A/N: This week, boys and girls, I thought I'd let our protagonists enjoy their rural idyll a bit. Here be fluff! Of course, the idyll is not entirely angst-free; after all, this is Thorin Oakenshield we're talking about.
THE LINDEN TREE
Chapter 35
Thorin and Helmwyn sat side by side under the linden tree, and looked out on the golden afternoon. Their hands were linked in the grass, where they hoped none could see. They twined and untwined their fingers slowly; and Thorin stroked the lady's palm, and felt that she had little callouses from holding a sword. He smiled.
"I suppose we have the Orcs to thank for this," he mused aloud.
"What mean you?" Helmwyn asked.
"Had it not been for that night in the cave…I do not know if I would ever have dared to speak to you. How I dreaded that moment!"
"But my lord…what did you fear? Did you not guess my love for you? Was it not plain enough?"
"I see that now. But even though I hoped you might…care about me, I feared you would not leave the Mark for my sake."
Helmwyn thought about that. "Until recently you would have been right," she said. "Had anyone told me a few weeks ago that I would be willing to hang up my sword, and relinquish my duty, and leave my beloved Riddermark in these troubled times, I should not have believed it. But now I have chosen a greater love, and a greater duty."
Thorin gazed at her wistfully. "You know what I am, lady."
"You are the heir of Durin."
"Aye, that I may be; but I can promise you little, and give you even less."
"Did I not say I would cleave to you, Thorin Thráinsson? I hold true to my word. I will share your bed, and bear your children, and remain by your side for all the days of my life."
Thorin was moved by her words. He was well aware what a sacrifice it would be for her to leave the Mark.
"But you are so deeply rooted in the soil of this land," said he. "If you leave it, will you not wither?"
Helmwyn laughed. "My lord, I am no tree! I shall go whither my heart leads me, and that is yours."
"And are you free to follow it?"
"None shall stop me." And with that she leaned over and kissed him. Thorin blushed; and Helmwyn smiled to see him blush. "But is it not you, rather, who are bound by law and custom to wed one of your own kind?" she asked him, in earnest now.
Thorin frowned. "Aye, there may be difficulties," answered he, "but none that cannot be overcome; for we are bound already, and shall not be sundered. I will let nothing, and no-one, stand between us; I have sworn it. Nay; the greatest delay that I foresee will be the labour on our halls in the Blue Mountains."
"But why should that prove a delay?"
"The halls are barely inhabitable; and until they are, and the mines give better yield, my people must labour still in the homesteads of Men – and so must I."
Helmwyn looked gravely at him. "I care not whether you sit in majesty in halls of stone, or whether you labour in the forge; I would be with you."
"My lady, I would not have you be the wife of a travelling blacksmith; I would not inflict such hardship upon you."
"I am used to sleeping under the open sky, my lord."
"My love, I beg you… Let us wait until my halls are finished. It is dwarven custom. It would be dishonourable to offer you anything less."
Helmwyn was unconvinced. "And how long will that take?"
"Some years, certainly. A ten-year betrothal is not unusual among my people…"
Helmwyn's heart sank. Thorin saw her dismay even as he spoke.
"My lord…," said Helmwyn, "I must beg you to remember that my people are short-lived! If you wish me to give you heirs, I fear we must wed before I am withered and barren!"
"So soon?" said Thorin, aghast. He had not realised that her youth would be that brief. He wound a lock of her hair around his fingers, and sighed. "We shall have to build those halls faster, then."
Balin was looking for Thorin. He had slipped away during the midday meal; but now it was time to resume work, and Balin tramped through the camp, searching for him.
He found him on the edge of the training-grounds, watching the sparring. Among the fighters was the young lady, of course; her knee no longer troubled her, and she fought with poise and fluency. It seemed to Balin that Thorin watched her with pride -
- pride, and a rather proprietorial air, Balin thought.
He walked up to his prince, and stood nonchalantly next to him; but then he noticed a golden hair caught in Thorin's beard. Right, he thought. That's it. Enough is enough. This was getting embarrassing. Time to put an end to this.
"Look, Thorin, my lad," he said, "I've been meaning to talk to you. About you, and the young lady."
Thorin smiled. "I was wondering when you would ask," he said. His eyes did not leave the lady. "Look at her, Balin! Such a queen will be the pride of my house! And all other folk shall marvel that a Dwarf could win a lady so rare."
Balin stared at Thorin, aghast. He tried to reason with him: "But Thorin! She is no Dwarf! Doesn't that strike you as…a little inconvenient?"
Thorin shrugged. "Inconvenient, perhaps, but not insurmountable. Surely there must be a precedent?"
"No," said Balin very firmly. "There isn't."
But Thorin grinned widely. "Then we shall make a precedent!" He had the look of absolute surety that Balin had so dreaded.
"Don't you think it is a bit rash?" asked Balin.
"Rash?" Thorin scoffed. "Do you suggest we compare the lady with a number of well-born Dwarf-maids, to judge who is the most eligible? You may as well spare yourself the trouble; for there is none other like her."
