"So how did the men react when you told them you would accompany them?"
Gimli asked.
"Badly. At first, they laughed at me, saying I was the only woman in Dale who wanted to be a man," Margaretta replied, remembered indignation coloring her cheeks. Gimli and Legolas both bristled visibly on her behalf. No elf or dwarf would dream of being so disrespectful!
"So of course, I went and got the others, to prove I was neither alone nor making it up. The men saw their wives and daughters and sisters, and even mothers in a few cases, and immediately protested. The Mayor ranted on about 'the Weaker Sex' for awhile until Lacey Burleigh, Master Burleigh's sister, pinned him down with one of the moves she'd used on her brothers growing up. She'd had that sort of childhood. Most of us had.
"Then Mistress Poundingherbs pointed out what I'd said to the women, about being trained to deal with rapists and thieves. I wasn't very happy to have her claiming credit for my arguments, but if it quieted the men, then fine. Questions of ability settled, the men tried next to simply forbid. You can imagine how well that was received! The argument looked to be getting out of hand, which was the last thing we needed. Little Renna Silversmith finally put an end to that nonsense. I've always loved Renna; she stands barely chest high to me but rules her huge husband and four equally burly boys with an iron hand. She marched right up to her husband and announced that either she went with him, or after him, but either way she was going. And if he continued to be foolish, he would find himself cooking his own meals, washing his own clothes and sleeping on the couch for the next six months. IF she deigned to let him back into her house at all.
"The men looked around, and every one saw a similar fate in store for him. They weren't fools; they didn't want to battle orcs only to fight with their wives right afterward. And if they didn't let us go with them, we'd follow them anyway. Besides, there was the problem of sheer numbers....
"In the end, the generals had no choice. They had to delay the battle for awhile, to make new plans, but they agreed to our 'mad idea'. Mistress Poundingherbs dragged me to the council, but I spent it keeping my mouth shut. I know weapons and business, not tactics. As soon as I could, I excused myself to find my bed. But I did not sleep much that night.
"The next day dawned far too quickly. I was nowhere near the only one to have slept badly the night before. Men and women both were blearily eyed and clinging to their tea. Then the generals sounded muster, and bleariness fled. All too quickly, ranks were formed and we were on our way.
"I looked around at all my friends, neighbors, rivals. Everyone I'd ever known was arrayed in the huge cavern, either to march or to wish the marchers well. An old dwarf woman gave us all a blessing,"---Gimli looked very startled, but did not interrupt----" and we headed out.
"Illya marched with me. Ana stayed behind to help with the wounded, for that was where her talents lay. She also had to keep Halorec from following us, which I heard later was quite the chore. As Illya and I walked, she smiled at me.
" 'Frightened?' she asked.
" 'Terrified,' I admitted. I don't like to lie to children, even when they're more grown than not.
"She took my hand and squeezed it. 'Don't worry, Mother,' she said. 'I'm here.' My daughter reassured me. I'd always thought things were supposed to be the other way 'round, but I was grateful for her confidence. Then we spoke no more, for we needed our breath for marching. And later, for fighting.
Margaretta paused, her eyes distant and unreadable. She took a sip of tea, lost in the past. The silence stretched. Legolas and Gimli glanced at each other, wondering if they should say something. Then the shopkeeper found her tongue.
" 'Tis a very odd thing, battle. Running away from Dale, it was the worst thing I could imagine. It was dirty, and smelly, and loud, and it hurt. Marching back in, none of that seemed to matter. Oh, I knew it would still be dirty, and smelly, and loud, and it would still hurt. But my thoughts were focused on orcs, sitting in MY shop and fighting each other with MY blades. I thought of Artul, thought of some Easterling invader sitting in his chair, smoking his pipe. And I grew angry. I wanted my home back. I didn't care what I had to go through to get it.
"We marched quickly, for everyone shared my determination. The dwarves no less than the men, as their home was also threatened. But we of Dale burned, and that gave us strength. When we reached the enemy, we fought with a fury, and many of them died.
