Chapter Text
My Beloved Sister,
“Oh, Mahal,” Dis muttered. “What has my idiot brother done now?” The two ravens who had carried the bundle of letters to Ered Luin, Feylar and Meylar, both uttered their croaking laughs at her words. With a slight smile, Dis returned to the letter in her hands.
So much has happened since my last letter, sister - and most of it I would prefer to tell you in person. Having lived through it all myself, I still find myself challenged to believe it is all real.
The first, and most important thing, you need to know is that both your crickets and I are doing well.
Dis felt her spine stiffen as a cold jolt ran through her body. If Thorin had to begin his impossible tale with reassurances of his own and her sons’ continued health, then the rest of the letter could not be good.
In my last letter, I sent word that Smaug had been defeated, and that Erebor was now ours. I know you would have preferred to hear from us sooner, but the slaying of the dragon was the least of the events that have occurred.
Tight fear wrapped a crushing grip around her heart.
Before Dain was able to reach us, we received word that a massed force of orcs and wargs from Gundabad and Dol Guldur were marching on Erebor.
Dis felt her vision begin to white out. She placed the letter on her desk and covered her face with her hands, taking a few moments to breathe deeply. “My family lives,” she reassured herself. “They are alive.” It was a few more seconds before she could return to the letter.
Prince Legolas had already approached us to beg for sanctuary. I was only willing to listen to him because he had actively defied his father to save the Company when we were… unwilling guests in Thranduil's halls.
Unwilling guests?! That's it, I'm glad my brother survived so I can kill him myself, she thought. He got my pebbles captured by elves! She returned her attention to the letter.
Thranduil had effectively lost his mind. He ultimately banished both of his sons, and Erebor provided sanctuary to both princes and the majority of the elves from Eryn Galen. I am still unsure as to what happened with Thranduil; all I know for certain is that the skinchanger, Beorn, was instrumental in restoring his senses.
When the massed armies finally reached us, the elves were very instrumental in working with us to defend Erebor. Little Songbird, you would be so proud of your boys! They were magnificent!
Dis looked up from the letter, at the two ravens who were watching her closely. “Does it really count as regicide if I murder my brother for sending my sons into battle, if he also happens to be king?” she mused aloud. The ravens fluttered and laughed again.
“Ravenmaster Baggins might take exception to his death,” Feylar warned her. Dis snorted.
“So the royal idiot at least had enough sense to bestow a position on the hobbit? Good,” she affirmed. Feylar shook his head.
“No, my lady. The Ravens of Erebor decided that Master Baggins will be our new Ravenmaster. King Thorin had no say in that,” he corrected her. Dis blinked in surprise. That was… unprecedented. She returned to the letter.
If I were to tell you everything you need to hear, I would need to send you a book, not just a letter. I must cut to the core reason of this missive.
As I am sure you have assumed by now, Fili, Kili, and myself were all grievously injured during the battle that occurred when the orcs finally reached us. Be calm, sister - thanks to the presence of Bilbo Baggins, Kili and I are fully recovered, and Fili is responding well to treatment. If it was not the first thing you read upon receiving these missives, you will find a letter from both boys included.
Dis - sister - I know that your first instinct will be to saddle the fastest pony you can conscript and ride with all due speed for Erebor to see your boys for yourself. And, most likely, murder me where I stand.
Dis had to snort at that. At least Thorin knew her well.
I am asking you to delay, at least until Spring. Bilbo must remain here in Erebor to ensure Fili's full recovery. His injuries are severe, and his recovery is at a delicate stage, but Bilbo is confident that he will continue to respond well. As much as our hobbit holds Oin's medical skills in high regard, even that crotchety old bounder admits that hobbit healing will be best for our golden lion. Bilbo's concern, however, is that with his continued absence from his home in the Shire, certain less than honorable members of his extended family might try to take advantage of the situation and liberate some of his possessions to which they have no valid claim.
Dis had to snort at that. It seems some things were true, regardless of what race someone was from.
Bilbo has offered the use of his residence, Bag End, to whichever dwarrow you feel would be best to care for his home, and possibly begin packing some of his things to come to Erebor with the Spring caravan. I had suggested Mirkda and Gimli, or perhaps Bathilda and her avalanche, so either or both of them could be closer to that midwife of the Shire.
Now that is an interesting suggestion, Dis mused to herself. Mirkda was doing exceptionally well, all things considered, but perhaps it would be better for her to stay in a more welcoming environment for the duration… Mahal knows, Ered Luin was a vast improvement over the many years they spent wandering and looking for a new home, but it wasn't the warmest environment.
Included in this delivery, you should find four letters to be hand delivered to the Shire - two to Thain Gerontius Took, who so happens to be Bilbo's grandfather, and two for a hobbit named Hamfast Gamgee, who is being named seneschal for the Baggins estate. There is the letter from your two troublemakers, and there should be letters for Mirkda and Bathilda as well. I know Bilbo was sending letters to a cousin of his in Bree, but I don't know if the ravens stopped there first, or will continue on after visiting you.
Also, there is a brief note for Carrac's mate, if you could see she receives it. Shut up. The little flying menace saved my hobbit's life. He gets a letter to his mate.
Dis couldn't help but snicker. She could almost see the embarrassed glare on her brother's face at being asked to write a letter for a raven. She sat Thorin's letter aside and flipped through the remaining envelopes on her desk. As promised, in addition to a letter from her boys, there were letters for Bathilda, Mirkda, the Thain and the hobbit, and a final letter addressed to Harddwchtywyll - and wasn't that a mouthful! - that she assumed was Carrac's mate. Apparently, the ravens had already been to Bree. She returned to her brother's letter - possibly the longest letter she had ever received from him.
