Her youngest child to Hróda daughter of Hár of Erebor greeting.
I write to you to confess something very foolish and perhaps wicked that I have done. I am so embarrassed that I cannot write of it to Father, and so I beg you not to show him this letter directly — and I command that dearly beloved sire of mine to put the page down straightaway if he now peeks at it. Though he need not deceived as to the general contents, I beg you, Mother, to spare him the details and me the mortification of his knowing them. I have near enough mortification just from your knowing them, but I am distraught, and I require your advice.
I am afraid I have given a Dwarf false encouragement, and I am even more afraid it is too late for him to recover his heart.
I confess I have written to the two of you of him once before, and as wise a mother as you are, you may have detected something between the lines already. He is exceptional in every way and possessed of a good and peaceful heart, and I am truly honored and blessed to have his friendship; I am not sure how I would have fared here in the west without it. He is also handsome, very handsome, and sweet and very charming, though he would not say it of himself. His is the sort of sweet face and fine beard one cannot help but look upon and admire — and admire him, I confess I have.
Please convey this sensitively to Father, as I am afraid he might enter a panic unmerited. For it would be entirely unmerited: admire this Dwarf I may, but I am almost totally sure that I do not love him. If I truly feel something for him besides the intense fondness of a friend, it cannot be love but merely fancy. Of course I like to see him and look upon his many merits, and there is a certain pleasant giddiness to the enjoyment of his company, a particular pleasure in his banter. But if this is love it is a child's love; it is unlike the spike you say you felt through your heart when you knew Father was the one, instead like to the girlish amusements you felt before. I think I do not want him as a husband, and regarding him feel not the slightest jealousy or covetousness; I take pleasure in the gazing and teazing today and only smile thinking of the love he might find tomorrow. (In fact I have even endeavored a little to help him on that path, but the less said about that silly and unsuccessful business the better.)
I believed there would be no harm in it because it was like to a child's love, just as I believed that I am like to a child to him. He is not quite twice my age, and though in absolute terms the gap is not as wide as between you and Father, it feels much wider between us since I am so young. And further he is of a particular persuasion, the first of such I have gotten to know personally, a fact which may have encouraged my initial liking as I believe I am of the same, but which I thought would ensure his disinterest. So I thought there no evil in admiring and, I confess, even flirting a little, for he ought to know that he is handsome and desirable and worthy. I imagined it to be safe, to do so and give myself over to that play. He felt to me safe, and it felt to me safe and good.
But it was not safe for him. In truth I suppose I thought too meanly of him: I believed he could not sustain a serious interest in me because of the way I am. But I suppose now that he was not merely humoring me, but really perceived and I am afraid now he entertains such an interest or something deeper and worse.
The thought of it devastates me. I was incorrect when I wrote that I do not love him. I love him immensely; he is most dear to me, and I am desperate for his happiness. The thought that I may have seriously damaged his hopes of it is difficult to bear. I am a fool, fool, stupid fool who I cannot even say I never wondered if I was reckless; I did, yet I carried on, and for that I deserve his anger — but he is so gentle and yielding I doubt he will blame me even a moment, and that thought gives me even more pain.
And I am in need of your advice — though this letter shall take so long traveling over the Misty Mountains that by the time that advice reaches me, I will have no doubt wrecked the situation even more. But I do not know if I should correct my previous selfishness by acting to save his heart — or if I should be strictly honest, with the risk that encourages him further.
For in truth I do not know if I can say he is not the one I would have. While I doubt my inclination truly goes beyond fancy, I feel I am too young to know for sure. But I would not have him give himself over to irrevocable love, giving up the possibility of others while waiting for me to reach a more proper courting age, only for me to fail, ultimately, to requite.
Even if I did, I am not sure the match is favorable or that it would ultimately make him happy. And if his happiness is truly what I desire above all, I know I should be cold to him immediately. But that is dishonest and manipulative, and my character is not strong enough for that.
I do not know the correct way forward, and I suppose I truly am too young to be out of the mountain.
By the time you write to me I am sure all will have fallen to pieces, but I may beg, at least, your guidance for my conduct in the future, and perhaps just a little of a mother's tender comfort for her fool littlest one.
With all my love to Father and you,
Your penitent child,
Blída.
