After nearly a week of sleepless nights cumulated in a harrowing journey through the night which, when all tallied, left me awake for over a day and a half, it was no surprise that when I did sleep, I really slept. Indeed, despite an unfamiliar setting, the spring chill seeping through the stones, and the bed being far from the height of comfort, when I finally did rouse the next day I felt as though I had slept for a lifetime, if my full bladder and impossibly dry throat were any indication.
It was dark - curiously much darker than my rooms in Erebor ever had been, and yet my poor fatigued brain still hoped that a full drink might be on my non-existent nightstand, such that I rolled to reach for it only to find my hand waving out into empty space. In my new orientation I could just barely make out a faint outline of light filtering in around the door - not my door, of course, or at least not the bedroom door I had grown used to, but a door nevertheless. I closed my eyes and groaned, dreading getting out of bed and cursing my addled mind's lack of forethought to better prepare myself - indeed, I had nothing ready to light the fire, I hadn't fetched any water, and so on.
I would have lay there indefinitely had a note not been slipped through under the doorway sometime in what turned out to be the late afternoon. I heaved a reluctant sigh, finally threw back what covers I had kept during the night and trod carefully across the dark and frigid floor to retrieve the note.
I could hear shuffling outside, and since I was in no condition to do any reading I instead simply pulled open the doorway a crack and peered out.
"B-beg pardon." A boy of about nine or ten stammered as he retreated from a rather large chest he had just positioned on the front step. Clearly he wasn't used to his charges being awake at such an hour, and there was also the unusual situation that the boy seemed to find himself in; for the chest he had been manhandling was so large compared to his usual delivery (the small box of groceries which was also set neatly next to my door), that by rights it should have taken several children his size to actually move it.
I opened the door further, squinting against the daylight and grateful that the hour was already so late that the sun was sinking somewhere behind the western wall. I murmured that it was fine, and then looked curiously at the hefty delivery.
"Is this your usual first delivery then?" I asked inquisitively, noticing the boy had relaxed substantially once he realized he was not about to be cussed out by some sleep addled, half-drunk lumberjack.
The boy looked taken aback. "N-no miss…" he looked at the chest, and then back to me as if I was missing something. "Sorry, but are these not your effects? I was asked to deliver them in addition to the letter…"
I frowned, and then my groggy mind began to piece together what Sigrid might have told him to avoid suspicion.
"Yes… yes of course… sorry, I arrived so late last night and it's been such a long journey, I was shown right here while the wagon was still being unloaded." I eyed him up to see if he bought the half-formed and hasty lie, but he didn't seem to care one way or the other - an indifference that I was sure served him well in his line of work. "Will you help me bring it through the door?"
He glanced towards the dark room behind me, then sized me up, and clearly saw me as posing little to no threat, so he nodded and with me pulling and him pushing we got the chest over the threshold. I drew back the blinds, and while I did he retrieved the groceries unbidden and set them on the table, which struck me as quite kind.
"This month's food has been paid for, but anything extra will cost." he explained while I inspected the food and drink.
"This looks like a good selection…" I observed, then had one thought. "I will need a lot more water though - I might not be able to leave work to fetch any during the day, so I'll have to pack it with me." Of course I had no notion of leaving the house, but it was no less true that If I meant to keep a low profile, I wouldn't always be able to get water from the nearest well. Along with my request, I produced a set of coins I had fished from my pouch - an amount I thought would be a decent tip based on my time working as Eleanor.
"Does one for the extra water and one for your help delivering my belongings seem fair?" I asked, to which he smiled a very businesslike smile and nodded.
"I'll be off then." he stated after taking the coins. "I bring firewood about as well, just before dusk. I'll bring you your water then, and make sure to bring you extra tomorrow." With that he was off, leaving me to deal with a very heavy delivery from Sigrid. I eyed it up curiously, but took the time to retrieve the note that had accompanied it. Then, with no excuse to wait any longer I opened both at once and used the letter to provide context to the contents of the chest.
'Dear friend,' the letter began cryptically, and again I was impressed at the lengths Sigrid was going through to keep my whereabouts and identity a secret.
'I trust this letter finds you in good health, and better rested than when we last met.
Your payment in advance for indefinite use of the room was appreciated, but too great a sum to be put wholly towards rent, so a portion has been allotted to the first month's food.
I have sent along your personal effects with this letter, however since you arrived so late in the day and retired with due haste, I took the liberty of procuring, again with surplus from rent so at no further cost to yourself, some items of convenience and comfort that I thought you might not have the time to obtain before you begin work.
Please do not hesitate to send comments or concerns to my private post box at the Great Hall should you have any, so as to make sure I can address them in a prompt and confidential manner.
I hope your stay in Dale is a pleasant one.'
I set the letter on the table and then pulled my 'personal effects' closer to see what exactly it was I apparently brought along with me. I opened the lid, and found that the contents of the chest had been arranged such that the lightest items were at the top, though the lightest and topmost was surely the most valuable even without seeing the rest: a down-filled pillow. I had grown accustomed to such a luxury in the short time I spent in my new apartments in Erebor, and had been loath to part with mine when leaving. Although it would have filled my entire bag alone, after using just rolled up clothing the night prior I had almost regretted not just packing it instead of my clothes, since I now had an irksome kink in my neck. I ceremonially placed the pillow on the bed I had claimed as my own, then returned to investigate further.
