A.N.: Many thanks for Marcia for betaing this chapter.

Chapter 2: Friendly fencing

'How now, wit! Wither wander you?'As you like it, Shakespeare.

'Thus men may grow wiser every day: it is the first time that I have ever heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies.' Idem.

It had been a hundred years since Erestor last had the nightmare, yet here it was, again, rising up like some unquiet spirit. The flames... Ost-in-Edhil was burning, the sickening stench of smoke carried on the wind to their camp. When the defenses fell, and fall they must, for Sauron bore the Ruling Ring on his hand... The orcs poured over the great walls like a malevolent tide, black and red, with emblems of evil gelded into their Armour. And then, their banner. It had seemed white at first, until he realized with horror that it was no banner but the body of an elf... he even recognized the hapless one as Celebrimbor, chief of the Mírdain.

He woke up in a cold sweat, the rich tapestries and familiar things of his room giving him little comfort. The sheets were tangled around his legs, and one of the pillows had escaped the bed entirely. He shakily got upand proceeded to straighten out the bed.

Having dressed in a dark green tunic and leggings, he poured a bowl of water and splashed his hands and face. Then, he looked into the mirror.

Beneath the shiny film of water, the same ageless face of millennia stared back at him. Some said he had a noble look to him, a lucky inheritance from his Noldorin mother, and the canny wisdom of his Sindarin father. At the moment, he looked more shell-shocked and tired, with his black hair in disarray from the uneasy night. And, to his shame, frightened by a bad dream, like a tiny elfling. He rubbed his eyes.

He pressed his face to a towel to dry it, combed his hair, and wove it into a loose plait.

Too long you have spent deep in books of lore, Erestor, he thought. It was the field practice this morning.

Bearing his ancient sword, Erestor left his house and made his way to the practice fields. South of the wooded vales around the Ford of Bruinen, there was a wide-open, grassy area, where animals sometimes grazed. By the command of Elrond, the space had been cleared and targets set up, with Elves on hand to move them forwards or backwards as desired. Erestor was sure the peredhel had arranged the practice not only to entertain his guests but also to get the servants out of his hair. There was also a table draped in white, and there were placed jugs of water for the combatants. There was also a table draped in white upon which were placed jugs of water for the combatants. A few Elves were already out on the grass, warming up before the games. Their bright swords flashed in the morning sun, and their fluid movements belied the purpose of the blades and their sharp edges.

It was always a surprise how beautiful weapons could be.

He sent one of the heralds out with a swift word, and presently a bell was heard ringing throughout Imladris. "The games begin!" the young Elf called out in a clear voice.

Erestor waited by the refreshment table for Eámanë, who had accepted his offer to spar the previous night, and watched as Glorfindel methodically proceeded to take his own opponent down. Lindir had many fine talents, and though he had some skill with a blade, the minstrel was quite simply no match for the Balrog slayer. Erestor smiled in good spirits as Lindir barely deflected a vicious blow. The day was bound to be instructive, and not only for the contestants.

She arrived at the field slightly out of breath and with a joyous glint in her stormy eyes. She spotted Erestor and went to his side.

She poured some water into a glass and drank it before turning to him.

"I am sorry I'm late, Lord Erestor. It took me more time than I realized to find the practice field. Shall we begin?"

With that she unsheathed her sword and looked at Erestor expectantly, a little girl who'd been given a new doll. Lord Erestor was, while a scholar at heart, a warrior who had fought at the Last Alliance of Men and Elves in the War of the Ring. She was honored to spar with him.

Erestor made no answer, but drew his sword in an elaborate swish.

"If you believe you can defeat me," he said, moving away from the refreshment table to the practice ground. There he waited, sizing up his opponent as she took her place opposite him. Eámanë was slender as a birch-tree, but he suspected she would be faster than him on the ground. This certainly would be an interesting match.

There were two female elves joining in the sparring this morning. While unusual for a woman of Rivendell to engage in combat, Mirkwood had been under the shadow of war for much longer. There, the maidens had taken up arms to defend their homes, and he found himself looking forward to seeing how she fought.

He raised his sword into a defensive posture and kept his eyes fixed on Eámanë's face, anticipating her first move.

