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Part 6 - Conflict
By the time Haldir and Ferodir reached the archery field, Amarië was nowhere to be seen. Haldir had expected her to follow him and watch, as she had watched their swordplay, but she had not. He was disappointed, both with her and with himself for not making sure she knew that he desired her company. He had planned to offer her the use of a Galadhric bow after he finished his session with Ferodir. In fact, he had been looking forward to seeing the expression on her face when he handed it to her.
"Why did she leave?" Ferodir asked in a curious voice.
"I know not. Do you?" Haldir cast the dark-haired elf a probing look.
"Nay, I only read thoughts by happenstance, not by choice, and rarely when it would be convenient. I knew only that she wished to wipe the blood from your face. Rather sweet, I thought it."
Haldir made no comment. He was still amazed that she had done it, and even more by the fact that he had liked it so much. Under normal circumstances he did not allow anyone, male or female, to tend to his injuries, especially one so trivial as a bloodied nose. Yet he had actually enjoyed her looking after him as though he were unable to care for himself. He had taken pleasure in the touch of her fingers, in the careful way she had avoided pressing too hard as though she feared to hurt him. As though she cared about him. Perhaps he should not have said what he had regarding her sleeping habits. Tact was not one of his stronger attributes.
He looked again at Ferodir. "How is it you were able to read her thoughts when you cannot speak her tongue?"
"You forget, words are only one of an empath's tools. I also see images and feel emotions." Ferodir shrugged. "It only happens occasionally, and never for any obvious reason. In fact, I don't think I've ever picked up any of your thoughts. Sometimes I have felt your anger, but never its cause. And frankly that is fine with me."
"Being an empath sounds more a curse than a blessing," Haldir remarked as he pulled an arrow from his quiver and set it into the nock. "I do not desire to have my thoughts read by you or anyone. It is disturbing enough when the Lady does it."
"Do you think you should go after her?" Ferodir gazed off at the target in the distance.
"After Amarië?" Haldir frowned, considering this. "I am not her keeper. Had she wished for my company, she would have remained here."
Ferodir smiled. "Oh, come, you should know better than that. Ladies like to be pursued. Take my word for it."
"Amarië is not like the ladies of your acquaintance. She would not thank me for hounding her steps."
"Perhaps not. You know her better than I do." Ferodir glanced playfully at Haldir. "Have you had her?"
The careless question caught Haldir by surprise. He lowered his bow, and turned to give the other elf a frowning look. "I do not think that is any of your concern," he said haughtily.
"Of course it is not. I merely thought to observe your response, which reveals the answer to my question." Ferodir grinned. "You are sorely in need of the easing that only a lovely female can provide. Why do you not select another? There are many who would be only too glad to accommodate the handsome Captain of the Galadhrim."
For an instant, Haldir considered the advice, and found the thought of taking any other female to his bed to be unexpectedly unpalatable. It was only Amarië he wanted. He knew this, only he was trying not to think about it. It was a thought he would definitely dwell upon all too much later, when he was alone.
"Ferodir," he said with strained good humor, "are we going to have this contest between us or not? I am uninterested in discussing my personal needs with you."
"Oh, certainly," the other elf agreed, his smile amiable. "Let us begin."
#
By the time Amarië reached her talan, she was beginning to feel a little foolish for getting so irate. Haldir had only been seeking to protect her, though who he sought to protect her from was unclear. If she were honest with herself, the idea that he had observed her unclad did not trouble her as much as she at first thought. Of course it was embarrassing, but it was her own fault, and when all was said and done, he had only been offering advice. Hadn't he?
She shivered in the growing darkness, wondering how long he had looked at her, and just how much he had seen. A glimpse? Or much more? Had he found her pleasing? Did he think she was wanton, free with her favors? If he did, she could hardly blame him after the way she had behaved.
A light tap on her door interrupted these unsettling thoughts. It was Lornarië, who had come to see if Amarië would care to bathe again. Amarië noticed that the tub had been refilled during her absence.
"A simple spell will warm the water," the pretty blonde elf told her, adding with a smile, "So you are Lord Celeborn's granddaughter. Such a surprise, to hear this news. It certainly explains much."
"I hope you are not angry that I did not tell you."
"Nay, why should I be? We did not know each other, and still do not. I hope we will become friends. It is very pleasant to meet someone new."
"I share that hope," Amarië said sincerely . "And yes, a bath would be most welcome."
Lornarië went to the tub and murmured softly, stirring the water gently with the tips of her fingers. "There, it is warm now. While you were out, I put several more gowns in the wardrobe, gifts from the Lord and Lady. I hope you will find them to your liking. And here is a special, sweetly scented soap for your hair."
Lornarië fussed over Amarië, assisted in the washing of her hair, then stepped back with a smile. "I will be back in a short while to help you dress for dinner. The Lady and Lord have requested that you dine with them."
"Oh!" Amarië blinked, absorbing this. "Very well, but you will pamper me with so much attention. Believe me, I am unused to having anyone help me dress. Which reminds me, whatever became of my other clothes? The ones I arrived in?"
