Maddoct son of Haddoct to Bourr’s son Bíld, greetings from the heart.
First unexpected correspondence from Liffey, then from you! My chest swells with joy and fondness. I hope you receive this reply happily and safely.
The campsite you describe sounds marvelous, and I hope to perhaps visit it sometime if ever I allow myself to. Your ‘scheme’ sounds ador considerate, and I have high hopes that someone comes across your treasure. Entirely whimsical it is, I think, and especially in Elvish script.. I wouldn’t be able to read it, but maybe an adventurer discovers it who can. Or, perhaps, they may not be able to, and thus would go on a quest for translation. That would be some fun!
Interesting you mention Master Motgrouk, for I’ve been recently reminded of him as well. I'm sure he still curses me to this day. I came upon Lady Kithri once more and repeatedly recently(or, rather, she came upon me). It saddened me to see her reliant on a cane, but nonetheless her spirits seemed high and her success steady; apparently she’s been having great business and trade with dwarves and her crops. I’d expect nothing less, and I’m incredibly proud to see her happy. She is the second to make an attempt at my mother's pastries (though hers were rather just that she wished to make fruit-filled sweets than replicate the ones I spoke of). It is flattering and always delicious; I should spend more time with ladies who enjoy baking.
Maker help me — I am never going to find myself thin.
Knowledge and wisdom you both deserve, and both will come with time and diligent study. You are a fully compassionate and tenderhearted lad, and I have no surprise that you wish to help wounded hearts and minds.
But it is a difficult path to trek, and more difficult to not let yourself fall to hurt while helping others’ woes. Much effort I have put into crafting a physician’s persona, and I may remain strong through a process, but I admit there have been many nights I return home and cry because a patient’s case is particularly somber or wearisome. I’ll teach you all that I can, though I may stumble as well. Healing, I know not everything of, despite how long I have been participating in it. I will begin reading and refreshing on this subject, as it has been a time since I’ve done more than simply physical fixes. Of cues, of coping, of scars, of further, I will teach you all that I know.
I am no master at any Thing. Though I am most knowledgeable about healing and assistive devices, I am surely no master. Nor am I a master of song, nor the culinary, nor jewels nor mining nor creating gadgets. Perhaps someday, when I am past my prime, I will settle on one specific craft and put all my time into it, but neither today nor soon will I, I fear. So worry not about being unsure! And so far as I have observed, not a single person has ever disliked your stories, or songs; how could they? No matter what it is — healing, lore — your effort is good enough. It always will be, because it is yours, Bíld.
The Forbidden Inn — I can hardly remember how it looked, other than that it was unflatteringly run-down and had some odd smell. I encountered it after a long time spent traversing from the East; starving, I thought the food and drink acceptable. Now that I am spoiled on good meals, I imagine that even I, Maddoct Haddoctul, finisher of plates, devourer of feasts, may refuse the food and drink in such a drab place.
I would get winded climbing a tower such as Weathertop! But you are growing in better shape than I, so I hope the incline didn’t treat you too badly. The thought of such a sunrise from that high vantage causes me to long for the sun from the Hills, or better yet the Red Mountains; it rose so vibrant, so close — you could near touch it. Perhaps that is where The Orocarni received its name; not from the red sand and clay, but from how the sun would paint the mountainsides in the morn. I wish you could have captured the view, so I could see it with my own eyes, and I could share my own memories of sunrises with you. Sadly, sight is individual and uncommunicated except through words (and by those skilled in the visual arts). I feel your words were plenty to conjure the beautiful image in my mind, though, and I am grateful to have read it.
I apologize for going on a tangent about the sun, there.
I do not know everything there is to know about alluring pirates! Especially not ones you created yourself. Though I have been studying that book Liffey loaned to me. It is horribly distasteful, scandalous, and I cannot imagine who would write such a thing.
Still, I read it. Which results in my putting the damne accursed thing down every two lines. I cannot stand it. And yet I continue to read, with some sort of morbid, ashamed curiosity. Why? (Please don’t answer that).
“Voluptuous as she is deadly” caused me to recall a memory (I seem to be thinking a lot of my past as of late). Once, some years ago, a dwarf from Erebor said to me: “You are as thin as you are threatening, Master Maddoct.” That is to say — I am neither.
