"I do not know how long we remained besieged in Erebor," Margaretta began.
"It's difficult to measure the passage of time under the mountain. To me,
to most of us, it felt like nothing short of forever. The dwarves were
good to us, sharing everything they had unstintingly. They even tried to
keep our spirits up, but it did not work, and they worried. We slept, we
ate, we tended our wounded and mourned our dead---that was all there was to
existence. Hope had gone right out of the people of Dale. We were lost,
and broken.
"Then word came of great victories to the south. Spies reported that the enemy in Dale was disheartened and confused. The generals, both dwarf and man, decided to march forth and reclaim our land. Every male who could stand and hold arms gathered together, so the leaders could see what kind of force they had and make plans. Their numbers were pitifully few, even with boys as young as eleven amoung them. Nearly two-thirds of our men had been killed or severely wounded in the Battle, and the dwarves were in no better shape. Even to my untrained eye, there was no way they could roust out the invaders, disheartened or not."
Margaretta paused, remembering the sight of that tiny force assembled in the huge cavern. It had looked like half a dozen small children, preparing to confront older and much bigger bullies---too few, too small, frightened and trying not to show it, certain they would be pounded into rubble but determined to fight anyway. The sight had made her proud, and it had chilled her blood.
Legolas and Gimli watched Margaretta's expression change with concern, but said nothing. They both had plenty of experience with painful memories, and knew she would continue in her own time. Soon, she did.
"I remember wondering how the men planned to retake Dale with such a small force. I remember thinking they simply needed more fighters. And I remember looking around at the women as the men gathered. Some of them tended to children or wounded, but most just wandered around in a daze, like I did, or stared at the walls, crying. They needed something to hearten them, something to rally around. Something to fight for."
Margaretta took a sip of now-cold tea. Then she took a deep breath and went on. "I had had my fill of battle by that point. More than my fill, actually. I never wanted to see the Nargothondian again, nor wield any sword at all, for any reason. I was even seriously considering getting out of the weapons business altogether, selling Master Burleigh my half of the shop and moving south to be with my parents. But as I watched that pathetic force of men, proposing to do battle and reclaim our home, and the women who so badly needed something to do, I got a flash of the blindingly obvious. I took up the Nargothondian once more, and I turned to address the women of Dale.
" 'Dale is my home,' I told them. 'I have never known another, and never want to. Now it is in the hands of the enemy. Our husbands died, mine included, our fathers and brothers and sons all died to keep it from them, but they took it anyway, and drove us out. Now, our remaining men propose to take it back. That is a brave and worthy thing, but there are not enough of them to accomplish it. More will die, and they will die in vain if they do not have more fighters. All of us are trained to defend ourselves against rapists and thieves. What are these invaders but rapists and thieves on a large scale? They raped away our peace, they stole our town. I do not mean to let them get away with it. I do not mean to let my Arturl's death be in vain. I DO mean to take this blade, and join our men in taking back what is ours!'
"The women said nothing, but they were paying attention. Obviously they needed more persuasion. I have always been told I talk too much, so I put the skill to good use. 'Will you all truly sit here and let our men die?' I asked. 'Do you really intend to leave Dale in the hands of the enemy? I do not. One more blade will not make much difference,' and at this point, I was not surprised to see Illya take up her blade and stand beside me. I smiled at her, my brave girl, and spoke on. 'Two more blades will not make much difference. But a hundred more? Five hundred? A thousand? That will not only make a difference, it could mean our victory! So, will any of you fight with me for our home? Or will Illya and I march alone?'
"Again, the women remained silent. Then, Mistress Poundingherbs, the apothecary's wife and probably the woman I have disliked most in all my life, stood and spoke. 'For once, Mistress Stronginthearm speaks sense,' she said." Margaretta grinned. "She'd always disliked me as completely as I disliked her. Perhaps because our shops were so close together, we saw too much of each other. Perhaps we simply had incompatible personalities, but in any case, we never got on. So when she stood up with me, clutching her fallen son's sword, the rest of the women realized we were right. One by one, they all stood up, holding blades that belonged to lost husbands, fathers, brothers, or sons. Girls too young to begin their flows and grandmothers older than I took up arms and stood with us. In the end, every able-bodied woman who could be spared decided to fight. Personality coflicts, family feuding, gossip mongering, all the petty ways women hurt each other were set aside in order to take back our home. I was so proud of them."
Margaretta became choked up, and had to pause. Gimli stood, handing her a large handkerchief. As she wiped her eyes, he said, "You have every right to be proud of them, and yourself too. Not everyone could do such a thing."
"I did not know human women were so valiant," Legolas said, his voice soft.
"We're not," Margaretta replied. "Unless we're backed into a corner or our dander is up. Right then, we were both. But I didn't do anything special, just said what needed saying. They're the ones who put aside their fears to act."
"Most people are more afraid to speak than act, Margaretta," Legolas pointed out, using her name for the first time. Once again, the shopkeeper blushed and hid behind her teacup. Her name sounded much different coming from Elvish lips, more musical. Then again, everything sounded more musical in an Elvish accent.
"Well, I still had more speaking yet to do," she said once she'd regained her composure. "We still had to tell the men what we'd decided, and none of us were foolish enough to believe they would be happy about it. Still, our choice was made, and once a Dale woman's mind is made up, it STAYS made up. Sooner or later, she gets her way."
"Sounds like dwarf women," Gimli said dryly. "Sounds like elf women, too, come to think of it. One, in particular," he went on, shooting Legolas a pointed look. The elf ignored the jibe.
"Perhaps all women are similar in many ways," he said instead.
