THE LINDEN TREE
Chapter 9
The Lord Telramund was a seasoned warrior, and he sparred with his niece whenever he could, and was putting her through her paces even now. They warmed up with a few passes, but soon they were sparring in earnest, and it was plain that he had taught her, and that they knew each other well. He was taller and stronger than she was, but she was lithe and quick; and soon they were dancing a fierce and graceful dance.
Thorin and Dwalin watched the fight, and could see that she made the best of her stature. She adopted a defensive stance at first, parrying and appearing to give ground, but all the while preserving her strength, and watching; but when she saw an opening, she moved in inside her opponent's defences. It was a dangerous method, and the lord Telramund knew how she fought, and turned her blows more often than not; but still she was able to land a few vicious blows to unprotected areas.
"Not bad," said Dwalin after a while. "I wouldn't have thought it, but not bad. Not grounded enough, though," he added.
Thorin nodded. "Aye. And that sword's too long for her," he added, and the smith in him suspected that the sword was not perfectly balanced.
After a while the fighters stopped, and embraced, laughing. "It is always good to see you, child," said Telramund fondly.
"And you, uncle," replied Helmwyn.
"But why must you always try to fight dirty?" said he, now in earnest. "This sort of thing is perilous, as well you know."
"And why must you always fight honourably? I do not think the Orcs will have your style, or your courtesy." She smiled still, but her eyes had gone grave.
"Are you accusing me of being soft on you? Very well. Next time I run into some Orcs, I shall catch a few, and bring them back for you to practise on."
"That would be splendid." She smiled and hugged her uncle again, but it was plain that they had had this argument before.
"But why not ask our Dwarven friends?" said Telramund as he saw Dwalin and Thorin watching them from the edge of the training-ground. "Masters!" he called; "you have had experience enough with this foe, and I would hear what you have to say on the matter."
"So indeed would I!" said the lady. "Master Dwalin! Have you any suggestions that might improve my chances?
"Er," stammered Dwalin. "You fight most elegantly, my lady."
She grinned, and turned to her uncle: "You see, it seems I do not fight dirty enough!" Then to Dwalin: "Aye, I can dance well enough. But Orcs do not dance."
"No, lady, they come screaming at you waving spiky maces any old way."
She could see that Dwalin was reluctant, and decided to tease him.
"There is something I've always wanted to know, and perhaps you can give me the answer to this: would there be any point in giving an Orc a knee in the groin?"
"Helmwyn!" exclaimed Telramund.
"Do not be so shocked, uncle. It was aunt Ortrud who taught me that trick." Dwalin had flushed crimson up to his tattoos. "Well?"
"Wouldn't know, my lady. Never let them close enough."
"That is well. But now in earnest, Master Dwalin. You have fought Orcs many times. If there be aught you can tell me that might give me the slightest advantage, I would hear it. For I am well aware that I would not last long in such a fight."
"Well, there is one thing…" He was clearly embarrassed. "You need to imagine you've got-… you need to be…well…closer to the ground, my lady." The words BALLS OF STEEL! were on the tip of his tongue, but he bit them down. He couldn't say that in front of a lady, even if he'd never, ever get rid of the mental image of Ortrud kneeing an Orc in the groin. "You put your weight too high," he explained. "You get away with it because you're usually fighting people who are taller that you, but it won't be like that with Orcs, lady. They come in all shapes and sizes."
Helmwyn listened to the huge Dwarf intently, and he forgot his embarrassment and fell back into his favourite part, that of the master-at-arms of princes. "A mêlée with Orcs, quite frankly, it's a mess. They come at you any old how, and they'll use whatever they can find as a weapon. If you keep your weight as it is-" He lunged at Helmwyn, and feinted, and pushed her off her feet. She fell with good grace, and got up again, and her eyes shone, for she was eager to learn. She took a defensive stance, and Dwalin came at her again, and again, talking all the while.
"The ground is your friend, lady. Use it as your strength. If you place your weight low enough, and spread it evenly, like so, it'll make it much harder to knock you over. And if you DO fall, it's not the end of the world, unless you're wearing your own weight in plate armour, but it looks like you people are sensible about that. The trick is to keep moving; so if you lose your balance, you fall into a roll right away, and your friend the ground will provide you with new footing; but you've got to react quickly." And he knocked Helmwyn to the ground once more, and she rolled away and rose once more, determined.
The lord Telramund stood beside Thorin, and they watched in silence for a little while. Then Telramund said:
"Do you know, I've been telling her off about her balance for years. It would be truly wonderful if your friend got her grounded at last."
"You've certainly come to the right person for that. We Dwarves are good at grounded."