Beneath where the pillow had been I found a huge assortment of tallow candles wrapped in cloth, along with another individually wrapped set consisting of a comb, a brush and handheld mirror, all of which rested carefully atop three heavy felted wool blankets, each one stacked atop the other and folded neatly, next to which was a rolled up sheepskin rug.
The next layer down was where I found the items which accounted for the weight of the delivery: a pair of cast iron pans, a pot crammed full of several satchels of dried herbs, and a kettle, the inside of which was also packed full, but this time of teas. There was also a hefty crock of salt and a crock of sugar, and a set of heavy pewter mugs (a welcome upgrade from the wooden tankards provided with the room's scantily stocked kitchen), all kept from jostling against each other by pairs of thick wool stockings. I set out all the treasures on one of the unused beds across the room from mine, and then stepped back to appraise them altogether.
Then, I got to work finding homes for it all.
I found spaces for the cookware first, as there was ready-made spots in the cupboards around the hearth to hang pans and tuck away pots and kettles, likewise there I also placed the crocks of salt and sugar, along with all the preserves I had brought with me, and the tea and herbs went into the wooden cups I no longer needed.
I set the candles in one of the chests on the far side of the room, noting with chagrin that now I had nine chests cluttering up the room instead of just eight, and then brought the comb, mirror and brush to the wash basin near the kitchen. I pondered for a moment over whether I wanted the sheepskin rug in the kitchen area to stand on while preparing food and drink, or just beside my bed so that I might place my feet on something warm and luxuriously plush upon waking rather than the cold floor. I finally decided to set it next to the bed, knowing I could move it anytime. My new stockings I packed into one of the chests at the foot of my bed, and then carefully arranged my other garments between the remaining space of that chest and the empty one next to it, once again grateful for the pillow that would save me from sleeping on bundled clothing for months on end and instead allow me to put them away properly.
Finally, all that was left was the bedding. I unfolded the first blanket, only to be astounded by the size. Surely Sigrid had known the beds were small… unless… I set the blanket back with the others and moved ponderously over to the second of two beds on the side I had slept on the night before, and after judging size for a moment I simply heaved the second bed across the floor next to mine. I looked over my handiwork for a moment, and then after deciding it was going to be a good fit I lay down one of the blankets and was pleased to see it had worked perfectly. I tightened the lashings beneath each of the mattresses, and then laid out the remaining two blankets on top. All this left me with two empty chests in the middle of the floor, of course, but I had a plan for those too, and by stacking them one on top of the other next to the side of the bed I usually slept on I now had a bedside table just like the one I was used to.
I was just settling down to a meal by candlelight and flipping through the first pages of The Rhymes of Rhosgobel Rabbit when I heard the distinct shuffling and clanking of firewood and extra water being delivered. The boy didn't even knock, as was his usual routine unless asked to deliver something specific, and that suited me just fine. I leaned back in my chair and returned to my book. The fire blazed in the kitchen hearth as I chewed idly on my latest bite of bread and salted venison that had come with my daily grocery delivery, and after a week of chaos I finally, finally, began to relax into my quaint, yet cozy, new life.
After a mere fortnight of living my new secretive, hidden-away existence, I began to seriously question my capacity to endure it. Quaint turned dull, cozy into confining. Each day I woke, and did everything I could possibly think of to keep myself busy and my mind occupied, only to discover all my efforts had barely taken me past high noon. I began forcing myself to try to take afternoon naps. Sometimes this worked, and I was glad for the fact that the remainder of the day then felt shorter, but other times I simply lie there, sleep not forthcoming, trying to ignore my thoughts as the minutes simply dragged on, and those afternoons ended up feeling torturously everlasting.
I knew I needed to find some sort of purpose, or else I'd likely succumb to a mental and physical deterioration that would be harmful not only to myself, but to the baby as well. The growing fear for the well-being of my unborn child finally spurred me into developing a more promising plan. After counting out my remaining coins, I decided it was worth the risk to invest in more items to help me cope with the dull solitude of my confinement. When the boy came along the next afternoon, I beckoned him inside to sit while I instructed that I wished him to seek out more than just groceries for me on his next trip to the market. He nodded his head, but showed no further interest in my peculiar requests, which was one thing I most liked about him. He did his job well, no curiosity, no questions, no desire to form an emotional connection with me, it was perfect, really, to maintain my secrecy. After having him repeat back my list to me to ensure he remembered it all, I sent him on his way, eagerly awaiting his return the following day with my procurements.
In the meantime, I cast my eyes over to my stack of books (though perhaps just two books would not quite qualify as being called a 'stack'). I had already read The Rhymes of Rhosgobel Rabbit cover to cover, three times, and needed a break before picking it up again. The catchy, simplistic nature of the poems already had them sticking in my head, so a change would be good to avoid babbling such nonsense as "Feanor Fleetfoot the clever red fox, crept up and stole the Elf Maid's locks…" over and over again when I finally did go insane from my self-imposed solitude. I had not yet had the conviction to open the other tomb of ancient contracts between Erebor and Dale, for whenever I thought to, I would experience a welling of raw and painful emotion. Balin had gifted me both books for my wedding, but that particular one held such symbolism of my acceptance into dwarven culture, and his approval of my belonging there, in their world.