Rest assured, all of the Company is doing well. The worst injury any of them received that Bilbo was unable to resolve was Gloin's broken ankle, and even with his tonics and ointments, he'll probably be back on his feet by the time you've reached the Shire. I look forward to your return letter, especially knowing it will still be several months before you can properly thump me in person. I have so much wonderful news to share with you. I can hardly wait.
Your devoted brother,
Thorin II Oakenshield
King Under the Mountain
Erebor
Dis laid the surprising letter down once again, and sat back in thought. She looked at the ravens once more.
“What can you tell me about Bilbo Baggins?” she asked.
The pair before her ruffled their wings and clattered their beaks, as though considering their answers.
“The Ravenmaster is very kind,” Feylar finally said. “He refuses to demand obedience from any of us. He always has the courtesy to ask our service, not command it.”
“He has the tasty food!” Meylar said enthusiastically. “He nurtures us! Makes us all stronger!”
Feylar rattled his beak in agreement. “He has gentle hands,” he added. “He does not allow the karku'zund to bully us, as they used to.”
Dis blinked in surprise. “There are karku'zund in Erebor?” she marveled. “I thought they were all lost when the great wyrm came!”
Feylar and Meylar croaked, voices angry, and Dis was surprised by their reaction.
“They hid!” Feylar hissed. “Ravenmaster has declared they cannot call themselves the karku'zund of Erebor until they prove themselves! The giant blowhards fled to the Eagles of Manwë and sheltered with them while the dwarrow were in need!”
“Ravenmaster will not let them push us out anymore and take the best nesting spots!” Meylar all but crowed. “Is making them earn their place again!”
“Interesting…” Dis said thoughtfully. Her thoughts churned through everything that Thorin had said, and quite a bit that he had not. She smirked slightly. She could understand Thorin's discretion, but she was willing to bet he wasn't aware of how much he had revealed by what wasn't said. A slow smile crawled its way across her lips.
“Well…” she said again. “Looks like I might actually have to stop referring to Thorin as my idiot brother,” she said casually. She collected the letters to go to Bathilda and Mirkda, and the one for the raven, and rose to her feet. “Seems he was smart enough to ensure Master Baggins joins the family after all!”
****************
Dis felt completely ridiculous. She had delivered the letters to Bathilda and Mirkda, their children almost more excited to receive notes from their fathers than their respective mothers. Now, she was making her way up to the rookery where the ravens nested, a small board and several nails clutched in one hand, a letter to a raven - penned by a king - grasped in her other.
As she appeared in the rookery, there was a flurry of dark wings and scattered feathers as the ravens reacted to her presence, and she gingerly picked her way over to the nesting boxes. The one she wanted was easy to locate - it was the only box with a mithril chain suspended from it.
As she approached, a coal black head with jet-like eyes poked over the edge. The raven in question fluttered to her feet until she managed to push her way up to balance on the edge of the box. “My Lady,” the raven croaked. “How may I serve?”
To the dwarrowdam's ears, the raven sounded exhausted. Based on the faint sounds she was hearing from the box behind the small, dark form, the raven was experiencing the strain of new mothers everywhere. Dis smiled kindly. “Are you Harddwchtywyll, mate of Carrac?” She asked, stumbling somewhat over the unusual name. The raven clattered her beak.
“I am, my lady. Please, feel free to call me Tywyll. It is much easier to say,” the raven said, dipping her head in a bobbing movement. “No idea what my parents were thinking,” she muttered to herself.
Dis smothered her grin. “Thank you, Lady Tywyll,” she said. “Please, do not leave your nest for me. I remember what it was like when my pebbles first arrived. You must be exhausted.”
With clear hesitation, the raven stepped back into her nest, and settled once more to shelter the peeping Dis could hear coming from within.
“The reason I have sought you out is not because I am in need of your service, but because I have received a letter for you,” Dis explained, holding up the parchment. “Apparently, Carrac is not able to make the flight from Erebor at this time, and was concerned you might worry about him.”
Tywyll ruffled her wings and uttered a small, distressed noise before bobbing her head once more. “Many thanks, my lady,” she croaked. “I admit that I was growing worried. Carrac is normally very attentive in seeing to the needs of myself and our fledglings while I am nesting. I am… concerned… with how I will care for this brood without his presence.”
“You will see to them the way any resident of Ered Luin would see to their pebbles - with the support of your people,” Dis stated firmly. She leaned back slightly and looked up. “I am in need of a messenger,” she announced. Within seconds, another raven fluttered down to perch near the princess - but not too close to the nesting ravens who hissed quietly at his presence.
“Please carry a message to the kitchens,” Dis stated quickly. “Let one of the hobbits know that the nesting ravens, and specifically Harddwchtywyll, are in need of sustenance to care for their young. Request they bring food for the ravens to the rookery as soon as possible.”
The new raven bobbed his head. “Yes, my lady,” he croaked before hurling himself skyward to wing deeper into the mountain. Dis turned back to the staring Tywyll with a smile on her face.
“Now, while we wait for them, let us see to your letter. I don't mean to be rude, but can you read, or would you like me to read the letter to you?”
Tywyll clacked her beak softly. “I am able to read Khuzdul, but not Westron,” the bird said apologetically.
“That shouldn't be a problem, then,” Dis assured her. She showed the raven the intact seal on the letter, and it was evident by the bird's fluttering that she was capable of recognizing the royal seal of the Durins, then broke the seal and laid the small board she was carrying down. Carefully unfolding the letter without actually looking at the contents, Dis swiftly used several nails to pin the corners of the parchment down and hold it in place. Then she propped the board up in such a way that Tywyll could read the contents for herself.
While Tywyll was making her way through the letter, Dis heard footsteps shuffling behind her. Turning, she realized that the steps she'd heard were very deliberate; a dark haired hobbit male stood behind her, shifting awkwardly, and she knew from experience that if a hobbit wished to pass unnoticed, you would never hear their steps. He was carrying a loaded tray in his arms, and a woven basket full of some sort of small clay bowls dangled from his elbow.