"They have been washed and mended, Lady Amarië. I put them in your wardrobe just a short while ago. I trust you will not wear them to the dinner, however." With a smile and a fluttering wave of her hand, Lornarië flitted from the room.
Amarië lay back in the shallow tub, wishing it were a little deeper. Lady Amarië, indeed. Already she was growing spoiled, she thought with a grimace. And how ridiculous to complain because her bare knees stuck up out of the water. Her eyes went to her thigh, where the Orc had slashed it. The wound had closed and looked much better, but she would doubtless have a nasty scar. It was regrettable, but it mattered not.
Sighing, she shut her eyes. Despite her intention to relax, her thoughts drifted at once into unsafe channels, threatening to tumble the self-protective barriers she had been holding in place with no more than stubbornness and iron will. A kaleidoscope of images tumbled in her head- Haldir's lips pressed to hers, the flash of a scimitar, blood on his face, that boyish smile, his battle-hardened muscles beneath her palms, and that soft, sensual moan he had given when she had stroked the tip of his elven ear. That last was the most perilous memory at all, for it awoke in her an answering burn that was slowly consuming her from the inside out.
Dangerous thoughts, madness to dwell on them. But what else could she do? It seemed she lacked the power to banish them. With a desolate sigh, she opened her eyes and climbed out of the tub, wrapping the white drying cloth around her torso. As she squeezed the water from her hair, another light tap on the door indicated the elf maiden's return.
"Enter," Amarië called out, her back to the door. She heard the door open. "Your arrival is well-timed," she added, looking in vain for another drying cloth to use on her hair.
"Indeed," Haldir answered, his voice amused. "I'm not sure I know how to take that."
Amarië gasped and whirled around, clutching the cloth to her breasts. At best, its length covered her only to the top of her thighs. "You! What are you doing here?"
He closed the door and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his solid chest. He was not actually smiling, but his eyes held a lazy glitter as they wandered over her. "I came to speak to you. Are you quite certain this is a good time?"
"No, it is not, as you can very well see!" she said crossly. "You take delight in embarrassing me. I thought you were Lornarië."
"Well, I am not." His eyes roved over her, lingering on her thigh. "I would heal that further so you do not have a scar."
"What is wrong with a scar?" she demanded. "Why does it trouble you?"
"It would be my choice to erase all traces of the evil creature that caused it. I would prefer to see only your smooth unmarred flesh."
"You are presumptuous," she told him with a lifted chin. Then she sighed. "And yet you have a point, for I would erase the memory as well. You can do this for me?"
"Yes." Haldir unfolded his arms, and took a step closer. "But I will have to touch you. Are you still angry with me?"
"What makes you think I was angry?"
"You left," he answered simply.
She lowered her gaze, overcome with an unexpected, absurd shyness. "I am not angry now. What must I do?"
"Sit down. I will do the rest."
Hugging the drying cloth close to her body, Amarië went and sat on the edge of the bed. Haldir sat down beside her and placed his hand over the length of the wound. Immediately, she could feel a strong heat emanating from his palm. She kept her gaze on his hand as he began to murmur Elvish phrases, mysterious and archaic, perhaps from some early form of the language with which she was unfamiliar. Her skin tingled where he touched her-a different kind of tingling than the rest of her was experiencing just from feeling the pressure of his hand on her thigh. To sit there beside him, nearly naked, knowing that all he had to do was pull the cloth away, knowing she could do nothing to prevent him . . . it was all she could do to keep from jumping out of her skin. She bit her lip, her lashes lowered, feeling more vulnerable than she had ever felt in her life.
Lornarië chose that moment to return, her arms laden with clean chemises and drying clothes. "Oh!" She stopped with one foot inside the room, her mouth hanging open.
Haldir glanced at her. "I'm completing her healing so there will be no scar. You may enter."
"Certainly, Haldir. I am glad you are seeing to it, for your skill goes far beyond mine. I told her I thought it should be done." Lornarië set the items on a chair, adding tactfully, "I'll be back in a few minutes. Or longer, if you like."
Haldir rose to his feet. "There is no need for you to leave. I am finished here." He walked over to the door, then glanced back at Amarië as he opened it. "If you wish to speak to me, I will be at the base of the city, awaiting the arrival of my brothers."
And he was gone.
"Oh, I am sorry!" Lornarië exclaimed with a giggle. "If only I had not come in. You must be so annoyed with me."
"I am greatly relieved you returned when you did," Amarië corrected in great embarrassment. "I do not even know why he came here. He never said."
"Perhaps he will tell you later," Lornarië said with a grin, "since he took the trouble to tell you where you could find him."
Amarië shrugged in a futile effort to be nonchalant. "Perhaps."
#
Haldir reached his chamber, shut the door, and leaned against it, exhaling a long, frustrated breath. Never in his life had he been so tempted to seduce a female. He could have done it, he knew. He was skilled in such matters. It would have been a simple matter to use that skill, to exercise his expertise in an area in which all elves excelled.
