From Applecider Bolingbroke to Missie Seregrían, Sanguineous Matron’ o’ House Bar-an’-Acorn, an’ Mister Cutch Crane, Culinarily Laudable Steward o’ Same.
[Being a note left on the table in the front hall of House Bar-en-Acharn, leaning against an opulently dense chocolate custard pie.]
Hiya Luvs!
Finally got Eero to help me plough me way down the glen to the Lair. No one were home though, except Windy in ‘is snowy nest. He tol’ me LadyRedElf an’ FoxMan were out to call upon GoldHairHorseElf.
I weren’t sure whether that meant Mister Teahesto or Mister Aethalis (or maybe just an Elf with a gold-haired horse? I dinnae ken).
Either way, I let meself in, an’ committed Research.
I be on an endeavor most epic ter figger out how to grow the athelas plant.
This endeavor be in defiance o’ the revelation that skinny Elfs in these here mountains dinnae actually grow the long-leafed sprout in any systematic or deliberate manner. – At best, I were able to ascertain were the sort ‘o conditions under which athelas generally be found.
Well? I set out to recreate said conditions, in hopes o’ convincin’ the scruffy plant it were safe in the sort o’ happy place it likes best. This, I ‘oped, might prompt it ter germinate.
Me smial on Fairwood, as yeh know, gots a pretty sunroom on one side, where the previous denizen ‘ad the sagacity ter put a reflective pool. It be a charmin’ spot ter practice one’s harp or lute or other bardic repertoire, with a few potted rockroses.
I figgered if the rockroses an’ kitchen herb boxes like it well enough? Well? Why not make a green’ouse of it, from which ter base horticultural operations?
Pryin’ the flagstones up took absolute yonks. But once I’d laid some drainage gutters, ordered a wagon o’ sod-turf from Mister Ialadir, got it all seeded, added some pine needles an’ tea-water ter give the soil a mildly acidic edge, moved in some more houseplants, painted some trees on the walls fer effect, an’ started some lilies in the pool fer good air quality ... I ‘ad a pretty convincing imitation of a tidy glade inside me house!
The only real problem then were Light.
I confess ter choosin’ me abode in the neighborhood very specifically fer its sunny setting.
Moderatin’ the amount o’ sunlight (since athelas prefer limited, low luminosity) therefore would take some ingenuity. The sunroom, as it were built, gots enormous airy windows.
I thought about sendin’ over ter Dwaling fer some frosted glass panes – I may still do that; it’ll just have ter wait till spring when I can take a wagon on the roads again. Maybe in the interim I’d paint the windows with a layer o’ glaze? Ter make ‘em translucent? But ‘ow do you guarantee ‘ow well the light would filter? Maybe curtains, instead? They’d get mildewy with all the plants.
I hemmed an’ hawed over a dram o’ the Old Winyard, an’ penned a query to Missie Arwen in Rivendell, askin’ if or how they grows athelas in their atriums, fer braw Elf Warriors protectin’ the Valley.
Meantime, whilst awaitin’ her reply ... I were struck by some’ut.
In fact, I were struck by a thought so obvious I may’s well’ve been pelted up the noggin with a snowpile whilst starin’ straight at the roof from whence it fell.
... Why in Bullroarer’s name am I bankin’ all eggs on skinny ELFS fer a venture o’ this nature?
I be fixin’ ter cultivate some’ut, in a controlled environment within walls.
Shielded from true sun.
... Who besides Hobbits be known ter cultivate aught, where light don’t shine!?
I needs ter be in dialogue with BEARDIE DORFS!
Now, Beardie Dorfs an’ Skinny Elfs en’t what I’d go so far as to call “chummy”. ‘Fact, they gets along as well as Farmer Maggot’s dog Fang, an’ Nibs Cotton’s cat Waldy, unless someone sits on ‘em an’ tells ‘em ter play nice, or no one gets pudding.
So I while I were disappointed ter find the Duillond Library lackin’ in books o’ Beardie Dorf Lore, I cannae profess ter bein’ surprised by it.
Which is what brought me over to the Lair. I knows you gots more of a collegial rapport with the Beardies than do most skinny Elfs. Ye'd nae be above hoardin' a spot o' Dorf lore.
So after fryin’ Windy up a bit ‘o dace with a spoon o’ Blagroves, I got meself a footstool an’ ransacked the library.
Here, though, is where the goin’ gets cumbersome.
I do reads the letters o’ the runic Dorf alphabet. But it be a language I never ‘ad means ter learn ter speak. The only Dorf-related tome in yer shelfs I ‘ad facility ter read meself were what appeared to be some kinda Khuzdul-Sindar word-book, as credited to someone called Pennasseth o’ Lothlórien (maybe a scholar o' language, or culture, I guess?). But, read I did.
An' I needs ter solicit yer skills as a translator before I gets too hopeful:
I en’t sure whether I be on to some’ut.
Cause in the Nouns section, between “Hubûn” (Revenge) an’ “Ifuhyel” (Stomach), I saw this:
“Ibsêtmajd.”
Beside which were given the Elfin translation: “Mathangalas.” “Health-maker-plant.”
Now .... ye’d figger if’en the author meant athelas, they’d just write athelas. On the other hand, this Pennasseth be given ter translating Dorf-speak very extremely literally. I remembers -- fer example -- when I were in Forochel, the Dorfs all called Foreman Ofráth’s indomitable wife Ute “Amadel,” which Mister Ofráth said means “Boss.” Cause honestly, she were the real boss. In this dictionary? Pennasseth translates it “Great Mother.” So, I surmise, thar be a bit o’ creative segue twixt the literal an’ the practical translation when it comes to Dorf-speak.
If the terms be synonymous, I figgered ye of all Big Folks might know where to confirm it.
If thar be any possibility it be so, you best believe I be learnin’ ter say “Shamukh!” an’ dustin’ off a few drinkin’ songs as fast as a body can. Cause word on the grapevine is, whatever a Dorf don’t forage, they grows themselves – in places dim, an’ shaded – an’ *I* aims ter find out how.
What say you? Yeh s’ppose Ibsêtmajd the “Health-maker” an’ Athelas the “Helpful Leaf” be one an’ the same?
If the Beardies be clued into this plant in any capacity akin to Skinny Elfs an’ Dúney Lads … then I be takin’ this investigation Underground.
Cheers Dahlings,
Cider
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