“Beggin’ yer ladyship's pardon,” the hobbit began once he knew he had the dwarrowdam's attention. “I be Hardwicke Brindle, the birder,” he introduced himself. “I come with t'e others t’ help keep t’e fowls, but t’e raven said ye needed help with t’e rookery?”
Dis tried to offer a reassuring smile to the awkward young hobbit, but all she succeeded in doing was triggering a stunning level of blush on the youthful face. “Thank you for coming so swiftly, Master Brindle,” she said gently. She moved aside to allow better access to the nesting boxes. “Harddwchtywyll's mate has been delayed. She will need some way to care for herself and their young.” Dis tried to be as succinct as possible, hoping to induce calmness.
Hardwicke straightened. “Aw, tha's easy!” he exclaimed happily. He started to move closer to the nesting boxes. “At least t'e ravens here is smart enough t’ know what's what!” He snorted derisively, more muttering to himself than anything else. “Stupid turkeys.” He looked up into the beady black eyes of the wary raven, even as he balanced the tray he was holding in one hand and began rummaging in the basket with the other. “Do ye know, turkeys is so stupid, they c'n drown theyselves by lookin’ up tryin’ t’ figure out where t'e water be comin’ from?” he told the raven in companionable outrage. “At least you ladies know t’ eat food if it's offered!”
From the basket, he pulled two curiously shaped pottery trays, almost like overly large ladles with exaggerated bends in their handles. Chatting amiably at the nesting raven, who just stared at the chatty hobbit in confusion, he hung two of these strange devices over the edge of Tywyll's nesting box. Then, still talking, he peered into every box, and if it was occupied, added a pair of the pottery devices to each box. Across the frame that supported the ravens and their eggs, gleaming black heads and sharp beaks poked out one by one to see what the noisy visitor was doing.
Once Hardwicke had added trays to each occupied box, he started back with Tywyll and scooped a spoonful of mash from the tray he carried. “Here ye go, Missus!” he said cheerfully. “Here's a nice mash o’ sunflower seeds and raspberries. Get ye nice n’ strong! Eat up!” He went through the boxes again, once more chatting encouragingly to each nesting raven as he doled out the mash he'd brought. With much fluttering and croaking, the nesting ravens stuck their heads out and began eagerly scarfing down food. Hardwicke kept going to each occupied box, always starting with Tywyll and giving her slightly more than the others, until his bowl of mash was empty.
It was while Hardwicke was at the furthest point of the rookery nests away from Tywyll, Dis watching him in amused bemusement, that a flutter of wings drew her attention back to Tywyll's box. A male raven had landed near her, and was easing his way towards the confined raven's food tray. Before Dis could actually say anything, a flash of silver distracted her as a spoon was sent whizzing by her head to slap into the body of the audacious raven. Hardwicke, birder of the Shire and currently of Ered Luin, was stomping his way towards the startled male raven, glaring fiercely.
“I'll thank ye t’ mind yer manners, good sir!” he snapped, stalking up to the intruder. “T’e very idea! Tryin’ t’ take food right out o’ a mother's mouth! T'e nerve!”
The raven croaked in indignation. “She has no mate!” the raven insisted. “With no mate to feed her and her chicks, they will starve anyway. No use to waste good food on those who won't live! It is the way of things!”
The look of outrage on the hobbit's face mirrored the feeling of indignation that coursed through Dis’ frame as well. In general, the dwarrow had always left the ravens to govern themselves, but she had not been aware of such ruthless practicality amongst the birds. Hardwicke, though, spoke faster than she could. “Well until her mate comes home, she's got me!” he all but shouted, jerking a thumb into his own chest. “T’e lady said her mate is just indisposed. That means he ain't dead, an’ when he do come home, his lady an’ chicks will be waitin’ on ‘im!” He thrust an imperious finger at the shocked raven's beak.
“So you mind ye'self, y’ hear me?” Hardwicke stated firmly.
The raven reared back, then snapped his beak forward to stab the hobbit in the hand. Again, before Dis could react, the jab was interrupted by the metal tray that the hobbit had used to carry the mash on, and the beak made an almighty ‘clang!’ of noise at the impact. The raven staggered, somewhat stunned.
“Right, then,” Hardwicke growled. Quick as a wink, he clapped both hands around the raven's body and pinned its wings to its sides, then stuffed its feathered body under his armpit. With deft fingers, he unfastened his belt and pulled it free of his belt loops, then wrapped it around the raven's body multiple times and buckled it closed. Once the raven was fully restrained, the hobbit carefully slid it into one of the empty nesting boxes on the row below Tywyll. She was not the only being to stare at the little hobbit in awe.
Hardwicke nodded his head firmly. “An’ y’ c'n sit there an’ think about your behavior!” he stated. Then he hoisted up his slipping pants. He fished around in his basket once more and added two trays to the… timeout box, Dis decided to think of it, for lack of a better name. Then Hardwicke pulled out a corked jug, and began filling one ladle-dish on each box with fresh water. “Now drink up,” he told the bound raven. “Yer supposed t’ reflect on what ye did wrong, but that ain't no call fer ye t’ get sick.” He turned back to the waiting Dis, and jerked his britches up once more.
Suddenly realizing he was having to hold up his pants in front of a dwarrowdam he'd just met, the hobbit's face turned a brilliant shade of red. “Beggin’ yer pardon, m'um,” he managed to stammer. Dis waved away his concern.
“Quite alright, Master Brindle,” she reassured him. If it was possible, he turned even redder.
“If'n ye please, jus’ Hardwicke, m'um,” he corrected gently. “If ye don' mind me askin’, who's in charge of t'e ravens?” he managed to ask.
“We have no dedicated Ravenmaster in Ered Luin, but I understand Bilbo Baggins is the newly appointed master of Erebor. So ultimately, it would be him.” She gestured towards Tywyll. “I believe Harddwchtywyll's mate is currently the head raven, with his sire, Roac, as head raven emeritus. She would by default be the leader of this unkindness of ravens.”
