By: Dana
Summary: Another dark year, after one dark year.
Characters: Citrine Smallburrow and the hobbits of North-delving
Pairings: Citrine/Freddy in passing
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Gen (angst, violence, minor character death, implications)
Author's Notes: Before and during and some of the after of 'Overlooked', the second of The North-delving Incident.
I guess, in posting this, I'm starting my fic year off on the right foot.
Series Index: Roads Go On and Years Go By.
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

I. 6 Blotmath, SR 1419

Citrine is standing in the kitchen with her mother when Tom Norton, the baker's son, came round, whistling as he knocked upon the already opened door. 'There's news come from Michel Delving,' he says, as mother welcomes him in, then asks if he might like some refreshment. 'Ah, no time, Mistress Dahlia, I've no time for tea – Thed Gravelly's come round, and brought with him very good news. We should all stand out to hear it!'

Mother wipes her hands off on her apron, then nods at Citrine. 'Well, lass, you heard him – round up your sisters, and I'll fetch your father and the lads.'

Citrine nods, cleaning her hands off at the water basin, then drying them off. Thed stands there at the open door, nervously wringing his dark red cap. Then he startles, and grins. 'Well, I ought spread the news that we have some good news! I'll be seeing you in the village center, then!'

He turns and leaves, and Citrine shakes her head, grinning as she does. Then she leaves the kitchen, as her mother goes out the garden door, shutting it behind her. Chrysa is in her room, sitting in her window seat, and Citrine leans on the doorframe, calls her sister's name. 'I thought you had work to do – slacking off, hmm?'

Chrysa frowns, then shakes out her hair, climbing down from her seat. 'I've not slipped out on any work,' she says, straightening her dark brown skirt. 'I had some time between errands, is all.'

Citrine nods then rolls her eyes. 'Well, come along, we're set on the village center. Have you seen Nella?'

'Carnelian? She's off at the Greenbanks',' Chrysa says. 'Now then, what's the news?'

'You'll hear it soon enough,' Citrine says, acting as if she knows herself. She turns to leave, and Chrysa is a step behind, pulling on her sleeve.

'Oh come on, Citrine, tell me!' Chrysa says, but Citrine laughs, and doesn't give her the pleasure of an answer. Chrysa stomps her foot, but then catches up with her, saying, as if to herself, 'Well, you probably don't know anyhow. I suppose we'll both be hearing it, and soon enough.'

'I said as much,' Citrine says. She imagines her sister must stick her tongue out, but she lets the impudence pass. 'Come now, we ought to hurry! I want to walk with ma and da and the lads.'

They go out the front door, meeting the rest of their family there (well, except for Carnelian, away at the Greenbanks'). 'Right, then?' father says, and mother finishes tying up her hair.

'It's been a while since we had any news,' she says, and she meant it, either good or bad. It seemed an age since any news had come up from Gamwich, and here Thed Gravelly had come all the way from Michel Delving!

Then they found themselves on their way, walking down the autumn-bright path, the road bending and then making its way to town proper. There was a great crowd gathered all ready, and a good amount of loud clamouring. Just as Citrine came up with her parents and sibs, she heard Dardo Underhill's voice, raised up high over all the others. 'Quiet now, my good hobbits, quiet! Let the lad tell us his story again.'

Another voice cried, 'He looks like he needs a drink, before he'll manage that!' A number of other voices rose up in agreement, and Dardo's laugh carried like pleasant music.

'Ah, yes – and there's my Honey-lass, with a mug of ale for our parched young rider.' There was quiet, a great wave of it, though Chrysa's whinge of, 'oh, did we miss it?', pierced it through. Then Dardo spoke up again, after clearing his throat – the murmur of voices that accompanied Chrysa's died again to still. 'Go on, then, young Master Gravelly. Tell us the news.'

