(In a cloth-covered book, written in brown ink... The squared runes of Khuzdul look almost jagged in this angular hand.)
I was looking forward to that fishing party on Tuesday, because my long lost cousin, Augir, was bringing his busy new bride Hanfrere with him, and she was bringing sandwiches and punch! And it was to be a contest too: for the biggest fish caught, what fun! I was eager to show off my new river-fishing skills and see that wild corner called Binebole Wood, and its waterfall and pool.
The weather was fine...
Then that tailor, master Midarin, came around the corner along with the others, Augir, Hanfrere, and Uzbad Kandral. It would have been better if a thundercloud had come around that corner and let out its wet, because I would have gotten soaked through, and that's all. I would have caught more fish, that's for certain! Instead the tailor opened up at the sight of me into a rain of metaphors, likening my bright locks of hair to the waterfall flowing behind us. "Golden streams"? I did try to be polite, and not think about the antics of cart horses after a long haul.
And Norgi was there, before that thunderhead of bad poetry rolled in. Before, Norgi, in all his glorious absurdity, stood waiting for me with a tapping toe in the shallows, plucking his lute with his fat songbook propped on the fishing rock, jovially working through Grymrock Grey's sheet music -- izbad of songs and fishes now, and not an izbad of an army. And I took a spot near his book, and we spoke about family: his family, my family, our family -- and with the butter-like sunlight of the Shire warming my back, I knew my heart had chosen well.
And then the weather changed...
Did I have time to greet my cousin, Augir, with an embrace? Just barely.
Did I manage to have a sisterly talk with Norgi's cousin, Hanfrere, about her new life with my cousin? The question left my lips but I could not hear the answer.
Did I get the chance to taste her sandwiches or her kindness? Only hastily.
Did I get the chance to speak to Kandral in the respect due a lord? Not without interruption.
Did I get to speak to Norgi at all after that? No, though I'm sure he caught my stormy looks.
Did I catch any fish? It was very difficult with that Midarin standing at my elbow, trying to get an edge in at every word, edging himself closer with every cast.
And so my old poem of refusal (recited anew) was not clear to him. He only praised its lopsided rhythms and broken rhymes.
I tried turning my back on him, clearly preferring the fish for company. That was no more clear, for again he showered more unearned praises on my novice's technique.
I then tried to hit him hard with the truth; I told him frankly that had chosen another. He would not believe it, not even when dear Augir begged him to stop as my closest kin, or when Uzbad Kandral stood between him and Norgi and ordered him to desist as his Lord.
It was my 'bad poetry club' which finally silenced him!
Midarin claims he has rights! Rights over my heart? I have chosen Norgi and none other! It's hard enough for me to believe, that within a fortnight we will be betrothed! What use are these words aimed at Norgi's honour, striking him and his beloved belly with scorn? What use were the fists he hurled towards Norgi's red crown, demanding violence? And I am ashamed, that as he beat senselessly at my beloved, who ducked and blocked him, refusing to meet his blows, I flew to Norgi's aid and used my club on the tailor's stubborn head.
