Dúney Free-Agent ‘Caradhâl’, to Halros, son of Radhruin ~ Salutations an’ all me respects to the Honorable Dúney Bounders: May their Green Hoods forever hold perfectly in place on their heads, even on windy days, or whilst galloping about on horses ~
(Honestly, boy, how do you get them to stay in place? Have you all got hairpins?)
My Sterling & Excellent Sir,
I ‘opes this finds you healthy an’ well-shaded, in summer’s heat. I be in full experimentation mode wi’ the kingsfoil in the grounds outside me house: Challengin’ the plant (as Mister Búkk the Beardie Dorf horticulturalist charged me) to be hardier about uprootin’ an’ adaptin’.
It’s been an instructive process – oftentimes pleasin’, an’ oftentimes frustratin’. – I’ve lost easily as many specimens as I’ve ‘ad success with, an’ I won’t lie about bein’ miffed by this.
Never let a Bolingbroke be known as aught but “the Persistent,” though:
Persist I shall.
Besides plants, thar be plenty else to occupy me: Missie Sergie an’ Mister Crane’s own little sprout be growin’ every day. Auntie Cider gots ‘er mitts full in makin’ sure she be schooled in Life’s Sensible Things.
Missie Morenwenna say it be a wonder I be so fearless about babies. I can’t think why: I be the fifth of eight. I raised up ‘alf me own sibs; the other ‘alf raised up me.
You’ve seen me sibs, right? Four brothers: Brandon the eldest, Gruffudd, Eben (thar be short for Ebenezer), an’ Hugh, who be the next-but-one after meself. Then besides me, thar be Arnica Rose, Honora Clementine, an’ Larkspur, the youngest. Fat an’ bonny the lot of us.
(Secretly twixt you an’ me, I think Mum an’ Da planned on cappin’ the lot at five or six, but they landed a double-bargain, cause Hugh an’ Clem showed up together. An’ Lark be a fair stretch younger'n the rest of us. She were whatcha might call a bit of an "oopsie." Ye think ye’r past that point …)
Arnica gots her eye fair set on Ectorius Brandybuck in south Overhill, nearer to Hobbiton. An' Gruffudd WOULD have 'imself Bryony Oaks (the cobbler's youngest) in a heartbeat, if ever 'e could cease ter stammer whenever 'e looked ‘er in the eye. She fancies him; I knows it. – All 'e gots ter do is ask. Betwixt 'em I should 'ave a couple more nieces an' nephews runnin' around in short order.
Till then, I gots this little fairy imp to keep in trouble.
I know some hereabouts were all up in a twitter fer a bit about ‘ow Missie Bainiel’d “cope” with “mixed blood.” Or whether “such a creature’d” ‘ave a “normal life.”
Frankly, Mister H, I calls a load ‘o duck fluff on it.
Bainiel joys in life as much as any sprout, an' I en't about to tell 'er to do elsewise. Even if she were the first “mixed blood” in the History of all sun, moon, stars, an’ half-decent cheese – which she en’t (them First an’ Second-Agers especially: they got around. Yeesh) – But regardless o’ whether their adorable tufts of hair be centered on their heads, chins, or feet (by which I mean, be they Elf, Dorf, or Hobbit)? Let’s be very honest: Tiny sproutlings be the same the World over.
They all wants the same things. They be mesmerized by every minute thing in each an’ every new day. An’ they en’t nearly so terrifyin’ as people make ‘em out to be:
Put food in reach 'o the tiny sprout at regular intervals. Make sure the tiny sprout's got some pants on. Watch so the tiny sprout en’t handlin’ anything too dangerous. Assure the tiny sprout they’re loved an’ safe, but yer the boss. Eat pie.
Let the mesmerizin’ world do the rest.
I’ll Elf-nap her one ‘o these days an’ spirit her away fer a Hobbit Holiday up ter Brockenborings when Missie S an’ Mister C en’t lookin’. You can meet ‘er.
Afore then, though, Missie Bainiel be takin’ a rove ter stay a spell with Mister Crane’s chums in Bree. We gots a new-ish neighbor here, an’ he’s solicited the aid o’ House Bar-an’-Acorn fer a venture afield:
Mister Vholrat be a singular specimen among Skinny Elf-kind. Bein’, fer starts, raised among Dúney-folks, rather than Elf-kind, his behaviorisms be more in keepin’ with what Elf-kind tends ter describe as ‘Man-like,’or even ‘Dorf-like.’ Again, “mixed” types honestly en’t so rare.
But I digress.
Mister Vhol gots it in his noggin ter mount an expedition toForochel, up north o’ yer Blue Lake. Partly ter trade. Partly cause he be huntin’ some’ut, though he be a little cagey about what.
Still, Missie Sergie an’ Mister Crane be sold on the venture.
As I gots a spot of experience up ter Northlands, I’ll be unpackin’ me heavy Lossoth furs in mid-July, plus Eero’s lead, tether, an’ brush.
We’ll see if the demon floofer remembers aught of ‘is natal lands, aye?
Afore settin’ course north, I’ll be takin’ leave o’ the House early an’ ridin’ fer Brockenborings. Since Mister Vhol’s of a mind fer a trade venture, I figger we could drive a mean bargain with a few pounds o’ true an’ proper Ol’ Toby or other good Shire pipeweed (We grows the best in the World, yeh gots to admit).
I’ll trot up the Greenway an’ call upon ye – What kinda pie d’you fancy?
I admits ter hopin’ yeh might dispatch Laerlind up to Tinnudir, an’ see if they’ve any word o’ whether Mister Lothrandir still be stationed in the Itä-mâ regions, or whether ‘e’s made tracks back to Sûri-kylä. I never did make it that far north last time. Not that I plans to unleash any madcap new escapades on the Big Lad or anythin’. Just figger if’en we needed the contact, it’d be somethin’ ter know if he were about.
Let me know. An’ send Maddie back to me if’en thar be anythin’ nice in Blue Mountain-lands yeh’d like me ter bring yeh. Wondered if a couple flasks from Limael’s Vineyards’d be a nice change o’ pace, or if yeh wanted some Elven-fletched arrows, or some’ut.
Keep on the lookout, lad; I’ll be seein’ yeh shortly!
Till then I remain as always at the service o’ the Dúney-bounders (to whatever extent it be in me power to be so), an’ cordially yours as ever ~
~ C
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