Repost of chapter twelve!
In the cold hour before dawn, Tirnel sat up from her nest of blankets. Iowen was motionless, eyes flickering slightly as she dreamed. The Sun was still hiding Her face and the sky was grey-blue. Tirnel rose silently and removed her clothes for the day from the wardrobe, then dressed and pulled on her boots. Variele was still on the chair, and the sheath was next to it. The new knives were still down in the weapons shed on the training field, so Tirnel crept from the flet and down the long stairs.
The birds had just begun to sing as Tirnel reached the shed. It was unlocked, so she entered. The walls had bow-racks against them, and swords in their sheaths hung from the ceiling. Tirnel found her knives buried in a stack of miscellaneous weapons, and strapped them to her back.
The dummy that she had used was gone, a fresh one day in its place. The sun turned the sky pink as Tirnel attacked the dummy, gutting it in much the same way as she had been taught.
She had barely broken a sweat, and now returned to the armory for her bow. The targets were farther away from where she stood than yesterday, but Tirnel didn't mind. Her shots all hit the inner ring of the target, and a few had found the centre.
The Sun's rays broke over the treetops, dazzling Iowen's eyes as she stood at the window. The training field was visible from the flet, and a tiny figure could be seen, shooting at a target. Iowen knew it must be Tirnel, for her bed was empty and sword gone. And with no breakfast, too, she thought. Turning to the pile of blankets, she picked them up and flopped them down on the bed. Birds began their deafening symphony, swooping past the window in flocks of dizzying colour.
The door creaked open. Iowen dove for the dagger sitting on the bedside table and turned to see Raenil leaning against the frame, picking at her nails. The older elleth glanced up as Iowen unsheathed the small knife. "Ah, Iowen. The lovely girl who won me a trial and ridicule. Might I take this opportunity to speak with you?"
Iowen didn't respond. She held the knife before her, prepared to injure Raenil if she advanced, and cautiously backed towards the window. Raenil stepped into the room and sat on the bad, causing the blankets to slide down onto the floor. Raenil chuckled grimly. "My dear, I only wish to speak to you, not to attack you. Again." Iowen chanced a glance out the window and saw that Tirnel had stopped training and was heading back to the mallorn. If only she could get there in time.
Tirnel slipped the twin knives into their sheathes at her back, but let her sword shine in the early morning light. The training session had gone quite well, and she felt decently prepared to go on patrol. The stairs couldn't even dampen her optimism as she jogged up them. She arrived at the flet, ready for a hot bath and a good breakfast, but found the door open, as it had been on the day Iowen was attacked. Sheathing Variele, Tirnel pulled one of her knives from her back and pushed the door fully open. Raenil was sitting on the bed, and Iowen, knife drawn, stood by the window. "Iowen! What's going on? How did she get in?"
"The door was open, so I entered. I do hope my presence is welcome." Raenil smirked lazily.
Tirnel looked ready to breath fire. "Get out, now. If you do not, I will call Helegon. Do you remember him?"
Raenil didn't move, still smirking. "Do not meddle in the affairs of those older than you, efling," she said softly. "Why don't you go back to your training? Valar knows you'll need it."
Iowen looked from Tirnel, who was standing as still as a mallorn, to Raenil, who turned to face the handmaiden. A pitying smile spread across her face, nearly as bad as the smirk. "Leave, crooked one," Iowen managed to say, voice shaking.
Raenil laughed again, and Tirnel seemed to shake out of a daze. "You're still afraid of me, Iowen, darling. Let us leave this petty disagreement behind us." Her voice had once more taken on the consistency of poisoned honey, and Iowen could feel herself getting stuck.
"Don't listen. Her words are sick," Tirnel snarled. She lifter her knife before her and stepped forward. "Leave at once, Raenil, or I shall gut you like a fish."
"Bold threats for one so young," Raenil sneered, but now she was eyeing Tirnel's knife with some apprehension.
Realising this, Tirnel, stepped forward further, knife outstretched and pointed directly at Raenil's throat. "I can say I killed you in self-defense," she growled, eyes blazing with a peculiar light. "There would be no consequences. If you value your life, Raenil, flee. Now."
Raenil did so, edging past the blade and out of the room. Sighing heavily, Tirnel sheathed the knife and sank into a chair. She had gone pale, and her eyes were dimmer than normal. Iowen put her knife down and sat on the bed, gazing cautiously at the elfling next to her. "Tirnel? Are you alright, mellon nîn?"
Tirnel looked up. Her face seemed drawn, as if she had been starved for a week. "Yes, I'm perfectly fine. Being that nasty takes a lot out of me, though." Standing, she unbuckled her knives and slung them onto the bed. "Let's go down to breakfast. We'll both feel a lot better after a good meal."
Down in the dining hall, Uirwen was waiting by the Galadhrim's table, smiling pleasantly. "I see you took some early practice," she said to Tirnel, and slapped her on the back. "Good. We'll take you on the next patrol, how does that sound?"
The pear Tirnel had been about to eat fell out of her hand and rolled away. "Y-you're kidding, right?"
Uirwen laughed, and so did a few other elves who sat nearby. "I promise you, I'm not. Haldir will return soon, and I daresay he will approve this. Be ready, the next patrol is quite soon."
After breakfast, Tirnel walked out into the Gardens and sat in the grass. Gazing up at the golden leaves, she grinned and closed her eyes. Her head was spinning, and she felt as giddy as a bird. Radagast had taught her how to call birds to her, but he was always better than her. She tried, though, and a sparrow fluttered onto her hand. It cocked its head at her, twittering at her too fast for comprehension.
"Slow down," she laughed, stroking the feathers on its head with one finger. It chittered at her then flew away again. She sighed and flopped back into the grass, still grinning like a fool. The Galadhrim. The chance to defend the Golden Wood, and to learn from some of the best Elven warriors in Arda.
This was an opportunity surely sent by the Valar. There was no way, after the kind of life she had led, that this path would be at her feet. Tirnel stood, took Variele out of its sheath, and battled an invisible orc. Her smile stayed spread across her face until her cheeks ached.
D'aww. Let's hope she doesn't f*ck up.