And now look at me. I thought bitterly. Still, it would be a full day before my runner returned, and I was feeling more motivated, so I reluctantly retrieved it and took a seat. I found that cracking open the cover caused me to feel no extra distress than the general ache that was steady in my core whenever my thoughts ventured too close to anything dwarven (which was, in essence, mostly constant given that I only had to look at the stone of my walls to be reminded of Erebor, not to mention the unforgettable reminder growing within me). So I began to puzzle over the first contract, reading the transcription several times before then daring to glance at the original version penned in runes. At the very least, the writing no longer looked completely foreign, having been surrounded by runes carved into much of the architecture under the mountain, and yet, in all that time, I hadn't learnt any translations of any of the letters, so could not read any bit of it. I shut the book in frustration, feeling a new pinch of resentment that Bofur had not felt inclined to teach me anything at all. In fact, It was only due to begging Balin to teach me that I knew any dwarven at all.
"Ni dûmzu zâmkhihi zahar, ni kurdumê zasamkhihi azhâr." I whispered the words to myself, and I knew I would never be able to forget them. "In your Halls I will find a house, in my heart you will find a home…" My hands became fists and I felt my heart rate begin to quicken in anger. "What a joke!" I spat, shoving my chair back and standing up. I resisted the urge to throw the accursed book, knowing I would regret it if I actually damaged it, and instead took a deep breath before returning it to its shelf. I paused then, with a hand still resting on its cover, as my mind tried to clear a path through the grief towards something more logical I could distract myself with. The contract I had just read had been written hundreds of years ago, and concerned kingdoms I didn't even recognize, but maybe… I walked over and uncapped one of the map cases, which until now had hung uselessly in the farthest cubby from what I considered my main living area, and pulled out the thick roll of maps I had permanently borrowed from my office in Erebor. I brought them to the table and laid one out, then spent the remainder of the afternoon and much of the evening studying each map in greater detail. Most were rather current, I set those aside vowing to refresh my knowledge of the regional geography later. Two, however, were older, and given the deteriorating state of the largest of those two, I reasoned it could be much older. I spread it out carefully, weighing down each corner with miscellaneous items from the kitchen, and after devoting some time looking over the place names, I began to find some that were familiar, and some even coincided with areas that were referenced in the ancient contract I had just read over. Satisfied with my discovery, I felt my determination grow once more and vowed to increase my breadth of knowledge, all on my own, especially since I now knew I had a valuable tool to aid me.
I was about to retrieve the book once more when a fierce yawn stopped me in my tracks. I was still catching up on sleep, it felt like, and so I turned my thoughts to supper and then bed.
The next morning took much too long to pass by, but at last, a short time after my midday meal, I heard a telltale tapping at my door, a distinct pattern that alerted me that it was simply my runner boy returning.
I jumped up and received him eagerly, and he was so bogged down with my box of regular food and water, along with several other full satchels strung from his arms, that I was glad I didn't dawdle opening the door for him. I eased his burden as he stepped inside, taking the box and setting it aside and then helping him unload the bags next to the table. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a few remaining coins, change leftover he said. I thanked him profusely and split the remaining change with him for his trouble - and continued discretion - and after he left I eagerly cleared off the table of the maps in order to unpack my new items.
Most importantly, I had requested parchment and writing utensils, and was pleased to see he had been able to procure a large stack of paper, tucked safely in a stiff leather folder, along with a new box of assorted quills and ink vessels. These were extreme luxuries, I knew, and the cost was nothing to scoff at, but would be instrumental in helping me to avoid complete mental deterioration.
In another bag I found knitting needles and a few balls of gray yarn. I confidently knew how to make fish nets, and also knew I was taught introductory knitting at some point when I was a child, but felt rather intimidated taking it up now as I was quite sure I remembered nothing at all of how to do it. Yet, as an expectant mother, I was inclined to at least try to learn, so that I might outfit my own child in a more economic fashion.
I then unpacked a set of small clay pots and some satchels of various herb seeds. I reasoned that I had a window, and time to tend to growing plants, so it would be nice to add something fresh and alive to my quarters - plus the boy had assured me he could source some soil (NOT nightsoil, I had stressed quite strongly) and bring it along with the next load of firewood.
The heaviest bag contained the items I was most excited for; new books. Dale had thankfully acquired a book trader in the market, and although the boy seemed somewhat reluctant when I asked him to visit it (I expected he couldn't read), I urged him to simply ask the vendor if he could suggest a few books for a "bored mind," within a set budget. I was pleased to see that my limited coin was still enough to acquire four new additions, and I read the titles with eagerness.
'A Landholders Guide to Growing Pipeweed.' Admittedly not exceptionally useful given my current predicament, and none of the packs of seeds I had just received were to grow pipeweed either. Still, it was a handsome little book, and upon checking the author's name, I was interested to recognize it as being of Hobbit origin.
The next one was titled 'Travels in the Far East.' I scanned a few pages and it appeared to be in the style of a travel journal or memoir. I felt excited to dive into it, for it was likely much more engaging than the other books I'd been reading of late and would be a very good distraction on the more tedious days.
