My King, I would like you to send me 🎅. Your highness my favourite colour is navy blue and I love all kind of stories be it legends, myths. I have especially taken liking to the one of brave group of men and women called Kingsglaive who protect their country. Your highness would probably like them too.
Thank you for your kind letter. I am anticipating that my reply finally reaches you — the messenger with my gift to you encountered a snowstorm on the way to you and had to wait for two weeks until he could take his wagon through the mountain pass in the Blue Mountains.
Without further ado, these are the gifts I chose for you:
🎁 You mentioned your interest in the brave warriors called “Kingsglaive”. Sadly, I am not familiar with them, but I would very much like to hear more about them. If you decide to visit the Lonely Mountain and tell me of their great deeds, I will be glad. In the meantime, I have chosen a fine glaive from my armoury made by the dwarven weaponsmiths to honour these warriors.
🎁 I am sending you a trunk filled with dwarven tomes straight from the Library of Erebor. They contain many stories — legends, war stories, tales of dragons, knights, bravery and treasure, and quite a few others. May they be a source of entertainment to you!
🎁 Since you seem like a person who values protection as much as valiant deeds, you will find among your gifts a richly ornamented ereborean shield that is said to have belonged to Dain I, my great-grandfather, who ruled in the Grey Mountains. May it serve you well!
I hope you will find these gifts useful — or amusing, at the very least.
I hope that you are willing to answer an ask on your relationship with your nephews.
First of all, I would like to complement you on doing such a great job helping raise them. But as we have heard many times your nephews Fili and Kili were quite the little troublemakers when they were young and I can imagine that it must have been hard for you to punish them because you clearly love them very much.
Just a little reminder in case you forgot ...
Source: deviantart - Little Angels by Wolfanita
.....
Anyways, I know that they are adults now, but I can imagine that when they are together, they still get into trouble 😁 Do you still feel the urge to strangle ground them sometimes ?
PS. I'm pretty sure that you won't be able to stay angry at them for a very long time. Your nephews are adorable 😊
I understand that you are a very busy king, but I hope that you will give us a little insight in your family life, because, like you, we all love your family very much.
I hope that you are well despite the harsh winter weather. My youngest nephew insisted on sending you a parcel containing a thick blanket made of the finest mountain goat wool, a bottle of mulled wine, and a kitten (yes, a KITTEN) to keep you warm. When Crooc, the raven who is currently waiting by my desk to head out with my letter to you, heard about my dear nephew’s proposal, commented on it with these words: “Do I look like a donkey to you, Prince Kili?”
“A winged one, yes,” chuckled my sister-son.
“If I’m a winged donkey to you, you are a complete ass!” Crooc retorted.
At that Fili laughed out loudly, saying, “You’re not wrong, Crooc.”
His brother retaliated by grabbing him and pressing against the wall.
“I am NOT an ass!” Kili shouted.
Fili did not respond with words – he simply pushed Kili away. Kili stumbled backwards and landed on the top of my desk, still holding on to Fili. They scuffled for a while, ignoring both my shouts polite requests to stop this nonsense and Crooc’s annoyed cawing. In the process, they destroyed a few of my newest quills, scattered my parchments and broke my ink bottle. Its contents spilled over the desk and a pile of important documents. When the puddle of ink reached the raven, painting its talons blue, he beat his wings and started circling my battling sister-sons (who at that time resembled a heap of arms and legs on the floor), croaking loudly.
I managed to separate these two somehow and remove them from my study in haste. Only then did I find a moment to clean my face and garments from the splattered ink, with moderate success. What was worse, I discovered that my letter was destroyed in the process. That is why the letter you are holding in your graceful hands is my second attempt at writing to you. This time I succeeded, but I will have to think of an adequate punishment for these two rascals.
You asked me whether I would like to strangle my sister-sons at times? No, not at all! That thought has never crossed my mind. Certainly not today — neither on the day they filled my boots with wine (the sour smell is still there, by the way), and nor on the day when they placed several cave rats in my mother’s wardrobe, claiming they needed a new home after one of the mine tunnels collapsed. You can rest assured that I do not wish to injure them in any way. With the exception of maiming them, perhaps.
