really."

Clover slowly curled forward and covered her face. "Why can't I be good?"

"You're too clever for all that."

"I've ruined everything. I can't leave my job but I can't stand looking at 'em. What can I do, now? I don't know what to do."

"Me neither."

They stared at the sky. "What if we're not important at all?" Clover said. "What if we just live and die? I can't even better my own life, never mind everyone else's."

"It's just the small things, I think," Meg said. "The big things will always be a bit bad. It's the small things that will make you happy."

"But if we don't look after the big things, then who will?"

"I don't know."

They stared upwards. And Meg became aware, possibly for the first time, how small she and Clover were. Bywater and its surrounding villages had always seemed so big, it hadn't occurred to Meg that it could be too small for anyone. But Bywater was only a small village, in a tiny scrap of a world inhabited by giants. They would not live for hundreds of years or wield enchanted swords or even liberate the Shire. They were candles, not stars. One day they would burn out and no one would even know they had been there.

Silently Meg put her arm around Clover's shoulders, to keep her warm.