The third book was clearly a history, yet it begged to be interesting with a title like 'The Fell Winter.' Who knew - maybe it would even give 'Salt Procurement' a run for its money.
The final book was called 'The Corsair and the Countess.' Intrigued, I opened it to a few random pages and began to read a couple excerpts throughout, then came across a paragraph that made it abundantly clear that this was a romance - the type of novel that women would be very mindful to keep discreetly tucked away, for it would not be in good taste to openly own such a book. I snapped it shut with mixed feelings as, unbidden and unwanted, memories of my own romantic encounters began to invade my thoughts. I frowned, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment, yet could not quite prevent myself from letting a few recollections play out longer than I knew was healthy. I bit my lip, hard, and rubbed my eyes before letting my head come to rest in my hands.
I hated him. Hated him for forcing me into this situation. Hated what he'd done to me… but still,I missed him… and I hated myself for it…
My hands turned into fists and I gripped my hair, pulling slightly, letting the pain rouse me out of my spiraling thoughts. I finally looked up with a huff and set The Corsair and the Countess resolutely aside. I could not let wanton thoughts of him distract me from my goal; to try to improve my life here, not just endure it. It was then that I noticed how dark the room had become, it was almost sundown and my small window did not get the last of the evening light so it was already shadowy and dim inside. Rather than light anything, I decided to just stoke the fire while I sat nearby and ate a quick, cold supper, then permitted myself to go to bed early so that I might waken fresh and ready to revive my routines come morning.
After breakfast the next day, I grabbed a sheet of my precious parchment and something to write with. After a few moment's thought, I opened the small vial of ink and dipped in the quill, then proceeded to make a chart outlining all my waking hours. I knew I could benefit from a more rigid daily structure, and so began to mark out time slots devoted to different activities that I wanted to incorporate into my day, even jotting down the obvious mundane things to better map out the timing of it all. Eventually I finished and looked over my work. In and amidst the everyday occurrences that I used as scaffolding (waking, starting the fire, meal prep, eating and deliveries), I allotted time for each aspect of my life I wished to really focus on - stretching (at my age, with all the injury I had endured for the sake of the dwarves, I knew my body was starting to need it), reading, study of maps, dwarven runes, knitting, and writing; I had half a mind to record some parts of my journey. Although I knew that revisiting my memories since leaving Bree (or perhaps since leaving Laketown in the first place, I hadn't really decided where I might start, if I did begin to mark things down) could cause me to fall into dark and brooding moods, I hoped instead that it could be more therapeutic to myself, and it might also benefit my child to know the story of how he or she came into this world.
Some parts of my day would be longer than others, with some tasks taking under an hour and others taking up a few, but when interspersed with the daily chores and allotting for free time to plant seeds and pursue any of my interests further if I ever hit a stride in knitting or got to a really good part in The Fell Winter, it would keep me busy, which I was sure would be the key to surviving such isolation.
A tapping on my windowsill drew my attention from my plans. A small bird had fluttered down, and was now hopping around in pursuit of bugs still clinging to the residual heat from my fire seeping through the glass panes. A sure sign of spring. I sighed wistfully, and then looked back down to my schedule. I knew I would have to get started right away, because as the weather improved the only thing to combat my desire to leave the house would be a well established and deep rooted routine.
I spent the next several weeks falling into the familiarity of a well established routine, which I found quite agreed with me - it was something I had not had the opportunity to embrace since leaving Bree. True, the routine there had involved hard, distasteful work at the best of times (and thinking about the worst made me appreciate my current situation all the more), but it had an element of predictability to it that I found myself missing during my life in Erebor - there had been days when cleaning, for instance, that I would be informed the very morning that my crew was moving to work halfway across the mountain, and Méra's schedule was so helter-skelter that only the Maker knew when she would call on me. After the wedding it seemed like I had no real schedule whatsoever. And then there was the general unexpected chaos the dwarves seemed destined to drag me into no matter how settled we got, so all in all my body and my mind were appreciating the break that came with being away from such volatility, and this kept me settled well into midsummer.
I found the simplest of my new tasks to be writing, though admittedly at first it was all I could do to quickly jot down rough notes, bits and pieces I could remember about the major moments in my adventure, before my hand began to cramp. By the end of my first month, though, I was filling in minor details with ease, and just like that sentences tied together to become paragraphs, and paragraphs blended loosely into chapters.
I also finished half of my new books, all the more pleased that none of them were written in verse or roughly translated from Khuzdul.
The Fell Winter was particularly engaging, especially since it took place only six years before my birth and there were chapters devoted to areas I was familiar with. I couldn't personally remember tales of it being such an ordeal, but then it was always snowy and freezing in Laketown during the winter, so I reasoned it was a harder season than usual but nothing we northern folk couldn't deal with. Apparently, though, the incident had been trouble for both Rhovanion and also Eriador, and I even found mention of several areas close to Bree that I had become acquainted with during my plotting to escape. With the Brandywine River frozen solid, great packs of white wolves attacked the hobbits in the Shire, and the cold alone caused great distress (I made a note to ask Bilbo what he recalled of the incident in my next letter to him, since he must have been in his early twenties at the time). Snow had also fallen in many northern areas of Mirkwood, including the realm of the wood elves, and it gave my sheltered mind great pleasure to imagine the look on their smarmy elf king's snide face as the first flakes ruined his perfect hairstyle. Oh, and how truly bleak his life must have become when ice halted their precious wine shipments.
