Disclaimer: Jon Snow knows as much as I own.

Chapter 10: Sword and Shield

Winter turns to spring, turns to summer. Brand keeps growing, his flames gaining intensity. Under the tutelage of my father, I improve my skill with the sword, and casting magic saps less and less energy with every attempt I make.

We still hear no word from Jotnar. Mother visited last spring, bringing tidings of more unrest in the fiery south, and among the dwarves. She mentioned being sent to Lithgow to assist in the negotiations. I have a feeling that something terrible is going to happen there. I hope it is a mere feeling.

Something has shifted between Tryndemiel and I. I start enjoying the warmth of his presence more and more. He seems more relaxed and open, which I appreciate, but his actions last winter still baffle me so much.

Eoran grows sadder and sadder with each day. I know he pines for Sevanna despite the fact that she has been gone for a year. I want to do something to make him happy again, but I know not what.

As the end of summer's warm breath nears and the tree leaves start taking in the fiery colors of fall, I am ordered by my father to start visiting the novice sparring grounds for one hour before I meet with him.

With the warm golden sun burning bright above me, I make my way to the place, wondering who it is that was ordered to test my skill with the blade every day. The sound of clashing weapons precede the wide open space where the Riders in training, visitors, and scholars of the tower train in the art of war.

My eyes roam, looking for familiar faces. Brand hovers above me, keeping a wary eye out for potential trouble. I spot Kifain, dark eyes fixed on me from his perch on a tree branch. He beams at me, frantically trying to smooth out his green tunic. "Ash!" he calls out in greeting. "I haven't seen much of you since we were chosen as Riders."

Well, we have not seen much of each other on Ilirea either, as we were simply casual acquaintances even back home. "Well, we are busy with our training and well, we have our own circle of friends too."

"I was wondering when I could catch you alone here. You are always with that effeminate Rider. If not, you are always with that pretty scholar, or that flamboyant bard."

To be honest, I do not like the way he is talking about my friends. Who is he to judge them? "To each their own, Kifain. Like I said, we have our own circle of friends, and it seems prudent to keep it that way."

Kifain's expression darkens. Before he could retort though, Eoran arrives, wooden sparring swords in hand. He inclines his head to Kifain. "Well, I have them now. Are you ready?" he asks.

The smile on Kifain's face chills my blood. I try staving off my sense of unease as the two heft their sparring equipment, eyeing each other differently. Eoran seems to brim with excitement, Kifain with outright hatred. They stare at each other for a while, and I fear that Eoran is oblivious to what might be going on his sparring partner's mind. Kifain makes the first move, whipping up his sword and clipping Eoran painfully in the chin, showing off one of the most basic techniques taught to children in the Ilirea outpost. Eoran cries out in pain and surprise, barely managing to parry the next blows.

Kifain bares his teeth in wrath, his blows getting more and more ferocious, eyes aglow with a certain kind of madness. Despite being the son of a knight, Eoran is outclassed thanks to Kifain's more rigorous training as a Rider's child.

I watch them, torn between stopping the one-sided fight and preventing Eoran from being shamed.

Our dragons watch us with bated breath. Intense concentration seems to dance through Palasin's lurid pink eyes as he is most likely encouraging Kifain. Larsahin's teeth are bared in outright contempt. Brand watches seemingly with a placid manner, but I know him long enough to be sure that he is as torn as I.

When I watch Kifain snap his sparring blade in two as he hits Eoran across the chest, I know that I already need to step in.

As Kifain gloats over the injured Eoran, I shove him as hard as I could with my shoulder, sending him sprawling on the ground while ignoring Palasin's angry growl. He glares at me with his large, terrifyingly intense eyes "Why?" he roars. "I am winning. What are you doing, letting him cheat?"

"You are taking things too far," I snarl.

"You should understand why."

If glares could burn me, I would be nothing but cinders now. Kifain bares his teeth and lets out a dragon-like snarl. He all but throws the pieces of his wooden sword at me before he storms away. I turn to Eoran, still lying on the dusty ground.

"Can you move?" I ask.

He tries to hoist himself up and winces. "I don't think so," he moans.