Hardwicke nodded thoughtfully. “Cousin Bilbo's a good sort,” he mused to himself. “If ye don' mind, I c'n take care o’ t'e ravens ‘round here til he decides what he wants.”
Dis cocked an eyebrow at him. “Do you know anything about caring for ravens?” she asked. He looked sheepish.
“Not really,” he admitted. “I been taking care o’ birds since I was a wee faunt. I figure like most birds, they's gonna need food, water, an’ a bit o’ love, an’ what I don' know… well… I figure these ladies is smart enough t’ tell me what they need.”
Dis had to smile at his earnestness. Her eyes shifted to Tywyll. “What do you think, Harddwchtywyll?” she asked.
The raven in question nodded. “I think he will be a fine junior Ravenmaster,” she agreed.
“Then it's settled!” Dis announced. “Hardwicke Brindle, you are hereby appointed Ravenmaster of Ered Luin, reporting to Ravenmaster Baggins of Erebor,” she pronounced. “I leave them in your care.”
She bowed to the gobsmacked hobbit, then spun on her heel to walk out. After all, she still had to prepare herself, two pregnant dwarrowdams, and five pebbles for transport to the Shire!
****************
Hildefarns Brandybuck
Brandybuck Livery & Stables
Bree
Dear Cousin Hildefarns,
You cad! You bounder! You absolute rotter! You SHAMELESS HUSSY!
Hildefarns started laughing so hard upon reading the salutation to his letter, he nearly fell out of his chair. Only the quick intervention of his eldest son, Hildeborn, coming to investigate the raucous noise, saved him from tipping over completely.
“Father?” Hildeborn asked. “Is everything alright?”
Hildefarns gasped for breath, nodding his assent until he could speak normally.
“Perfectly alright, my little blossom!” he reassured his son. “Just a letter from Cousin Bilbo.”
Hildeborn straightened, his expression twisting into wry amusement. “Ah. Finally had a chance to comment on your little joke, did he?”
Hildefarns was grinning fit to split his face wide open, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Oh, yes,” he confirmed. “I just wish I could've been there to see it first hand!”
Hildeborn snorted. “I'm surprised he didn't come deliver it in person!”
Before Hildefarns could respond further, raised voices from the livery yard drew the two hobbits’ attention, and exchanging concerned glances, Hildefarns dropped his letter on his desk and he and his son rushed to see what was going on.
His good humor disappeared completely at the sight he beheld. A tall Man wearing stained and tattered clothing, his ragged hair a dirty uncombed mess, had one hand twisted in the front of his second son's, Erefarns’, tunic, looming over the much smaller hobbit with his other hand raised threateningly. “Get your hands off my son!” Hildefarns bellowed, racing forward.
The Man in question flung the younger hobbit away from himself, making Erefarns stumble and sprawl in the dirt, and turned his sneer to the eldest Brandybuck.
“Watch yer mouth, tiny!” he snarled. “Don’ think I won't teach ye how t’ speak to yer betters!”
Hildefarns sniffed dismissively. “Well when you find someone who qualifies, do feel free to send them along to educate me,” he snipped. “Until then, you have no business here. Be off with you!”
Hildeborn scurried to help his younger brother up and out of the way, but the belligerent Man spared them no attention. “Shut up, ye filthy halfling!” he shouted at Hildefarns. “Me ‘orse’s saddle broke. Yer gonna gimme a new one!”
Hildefarns scoffed. “Yes, certainly,” he said, voice positively dripping with disdain. “I'll get right on that, just as soon as I finish learning how to eat hay and pass gold.”
His sons gasped in shock at the crude statement, but Hildefarns didn't take his attention from the angry Man. The Man's face was turning purple.
“You little runt,” he growled, stomping closer to the indignant hobbit. Hildefarns presented himself as supremely unconcerned, his entire three-foot-tall frame relaxed and casual in the face of the six-foot-plus angry Man. “Ye jus’ gotta be mouthy with me every time I come here, dontcha!?”
“You could easily avoid that by… oh, I don't know… not coming here?” Hildefarns calmly suggested. He was actually terrified, but he refused to give this despicable Man the satisfaction of seeing him tremble.
It was the Man's turn to snort derisively. “But nobody else gives me such a good discount,” he hissed.
“You mean you aren't able to steal from anyone else,” Hildefarns shot back.
“You callin’ me a thief?” the Man shouted.
“Yes,” Hildefarns agreed. “And a liar, a scoundrel, and a reprobate. Oh, but perhaps I shouldn't use words for which you don't know the meaning?” he mused in faux concern. “Shall I explain them to you? I did use words with more than one syllable, after all.”
The Man growled, and drew back his fist to strike the hobbit across the face. Hildefarns stared him right in the eyes, and braced himself as well as he could. He knew this was going to hurt; it wasn't the first time he'd gone through this exchange with this Man, or others like him. But he absolutely refused to let any of them see him cower.
The blow never fell. With a shocking amount of noise and a storm of blackness, a feathered shape fell out of the sky and impacted the Man's face, sending him rolling head over heels across the dirt of the livery yard.
“Get thee gone, foul man!” A deep voice croaked. The black shape settled to the ground between the hobbit and the sprawled Man, resolving itself into a midnight-colored raven that, once standing, was taller than Hildefarns. Its enormous wings mantled in threat, shielding the hobbit from view. “Master Brandybuck is under the protection of the karku'zund and ravens of Erebor! You will leave these premises, and never return!” the bird roared.
The Man scrambled to his feet. His face was marred by four parallel scratches that bled profusely, cutting across his cheek, the bridge of his nose, and his hairline. It was a miracle that they somehow missed both of his eyes. Heedless of the gushing blood, the Man wobbled to his feet and one hand dropped to the poorly maintained knife at his belt.
