Author's Note:
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Borlas
Blue eyes met his green ones, mocking and amused.
"Yield to me."
"And allow Rohan take victory over Gondor? Never!"
Elfwine flashed him a disarming smile over the threat of his wooden sword.
"Well, for that I would place Gondor on the gambling table with Eldarion, if he would be so willing." Elfwine glanced past Borlas' shoulder where Eldarion sat. The Gondorian looked bored, but his eyes were alert and following every move both of them made.
"I would take that bet, if Rohan actually had something substantial to offer," Eldarion said loftily.
"Bah! You are just worried that you may lose your father's hard won kingdom in a gamble."
"I should think so! What poet will sing about how Rohan or Gondor was won in something as insane and ridiculous as a betting game?"
Borlas did not let the conversation continue. He swung his blade and would have caught Elfwine across his ribs. But Elfwine intercepted him and blocked his attack with his own sword. They disengaged.
"That was a low move on your part," Elfwine drawled, shaggy black hair bouncing over his shoulders as he gave Borlas a wide berth. Borlas held his ground and turned with his opponent, looking for any sign of incoming attack.
"No rules exist when there is a war," Borlas returned.
"You will be defeated this day, Sea's mistress," Elfwine taunted, using the unsavoury term for a ship's captain.
"In your unlikeliest dreams, mongrel!" Borlas retorted.
Borlas had to admit that the 'mongrel' was much better than he praised him to be. It was true that Elfwine shared a startling resemblance of his maternal grandfather. Borlas personally never believed it but once Elfwine reached his thirties, it was as clear as daylight. Elfwine caught the best from both paternal and maternal lines in both looks and skills. He was built in the lean and lithe figure of a Gondorian, but gifted with both brawn and agility. It made him a deadly opponent.
He also inherited his father's hubris. Unlike Éomer, however, he did not learn to leave it outside the practicing field.
So Borlas' quick eyes noticed how his sword always lowered and left his right side widely open. A quick dip of the practice sword sent the gravel and sand into Elfwine's eyes in the form of the oldest trick known to every swordsman. After that, disarming him was easy. For good measure, Borlas kicked him in the stomach. Elfwine landed on his rump with a loud yelp. Borlas held him in place with his wooden blade resting on his collarbone. Behind Borlas, Eldarion crowed his victory and clapped his hands in delight. Elfwine shook his head and gave Borlas a rueful smile. Borlas took away his sword and offered his free hand to Elfwine.
"You should leave your pride before you cross swords with your opponent," Borlas advised. Elfwine laughed and accepted his hand.
"I should," he agreed. "I do not think it will be wise for someone of my station, even a 'mongrel', be left on my backside."
"Quite," Borlas nodded solemnly. Both of them ignored Eldarion, still cheering Borlas' smart victory behind them.
Author's Note:
I am open to any and all suggestions. :)
On my laptop: it still won't work, so I am left typing out my stories on my phone and updating from there. I have no idea when I will be able to send it for repair. Please bear with me.
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