Ever since he had learned of Amarië's elven blood, he had thought of nothing except that now he could allow himself to bed her. Very likely he would have done so if Lornarië had not shown up when she had. Once the healing had been completed, he would have kissed the soft skin beneath her beautiful hair, wrapped his arm around her slim waist, coaxed her down upon the bed, spreading kisses downward . . .
Perhaps.
Or perhaps not, for as much as he wanted her, he also did not want to risk hurting her. Why did she have this effect on him? Should he yield to it or fight it? He did not know which would be the wiser course of action.
He would have to decide, and very soon, for his yearning for her had increased tenfold since this morning. Now that he had actually tasted her, touched her, felt her quiver in response . . . was there any turning back? Perhaps he should never have kissed her in the first place. It may well have been a grave mistake, one he would pay for in the days to come. He would not be suffering so much now if he had simply used his much-renowned self-restraint. How Rúmil and Orophin would have laughed.
Shaking his head with self-disgust, he stripped off his clothes, and walked over to his own bathing tub, already filled and waiting for him as he had requested. Quickly, he heated the water to his liking and climbed in, prepared to relax before he had to meet with his brothers and the mortals. Surely they would arrive soon, although the transport of the wounded men would slow them down. It was unfortunate that humans healed so much more slowly than elves.
Draping his long hair over the outside edge of the tub, he sank into the water, enjoying this rare chance to enjoy one of life's little pleasures. At the same time, it made him think of her again. At his age, he ought not to be thrown into such turmoil over a pretty face. He was unused to feeling such conflict within himself. Always he knew what he wanted. Always was he decisive, sure of himself and his instincts. Why should that change? Why was it different with Amarië?
He had gone to her room to discover whether she was angry and whether he had given her just cause to feel so. As an excuse, he had been going to invite her to come and try that Galadhrim bow. If she had accepted his invitation, he had also thought to teach her a few words in Elvish, which would provide an opportunity for both education and pleasure. And then he had seen her wrapped in that tiny bit of cloth, and all else had flown from his mind . . . .
With a grimace, he realized that he should have left the water cold; this line of thought was causing him considerable discomfort. He finished washing, dried himself and quickly dressed, this time exerting his accustomed self-discipline to subdue the result of his lustful thoughts. Then he strapped his sword to his waist, picked up his bow and quiver, and left the room. He would go and await the arrival of his brothers. Sooner or later, he had no doubt that Amarië would make an appearance. At least she would be wearing clothes.
#
The moon shone high in the sky by the time Rúmil and Orophin led the group into Caras Galadhon. The men were weary of travel, and the elves were weary of the men. Not that the humans had complained all that much, once Rúmil had managed to make them understand what was happening. The one called Ennis held some small kind of authority over the rest, though neither Rúmil nor Orophin could see that they were much in the habit of obedience.
Thankfully, Haldir met them as they brought their ragged assembly of mortals to the designated meeting area. The men had taken turns carrying the litters, which they set down carefully and gently in the place they were directed. The two wounded men had made progress, and both still slept, thanks to elven enchantments that woke them only occasionally to see to basic needs.
"You did well," Haldir told his brothers. "Any trouble?"
"None to mention," Rúmil replied. "But that one," he nodded toward a large, burly fellow with a red beard, "has it in him to be a problem. I would watch him more closely than the others. The rest are fairly passive, like young sheep easily herded."
"Why are they here?" Orophin asked. "That's what we all want to know." His gesture encompassed the other five elves they had chosen to accompany them.
Haldir took in their selection with a slight frown, but made no comment. "They are here to be trained. We will spend the next few weeks teaching them basic warfare."
Rúmil and Orophin stared at him, then at each other. "Basic warfare? In a few weeks?"
Haldir scowled at them. "That is what I said. Do you question me?"
Rúmil feigned a bow. "As your soldier, I do not, but as your brother . . ." He let out a laugh. "Have you lost your mind?"
Orophin cleared his throat meaningfully. "Rúmil."
Rúmil glanced at him. "Oh. I beg your pardon, Haldir. We do not question you."
Haldir eyed them with growing suspicion. "Why do I not believe you?"
Rúmil and Orophin gazed at him, saying nothing.
"Why do you look at me like that?" Haldir demanded.
"Are we looking at you?" Orophin asked innocently. "It is only that we have sorely missed your companionship."
Haldir looked pained. "Ah, I understand. This is about your wager."
"What wager?" Rúmil said quickly.
"These men need rest," Orophin inserted. "Let us not discuss this now. You had better speak to them in their own tongue, Haldir, and set them at their ease."
Haldir sighed, knowing that now was not the time to take his brothers to task for bandying Amarië's name about in a disrespectful fashion. He motioned to Ennis, saying, "Here is where you will take your rest. Food will be brought to you. As you see, there are comfortable recesses set into the roots of our great mellryn trees. You are safe here so do not feel you must keep your weapons close. Our borders are well-protected, and no one here will threaten you. You will, however, remain in this area. None of you are permitted to ascend the stairs of our city. All our training areas are on the ground level so this should not be an issue. Any questions?"