“You stupid bird!” he bellowed.
The raven croaked again, wings fluttering threateningly. “Smart enough to not leave my back unprotected,” he snapped.
An echoing croak and a hair-raising hiss sounded from behind the Man, and he whipped around to find a second enormous raven perched on the rail fence around the livery. This one was also mantling in a threat display, head lowered and beak open, but its dark feathers were speckled with white, like tiny stars. The Man tried to position himself so that both birds were kept in sight.
“Yer both just ruddy birds!” the Man snapped. “I c'n have ye both shot down fer bein’ menaces!”
“Aye, ye could,” a new voice spoke, a deeper, gruffer voice, and the Man spun on his heel to find two dwarrow standing at the entrance to the livery yard. Both wore heavy smithing aprons, while one carried a smithing hammer and the other a short sword. “But would ye really want t’ call down troops from th’ Blue Mountains t’ hunt ye down?” The brunette dwarf on the right, the one holding the hammer, asked. “Ravens of Erebor are protected, ye see. An attack on them is an attack on us,” he went on to explain.
“Chert Muleskinner, ye ain't been nothin’ but trouble since ye came t’ Bree,” the brunette dwarf with the sword growled. “We knew ye weren't no good, but we never heard ye was a thief.”
“How dare you!” the Man, Chert, bellowed. “I am a Man of Bree, and you can't-”
“Chert, just shut up,” a new Man interrupted tiredly. “I shoulda run you outta town two years ago, but nobody filed an official complaint yet.” The new Man that walked up and leaned over the top rail was wearing the badge of town sherriff. He looked tired and fed up with everything. “Now take yourself elsewhere. You want a new saddle, go buy one somewhere else.”
Chert glared at everyone, but found no support on any faces. He looked back at Hildefarns, who hadn't moved or changed his nonchalant stance. “This isn't over, runt,” he hissed quietly.
“It is, oh Man,” the black raven snapped back, “if you plan to keep both eyes!” He snapped his beak a few times to emphasize his point.
Chert jerked away from him, and stalked his way out of the yard. The two wary dwarrow refused to move, and he wasn't strong enough to move them, so he had to edge around the pair of them to make good his exit.
Once he was out of the yard, the sheriff sighed tiredly. “Master Brandybuck, will you finally file a complaint against that idiot, so I can actually get involved?” he asked.
Hildefarns smiled sadly. “Sheriff Angstrom, do you really think it will actually reach your desk this time?” the hobbit asked gently. Angstrom slumped.
“Probably not, but I'm working on it,” he admitted.
“In that case, I bid you good afternoon, Sheriff,” Hildefarns said with a slight bow. Angstrom nodded, and pushed off from the fence.
“I better go follow that idiot, make sure he doesn't do anything even more stupid,” he sighed again, then ambled off down the street.
Once he was gone, Hildeborn and Erefarns moved up on either side of their father, and once his sons were close, that's when he finally allowed the tremors to show. The Brandybuck patriarch's knees started to tremble, and the brothers struggled to hold him up.
The two dwarrow rushed forward to help. “Thank you for your timely intervention, Master Dwarf,” Hildeborn said as he tried to guide his father back into the office. Hildefarns was shaking so hard, it looked as though he were going into shock. “This is the first time Father has confronted that scum and not been left bleeding.”
Erefarns scowled fiercely. “That pydredd cerdded gets off on beating anyone smaller than him,” he growled.
Hildefarns tutted mildly. “Language, dear heart,” he chided. “What will our guests think?”
The dwarf who tucked the sword he was carrying into his belt snorted laughter. He stepped forward and shooed the brothers off, then swept Hildefarns up into his arms. “We'd think ye weren't usin’ strong enough language fer that rukhs skelga,” he stated.
Hildefarns sighed contentedly, and snuggled against the broad chest of the dwarf holding him. “So strong…” he breathed. “And deliciously warm.”
The dwarf's face suffused with pink, and he scowled at the dwarf beside him, who smirked. Hildeborn guided them to his father's desk, where the strange dwarf lowered him into his chair. Erefarns darted away, calling out as he moved. “Isenfarns! Ice! Get the kettle on! We have dwarrow guests!” he was shouting.
There was the clang of metal that sounded a lot like a kettle being dropped, when a third young hobbit appeared in the doorway to a side room. “Really!?” he asked excitedly, eyes shining. Seeing all three young hobbits in the same room, it was easy to see they were indeed brothers. All were around three feet tall, much the same height as their father, and all three had curly dark auburn hair. There was some difference in the shape of their faces, but their smiles, noses, and hazel eyes were all the same. “How exciting! What happened?”
Erefarns physically turned his brother around and started pushing him back the way he came. “I'll fill you in while we get tea ready,” he stated. “Let's just say that pentwr sbwriel Chert stopped by, but left after a different outcome.” Erefarns sounded positively gleeful before his voice faded too much for them to hear. Hildefarns sighed, shaking his head.
“Where does he learn language like that,” he mourned.
Hildeborn seemed uncommonly focused on clearing his throat and looking anywhere but at his father, who was giving him the stink eye.
“Impertinent chipmunk,” he grumbled. “Hildeborn, would you let our avian benefactors know that we will be preparing a tea for them as well, then let your brothers know? I believe we still have some of that lovely steamed fish left, don't we?”
Hildeborn nodded, and headed for the door. Within seconds, he was trotting to the kitchen, and Hildefarns was turning his full attention back to his dwarrow guests.
