Bandobras Took Son of Reginard, Esquire of the Green Knight (though at this rate I'll be full-grown and past it by the time I get back to Ithilien), Crickhollow

To Gimli son of Glóin, Lord of Aglarond, my Friend Despite the Fact He Won't Admit to Liking my Mushrooms, Rohan

Dear Gimli,

I have just had a letter from my Master, describing an incident I find mighty disturbing; he's trying to brush it off, Gimli, but I can tell it's worrying him, and eating away like at his mind; I know you've been awful busy, what with the clan war and the new vein of gold and all, but do you think you could sort this out for me?  I can't quite get the rights of it, for though it sounds a little thing to me it obviously means a good bit more, but what that might be is beyond my understanding.

Now, you know, Gimli, that the hook that's snared my Master in this whole Marriage Thing is the fact that he's fair put-upon right now, what with all the new plantings and orchards and babies and weddings and invasions and trade agreements and all, and that having a wife about the place might make things a bit easier on him.  I see that well enough for myself; why, Cousin Merry and Uncle Pip did both tell me they wanted Mother and me to move in with them in Crickhollow so that there would be a Lady at the helm to help them out, and that their jobs were ever so much easier with her there seeing to the household; that's what my Master has said to me, that he won't mind having a wife so long as she pulls her weight, like.  But then I get this here letter this very afternoon (I am writing in bed by candle-light, and I hope Mother doesn't find me because then I'll catch it but good) relating some conversation he found hidden in a scroll someplace – I didn't quite get that, Gimli, it sounded odd to me – saying this Laustairë's been skiving off her job and it's all been hushed up, but he's trying to brush it off, like, saying she's been doing quite a bit training up her little horse (a bit early to break her I think; the filly's not even a year old yet, is it?) and loves to read and hasn't made no friends and is lonely and it's his fault as he's been so busy he can't get to know her and – O Gimli, I can't tell you all he said, and I don't want to write it down neither for he'd think it an awful breach of trust if he ever found out – is he really that unhappy, Gimli?  He sounds so awfully unhappy, and this Laustairë sounds a bit like my neighbor's daughter Beryl who spends most of her time finding little chores to do that keep her busy enough that she doesn't have to help with the haying or harvesting or picking or pickling or preserving – clever, but awful devious, and her mother can't say nothing because really Beryl IS doing some useful things but never what her family REALLY needs for her to do and never what her mother ASKS her to do, is that what Laustairë's doing then?  It certainly sounds like it and I know my Master's fair puzzled wondering what to do about it, for by rights he can't say nothing neither, as he's not her husband yet and can't boss her about, nor does he know her as a friend and can tell her he sees past her sly ways, and he still has to make up to her for they skipped the courting part of their betrothal and he's got an awful lot of catching up to do on that front and if he tries to tick her off about her slacking off it won't do him much good for she'll be all huffy and indignant, just like Beryl gets, and let me tell you the young fellows are steering shy of HER.  Has all the appearance of being a good catch, she does, but we all know it's just a front for she'd rather putter about in the house straightening curtains and fluffing pillows and fixing tea than getting up hay or churning the butter or rubbing down the ponies.  Mother says she's been spoilt and I believe it; funny it is, that I'm fifteen years her junior yet I see it and she don't, for I overheard her at Market last week complaining she hadn't got a beau.  Well, who'd want a lass like that, all moonshine and lace and pretty words, with no grit behind it?  And my Master wants grit, I can tell you, Gimli, and seeing that his betrothed hasn't got none is starting to worry him – I can tell from the way he's writing, I can, and it's making me awfully worried.

So I want you to go to Ithilien and put this mess to rights – if she's neglecting her duties by my Master she needs to be straightened out, and if it's just ignorance well then she needs a good dose of tongue-lash – and as I'm not there I guess it's up to you to administer it, and you can let the clan war go hang.  Let one of your other people deal with it – isn't there some Dwarf lady who could handle it?  Seems to me my Master did tell me once Dwarf women are better about those things than Dwarf men, is that true, Gimli, or was he just thinking of your mother?  Thinks a lot of her, he does; sang her praises up one side and down the other; made me want to meet her myself.  Shall I ever meet her, Gimli?  She was away when we were at Erebor, though I met your Dad and found him a capital fellow.  I'd dearly love to meet your mother for my Master told me she had a beard, and I've never seen a lady with a beard before, barring Gammer Proudfoot up in Hobbiton who has a sort of mustache, but Mother says I'm not allowed to speak of it.  Why is that, Gimli?  It's not as though it'll hurt her chances of finding a beau for she's gone through two husbands already and is being courted by a third, though I think if she's going to be so wasteful with the menfolk she ought rather to let some other old lady have a go.

O that reminds me, Gimli, that Cousin Merry and Uncle Pip thought they'd have a tournament at the last fair in Hobbiton; got all dressed up in their armor and had Mayor Gamgee cut them some lances (did a right fine job, he did, though he'd never seen a proper jousting lance before) and I showed them how to pass each other at the tilt; they did a fair job of it and Uncle Pip knocked Cousin Merry off his pony, then Cousin Merry got back on and knocked Uncle Pip off HIS pony, then everyone got very excited and a couple of the lads decided they'd give it a go but they wouldn't listen to me when I told them they weren't holding the lances right and one of them was nearly killed dead except he was flung into the flour-bin instead of down the hill to the sharp rocks below, where he certainly would have ended up if the flour bin hadn't of been there, and Mother said it's a mercy he wasn't killed and gave Uncle Pip such a tongue-lashing I'm surprised he has any hide left on him.  But Estella thought it a right lark, and said to me private-like afterwards it done her a world of good to see that popinjay Mungo Sackville come up all covered in flour like a lumpy loaf of bread dough, and it's true enough that's what he resembled for Mungo's awful fond of his victuals and is even fatter than Master Bolger.

At any rate you need to go to Ithilien and get to the bottom of this; Mother says I'm not to leave for the Wedding until late winter which I think is awfully unfair, as the traveling will be terrible then, but it can't be helped for Diamond hasn't anything in her trousseau at all being so young and getting a little behind-hand in her sewing.  Why is it womenfolk need new clothes when they wed?  Aren't their old ones good enough?  They helped them catch their husbands at least.

Write to me, Gimli, and let me know what we ought to do; if things are bad I'll leave anyway – I made it all the way past Bree when I was just a little bit of a thing, and I'm sure I can make it further now I'm so much older.

Bandobras