None of the other people in the field have noticed that something is amiss. I hear approaching footsteps, though. Tryndemiel, clad in a plain tunic, approaches us with a pair of wooden swords. "Ash," he calls out, not aware of what the situation is. "Are you ready to spar?"

I have never been so relieved to see him. "Tryndemiel! We need your help. Eoran is hurt."

He blinks twice then nods, serious all of a sudden. "Can he move at all? What happened?"

"I think I broke some of my ribs," moans Eoran.

I glance at Tryndemiel. "Can you stay with him? I can go get my father. He is quite good on the healing arts."

"That would help," he agrees. I'll stay with Eoran-vodhr until then."

I mount Brand, whose sense pf urgency heightens mine. He flexes his wings before leaping to the air, which caresses my face as we head to the gardens. Oromis waits as usual under his favored apple tree, leaning against Glaedr's enormous golden form. He stands up as he sees me, as if aware of my distress. The wind brought forth by Brand's wings send ripples upon his dark plum robes. "Daughter, is something the matter?" he calls out.

"Someone in the sparring grounds is hurt," I yell back as Brand circles the area, looking for a good place to land. "Eoran. Tryndemiel is waiting with him. We need aid."

Oromis inclines his head in acknowledgement. He mounts Glaedr without another word and soon they are flying to the sparring grounds with us. A gaggle of novice human Riders, mostly under the standard ages of ten and eleven, surround my two friends.

Tryndemiel and Eoran seem to be in a deeply serious conversation which they cut off as we approach. Oromis leaps gracefully off his dragon's back and approaches Eoran. I follow him, standing beside Tryndemiel. "I hope he will be fine," I muse.

"He will be," Oromis assures me as he begins assessing the damage.

Tryndemiel watches my father in action with inscrutable eyes. "Eoran is a good person. I understand why you care so much about him."

"It is something he will not reciprocate, so it does not really matter," I tell him bitterly.

"He admires you a lot, but yes, it seems like he still pines for your friend." He crosses his arms. "Do not let that ruin the way you see yourself. We both know that you are amazing."

I stare at him, wondering what he is trying to imply. "I don't know, Tryndemiel, but you're the only person who says that."

His lips twitch with the ghost of a smile and says no more.

By nightfall, Eoran seems to be happier when we meet in the dining hall. He watches me sit across the table from him as he drums his fingers on the table idly. "Thank you for helping me earlier. Master Jehara had a word with Kifain and his teacher when she found out about what happened. I owe you so much, Ash."

"I did what I had to as a friend," I assure him. I still feel my stomach whirling madly with what felt like shards of ice. "I am just glad that my father was able to heal you so quickly."

He smiles. Despite being friends for over a year, I am still surprised by how beautiful he is. "I think Kifain is smitten with you. Or maybe more than smitten, judging by his actions. I don't think he's the only one, though."

I almost stop breathing. "What do you mean?"

He chuckles. "Oh, haven't you noticed? Well, I want you to figure it out yourself, or better yet, wait for him to tell you. If he has the guts. He'd suit you better than mad Kifain, anyway."

"And I won't consider taking Kifain as a lover anyway," I tell him, making a face. I recall the other Rider's maddened dark eyes with a shudder. "I think he is quite mad, to be honest. He was among the best fighters among the children in the Ilirean outpost, but he was always a little odd. He was very friendly, but he had very few actual friends."

Eoran nods. "Maybe he feels lonely. I rarely see him in these halls."

"I know. Maybe you're right. He still scares me."

"Well, do you think that Tryndemiel, Fayille, or I would let him harm you? Friends don't let friends get hurt or worse," he assures me with a grin. "As a matter of fact, I think Tryndemiel might have already killed him for what he did this morning."

Morning arrives, the warmth of summer slowly mellowing as fall rapidly approaches. I still have no one ot share my room with, though my father assures me that he is sure one of the Riders to be chosen next spring will finally fill the void left by Sevanna. All throughout breakfast, my mind wanders to my old friend, wondering what exactly happened to draw her away from us.