Do not be alarmed, dear lady, it was merely a jest. They are my heirs, after all. Is it of any significance that now my valet, the laundry workers, and my tailor will have their hands full with attempting to remove the ink stains from my best royal garments or mend my tunic if it is not possible? What about my secretary, the royal scribes, and me devoting our time to recreating the contents of the destroyed documents? And I am certain that the Master Carpenter who made my desk will be thrilled when he sees the stains that will have to be somehow removed from the wood. No, no injuries whatsoever.
That is how my family life looks this winter. Every single Dwarf is cooped up under our Mountain and the constant snowstorms make it difficult to enjoy the beauty of the season in full. It is truly a quiet time of peace. With the exception of the rather loud sounds I hear daily from the corridor outside my door. They are echoing against the walls again as I write these words and sound suspiciously like my beloved sister’s voice. Dis calls for her sons and when I hear the anger in her exclamations, I recall that she inherited her temper from our mother. I am certain that my dear sister-sons are escaping as far from that voice as they can. I wonder what they did this time. Have they made another ice skating rink in the Entrance Hall? Or have they put red ants in the Woodland Realm’s ambassador’s coffers again? Whatever they did, I will be more than happy to witness the moment when Dis descends upon them. I assure you, my lady, her wrath is much more pernicious than my attempts at strangling them (which I firmly deny, of course).
I hope that in these dire circumstances you will forgive me for ending my letter here. Crooc demands another treat and I would rather not antagonise my winged messenger when he is to fly to you with this letter. May he find you in good spirits and health!
Thank you for brightening my boring working day with this hilarious tale from Erebor. As usual my abdomen muscles got the most enjoyable training possible. 😄 Those nephews are a lot to handle and probably the whole mountain knows about their pranks and mess ups. 😄
My dearest Lady Aspookybunny (known also under many other intriguing names)!
Receiving your letter after a long day filled with trade negotiations was a blessing. Allow me to show my appreciation of your gesture by sending you a few tokens that will hopefully reach you soon.
🎁 A handful of raw gemstones I have found in the mines of Erebor this morning. Perhaps their beauty and timelessness will make you wonders about their past and the events they have witnessed under this Mountain.
🎁 Two quite ancient tomes I purchased in Dale. I do not know their origin, as I do not know much about those “medieval” times you speak of (I am not well-versed in the history of the people of Men, pray forgive me, my lady), but the bookseller assured me that they should be to your liking.
🎁 A sack of freshly roasted coffee beans straight from the faraway realm of Harad. May each cup bring you an exceptional clarity of mind.
Ooh, the gemstones captured my eyes! 😍 If I may be so bold as to ask what they are, I have few in mind which they could be, namely emerald, tsavorite or uvarovite but looks can be so deceiving.
good day my king, it’s jaybird again. i was wondering if you could share any recipes of bombur’s, namely one with potatoes and hearty protein (i know how dwarves favor a carnivorous diet). i’m in need of suggestions for an important dinner i am to cook for some dear friends of mine, and many reliable sources tell me how savory his cooking always is. i hope you’re having a restful day, it’s probably getting very cold around the mountain now. stay warm!
It is a rare honour to receive your letter. I hope the raven I am sending to you with my reply arrives on time and in good health. During the last two weeks we have had three large snowstorms and only today the weather has cleared sufficiently to allow Rawk to travel. If you would be so kind as to ensure that he is warm, well-fed and sufficiently rested before he embarks on the return trip, I would be endlessly grateful.
As you can perhaps imagine, this has been a busy time for Bombur, but as soon as he heard that you are in search of a fitting meal for your friends, he provided me with one of his favourite recipes. He asks your forgiveness since he is not familiar with the units of measurement or volume you prefer nor is he aware of your food preferences or allergies (if any). Please feel free to adjust the recipe as you see fit.