"And she has been wed already!" Balin objected.
Thorin frowned, and brushed that away irritably. "The laws of Men are different," he growled.
Balin felt that as legal arguments went, this was extremely feeble. He was going to protest further, but Thorin cut him off:
"Balin - it is done. We have plighted our troth, and sworn solemn oaths. We are bound by an irrevocable bond," said Thorin, and looked pointedly at Balin.
The penny dropped at last, and Balin stared at Thorin, dumbfounded. "Durin's beard!" he croaked. "You…you haven't- ?"
He could not put words on the horrific notion; but Thorin beamed at him, and clapped him on the shoulders, and said:
"Rejoice, my friend! I am sure you will find a way. If anyone can arrange this, it is you! I have every confidence in you."
Balin had been right: once Thorin's mind was made up, there was no changing it.
Dwalin found his brother huddling in the guardroom a little later. He had helped himself to Andvari's secret stash of strong drink, and was still shaking like a leaf.
"Oh dear," Dwalin chuckled, "what's the matter now? Caught them kissing, have you?"
"Oh, brother! It's worse than you could possibly imagine!"
"Holding hands, were they?"
"It's not funny!" Balin snapped. "How was I to imagine that the Heir of Durin would forget himself so completely! A few weeks in horse-country, that's all it took. I thought the lad might still have some sense left, but no; leave them alone in a cave - this cave! - for a couple of hours and this is what happens! And do you think he's sorry? Not at all! He means to wed the lass! He turns to me, majestic as you please, and says 'Balin – make it so!' To me! Curse the stiff necks of the line of Durin! Thráin will have my beard for this!"
Dwalin waited until Balin had finished.
"Well, are you?" he asked.
"Am I what?"
"Going to make it happen?"
Balin sighed, and seemed altogether defeated. "I honestly can't see how. And yet it seems I've got no choice. Sweet Mahal," Balin wailed. "What are we going to do?"
Dwalin patted him ineffectually on he back.
Thorin would sit beneath the linden tree every evening, ostensibly to smoke, although his pipe-weed had now run out; and Helmwyn would come and sit beside him, ostensibly because she had often done so, even before she loved him. Such trysts were sweet, but they were not enough; and Thorin and Helmwyn were faced with the same problem as young lovers everywhere.
But Helmwyn had spent much of her childhood in Lindburg, and knew the estate well; and she led Thorin to secluded spots where they could be quite alone and undisturbed. She mused on the fact that she had liked to hide away in those places as a child, and daydream, and practice with her wooden sword; and now those were the very places where she hid away with the lord Thorin. She wondered what that meant, if anything.
Once they rode out to a fair waterfall that lay upstream of Lindburg; and there they bathed in the shallow pool, and dried themselves in the sun, and made love in the soft grass. It was reckless, and they both knew it; for folk might well have seen them (other young lovers seeking out the self same spot, for instance). And had Orcs assaulted them, they would have been defenceless. But they were in love, and the sun was warm, and they cared not.
They lay in the grass, and gazed long at each other, and sought to learn every detail of each other's body. They had only seen each other by the dim light of the brazier in the cave; but now they beheld each other in bright daylight, and delighted in what they saw.
Thorin had missed the lady's nakedness, and the feel of her skin against his own. To be sure, Helmwyn looked very different from anything he had been taught to think of as womanly. She was slender and lithe, with small breasts and taut little muscles under velvety skin; and she had no more on her cheeks than a fine golden down. And yet Thorin thought her beautiful, and shapely; and he touched her sweet beardless chin, and saw that her grey eyes sparkled with joy.
Helmwyn twined her fingers through the hairs that covered Thorin's mighty chest, and rested her hand on his heart. Everything about him was broad and powerful, yet there was nothing brutish about him; for his movements had a manly grace to them, and his bearing was noble, and his touch gentle. Never had any man seemed to her so handsome, or so lordly. She sometimes had to remind herself that he was a Dwarf, and not one of her own race; and she stroked his beard, and his thick dark brows, and his delightful dwarven ears. Thorin smiled, and she kissed him.
He lightly ran his fingertips over the gentle curves of Helmwyn's body, and along the small of her back; but she traced his scars, and the swell of his muscles, and the jagged outlines of the ink markings on his shoulder. There were angular shapes, and runes; but the runes were different from the ones she knew, and she could not read them.
"That is an image of the Lonely Mountain," said Thorin in answer to her unspoken question; "and these are Barazinbar, Zirak-Zigil, and Bundushathûr, seen from Azanulbizar. Beneath those peaks lies Khazad-dûm…" The names in the dwarven tongue sounded strange to Helmwyn, as grim and forbidding as the mountains themselves. Helmwyn looked more closely at the stylised image of the Lonely Mountain – his home.
"What do the runes say?" she asked him; but she saw that Thorin's eyes were sorrowful.
He did not answer at once. Instead he asked her: "Did I ever tell you about my brother?"
"I did not know you had a brother."
"Aye, I did. His name was Frerin. He was five years younger than I."