I found Travels in the Far East to be equally as engaging, as the author's journey began in familiar territory on the Sea of Rhun before taking one of its other smaller tributaries in a generally northeasterly direction. There was a culture there seemingly as ancient as Gondor itself, yet I knew next to nothing about it - and throughout the journal the author hinted at remains of an empire long ago fallen to ruin while other kingdoms carried on. It gave me some small new insight into the mysterious 'Easterlings' and their desire to claim lands they believed were rightfully theirs. I found it especially ironic that it should put them into conflict with Erebor so soon after its own liberation from a foreign invader. The only trouble I had, especially after reading another history who's locations I was familiar with, was that save for the author's own scribbled attempts at mapping I had no idea what the geography was like in the East. He was by leaps and bounds a better author than a cartographer, and I was spoiled for choice with the maps I had sequestered of Gondor, Rhovanion and the like, so this was a bit frustrating not to know what existed just beyond the eastern borders.
The Corsair and the Countess was… intimate, and so it lay tucked under some clothes at the bottom of my trunk, almost forgotten - there were a few choice passages I had spotted in my initial brief encounter that I made a mental note to explore if I might ever take that kind of an interest, but for now my mind was far from such things...
Last but not least, I admittedly didn't quite get through all of A Landholders Guide to Growing Pipeweed, partly because I was neither a landholder, nor did I have any desire to grow anything that reminded me so much of a certain someone and his bad habits. Fortunately for me, the good Mr. Whitfoot - a self proclaimed hobbit of particular import in the Shire - did include several tips and tricks for tending the soil, gauging overall crop health and the like, which led to great success in one of my other areas of study.
The few empty pots, packets, and a bucket full of soil had led to a bit of an addiction as, with Mr Whitefoot's careful guidance, the seeds sprouted and rapidly began to shoot up. My success led to the necessity of procuring larger pots to transplant into, and more soil to fill these with, which left smaller pots empty, which I couldn't help but fill with more soil and new seeds and bulbs, which my good hobbit mentor helped me carefully care for until my windowsill and most spaces within the sun's path through my otherwise poorly lit house were filled with greenery, both ornamental and utilitarian in nature.
The herbs in particular came in handy, as without relying on the dwarven kitchens I was forced to harken back to cooking and baking skills I hadn't much developed since helping my mother in days of yore; the Inn in Bree hadn't exactly cooked high quality meals. Experimentation proved somewhat fruitful in this regard, but what really helped was having the delivery boy bring in a cookbook during my second week residing in Dale, and moderate success led to the 'meal prep' section of my day plan to grow to accommodate this newfound interest.
My last notable distraction came as a combined effort of studying both the dwarven contracts, my history books, and the maps, and I found I was finally putting a geographical place to many of the regions I had heard tell of while working and traveling throughout my life. It also gave me a newfound appreciation for both the journey I had gone through, and the alternate routes I could have taken along the way. I remembered Gandalf's council before leaving us at the borders of Mirkwood, but neither he, nor my dwarf companions, had seen reason to elaborate on these alternate routes, and so I used his rough estimates - 'two hundred miles north or four hundred south' - to puzzle out what other routes might have been even less savory than the elven road through Mirkwood. At my best guess, ruling out the Old Forest Road, the wizard had simply been suggesting circumventing the forest altogether, and using his estimates to the north and south borders, I was able to roughly place where our journey through the forest began - though once inside I knew it to be such a winding path that it was impossible to know how the trail proceeded. To the north, then, were the Gray Mountains - absolutely riddled with orcs from what I heard, and to the south - well, that would have taken us dangerously close to where I heard the orc armies had been amassing for their assault on Erebor. So the Elven path really was the safest route afterall.
But what if I had never met the dwarves? Or if I had taken up Elrond's offer and stayed in Rivendell a while? Either way, my course would likely have been the same from the Last Homely House: south or southeast with the next group of elves traveling in that direction, likely along safe, unmarked paths towards the Gap of Rohan. On my maps the city of Tharbad was still labeled at the ford of the Greyflood, but I knew from travelers in Bree that the city was nothing but ruins now, as was the North-South Road that continued southward from it, yet I imagined the elves would have other ways to reach the human settlements to the south. I would have been dropped off at the nearest inhabited village or town, and from there I could arrange passage to Edoras with a traveling farmer or tinker. At that point I might have even been inclined to simply overwinter in Edoras. I had a fondness for horses, afterall, and the Rohirrim were renowned for their equestrian pursuits.
Besides, honestly from that point on I couldn't figure out how someone in the modern age would have reached so far north as Laketown in a timely fashion, without a boat of course. Traveling east of the forest the only alternative would have been walking up through the winemaking region of Dorwinian via vast unfamiliar lands - areas known as The Brown Lands and Rhovanion, which as far as I could tell were parts of vast kingdoms once and surely had trade routes stretching from Gondor to Dale, and all throughout the lands between Mirkwood and the Sea of Rhun, yet the only mention I found of such kingdoms was from centuries ago, and no maps I possessed detailed anything more than their names. So yes, a boat north would have likely been my best and only option.