"Yes. Where is my sister?" Ennis asked.
Haldir favored the unfriendly young human with an assessing look. "To the best of my knowledge, she has been dining with Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel this evening. I expect she will be here presently to greet you."
"She is well then?" His piercing blue eyes fixed hard on Haldir's face.
"She is well," Haldir replied. He caught a movement off to his left, a shimmer of white that warned of her approach. "In fact," he added dryly, "she is here."
#
As Amarië descended the last of the steps, she realized that all eyes, elven and human, had shifted to watch her approach. All were silent, save for Ennis, whose eyes roved over her more critically than the rest.
"Hail, sister," he said, walking toward her, his gaze scanning her rich clothing. "It seems you were successful in your mission, for here we all stand, deep in the heart of Lothlórien. I trust you had no difficulty?"
She halted, knowing what question lay behind his words. "Nay, Ennis, none at all. How are the wounded men?"
Ennis frowned. "Well enough, I think, though they are still entranced by spells."
"You will rest now," Haldir said, stepping forward as though to intervene with this objection. "I have ordered food to be brought for any who wish it. Your wounded will continue to be tended. We will start your training early tomorrow."
"Very well." Ennis seemed content, yet still he hesitated. "I would speak to my sister alone."
Haldir nodded and walked away, motioning with his hand for the other elves to follow.
Ennis gripped her arm, pulling her off to the side. "He accepted you then? This elf lord is truly your grandfather?"
"Yes, he accepted me," she said. "I am being treated far better than I could ever have imagined."
"What of that one?" he asked, motioning with his head in Haldir's direction. "He seems to have great authority here. That does not extend to you, I trust?"
"Haldir has no authority over me unless it is when he is teaching me. You cannot imagine the level of his skill. All of us could learn so much from him, and doubtless from these others. You must be sure to take advantage of it, for I know not how long they will allow us to importune upon their hospitality."
"Aye." Ennis sighed, then cast Haldir a rather worried look. "As long as his teachings to you do not extend beyond the archery range."
"You must not speak like that," she countered, rather angrily. "What would you have me do? Spend the rest of my life alone? You know I belong not in the world of Men. These elves have accepted me. Eventually it is conceivable that one of them will want me, perhaps even love me, in a way I have not yet experienced. Do you expect me to turn that down?"
He gazed at her, his eyes filled with dismay. "Nay, but you do not yet know their ways. I have always heard that elves are lusty and careless. Look at our mother. All my childhood she was distant, never herself, never whole. And all because of an elf."
She heard his pain, but they had spoken of this many times before. "I will not discuss this with you now, Ennis, when you are weary."
"You are right." He shoved his hand through his hair, his face etched with fatigue. "Then you will be here in the morning?"
"I will be here," she assured him. "And all will be well. Good night, my dear. Rest well."
She turned to go, nodding at the seventeen men still standing, watching her with dark and hungry eyes. Long had they been without their women, she realized. And none of them had ever really liked her very much.
The large one with the red beard had always been the worst. A good fighter, with potential, but superstitious and wary of anything he deemed unnatural. He had always been the one most likely to mutter imprecations beneath his breath. Witch, he had often called her, though never within her brother's hearing.
Not so now. Tonight his eyes crawled over her, and another word came from his mouth, very soft and menacing, yet it carried easily to her ears.
Whore.
#
The jagged word echoed off the dim walls of her dreams, coiling around her throat, cutting her with its malice. They did not understand . . . how could they?
No one knew.
Bright soothing light, shining down upon her face, blinding her, pulling her to safety far beyond the dragon's bladed tooth.
Where am I? Who is here with me?
A hand upon her arm, tender and loving, a drop of sunshine spilling on her cheek.
Cormamin lindua ele lle, a'maelamin tinuamin.
This time she touched him, felt the warmth of his hand, lifted her fingers to his long, silken hair. So fair was he, her father. So fair and so beloved.
You must come higher. Try.
His hands drew her gently. They floated into colors, melting rainbows of sensation, rich in taste and hue. A little easier this time. So soft and sweetly scented.
Another voice, familiar. Amarië, where are you?
His soul bared, his pride lanced. Shadows, rising blood.
The bladed tooth bit near.
He will call to you. You must be ready. This is the only way.
Silver sounds, a chiming in the distance. She could not go that far.
Sapphire eyes, filling the infinite well of the horizon. I, too, will call you," she warns. Learn while you can and face your truth.
Her father's lips upon her brow.
Be strong. Hear my words. Here is the lesson . . .
#
Amarië awoke with a start. It was dark, clearly still the night, and the remnants of the dream yet lingered in her mind. The bladed tooth. It was all she could remember, but for some reason that small phrase frightened her.