Fayille is at our table this morning, a cup of tea in front of him and lute in hand. He strums idly, a small frown creasing his otherwise flawless face. "I can't find a tune to match," he murmurs softly as I finish my meal.

"Have you written a new song?" I ask, savoring the berry juice that I am starting to prefer.

He shakes his head. "No, no. I have simply found an old song in the library, and no one I ask has ever heard of it before. It is so difficult to create a fitting tune to this Ballad of Althanor and Talahin."

I blink, realizing that the names he mentioned were very, very familiar. Tryndemiel and I have been searching madly for more documents about them, but sadly we have been coming up empty-handed since last winter. "You found something about them?" I say, almost dropping my empty glass. Tryndemiel and I have not found a single passage about them since winter."

Fayille inclines his head. "I found a small cache of scrolls about their tale – but forgive me, Ash-fineria, I was only looking at the song for no one I've ask has ever heard of it. It must predate the arrival of my people from Alalea." He pauses, setting down his lute beside him. "I shall show the two of you the scrolls tonight."

Throughout the day, I am excited to see the scrolls that Fayille discovered. I am sure that it would help a lot with our research regarding the history of The Lovers, and I am also intrigued by the story of Althanor and Talahin, and why they left such a legacy in our civilization. It seems like my excitement is so evident, as Oromis regards me with unusual amusement in his eyes as I finish lunch.

"I am not sure if you are simply thinking of more interesting things than our lessons, or if you are simply are so thrilled to spend time with your scholar friend tonight," he muses quietly as he lathers honey on his bread.

Seeing that jar of thick honey makes me think of someone's eyes, which are the exact same shade.

I think you are truly and completely besotted by him, notes Brand.

I send a flicker of annoyance into his mind, which he responds by sharing his amusement. I am smitten, but I think of Eoran more.

You know that hasn't been true since last winter, he tells me before retreating from my mind to focus on his flying.

I look up, back to my father whose eyes still sparkle with subtle amusement. "I am merely excited because Fayille found some unsorted books in the library that could help in our research. Have you ever heard of the lovers Althanor and Talahin?"

My father shakes his head. "The names, I hear, were popular among elves a thousand years ago. But lovers bearing those names? I am afraid not. Why are they essential to your research?"

"We found an excerpt last winter about the two of them dying together and The Lovers being named in their honor," I explain. "We have no other information but that, but we are sure that there is more. Now that Fayille found some more information to go forward with, I am positive that we will be learning more about them soon."

Oromis nods in understanding. "Ah, it seems like you truly have the calling of a scholar," he says with warm approval. "Jotnar has a warrior's aptitude, like your mother, but let that not distract you from the fact that you must learn the art of war too. You must defend yourself from those who will seek to harm you."

I remember Master Barthfer and Gelfring's broken forms. I was not even able to attend the funeral, still recovering from my injuries. Just hearing Eoran and Tryndemiel talk about it afterward sent me into gutwrenching pain.

"Losing someone is never easy," Oromis says, as if reading my thoughts. "Sometimes, it is inevitable."

I have to get stronger. I want to fight side by side with Brand. I want Mother and Jotnar to see me as someone to be proud of. I want to keep an eye out for Eoran and Larsahin. I want to redeem myself somehow in Sevanna's eyes. I want Oromis to regard me as a fellow Rider, not as a child he must look after. I want to protect Tryndemiel, who has no one else in Doru Araeba.

I want to become the best I could be for the people I love.

A shot update, just a filler to nudge a few things into the direction I want them to take. Especially Kifain, who by the way is a little inspired by my favorite Final Fantasy villain of all time. xD

Eoran is seriously the meekest Rider for now, but he'll be taking levels in badass over the next timeskip in chapter 12, along with Sevanna returning to the story. Did any of you guys miss her? Because I did.

Our heroes will be solving a murder mystery next chapter, but I might update Bloodwar first. Because my stay at the City of Pines gave me tons of ideas to work with. And because apparently a reader doesn't like the fact that I'm focusing on this fic. -_-

Brand definitely was so adorbs as a young dragon, wasn't he? He still is, deep down, in the main storyline.

Read and review, as always! XD I might update on Friday or Sunday.