"It was a resounding victory for us. We routed the enemy completely, drove them forever from our home. The battle was different for me on a personal level, as well. It felt....well, not cleaner, but maybe more noble. No less horrifying, or disgusting, but less shameful. I think it had something to do with fighting for home, rather than merely to flee with skins intact. In any case, I felt very different, standing victorious in the main square with everyone else, than I had huddled in Erebor under siege."
Again Margaretta stopped. She closed her eyes, took a very deep breath, opened them and said "That is, until the cost was counted. It was a resounding victory, yes, but not without our share of dead and wounded. Illya was amoung them. We had been separated during the fighting, and I worried until I found her. Her wounds were..," the shopkeeper couldn't say it. She breathed deeply, and tried again. "She was covered in blood. My baby girl died in my arms. She never regained consciousness."
Then Margaretta broke down completely, and could not go on. Talking about Arturl's death had been painful enough, but not impossible. She knew the risks of marriage to a soldier. She'd expected to outlive her husband, but a woman should not outlive her children. It was not right. To remember Illya as she was then, pale, still and cold, hurt beyond imagining. Though she tried, Margaretta could not stop the tears.
The handkerchief handed to her this time was of fine Elvish make. She wiped her face and slowly got herself back under control. "I'm sorry," she muttered, far too embarrassed to look at her guests. "It's just..." she trailed off, not sure what to say.
"Some hurts do not heal," Legolas offered quietly, placing a comforting hand on Margaretta's shoulder. "We have all lost much to the Enemy."
"There is no shame in mourning the dead, Margaretta," Gimli pointed out. The shopkeeper smiled gratefully.
"Well, that is the story, anyway," she said once she could trust herself to speak. "That is the reason I display the Nargothondian, but will not sell it. I keep it for the people of Dale, so they can look at it and maybe remember the time we put aside our little differences and fought together for our town. It is a symbol of our unity, and our freedom."
"Badly. At first, they laughed at me, saying I was the only woman in Dale who wanted to be a man," Margaretta replied, remembered indignation coloring her cheeks. Gimli and Legolas both bristled visibly on her behalf. No elf or dwarf would dream of being so disrespectful!
"So of course, I went and got the others, to prove I was neither alone nor making it up. The men saw their wives and daughters and sisters, and even mothers in a few cases, and immediately protested. The Mayor ranted on about 'the Weaker Sex' for awhile until Lacey Burleigh, Master Burleigh's sister, pinned him down with one of the moves she'd used on her brothers growing up. She'd had that sort of childhood. Most of us had.
"Then Mistress Poundingherbs pointed out what I'd said to the women, about being trained to deal with rapists and thieves. I wasn't very happy to have her claiming credit for my arguments, but if it quieted the men, then fine. Questions of ability settled, the men tried next to simply forbid. You can imagine how well that was received! The argument looked to be getting out of hand, which was the last thing we needed. Little Renna Silversmith finally put an end to that nonsense. I've always loved Renna; she stands barely chest high to me but rules her huge husband and four equally burly boys with an iron hand. She marched right up to her husband and announced that either she went with him, or after him, but either way she was going. And if he continued to be foolish, he would find himself cooking his own meals, washing his own clothes and sleeping on the couch for the next six months. IF she deigned to let him back into her house at all.
"The men looked around, and every one saw a similar fate in store for him. They weren't fools; they didn't want to battle orcs only to fight with their wives right afterward. And if they didn't let us go with them, we'd follow them anyway. Besides, there was the problem of sheer numbers....
"In the end, the generals had no choice. They had to delay the battle for awhile, to make new plans, but they agreed to our 'mad idea'. Mistress Poundingherbs dragged me to the council, but I spent it keeping my mouth shut. I know weapons and business, not tactics. As soon as I could, I excused myself to find my bed. But I did not sleep much that night.