'Well, just as I said,' Thed says, then coughs. 'There was an uprising at Bywater, you see, led by Captains Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took – aye, you heard me right, the two great heirs have come back to the Shire! Well, a good number of hobbits stood against them, and they ran the Ruffians from Bywater!' Some cheer, but more don't. Thed repeats himself, saying, 'Did you not hear me? They ran the Ruffians from Bywater! And they kept on running, right from the Shire!'

Citrine stood up on her toes, cheering and clapping as loudly as any other. Father, laughing like a tween, takes mother by the arm, and swings her off to dance. Citrine settles back on her feet, clapping still, whistling and cheering. Oh, and it was needed cheer! Now, it was true, they hadn't in truth been touched much by that darkness, but they had known of it, off beyond their borders. Sometimes, though, a rebel band might pass through, or more often, the Men might come for gathering. But the hobbits of North-delving thought themselves lucky, so out of the way as they were, beyond even Gamwich, at the south border of the Northfarthing. Still, it was needed cheer.

Dardo says, above the roar, 'Well, it seems we've some good reason now to celebrate!' And there was more laughing, and some singing, and then Citrine finds herself swung off to dance.

'Freddy!' she gasps, and Freddy grins back. They don't dance with much order, and he pulls her close, kissing her warm, deep, and swinging her up off her feet. She laughs and winds her arms about him, and then she's settled back down on solid ground again.

'So, I take it then that you heard the good news,' she says against his mouth. Freddy's eyes are bright, and he nods, then pulls up her hand, kissing her knuckles.

'Aye, my lass, I did,' he says, then kisses her once more.

'You're lucky you're my love, and my lad,' she says, and he laughs round his smiling, nodding, and saying, 'Aye, Citrine, that I am.' Then the music starts up, and Freddy swings her around, and Citrine laughs out loud, before she's once more set upon the ground. They find they now dance with much order, taken up into a proper set.

Through that set, and then another – the third, switching partners, where she ends up with Freddy's cousin Hal, who really does have too much foot, and not much grace in step. Citrine escapes him, somehow, and laughs as she returns to Freddy, with Freddy pulling her aside.

'I've something to tell you,' he says, all bright eyes and a bright smile, and Citrine smiles into their kiss, laving the bright cheer of the village center behind.

'Then tell me,' she says on a breath.

He gives a teasing grin in answer, and kisses her cheek. Then he says, 'Not yet, Citrine. Soon, my lass, but not quite yet.'

How very soon, she wonders, as they walk along, hand in hand. They wander in silence, autumn in the air. They make it through to the back of town, now chatting idly as they do.

Soon.

'This time, next year,' Freddy says, beneath green boughs, out of the quiet space left between thought. 'Oh, this time, next year, I was thinking we might make this official, you and I.'

'Oh, official?' Citrine smiles, gives Freddy's hand a firm squeeze. 'How proper you are, my Freddy. We're both quite too young for marriage, though, wouldn't you say?'

He nods, and his grin is still cheerful. He says, 'Oh, aye – but you've stuck with me so long, and I hoped you might stick with me at least until the end.'

'Didn't we only just speak of this, my lad?' But she smiles even so, to smooth the edge. 'It seems like yesterday, it does.'

He nods, then says, 'It's been a year at least, but no more than that,' and his tone is easy, light. Then he smiles again, taking her one hand with both of his own, stroking her palm – his eyes are cast down. 'You'd make me quite happy. It might almost go without saying, but I mean to wed you, still.'

'And how official would you want this?' It need not be spoken aloud, for all of North-delving knows they are close as close could even be – then Freddy pulls her even closer, settles his arms about her, leaves them with their faces pressed nose to nose. 'We're too young yet, we are–'

'Not too young, I don't think – and we'll be older, come next year, won't we?' His smile is dear, but his kiss is terribly unfair, and wonderful in its precision. Perhaps Citrine melts some. Then she laughs, feeling rather overly warm. This might just be the happiest day of her life, but she doesn't say so.