I knew there would be other routes still in use - footpaths and old wagon trails traders like Hall would have used to reach the north, but that drew my mind to another hard hitting fact. Surely somewhere along the way I would have passed refugees or traders with word that Laketown was destroyed by Smaug. And then what? I would have pressed on with hopes of finding my mother, no doubt, only to arrive in Dale to find her long dead. My only option then would have been to take up any job I could, not unlike many of the others from the pillaged countryside that had flocked to the relative shelter of the city in the dead of winter. Really though, I wouldn't have been in much worse of a situation than what I was in now, except that I was now to be a single mother living off what little good grace I had been rewarded with for all my trouble with the Company.
Regretfully, I was forced to admit defeat in one of my areas of study. I had thought that after a childhood of mending fishnets, knitting would be a fairly easy pursuit, and yet after trying for weeks I found I had produced nothing but several small, misshapen nets: perfect for catching minnows, but rubbish for keeping the chill off a wee one's sensitive skin. I also had several hastily respooled balls of yarn amassed in an empty chest, along with two tangled messes I had been unable to even salvage, and a growing desire to set my wooden knitting needles alight. Instead, I spent my next scheduled knitting session penning a letter to Sigrid asking for some help. I stopped short of sending it though; after spending over a month in Dale my body was starting to betray my secrets. It left no doubt as to my circumstances, and I wasn't sure I was ready to explain everything quite yet. I tucked the letter away, and resolved to master knitting at some undefined future date.
With no new books (save the one I was avoiding out of embarrassment), all my plants thriving, and having made it through all the recipes I could master without specialty equipment or ingredients that were out of season, I lasted another fortnight before I finally left the confines of my self imposed isolation.
It was an uncharacteristically hot day in midsummer - and while up to this point the thick stones of my house and the shade the wall provided kept the interior comfortably cool, now the very air felt like it was about to alight, and every movement in my condition added a new layer to the sheen of sweat that covered my body since late the night before. I couldn't recall being this hot since enduring the fever at the eagles' carrock, and even the daily water delivery, brought well before dawn to avoid the heat of the day by as long as possible, had been warm approaching hot by the time I retrieved it. Eventually I could take it no longer. I flung the door open wide, and then threw caution to the wind and stepped out over the threshold.
No relief.
I shielded my eyes and squinted about, unused to being out in the full glory of the natural light for long. No one was outside, which was not unusual for the street at this time of day, but even more so since the sun was at its height and was absolutely scorching. I was about to return to the shade, to suffer in solidarity with my neighbors when a sound caught my attention - a fluttering of cloth from high above and when I looked upwards I saw my salvation - a breeze tousling the flags of Dale, and blowing off the mountain no less, where surely the still snowy peaks still imparted some coolness to the air about them. I made for the stairs leading to the ramparts, nary a thought given to any sweltering cloak or burdensome disguise. I was so disheveled, and pregnant at that, that no one should be able to recognize me from a distance, and even if they did I wasn't sure I would care at this point, so long as my climb brought me some comfort.
All my hopes were rewarded as I neared the parapets, already I could feel the cooler air spilling down the stairway to meet me and breathed what felt like my first full deep breath of the day. It encircled my face and refreshed me as no lukewarm damp towel ever could, tousled out my hair behind me as I ascended further. It caressed my neck, my shoulders, my arms, raising goosebumps across my skin. My hands reached out to fall upon the stone battlements, so pale after months indoors in the mountain, and now here, and the wind continued its roving, eddying over the walls to swirl about in tiny circlets that changed with every new gust.
I closed my eyes and reveled in the feelings, like one starved might revel in the pleasure of a bite of food, for I had in fact been starving myself - the feel of direct sunlight, the sensation of a breeze against my skin, the touch of any surface beyond my four walls, it was all intoxicating before even opening my eyes, and when I did they ached at the overwhelming task of trying to take in everything I had been missing all at once. The reflections on the water of the river running, the shimmer of heat rising off its stone banks, and the greenery - the death of Smaug had lifted whatever pall had fallen over the desolation, be it some physical malady of his presence, or the sheer force of the dragon's malice made manifest, or some unknown magic from the Greeenwood of old spreading east in his absence, it mattered not, for Smaug was dead, and every long slumbering shrub and tree, every wildflower, every blade of grass had woken even after all this time and canvassed the valley in a sea of colour that my indoor garden oasis could never hope to match.
I spun slowly, taking it all in, and then my mouth fell open in further wonder.
The city of Dale spread out before me. My people and dwarves had been busy in my absence, and the transformation from what I remembered from my arrival took my breath away.
Much of the city was thriving, from what it seemed from my vantage point. Through an influx of coin and craftsmanship, every corner - from the causeway to the Stone Street markets all the way across town, from the outer walls all the way into the great hall buildings - were finished or nearing their former glory. Wherever a building or its part had been reduced to rubble, it was not just patched but stripped back to the last usable row of solid stone, and then built back up in artistic patterns intermixed with the limestone of Erebor. Over a century of ash and soot from the dragon's original destruction had been scrubbed away, leaving the city a striking vision of tan and green. New leafy vines were now beginning to climb many of the dwellings, and even old vines left on intact structures were putting out shoots and flowers from some internal reserve deep within their being - mayhap some elven magic truly was at work for such a feat.