Before she could reflect upon it, she realized what had awakened her. Voices, blending in perfect harmony, creating a song of such haunting beauty it brought tears to her eyes. Slipping from between the sheets, she crossed the room and opened the door to stand outside upon the balcony. The song was exquisite, like poetry woven from the fabric of the stars.
Listening closely, she began to pick out the elven words and realized that this was what Haldir had spoken of when they had discussed the burial of the five slain men. The sweet, clear voices sang a lament for the dead, honoring the mortal men in what she could only assume to be some sort of elven ritual or ceremony. The men should hear it from their position near the base of the trees. She hoped someone would tell them what it meant.
Quite suddenly, she felt lonely and bereft. Without conscious intent, her gaze wandered upward toward the rooms she knew were his. All was dark. Was he there? Did he listen as she listened? Was he lying on his bed? Or did he stand motionless in the dark, gazing down at her with that finely tuned elven eyesight? Did he see her here, with her thin white nightgown fluttering in the cool night breeze?
Did he think of her at all?
Such a fancy! As though an elf of his rank and stature had nothing better to do with his time. Very likely he was resting or spending time with a friend. And yet the urge to go and see him was so strong, so potent, that she could literally feel her body tremble. What would he say if she went to him? Would he stretch out his arms and welcome her? Or would he frown at her, demand to know what she thought she was doing?
She dared not go. Her spirit was still too fragile, too easily wounded. She would rather face a hundred Orcs than suffer another of Haldir's rejections.
Knowing herself for a coward, she returned to her bed, but it was a long time before she found rest. Even her dreams left her alone.
#
In the morning, she donned the leggings and tunic she had arrived in and braided her hair, something she had not done for several days. The elegant clothing Galadriel had provided was inappropriate for training purposes, not to mention that it would inflame the negative attitude the men felt toward her. Since they had no idea why the elves had accepted her, or given her such garments to wear, they had without question arrived at the only other logical conclusion. They may not have had the courage to say it to Ennis, but she knew very well what they were saying and thinking about her. However, she told herself that she cared nothing for their good opinion. What mattered was that they learned the skills they needed, and returned to their people to make good use of those skills.
When she reached the practice area, the men were already assembled. Haldir and his brothers were there, and five others, several of which she recognized from the battle with the Orcs. To her surprise, Ferodir had also shown up, though from his clothing, it did not appear that he would be participating. All turned and looked at her as she strode over the grass in their direction.
Ignoring the stares, she went and stood by Ennis, curious to see how Haldir would organize matters. At this point in time, she was unsure whether she would be receiving training or giving it. Haldir had said she could help, but she did not know whether any of the men would heed her, especially in front of the elves. Never before had anyone but Ennis showed interest in learning from her, a mere woman. Though she had saved some of them from death during their journey, she knew very well that they resented it.
Haldir began by breaking the men into groups to test their current level of skill, first with the bow, then the sword. Amarië was a little startled by the low murmurs of the elves while this occurred. Though they spoke softly, she could hear a few disparaging remarks concerning the men's abilities. Even Rúmil and Orophin seemed to find the mortals amusing, though they hid their amusement somewhat better than the rest. Few of the men performed well, suggesting that they were finding themselves intimidated by the tall, graceful elven archers who were so obviously their superiors.
Haldir next divided them into groups. Ennis had performed better than any of them, and to her delight, Haldir decided to work with Ennis alone. The others were divided up among the other elves according to performance. To Amarië's surprise, Ferodir was assigned to work with her on her swordplay.
Ferodir gave her a bow and smile. "I am unused to fighting anyone as lovely as you," he said, "and will consider it an honor." Of course he said it in Elvish, so she was forced to simply smile and look confused.
No words were necessary for what Ferodir had in mind. He handed her a gleaming, razor-sharp scimitar and cocked a dark eyebrow in challenge. A little nervous, she gripped it tightly, hoping he would not use the full force of his formidable skill against her, yet eager to learn from one with such proficiency.
She need not have worried, for although he was many times her superior in skill, his ability to instruct matched his ability to fight. As their swords flashed and clashed in a scraping of metal, Ferodir maintained a fine line between challenging her and treating her with gallantry. At least three times his scimitar should have sliced her open, but each time his quick reflexes and controlled strength halted the progression of his blade. Each time, he gave her one of his rakish grins and then resumed, giving her still more opportunities to learn under his expert tutelage. Never had she enjoyed fighting with swords as much as she did this day, even though her weapon did not once come close to cutting even a single thread in Ferodir's ornate tunic.
Eventually, she began to tire, the effort of holding the sword loosely enough to control her swings causing them to become erratic. She saw Ferodir smile as he lunged forward; she raised her sword to block, but her aching arm went numb from the force of his stroke. She staggered back, almost falling, her breath coming in great gasps. Clearly enjoying himself, Ferodir pursued, his weapon whirling toward her more quickly than it had before. She swung the scimitar in a rapid parry, but it went wide, missing him as the force of her swing spun her around. Again, she stumbled, this time tumbling to the ground. Playfully, the dark-haired elf put the tip of his weapon under her chin, an inch from her throat.