"I'm only here for the fun, Master Erestor," she said with a huge grin and lowering her voice added, with a hint of mirth, "Pride is such an awful thing..."

Erestor took her measure. Eámanë circled with him oblivious to anything outside their perimeter. There were no audience, no sound, no life outside their imaginary perimeter. She was conscious that the first move would be hers and mentally went through the attacks she could try on him. Deciding to avoid body contact as much as possible, she sprang forth, her sword aimed at the upper half of his body. She did not hold back, knowing her thrust was a feint. At the final moment, she crouched down, kicking her legs in an unexpected movement designed to throw Erestor off balance while her sword made upwards contact with his. This was a new move her brother had perfected and Eámanë had worked hard to mastered the technique.

With lightning speed, she jumped backwards and stood up again. It was wise to remain on the ground when an Elf-lord was coming after you with a sword...

He had been expecting a traditional swipe, easily blocked, and Eámanë's sudden maneuver had caught him by surprise. He absorbed the impact of her blade with his, but his arm was knocked backwards by the force of the attack, leaving his chest undefended.

Quickly, he brought his blade down. He brought his blade down, meaning to swing at her while she was on the ground and disarm her before she could counter. But Eámanë, nimble and quick, sprang to her feet.

Not one to be defeated so easily, Erestor leaped forward, striking her sword with the back of his, close to the guard, moving her backwards without putting a dent in the sharp side of his blade. Using the full strength of his sword-arm, he pushed sharply forwards, a laugh rising in his throat at the pleasure of sparring with a good opponent on such a lovely morning.

She had managed to throw him off balance, but he had recovered quickly. She expected no less. Thinking fast, Eámanë turned around, loosening his grip on her and disengaging their swords in an attempt to catch his left side unguarded. Not much hope, but worth a try. Her blade made a neat arc in the air and she was not surprised when metal met metal as Erestor's powerful counter stroke made contact.

Valar, he was strong.

Eámanë did a series of quick offensive moves, retreating before he could developed his counter attack into something that could defeat her before she had her fun. Block, attack, spring forth, retreat, all a quick and graceful dance designed to keep him at a reasonable distance from her. In matters of brute strength, she was no match for him, but it mattered little to Elveswho were used to battlingbeings of superior brute force but much less dexterity.

Beginning to feel the familiar rhythm of swordplay, Erestor speeded up his movements. It was almost like a dance, with the beauty of the flashing blade, the deft, perfectly timed footwork. He fought harder, seeking to test both his and his opponent's strength, but her swift strokes prevented him from getting throughher defense. Frustrating, yet fun. Ina real battle elegance would be lost in the bitter struggle for life, but that did not seem important right now.

"Having a good time, my lord?" she asked with a light laugh. Itwas such a fine day!

He grimaced as his wrist was thrown back, but kept hold of his sword. Plunging the tip of the blade firmly into the ground in order to keep his balance, he decided never to underestimate the MirkwoodElves again. He was quite impressed.

"I certainly am," he said. "It has been years, countless years since I have sparred. I am glad I have not completely lost my touch."

"So am I!" she replied laughing harder. "'This is a fine match indeed, milord."

"I fear I must claim foul though," he grunted, renewing the offensive. "I was lead to believe Glorfindel was teaching you the ways of combat. I find you a skilled fighter already."

"My brother is in the Royal Guard," she answered simply. "We used to practice together. Though I am not quite as good as he is, Maglin made sure to teach me enough tricks to defend myself should need arise."

And then, with an impish smile rather unbefitting in an Elf-lord, he said: "The Mirkwood Elves have their ways with the sword. But they fight out of their league. We of Imladris have a few tricks to try, too."

"Out of their league? This is preposterous! It is but a --"

With that, he swung his sword into a sudden over-the-head attack. She would have to dodge, or block...

Eámanë thought that she had succeeded in making him angry, as his attack had been quite aggressive. She would never have seen that coming from the sweet tempered Elflord of the previous night. Eámanë jumped backwards and met his blade as it descended barely missing her shoulder.

She twisted the sword again, trying to put some more space between them. He was getting too close for comfort. The sound of metal clashingfilledthe clear morning air. She regained her breath with swift retreat.