I saw it all stretched out before me, and amidst it all the people, my people, proud and strong and flourishing, and just as deserving to be here after their prolonged absence as the flowers and vines.
The last of my resolve and reluctance drifted away, carried off by wisps of the breeze that had drawn me out on this fine day, and I knew that sticking to my schedule would be more and more difficult from this point on. I felt so alive, so healthy, and I knew somewhere that depriving myself of these feelings would do more harm than facing up to my past, and so I lingered awhile, damn the consequences should anyone see me, at the magnificence that was the City of Dale.
A city that truly deserved its title of old:
The Wonder of the North.
My sojourns out into the city were more discrete and thought out at first, following my initial digression that is. It would be a trip to the water well down the street on hot days when my own supply would grow too warm for my tastes, or to the woodyard's drop off down the row of houses (the sawmen who worked there brought a cart back with them every night so there was always ample wood for cooking), and of course back to the wall top whenever a patrol wasn't stationed there, but as summer dragged on I grew slightly more adventurous and confident in my anonymity. The city was growing so populous that surely anyone who knew me would have a hard time picking me out in a crowd of unfamiliar folks, especially with the influx of seasonal workers, farmers, traders and the like. Indeed, I felt that if my corner of the world hadn't been mostly populated by long-haul shift workers, I would have a much harder time keeping secluded for so long.
My first trip beyond the row was to the market. As the season's early harvests began to appear, unused sections of my cookbooks were being put to good use - and all it took was one strong craving for fresh fruit on a day that I happened upon the section on tarts to set my mind turning. I knew an elven cloak would stick out like a sore thumb, and so I donned my most subdued clothes hoping to blend in rather than camouflage myself completely. At least the styles of Laketown afforded me a light woman's hat that I had obtained early on in spring to keep me warm inside my home, and beneath that I tidied my hair but left it down to conceal the shape of my face. I felt I needed little else by way of trickery to change myself - pregnancy was already seeing to it that my posture and body shape was changed, after all - and then with my coin purse tucked in and a basket dangling from one arm I set off about mid-morning.
I was pleased to see the Stone Street Market was growing into the thriving heart of Dale, filled with the bounties of vine and vale just as it had been centuries ago, and after adjusting my hat I entered the throng of people shopping, visiting, milling about, and once again felt a pang of regret with what my self-isolation was robbing of me.
No, not self imposed.
I reminded myself in that moment, surrounded by friendly, welcoming people, that I hadn't fled socialization by choice. I had been judged, and found guilty.
But I was innocent, and I determined right then and there to stop living like the prisoner they deemed me to be. If they found me, they would find a strong woman thriving among her own people, not some rat in a hole hiding out in her guilt.
I composed myself, took a deep breath, and straightened up - stretching really had been paying off, as even despite the pregnancy I felt almost regal. I smiled a friendly smile, and then made a dignified re-entrance into the world of men.
The summer meandered on, and my life was finding balance again accommodating the world of possibilities now opened up just beyond my front door. True, the babe was beginning to make day to day life rather uncomfortable, but it was balancing out with some cooler nights (in other words, much better sleeps) and more varied days. I enjoyed being able to browse all the fresh produce the markets had to offer myself, especially on days that I could muster going out to hand-pick the best of the crop, and my baking and cooking had improved accordingly. I moved a pair of my largest tomato plants out onto the front step and was now also enjoying the fruits of my own labour, even as some of my indoor garden began to wane with the dwindling sunlight afforded through the narrow windows. My stretching had evolved into occasional walks on nice days, and often brought me through areas of the city I was learning to be less populated during the mornings. My old schedule, amended but not forgotten, still included plenty of time for all my usual pursuits. I even ran out of parchment, having filled every page with recordings of my life, my journey, and had to purchase another folder of blank sheets.
A new curiosity had also developed, which started as a simple flutter, one so faint and fleeting that at first I was unsure I had even felt anything at all. Yet the feelings eventually grew stronger, and I began to trust my intuition that I was beginning to actually feel the baby move. This heralded the start of a funny relationship, where I eventually looked forward to the little tremors and tiny kicks from within, a small reminder that I wasn't alone, and that the babe was growing.
Everything was going so well, and I felt so good in those weeks that I even dared to crack open The Corsair and the Countess in front of a blazing fire one otherwise dreary and drizzly day - much to the desired effect, to say no more of the matter.
My trips to the market became more frequent, and with each trip I found new stalls to catch my wonder. I followed my nose to an exotic spice vendor that sold his wares piled high in heaps out in the open air, and learned that many came from far in the south beyond Gondor - a region I was barely familiar with even with all my maps. Another time I sought out the ghost of a smell that was wafting about the wind on a day thick with threatening storms, only to begrudgingly discover the culprit was a pipe weed vendor; the smoke itself I had a distaste for, but the dried plant I found threateningly comforting and nostalgic - thankfully I was forced to abandon the area altogether when the rain started in earnest. I also spotted a merchant selling mechanical toys akin to Bifur's, though much less complex, and even a stall that I took to be from Windrest selling braided and beaded adornments that looked very familiar. I eagerly looked for the face of Kura behind the booth, but it was manned by an older woman from Keldun. Upon asking, however, I discovered that some of the jewelry was indeed crafted by the residents, who were thankfully recovering nicely after their troubles in the spring, and the woman was there selling wares on behalf of several people from the small hamlet.