Telramund smiled, for he was glad that Dwarves could laugh at themselves, and this stern-faced Dwarf in particular.
"Sometimes it takes a new instructor to find just the right image," he said; and Thorin agreed, and wondered when Dwalin was going to let slip his favourite image - BALLS OF STEEL!
Meanwhile, Helmwyn had wanted Dwalin's advice on rolling with an edged weapon without eviscerating herself. He agreed that it was a useful thing to know, and he made her practice falling some more. She was grateful for the springy turf of the Mark, but did not complain. Instead, next time she rose, she bowed to Dwalin and asked him formally if he would consider teaching her, as she put it, the basics of Fighting like a Dwarf. Dwalin hesitated.
"Now lady, we Dwarves, we're compact, and hard to budge, and we like to keep the space around us clear. But you've a slight build, my lady, so there's no point in giving you a battle-axe." Her heart sank.
He gave her a long look. "But you're quick, and you can spot weaknesses, and you're not afraid to move in; and that's a pretty good start. I think you're ready to learn something slightly less…formal. Do you like the sound of that?"
She did. Dwalin grinned. "I knew you would. Now let's see what I can dig out for you in my bag of tricks."
This was even better that she'd hoped. He was going to teach her to Fight Dirty.
Dwalin talked Helmwyn through the motions slowly, and she would repeat them, and try a few variants, and then they would speed them up progressively, and finally they would improvise. Thorin and Telramund saw how absolutely intent she was. She did not rush headlong into the fight, nor did she get frustrated; she made sure she understood, then repeated everything methodically, so that her body might learn, and remember. For she was well aware that her chief flaw, besides her balance, was that she thought too much, and that the split second she always took to weigh her options was the split second she would not have.
Dwalin encouraged her tendency to strike vulnerable areas like the armpit, the groin, the hamstrings or the throat; for such areas were seldom well-covered, especially with Orcs, whose armour seemed intended for deterrence rather that actual protection. Even if a wound to these areas was not immediately fatal, it would weaken the opponent, and give her time to strike a second blow; or if he escaped, the opponent would be maimed, or bleed out within minutes.
In the end, they practised a series of moves that became her particularly well.
"Right, that's it. Duck, roll, and…HAMSTRING! Well done!" said Dwalin, and went down on one knee. "And now what would you do?"
"Slice your head off while you're down?"
"Aye, you could do that, but while you raise your sword, I'll have buried my axe in your ankle. See? Best to make sure the enemy is disarmed." She lightly tapped him on the forearm with the flat of her blade. "Yes, great. And now if you like you can cut my throat. Lovely! Right, let's do that again."
He attacked her, and she ducked and rolled and hamstrung him a couple of times, then she tried rolling to the other side, for a change. "Nice one!" called Dwalin.
Telramund watched, fascinated and rather worried. "I am not sure I approve of this style, my lord, but Master Dwalin has certainly spotted my niece's natural propensities. Do you think it is wise to encourage them, though?"
"Anything that can give her an edge in a real fight is worth encouraging, my lord," Thorin answered. Your niece is right about this, that Orcs do not dance."
Dwalin decided to call it a day. "I can see you're getting the hang of it! You sleep on it now, and let it all decant. That was a lot of information on your first day."
"Aye, I shall sleep on it, and tomorrow I shall be black and blue from all that rolling around! But I thank you for your time, Master Dwalin, and would be very glad indeed to continue with this. I have much to think upon!"
"You think too much, lass. Don't think. Just do!"
Helmwyn wiped the sweat from her brow, and walked towards her uncle; she was flushed and panting, but beaming.
"Child, how I wish your aunt had seen this," said Telramund. "You would make her proud!"
"Thank you, uncle! No, don't hug me, I beg you, I am wearing my own weight in sweaty clothes. Just help me get out of this wretched hauberk!"
"When are you going to get some proper armour made?" said Telramund as he helped her pull her heavy mailshirt over her head. "It isn't as though you have to wear your brother's cast-offs. You're always complaining about that thing. It's too big, and it slows you down."
"Well, I've taken your counsel at last, uncle. There's a beautiful, light suit of armour being readied in Edoras as we speak." She went to a water-barrel and splashed cold water onto her face. "But though I always curse this wretched thing, I suppose it keeps me strong. AND close to the ground. I ought to be glad of that!" said she, and laughed.
A little further away, Thorin offered mock congratulations to Dwalin. "My friend," he said, "you are an outstanding example to the young, and an education all by yourself. Durin's beard, you were teaching that girl to hamstring!"
"She came up with that all by herself! She's a natural. I wasn't sure at first, but the lass has got some nasty instincts. Did you see that?"
