His youngest child to Bóurr son of Bíld of Erebor greeting.
I received at long last your reply to my first four letters, and over it I have wept much, moved by your kindness and amazed at the fortune I have had to be born into this family and to a father so generous, so loving and good. Doubly ashamed I have been made of my long tardiness in writing, and I know I must remedy it in haste, for if my letter does not reach the foot of the Misty Mountains before the blizzards close the passes, you will be afraid all winter that I did not reach and return from the Elves’ Valley. Even so, to write this has taken me a long while, as the search for words correct and worthy has been difficult; so many things have happened and have reached and changed my heart.
I did again reach Rivendell and set to my purpose in there journeying, the study of healing. Too short a stay was it for hopes of any proper apprenticeship, and yet in that little time I was able to learn much, even about my specific field of interest. That field is obscure and a Dwarf could dedicate his life to unraveling its secrets, but on this visit I did just as I had hoped: I laid a foundation for my understanding and introduced myself to healers from whom I hope I may continue to learn in future years. One of those healers taught me a song of healing dedicated to Thatrûna; its power, on the harp of a skilled minstrel, is to bring peace and clarity to the mind. Though I cannot say if my fingers will be worthy by the time I return to your hall, I hope to play it for you and that, Elf-song or not, it will give you contentment.
I met also an Elf of extraordinary age and presence who was able to share with me thoughts and memories that could never have otherwise reached me, standing on the other shore of the vast sea of time. Words adequate to describe the experience of meeting her are truly difficult to find — what can a Longbeard say about breaking bread with one who remembers Khazad-dûm and not only shared those recollections, but does so with true understanding and respect for the Dwarves who lived within it then and without it today? As great a treasure I received in the scroll bearing the Elvish song of healing, I was able to walk away from her house with one even greater, a scroll on which was written a Dwarvish lullaby of the Second Age. I will play that for you as well, and perhaps again for her, as I invited her to call at the halls of Bóurr should her duties ever take her to our Mountain. Hrávanis she is called, or Rhones; in any case there is absolutely no mistaking her for any other Elf, and if her shape should sooner than expected fill up the entirety of your door, I hope you will receive her with all honor and love.
I am so glad to have gone again to the Valley. My fears of the Elves proved near all unfounded. The difference between our peoples may be vast; spending time among them has even made me understand the extent of that difference more, not less. Yet too have I come to understand how precious and wonderful is friendship between our people and the Firstborn, when individuals and mansions keep up the difficult work of maintaining it. No prince or lord am I, just little Bíld, but if ever I have a say — we should never allow the friendship of the Longbeards with Imladris and Eryn Galen to fail, as long as Elves there yet remain.
Ere all the leaves of Rivendell had tuned copper and fallen, we turned to travel once more west. Our caravan grew, first with the addition of Cyanite Quartzhand and her escort. She is a Dwarf-lady of the Iron Hills whose acquaintance Seimurr and I had the very great honor of making by letter this summer; though the length of our friendship has not been long, I feel for her an incredible fondness and gratitude, one I think Seimurr shares. With her we journeyed back to Bree-land, there parting from one — my dear Finnric, who I miss sorely — and gaining three: the cousin of Lady Cyanite, whom she had journeyed over the mountains to see; the intended of my honor-sister Arlis, with whom I am ecstatic to say her family now negotiates the zarb; and Maurr.
Maurr you must have heard by now is on leave from service among His Majesty's axes. I will not write too much about it because I hope he will tell you more himself, in his own words; what I will confirm is that if he tells you he is well and healed, he is not filing down the truth to protect your feelings. Of course he suffered much and still suffers a little, but in the weeks we have been together he has been full of laughter and good spirits, cheerful and independent. Already his weight is nearly back, and in the spring it will be nearly the same Maurr who returns to you alongside his siblings — though the very same I cannot promise, for we have all changed.
