THE LINDEN TREE

Chapter 10

That night when they had returned to Lindburg, Helmwyn bathed before the evening meal, for she had exerted herself greatly, and already had aches and pains just about everywhere. She sat back in the hot water and tried to unwind her knotted sinews. Her shoulders ached from the weight of that wretched hauberk; but then, they always did. She also saw bruising on her skin, and dreaded to imagine what her back looked like. Oh well, it had been worth it, and there would be more bruising tomorrow, and that would be worth it too.

Not that anyone was likely to care about the state of her back, except possibly her mother; and her mother was far away in Gondor. And although Helmwyn's relationship with her mother was fraught, she inwardly thanked her for the recipe she had sent for making mare's milk soap. Helmwyn was not vain, but she liked to feel clean; and so did her mother, who evidently felt that the Rohirrim were uncouth and had a great deal to learn from the refinements of Gondor. Helmwyn had liked many things about Gondor, but she was viscerally attached to the Mark; and so she welcomed the soap, and took pride in the many uses of horses.

She slipped on a plain gown and went to join the company in the Hall. The Dwarves sat with their heads together, and were studying the preliminary plans that Hogni and Snorri had made. They said that these were but rough sketches, but she still marvelled at their precision, for they put all the drawings that she had shown them the previous evening to shame.

Balin had taken out a small abacus, and with Snorri and Hogni, tried to estimate the required number of stone blocks to be quarried, and the amount of timber, tools, men and time required for the Hornburg alone. They were concerned about the Wall, and argued about whether to shore it up with brackets and props, or whether to take the subsiding section down and rebuild it on sound foundations. And they had not even begun to discuss what to do about the caves.

Ortrud and Telramund joined them, and the evening meal was served; and it was a merry evening, for all were still in high spirits from the bright, busy day at the Hornburg. Ortrud was delighted to hear that Dwalin had been teaching her niece to fight dirty, and demanded a detailed account. Helmwyn and Telramund supplied all the details, and Ortrud smiled brightly and commended Dwalin; but he blushed and looked down into his mug of ale.

Thorin decided to broach the subject of the caves while everybody was in such good spirits. "Lord Telramund," he said, "I must confess that my companions and myself were greatly surprised when you took us to see the caverns behind Helm's Deep. For to your people they are merely a refuge; but to our eyes, they are as fair as the fairest dwellings of our kings – or could be, with a little work, though that is not what we came for."

There was laughter, and the lord Telramund answered: "I am glad that the stone of this country pleases you, my lord. And indeed, we too hold those caverns fair, though we would not dwell in them."

"Nay, but in earnest. Do you think the King would trade the Orcs of the White Mountains for a few Dwarves? For these are fair mountains, and I believe my people could prosper here."

At this, the smile died on Telramund's face, and Ortrud looked down, and Helmwyn seemed troubled; but what Thorin saw in their faces was not anger. They looked at each other, and at last Helmwyn spoke: "My lord, do you remember what I told you of there being but few mountain-dwellers in the Mark?"

"Aye, lady, you said it was because you were horse-people."

"That is so, but that is not all there is to the matter." She looked again at her aunt and uncle, and went on: "The reason why only a few scattered folk dwell in the mountains is…" She broke off, searching for the right words. "There is a dread in the mountains. It dwells below the Dwimorberg, but how far it spreads in the mountains, we do not know."

"There are reports, of pale figures writhed in mist riding through the high passes," said Ortrud. "And on such nights villagers bolt their doors, and do not venture out; but the dread is not in the mind of men alone, for horses also sense it, and are maddened." Her voice was matter-of-fact, and calm, but a fear danced in her eyes.

"It is said that they are the shades of Men, allied to the Dark Power long ago, and that they are cursed," said Telramund in a grey voice. "Every so often, a bold man will set off towards the Dwimorberg, his head filled with tales of treasure. None of them are ever seen again. They do not suffer the living to pass."

The Dwarves were sceptical, for they did not believe such tales; and even if they were true, the shades of Men held no dread for them.

"I see that you do not believe us, Masters," said Helmwyn; "but you have not been to this place. I have."

"What place mean you, Helmwyn?" asked Telramund. "Dunharrow?"

"I mean beyond the stones, up the path. I turned and ran when I saw the gate." Her aunt and uncle were staring at her. "I was eleven, and my brother Waldred had dared me," she said. "Of course, he was cowering by the stones, and never saw how far I went." She spoke lightly, but her tone was brittle.

Telramund was horrified. "That boy deserves a whipping! It was foolish!"

"I know that now," answered Helmwyn. "And that is why I say: the mountains are no place for the living."

"But what of the Orcs?" asked Thorin. "How do these shades welcome them?"

"Ill, I hope," said Telramund; "but should the two become allied, and the Orcs come south of Dunharrow…I fear the Mark would be lost."

"Come, let us not despair," said Ortrud. "The Dunlendings never got far into the mountains, and I doubt the Dead shall find the Orcs more congenial. Who knows, perhaps the passes about the Thrihyrne hold no fear. I for one should be glad to have Dwarves as our neighbours. But before we think on that, we must destroy the Orcs."

They drank to that; but thereafter the company was subdued, and the Rohirrim soon retired to bed, and left the Dwarves on their own. They went back to their maps and calculations, but exchanged significant glances.

"Superstitious lot, aren't they?" said Andvari, for whom the dark places beneath the earth held no fear whatsoever.

"Men. What d'you expect," snarled Hogni, measuring a length of wall with his compasses.

"Superstitious or not, this is a cushy job," said Regin.

"Aye. They're a decent bunch," said Snorri. "Polite."

"I'd settle for a bit less 'More wine, Master Dwarf?' and a bit more concrete talk about the terms of our stay," muttered Balin.

"Not to mention all this 'my lord' business," Andvari added.

"Even we don't call you that," Regin told Thorin.

"Aye, and you're lapping it up," added Hogni nastily.

But Thorin was amused at his companions' suspicion, and shrugged it off. "I do not think it is flattery. That is simply their way." He lit his pipe in a leisurely way. "My friends, I understand your misgivings, for our years in the wild have made you mistrustful, and rightly so. But we are not now in the wild; and I for one am inclined to trust these people. They seem grave and courteous, and honourable; and I daresay they keep their oaths. You all saw for yourselves how the King's daughter thinks, in matters of fealty."

"You're the one who should have a care, brother!" Dwalin told Balin with a grin. "If you try and get more than your fair share of the bargain, I bet that little lady'll get all 'King's swordy' on you, too!"

The Dwarves laughed. Balin glared at his brother. "Ha ha. Very funny. I'll stick with 'Master Balin' then, thank you very much. AND with more wine." And with that they got back to work.

Thorin knew his companions liked to grumble, and thought nothing of it. He found that, on the whole, and in spite of a few of their quainter cultural traits, he rather approved of these Rohirrim, and their lady.