It was yesterday that I had visited Mr. Brablo’s home.
His burrow was grand, and every piece of furnishing inside seemed to bring the other pieces together: paintings, sculptures, and maps. Several bookshelves lined the walls, also, which sparked a great deal of joy in me – I was standing in the burrow of an author that I admire, and everywhere his books were.
Mr. Brablo was very hospitable, and it was only moments after my entrance, that I found myself sitting atop a comfortable bench opposite him. He did call for a cook, or servant (in truth, I can’t remember), to bring us food, and drinks, but there was little heard from them. I did not mind, though, nor did I bring it up: partly, because I had forgotten the very reason I was in his home, and partly because I was so drawn to the conversation we were having.
It seems Mr. Brablo knew my uncle, Borgo! This was something quite shocking to me – and, I say, the nickname my uncle had (revealed to me by Mr. Brablo) was quite amusing: Harfungus.
He spoke of his family history, starting with his ancestor, Berno, and ending with his father. While all of this was to be found in his book, ‘The Boffins of Barleywick’, I say (quite needlessly): to hear it from the Hobbit himself, was a grand experience.
Mr. Brablo, I hope, learnt a great deal about me. It seems he, too, finds the Dwarves to be amiable, though his own focus and speciality is in The Old Kingdom, something that he has written many books on.
I recall another amusing point: after informing him that I was unmarried, for my life had been spent greatly in my love of Dwarves, and reading, he told me that we could find a ‘Barleywick girl’ for me. This was something we laughed upon, for a moment or two.
We also spoke on the topic of ‘Moria’ – a strange, distant hall that has been mentioned to me over the years. I had little to tell Brablo of it; for there is little that I know of it (the Dwarves are oft stubborn and secretive). I mentioned only what I had been told: it was a distant Dwarven hall (one that I once questioned the physical existence of, until the same name was given by many), that the Dwarves seemed to revere. I also spoke of the ominous words near-every Dwarf had given me: ‘They dug too deep, and found it’.
These words, I and Brablo decided, probably meant something about treasure. The Dwarves, I believe, dug deeper into their halls there, and found great treasures. It is already well-established here, that the Dwarves aren’t very fond of sharing – although, there is the exception of Mr. Bilbo Baggins, and his exploits. There are too many accounts, all different, to say much on the matter of Mr. Bilbo: but, what we know to be certain is that he was a very, very rich Hobbit indeed, before his disappearance in 1401.
It was concluded that the Dwarves had probably found great treasure in this ‘Moria’, and, as seems to be their custom, they wished to keep it secret.
There was one point in the conversation that I recall as not having been so grand: Mr. Brablo does not seem to enjoy boating. When asked about myself, I mentioned it as a hobby, and he looked quite ill. I believe he even turned a bit pale!
I knew such activities weren’t common-place – in fact, weren’t really existent – in most of The Shire, but I was taken aback by the sheer shock, and (as I saw it) fear on his face. Boating seems to be quite the queer activity, here, it seems... then, of course, there was always the fact that I wear boots: something awkwardly described by him as an ‘ancient tradition’. I do hope these hobbies and habits of mine don’t lose me a good friend; I deem Mr. Brablo to be a role-model, and certainly a good friend.
I did invite him to visit me later today, at five o’clock. I hope I can present myself in a better light, than my certain eccentricities (eccentricities here. Of course, in The Marish, boats and boots were common).
