Disclaimer: I am not J.R.R. Tolkien!

"She fought for survival and freedom since childhood... she was burned by fire then rose from the ashes... she is no survivor, she is a warrior"

-Lines from the Legend of the Battle-Queen

Chapter 5

(Jakira POV) Like a child, I stormed out of the cave, filled with anger and embarrassment. I must look like a fool, I knew, but at the moment I did not care. I was far too angry to care. I had ordered Voronwë to stay with the elf before storming off so at least I did not have to worry about him. Briefly, I wondered whether by him I meant Voronwë or the elf but I banished that thought.

About 400m from the cave, I took a fighting stance and whipped out my scimitar. The rasp of steel on steel followed by the slight ring as the end of the blade drew forth was comforting in its familiarity and I drank in the view of my weapon, the finest weapon that I had ever seen, in my opinion.

It was a light sword, easy to use both one and two-handed but still strong and keen. Gently curved, it looked like the type of sword an elf might use. But to me, it was much more than any object. It was the physical sign of my freedom. It was a sign that I won't be controlled, owned, by any man unlike most of the women of Harad. It was a sign that I was in charge of my own destiny and that I was free.

I felt myself still trembling with anger and indignation and embarrassment. Damn that elf, damn that elf, damn that elf! But, angry as I was, I was sensible enough to know that I should at least be able to move without trembling before beginning and I should certainly be able to think thoughts more complicated than 'damn that elf'.

Closing my eyes, sword in my hand, I breathed deeply and evenly as I had been taught, letting a mask of calm settle over me. My anger did not dim but it became compressed, focused, until it was merely another form of energy that I could draw upon. When I felt ready, I tensed my muscles and lunged forwards, my scimitar a streaking blade of light.

It was lunge, parry, duck, slash, whirl, block, stab, flip, dodge, strike, a stream of movement that never ceased as I flowed from one action to the next. My thoughts were entirely focused on my fighting, my anger and embarrassment forgotten as I worked with my scimitar.

I went through the entire fourth form, then the sixth, then the fifth. There were twelve forms of fighting in Harad, the twelfth being the most difficult. Each form was a routine of movements that forced the fighter to expend much energy and skill. No warrior had been able to complete the twelfth form in over a century.

My uncle had died trying to do so. On one of the flips, he'd gotten slightly unbalanced and had messed up his landing. He had landed directly on his scimitar, it piercing his belly. That had been without a partner and he had only been eight minutes into the form. The twelfth form was extremely long and eight minutes was barely through the beginning. No one had dared try since then.

I myself could complete the first nine forms- though I had dropped into a faint after saluting the first time that I had done it. For anyone the first nine was exceptional, for someone only 21 it was nearly impossible. I had been able to do the first eight by 19. It was only thanks to this skill that I was still free.

After my practice, I sat, scimitar across my lap, panting in the sand. I was sweating and I was filthy and my muscles were burning but my workout had served its purpose. I was no longer angry.

Now, as my sword lay across my palms, I thought of why I had been so angry. I had not been angry at the elf, I realised. Or at least, not too angry. On the contrary, I was grudgingly impressed with him. He had read me perfectly and had called my bluff- something that few others ever had done.

I was angry- furious- with myself. I was angry at my inability to kill him. I was angry at my weakness and failure, embarrassed that, even now, I couldn't do my duty. What was wrong with me when it came to this elf? Why was the thought of harm coming to him so difficult? Why could he anger me so easily?

There was something about him that was unlike any other man that I had ever known. For some reason, I did not think that it was wholly because he was an elf.

There was a different fire in him, the way that he argued and refused, always with that smile on his lips that somehow didn't seem mocking but honestly amused. No man had ever been capable of angering me so easily. This one seemed able to bring out my fire without even trying.

I remembered how he had called me his lady and I had wanted to draw my scimitar at once because it represented freedom and that was what the men had called them. The possessive 'theirs' that meant that your body and life was no longer yours- that you belonged to them. 'My lady', he had said.

Westron was not my mother tongue and I had not known the proper definition of that phrase. It seemed that I had grievously misunderstood him and likely insulted him. Yet this strange man- elf- had not gotten angry but instead calmly reassured me as to what he meant! That had been lucky, for him, because my hand had been ready to draw my scimitar and from there it would not have been pretty.

Later, seemingly just to keep me confused, he had been ready to wait for his meal! He had been starving yet he had been ready to give up his meal for me! What king of fool offered food to a potential threat when they were starving? I knew several men who wouldn't offer food to a starving ally even when they were full! Particularly if that ally happened to be a woman!

