[Several fine pages, written in a painstakingly neat hand as opposed to the writer’s usual script. They are rolled neatly, tied with red twine, and placed into an ornate but lightweight Dwarvish scroll holder for their protection.]
Her only child Maddoct Haddoctul to the esteemed Lady Marlynn,
I give my most loving and humble salutations.
Long have I poured, debated, written and rewritten, considered, destroyed, rejoiced and fretted over this letter to you. Long have you awaited it, this I have realized, and I firstly would like to urge that you think not my failed communication is any fault of yours; it is entirely my own, rather, my selfish own failing of you, mother of all mothers who has raised me in a way that was nothing short of brilliant. All of my life, you have done nothing but give me fine teachers, finer food, neat clothes, and chiefly all of your tender graces, care, and love. Never shall I be able to repay you — this I also have realized.
Thus, I should have written sooner, and I apologize that I did not.
Secondly, but most importantly, I have been wanting to convey this: I am well, I love you, and I miss being in your presence. I miss your gentle hand and voice, your warm meals; I miss the giant kitchens and fine fabrics and beds of utmost comfort; I miss the sunrise from the Iron Hills and how the Redwater sparkles in it. But, most of all, I miss the greatest mother that Dwarfkind has known: Marlynn, who is sweet and strong even in adversity, gentle in her scolding, and fierce in her baking.
I know not when I will return to you. But before I discuss future Eastward ventures, you deserve to learn of how my time in the West has been since I arrived mid-autumn of two years ago.
We kept safe on the lonesome journey here. — I write ‘lonesome’, as no caravan did I partake in; the only companion with me was a pony I bought from Dale (I named him Clarinet). You are aware of the unsavory sorts I have known and traveled with in the past, and that is why I feared joining strangers. So, because of those factors, I foolishly believed staying singular would be best; I know now that I was fortunate indeed to have the both of us arrive here unscathed.
Once I reached the humble Man-town of Bree, I took up a residence, and that is where I have been living since. It is but a simple, second-floor, one-roomed apartment; pray don’t scold me for not living in luxury! I enjoy it, truly, and have filled it floor-to-ceiling with all my trinkets, baubles, niceties, artworks, and toys. And, more recently, I somehow acquired a dogling to raise — he has proved a wonderful house-mate.
Nearly a year alone I spent here just working — being a doctor to those who would take my services, selling or giving jewelry, or making prosthesis. I am sure you are wondering why I did not continue to the Blue Mountains as originally planned, and the only explanation I can give would be similarly reasoned as to why I joined no company before.
But, I did, last Durin’s Day, finally make way to the mountains with other Dwarves who wished me by them. This particular group included the children of Bóurr of Erebor (sans his eldest, whom I have not met nor is he in the West), and I will write that they are most finely reared Dwarves who I have ever had the pleasure of meeting; I am blessed to have earned their compassion and friendship.
Regarding other relations beside those: I have somehow made many. Dwarves, Men, Hobbits and Elves alike, I have happily gained the companionship of them. But, in contrast, I have also lost relationships due to death, their leaving, or various other reasons. This, you would say, is only the natural way of life; something akin to ‘relationships are ever-changing, and only a dullard would believe that things could forever stay the same’, I wager.
Similarly but depressingly, I have observed the death or decline of multiple elder Dwarves, and I am increasingly saddened. The aging battle-veterans, the parents, the grandparents, seem to be leaving for the Halls faster than beardlings are made to compensate — that is some branching societal commentary that I wish not to climb on here, and will say little more of it besides that it has given me a greater appreciation that you and father are healthy.
I suppose that does siphon into the next, and perhaps the most vital, topic I would like to discuss.
The aforementioned Master Bóurr is very aged — older than Haddoct by nearly twenty years if I correctly recall — and his children asked me to join them ere the end of Spring on their journey to see him. My decision whether to follow or not was long debated, but I am solid now in the choice that I will travel East, within their (large!) caravan of mixed folk who — and never would I have anticipated saying so — I mostly all adore and will be welcomed among.
At the current time, as I am now writing this letter’s final draft, we are going to depart in less than two full days. Our goal is, of course, the Lonely Mountain; there I will stay for an indeterminate amount of time. Whether I will someday further forge a path to the Iron Hills to see you, mother, I am not yet sure. I sincerely do wish to see you again; I was truthful in my statement that I miss you dearly. But in addition to this, a meeting with you (and Haddoct) is desired for other reasons.
Reasons such as: like I am encouraged to meet those good parents, the Master and his wife Lady Hróda, I should say that someone in particular should meet you and father similarly. (Take a deep breath before reading further, mother, and be sure that you are in a seat.)
My heart has been captured in full by the finest Dwarf I have ever been blessed with (besides you of course, my dear mother; also besides Cyanite — if I mentioned her not, I feel she would be very offended, for she is deeply important to me as well).
But I also quickly urge this, before your hopes rise too high: I do not think it is a love you will wish to celebrate, and certainly not one that father will be joyous over. It is not a love that will be proliferous — it shall not provide the grandchildren you desire (nor the children I have always wanted) — and it is not a love that is proper for your noble son.