"Do you yield to me, sweet lady?" he asked, laughing softly.
The bladed tooth.
Without warning, the frightening phrase blasted through her mind, wiping the answering smile from her face.
Ferodir gave her a peculiar look. Lowering his weapon, he stepped back, and with a gesture indicated that it was time to pause and rest. Yet he continued to watch her, his brilliant blue eyes fixed on her face as if he found her fascinating.
She shook her head and rose, trying to remove the disturbing words from her mind. What did they mean? And why did that phrase come to her just at this moment?
Ignoring Ferodir, she returned her attention to the elves and men, and realized that the joking had escalated. Dismayed, she approached the nearest group of elves, eavesdropping on the conversation the humans could not understand.
"That one," murmured one elf, "is so slow that I could compose a poem in the time it takes for him to swing his sword."
"They are all slow and stupid," another scoffed. "The red-haired one is like a great bull, raging and clumsy, with a brain the size of a pebble. Our skill is wasted on him."
"Wasted on all of them. They can barely move their feet."
"They move like ents," chortled another, a remark greeted by elvish snickering.
And so it went. She moved on to the second group, which included Rúmil and Orophin. At the moment Rúmil was working with the youngest of the men, an eighteen-year-old named Angus, an apprentice to a blacksmith. His face was red and sweaty, but he was trying very hard to keep up with Rúmil. To his credit, Rúmil was not smiling, and seemed to be attempting to take the young man seriously. But just when she decided this, Angus slipped and fell backward to land on his rump, and Rúmil's mouth betrayed him.
The third group stood a short distance away on the archery range. Three elves were attempting to have the men hit some of the closer targets. She knew for a fact that three of these men had never touched a bow, for each preferred close-range combat with a sword. One of the elves had turned away, occupied with laughter so great his shoulders shook. The mouths of the other two were twitching in obvious amusement as they tried to show the poor man how to stand and hold the arrow.
Anger swelled in her chest, an anger so great she could scarcely contain it. She would speak to Haldir! He would know what to do, what to say, to make his soldiers take this seriously. She stalked over in the March Warden's direction, but he and Ennis were engaged, their swords clashing as they circled each other. Ennis appeared to be holding his own, she noticed proudly. This was no time to interrupt.
Frustrated, she walked back toward Ferodir, who stood watching her with his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze was speculative and faintly ironic, almost as though he knew what was going on in her head. She frowned at him, then started to pace, paying closer heed to the nearest group of elves.
This was turning into a farce! Even the men realized they were being mocked, even without understanding the words. The elves were joking amongst themselves, making insulting wagers and jests while the men struggled to keep up with them. Haldir did not yet realize what was going on. Granted, she was pleased he was spending time with Ennis, explaining to her brother exactly what he needed to do to develop his skill while patiently demonstrating the various techniques. But still-!
Her temper hanging by a thread, she returned to where Rúmil and Orophin stood, watching a third elf work with one of the other men, a slender fellow named Aden, who until recently had been a farmer by profession. Right now poor Aden looked miserable and embarrassed as he attempted to acquit himself with his dignity intact.
"Come on, mortal," taunted the elf, "are you asleep? Wake up and fight! Ah, you fight like a child."
Fury swept through Amarië. This had to stop! If Haldir was not going to do it, then she would. This charade had gone on long enough!
She squared her shoulders and for some reason looked at Ferodir. His expression was inscrutable, but his eyes gleamed. She looked away and took a deep breath.
"Daro!" she shouted in her loudest voice.
All activity came to a dead halt.
She gazed around at their startled faces, but did not dare to look at Haldir.
In fluent Elvish, she continued, "You sons of Orcs, you ought to be ashamed of yourselves! This is no laughing matter!" She pointed an accusing finger at the nearest elf. "You joke and jest and think yourselves so amusing, but you are not! To these men, this is a life and death affair! Many of them have seen their families slaughtered, their crops and homes destroyed!"
She turned to Rúmil, glaring at him. "That boy who amused you so much, he came home one day to find his mother slain, his young sister raped and left for dead. He found his father's head set upon a pike in a nearby field. Does this amuse you? Does it?"
Dimly, she knew her voice had grown shrill and that she was shaking from head to foot. Still they looked at her, all those beautiful elves, but shock had now replaced the laughter in their eyes. Even the men looked shocked.
"Amarië, calm yourself." It was Ennis who spoke.
But it was not Ennis's hand that caught her arm in an iron grip.
"Come with me now and do not argue." The command was uttered in Elvish, the voice like winter ice.
She risked a glance at Haldir's face and knew at once the scale of his anger. Her throat tightened with the knowledge that he was at least as furious as she had been, perhaps much more, and that fury was aimed at her.
And she was suddenly afraid.
[FEEDBACK GREATLY APPRECIATED]
Again, thanks so much for reading and letting me know your thoughts. Keep reading, please! It gets better!!! Feedback is always appreciated!
