His youngest child to Bóurr son of Bíld of Erebor greeting.
I rest in the gentle quiet of wintry Bree-land, just a young Dwarf who does no more than drink and play at the tavern, far away from any battlefield or court of consequence. And yet, even here, even I come to constant tests of my wits, principles, and courage — and even if the stakes are never so great as they are for the warrior or king, I worry very often if my actions are correct.
I sit tonight at my writing-desk, which stands at another crossroads. It does not lack for signage: a dozen virtues and sentiments important to me differently point. There is Honesty, which bids to tell the whole truth regardless of the chaos sure to result from it; there are Mercy and Compassion, which urge a different path, more gentle-sloped and more twisted. There is Honor, which forgives no broken oath, and Loyalty ever to the object of oath; but sometimes Loyalty and its sister Love ask one to choose what is truly beneficial to one's beloved, even when she would not so choose for herself. And I call myself a healer, and a Healer's Duty is to choose what is healthful; but I do not wish myself ever to become the sort of healer who seems himself the wisest and most learned, qualified therefore to take choice away from his patient in the name of the outcome that is "best".
I will try to do my very best, as always, and hope that I will be understood and forgiven if I err. And I wish the very best for everyone, even him — but I suspect that my wish is a naive one, and that a happy ending for all is beyond any engineering, let alone mine. But if there must be pain, let it at least be in the service of Justice.
And I think again how fortunate I am to have been raised by a loving father, protected and nurtured, that I might grow up without a scar on my heart.
While I am well, my friends continue to suffer misfortunes. And as I stand at the side, wringing my hands, I think I come to understand at last what sufferings arise from want. It is something of which I really had no concept — the misery of poverty and the evils permitted by it. But I have seen it now and the exploitation of its condition by the wicked, and it sickens my heart.
That tender heart's first fancy is to wonder if we as a people have the power to ameliorate it. So many here in Bree-land have so many woes, all arising from too little gold; so much have we in the Mountain, and so much more sleeping under mountains that we have to skill to delve, that if those sufferings were really born of lack of gold the Dwarves could solve it at once, by extending the hand of generosity. And indeed a little angry part of me has thought of taking vengeance by cutting my pockets and destroying the market of Bree in one huge flood of gold, but that would not actually help Clay or my other friends, so I confine that thought to my fantasies. Yet thinking on it, I suspect that would not really ameliorate my friends' hardships. For to Men gold is only a cipher for scarcity; if it were not gold, it would be silver or adamants or rare Elvish pea-pods that some would hoard and use to deprive the rest. The evil arises not from gold but from the greed and cruelty of bad characters and the insufficient efforts of good ones to check the bad.
It is not in gold but in ourselves; this was always the case, and it remains so.
I wonder what else, then, I can do, as a Dwarf and as Bíld the Ineffectual. And I am discouraged because there seems not much; fighting the evil tendencies of mortals seems a war impossibly long, as there seems ever to be a new bad actor springing up somewhere; and, as the Hobbits say, 'one bad apple ruins the bunch'.
I suppose the Elves would call this the mark of the Shadow on the World; many seem to think the sins of Middle-earth beyond redemption and therefore retreat to their Undying Land. But that is not a choice open to us — and it is not one that we would take, I think, regardless. I come more and more to the opinion that we were created to repair the world, and indeed to be so stubborn that even if it is impossible, we will attempt it regardless. And to struggle, and to wrestle with the World and ourselves, and to gain just a little bit of ground before we die — I begin to think that is the nature of living, as a mortal, and I cannot say I am discontent with it. And if I do take healing as one of my crafts, nothing would honor me more than the opportunity to try to heal the world.
The task of healing greed and cruelty though is immensely daunting, and I hardly know the remedy, let alone if one exists. But my intuition whispers to me that, if there is anything we can do as Dwarves, it must be to lean away from our tendency to be myopic and towards our tendency to be walkers of roads, connectors of places that have become alienated from each other. For if scarcity is the condition that produces abuse, then perhaps by fair and vigorous trade we may reduce it, bringing necessities and luxuries in abundance and raising the prosperity of all settlements along our roads — so at least I can dream and aspire, while doing what little I at present can for the people around me.
Not much else is there of which I can think to write. I make new acquaintances regularly; one I was able to introduce to the joy and loveliness of playing the harp, which pleased me greatly. I assisted my mentor in surgery upon an Elf of all possible patients; I put my whole heart and soul into the singing a song of soothing I was taught in Rivendell, to support what I fear was a weakened fëa, though I know not if I accomplished any more than my own embarrassment.
I was also nearly a participant in a bar-fight, but you will be relieved to hear that it was at the last moment averted.
Otherwise I am occupied mainly with waiting. I wait to see if I will be called upon to practice my experimental healing; I wait for my honor-sister to return so I discuss with her potential additions to our caravan; I wait for spring, so that I can return to you. The plan remains for the spring equinox, though I just learned that a wedding between two of my acquaintance that I dearly like is planned for that season, and if I can delay a tiny bit to allow us to attend I would like to — but delay long I cannot, for I know your patience is very limited.
And I, too, long for the day I will be at your side again.
No more at this time but my faithful love,
Your child,
Bíld.
Postscript: I just received Mother's reply; I suppose it just made it through the Pass before becoming a little diverted and only now arriving in Bree-land. By now you will have already received word that that situation was resolved amicably; nevertheless I was able to be comforted by the great kindness of her words, as well as freshly mortified, remembering that incident. And I remember, too, that not only have I the finest and most loving of fathers, but I have the best and gentlest of mothers as well.