I was beginning to marvel at my luck, for with all my public excursions, I hadn't had a single encounter with anyone I knew, for which I was exceedingly grateful. Yet one afternoon, while perusing the wares more out of boredom than necessity (my purse was growing a tad light and I had to start being more careful), I spotted a few dwarves ambling down the next row of stalls. They weren't looking directly at me, per-say, just meandering like I was and glancing here and there, but still, even though I didn't recognize them I quickly turned and pretended to be extremely interested in the nearest booth so I might be able to shield my face. The last thing I needed was for my whereabouts to be relayed to Bofur… though perhaps he would not come to me even if he knew. Surely I was not all that hard to find. Why hadn't he come yet? Perhaps our lives together were well and truly over. He clearly did not want to find me.
My thoughts were interrupted when the merchant before me, a flamboyant wine seller from Dorwinian, raised his voice at me. I started from my reverie to see him gesture at my hands, which were cradled absentmindedly about a bottle of wine that I could only guess I had picked up subconsciously to give me an excuse to remain a little longer - too long apparently.
"You gonna pay for that or just fondle it all day, eh?! And in your condition?" He tutted, with another dramatic hand flourish while I blushed and shakily set the wine bottle back amongst the others.
I mumbled my apologies, quickly stepping backwards, away from the angry vendor, but in doing so collided into something solid. I heard a disgruntled "ow" from behind me and spun around in a flush to address the gentleman I had knocked into.
"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean-" My words caught in my throat as I looked up into the face of the man in front of me. My eyes widened, and then so did his. I cursed under my breath as I glanced about like a caged animal before hurriedly ducking away, making a quick beeline towards the nearest side street.
I didn't make it far before I felt it - the hard grip on my arm pulling me to an abrupt stop - and even though I was half expecting it, I still yelped slightly in surprise and turned to glare at my assailant.
If only he hadn't recognized me… but he always had been much too observant.
"Hall, honestly, people will think you're trying to accost me!" I fumed, tugging out of his grasp. "And you shouldn't grab at people like that, you could break someone's arm!"
He stepped back, his hands up apologetically. "I'm sorry if I hurt you." he said, and I could see him appraising me, his eyes flitting down to my midsection that could no longer quite be concealed by my clothing before scanning the nearby crowd. He finally looked back to me, a slightly quizzical expression on his face. "Eleanor... where is Bofur?"
I gaped at him, and swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "He's at the Mountain, where else would he be?" I replied softly, trying to keep any hint of emotion out of my voice.
"Then what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice oddly gentle.
I scowled at him. "Shopping. Isn't that obvious?"
I don't know why I suddenly felt so hostile towards the only familiar face that I'd seen in months, apart from Sigrid's, but could not deny that my carefully curated secret existence was now under threat. Of anyone I might have run into, Hall was the one person I couldn't lie to anymore, and so I couldn't even begin to navigate an explanation that would allow me to carry on in peace as I had been. I decided to try to keep it simple.
"Might I go? I have many things to attend to." I asked him frankly, only just barely keeping the desperation out of my voice.
He didn't say anything and so I dipped my head and made to leave.
"Eleanor, wait."
His words held an edge that made me pause in my tracks and look to him once more. He was still studying me, and I felt that his clever, discerning eyes were putting together all the pieces of my puzzling appearance in Dale's market without me speaking a word about it; my motley, disheveled clothing that didn't fit just-so anymore, my unwashed hair, my dirty fingernails, and above all else, my apparent solitude despite my very obvious condition.
"Eleanor, we are friends, and you can trust me." Hall began, taking a slow step towards me and leaning in slightly so that any passerby might not so easily hear his words. "Please, tell me, are you in some kind of trouble?"
I opened my mouth to deny it, but then closed it again when the words wouldn't come.
"Do you need help?" he pressed.
I frowned, prying my eyes away from his and shaking my head. "No... No, I'm fine, Hall, I really am." I managed to say. I then took a breath and straightened up. "Thank you though, for asking." I placed a hand on his arm, letting it linger for a moment yet keeping my eyes ahead for fear he would see any break in my resolve, for though it was true that I knew I would be alright (I had made it thus far on my own and felt confident I could build a life for us - my child and I), it was also oh-so-true that a part of me desperately wished I could ask him to take a turn about the market with me, to hear his gossip about this vendor and that, to prattle on about business and the city's growth, to brag a bit about my own small accomplishments, to ask about his sisters and his family… but questions like that would lead to questions about my own circumstances, things I didn't yet want out in the open. Instead, I sniffed and excused myself.
"I'm about finished for today. I'll leave you to your business."
He let my hand slip away from his arm without objection, and I thought I was free and clear until he called out my name once again. I looked back, and he smiled and waved a small wave. "It was nice to see you again."
I smiled back, my heart aching deeply at the genuine kindness he always showed.
Afterwards, It took all my willpower to turn and walk away into the streets of Dale.