A/N: I am incredibly sorry for the delay in the posting of this chapter.
This chapter deals with the month between the council of Elrond and the
departure of the Fellowship. Since I'm actually taking fencing lessons
now, I feel free to include them. This chapter is meant to be (humorous)
filler. This chapter has my p.o.v. Depending on the responses I get, the
next chapter will be either Elrond's point of view or the Departure from
Rivendell.
If anyone can give me an address of an elvish dictionary I will be very grateful. Please?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It had been about two weeks since the council. Things had fallen somewhat into Canon. Although most modern-American-English slang had disappeared, I had also seen Bilbo smoking a pack of cigarettes. I appreciated the cigarettes' stench as much as I ever have- which is to say not at all.
Anna and I had been thoroughly and wretchedly sick from food poisoning the day after we arrived. Although Middle-Earth beings can apparently stomach practically anything, Anna and I had made careful mental notes ensuring that we either boiled our water previously, or drank wine, as per local custom. After the hangover of the third day, I drank my wine very well watered.
On the fourth day I had been extremely stupid. In fact, I had been even more of a numbskull than usual. The problem was that Anna both had some measure of common sense and was a lefty.
I had requested lessons in both fencing and archery. Anna had elected to join me. Our instructor was trying to teach us to fight together. At least Lord Elrond had delegated a female elf to instruct us; I doubt Anna would have concentrated on her foil had the instructor been male. As it was, my left hand was tied to her right and we were working on moving together.
I winced and muttered, "idiot! Are you trying to kill me?" We were practicing some basic parries and thrusts. Somehow, she had managed to move her blade so that it caught mine, twisting my right wrist painfully.
"I'm not an idiot! Get off my foot!" I rolled my eyes, but did as instructed. Our lives probably depended on this. I didn't know whether or not I would be killed, but the foreknowledge of Moria had insured my attentiveness. Annoyingly, however, not only was the Man of Gondor frustratingly elusive, I was so exhausted by the end of the day that I could barely work up the strength to think about a visit to Rivendell's extensive library.
At the beginning of last week, Earwing, our instructor, had said in accented Westron, "I cannot make either you masters of weapons; you come too old and with too small time. I shall give you knowledge basic. You two shall be able to defend yourselves. But know, in battle, nothing is just. Use what works. Now, look to yourselves- defend!" Then she had given the two of us a thorough trouncing. I * still* had the yellowish- green bruises. For pity's sake I had bruises on my bruises!
At this week's Morgoth-cursed start, we had been tied together by our weak arms. Her right arm was attached to my left. The leather cord stretched just enough that we should, technically, be both able to defend each other and attack, each guarding the other's weak side. All we had managed to do was drag the other face-down into the dirt. Not to mention the fact that we were tied together all day until we fell, exhausted, into bed. When we had appeared at dinner yesterday, a male elf with a long blond braid had remarked on it to Elrond. Anna and I were led to understand that similar devices had been used on Elrond's sons in the past. For some reason I doubted that Elladan and Elrohir had ever had to endure a meal thus; I was, however, grateful that medieval eating habits prevailed; this would have been too much to endure with fork and knife.
However, for now we were tied together and still wielding our foils. There would be archery practice after lunch when the sun reached its zenith. There would be no unnecessary bystanders- the combined archery blunders of Anna and I ensured practically every arrow went where "no arrow had gone before" - and with our hands tied together it was especially hazardous to stand about twenty feet away from the target in the stands. I turned my attention back to my blade and resumed my attempts to avoid being dragged every which way by Anna.
~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: Well. . . questions? Comments? Reviews, as always, deeply appreciated.
Incidentally, medieval eating habits involved taking your dagger in hand and sawing merrily away. There was the ever-exciting choice of choosing whether to employ dagger or finger in lifting the food to one's mouth.
If anyone can give me an address of an elvish dictionary I will be very grateful. Please?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It had been about two weeks since the council. Things had fallen somewhat into Canon. Although most modern-American-English slang had disappeared, I had also seen Bilbo smoking a pack of cigarettes. I appreciated the cigarettes' stench as much as I ever have- which is to say not at all.
Anna and I had been thoroughly and wretchedly sick from food poisoning the day after we arrived. Although Middle-Earth beings can apparently stomach practically anything, Anna and I had made careful mental notes ensuring that we either boiled our water previously, or drank wine, as per local custom. After the hangover of the third day, I drank my wine very well watered.
On the fourth day I had been extremely stupid. In fact, I had been even more of a numbskull than usual. The problem was that Anna both had some measure of common sense and was a lefty.
I had requested lessons in both fencing and archery. Anna had elected to join me. Our instructor was trying to teach us to fight together. At least Lord Elrond had delegated a female elf to instruct us; I doubt Anna would have concentrated on her foil had the instructor been male. As it was, my left hand was tied to her right and we were working on moving together.
I winced and muttered, "idiot! Are you trying to kill me?" We were practicing some basic parries and thrusts. Somehow, she had managed to move her blade so that it caught mine, twisting my right wrist painfully.
"I'm not an idiot! Get off my foot!" I rolled my eyes, but did as instructed. Our lives probably depended on this. I didn't know whether or not I would be killed, but the foreknowledge of Moria had insured my attentiveness. Annoyingly, however, not only was the Man of Gondor frustratingly elusive, I was so exhausted by the end of the day that I could barely work up the strength to think about a visit to Rivendell's extensive library.
At the beginning of last week, Earwing, our instructor, had said in accented Westron, "I cannot make either you masters of weapons; you come too old and with too small time. I shall give you knowledge basic. You two shall be able to defend yourselves. But know, in battle, nothing is just. Use what works. Now, look to yourselves- defend!" Then she had given the two of us a thorough trouncing. I * still* had the yellowish- green bruises. For pity's sake I had bruises on my bruises!
At this week's Morgoth-cursed start, we had been tied together by our weak arms. Her right arm was attached to my left. The leather cord stretched just enough that we should, technically, be both able to defend each other and attack, each guarding the other's weak side. All we had managed to do was drag the other face-down into the dirt. Not to mention the fact that we were tied together all day until we fell, exhausted, into bed. When we had appeared at dinner yesterday, a male elf with a long blond braid had remarked on it to Elrond. Anna and I were led to understand that similar devices had been used on Elrond's sons in the past. For some reason I doubted that Elladan and Elrohir had ever had to endure a meal thus; I was, however, grateful that medieval eating habits prevailed; this would have been too much to endure with fork and knife.
However, for now we were tied together and still wielding our foils. There would be archery practice after lunch when the sun reached its zenith. There would be no unnecessary bystanders- the combined archery blunders of Anna and I ensured practically every arrow went where "no arrow had gone before" - and with our hands tied together it was especially hazardous to stand about twenty feet away from the target in the stands. I turned my attention back to my blade and resumed my attempts to avoid being dragged every which way by Anna.
~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: Well. . . questions? Comments? Reviews, as always, deeply appreciated.
Incidentally, medieval eating habits involved taking your dagger in hand and sawing merrily away. There was the ever-exciting choice of choosing whether to employ dagger or finger in lifting the food to one's mouth.