'Well, we ought see what our parents think,' Citrine says, when she can. Perhaps, she thinks, as Freddy kisses her once more, they will take their future into their own hands, no matter what their parents say or think.

II. 20 Blotmath, SR 1419

'Go out to the garden, Citrine – I need you to check on the rosemary. And bring some in – I've near used this, and we'll need to cut and dry more.'

Citrine nods, wiping her hands off on her apron, walking from the kitchen garden even as mother hears Carnelian calling for her, and leaves the kitchen through the inside door. Citrine shuts the garden door behind her, not wanting the chilly air inside, for the kitchen has been so worn. She settles down to check on the rosemary, the sun slipping into hiding beneath a heavy bank of clouds.

Citrine hears movement from outside the garden, and looks up – she's startled and surprised to see Agate Greenbanks, one of Chrysocolla's friends and age-mates, standing at the garden gate, looking pale as fresh linen, and shaking as though she'd suffered a great fright.

'Aggie–' Citrine starts, but Agate steps closer, wringing both her hands. 'Aggie, what's wrong? Has anything happened?'

'Bil... and Abbie... they–'

She stops off, at a sudden, looking up and to the right. From round the corner of the house, out from behind the great flowering hawthorn, a great large Man comes stomping into view, and Agate's shaking harder now, like a storm-frightened leaf. She backs up, but only manages to bump into the gate, causing it to shake and squeak. Citrine's mouth falls open, and she can't find wit to speak.

'Aggie, move–' she manages, though her tongue is a great leaden thing, cold and useless, and she feels she might choke. The Man, looking mean and dirty, sees Agate standing at the gate, and Citrine takes a shocked step forwards, reaching for Agate's arm.

Citrine can't help but shiver, thoughts racing in her head. It seemed like just yesterday that the village had been lit with cheer, for hadn't Thed Gravelly brought the very best news? And he had, for Citrine had heard it herself, and yet that does not stop her from seeing the Man standing outside the gate. Then the Man grins wide, and Agate coughs a little as he grabs her up by her arm, his hand bruise-big, gripping at Agate's wrist.

'No!' Agate shouts, coughing, falling to sobs. 'Ow! Please, stop!'

He laughs and shakes her, letting her dangle like a doll. Agate whimpers, no doubt her wrist aching, her shoulder straining as he pulls. 'A pretty little thing, you are,' he says, and gives her a harder jerk. But his eyes roll over her, and settle instead on Citrine. She finds herself standing leaden, unable to move, her hold body now feeling as cold and heavy as her tongue. 'There's two of you, then? One pretty rat, and another for afters.' He then eyes Agate, pulling her up by both arms, then clasping one hand about both her wrists.

'Please, stop,' Agate pleads, whimpers.

'Sir, please,' Citrine manages, surprised to hear her own voice. 'Let her down, please – let her down.' She can't manage more than that, and Agate shrieks then sobs, and Citrine feels half frightened from her mind. She whispers Agate's name, again managing words, 'Agate, I – oh, please, sir, let her go.'

The Man looks down at Citrine once more, hard grit on his cheeks, and with a dirty grin. He pulls Agate against him, settles his hand beneath her skirted bottom, and Agate whimpers and sobs, frightened even as her head falls against his chest. 'Pretty miss,' the Man says, 'I'm thinking, and I tell you, why would I want to do that?'

Citrine shivers, cold all over, though her cheeks must be burning red.. She opens her mouth again, then shuts it once more as another voice speaks up, rough like the other – another Ruffian, then. She looks up, and he comes in from the right, just as the first. 'Enough of that, Ged, do as she says.'

Ged growls, letting Agate down but not letting go of one arm. 'We can't have them running,' he says. 'If they do, and get out, then our plan won't work.'

'We won't be here too long,' the other says. 'Go on, Ged, take her to the village center – Vik and Bart will have rounded the others all up.'

Ged goes off, stooped somewhat as he pulls Agate along, and her weeping all the way.

