From Applecider Delphinium Ermintrude Bolingbroke, presently residing under the second-largest cabinet in the pantry of House Bar-and-Acorn, #5 Waterbank in the Elf-folks’ village of Torn-in-a-Duel, Fall a’Thorn (ouch?),
To Lancogard North-took, Hon. Deputy-Shirriff of the Northfarthing, at his Burrow at Wending Way, Dunfurlong, in the Shire:
~~~
My very good sir,
Salutations, an’ all me respects to the Bounders: May their beer be ever in ample supply for their service, an’ yours especially.
Yeh may nae remember much of me (lestaways these few years past). But as I recall, the Tween yeh was were wont to summer up in Brockenborings, with me gaffer’s second-cousin Gideon’s sister-in-law’s older brother, Cyrus Took-Bellchord, as he were (I think?), yer uncle. Mister Took-Bellchord’s oldest girl Blythe an’ I were at dance academy together in summers, an’ we buzzed about quite a bit then.
(Blythe never did pass fer a bard; she danced an’ recited plenty well, but she could nae carry a tune in a bucket with a lid tied on top. Still, she bagged herself Wade Bolter over at Stock last summer an’ lives RIGHT comfy now, so I choose not te pity her much).
But I digress.
I s’ppose yeh must’ve stopped spendin’ idle summers up our way once yeh started schoolin’ fer the Shirriffs. If ye’ve any recollection o’ that Tall-folk’s Bounder what lives up the Greenfields an’ skulks about in a funny hood even on sunny days, Mister Halros, he do occasionally ask after yeh; I gather yeh met. I’m glad. Mister Halros is a treat. I be of a habit of bringin’ him pie, an’ he shares with me all manner of ballad-worthy stories from the Tall-folk Bounders what live north o’ the Shire (I e’nt ashamed to admit they forms the basis fer some EXCELLENT balladry whenever I takes to busking).
But I digress. Again.
Yer name’s flitted across me path of late, an’ this spurred me ter take up me pen an' reconnect with yeh! That fat git, Oofy Bolger, got the gig to play the Plough an' Stars fer the Yule season, so I tooks to vagabondry.
I took a walkin’ holiday so far’s that pretty Elf harbor-town with pink trees, what lie west o’ Needlehole, an’ a RIGHT barrel o’ drama that turned out ter be. It were a lovely place, ter be sure. Everyone were gatherin’ firs an’ mistletoe, an’ I were singin’ in good company every night.
Then the nice Elf gaffer what runs the place were all, “DooOOOooomm!! Dorfs be grievin’ us, an' Gobbos, too!”
I says ter him, “Meanin’ no ‘ffense whatsoever, but this be the problem with you Elfs bein’ so OLD: ye nae even remember school-days anymore? ‘Hey look over there: yer shoe’s untied! Sike! I stole yer lunchbox!’ that be the OLDEST trick in the shady book.”
Yeesh.
(Elfs be a paradoxical lot: how yeh can be the most learned Folk in the world an’ still be five teaspoons shy of an ounce o’ common sense, it makes a body wonder).
Anywise, we got that lot sorted (his boy were in a bit of a bind, I’ll admit in the end). But I’ll be a fat Bolger if I didn’t make the ghost of old Bullroarer proud, what with all the Gobbo heads I sent flyin’ in Wrath Tier-Egg!
(Which I did, by the by. So I’m not. *shudder*)
Afterward, though, whilst wanderin’ down the residential districts, I happened upon the frankly gob-smackingly opulent dwelling of the Elf, Miss Seregrian. I crossed paths with Miss Sergie once an’ abouts when Milo Goodbody had me over ter to busk the Pony a while back; she were comin’ an’ goin’ from Bree an awful lot in those days.
Miss Sergie were surprised to see me thereabouts, an’ I were equally surprised ter hear her ask after YE.
I had ter ‘splain the Shire’s a mite bigger than what Elfs may give credit for, an’ admit I hadn’t seen yeh fer years.
I were hopin’ ter meet this burly squeeze she were always on about. But I gather that came ter sour ends, an’ I dinnae wish ter poke the wound while it still be raw. She’ll fess up, time enough.
In the meantime, I find meself takin' up a form of tenancy hereabouts, as Miss Sergie is prone ter broodin' of a GOOD day, as yeh know, an' times bein' what they are, I s'pect she be in want of company. So I be doin’ me best to make sure she be eatin’ proper meals (which she weren’t; I can tell yeh that) an’ keepin’ busy.
That be easy ‘nuff, as this here village of Torn-in-a-Duel be populated with some properly charmin’ an' doin' sorts. Mister Ingrasion be of a bardic turn himself. Miss Olriandis be as merry as a lark. An’ I dinnae mind tellin’ yeh, Mister Sir Herstel’s a fair treat on the eyes (though he be about as clued inter’ that sort o’ thing as a catfish in a rabbit hutch, more’s the pity).
Miss Sergie says she hopes yeh may find occasion ter call ‘pon her yerself when time permits, an’ I fer one hopes yeh takes her up on that. I’d be pleased as a pile of pumpkins ter see yeh once again. I be makin’ steps toward leasin’ meself some proper digs o’ me own here fer a spell. Someone’s gotta keep all these skinny Elfs fed, an’ maybe clapped one up the noggin from time to time when they gets ter’ harping on gloom about things.
Until such time as that comes ter pass, I wish ye the very best in yer duties an' endeavors, and herewith affix this letter to a parcel with me most superior spiced apple pie.
(They grows a small pinkish-white apple here in Elf-lands; t’ain’t got the same crispness as the big red an’ yellow Brightstars what grow up in Brockenborings, but they be properly sweet in pie).
With all me compliments to ye an’ all yer own, I remain very cordially yours,
Applecider Bolingbroke