"The next day dawned far too quickly. I was nowhere near the only one to have slept badly the night before. Men and women both were blearily eyed and clinging to their tea. Then the generals sounded muster, and bleariness fled. All too quickly, ranks were formed and we were on our way.
"I looked around at all my friends, neighbors, rivals. Everyone I'd ever known was arrayed in the huge cavern, either to march or to wish the marchers well. An old dwarf woman gave us all a blessing,"---Gimli looked very startled, but did not interrupt----" and we headed out.
"Illya marched with me. Ana stayed behind to help with the wounded, for that was where her talents lay. She also had to keep Halorec from following us, which I heard later was quite the chore. As Illya and I walked, she smiled at me.
" 'Frightened?' she asked.
" 'Terrified,' I admitted. I don't like to lie to children, even when they're more grown than not.
"She took my hand and squeezed it. 'Don't worry, Mother,' she said. 'I'm here.' My daughter reassured me. I'd always thought things were supposed to be the other way 'round, but I was grateful for her confidence. Then we spoke no more, for we needed our breath for marching. And later, for fighting.
Margaretta paused, her eyes distant and unreadable. She took a sip of tea, lost in the past. The silence stretched. Legolas and Gimli glanced at each other, wondering if they should say something. Then the shopkeeper found her tongue.
" 'Tis a very odd thing, battle. Running away from Dale, it was the worst thing I could imagine. It was dirty, and smelly, and loud, and it hurt. Marching back in, none of that seemed to matter. Oh, I knew it would still be dirty, and smelly, and loud, and it would still hurt. But my thoughts were focused on orcs, sitting in MY shop and fighting each other with MY blades. I thought of Artul, thought of some Easterling invader sitting in his chair, smoking his pipe. And I grew angry. I wanted my home back. I didn't care what I had to go through to get it.
"We marched quickly, for everyone shared my determination. The dwarves no less than the men, as their home was also threatened. But we of Dale burned, and that gave us strength. When we reached the enemy, we fought with a fury, and many of them died.
"It was a resounding victory for us. We routed the enemy completely, drove them forever from our home. The battle was different for me on a personal level, as well. It felt....well, not cleaner, but maybe more noble. No less horrifying, or disgusting, but less shameful. I think it had something to do with fighting for home, rather than merely to flee with skins intact. In any case, I felt very different, standing victorious in the main square with everyone else, than I had huddled in Erebor under siege."
Again Margaretta stopped. She closed her eyes, took a very deep breath, opened them and said "That is, until the cost was counted. It was a resounding victory, yes, but not without our share of dead and wounded. Illya was amoung them. We had been separated during the fighting, and I worried until I found her. Her wounds were..," the shopkeeper couldn't say it. She breathed deeply, and tried again. "She was covered in blood. My baby girl died in my arms. She never regained consciousness."
Then Margaretta broke down completely, and could not go on. Talking about Arturl's death had been painful enough, but not impossible. She knew the risks of marriage to a soldier. She'd expected to outlive her husband, but a woman should not outlive her children. It was not right. To remember Illya as she was then, pale, still and cold, hurt beyond imagining. Though she tried, Margaretta could not stop the tears.
The handkerchief handed to her this time was of fine Elvish make. She wiped her face and slowly got herself back under control. "I'm sorry," she muttered, far too embarrassed to look at her guests. "It's just..." she trailed off, not sure what to say.
"Some hurts do not heal," Legolas offered quietly, placing a comforting hand on Margaretta's shoulder. "We have all lost much to the Enemy."
"There is no shame in mourning the dead, Margaretta," Gimli pointed out. The shopkeeper smiled gratefully.
"Well, that is the story, anyway," she said once she could trust herself to speak. "That is the reason I display the Nargothondian, but will not sell it. I keep it for the people of Dale, so they can look at it and maybe remember the time we put aside our little differences and fought together for our town. It is a symbol of our unity, and our freedom."