“Gentlemen, thank you again for stepping in when you did,” he began. “It was definitely a first for us, having someone step up like that!” He looked pleased as punch as he beamed at the two dwarrow. “My name is Hildefarns Brandybuck, and you've now met all three of my sons, Hildeborn, Erefarns, and Isenfarns. We own the stables and attached livery, but I must say, I did not realize there were any dwarrow in residence in Bree,” he admitted. His eyes flicked rapidly over both dwarrow, taking them in from head to toe. “Honestly, when Master Dori and Master Nori came with a supplies list from my cousin Bilbo, they were the first dwarrow we've seen around here in… oh… must be a generation or two…”
The two dwarrow eyed each other, having a wordless conversation just with beard twitches and eyebrow wiggles, before the one holding the hammer turned back to the hobbit. “I am Sîmmon, and this is my brother, Tîmmon,” he finally introduced himself. “Do you mean Dori and Nori Ri, two of the sons of Fari?” he asked. Hildefarns brightened.
“That was them! Lovely gentlemen! They joined us for tea back in April, I think it was. Possibly May? Anyway, not important,” Hildefarns waved away his confusion. “As I was saying, Cousin Bilbo directed them to find me so we could assist with equipping them for an adventure - very thrilling, I must say! - and it was my absolute delight to have hosted them for tea.” He sighed wistfully, gazing off somewhat dreamily. “I'd have loved to host the pair of them for a night or two, but sadly, they were under time constraints.” He became lost in thought for a moment, before giving himself a shake and returning to the present. He completely missed the startled looks the brothers exchanged. “Forgive me. My mind tends to wander after a shock such as I experienced today.”
At that moment, Hildeborn, Erefarns, and Isenfarns entered the room. Hildeborn was carrying a cloth covered table that he sat down between the two dwarrow, Erefarns was carrying an enormous, laden serving tray which he placed on the table, and Isenfarns held a second heavily loaded platter that he carried through to the livery yard. Erefarns dipped a shallow bow and offered a shy smile to both dwarrow before he retreated to follow his brother, and Hildeborn prepared a cup of tea and plate of nibbles, which he placed before his father. “Such a good boy, my little blossom!” He cooed. Hildeborn blushed.
“Daaaaad!” he whined. Hildefarns giggled.
“It is a parent's prerogative to embarrass his children,” he stated, reaching up to gently pat his eldest son's cheek. “Now off with you, darling. I'll let you know what you need to know.”
Hildeborn grinned, kissed his father's curls, and scooted out the door after his brothers, letting it close behind him.
“Gentlemen, please help yourself. I just need a moment to finish reading the letter I received from Cousin Bilbo that was interrupted when that lout distracted me earlier,” he said, motioning towards the tray that had been placed for them.
The two brothers just goggled at the elaborate tray. There was probably more food being offered to them for this one tea than they would have enjoyed for an entire day. Or two! Cautiously, as if waiting for the hobbit to suddenly say it was all a joke and ask them to leave, they reached for the teapot and prepared cups for themselves.
Seeing them start to eat, Hildefarns beamed, and returned to the letter that had been interrupted. For the next few minutes, there was nothing but the sound of china clattering against china as cup met saucer, until finally Hildefarns sat back while making a speculative noise, and dropped the letter back onto his desk.
“I realize neither of you gentlemen will know who Bilbo Baggins is, but trust me when I say that Cousin Bilbo has some interesting things to say, which might also explain a few things.” The hobbit studied the pair of brothers with shrewd eyes that finally gave the dwarrow some indication of his intelligence. “Before I get off track again, may I ask what brought you gentlemen to the livery today? Brandybuck's Livery and Stables has been established here in Bree for over 30 years, and yet more dwarrow have graced our establishment in the past 10 months than in all the preceding years combined. What can we hobbits do for you dwarrow?”
Sîmmon and Tîmmon exchanged looks once more, before Sîmmon started talking.
“It were th’ ravens what got our attention, ye see,” he began. “We dwarrow run a smithy all th’ way over at th’ end o’ Maker's Lane. Been there ‘bout 20 years. We don't much care fer th’ long shanks, so we's only come far enough inta th’ main streets t’ buy what we absolutely need. Dwarrow passin’ through what need smith-work all know t’ come t’ us,” he explained. “When we saw th’ karku'zund - th’ giant ravens - flyin’ o'erhead, we decided t’ come lookin’. Karku'zund is normally only found wi’ dwarrow, an’ when we saw one comin’ down t’ land, we wanted t’ make sure they weren't no dwarrow in trouble.”
Hildefarns nodded thoughtfully. “I, for one, am glad you decided to investigate today, though that does explain a lot,” he mused. “Anyway, as I was saying, I moved to Bree from the Shire and established the stable and livery yard so my people would have a trustworthy place for their ponies when business brings them to Bree. Once Hildeborn came along, with the stables fairly newly established, I didn't go exploring the rest of Bree much. Too much to do, and with a faunt to care for at the same time… Well. By the time you gentlemen were getting established, I would have thought I was familiar with everything I could possibly need in Bree.” He slumped back in his chair, sipping the rest of his tea and shaking head. “So much time wasted,” he muttered. After a second, his attention sharpened once more and he focused on his guests again.
“Cousin Bilbo tells me some very interesting things about his dwarrow,” he stated, which seemed apropos of nothing in particular. “Thirteen of you very fine gentlemen, and apparently not one of them knew the first thing about hobbits. May I assume you both are as equally unaware as they were?”
Sîmmon looked startled. “O’ course we heard o’ hobbits, and that ye come from down around the Brandywine, but tha's about all we know.” He looked at his brother for confirmation, who just nodded his agreement. Hildefarns exhaled forcefully through his nose.
“Gentlemen, if you will indulge me, let me give you a bit of history,” he said. He paused as his sons came back into the room from the livery yard, Isenfarns nearly skipping in his excitement.
“Papa, the giant ravens are magnificent!” he enthused. “Calon Ddu is so funny, but I don't think he means to be. He's so very formal! And Tinuaiwenor is so sweet, but she's just learning Westron, so Cal has to translate for her!” He had skipped over to the table, and began collecting the empty dishes and teapot as he chattered. “Cal said they were waiting on a package for Cousin Bilbo, so if you don't mind, they'll wait here with us until it's ready to go!”