It is a love that makes your common son overwhelmingly happy through every single day that passes.
Comfort Haddoct now, or tell him not at all; the Dwarf in question who owns my heart is no supremely affluent dame. Maurr Bóurrul is he, and I smile just writing that name alone. He is patient and considerate, brave and intelligent (though he claims he is numbskulled); his soul is beautiful, shining with graciousness, wit, and honesty. He is important and confident, and causes me to feel the same. No avarice does he know in his heart (none — he has not a drop of greed within him). He only contains the jealousy for and desire to protect myself. He is, above all, kind, and anxious for your approval.
He is the second son of Master Bóurr and Lady Hróda, both of whom are of good-standing within the mountain. They are well-known and well-liked; the former is a veteran of Azanulbizar and a wiresmith by trade — though I am sure he does little crafting now with his impressive age — and the latter is a prestigious weaver and embroiderer, whom I am told is popular for that alone. I am also obligated to comment that they are wealthy, if that is a concern of yours (or, more realistically, father’s).
But I value more the fact that they are, in disposition by itself, a good family.
(And, as I know you would pressingly ask, and perhaps are wondering even now, so I will answer: Maurr is also handsome, terribly handsome, horribly handsome; I could speak of the merits of his good heart all through a day and night and still have more to say, but I must mention that he is beautiful also in face and voice and laugh.)
You have been aware of my inclination for a great many years. I know how you and especially father have clung to the preferable idea of me acting prim, strait-laced, ‘normal,’ not-peculiar; everything opposite of what I am. And I would apologize that I never grew into the Dwarf I was expected to be. I would, also, apologize that I did not find a lady to wed, and rather fell in love with a lad. I truly would apologize.
But I cannot. I will be sorry for my lack of communication with you, but the love that I have found is so great, wonderful and contentful, that I feel not sorry for it. Not for one moment could I ever feel sorry or ashamed about loving Maurr, never.
Henceforth, upon arriving at Erebor, I will be residing in his family’s halls for a length of time (hopefully, unless some unforeseen tragedy occurs — but I beg you not to worry about any such thing. I will stay safe, there will be strong folk within the caravan, and I will write again to you once we get to our destination). The more I think on the journey, the more excited I become.
I ask not for your forgiveness for any of my words; only your understanding. But I know you would already give it without pleading from me, for you are the most gentle and magnanimous of mothers.
Thus, now, to distract you from any unpleasant emotions you may be experiencing, I will provide better and less controversial news: I’m now as chubby as when I was but a beardling under your care, and my face is near the same — I apparently earned your ability to keep a young countenance (but it is not as flattering on me as you!). Alas, my eyesight worsens as an older Dwarf’s does, and I have had to commission an acquaintance here to create stronger lenses for me (He made two pairs, different shapes, and I think they do my face some good).
Additionally, I have taken up the hobby of painting; I am amateurish now, and there is little artistry in my creations, but I have been working on improving, with hopes that I may even be able to create pretty portraits by the time I am grey.
I touched on a mention of prosthesis, so I will restate that I have done some work with such matters here in the West. I have found that to be a very enjoyable craft / field of study. Yes, I still play my instruments if I feel so inclined, and, yes, I try to dress myself in nice robes. Yes, I have enough socks and underclothes. Yes, I still like to wear only one pair of shoes for every occasion. Yes, I have been going to social events and, yes, I have been taking care of myself.
Simply put: I am well, mother. I would dare to say that I am the best that I ever have been in all my life. My childhood was fair, yes, but I do not long to be young again. My years in Erebor had many moments that I shall forever cherish. But I am so very glad I left, for it allowed me to experience this westward life, meet all the folk I have, and experience all the things that have forged me into who I currently am — the bitter, the sweet, and the times that were both.
I am happy, mother, with this life I have made out here. I know not how it will continue forth from here, in honesty, but I can confidently say that I will continue to choose this happy life, wherever it may lead.
My purpose of writing is not to incite family drama, cause scandal, or anything of that sort; I only want to assuage your worries and assure you that I hold no resentment towards my mother despite how I have regrettably kept myself from her. I understand that you may be feeling a great mixture of emotions after reading all of this, and that I do also apologize for.
Finally: I will cease this chatter about myself. Now that I have told you all that I can, I will barrage you with questions. How have you been faring? How is father? Does Domvir still boast of his mediocre musical abilities? Have you traveled or written to the Red Mountains lately or since you and I last wrote? If so, how is the rest of our family there, especially your brothers? Is young Guvri growing finely? Is Saldra well? Úlfrun?
I have nothing else to send at this time. Reply in whatever manner you believe I am deserving of; I trust your opinions still, and will readily receive your return correspondence no matter the tone of it.
With all the love in my heart,
Yours truly,
Maddoct
[Hastily added at the bottom:]
Postscript: Please be patient with dear Mänik if he arrives ill-tempered; I had to harangue and bribe him into carrying this for me, as he really would have rather been present for our departure from Bree-town. He is pecking at me now.