Helmwyn said nothing to that, for it was plain enough that Frerin was dead. She looked gravely at Thorin. He sighed, and rolled into Helmwyn's arms, and laid his head on her breast; and she held him close, and stroked his flowing black curls, and listened.
"There was nothing we could salvage from within the Mountain when the dragon came; and we were left with what we carried with us, or whatever we could make or acquire on the road. But my father had been wearing his corselet of sanzigil rings that day. It was a costly thing; but he was, after all, the King's son.
"Know you of true-silver, my love? No? I did not think so, for it was mined only in Khazad-dûm, the Dwarrowdelf, which is now lost to us; and it has become rare, and priceless. It is light and malleable, and does not tarnish; but our smiths could make it stronger than steel. Such a shirt of fine sanzigil rings could have withstood a boar-spear.
"And so my father kept this mailshirt; and though throughout the years of our exile link after link was sold, and well below its right worth, there was still enough of it left when our war with the Orcs began. This we started over what had been done to Thrór – did Gandalf tell you of this?" Helmwyn nodded, and Thorin was glad not to have to speak of that.
"My brother and I were both young, some would say too young to fight," he went on; "but there were but few of us, and none would stay behind, for we would rather have died to avenge the honour of our people than lived a diminished and shameful life. At least, that was how we felt then.
"My father was torn, for he wanted us both to be as well-shielded as we could be; but he only had one mailshirt to give. In the end, after much heartbreak, he gave it to me, for I was the eldest, and the better swordsman, and took part in the fighting in the caves. My brother was a fine archer, the finest I have ever known; but since he fought only above ground, and not in the van, my father hoped that he would have less need of the mail.
"Thus it was throughout the war; and thus too it was on the eve of the battle of Azanulbizar. We all knew that this battle would be a decisive one, and bitter; for the Orcs were desperate, and would sell their foul hides dearly. Once more I tried to press the mail onto my brother, as I had done before; but he merely laughed, as he always did, and said he did not need it. He told me that while I was hacking away in the van, he would be safely posted in the surrounding hills, and would watch my back, and give me cover.
"We found him that evening. He had taken an Orc-spear in the back, and choked on his own blood."
Helmwyn said nothing, but held Thorin closer.
"My father was never the same again after that. Together we led what was left of our people to the Blue Mountains; but though he was still strong in body, his spirit was broken. At first it seemed he would rally once more; but then he began to withdraw into himself, and to neglect his rule. He is there, and yet he is not; but sometimes he is himself again, and those are the times I miss him the most cruelly."
Helmwyn stroked Thorin's hair, and he let her love soothe him. Thorin was relieved that he had told her. He knew that she understood his grief, and his guilt, and his burden. She understood that he was now a king in all but name. But with her at his side, he felt he would have the strength to bear this burden. He no longer felt alone. In truth, he had not known how alone he had been, for being alone had seemed normal.
He stirred, and touched his lady's face, and rested his brow against hers. They held each other in silence; and Helmwyn reflected on the terrible chances that had ruled Thorin's fate, and marvelled that he should be there at all, grieved but alive, in her arms.
When at last they rode back, Thorin looked at the lady, and thought of how she had ridden him earlier, with fierce eyes and flushed cheeks; and he felt a stirring in his loins.
The lord Telramund had noticed that Helmwyn was spending a great deal of time with the lord Thorin. That is, more time than usual, and alone. He had also noticed that the skin on her face looked rather red and chafed of late; and that certainly reminded him of something. He decided to broach the subject with his wife.
"Er, my dear, I was wondering about Helmwyn and the lord Thorin. It looks like she… do you think they…?"
"Obviously," said the lady Ortrud.
"Oh. But…"
"But what? Look at them," said she with a smile. "Look at her. Have you ever seen her like that?" She went and put her arms about her husband's waist. "In fact, they rather remind me of us, when we were younger," she purred, and gave Telramund a long kiss.
He was pleasantly surprised. Ortrud grinned at him; but Telramund was still a little nonplussed. "And what now?" he asked. "Will he wed her, do you think? Is that even possible? Or will he just go back? What will the King say?"
Ortrud's smile faded. "I honestly do not know."
"Don't you think we ought to…?"
"I doubt there is anything we can do for now. Let us leave them be."
Ortlind lurked behind a pillar, and overheard them, and she had no need to ask what was going on; for every night, she heard Helmwyn whisper the Dwarf's name while she slept, with her sword clutched to her breast.
A golden haze hung over the vale on that summer evening. They had sought a quiet dell in the orchard, and made love furtively; but now they lay quiet in the tall grass, their clothes in disarray. Helmwyn had laid her head on Thorin's shoulder, and played with one of his braids; but he watched the clouds drifting high above, and listened to the sounds of Lindburg: voices in the distance, the sounds of horses, the song of blackbirds, and the buzzing of insects. And Thorin twined his fingers in Helmwyn's hair, and closed his eyes, and breathed in the warm scent of the grass; and for a long, perfect moment, he was happy.
A/N: That was pretty angsty fluff, come to think of it.