Bombur’s Hearty Winter Casserole
INGREDIENTS
4.5 lbs /2 kgs potatoes
2.5 lbs/1 kg smoked sausage
0.7 lb/300 g smoked bacon
4 onions
4 carrots
0.9 lbs / 400 g green peas (canned green peas work well too)
Shredded cheese of your choice (as much as you like)
Salt, pepper
METHOD
1. Peel and boil the potatoes until they are still a bit hard. "We do not want them to turn into a mush!" Bombur says.
2. Peel and slice the carrots and onions. When the potatoes have cooled down, slice them too. The slices should not be too thin.
3. Grease a cast-iron pot (Bofur’s favourite!) or a casserole with oil. Preheat the oven to 350*F/180*C. You can also prepare it on a stovetop or over a fire if you happen to find yourself in wilderness. In that case, you can add half a cup of water at the end and cover the pot with a lid.
3. Slice the sausage and bacon and then fry until golden brown. Bombur says that a bit thicker slices work very well here.
4. Put a layer of smoked bacon on the bottom of the casserole.
5. The next layer should contain potato, carrot and onion slices on top of the bacon. Add some green peas. Season the layer with salt and pepper.
6. Layer the sausage on top of the vegetables.
7. Repeat layers as many times as you need.
8. Put a few slices of bacon on top as the last layer.
9. Bake for about 30 minutes.
10. Open the oven, sprinkle with shredded cheese.
11. Bake for around 15 minutes more or until the cheese melts nicely.
12. Time to eat!
Attached to this letter you will find a picture of this fine meal made by the talented Ori.
Both Bombur and I hope that you and your friends will find this meal to your liking!
It’s the time of giving so King Thorin Oakenshield is waiting for your letters sent by the Royal Raven Post. He has taken over my ask box this week so the asks you send to me until Saturday (17th December) will be replied to by our majestic King Under The Mountain.
🎁 The winter edition is a bit different than the previous ones – if you like, Thorin can send his reply as a private ask to your inbox! 🎁
RULES:
📜Make sure you’re following me before sending your ask to Thorin.
📜 Reblog this post.
📜Max one question per ask please because Thorin is a busy king (rebuilding Erebor is hard!). There is no limit on the number of asks from one person. Go ahead and spam me!
📜 NSFW asks are allowed, but you have to be 18+ to send them.
📜 If you would like Thorin to send his reply to your ask box, let him know with this emoji 🤫
If you choose this option:
1) No anons please - the Royal Raven Post needs to know where to send the King’s letters.
2) Don’t forget to have asks enabled.
If you’d like Thorin to send you a private ask instead of a public reply to your ask, please add this emoji 🤫 to your ask and then pick a second emoji from the list below.
My King, I would like you to send me…
🌟 - a letter where you share a secret with me (Thorin will tell you one of his secrets)
❄ - a Dwarven winter tradition
💎 - an answer to my question (ask Thorin anything!)
💗 - a love letter (don’t forget your pronouns and a detail or two about you!)
😊 - a supportive message (should it be focused on anything specific?)
🐴 - a note from one of Thorin Oakenshield’s journeys through Middle Earth
🤩 - an ask with a question (Thorin is a curious Dwarf and wants to know you better)
🔥 - a very naughty letter (18+ only; you can send in a prompt if you like)
🎅 - a very nice gift (Thorin will send you something special if you tell him your favorite color and share something about you)
🍪 - one of Bombur’s Yule recipes (any preferences?)
If Thorin replies to you with an ask, it is up to you to decide if you’d like to keep his letter private or if you’d prefer to share it with the wide world of Tumblr 💙
The King Under the Mountain is waiting for your letters!
I hope this letter finds you and your family in good health. Rebuilding Erebor must be keeping you busy but I hope you can find time to fulfill my curiosity again.
A little bird told me your royal ask box is open again. Poor thing was exhausted when he returned to Woodland realm but he wouldn't rest until he told me everything.
I would be delighted to know about #13, what is your favorite legend?
