Hello everyone, I was planning to write a suggestion from one of you, but I did not have very much time for it and these little snippets are mostly written in trains and between other activities. Don't worry, I will get to your requests eventually. In the meantime, I hope you'll enjoy this.
Chapter 4
Letters to Jacko
"He should have known it too. Mahal knew how much she missed her home. In Beorn's house he had, accidentally mind, seen some letters addressed to her brother, letters that could never be sent."
The Journal, chapter 52: Welcome
Erebor, summer 3003 TA
'Thoren, are you in here?'
Aforementioned King under the Mountain had a desperate wish to either call 'No!' or say nothing at all and just hope that Duria would pass and look for him somewhere else. This, however, was no behaviour that was becoming of a king, especially not a newly crowned king of Erebor who had to fight hard enough to be taken seriously in the first place because of his mixed blood.
'Here!' he called, sounding remarkably like an echo.
It was as if his sister had waited for him to call her in, because she entered the room approximately half a second later. 'I knew you were here.'
Thoren didn't look up. 'Then why did you ask?' He loved his younger sister, he really did. He just didn't like her mothering habits. She had done so since she was five years old and lectured Thráin and him on shirking their duties and breaking the rules. Since she always went by the rules herself, they never got the chance to call her out on it. Thráin had teasingly remarked that when her own son Dari was born she would have a child of her own to raise, but it had not stopped her from applying the same treatment to her older brothers apparently.
'You're always here.' Duria sounded a little more subdued now. 'And I don't think it's good for you,' she added. 'You can't keep clinging to their memories, Thoren. You are the king now and you have to take responsibility.'
He was tetchy. He knew it and he also knew that he could not lose his temper. It happened all the same. 'Pray tell me which crisis I have missed out on in my absence,' he snapped at her.
If Duria was impressed by that speech at all, she did a fine job of hiding it. 'I'm just worried about you.' She was toying with the braid in her beard, a clear sign that she was uneasy, as she should be. 'We all are, even Thráin and Jack. It's…' She hesitated, but then took a deep breath and went on. 'It's like you're refusing to accept that they're not here anymore and you're not moving on. Even Thráin says you're always wondering what father would have done or what mother would have said.'
Thoren wondered if he should be angry with his brother for betraying that to Duria, but then thought better of it. It was not as if any of them could keep a secret from Duria the Nosy once she started prying in affairs that didn't concern her. Her, however, he could be mad at. 'Then what else am I supposed to do?' he demanded of her. 'What other examples do I have? Or do you now propose I start to model my conduct on Thranduil?'
Duria looked positively scandalised and a little abashed. 'I didn't mean it like that!'
'Of course you didn't,' Thoren growled. And it was very well possible that was the truth. Duria meant well, which was why it was practically impossible to be angry with her for longer than a few hours.
'We're only worried,' she emphasised, throwing her arms up in the air. 'I mean, this is their room and you're spending a lot of time in it, lately.' Thoren correctly translated lately as since father's death.
'It is to be my room,' Thoren pointed out. 'It needs… cleaning out. And I'd rather do it myself than have some uncaring servant go through their belongings. And…' Now it was his turn to hesitate. 'There are so many things here, Duria, so many things that we could never even guess at.'
Duria nodded in what appeared to be understanding. 'I know. We all read their journal.' She sounded a little sad.
The king shook his head. 'There's so much more, especially about mother. Sometimes I even wonder if we knew her at all.' He looked down at the sheaf of parchment he had been steadily ploughing his way through. 'There's so many things she wrote…' And that did not even begin to cover it.
'She was some sort of scribe, wasn't she?' Duria asked. 'In that other world? Those are her writings?' She looked pointedly at the parchments.
'Letters,' Thoren corrected. 'To her brother.'
Duria frowned. 'Uncle Jacko, the one we never met? She never sent them?'
Duria was a bright woman, but sometimes she could be rather dim. 'How do you think she would have done that?' he asked. 'He lives in another world.' Suddenly he wondered about that. Uncle Jacko, he had been told, was his mother's twin brother, but she had died only half a year ago of old age. Jacko may not even be alive anymore himself. But it was not as if they would ever have a chance of knowing for sure. 'And I don't think Gandalf would have done it for her.' What he knew of the wizard was mostly hearsay, but he knew his mother had never grown very fond of him.
His sister nodded. 'I see.' She looked again. 'Can I read them?'