"You are probably correct," Margaretta agreed. "But in any case, we still had to tell the men. Since it was my idea, it was my place to inform them. I can't say I looked forward to it, but it had to be done, and I had to do it. Dale needed us."
"Then word came of great victories to the south. Spies reported that the enemy in Dale was disheartened and confused. The generals, both dwarf and man, decided to march forth and reclaim our land. Every male who could stand and hold arms gathered together, so the leaders could see what kind of force they had and make plans. Their numbers were pitifully few, even with boys as young as eleven amoung them. Nearly two-thirds of our men had been killed or severely wounded in the Battle, and the dwarves were in no better shape. Even to my untrained eye, there was no way they could roust out the invaders, disheartened or not."
Margaretta paused, remembering the sight of that tiny force assembled in the huge cavern. It had looked like half a dozen small children, preparing to confront older and much bigger bullies---too few, too small, frightened and trying not to show it, certain they would be pounded into rubble but determined to fight anyway. The sight had made her proud, and it had chilled her blood.
Legolas and Gimli watched Margaretta's expression change with concern, but said nothing. They both had plenty of experience with painful memories, and knew she would continue in her own time. Soon, she did.
"I remember wondering how the men planned to retake Dale with such a small force. I remember thinking they simply needed more fighters. And I remember looking around at the women as the men gathered. Some of them tended to children or wounded, but most just wandered around in a daze, like I did, or stared at the walls, crying. They needed something to hearten them, something to rally around. Something to fight for."
Margaretta took a sip of now-cold tea. Then she took a deep breath and went on. "I had had my fill of battle by that point. More than my fill, actually. I never wanted to see the Nargothondian again, nor wield any sword at all, for any reason. I was even seriously considering getting out of the weapons business altogether, selling Master Burleigh my half of the shop and moving south to be with my parents. But as I watched that pathetic force of men, proposing to do battle and reclaim our home, and the women who so badly needed something to do, I got a flash of the blindingly obvious. I took up the Nargothondian once more, and I turned to address the women of Dale.
" 'Dale is my home,' I told them. 'I have never known another, and never want to. Now it is in the hands of the enemy. Our husbands died, mine included, our fathers and brothers and sons all died to keep it from them, but they took it anyway, and drove us out. Now, our remaining men propose to take it back. That is a brave and worthy thing, but there are not enough of them to accomplish it. More will die, and they will die in vain if they do not have more fighters. All of us are trained to defend ourselves against rapists and thieves. What are these invaders but rapists and thieves on a large scale? They raped away our peace, they stole our town. I do not mean to let them get away with it. I do not mean to let my Arturl's death be in vain. I DO mean to take this blade, and join our men in taking back what is ours!'
"The women said nothing, but they were paying attention. Obviously they needed more persuasion. I have always been told I talk too much, so I put the skill to good use. 'Will you all truly sit here and let our men die?' I asked. 'Do you really intend to leave Dale in the hands of the enemy? I do not. One more blade will not make much difference,' and at this point, I was not surprised to see Illya take up her blade and stand beside me. I smiled at her, my brave girl, and spoke on. 'Two more blades will not make much difference. But a hundred more? Five hundred? A thousand? That will not only make a difference, it could mean our victory! So, will any of you fight with me for our home? Or will Illya and I march alone?'
"Again, the women remained silent. Then, Mistress Poundingherbs, the apothecary's wife and probably the woman I have disliked most in all my life, stood and spoke. 'For once, Mistress Stronginthearm speaks sense,' she said." Margaretta grinned. "She'd always disliked me as completely as I disliked her. Perhaps because our shops were so close together, we saw too much of each other. Perhaps we simply had incompatible personalities, but in any case, we never got on. So when she stood up with me, clutching her fallen son's sword, the rest of the women realized we were right. One by one, they all stood up, holding blades that belonged to lost husbands, fathers, brothers, or sons. Girls too young to begin their flows and grandmothers older than I took up arms and stood with us. In the end, every able-bodied woman who could be spared decided to fight. Personality coflicts, family feuding, gossip mongering, all the petty ways women hurt each other were set aside in order to take back our home. I was so proud of them."
Margaretta became choked up, and had to pause. Gimli stood, handing her a large handkerchief. As she wiped her eyes, he said, "You have every right to be proud of them, and yourself too. Not everyone could do such a thing."
"I did not know human women were so valiant," Legolas said, his voice soft.
"We're not," Margaretta replied. "Unless we're backed into a corner or our dander is up. Right then, we were both. But I didn't do anything special, just said what needed saying. They're the ones who put aside their fears to act."
"Most people are more afraid to speak than act, Margaretta," Legolas pointed out, using her name for the first time. Once again, the shopkeeper blushed and hid behind her teacup. Her name sounded much different coming from Elvish lips, more musical. Then again, everything sounded more musical in an Elvish accent.
"Well, I still had more speaking yet to do," she said once she'd regained her composure. "We still had to tell the men what we'd decided, and none of us were foolish enough to believe they would be happy about it. Still, our choice was made, and once a Dale woman's mind is made up, it STAYS made up. Sooner or later, she gets her way."
"Sounds like dwarf women," Gimli said dryly. "Sounds like elf women, too, come to think of it. One, in particular," he went on, shooting Legolas a pointed look. The elf ignored the jibe.
"Perhaps all women are similar in many ways," he said instead.
"You are probably correct," Margaretta agreed. "But in any case, we still had to tell the men. Since it was my idea, it was my place to inform them. I can't say I looked forward to it, but it had to be done, and I had to do it. Dale needed us."