" I'm delighted to see you have a few tricks up your sleeve, Master Erestor," she said. "But not for a moment think you're the only one."

And with that she sprang forth, in a tip-of-spear offensive move that changed to swing in the last possible moment. While Erestor concentrated on countering her swung, she kicked his shin, hard.

Which was actually quite painful.

Erestor let out a yelp and clutched his shin, almost dropping his sword. He looked up.

Eámanë stood there, smiling almost sweetly at him. Who knew that beneath that fair golden-haired exterior there lurked a common cheater?

"What manner of Orc-trickery..." he growled. Now, this was serious. A matter of honor. One did not kick Erestor in the shin and get away with it. Letting out a great cry, he leapt towards Eámanë, with the sole intention of a serious tussle. After all, it was no less than she deserved.

"Orc trickery!" Eámanë cried, outraged. Now it was for honor. Great Elflord he might be, but no one would call her an orc and walk away! And he even acted as if she had been the one offending him!

And it was not as if in battle, warriors fought with weaponsalone, was it?

The spar developed into full fighting. Erestor was making full use of his superior strength and experience, but Eámanë was not one to let herself beeasily defeated. The elf-maiden changed her techniques from dodging to offensive. It wasn't too hard to try and use Erestor's own strength against him, she would only haveto manipulate him into a certain position... Her breath coming in quick gasps, her heart racing, Eámanë countered and pulled him backwards with an intricate set of swings and blocks.

"Let me show you how we fight in Mirkwood." she defied, all mirth forgotten.There was a certain conduct associated with sparring. You could put strength into your blows, true, and you could knock your opponent down, but there were limits. Limits that seemed to fade into insignificance as their dance became more furious. He vaguely wondered if he should stop, withdraw, before Elrond himself had to drag them apart.

Anger, yes, he had let his anger interfere with the game. But was it a game? In a real fight, would orcs care about rules and tradition? No. Eámanë fought fiercely, but perhaps he should not resent her for doing so.

And suddenly, seizing an opening when she put too much strength in a hefty blow designed to squash his defense, he swung her around, his own force of motion deflecting the angle of her sword. Losing her balance, she tumbled onto the grass, the hilt slipping out of her hand.

Eámanë was thoroughly lost. She hadwanted to give him the beating of his life. He had called her an Orc, for Elbereth's sake! Never had she thought that he would throw her on the ground onto her behind. She wanted to scream, she wanted to laugh. With a deep, steadying breath, she fought to regain her composure.

"I think that you both need to compose yourselves. That was quite the match." Elrond stepped out from the shade of a beech tree. To his utter embarrassment Erestor noticed most of the contestants had stopped to watch their match. "I would not advise pushing yourselves further without at least a small break first."

"That might be wise," said the councilor, still breathless from the fight. He sheathed his sword and he could have sworn he caught a glimmer on the side, an approval of engaging in battle again after so long.

"Indeed," Eámanë answered, wondering what on Arda the lord of Imladris had in his mind. He seemed to think the incident extremely funny, though that might be diplomacy speaking.

Erestor decided to get a drink, and collect his thoughts before launching into another offensive. But first, there was a matter to attend

"Lady Eámanë," he said, offering his hand, "thank you for an excellent fight. I have never sparred... in such a way before."

The maiden stared at him for a moment before reaching the hand he offered and stood up to her full six feet height - thought he was a couple inches taller than her, damn it! She released him the moment she was up, picking her own blade and sheathing it.

"'It was my pleasure," Eámanë answered stiffly. Good manners obligated her to be courteous even thought she was still mad at him. Unfortunately, she was in his home, not the other way around.

"Would you give me the pleasure of the next match?" asked a fair elf among the group of onlookers. He stepped forth and put his hand over his heart. "As soon as the lady has rested from this last exertion, of course."

"The lady won't rest for long," she replied, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards. "But she should like a name to go with the challenge."

"Orophin, my lady, at your service." The elf bowed, then took her hand and led her away from the table to another spot that had been recently cleared.