~*~
Part 6 - Conflict
By the time Haldir and Ferodir reached the archery field, Amarië was nowhere to be seen. Haldir had expected her to follow him and watch, as she had watched their swordplay, but she had not. He was disappointed, both with her and with himself for not making sure she knew that he desired her company. He had planned to offer her the use of a Galadhric bow after he finished his session with Ferodir. In fact, he had been looking forward to seeing the expression on her face when he handed it to her.
"Why did she leave?" Ferodir asked in a curious voice.
"I know not. Do you?" Haldir cast the dark-haired elf a probing look.
"Nay, I only read thoughts by happenstance, not by choice, and rarely when it would be convenient. I knew only that she wished to wipe the blood from your face. Rather sweet, I thought it."
Haldir made no comment. He was still amazed that she had done it, and even more by the fact that he had liked it so much. Under normal circumstances he did not allow anyone, male or female, to tend to his injuries, especially one so trivial as a bloodied nose. Yet he had actually enjoyed her looking after him as though he were unable to care for himself. He had taken pleasure in the touch of her fingers, in the careful way she had avoided pressing too hard as though she feared to hurt him. As though she cared about him. Perhaps he should not have said what he had regarding her sleeping habits. Tact was not one of his stronger attributes.
He looked again at Ferodir. "How is it you were able to read her thoughts when you cannot speak her tongue?"
"You forget, words are only one of an empath's tools. I also see images and feel emotions." Ferodir shrugged. "It only happens occasionally, and never for any obvious reason. In fact, I don't think I've ever picked up any of your thoughts. Sometimes I have felt your anger, but never its cause. And frankly that is fine with me."
"Being an empath sounds more a curse than a blessing," Haldir remarked as he pulled an arrow from his quiver and set it into the nock. "I do not desire to have my thoughts read by you or anyone. It is disturbing enough when the Lady does it."
"Do you think you should go after her?" Ferodir gazed off at the target in the distance.
"After Amarië?" Haldir frowned, considering this. "I am not her keeper. Had she wished for my company, she would have remained here."
Ferodir smiled. "Oh, come, you should know better than that. Ladies like to be pursued. Take my word for it."
"Amarië is not like the ladies of your acquaintance. She would not thank me for hounding her steps."
"Perhaps not. You know her better than I do." Ferodir glanced playfully at Haldir. "Have you had her?"
The careless question caught Haldir by surprise. He lowered his bow, and turned to give the other elf a frowning look. "I do not think that is any of your concern," he said haughtily.
"Of course it is not. I merely thought to observe your response, which reveals the answer to my question." Ferodir grinned. "You are sorely in need of the easing that only a lovely female can provide. Why do you not select another? There are many who would be only too glad to accommodate the handsome Captain of the Galadhrim."
For an instant, Haldir considered the advice, and found the thought of taking any other female to his bed to be unexpectedly unpalatable. It was only Amarië he wanted. He knew this, only he was trying not to think about it. It was a thought he would definitely dwell upon all too much later, when he was alone.
"Ferodir," he said with strained good humor, "are we going to have this contest between us or not? I am uninterested in discussing my personal needs with you."
"Oh, certainly," the other elf agreed, his smile amiable. "Let us begin."
#
By the time Amarië reached her talan, she was beginning to feel a little foolish for getting so irate. Haldir had only been seeking to protect her, though who he sought to protect her from was unclear. If she were honest with herself, the idea that he had observed her unclad did not trouble her as much as she at first thought. Of course it was embarrassing, but it was her own fault, and when all was said and done, he had only been offering advice. Hadn't he?
She shivered in the growing darkness, wondering how long he had looked at her, and just how much he had seen. A glimpse? Or much more? Had he found her pleasing? Did he think she was wanton, free with her favors? If he did, she could hardly blame him after the way she had behaved.
A light tap on her door interrupted these unsettling thoughts. It was Lornarië, who had come to see if Amarië would care to bathe again. Amarië noticed that the tub had been refilled during her absence.
"A simple spell will warm the water," the pretty blonde elf told her, adding with a smile, "So you are Lord Celeborn's granddaughter. Such a surprise, to hear this news. It certainly explains much."
"I hope you are not angry that I did not tell you."
"Nay, why should I be? We did not know each other, and still do not. I hope we will become friends. It is very pleasant to meet someone new."
"I share that hope," Amarië said sincerely . "And yes, a bath would be most welcome."
Lornarië went to the tub and murmured softly, stirring the water gently with the tips of her fingers. "There, it is warm now. While you were out, I put several more gowns in the wardrobe, gifts from the Lord and Lady. I hope you will find them to your liking. And here is a special, sweetly scented soap for your hair."
Lornarië fussed over Amarië, assisted in the washing of her hair, then stepped back with a smile. "I will be back in a short while to help you dress for dinner. The Lady and Lord have requested that you dine with them."