Thoren nodded. 'Of course.' Mahal knew he wanted to share this with someone, even if only with his nosy sister. And so he made room for her on the rug where he himself was sitting, and passed her the first letter.
Erebor, early spring 2945 TA
Dear Jacko,
It's been a while since I wrote to you, but life has been rather busy here. But now there's a snow storm raging around the Mountain and we're all cooped up in here. Trade has been suspended until the roads are clear again; now there is just too much snow and far too much cold. If Thorin can be believed, this is not an unusual thing so late in winter or early in spring, if this can indeed be called spring at all, but I have never seen it before and to tell you the truth, I do not like it. Give me warmth and sun any day.
At least this means that life has quietened down somewhat. Thranduil won't make it through this blizzard for quite some time, which will postpone the meeting for at least another few weeks. I daresay everyone involved is glad of this. One thing has not changed since I first stepped foot in this world; relationships between elves and dwarves are still as glacial as they have ever been.
Or maybe glacial is not quite the correct word. Thorin's blood has reached boiling point more than once over the past few weeks. Yes, this may be a momentous occasion, because this will be the first time in years Thorin and Thranduil are even willing to talk to each other – progress indeed – but it is of course not unlike that elf to try and make things explode before we have even started.
He was remarkably not difficult about the location of the talks, which should have put us on guard of course, but it didn't. Then the message came that he would bring his nephew with him to the talks, which is quite out of the question. Remember when I wrote that Galas once knocked me out with the hilt of his sword? Well, Thorin may not be at liberty to repay that elf in kind, but he is not about to let him come anywhere near the front gate. To make a long story short: Thorin refused, Thranduil took offence and ever since then messages have been passed to and fro, getting ruder every time. Thorin has been in a right foul mood ever since and lately I heard Thoren say something that sounds remarkably like "bloody elves" and no, I did not teach him that, thank you very much! Thank goodness Thráin is still too young to understand what is going on.
The thing is, I should perhaps be the one to pacify the situation, but I don't want to. Galas is an arrogant sod with less brains than your average goldfish and an ego roughly the size of the Himalaya, which is always a very dangerous situation. But well, it would seem I am the queen now and queens don't get to keep grudges against a foreign ruler's nephew. When did life become so bloody complicated!
All my love,
Kate
Erebor, spring 2945 TA
Dear Jacko,
Just a quick update on the trade talks. They're over. Successfully and safely over, with the only casualties a few dented egos, mostly on Thranduil's side. But thank Mahal they're gone. If I had to put up with all those pointy-ears for even a day longer, I might have gone mad. Their complaints ranged from our lack of vegetables on the menu and the lack of trees in the city – honestly, are they all so dim that they can't see that trees don't grow on bare rock? – to the lack of fresh air and smoking hearths. Most of the complainers came to me rather than to Thorin – which may have been not such an unwise decision – and especially that Lainor fellow annoyed the hell out of me. Honestly, would it kill him if a meal passed without the salad? It's not as if the two of us seem to have been permanently scarred by it.
But they're gone now and the peace has returned. The trade agreement has been signed and that is, at least for now, the end of it. Now all that needs to happen is for Thorin to get his blood pressure back to normal and for the guest quarters to be cleaned and then all the evidence of elvish presence in the Mountain will be gone. I can't wait.
As for Galas, he didn't come. He was planning to and would thus cause a major diplomatic meltdown, but very unfortunately for him he fell from his horse near Dale, broke a leg and an arm and he had to stay behind, solving all the problems. I would bet that Thorin and his closest advisors were a little too unsurprised to learn it, almost as if they already knew such a thing would happen, and some of the guards were missing around the time this "accident" occurred. I have refrained from asking what really happened. Politics is a nasty business and talking not always solves every problem, no matter how much I would like that. I suppose I will have to get used to it.
All my love,
Kate
Erebor, autumn 2945
Dear Jacko,
Life in the Mountain has turned to madness. Maybe it has always been like this and I never noticed before, but I could not tell. The thing is, Thorin has gone to Esgaroth for business and now he left me in charge of the council. That was three days ago and I am beginning to think he has made a serious mistake. He could have left me in charge of a zoo or a group of hyperactive toddlers and it would have gone better than it goes now. You simply won't believe the amount of prejudice I have to fight against here.
So yes, I am the first human Queen under the Mountain and yes, there are quite some people here that are less than okay with that, but when Thorin first told me I might face troubles because of that, I thought he was exaggerating. I know better now. Normally, when he is around, people keep their tongues under control. Now, when he is not here, they do not. Apparently I am degrading/polluting/ruining/all-of-the-above the line of Durin by my very presence. Some are at least subtle about their opinions, others not so much.
