[The handwriting is much worse than Maddoct would ever dare to scrawl on a formal log or letter; it would take a trained eye indeed to manage reading this diary! Ink is smeared, charcoal is smudged, crumbs are wedged between the pages, jam is here and jelly is there…. But for this particular entry, it is written in ink, and there are only some crumbs that dropped from his beard, present from an earlier meal.]
Oct. 4
Beginning: Maurr encouraged me to begin a diary, so here it is. Feel like a loon, writing to myself, but perhaps I can keep a 'beard catalogue' in here. The last I attempted (diary not catalogue), in Erebor it was stole, but I have little fear of the same fate befalling this one. I suppose I should begin by writing my thoughts rather than keeping them sloshing in my head like ale in a keg. I've decided to use the Men's calendar for this, because it's easier, and I'm in a town of Men after all. Ale in a keg! Jackilyn gave me a whole keg recently. Don’t know what to do with it. May share it with Maurr when I make him dinner.
The most recent thing on my mind: Death. Yes! Death. Ive always believed mine would be a premature one. But the reasons for said death have always shifted, always changed, to one worry or this fantasy or that reason. From falling off mountain paths to discovering mouth-murdering peppers, from the lads’ bullying to The Battle, from jailhouses to chickens to friends of my friends that wanted to harm other friends.
The previously recent reason: Corpulence! Yes, for a happy minute, I entertained the thought that I may just grow very old and very, very fat. What a contentful thought. Now nevermind that damned idea; I will not have time to grow so large!
The sons of Bóurr shall be the death of me. If not them, then two ladies whose names begin with ‘A’. If not them, then the terrifying Eyepatch dwarf next door. If not them, then.. something! The folly of Men!
*Maurr will ruin me with his abundance of strength and confidence and wishes for me to be imbued with both. Or it will be his laughter, or a warm smack on the shoulder, or the way his moustache twitches after a drink.
*If not him, then Bíld will do it. With Bíld-ness. But I do not wish to court him! I am sure of this. I do love him, but as one loves beautiful things. As one loves a sunrise, as one loves a token, as one loves a friend. I can say this securely without fear of misinterpretation. And — the acquirement sum would be so large! I could afford such, but do I want to? I jest, I jest, Bíld would be worth any unfathomable amount of gold; just not for me.
*Perhaps Seimurr with the constant ‘Cutebeard’ nonsense! He convinced Maurr to begin calling me that. Maddoct Cutebeard — how ridiculous! I would rather go back to being called the Redhanded to save myself such embarrassment.
*My greatest fear is that the fourth and eldest son of Bóurr will cross West and somehow attempt to be more charming and handsome than the last.
Perhaps ladies Arlis or Amliri shall be the ones to kill me.
*I already upset the former by existing, and the latter by mentioning to Maurr that the former frightens me! That they are so close — I did not know! I would have firstly never mentioned it. Lady Arlis is terrifying, I will not rescind that opinion, but I couldn’t keep my mouth from blabbering about her sharp words and sharper axes — I had not even been drinking that night. Well, not enough to warrant such a loose tongue.
Perhaps it shall be Master Tumunir (sp?) to kill me.
*Today he called me a fuc foul-word idiot. Which I could not argue. It was greatly upsetting; I was not expecting it, and I was reminded of my father. Luckily, Elias was very kind upon finding me in an upset state.
Elias! He may yet kill me. First I was a slight fearful of his condition, especially on that one occasion. Not fearful he would hurt me, no, but it was simply painful to see him stare as if I were a stranger to be suspicious of. I recorded his symptoms, fears, and goals, but have not yet attempted to delve again into theories about his potential diminishing sanity. He has acted perfectly normal since, even pleasant.
I write this now under dim candlelight as he sleeps soundly in his study the room over; he took me earlier to eat a full dinner at .. what was the name .. The Pretty Peach (?). The service was marvelous, the food more so; I won’t detail it all lest I grow hungry once more, but there was wine, stew, boar and vegetables (I finished Elias’ plate; he hardly eats), two slices of blueberry pie... He’s a good man, though sometimes misguided. I hugged him when we returned to the Soothery. He was hilariously awkward for a moment, but returned it kindly; I smile upon recalling it. But I am now reminded...
On men and their folly: Men. I had nearly forgotten what it was to work for and with them! That may be my death. Though they are all my friends, they are also all full of dramatics. Dwarves, while it may hurt, only have two approaches to dislike: blunt and very blunt. Dislike someone? Say it, avoid them, or fight them. Men… so intricate, so complicated, so often unnecessary. So mixed, so extra-emotional or non-emotional. So often subtly rude in malicious ways, or overall confusing and unclear.
Poor Liffey; if I get no further word, and she does not return soon, I will perhaps ask Maurr to join me to the Lone-Lands to see her. Then his ‘debt’ to me would be paid. And! I need to return Jacki’s wheelbarrow; I pushed the keg in it all the way from her home to mine — carrying that up stairs was a great ordeal, but my exercises have been treating me well. If my arms can lift Yurri, they can manage a keg.
Otherwise, I feel something heavy is looming. Liffey told me this feeling may be the world trying to speak to me. But what? What is it? What? What? What? Perhaps it is my nagging worries for what Durin’s Day will hold. I haven’t celebrated the new year with other Dwarves for some years now; I am fretful to see the Blue Mountains. So many may be joining — I haven’t traveled with such a large caravan in near thirty years!
Let me think: Bíld, Seimurr, Maurr, L. Arlis, L. Amliri, Cyanite (maybe) — if Cyanite, then Thrufi will surely be with her — then Me. I wonder if Master Yurri will be wishing to come along. Or Master Balnirar. Or Master Tumunir (though he seems like the type who would rather not celebrate anything. Or perhaps he has nobody to return to and celebrate with. That is quite a sad thought. Now I can’t feel so upset towards him).
Whatever may happen, I just hope for it to be soon and begone with; this gnawing is an ailment.
*I remember my father often telling me the obvious: “Always be prepared, because then you’ll never be unprepared.” He wasn’t and isn’t the smartest Dwarf, but now I believe I see what he meant.