Apologies, but simply reading the name ‘Arlis’ strikes nerves in my heart, despite any bountiful amount of reassurances. I truly, truly do hope she believes there is no reason to terrorize me so. I plan to never give a reason for her, nor anyone, to harm me, but I feel a good enough reason may just be that I am me. I hope you are correct in her potential to hesitate. Her words are sharp and her axe sharper.
I shall stay safe for you, of course, and I will try to stay out of trouble and schemes while you are away. But
So much has been occurring. I encountered Master Fiontann once more, and then little Elgerin soon after. The girl escaped again. I feel terribly for her — all she desires is to find her parents. She was dirty and rain-soaked. We fed her and put her by fire, I cleaned her hair, and I am sure she has caught a chill. Elias has been visiting at the Thirsty Boar and checking for her.
On the topic of Elias: he has been fearful. Overly-suspicious, checking at his shoulders and back, worried. I stayed with him a night; he seemed to have slept no better. He changed the entire interior of the Soothery (thankfully left the kitchen untouched). I worry for him, and hope this ill spell passes soon; I will speak more with him about it before writing any theories or thoughts I may have.
I will be taking out Jackilyn's stitches very soon. Poor lass.
There was a fight. Of course, that is nothing unusual for the attractive and typical town of Bree, but what was most upsetting is that I believe it was over me. Master Balnirar (who might have been at the bottle earlier that day) saw Master Yurri. I had let slip to the former that the latter had whacked my head some days earlier; I beg you not to fault him for it, as it is understandable for him to chide me (Lady Kithri saved me with her words; she is somehow both fierce and polite at once).
Anywho, M. Balnirar told M. Yurri to apologize, M. Yurri denied to do such, another dwarf also encouraged apology, and I simply desired nothing to do with it. Alas, M. Yurri threw his ale at the one dwarf, hit M. Balnirar in the nose, then was ultimately bested because Master Holmo gave him a pat to his poor arm. I felt like a lad of sixty again, hiding behind my taller cousin when a scuffle would ever occur — except my cousin, in this instance, was a barrel.
M. Balnirar left (smart Dwarf). I felt pity for M. Yurri, the sod he is, and took him to have wounds checked; I heard about the frolic in the Old Forest and was thusly concerned where he probably did not deserve me to be. He looked awful, and I assisted him. Pray, don’t scold me; it was no amount of treatment to warrant payment and I could not find it in my heart to demand coin where it isn’t due.
In conclusion: I believe he and I somehow became friends (?). He managed to scrounge an amount of respect for my craft (because I was coddling him alike to a child, I suppose). I think he and I not so different — we were both at the Battle, and surely that counts for something.
By a friend, I have been encouraged to be a cockerel. Confident as the song he sings to his lady the Sun, proud as his cockscomb, colorful and bright as his plumage. But I have so often been likened to a mother hen, or a cowardly chick, that I know not the path to take that will let me begin harnessing pride. The clothes I wear, perhaps, would be a start, but so often I may be teased for anything simple. My hat, you know, I started wearing again, and just as soon stopped as Master Yurri sarcastically informed me it ‘nice’ despite it’s ridiculousness because the wide brim, at least, obscures my face. And, unsurprisingly, his judgement of my pack was harsh, as after his prying I told him some contents. His facial expression alone made me feel shameful and a stain to all dwarrow, as I hold no axe nor ale and have apparently misplaced even my own brains.
But the kindly opinion has stated that my things are bright, that I could be bright, and that I should continue however I please without worries of what others see.
I am conflicted. For so long I have been taught the meanings of shame, for so long I have been needed among Dwarves only for my craft and naught else, that now there are those that want my company for longer than a stitch and bandage, I am unsure how to perform. I stay near Men because they think me less queer for being me, as they know no better on how a Dwarf should definitely act. I strived to be a correct Dwarf until I could no longer, and thus I left the mountains.
Even the greatest of Dwarven healers carry an axe.
Enough of my bemoaning; I believe I will begin keeping a diary, after a friend's encouragement, and save you the trouble of all my words! Now that I am practiced again with my writing, I fear I know not when to stop. (I remember Cyanite has said before that the page is only sufficient when your hand cramps).
I hope that you reach your destination with no complications. If I must stay safe for you, you best stay safe for me. Please. Write soon.
Blessed to be yours,
And happy to see you worthy and so far well,
Maddoct
(Postscript: Elias and Miss Taite each send their regards!)