It is, as always, a great honour to receive the letters written by your elegant hand. A truly refreshing experience after the latest missive your husband sent me. Do not worry, I will not discuss political matters now. Pray allow me to say that I much rather prefer conducting the negotiations with you than with your royal spouse who seems to communicate mostly with smirks whenever we meet and with hastily written notes whenever he is to respond to the official correspondence from Erebor. There was a pungent leaf that gave me a most unpleasant rash and a dozen of feisty red ants. They attacked several of my people, including my scribe Ori! How many times do I have to say that the impromptu ice rink in front of the main gate of Erebor was an unfortunate coincidence! Also, I do hope your husband’s elk fares better than his well.
Forgive me, my lady, I am being petty and rude and there is no excuse for it. I can only say that I am glad whenever you accompany your husband every time he travels to the Lonely Mountain. Your wisdom and insight saved us quite a lot of headaches, along with your tonic against ant bites.
My family is quite well, thank you for asking. My sister Dis has recently arrived at Erebor along with other families from the Blue Mountains. My sister-sons have missed their mother greatly. And to think she left Erebor only for several months! Kili is very eager to leave his sickbed (he is recovering from a nasty cold), but I have a feeling that he enjoys his mother’s fussing quite a bit. As for Fili, he is very eagerly working at the Great Forges and spends most of his time there. It may have something to do with the fact that my sister mentioned it was time for him to marry since she brought all those pretty young maidens from the Blue Mountains. The problem is, he does not feel like settling down. I can imagine that similar experiences happen to all the parents. I am guessing that raising prince Legolas must have offered various challenges.
You asked me about my favourite legend. It is a story that I have heard from my Grandfather, King Thrór, who has heard it from his grandfather, who, in turn, has heard it from his grandfather as well. This story is sometimes called “A Shepherd’s Adventure”, although my cousins from the Iron Hills call it “The Treasure of the Mountains”.
A Shepherd’s Adventure
A long time ago, there was a young shepherd named Drangi who travelled with his goat herd along the Grey Mountains every summer. One warm and peaceful day he fell asleep while his mountain goats were grazing. When he woke up, the sun was setting. As he looked at his herd, he noticed that one of his youngest goats was missing. Worried, Drangi took his shepherd’s stick and went to search for the little white kid.
Evening mists came crawling, chilling him to the bone, but he would not stop. Finally, among the mists, he found a cave he had never seen before, even though he knew these parts like the back of his hand. When he entered the cave, darkness surrounded him.
“Who goes there?” a deep voice echoed in the darkness.
“They call me Drangi, son of Draug. I am but a simple shepherd,” the young Dwarf responded in a tiny voice.
A faint light appeared somewhere deep in the cave and Drangi finally saw a very old, white-bearded Dwarvish warrior sitting on a boulder, hand resting on his axe. The cave was huge and all around this ancient guard dozens and dozens of Dwarves lay on the ground, sound asleep, mighty weapons in their hands, great, shining armours covering their bodies.
“Is it time?” the old Dwarf asked, his eyes black as coals.
“N-no, not at all, forgive me for intruding, I am simply searching for my lost goat,” Drangi said sheepishly.
“Very well,” nodded the ancient warrior. “Look around. Our army sleeps here. If the Dwarves are ever in danger, we will awaken and defend our people. And now, leave this place, boy. You will find your goat by the entrance of this cave.”
Drangi bowed and left the cavern. The old Dwarf spoke the truth, his lost white kid stood bleating nearby. When Drangi finally returned home and told his family what happened, his grandfather said:
“You have found the real treasure of our mountains, son of my son. Remember it well for a time may come when this knowledge will be needed!”
And so Drangi did, and told his children and grandchildren about his adventure. And since then, all the Longbeard Dwarves tell this story to their little ones to remind them that if evil strikes, we are not alone.
