Ugly Truths
As she walked through the lovely town, it was once a magical place, where she learned music and had lived during her childhood, she could not help letting her mind to the darker days of her life too. Standing there with Alairif, someone she loved with all her heart, she wondered what the dwarf had alluded to. Was she ready to tell him, the man she adored, about this part of her past, what if he turned away, unwilling to hear out the terrible truths of her life? What could this mysterious book shed light upon that she had not relived during the darkest nights alone, where the sound of coughing woke her, her body trembling and damp. As she tries to open her mouth nothing comes out, she is a mute, 7-year-old trying to be a homemaker and substitute mother for her sister and hiding from her.
Compared to poor Aure, or even Alairif himself, who was orphaned alone in Bree, she knew she was not the only person in the land with sadness in the past, but she often had to push down the thoughts of those dark days, chasing them away with her songs. Her heart hammered in her chest as she led Alairif down the short stairs and spied Stokrít standing there.
“Hello Stokrít, I am here,” she started thinking how odd this was.
The auburn-haired dwarf of Erebor turned smiling in good nature, “Lassie, look at you, all grown, it has been a fair piece, hasn’t it?”
Nodding. Guri was acutely aware of Alairif at her shoulder, the ever-watchful guardian taking it all in. “Yes... Well, it has been a while. Did you take up barbering too old friend?” Guriwen asked, curious that the shop and small house above where she grew up seemed different.
“Oh aye, my wife, I know I found ‘er late and she cuts hair for people. It is how we found the book. Replacing some rotten floorboards. The book was there, had been there since your father’s passing,” Stokrít said respectfully. He tapped the large book sitting on his table.
“Funny how things change...” Alairif quipped, and turned silent again, but not before squeezing Giri’s shoulder. The simple action, familiar and comforting.
Looking at the book finally Guriwen said softly, “Oh it is not one of Svan’s books, I remember Da writing in it.”
Remembering her manners, Guriwen introduced the two. “Master Dwarf, this is Alairif, Alairif, this is Stokrít. An old family friend. Father’s apprentice once, now a primary in his own right.” Guri smiled, “In truth more like a beloved uncle,” she added.
Alairif bowed, ever respectful, adding a dwarf greeting “At your service, and your family’s. You had some big shoes to fill, or so I am told!”
“So, lassie, what have you been up to? Are you still playing for people, making lads fall for you mayhap?” Stokrít eyes Alairif and adds” This one seems a fine fellow indeed.”
Before she can answer Alairif does, “She plays many times each week! Sometimes even with the Dwarves at Thorin’s hall, or when doing business with traveling merchants. He looked at Guri and smiled. “She certainly is good at making Men fall for her!”
Uneasy in his praise, as always, Guri cleared her throat. “I may as well find out what is inside that book,” she thought. “Stokrít,” she asked, “this book does look familiar, but what made you think I needed to see it?”
“Well, this about your family and written in your fathers’ hand.” Stokrít looked up at her, his eyes sympathetic, and added “It is a bit hard to read. I know you girls had a tough time, but your father spent many years…” he trailed off, at a loss for words. After a long pause he added “You should read it.”
Instantly filled with indecision, yet with the overpowering need to see her father again even through his writing, she asked Alairif “Do I take it?” She found it hard to reach out to touch it.
Gently, Alairif reminds her “We came all this way. I think you should, but it is up to you. Don’t you wish to read what he says? It is your father, after all.”
“I should read it..."
“It is your choice, Guri. Know I will stand by your side always,” Alairif whispered.
“I am going to show Alairif the Bell, it seems as good a place as any to read what this says. Please take care, Stokrít, children love you, I know I always did.”
After bidding the dwarf goodbye, Guri’s feet found the path to the Jolly Bell easily, and she saw her thirteen-year-old self-running to the rambling inn, carrying the harp that never left her side. Memories, all good, floated in her mind as she opened the door.
“This beats the Pony by a mile at least!” exclaimed Alairif, his eyes taking it all in. The bright green carpet, the immaculate tables and the small dais that acted like a stage made him smile.
“It is as nice as a remember, though the stage is smaller than I remember.”
“You were smaller back then too.”
“I used to sit here to wait for Da to come get me.” She said, her feet finding their way up to a huge fireplace, its mantle carved with twining serpents, in homage to the dragon Smaug. “Svanvhit was terrified of this mantle” she said, brushing her fingers along the dark carved wood.