Then the other looks down at her, and Citrine still feeling leaden, rooted to the ground. 'Tell me your name,' he says, and Citrine nods, somewhat numbly.

'Citrine Smallburrow, sir,' she says, and then he looks away.

'Need I drag you? I won't have you running. Follow me, then.'

And she does, too frightened to do anything else, now feeling the hot tears slipping down her cheeks. She must not walk fast enough for his liking, for he swings her up into his arms, settling him against his side. He doesn't say a thing, and once more Citrine travels to the village center, though this time not by her own means. She's shaking, too frightened to speak, but the Man sets her down, ruffles her hair. He goes on walking, and Citrine looks up. There the others are – three of them that she can see, other than the two she's seen all ready. This can't be happening, she tells herself, blinking numb eyes. 'This must be a dream.'

'Citrine,' Freddy whispers, come up to her side. He looks pale, too, and frightened. 'Citrine, they rounded up Dardo Underhill, and a couple other elders. Your father–'

'Da – did they take da?'

Freddy nods, colour slipping from his cheeks. 'Round to the back of town. I can't say I know what's going on, but Bil Greenbank tried standing up to them, and they.... oh, they struck him down. Said they would have none of that, no fighting back. Abbie went to her brother's side, and... oh, Citrine, I think Bil's dead.'

Dead. Oh, that seems like such a terrible, and impossible, word. 'But Thed – Thed, he said... he said that the Men were all run out, that the Shire was free...' She shakes her head, sense gone. She finds herself crying harder now, and lets Freddy pull her head against his shoulder.

No wonder Agate had been in such a state, Citrine thinks, and then she almost laughs hysterically. She doesn't hear what's being said, doesn’t think she wants to. When they're all sent away, it's with knowledge that the Men are the new power in town – and they'll be keeping watch on some of them directly, so that the villagers won't plan on ratting them out.

When she looks up, finally, Freddy smiles at her, then soothes a hand back through her hair. He kisses her forehead, as the seeming chief of the Men speaks up, 'There's a curfew now, little rats – those ones who stood against us, no doubt they'll come round to see our type has been run clear out. But remember, you won't do yourself any good in letting them in on our little agreement here.'

All Freddy says, after that, is, 'I'll see you back to your house, all right?'

Citrine nods, clinging to his arm, feeling lost in a daze even as she walks along at his side.

'This can't be happening,' she says aloud. 'And da – I need to find out what's happened to da – I can't go home without knowing, Freddy, I can't.' All Freddy does is pull her against him, then kissing her brow. The silence stretches on, though, for Freddy hasn't a single thing to say.

He doesn't speak again until they get to the house, and even then he doesn't speak right away. He puts his arms around Citrine, but she feels him shaking, and she's half scared beyond all reasoning, thinking he might plan on doing something foolish, but brave.

'Don't leave me,' she whispers, lips numb. 'Not ever – please?'

It's then that Freddy speaks again, whispering her name against her brow, then again against her lips. 'If I do,' he says, as if he does mean to up and run away, 'believe me, my lass, that I'll always come back.'

'But you – oh, you said... you meant to stick with me, Freddy, at least until the end.'

Freddy laughs, and even that shakes. 'It was the other way around.'

'Freddy, don't–'

'Go in, Citrine. You've bad news to deliver to your mother, and I've... I've some work to do, I think. I will come back though, believe me,' and his smile is water-thin. 'I still mean to wed you, Citrine Smallburrow. So don't you plan on walking out with any other lad.'

She shakes her head through her tears, though she can't manage words. Then Freddy kisses her once more, and Citrine turns back to her house, goes in through the waiting door.

Shaking, and in tears, she tells her mother, 'Ma – ma, I've some news, ma, and it isn't very good.' Then she sees her mother's troubled face, and guesses that she must already know.

III. Winterfilth, SR 1419

It was three days before they heard what ill had truly befallen husband and father, when cousin Mat came round, face pale, hands shaking. 'Mat, sit down,' mother urges him, and he nods then did as he'd been told, shaking all the while. Then mother sends Citrine off, on excuse of fetching Mat something hot to drink, and Citrine does as she is told.