And the council leads by example in this case. Quite a few of the people on it are decent. There are a few members of the old company and Lord Toigan is nothing short of a saint in my opinion. Some others are moderate and are wise enough to keep any unpleasant notions to themselves, but others… So, without further ado, I'll introduce you to my very own headaches: Lord Nali and his daughter Nai. Nali is an elderly noble who does not yet qualify as antique, but he is well on his way to become it. He lived in Erebor before the dragon came, but like the true whiner/coward/comfort-loving dwarf that he is, he fled to the Iron Hills until we took back the Mountain. He does have some useful connections there, so we need him and the law says that we cannot actually kick him out for deserting his own people in their hour of need – ridiculous arrangement – so there he is. Biggest complainer I've ever met and also the leader of what appears to be the anti-Kate movement. Mind you, his only daughter, Lady Nai, is just as bad, if she isn't worse. She is not officially a part of the council, but she always accompanies her father, because he is so "frail." I sometimes wonder if we're talking about the same Lord Nali. This pathetic excuse for a female is a true expert at verbal backstabbing and strengthens the thought that women fight their battles with snarky words and scathing remarks spoken in sweet tones. Fighting fire with fire seems to help some.
Just not today. Lord Nali is going on and on about the control over the new mining shaft they found the other day, claiming it is on his patch, even when it is quite obvious that it is in fact just not on his patch, but on his neighbour's, Lord Bari, whom I happen to like quite a bit better. Yes, I am biased, but it would also be the right thing to do to give it to Bari, because that would be justice. Granting it to Lord Nali would be a grave injustice. That hasn't stopped him from pursuing the matter with an enthusiasm that does not befit one his age at all.
I wish I even had an ounce of your patience with all those self-important whiners, but I don't. Out of the two of us you were clearly the one born to be a politician. I'm too blunt and short-tempered for it and so, I fear, is Thorin. In that respect we are remarkably alike. I lack the laser look with the power to shut them up though. On days like these I sometimes just feel the strong urge to behave like Thoren on a difficult day: wail and scream until I get my way for once.
All my love,
Kate
P.S. It might be worth a try, even if only for the joy of seeing Nali's face.
Erebor, spring 2946 TA
Dear Jacko,
When I accepted Thorin's proposal, I thought I knew what I was in for. I knew that I was going to be a queen, going to rule. I also knew this meant that I would sit through more councils and talks than I cared to think about. I even anticipated that not everyone of Durin's Folk would be thrilled to have a human woman for a queen.
What I didn't expect was for me to become the Peacemaker under the Mountain. Yet, that is what seems to have happened today. What happened, you wonder? Lord Moron happened. Admittedly his name is Merin, but it's just the two letters and between the two of us, Thorin and I have agreed his nickname suits him better. Believe it or not, I even believe Thorin was the one to come up with it in the first place.
Come to think of it, he has not yet come up in my tales, has he? In short then: Merin, son of Walin, aged ninety-seven, descendant of a noble family originally from Erebor, but – surprise, surprise – fled to the Iron Hills when Smaug came. Merin's father has a seat on the council and is, to my huge annoyance, a close friend of my biggest headache. But at least Walin can keep his tongue, his son cannot. He's just one of those youngsters that should long since have grown up, but seems to be stuck in puberty. He has an ego approximately the size of the Mountain itself, the brains and friendliness of a jellyfish and a group of friends who follow him around like a bunch of idiots, doting on his every word.
Unfortunately for me he seems to have joined the anti-Kate movement, a popular movement among the returned nobles from the Iron Hills. That lot has no idea what it is like to live in exile and they therefore do not understand the need for change, instead hanging onto their beloved traditions with a passion that by all rights should have driven their spouses to fierce jealousy decades ago. One of their traditions is that dwarves keep to themselves and outsiders are not welcome, with me being the outsider.
Merin and his followers – because that is what they really are – have taken it upon themselves to bleat this view to the world and preferably within my hearing distance. I just tend to ignore them. They are bullies and as long as their attacks are verbal – as if any of them even dares to lay a finger on me; they value their heads attached to their bodies after all – I can repay them in kind and Moron's taunts lack greatly in originality, so it's almost amusing to exchange these witticisms with him. Childish of me? Perhaps, but in my defence, Moron is rather a child himself.