Erestor was still standing before Elrond, wondering what he should sayor indeed, if he should say anything at all. Before the peredhel could chide him, however, a strong grip claimed his arm and led him back into the main building. The councilor kept pace so as not to look like he was being dragged. Only when they were far from the reach of curious eyes he met the furious eyes of the Lord Glorfindel.

"I take it you are mad at me," he stated calmly. "And you are right to be so."

Glorfindel took a step back, slightly pacified. "Oh no, you will not stand all subdued and repentant when I have finally seized a great excuse to dress you down. That is simply not fair!"

"I am merely stating the obvious. I apologize if you are distressed by it."

"What distresses me is the fact that the Chief Councilor of Imladris has behaved himself in an unacceptable manner toward a guest of this house. And in public!"

"Should I have done it in private?'

"You should not have done it at all!" the fair elf cried, frustrated by his friend's lack of response. "What were you thinking?"

"I do not know what I was thinking… I was angry." He sighed. "She cheated, and I grew angry. 'Twas a silly thing really, and before I knew it had grown beyond proportion."

"She did what I told her to do, you simpleton!"

Erestor crossed his hands before his chest. "Are you quite done with cursing me?"

Glorfindel glowered. Erestor sighed again. Suddenly the councilor recalled the Balrog slayer's laughing advice the night before. "I shall give her my apologies at the earliest chance."

"See that you do," Glorfindel muttered, and turned to vanish into the house.

"You are not angry only because I was too rough," Erestor said quietly, though it stopped his friend. "Mostly you are distressed because this incident made you remember things you rather forget."

Glorfindel did not turn; he merely resumed his walking.

A.N.: Again, the War of the Ring mentioned here is the First War of the Ring, at the end of the Second Age. Again, the mentioned here is the , at the end of the Second Age.

1- Ost-in-edhil: was the main city of the realm of Eregion. Tolkien says the Noldor (probably led by Celebrimbor) founded it in 750 S.A. Some say Galadriel and Celeborn helped, but they were ruling a realm south of Lûn at the time, and Celeborn is a Sinda with no Noldor blood. So I don't really buy C and G building Eregion. Sauron destroyed it at 1697 S.A.

Sauron had dwelt with the elves of Eregion since 1200 S.A., in a glorious physical form and under the name Annatar, teaching them many things. Including the technique for the making of the rings of power. Odd that Celebrimbor, being grandson to Fëanor, allied with one of Melkor's captains, but there you go. Celebrimbor only realized the treachery at 1600 when he listens Annatar chanting the One Ring incantation, 'one ring to rule them all'… then he calls the Elves to the War of the Elves Against Sauron, from 1693 to 1697. Celebrimbor died at the fall of Eregion.

Also, Elrond was sent to Eregion by Gil-galad at 1695, so it is very likely Elrond Half-elven and Erestor met there. With the defeat, Elrond took the refugees to a valley deeply cut in the Misty Mountains and built the refuge of Imladris.

Eregion was much wider than the T.A. maps show, and much of the Shire lands were once part of it. On the way to Caradhras, Legolas comments that Elves once lived there, for their effect could still be felt on the lands, and that the Elves that lived in those lands were strangers to the Woodland Elves.

Unless I've completely lost it, which is actually pretty likely.

2- Elf-women and military service: Tolkien said, InLaws and Customs of the Eldar, thatthere was little difference between Ellith and Ellyn until childbearing. Galadriel was a famous athlete in her youth. There was no impediment to women training martial arts in the enlightened elven society, however the women would not go to the combat front until the situation was hopeless – there are records of women fighting in the fall of Gondolin, and methinks they probably took up arms in Alqualondë too. Women are always the last line of defense. Why, if they fight as well as men?

Women are ordinarily the healers of Elven society, and the contact with death and violence would darken their spirits and stain their energies, so to speak. And if that's so in healing, imagine what'd happen with childbearing, where the mother's fëa and energy passes to the child? (Thus the difference in physical strength after childbearing. The father passed f:ea and energy to, but in my opinion it was to a lesser degree).

And why does Elrond heal and go to the battlefield?

Elrond is Elrond, that's why! Also, he's descendent of Melian the Maia. He's quite simply one of the most powerful beings of Middle-earth.

Plus, if women are not in the front, someone has to give the wounded first aid until they can be sent to where the women are at!