After a very merry time at the Harvest Festival in the Shire's Westfarthing, we arrived at Thorin's Hall just in time to observe Durin's Day. Happy I was to spend the New Year in mountain, and very happy I am to be in such lively and well-beloved company as I now am. Happy I am even to have for the first time quarreled with Maurr, for he thinks of me now as a grown Dwarf within the mountain and without, his equal in argument and in the bearing of a Dwarf's responsibilities. Yet for all this happiness, the longer we remain here the more I suspect that what I once wrote to you in fear of is true; that I do not know how to be happy, truly, fully, in the mountain.
To say that "I cannot" is too much, too defeatist — but that I do not know how I think is true. On this trip I have put away the gowns and tiaras for good, and yet still, the longer I remain within, the more I find it my instinct to turn back into Blída. And — though how great my guilt and shame to write it — I am not happy as Blída.
There is nothing wrong with Blída, the daughter you reared. Nothing about her or the life for her you planned is evil or unworthy. And yet when I become Blída, I enter into misery. No one forces me, but still I feel compelled — to kill my desires, to wear my stays too tight, to sink down, stay quiet, make myself untroublesome and small. Your instruction is never to make myself small, but as Blída I cannot stop myself doing it, feeling so: that to be a good child within the mountain I must think only of others' comfort, my duty, the people and the mountain, and shrink myself down until I disappear.
I know you will mourn to read that; I am sorry, truly sorry to bring you grief. Worse yet, I am fearful I will grieve you even more by confessing further that — though without the mountain, going about under Bíld's name, I am happier, still I am not fully content. I feel homesick, like a runaway; I wish to be among Dwarves, but the moment I am among them, I am discontent again. Half a year I have been wandering about, yet still I seem not to have learned who or how to be.
I do not know why I have returned.
But, gentle father, pray: do not be all sorrow to hear of it, for I am not wandering alone. Though far from you and Hróda, I am still surrounded by love, protected by two of my three siblings, held up by the encouragement and support of many, many friends. So fortunate I feel, I wonder if any Longbeard this Age has been as blessed as I am.
Knowing now that you would have answered my collapse and cry for help with nothing but loving acceptance, a little part of me regrets fleeing the Mountain, as this winter I am trapped in the west without you. But the larger part of me regrets it not, for the glories I have beheld, the people I have met, and the emotions I have felt are more precious to me than all the gold in Erebor. All I have experienced I shall engrave on my heart and hold tight, until death, past death, through all the Wait and — if I can so hope — to the next Song.
It is like I will soon return to Bree-land for at least a little while. It was our full party's expectation to celebrate here Durin's Day and then return to that milder clime for the winter, but a complication has arisen.
Both Maurr and I became acquainted in Bree-land with a very old Dwarf isolated from his fellows and family, and he comes now to the end of his life. Though he was of Erebor, he is much too far into his decline now to cross the Misty Mountains, so he has come to the home of a friend in Thorin’s Gate to wait out the remainder of his days; while he is not alone at this hour, Maurr and I both still wish to remain close by and be among the young Dwarves saluting his departure. But Maurr and I and also the attending healer all have business in Bree-land, so one, at least, must go to tend it. Maurr wishes it to be me, and though I am loath to leave our acquaintance, especially when I could be helpful to his healer as a nurse, it is true I am suffering the closeness of the air and the absence of Finnr my friends, so I have tentatively agreed.
We remain together in Ered Luin another week; I am still looking for a Dwarvish stonemason, waiting on the possible house-call of another friend, and also hoping to consult with the masters of Dwarvish lore about certain topics (though Lady Cyanite has already proven of aid on that front). Then I — most like in the company of Arlis, her affianced, and Seimurr — will cross the Low-lands and Shire to take care of affairs in Bree-land. I hope that I shall be able to return again to visit our aged friend, but it will remain to be seen.
Here in the west the weather is turning quickly; I have had to buy and make alterations on new fur coats for my two brothers. While at needle my mind leaves me and wanders over the East and Dwarf-roads, past dark Mirkwood and where the snow shall soon begin to pile at the edge of the Long Lake, to the Mountain, your warm halls, Mother, and you.
I shall be kept cheerful and strong with the thought you are the same.
I remain so, and forever lovingly,
Your child,
[No name was signed.]