So far, so good. He was at it again today, but since I had more urgent business to concern myself with, I let it be. I've heard worse and it's difficult to get worked up over things I've heard so often before. Moron just had the bad luck that Thorin walked into the corridor as he spat at me that my children were an abomination.
I'm afraid to say that the dignified King under the Mountain lost it. He stormed through the hallway like an angry bull and knocked Moron clean off his feet. I had to call the guards to put an end to things, but by then Merin's face had gained an intimate knowledge of Thorin's fists and he was out cold by the time the guards finally arrived. Thorin too was knock-out, but only because Lufur had to, because otherwise Thorin would have happily continued to beat Moron to pulp.
Lufur is a dear and, some would say, far too kind-hearted to be in the guard, despite his clear bulk of muscle. 'Beg your pardon, my lady,' he told me with a bow and a blush of embarrassment. 'Didn't mean to use that much force, but…'
It was damn well necessary. I don't think I've ever seen Thorin that mad and here I was thinking I had seen it all. Apparently I was wrong in that assumption. Well, at least I am grateful Lufur acted as he did – and now I need to make sure Thorin never reads this – because it allowed me to deal with matters before it could truly get nasty again. Strangely enough it didn't take that much persuasion to make Walin see the wisdom of relocating to the Iron Hills along with his family and now they're gone. Thorin is most displeased and is seriously contemplating going after them, but so far I've managed to keep him in the Mountain. All of a sudden it is as if my husband's disappeared and I've just gained another child to look after. He's standing in front of the hearth, brooding again, plotting bloody murder. Catherine the Peacemaker indeed. Well, it does have a nice ring to it, don't you agree? It sounds better than Catherine the Child-minder anyway.
All my love,
Kate
Erebor, early summer 2946 TA
Dear Jacko,
Why do I bother? Why do I bother writing letters that I can never send, that you will never read? Why do I keep writing to you as if you know what I am even talking about? You don't know the persons I describe, you have never seen your nephews, nor will you ever, and the same is true for me. I haven't got a clue as to what is going on in your life. Good grief, you will not even see the letter I'm writing this very minute! It's like I am writing to myself, just pretending that maybe someday you'll read them, something a foolish little girl might do.
I know we'll never meet again and it was I that made that choice. Do not mistake me, I do not regret it. If I were to make the same choice today, I would choose no different. That doesn't make these feelings go away though. Even though this was my choice and I'll stand by it, it does not change the feeling of being torn in half. I miss you, I miss mum, I even miss the cat, although he'll be dead by now for all I know.
And that's the point, isn't it. I don't know. And I am never going to know either. I don't know what's become of you, how you are and it's driving me up the bloody wall.
But what's the point of that anyway?
Erebor, late summer 2946
Dear Jacko,
Unexpected ladies' day away from the kingdom today and what a relief it's been. Thorin offered to babysit – am expecting all kinds of disaster to meet me when I return home – and let Dís and Thora whisk me away to only Mahal knew where, because they sure as hell weren't telling me. I am suspecting it's an early birthday gift, especially since Thorin appeared to be in on the whole thing. 'Because it's been such a busy summer,' Thora claimed and Thorin keeps insisting it's because his sister loves a bit of female company, but I don't think so.
Anyway, it's nice and Thora's remark isn't completely off the mark either. It has been a busy summer what with trade talks, mining crises and the explosion in two of the forges. And apparently Thora's idea of fun is to seek out the markets of Dale. I must admit that I was a little sceptical at first. I mean, the queen cannot be seen acting like a giggling school girl now, can she? Apparently she can though and it has been more fun than I believed I would have.
What we did, you ask? Well, you could compare it with Laura, Anna and me going shopping, I suppose. Getting the picture? Afterwards we picnicked on the grass outside the town and had quite a lot of fun making a mess of one another's hair. Dís and Thora are both aware of my background and you won't believe how good it is not to watch my tongue all the time, although I might have scarred Thora for life when I told her of modern fashion sense…
All my love,
Kate
P.S. Situation at home on my arrival: chambers looking like a hurricane went through them, Thorin in complete disarray, Thoren spilling ink over the trade agreement with Esgaroth and Thráin sleeping on the edge of the table. What. The. Hell. Happened? I wasn't gone for that long!
Normally I put letters and the like in italics, but since most of this chapter is a letter and it would not read very pleasantly, I didn't do that in this chapter. I might do more of these letter things again, but right now I'm out of ideas. Suggestions are always welcome, as are reviews. I love to hear from you!