You should have seen me when I read Thorin's answer. I was all giddy, smiling ear-to-ear. 😊 This was exactly what I needed after two hectic days. Thank you! 🙏
The legend is absolutely amazing!! For some reason the story of Ali Baba came to mind, even though it's completely different. 😄
Aah, yes, the unfortunate incident with the ice. As much as it pains the Queen to confess, it was rather amusing. 🤭 The elk is doing well, even the Elvenking has recovered, thanks to the special care he received. 😏
Good morning, dear Lady Legolasse of the faraway Badass Forest!
Allow me to say that reading your letters is always a great pleasure, although your latest message made me think quite a bit before I put the quill to parchment. Why? It so happens that we are waiting for the delegation from Mirkwood to arrive any day and I am afraid that they may not succeed in reaching the gates of the Mountain. By a complete coincidence, some unknown Dwarves thought that it would be a great idea to cover the whole area in front of the main gate with water. May I add that we had truly freezing weather last night? Needles to say, there is now an ice skating rink the size of a large pond that completely covers the ground. I am afraid that it includes the road to Dale and Mirkwood. Erebor is to conduct very sensitive negotiations with the Woodland Realm and the last thing we need is the sight of King Thranduil on his elk performing a very ungraceful flip on the slippery ice.
I feel that I need to clarify my statement. I wrote “the last thing we need”, but not “the last thing I want” on purpose. Your command of language is unmatched, so I believe that you have already grasped my meaning. I know that I do not need to add anything further… Except for the fact that when the king of Mirkwood performs the aforementioned acrobatics, a part of me hopes that he will loudly squeal like a little elfling. How unkingly of me. On the other hand, even a king is allowed a moment of drollery, is he not?
My guards informed me that they found the culprits responsible for the creation of this impromptu ice skating rink. Those mischievous Dwarves happen to be my own nephews. Somehow, it does not surprise me. Obstructing the trade and transport of goods from Dale? Creating a mountain-wide crisis? These are the only mischiefs worth managing, according to my sister-sons: the bigger, the better. This is not the first time when I find myself sitting in my study and pulling at my braids in despair, trying to think of a suitable punishment. At least I will not need to have yet another talk with them. Dis is about to give them a proper scolding – in fact, I believe I can hear her shouts across the corridor. Poor lads. Perhaps making them work on restoring the road to its former state and a week of work in the stables with manure removal would suffice?
Will I make a good father? As you know, I had the honour of helping to raise my sister-sons. I have not been the perfect father figure, quite often I have been absent due to my duties, and at times my temper took the better of me, but I can say that I learned what tunes to hum to make a crying pebble fall asleep and I know that sometimes an embrace is worth more than any words.
I am not sure whether Mahal allows me to become a father one day, but if he does, I know that I will make mistakes, perhaps even be as strict as my Father and Grandfather were to me, but at the end of the day, I would like my child to know that they are loved, just like my nephews do, I hope.
Forgive me, my lady, but it is time for me to end this letter. I hear the elven harness bells ringing from afar and it means that my presence is required at the main gate of Erebor. I would not forgive myself if I were to miss Thranduil’s arrival, especially the part when he rides onto the ice. I hope Gloin is taking bets.
We all adore you and your rule, sire, but we would love to get to know more about you. Please, if you would be so kind as to answer, to your liking, these two questions?
The esteemed lady Asgardianne of Hobbiton graces my royal inbox!
This is a great honour indeed for which I am thankful. Receiving a letter from Hobbiton always warms my heart, I recollect this place with fondness. I hope you and your close ones are well!
You asked me what kind of creature I am – the answer is: a night owl, most definitely. Let me simply say that I am very grateful that I do not need to wake up at dawn, as I did every day during the Quest. Trying to keep one’s eyes open that early seemed to be a nearly impossible feat. And I had to pretend that my thoughts were coherent while trying to lead my men! Once I almost walked into a tree when my eyelids started drooping. If not for Dwalin, my face would have had a very close encounter with a tree trunk and my moniker “Oakenshield” would have to be changed to “Oakenface”. As you see, the Quest was full of various dangers.
