From Applecider Bolingbroke, Hobbit Bard, to Missie Arwen Evening-Star of River-Dell, dispatched via the falcon post at the Elf-shire of Duillond:
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Le suilon, Hiril vuin! ~ Greetin’s, an’ me humblest respects an’ service to ye, an’ to yer Honorable Gaffer an’ very excellent Brothers – May their lager be forever in ample supply, an’ their larders free of mildew, field mice, and Unexpected Dorfs ~
(did Mister Sir Elladan ever get that lemon tartlet I left for ‘im last time? Hope he were pacified by it; I really am sorry about the incident with the bathtowels an’ the broken heirloom magic sword-thing an’ the poached apricots ….)
Anyway.
Thanks HEAPS for the dress patterns an’ the Elf-silk!!! Thar were exactly what I were hopin’ for; River-Dell’s market is absolute mint.
See? I knew this’d happen – Soon as Missie Sergie an’ Mister Crane put their nuptial plans on a canoe flyin’ straightaway down the rapids, I knew Ered Luin’s tailor shops’d turn bereft o’ purple fabric afore a body could blink – You’re a gem fer comin’ through fer a friend in a pinch.
I were able ter scale the proportions easy as custard pudding, fittin’ the secondary layer to a more Hobbity bodice under the kirtle (topographic control, aye ;-). I decorated it with gold thread.
Imma be pretty as an allium in a patch o’ coneflowers under a lilac bush.
I encloses herein, as promised, the chicken pie recipe of which you enquired last time we spoke. I never met a Hobbit gent or a Dúney-lad yet what weren’t smote by it – If’en yeh really gots an eye on Mister Sir Halros’s cap’n, that Mister Sir Strider bloke what always be hauntin’ the Pony over to Bree-way, yeh cannae go wrong with it.
Talking of coneflowers, by the by. I also encloses a little present for ye in this paper packet. They should’a been planted weeks ago, but maybe River-Dell gots room in the greenhouse.
They be sunflower seeds.
See, I were busking one o’ the wine tents at the Spring Fest over at Bree this March.
In the course o’ things, I overhears a couple of out-o’-towners from some place that must have one heck of a breezy draft, cause apparently all the doors be in absentia.
Anyway, these Gone-Door Big Folks were coverin’ the beer table in local weeds, an’ then they starts arguin’ about the properties of the anarloth plant – ‘pparantly they were some kinda travelin’ medicus operation, or some’ut.
I’d’ve ignored ‘em completely, if one o’ the rare Elf-folks what shows face at these Bree fests dinnae take issue with them. Cause HE starts harpin’ on about ignoramus mortals what cannae speak rightly of the proper yellow anarlossë blooms.
Also he says the flower be extinct.
I could nae keep me trap shut at this point; I’d’ve clapped the lot of ‘em up the head with a sandwich, if I’d not just eaten the only one I had to hand.
Bullroarer’s Bathwater, says I: No offense meant by it, but when were the last time any o’ ye were out in the garden? Thar do be such a thing as variety.
Thar be the smallish purple kind, with gold conical heads at the center, so naturally, we calls ‘em Purple Coneflowers (sensible, aye?). They be a pretty addition to a vase on the sideboard, an’ a remedy for unhappy tummies.
An’ then thar be the big yellow kind what bears an artistic resemblance to the sun, so natch, we calls ‘em (wait for it) Yellow Sunflowers. They be a lovely way to brighten a lawn up, an’ their toasted seeds be delicious in muffins.
They be of the same botanical family – they just comes in two different variations. – yeesh.
Well, the clueless herbalists had ter grumble awhile afore they’d concede the point. The Elf (Haerandel he were called, by the by; maybe yeh knows him), looked at me like I’d said thar were unicorns about the world. I had ter open a blank page in my song-and-recipe book and sketch up a quick diagram jus’ to clarify.
He were so gobsmacked – I jest not – he actually rode all the way to the Shire with me. We rode till we come ter Ian Bungus’s beanfields on the road outside Woodhall. Ian borders his fields with sunflowers. So even if it were only spring, an’ the flora were just germinatin’, me point carried the day.
Honestly, I never heard the rafters rattle so hard with laughter at the Green Dragon in me life when I told everyone later.
Still. If this Haerandel Elf really thought the flower were a bygone relic …. Well, fer starts, he needs to get outta the house more, I tell yeh that much. But stands to reason thar be more Elfs what probably think likewise.
It’d be a cryin’ shame to believe somethin’ like that. – Weren’t they an emblem of your ol’ Gaffer’s brother’s House?? Does Mister Elrond know the bloomin’ things still be about?
I s’pect so: he strikes me as a bit more aware o’ the world.
But just in case, though, I be sending you some seeds. Plant a few of ‘em about River-Dell, give ‘em a little singing-to, an’ see if anyone notices when they sprout. It’ll be a lark.
Again, thankin’ ye very warmly fer respondin’ so quickly ter me plea fer materials. I’ll be sure to fill ye in on the details o’ the Wedding. Till then, may the Stars of Ella-Beth shine upon ye an’ all that be yours.
Na lû e’govaned vin. ~ Cordially yours, Applecider Bolingbroke
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