Hildefarns smiled indulgently at his youngest. “That's fine, Isenfarns. You know that any friend of dwarrows - and especially any friends of Cousin Bilbo - will be welcome here. I'm about to give these fine gentlemen a history lesson about hobbits and dwarrow, so we're going to be busy for a while. Hildeborn, be a love and bring us a couple pints of Gamgee's Best, and a bottle of Brandywine red for me, please?”
“Right away, Father,” Hildeborn acknowledged. He helped his brothers carry off the used dishes, and within moments he was back with a tray that held two pints filled with foamy amber ale, and a bottle of red wine as dark as rubies, with a single glass. After serving his father and their guests, he retreated to his brothers as silently as he'd entered. Hildefarns poured himself a glass of wine, and sat back to sip at it.
“To understand the connection between hobbits and dwarrow, you really have to go all the way back to the beginning, back to when Aulë - who you call Mahal - carved the first dwarrow fathers.” With that introduction, Hildefarns launched into a retelling of the creation of hobbits and dwarrow, much as Bilbo had done for the Company months ago, but since Bilbo had prepared him by commenting on how innocent the dwarrow seemed to have been about what exactly hobbits could and would do to aid any dwarrow…
Let's just say both dwarrow brothers were almost as red as the iron from their forge, and both tankards had been drained dry. Hildefarns finally noticed the empty mugs. “Hildeborn!” he called out. “Our guests could do with a refill!”
A curly auburn head appeared at the kitchen door and nodded once before withdrawing, then Hildefarns came trotting out carrying a pitcher this time, and refilled both tankards. He placed the pitcher with the remaining ale on the table, and left the room again. Tîmmon, as red as any tomato could hope to be, found it nearly impossible to look at the younger hobbit, and nearly emptied his refilled tankard in one long pull. He couldn't bring himself to look at Hildefarns.
“Yer lads, there,” he finally managed to grumble while staring into the depths of his drink. “Are they…”
“They are well aware of the history of our peoples,” Hildefarns reassured him. “It's only the four of us, so I've always been very open with them about life and choices and what options are available to them. Hildeborn is the only one of age to decide if he wishes to fully engage with intimacy, whether for pleasure or healing,” the hobbit explained. He sat forward and leveled a hard look at the dwarrow brothers. “Understand that Erefarns will not reach his majority for another year, and Isenfarns won't reach majority for another three years. If anyone - dwarrow, Man, elf, or hobbit - tries to engage them in activities inappropriate for their age, I will personally end them.”
Tîmmon almost seemed to collapse with relief. “Tha's good,” he breathed, and took another drink. “Wouldn't be able t’ work with nobody would mess with pebbles,” he stated.
Sîmmon looked confused. “Master Brandybuck-”
“Hildefarns, please,” the hobbit interrupted, and the dark haired dwarf dipped his head.
“Fair enough,” he grumbled. “Hildefarns, if'n ye think ye could take anyone what messes with yer pebbles, why didn't ye take that scum, Chert, out?” he asked.
It was Hildefarns’ turn to slump in his chair and drain his glass in one drink. “You don't think I've tried?” he asked, tone bitter. “You weren't here when I first came to Bree. Stupid tall folk,” he grumbled, glaring at the past. “I hadn't had the livery or the stables open a month before the first city thug showed up and thought because he was so much taller than me, I would be an easy target. It was my distinct pleasure to demonstrate to him that we hobbits are all taught to defend ourselves from any Man who would think to take what we do not willingly give. Sexual favors or bridle leather - a few well placed kicks stop either unwanted approach.”
Hildefarns’ hard gaze focused on the dwarrow. “They came by themselves, at first, and were easy to deal with. Then they came two by two, then three by three. Four at a time was more of a challenge, but not insurmountable.” His grin was fierce and vicious, but then he seemed to deflate. He paused to refill and drink down a second glass of wine, then poured a third. “Then they got smart,” he said. “For as stupid as Men are, they are cunning enough to realize that if they couldn't confront me head on, they could get me coming in sideways. Sheriff Angstrom wasn't in charge, then. He's only had the position a bit less than ten years, and the sheriff he replaced could care less about anyone that wasn't a Man. They didn't even have to bribe him to look the other way.” Hildefarns sipped the fresh glass of wine.
“The rukhs skelga came fer Hildeborn,” Sîmmon hissed. His grip tightened around the handle of his hammer to the point the wood was creaking under the strain. Tîmmon could only growl deep in his throat. Hildefarns just nodded.
“I couldn't protect him and defend myself at the same time. The Sheriff wouldn't help, and I didn't trust any of the Men around here to take care of him.” He shrugged negligently. “So I quit fighting back. I could take a bearing much more easily than I could see one of my faunts injured. But those scum never have been able to shut me up. Maybe my words weren't strong enough to deter them, but they didn't get away without being shamed and humiliated.” Hildefarns sighed again.
“It's definitely gotten easier since Angstrom pinned the badge on, but he's fighting corruption in his office as well as the apathy of the people of Bree. Most tall folk take the attitude of better anyone else than themselves.”
The bitter expression on his face didn't sit right with the brothers. “What about yer people?” Sîmmon asked. “Don't no other hobbits live and work in Bree?”
Hildefarns shook his head. “I am unique amongst my kin,” he admitted. “Scandalous in the extreme, you know. Most hobbits restrict themselves to the Shire, Hobbiton, Michel Delving, or one of the other hobbit-only settlements, but I saw the potential for profit in Bree. So here I am!” His expression turned soft and tender. “And, too, it gave me the opportunity to cultivate a plum blossom bush, which resulted in my three wonderful sons. With me working alone, they shouldn't have been possible, but I've always been one to beat the odds!” he said with a cheeky wink.