Late evenings are my favourite time of the day. Perhaps it is because no one dares to bother me then, or perhaps because I have the opportunity to enjoy the silence and have a moment for myself after a long day. You can say that this is the only time when I can be myself. Not a king, but a Dwarf like any other, unrestrained by the court etiquette. If I happen to have a sufficient amount of time and light, I sometimes read, tinker or even clean my weapons. I find that working with your own hands is quite soothing after a long day filled with negotiations and treaties.
On clear nights, I tend to spend time on my terrace with my pipe as my only companion. Watching stars come out at night, the celestial companions to the lights of Dale, their joined reflections shimmering in the dark waters of the lake, is a breathtaking spectacle. If you ever happen to find yourself in the vicinity of the Lonely Mountain, I will be most happy to show you the most advantageous view of Long Lake and its surroundings.
My lady, before I continue, I must say that I apologize in advance for offending your sensibilities. I shall warn you that the following descriptions of my coming-of-age celebrations are not for the faint-hearted. Pray, proceed at your discretion.
I am not going to bore with the details of the official court celebrations of my coming-of-age. Now, I must admit that I am not certain how such events look among Hobbits or other races and when they happen, but among the Dwarves, one is considered mature at the age of 40 years. That does not mean, however, that it is the equivalent of the age of 20 years among Men. As children, we develop similarly to Men, perhaps a tad slower, and at the age of 20 (we call it “half Battle Age”), we have equal experience and maturity of Man who is 20 years old. The difference between us is as follows: Dwarves believe that one needs more experience and well-honed skills to be considered truly mature and ready to go to war at 40 – the Battle Age. On average, most Dwarves live until the age of 250 although the line of Durin is said to be blessed with longevity. My Grandfather, King Thrór, died at the age of 248, still strong enough to fight. I do believe that he would have easily lived until 280 at least, if not for the Orcs. But enough of my musings.
For Dwarves, the coming-of-age celebrations happen when we reach the age of 40. And so happened with me. After the official part, my closest friends took me to a surprise party they organized in a tavern. Let me simply say that much fun was had. Barrels of ale were emptied, there was music, song, dance, and laughter, and there may have been even some frolicking… although I do not remember much, I must admit. The ale was quite potent, you see. Dwalin insisted on a hand wrestling tournament, and I obliged him. Little did I know that each victory was rewarded by a kiss from a very fair and very enthusiastic Dwarf-maiden I fancied at that time, and a tankard of ale. I should have know it was more of a drinking game than anything else.
I woke on the next day with an enormous headache. I had absolutely no clothes on and, what is worse, I could not find them. Instead, I found this charming Dwarf-maiden close beside me… and she happened to be without her clothes as well. Allow me to say that it was a very eventful night, but none of us could remember much. What was worse, we found ourselves by one of the underground lakes of Erebor. The Dwarf-maiden (who shall remain anonymous, she is now a respectable lady with a family of her own) remembered something about a wager. From what we managed to piece together afterwards, the evening (or should I say early morning) ended with both of us, along with Dwalin, Gloin, Frerin, and a few other companions, running through one of the main walkways of the Mountain towards this lake… completely naked. It was supposed to be some kind of a race, I believe. None of us recalled who was the winner, and on the way to the lake, we lost Gloin. On the next day, he was found by the miners, snoring in one of the mine carts (completely naked, of course), and mumbling, “Mommy, please, five minutes more”.
You are probably wondering what happened afterwards. Imagine two young unclothed Dwarves sneaking through forgotten tunnels towards the tavern while trying to avoid unwanted attention. If someone saw us that morning, the prince of Erebor accompanied by a daughter of an influential Lord, both complementary bare, a scandal would have erupted for sure. I can imagine the heralds shouting on every corner “Salacious prince caught depraving an innocent lady of impeccable reputation!” (Between you and me, my lady, I am not quite sure who depraved whom – allow me to say that we both enjoyed the adventure and the lakeshore remained one of our favourite meeting places.) Luckily, we were not found, mostly because everyone was still asleep. We found our clothes, or at least the most crucial elements of our wardrobe, and quietly returned to our homes, before anyone noticed anything. Except for Dwalin, of course. I stumbled over him when leaving the tavern. Thank Mahal, he had his trousers on. As we were returning to our chambers, trying to sing a drinking song, a thought appeared in my head: why on earth Dwalin had a new braid that resembled one of Dis’s braids and why was it bound with one of her ribbons?