'They must have suspected some resistance,' Citrine hears when she returns, carrying a tray with three small cups of steaming tea. She stops, looks down at Mat, and tears stick hot in her throat. 'Rudy wanted to stand up, thinking it needed to be done – given what happened to poor Bil Greenbank, and all, and even uncle Egret – Rudy, they took him, and his brother Freddy, and–'

Citrine's hands are shaking, and if it weren't for Carnelian, coming from seemingly nowhere, she might have dropped the tray. 'Thank you,' she whispers, when she can, sinking into the nearest available chair. She looks at Mat, wringing her hands.

'Mat, has father – I mean, Freddy, I–' and then she blinks through hot tears, anger and fear warring in her chest. 'Did they hurt him?' She doesn't know who she means, whether her father or her sweetheart.

'Rudy got clubbed upside the head,' Mat says. 'But I think he'll be all right. But they took him away, and Freddy, too, and I don't know why they didn't take me.' He doesn't reach for his tea, but buries his head in his heads. 'We had this coming to us, mark my words – we had it too good, all through the occupation, and now... now...'

Citrine wants to say something, but she can't manage it, can hardly even breathe. But mother says, 'Mat, you don't mean that – none of us, oh, none of us would have wanted this to happen.' Then she's quiet for a moment, thanking Carnelian for her tea. And quiet a moment longer, before sipping at her steaming drink. 'So it's true, then – they took Egret. Have you... well, if there has been some thought of resistance, I fear it's been stamped out.'

Mat nods, lowering his hands. Then he takes his takes his cup of tea, sips at it, hard tears glittering in his eyes. Citrine still doesn't know what to say, but doesn't think she can stomach the thought of having any tea.

When Mat's visit is through, he leaves with Mallard and Drake, who insist he needn't walk home alone. Citrine wishes to tell them to be careful, for it is so dangerous out, and she feels what spirit she might have possessed crushed dead in her chest. The Captains had stood tall at Bywater, yet they haven't come to North-delving, and she doesn't think they ever will.

When Mallard and Drake come in, mother says it's only because it's past curfew. 'Turn down the lanterns, Citrine – Chrysa, look to the washing up, you and Nella. And then we ought to all head for sleep.'

Citrine does as she is told, too much thought in her head, and not near enough action. When she does finally find herself in bed, she dreams of terrible things that she'd not think to speak of in waking, things so dark and horrid she carries the images of them back into day.

So she's out of her sorts, through that next day, with not enough sleep, and too little to eat and drink. Mother puts her abed, after filling her with a good hot broth, but Citrine found even that almost too difficult to bear. She wants to see her father, and she wants to see Freddy, and she wants to make sure that they are well. She remembers what Freddy told her, that day the Men came to town, how he thought that Bil was dead... that Bil was dead, dead and gone, and buried, too, for the Ruffians needn't have that on their hands.

When she got up, her legs didn't want to carry her. She sank into the one old chair in her bedroom, and buried her face in her hands, but didn't let herself weep. She couldn't let herself weep. She did as her mother told her, and helped in the kitchen, and with the cleaning, and with the laundry, too, though they didn't go out alone. And all the while, mother watched Citrine carefully, perhaps too carefully. Citrine, though, found little reason to speak, and the day went on.

Her brothers have yet to return, and her mother bears that worry, too. She does so quietly, just as Citrine does herself.

Late at night, the house still as held breath, Citrine woke, lay blinking in her bed. Then she rose, and changed, doing so by moonlight and dark. There was a chill in the air, and it likely will only be colder outside, so she pulls on her heavy coat. She leaves her room, quiet as she can, down the long hall, to the front room, opening the door even more quietly than she could have thought possible, and leaves it left open a crack, waiting on her return.