"She certainly seemed to enjoy hamstringing you. It was quite a sight," said Thorin.
"Aye. Great instincts. Pity she thinks too much."
"It takes some time to unlearn that," said Thorin with a smile.
"What do you mean? You always fought like a demon when you were learning."
"I meant the rest of the time."
"Oh that. That's not thinking, that's brooding. You can tell, because nothing new ever comes from brooding"
A circle of men had formed around the sparring-ground, curious to see what the large battle-scarred Dwarf was teaching their lady. Dwalin called out to them: "Show's over, lads! The lady's earned her break! Come back tomorrow."
One of the men replied: "Master Dwarf! They say that Dwarves are stout fighters, and we have seen but a glimpse of what you can do. Will you not show us your skill with an axe?"
Dwalin looked at Thorin. "What do you think?"
"Don't you need a rest?"
"Me? I'm as fresh as a daisy."
And with a fierce grin, the two Dwarves marched onto the training-ground, and unbuckled their weapons. Thorin held a sword in his right hand and a great axe in his left; and Dwalin took the two battle-axes that were strapped to his back, and greeted them as though they were old friends.
"You think you're ready for this, laddie?" he called to Thorin. "Haven't seen you practice in a while!"
"I'm certainly in better shape than you, old man!" Thorin answered; and they ran at each other.
It was a fearsome sight. Axeblades whirled so fast that the Men could barely see them; and if this were indeed sparring, they wondered what the Dwarves might be capable of in a real fight. Dwalin surprised them all; for though he looked like a huge axe-wielding maniac, he did not fight like a berserker, but in a controlled and extremely efficient manner. But the lord Thorin struck awe in the hearts of the watchers, for there was a grim light in his eyes; and as he parried, and spun, and attacked, each of his movements had a deadly grace and power. It took someone like Dwalin to match him; and as Helmwyn watched him, she understood how such a one could have rallied a hopeless army to him, and turned a rout into a sweeping victory by the sheer force of his will.
The clang of axes was the only sound above the hush of the breathless watchers; when suddenly the two Dwarves broke off the fight, and laughed, and embraced like brothers, and all around them remembered this had merely been practice. A chorus of cheers rose from the assembled men.
"I bow to you, Masters," said the lord Telramund, "for in truth I have never seen anyone fight like this!"
But Helmwyn looked at the lord Thorin, and said: "That was worth at least another one hundred axemen, my lord!"
Thorin held her gaze, then turned to look at Dwalin. He had gone to the men, and their smile paled as they saw the huge Dwarf marching towards them with a grin on his scarred face. "Right, you lot!" he bellowed. "Enjoyed that, did you? So how about you show me something entertaining?"
"I daresay you shall have many more axemen's worth by the time Dwalin is finished with your men," said Thorin; "for if his hammer-blows do not break them, they will be as strong as tempered steel."
The Rohirrim were expert at fighting on horseback; but Dwalin decided they needed a little kicking into shape when it came to hand-to-hand combat, and so decided to apply the boot. Telramund went across to watch more closely, but Helmwyn remained behind with Thorin.
"I am a little ashamed, my lord," she told him.
"Why is that?"
"I fear I may just be wasting my own and everyone else's time, trying to fight competently."
"You need not be ashamed, my lady. You have been well schooled, and you are a fast learner. We are alike in this, that we like to watch and understand. Today you have learned some of Dwalin's tricks; tomorrow you shall put them to deadly use."
Helmwyn was grateful for his kind words, especially since they came from such an accomplished fighter; but she still felt humbled.
"But tell me, my lady, do your people earnestly expect their womenfolk fight?" asked Thorin, who found that the Rohirrim took this shieldmaiden business altogether too far.
"The women of the Mark fight when they must, although they are untutored," answered she. "Unlike the daughters of the house of Eorl, who are lovingly taught from a young age, but whom no-one truly expects to fight."
Thorin could hear bitterness in her voice, and gave her a searching look. "But your sense of duty commands otherwise, does it not."
"Aye. I do not train out of a love of battle or a desire for glory, my lord. If I had things my way, I should spend my days with books and songs. But the Mark is under attack, and the day might come when my people are beleaguered, and we must defend ourselves in earnest. I cannot sit idle while others die."
Thorin understood her only to well, and pitied her, that one so young and fair should feel the burden of duty so keenly. For he too shared that burden, and the line of Durin spared its heirs no more than the house of Eorl; and all of a sudden he thought not of his sister, but of his brother Frerin.
They stood in silence, watching Dwalin drill the men of the Mark. "BALLS OF STEEL, LADS!" he bellowed, all inhibitions forgotten, "I WANT TO SEE BALLS OF STEEL!"