Oh my god, this is hilarious! "Oakenface" and the party. 🤣
I have a bit of hard time concentrating on commenting because the image of all this is replaying in my mind - and now my s/o looks at me like I've lost my marbles. 🤣
Good afternoon, dear illustrious Lady Fizzy from the faraway land of Custardia,
Receiving a letter from you is always a great pleasure. I have a confession to make: for some inexplicable reason, I think of you every time fish is served for dinner. Perhaps you could do me the honour of joining me at dinner one day?
But let us move on to other matters – your questions. I am sure that I can trust you, dear lady, and that is why I will let you in on a secret: the Company member who annoys me the most at this very moment is Dori. He keeps on nagging me about taking my measurements so that he and his apprentices can sew new royal robes for me for the Spring Feast. An utterly boring task. I have no patience for such trivialities nor do I need new robes, although both Dori and my sister disagree with me. What is the point of me wearing silks, cloth of gold and furs when our kingdom needs food, stonemasons, and supplies? Dori follows me everywhere I go with his tape measure, and he is aware that I absolutely abhor being measured as if I were a pedigree goat on display! He claims that an opulent-looking king pours hope in our people’s hearts. This is completely unnecessary! I do not know what may be wrong with my regular cloak, the one I wore during the quest. The Elves graciously returned it to me. I admit it is a bit torn in places and it smells of flowers, but it suits me very well. I do not understand why Dori frowns at this idea. Mahal, give me strength, here he comes again… [ink blotch]
I have returned, my lady, to finish my letter. I was once again victorious, but I am afraid Dori’s patience is wearing thin. In the meantime, allow me to tell you about a strange habit that I have. When it is time for me to consume a sandwich, provided I am not famished, I do it in a circular manner. The crust goes first – and then I am left with the perfect middle part, enjoying its contents to the last bite. It is not a usual way of eating, is it? And before you ask, ham sandwiches with pickles are my favourite.
Before I finish this letter, I need to share an important piece of information with you, my lady. Bombur tells me that we will have fish for dinner on Sunday. Care to join?
I love his reasoning for disliking getting more clothes but I'm sure he just has to yield sometime. If Dori isn't successful persuading him to get new robes, Dís will be. 😄
I must admit that your letter made me think quite a bit. Usually, I do not have much time to think about myself, my busy schedule does not really allow much time for self-reflection nor is it a thing I have a habit of doing. You will have to forgive me if my reply seems too shallow. Dwalin likes to say that any depths of my mind have been beaten out of me for good by the constant hits to my head I am receiving from him in the Training Halls. Worry not, my lady, we wear sturdy helmets, but Dwalin’s hand is quite heavy, I must admit, especially when he takes to training with his war hammer.
You are asking me to state a fact about my appearance that I dislike. I trust you not to convey this little detail further (not even to your esteemed husband and my favourite scribe!), but… well, there is no sophisticated way to say it: my feet are wide and I’m not too overly fond of that fact. I am afraid they are not too pretty – but this is something that I can live with. It has been a true nuisance throughout my life for another reason. It has been extremely difficult for me to find fitting boots and they had to be custom made, otherwise my feet suffered greatly. It was not an issue when I lived in Erebor, but once we were forced to leave our homes, years on the road taught me to appreciate skilled cobblers. Often, I would walk for miles in my old, worn boots, praying that they would hold until the next town of Men, and then to the next one and next – until I earned enough coins and found a willing cobbler. And I can tell you that not many of them agreed to make Dwarven boots for this is a laborious task for a non-Dwarven cobbler (and not a cheap one). When I finally bought a pair of proper Broadbeam boots in the Blue Mountains, I was the happiest Dwarf in the entire Arda.