Out past curfew, she thinks, rubbing her hands together. The moon glitters, shining brightly, the stars dancing near as brightly in the darkness of the sky. She makes her way carefully, for the light is bright and the way is too clear, and she's frightened, so frightened, that she might be caught.

It doesn't take her by much surprise, then, when a hand catches hold of her arm, another hand covering her mouth. She doesn't scream, though, too frightened for even that, and it takes a long moment, heart pounding in her chest, blood rushing in her ears, for her to realise it's someone hobbit-sized who holds her. Still, she doesn't fully relax.

'Are you daft, Citrine?' Dani Underhill whispers against her cheek. He lowers his hand, and Citrine turns, shaking, trying hard not to break into a hysteric laugh.

'My father – and Freddy...'

Dani understands, of course he does, for his own father was one of the first to be taken away. 'I've been there,' Dani says. 'Come, we're too close to the light – we need to hide.'

'Will you take me?' Citrine whispers, once they sink into darkness. Dani's face is indistinct, a blob of lighter darkness, but his hand takes hold of hers, and that at least is warm. 'Where are they kept?'

'The old storage holes, at the far back of town,' he says, and Citrine nods, knowing where he means. 'You can't come with me, Citrine, you can't. I need you to go home.'

'No,' Citrine says, and she means it. 'I won't simply hide.'

'You will, because it is the safest thing there is to do. I'll let you know how your father is, and Freddy, too – just go home, Citrine, please?' His voice breaks her heart, and she would curse him if she could. But she nods, instead, new tears in her eyes. 'I'll tell Mallard and Drake you're well. But you need to be well.'

'Dani, I – oh, be well, and don't be caught.'

He presses her hand, but then he's gone, slid back full into darkness. Citrine waits a while longer, in the darkness, alone with the quiet and her pounding heart. Then she stands fully, and makes her way back to her house, not making the smallest sound.

Her mother shakes her by her shoulders, but doesn't shout, when Citrine comes home, for she had woken from bad dreams to find her gone, and with the front door left open, bleeding cold air. 'Don't do that, not again,' mother says, and Citrine nods, and says she won't.

But she doesn't know if she'll be able to it. And she hopes that her brothers will come home.

Two days later, the Captains come through town, even though Citrine had thought they never would. And the village smiles, and praises them, and the Men stay well hidden, and with their captives tucked safe away in the old storage holes, the Captains rode on, them and their bright shining lads, perhaps never to return.

Three days after that, Mat came round to the house, him and Dani Underhill. They sat a while in the garden, talking of their missing loved ones. Then Mat says, 'Uncle Egret's dead, Citrine. I'm sorry – he spoke out, cheek, they called it. They broke his legs before they put him down. I – I'm sorry, I am.'

Citrine sits in stunned silence, heart breaking once more. She doesn't even weep audibly as she cries on Dani's shoulder, and she can't imagine, not in the slightest, how she'll tell mother this.

A day after that, and Drake and Mallard are home again, and there's too much aching emptiness now in their house, in their home, in all their village, and Citrine thinks it a wound that will never, ever, in all the length of time, to all the endings of the world, heal.

IV. Blotmath, SR 1420

It seems a long, dark year later, when Captain Pippin comes back to North-delving. Citrine looks at him, and wishes she might feel some joy, for him having finally returned. But too little, and too late – she doesn't think there's anything here worth saving, for all the Men had pressed on them too hard.

And yet, when the Men come to her house, the night of Blotmath 18, when Ged snatches Carnelian, and carries her away, Citrine's heart catches, then shatters, in her throat.

'This can't be happening,' she says, numb, the floor gone out beneath her, though somehow she still stands. But she helps mother to her seat, even as tears catch in her eyes. She knows, then, this violence against her sister being that last final thing that will break her, but break her to resist, that this will all soon end.

'Chrysocolla, keep watch on ma,' Citrine says, and her smallest sister nods, then goes to their mother, offering soothing words. Citrine goes to the kitchen, gets one of the small sharp paring knives, and tucks it away. Then she goes outside, perhaps weeping, but finding her resolve.