Concerned, Alairif asked “Did he leave you alone often?”
Smiling at him, the unlikely situation of she and her sister alone and she hanging about an inn was not lost of her. Allaying his concerns she adds “Yes, but I was safe here. And Svan was with him most times. Besides the inn keeper and wife were family friends and watched that no one bothered me.”
Looking at Alairif she saw the sympathy if his eyes, “It was better not to be home.”
“Do you think this is a good place to open it?” Alairf asked gently, hoping the familiarity and warmth of the fire might soften whatever ugly truths the book held. “Take all the time you need, dear.”
“If you do not mind. I promise I will try to read it quickly..Read The Journal Here
Thank you for being here.” She settled into a familiar chair, and the fire crackled merrily as she opened the book.
Grasping it, the book felt heavy, and she flipped it over in her hands before she could wait no longer and opened the cover. Years of dust puffed into the air, and she blew it away, revealing her father’s elegant hand. Passing her fingers over the words she could see him bent over this same book, writing, yet the look on his face was obscured by his dark hair that fell across his face.
She began to read aloud, Alairif, after all deserved to know as well. He explains it. She blamed him for us...”
Alairif asked, his voice a bit puzzled or angry. “Blamed him? What do you mean? How could she "blame" anyone for her children? How is that something to look blame for?”
Guri answered softly “She was unwell, fever, lashing out maybe... I remember she was so unhappy.” Flipping the page, she brushed a cobweb away, the spider long gone. Guri prayed that making the words clearer will help. “Father started taking us with him to his shop. He was afraid to leave us there.”
“I am so sorry, Guri. That must have been devastating.”
Guri looked over at Alairif. “It was like we had two lives... Home with mother not wanting to have anything to do with us and the fighting and the shop which was our haven. He also tells about letting me go play here, he understood I could see all the good but the bad too.”
It all came rushing back to her, yelling things that made little sense to a girl, the accusations, not real ones but the product of her illness and lack of sleep, the endless cough, the fever stealing her body and mind. Had she and her father not been the brunt of it all she might have felt pity… Having endured it all, she just felt…. Empty.
“Children are more perceptive than they look” said Alairif. “Nobody should have to go through that...”
Seeing she was coming to the end of her father’s tale, she was both relieved and sad, hearing his voice like a warm blanket, wrapped in his love, while on the other hand she feared what he would say next. “He writes about her dying... It sounded like it was a relief.”
“That’s very sad...” Alairif looked over in concern at her.
“Alairif, he did not die of a broken heart from missing her.... He died because his heart was not working. That was a story I made up because it hurt too much to think otherwise” Tears sprung up in her eyes, and she wills them away.
“A toymaker with a broken heart...” Reaching over, Alairif held her hand, knowing she was struggling to come to terms with the terrible truth.
“His last words were ‘You will sing for a king one-day, lassie.’” I thought he was daft, or like you my biggest fan.
“He loved you dearly... Many do,” Alairif told her trying to find something to shore her up.
“I can remember him making me promise to go far way and start over. We had so much money... I think Stokrít paid him handsomely.”
Reaching the end of the journal, she closed it and sat back in her chair. Her thoughts always came back to her. “Why did my mother not... what if I end up like her?”
“I am so sorry, Guri. You are nothing like her.” Alairif answered, his reassurance lost on her self-loathing and fear.
She looked at Alairif, fearing their future, the what ifs hanging a pall in the air. “I will understand if you do not want to stay.” It takes everything she has to say it, because if felt like it might.
“You are the most wonderful, understanding, and loving person I know. You would never behave like your mother. I do not know what led her to treat you like that, but I know you will never end up like her. Gathering her into his arms, he hoped the reassurances help.
She whispered into his hair, “I cannot be like her... But how do you know?”
Laughing softly, Alairif let her cling to him. “Because I know you. You are not your mother, Guri, I will do my best to help you see that. I promise.”
As he hugged her tightly, her tears came, but the power of not really knowing was gone. Whatever cause her mother to act the way she did, died with her. Brushing off the tears, she looked at Alairif. “I wish I knew that” she admitted. “I will try. Because I love you and want to believe you.”
As if nothing revealed had changed his mind, Alairif answered in something he has told her often “I love you too, Guri. Never doubt it for a second.”