A fact about my personality that I like? This is not an easy question, for sure. I may sound immodest, but I appreciate the fact that Mahal made me stubborn as an ox. Not everyone likes this particular trait of mine, especially not my dearest sister, but it was my stubbornness that allowed me to succeed in difficult or seemingly hopeless situations. Otherwise, I would not have been able to convince my Father to leave Khazad-dûm and travel west, as the other clans wanted, letting our people rest and build new lives. I would not have been able to hold on to the last wisps of sanity when the dragon sickness attacked me and then to heal after receiving the almost-deadly wound the pale Orc inflicted. And I would not have been able to convince my sister not to serve Brussels sprouts for dinner. Does that answer your question?
As for your latest comment… Well, my lady, how thoughtful of you! I am indeed feeling quite hot after my sparring with Dwalin that happened mere moments ago. Luckily, this can be easily remedied by a cooling bath. Would you be so kind, my lady, and send my bathing assistants straight to my bathchambers? I am sure you know who I am talking about. Ori would not have chosen a dim wife for himself.
I am truly humbled by your letter. Thank you! One would think that every person would dream of being a king, would one not? My Grandfather Thrór taught me that being a ruler truly means being a servant to your people. It is a humbling duty and, at times, a very satisfying task, but there are days when I dream of sneaking out to the forges instead of conducting another round of negotiations over a treaty or a trade agreement. If not for the circumstances of my birth, I believe I would have been a blacksmith. This is my true craft, as you most probably know. There is nothing more satisfying that admiring the fine edge of a freshly forged blade at the end of the day.
If you are ever in Erebor, allow me to give you a tour of the forges of Erebor. To my knowledge, there are no greater forges in the entire world. This is where I often go at night when my mind refuses to rest or during the day if there is something I need to think through.
Forging objects makes you pour your emotions into them, so that they become something more than just pieces of metal. There is an old Dwarven saying – the axe is the sould of a Dwarf – and I think I agree with this statement. A weapon should be crafted with devotion and care because it is going to serve its owner and protect them in the most perilous of situations. During a fight, a Dwarven warrior sometimes goes into a battle frenzy, forgetting about the world around him, focusing only on delivering death to the enemy as swiftly as possible, and for that he needs a worthy blade that will never fail him. We call such warriors berserkir, the blessed ones that were touched by the hottest fires of Mahal’s forge. We want them to use the greatest weapons ever made – ones that perhaps contain a bit of this fire inside them as well; ones that could withstand their owner’s holy rage.
Why am I sharing this knowledge with you? Because I would like you to see where the source of my joy lies: forging blades that their owners will hopefully carry with pride. Blades that will defend them from any attacks they may face.
If my fate was different, if I were not a descendant of Durin’s line, I would build myself a small smithy at the crossroads and devote my days to perfecting my work so that I could try to forge a blade so great that it would be worthy of a berserker one day. And after a long day of work, I would sit at the porch, smoke my pipe and chat with passing by travellers, listening to the news of the world until the stars reign over the evening sky.
It is a great honour to receive a letter from the Queen of the Woodland Realm! I hope that my reply finds you in good health you meaning your person specifically, not including your royal husband.
18. how would you describe your first crush?
I kept dreaming of her day and night. She seemed like the purest, the most gentle creature there ever was. No one could be more beautiful nor wiser than her. She was perfect with her rosy cheeks and golden curls. And she smelled like violets on a spring day.
She was one of the maids in the royal wing of Azsâlul'abad (or as you Elves call it, Erebor) and, being a very young lad, I was too shy to ever speak to her. She disappeared one day, some said that she moved to the Iron Hills, but I never saw her again.
Aww, she sounds absolutely delightful and I have a feeling she would have been a perfect match for Thorin. 🥰 Thank you for fulfilling my curiosity. *the Queen has a tiny blush on her cheeks 😉*
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