'I ought check on him,' she tells Vic, and Vic lets her in, for he thinks her pliable, and afraid, and useful at least in some small ways.

She doesn't say, 'You forgave me, even when you needn't', for she doesn't see where that might get her. But that's well enough, for he seems out cold, or sleeping, at least. His brow is dirty, and troubled, and she fetches the bucket of water at the far corner of the room, kneels at Pippin's side, then wrings it out.

'Citrine,' he mutters, and she almost flinches. Bound as he is, and at such mercy. Citrine's blood burns, then runs cold. Citrine finds that she shakes, the lantern flickering from where it sits, and she wills herself to speak.

She remembers how Ged came for Carnelian, how he took her away – but she remembers it now as it happened, instead of how she wishes it had. Ged hadn't simply taken Carnelian, but beaten her for the slightest resistance. 'One of them, he came for Carnelian, and he beat her, and dragged her off. He...' She shuts her mouth, a hard grim line, and then she shakes her head. 'You will die here, won't you? But perhaps I could help you along.'

All he manages is 'Citrine', once more, and in a mumble, his eyes so very wide. Perhaps looking in them, Citrine finds herself imaging some hope. The Men have stayed, but their captives have changed, throughout the long year. Her brothers might not think they could stand against them, but perhaps she might find some who will. 'They're taking sport with my sister – perhaps, I think, as they meant to take sport with you. Or did they mean to ransom you, bright Pippin, Captain Pippin? Or did they...' She shakes, and laughs, and knows it sounds forced.

'They think, we won't stand against them, for fear of... oh, we heard stories, hobbits standing against the Men at Bywater, and how they ran them from the Shire – not just there, but all over. They must have hid well, to take roost, here. But we could stand against them, too. They killed my father, Captain Pippin, and we weren't the first to suffer. Now they've broken my sister, and I...'

She doesn't think, and then her knife is out, blade touching skin. She's shocked into that recognition, and her hand holds still. Again, without thinking, she leans closer, cutting him free, bond by bond, letting it fall away.

She sits back, watching him as he works feeling back into his hands. Then he looks at her, and she at him, and he speaks. 'Do you have a plan?'

'Not much of one. But there's a number of us here, and the Men have... they pressed us so hard, thinking they might press blood from stone. And I...' She shakes, then shuts her eyes. 'But you, Captain Pippin – you, might you have a plan?'

He is rubbing his wrists still, flexing his fingers. 'Well, I need my sword – have you seen it?'

'They came in autumn, fresh from battle, some bleeding, some sore-wounded – they took some captives, and took refuge in the old storage tunnels, the ones at the back of town. I remember it, the first you came through town, Captain Pippin, you and Captain Merry, and your bright shining lads. We didn't say a thing, we couldn't, for we... we thought... they would kill the ones they took. I hope you understand.'

'I do,' he says, as if he does. 'A year,' he says. 'A full year – oh, how I wish...'

What does he wish? Citrine can't say. Then he seems to lose himself in thought – if he imagines their numbers, a small few against a larger enemy, in size if not in number, then surely they must be out-matched. 'How many are there? What weapons do they have? The captives they took, are they kept still in the old storage holes?'

'Just five,' she says, not thinking she need say more than that. 'And the captives... They are, and watched carefully – if you stand against them, they lock you up. We haven't... we couldn't...' Then Pippin holds out her knife, handle-first, though she doesn't know why. She takes it from him, clutches, tight. 'A year, after another long dark year – we won't sit no more, not for this. Instead, we'll stand.'

'Just you and I alone?' Pippin asks. 'Or, with Merry, if ever he arrives–'

'Do you think he'll come?' she asks.

He nods, looking tired. 'Oh, he will. I'm not sure how, but he will.'

'Are you hungry?' she asks, helping him to stand. 'It likely isn't a good idea to plan on an empty stomach.'