Then, of all things, he had tried to apologize for insulting me! I had thrown my hands in the air, exclaiming over his actions and calling him several insults in Haradaic simply because it childishly made me feel better to do so. What in Arda was wrong with him? How could someone be so…so…oh, there weren't even any words to describe it!

After, he had refused to tell me why he was here and had managed to call out my bluff when I threatened to kill him! Even I had been unsure whether or not it was a bluff before being put on the spot like that. But the only thing that I had learned from him was his name and the fact that he was willing to die for his mission- whatever it was.

So I was angry that I couldn't kill him and embarrassed that he caught me out and called my bluff. For some reason, I was also afraid that he would judge me for my weakness- though why his opinion should matter whatsoever to me I couldn't say.

Frowning, I held my sword lightly, glancing at the blade that had flickered so easily across the empty desert, performing patterns that had long since been ingrained into muscle memory until I could practically do it with my eyes closed.

Why had I not been able to kill him, I wondered, dimly realizing that I was obsessing over it- then realizing that I didn't care if I was. It would have been so easy with him lying there, I knew nearly a dozen ways that I could have done it. I had killed before, several times, so it was not because I was unable to do so.

I had killed and nearly been killed, I had fought for my life and come face to face with death. I had felt that personal and bloody feeling of being a bringer of death, felt how it was both far too easy and unbelievably hard. I knew how to kill. So why hadn't I? The question was beginning to haunt me.

Was it because he had been lying there, unable to sit up? Was that why I had been unable to kill him, as I undoubtedly should have? Was it because he was helpless?

If that was the case, I wouldn't be quite so weak. I wouldn't have been unable to complete my duty. I wouldn't be an oath breaker, or a traitor, or a weak woman who was ruled by her emotions and unable to kill. I would be… honourable, yes. Honourable was good.

That must be why I couldn't do it, I realized with a giddy feeling of elation at having finally solved this mystifying riddle and realizing that I wasn't quite lacking. I hadn't failed in my duty, I was merely waiting to see whether he would become a threat to Harad or not. That was almost certainly it!

I opened my eyes, smiling at the fact that it was so simple. Of course I hadn't failed in my duty; I was merely waiting for him to be not quite so helpless so I could judge him fairly. That was it; I was being both fair and honourable. Of course I was not weak, hadn't I proved that several times? I was strong and if he became a proper threat then I would kill him- of course. I was merely being wise and careful by waiting, after all, what if he proved to be a valuable ally?

Standing, I sheathed my sword and began making my way back to the cave. I ignored the little voice that said that my conclusion seemed to have some gaps in it and that fact that I had never shown much patience or wisdom, or caution before. I ignored the little voice that said that there must be another reason that I had spared him. The voice finally fell silent and I smiled, glad that I was sure in my reasoning once more.

(Glorfindel's POV) I watched quietly as she came back inside, no longer angry. Her robe was soaked in sweat and covered in a fine layer of dusty sand and her breath was somewhat heavy but she no longer looked like she was going to kill me which was a good thing. I appreciated being alive.

Without turning, she spoke, her voice neither soft nor harsh but neutral. "Sleep, elf of Imladris, and we will speak more on the morrow. I will stand watch", she said firmly in a tone that I had come to recognize as one where she would not change her mind.

"Very well", was all that I replied, my tone soft. But I watched as she stroked the fire and settled herself down, laying her sword across her lap. She took out a whetting stone and began sharpening the weapon with careful, controlled strokes. The fire illuminated her sharp features, softening them, and I watched as she concentrated hard on her work. She seemed to almost enjoy it.

The fire was not visible from outside and I knew that she would know of any danger long before it arrived. Relaxing my mind, I let my thoughts fade and the familiar sound of a sword being sharpened lulled me to sleep.

Here is chapter 6 where we can learn a bit more about Jakira's personality. I hope you all like her! I would like to say a big thank you to EverleighBain, lotrlover16 and blackunicorne for reviewing the last chapter. Your encouragement helps keep me going and I am glad to know that others enjoy and are reading the stories I write. This is by far the most ambitious of any of my projects to date so I enjoy any types of feedback. Please tell me what you liked about this chapter, what you disliked, what you are looking forwards to finding out about, what you suspect might happen, what you think of Glorfindel and what you think of Jakira. Or anything else that comes to mind! I hope that everyone is enjoying and I look forward to posting the next chapter! Thank you all for reading!