MIDDANGARD (A Lord of the Rings Fan Fiction)

Chapter 9: No Greater Love

The Russian boys, the Berserkers, stayed to the right of the Balworg, wreaking havoc on the rear ranks of the Goblers there, running in a circular pattern that never gave their enemies a breather. They joyously clubbed and smashed skulls at a prodigious rate. Wil smiled, thinking of his crazy Russian friend Luke.

"He’s going to be pissed that he missed this."

To the left of Adolf Gruber, the Bedford-Sty HomeGuard picked their targets carefully and methodically. Most had short swords, forged for them by their Irish neighbors. At close range, they fought like Roman Legionnaires, small leather shields on their left forearms.

If they had been fighting at a distance, they would have used leather and rock slings with amazing accuracy.

A space had opened, to the center, and the Balworg maneuvered there effortlessly. He moved from side to side successfully keeping Malcolm and Berto between him and the archers above on the Balcony. Rather than possibly hit one of his friends, Ian ordered his men to concentrate on thinning the ranks of those Goblers still moving towards the Guests main line of defense. A wall of battered bodies was making it harder for the Goblers to reach their hated foes. At JohnsonX’s hand signal, half of the Black Muslims guarding the front exits quickly moved to block any possible escape from the back of the hall.

In the center area, Malcolm accomplished his first goal. The Balworg was no longer threatening the home team Dodgers. His next goal, it now became clear, was to simply try to stay alive! Sword for sword, he was the big man’s equal; however, Adolf Gruber used that left-handed whip with finesse and accuracy. Malcolm had a cut over his right brow that dripped blood into his eye and a large welt circling the bicep of his sword arm. If Berto hadn't realized what was happening to Malcolm and worked at hampering that whip action, the contest would have already been over.

Berto knew he was playing only a secondary role. He marveled, as he watched the two men "Dance" their deadly game. Slamming the big Gobler’s left arm, as Adolf concentrated on his main opponent, Berto succeeded in balancing the odds somewhat. A backhanded whip slash, however, left the bat-man with a permanently wider smile - more like a left-sided bloody smirk. Berto felt little pain from it as yet. He was, in fact, getting into the metallic tang of his own blood.

"Better to taste it than waste it on the dance floor," he thought, trying to stay positive.

He had always liked dance floors.

Suddenly Gruber pulled off an incredible three part maneuver that had Malcolm desperately trying to block the big man’s sword. An expert follow-through caused Berto to step back to avoid being slashed in the stomach. Then the whip flicked around again, hip high, viciously lashing the fingers holding Malcolm’s sword handle.

Berto saw the pain register on Malcolm’s face and the grin that engulfed the Balworg’s confident mug. Berto's mind called out "Unbelievable!" and "Oh shit!" at the same time.

 Frantically thinking of what to do next, a conversation raged in Berto’s head.

One thought crammed on top of another, in the flash of an instant.

That last whip slash is going to finish Malcolm!

Zap

"This guy is marvelous in a malevolent, I hope he dies and goes to hell, kind of way."

Zap

"It’s my turn to step up to the plate and take a swing before he makes his next move with that deadly sword."

Zap

"Oh man… My son is going to need Malcolm if I don’t make it out of this."

Zap

"Hey, this Balworg is not the only one who knows how to improvise!"

Zap

"Wonder if he has ever seen a full turn, air-Jordan high jumping ballet kick, with rapidly descending bat to the head type move?"

He pictured the move as he made it, knowing that by doing so he foiled a death stroke aimed at his friend.

"Weren’t expecting that one, were you?

Now you've got to block the bat with your whip hand, big boy! And you've got to, unfortunately, sheath your sword... ‘Cause I’m too close to slash at.

So ... Your right ear is now vulnerable to a colossal left-handed palm slap... That will rock you silly... Ballerina Boy..."

He laughed and he coughed as he sagged a little upon completion of his last dance.

"That was beautiful. Eat your heart out, Nureyev," he whispered.

Blood began to seep out of Berto’s mouth, his lungs unavoidably pierced by the Balworg’s Sword.

 Wil looked at the scene with sadness, knowing his father had just sacrificed himself. 

Sheathing the Sword is a fencing term for deliberately taking a deadly wound at close range. The best you can hope for out of the maneuver is a draw.

"Beautiful, Pops," Wil groaned helplessly; his knees wanting to buckle.

"Extraordinary!" JohnsonX breathed.

In the next instant, Malcolm had his sword skewering both of the Balworg’s kidneys, his blade’s red tip visible as it protruded from Gruber’s far side. Three arrows thudded into the back of the surprised gobler baritone a heartbeat later. Berto tweaked Adolf’s nose with his left hand, as he dropped his bat and slowly slid off the Samurai Sword lodged in his upper chest.

Adolf slumped to the floor also, like a sack of potatoes, in the next instant.

"Why did you do that?" Malcolm grunted as he knelt next to Berto. Malcolm tried to hold back his own emotions but tears were welling up in his eyes.

Berto smiled. "Friend, I was a dead man anyway...

Right after you, if I hadn't made my move.

He was too good, even for the two of us,” Berto replied, as blood bubbled from his mouth. "This way, at least, my son still has a godfather. And my family still has one hell of an ally. Besides, I always wanted to Bitch-Slap a Balworg.”

"Why do you have to be such an asshole? I hate being forced to act responsible," Malcolm groaned.

Berto laughed weakly and squeezed Malcolm’s hand.

"Friend, look after my boy. He needs a rock he can rely on."

"He already has that."

"Thanks, but he and I are too much alike. Besides, the point is no longer moot. My son is going to need you, Malcolm. Promise me you will watch his back till he finds his own way.  Promise me…"

“I promise…” Malcolm managed to choke out, just before his friend died.

Dead Goblers lay everywhere; their sneak attack had failed.

However, thousands still waited outside for a command from their masters within.

Wil sat on the floor in a daze. He knew what his father was up to as soon as his old man started that crazy dance. Wil had watched as if he were doing it himself.

"No one left to talk to. No one left to love," he told himself.

"Why couldn't I open up to him more?" he moaned so low, no one would ever hear.

JohnsonX watched the young man from a distance. His orders from Snow had been to keep the boy safe. He did not know this one the way he had come to know Tomaso and Bobio. This one had kept more to himself.

JohnsonX did not know what to say, so he simply gave the boy some room to mourn.

He holds it all in, JohnsonX thought, as he watched the young man sitting there on the floor with his hands cupping his head.