That makes him smile, and then he laughs. 'It's very good to know you, Citrine,' he says, and then he lowers his head, kissing her cheek. 'I'm sorry it took us so long. We should have come here sooner.'

'Well, better now than never,' she says, grinning as she does, even as tears burn in her eyes.

Somehow, she got him out of there, and they made their way to Mat's house – she knew North-delving better than any of the Men, even though they'd sat there for a long hard year, and she knew ways out of the old inn that would not have ever dreamt of. Somehow, they make their plan, once they're safe away, though surely it is daft, and surely they'll all come to their end. But better than lying down, and simply dying.

And somehow, it comes round to them victorious against at least that one, the one Man who kept guard at the storage holes. The five captives, Freddy and Rudy, both pale and not well-fed, but whole, for the Men had needed their hostages in tact. And Dardo Underhill, and Fili and Targo, too. Citrine might have thought it time for joyous weeping, but they hadn't yet come round full to that time. Still, after all this time... her father, and Bil Greenbank, too, they both could now finally rest.

It's Dani Underhill, his eyes red from tears and his resolve hard as stone, who says he'll ride off for help. 'If Merry's anywhere near,' Pippin says, 'he's in Little Delving. We were meant to meet there, you see.'

So Dani rides off in secret, off to Little Delving, and if he rides hard, he might be back within two days. He might just, so all they need to do is wait, and Pippin says as much. 'Two days,' and his voice is cheerful. 'Two days, well, I think we can hold for at least that long.'

Perhaps they shouldn't have all rushed forward, then, but none of them were thinking very well, and all of them were wanting their home to be returned, and for all those who had suffered, why, there needed to be some payment great enough, no, even greater than, the amount of their harm. Of course, when they lose Pippin, Citrine's certain they're all doomed, that the battle won't go on, not now. And two long days, before any help – well, there's no good stopping, after all else they've done. If Pippin could do it, then Citrine wasn't going to back down. And so, with knife in hand –

She's surprised, of course, when Merry comes riding into town, with Dani and a number of other lads, perhaps Bounders or at least trained somewhat, by the look of them. The battle, after that, is fast, hard, brutal, but the Men are captive now, and North-delving is free. Perhaps, now, this darkness will end. Perhaps, now, this wound might even heal.

It seems, in the end, that Merry and his party had been closer than Pippin had expected, so they made their way back in two short hours, instead of two long days.

IV. Winterfilth, SR 1420 (epilogue)

Before they leave, a week after that, Citrine tells Captain Pippin how her sister wishes to thank him, and that she wishes to speak with him directly. 'You oughtn't leave before seeing her, I think,' she says. 'And my Freddy, well, he hopes you might plan on attending our wedding – whenever we get round to having it, that is. He isn't well, now, but we've time, and... well, he'll get better. I think we all will.'

After that, Citrine stands outside Carnelian's door, while Carnelian speaks with Pippin. 'Please, I wouldn't want you... oh, I'd not want you to be bothered. I did only as I could do. And at the time, I hadn't much choice.'

Citrine remembers how Pippin, for all the time they stood in resistance, had seemed to have tears unwept, stored in the shadow of his eyes. Now he thanks Carnelian, for all she'd done, though, he says, she needn't have suffered, for he would have gone in her place.

'We all have our place in this world, Captain Pippin,' Carnelian says, and Citrine hears the smile, and the hope, in her sister's voice. 'And I have mine, and I've only done as I could do. I'll not have you bear my burden for all the world to see. Know I forgive you, if only for having too great a heart.'

Now Pippin openly weeps, and thanks her yet again – yet after all that, he leaves with hope again in his eyes, and Carnelian seems better for it too.

Pippin promises that he and Merry will attend, whenever they get round to the wedding, and Citrine says she'll hold him to that promise. It's five long years til that comes round, and that seems like more than enough. But time was needed, if only to heal.

Part I: Overlooked
Part II: Left Undone
Part III: Following Through