Sîmmon and Tîmmon both looked at each other, confused. “What… what does a fruit plant have t’ do with pebbles?” Tîmmon finally asked.
The hobbit seated across from them studied the pair with a serious expression for a few moments. “This is a closely held hobbit secret,” he finally said. “But I've always been a little rebel at heart!” He gave them a bright and brilliant smile, and explained how hobbits who otherwise would be denied children could try to grow a plum blossom bush, and if Yavanna was feeling generous to her children, would bless them with faunts of their own.
Hildefarns laughed brightly. “The entire Shire thought I was insane! No one has ever successfully grown a plum blossom on their own, let alone had one bear fruit! The fact that I was blessed three times over was the talk of all the Burroughs for years!”
The dwarrow were admittedly startled. If only such a miracle could happen for dwarrow! “I don't understand,” Tîmmon finally mumbled. “Wouldn't it have been easier to take a spouse?”
The hobbit shook his head again, with a wry smile. “That is not my nature,” he admitted. “I am a complete and unrepentant hedonist, gentlemen. Even before I reached my majority, I always knew that my life was not destined for a heart match.” He shrugged, completely unconcerned. “It is how my lady made me. Some hobbits are destined to find their heart matches - and blessings on all those who do! - just as some hobbits live complete and fulfilling lives without ever hearing the siren song of the flesh - and all the blessings possible to them, as well! After all, my lady plants many different types of flowers in her garden!”
The brothers sat back in thought, considering his words. They split the last of the ale in the pitcher between them, and shared another unspoken conversation between themselves as only those who are very close can do. Tîmmon gave a very slight nod, and Sîmmon leaned forward once more.
“We understand completely, Hildefarns,” he stated, his voice deep and rumbling. “We dwarrow have what we call Ones - our soul mates, crafted for us by Mahal. Most of us never find him or her. Some, like my brother and I, are what we call craft wed. While we are not… averse… t’ carnal pleasures, we've both always known we would find more personal satisfaction in th’ pursuit of perfecting our skills above th’ pursuit of a relationship.”
Hildefarns leaned back once more, this time his posture relaxed and almost languorous. “I'm certainly glad to hear that, gentlemen,” he purred. “That being the case, I invite you both to join me tonight. I would certainly enjoy… thanking you both appropriately for stepping up to help me with that lout.” He paused to consider his words for a moment. “Or thank you inappropriately, if you prefer.” His smile was sultry, his gaze hot and heavy as he licked his lips.
Sîmmon gaped at him, speechless. Tîmmon drained the rest of his ale in one long gulp, then panted for air. “Both o’ us? T'gether?” he gasped.
Hildefarns’ smile grew positively wicked. “Of course,” he breathed, his own voice deepening. “You are both stunning examples of dwarrow masculinity. How could I possibly choose one over the other? Luckily for me, I quite enjoy… entertaining two at once, shall we say?”
The two brothers were speechless. Finally, Sîmmon managed to close his mouth, and swallowed heavily against a suddenly dry mouth. “Tîm?” was all he managed to croak.
Tîmmon nodded frantically. “Yeah. Please!” Sîmmon nodded his agreement.
“Yes, please,” he said. “We… uh… we need t’ go close th’ forge for th’ day.”
Hildefarns’ smile became something softer. “That would be wonderful. That will give the boys and I a chance to prepare an evening meal for us, and make sure the boiler is filled and stoked for hot baths. I think we'll start with a massage for each of you while we dine, then we'll see how the evening progresses. Does that sound acceptable, gentlemen?”
One of the brothers whimpered slightly, but neither of them knew exactly who made the sound. “That… that sounds grand, Hildefarns,” Sîmmon finally managed to say.
“Excellent!” Hildefarns enthused, clapping his hands together. “Shall we get started? Sooner begun, sooner we can move on to more pleasurable activities!” He popped to his feet, and after a second, the two dwarrow rose as well. The hobbit escorted them to the door, and watched them head back down the street, both seeming somewhat in a daze. The two karku'zund, perched on the top rail around the yard, watched the dwarrow leave.
“Is all well with you, Master Brandybuck?” Calon Ddu finally asked. Hildefarns giggled.
“Things are simply grand, my new friends, just grand!” he said happily. “Probably the best they've been in many years, you phenomenal birds!”
Calon Ddu and Tinuaiwenor both ruffled their feathers at his words, and the hobbit focused on them more closely. “Cousin Bilbo has requested several replacement shirts for one of his dwarrow companions,” he told them. “They will need to be custom made, so it will take a few days to prepare. You are both welcome to stay with me while I am working on his order, and I will be delighted to provide you both with shelter and food while you are waiting. Or if you need to carry out other duties, you are welcome to return here and we will provide care as needed.”
Both ravens clacked their beaks in surprise. “You are very kind,” Calon Ddu stated. Hildefarns beamed at them.
“Well, you're both friends of Cousin Bilbo, and any friends of Bilbo's will be offered the same courtesy I would expect him to offer any of my friends!” he explained. “Now, if you'll excuse me, my sons and I need to get started on preparing a feast. Once the food is ready, I'll have them bring plates out for you as well, if that is acceptable.”
This pronouncement was met with much fluttering of wings and quiet croaks of excitement. “Most generous, Master Brandybuck, most generous!” Calon Ddu cried.
“Think nothing of it,” Hildefarns said with a wave of his hand. “And please call me Hildefarns. Now, if you'll excuse me?”
With that, he trotted off towards the kitchen and to find his sons. I've got some food to prepare, and a handsome pair of dwarrow to entertain! he thought to himself, smirking.
****************
Unusual terms used in this chapter:
Harddwchtywyll - two words, Welsh for “dark beauty” - Carrac's mate
pydredd cerdded - walking rot (Welsh)
pentwr sbwriel - garbage pile (Welsh)
Rukhs skelga - orc fucker