"Oh!" Amarië blinked, absorbing this. "Very well, but you will pamper me with so much attention. Believe me, I am unused to having anyone help me dress. Which reminds me, whatever became of my other clothes? The ones I arrived in?"
"They have been washed and mended, Lady Amarië. I put them in your wardrobe just a short while ago. I trust you will not wear them to the dinner, however." With a smile and a fluttering wave of her hand, Lornarië flitted from the room.
Amarië lay back in the shallow tub, wishing it were a little deeper. Lady Amarië, indeed. Already she was growing spoiled, she thought with a grimace. And how ridiculous to complain because her bare knees stuck up out of the water. Her eyes went to her thigh, where the Orc had slashed it. The wound had closed and looked much better, but she would doubtless have a nasty scar. It was regrettable, but it mattered not.
Sighing, she shut her eyes. Despite her intention to relax, her thoughts drifted at once into unsafe channels, threatening to tumble the self-protective barriers she had been holding in place with no more than stubbornness and iron will. A kaleidoscope of images tumbled in her head- Haldir's lips pressed to hers, the flash of a scimitar, blood on his face, that boyish smile, his battle-hardened muscles beneath her palms, and that soft, sensual moan he had given when she had stroked the tip of his elven ear. That last was the most perilous memory at all, for it awoke in her an answering burn that was slowly consuming her from the inside out.
Dangerous thoughts, madness to dwell on them. But what else could she do? It seemed she lacked the power to banish them. With a desolate sigh, she opened her eyes and climbed out of the tub, wrapping the white drying cloth around her torso. As she squeezed the water from her hair, another light tap on the door indicated the elf maiden's return.
"Enter," Amarië called out, her back to the door. She heard the door open. "Your arrival is well-timed," she added, looking in vain for another drying cloth to use on her hair.
"Indeed," Haldir answered, his voice amused. "I'm not sure I know how to take that."
Amarië gasped and whirled around, clutching the cloth to her breasts. At best, its length covered her only to the top of her thighs. "You! What are you doing here?"
He closed the door and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his solid chest. He was not actually smiling, but his eyes held a lazy glitter as they wandered over her. "I came to speak to you. Are you quite certain this is a good time?"
"No, it is not, as you can very well see!" she said crossly. "You take delight in embarrassing me. I thought you were Lornarië."
"Well, I am not." His eyes roved over her, lingering on her thigh. "I would heal that further so you do not have a scar."
"What is wrong with a scar?" she demanded. "Why does it trouble you?"
"It would be my choice to erase all traces of the evil creature that caused it. I would prefer to see only your smooth unmarred flesh."
"You are presumptuous," she told him with a lifted chin. Then she sighed. "And yet you have a point, for I would erase the memory as well. You can do this for me?"
"Yes." Haldir unfolded his arms, and took a step closer. "But I will have to touch you. Are you still angry with me?"
"What makes you think I was angry?"
"You left," he answered simply.
She lowered her gaze, overcome with an unexpected, absurd shyness. "I am not angry now. What must I do?"
"Sit down. I will do the rest."
Hugging the drying cloth close to her body, Amarië went and sat on the edge of the bed. Haldir sat down beside her and placed his hand over the length of the wound. Immediately, she could feel a strong heat emanating from his palm. She kept her gaze on his hand as he began to murmur Elvish phrases, mysterious and archaic, perhaps from some early form of the language with which she was unfamiliar. Her skin tingled where he touched her-a different kind of tingling than the rest of her was experiencing just from feeling the pressure of his hand on her thigh. To sit there beside him, nearly naked, knowing that all he had to do was pull the cloth away, knowing she could do nothing to prevent him . . . it was all she could do to keep from jumping out of her skin. She bit her lip, her lashes lowered, feeling more vulnerable than she had ever felt in her life.
Lornarië chose that moment to return, her arms laden with clean chemises and drying clothes. "Oh!" She stopped with one foot inside the room, her mouth hanging open.
Haldir glanced at her. "I'm completing her healing so there will be no scar. You may enter."
"Certainly, Haldir. I am glad you are seeing to it, for your skill goes far beyond mine. I told her I thought it should be done." Lornarië set the items on a chair, adding tactfully, "I'll be back in a few minutes. Or longer, if you like."
Haldir rose to his feet. "There is no need for you to leave. I am finished here." He walked over to the door, then glanced back at Amarië as he opened it. "If you wish to speak to me, I will be at the base of the city, awaiting the arrival of my brothers."
And he was gone.
"Oh, I am sorry!" Lornarië exclaimed with a giggle. "If only I had not come in. You must be so annoyed with me."
"I am greatly relieved you returned when you did," Amarië corrected in great embarrassment. "I do not even know why he came here. He never said."
"Perhaps he will tell you later," Lornarië said with a grin, "since he took the trouble to tell you where you could find him."
Amarië shrugged in a futile effort to be nonchalant. "Perhaps."
#
Haldir reached his chamber, shut the door, and leaned against it, exhaling a long, frustrated breath. Never in his life had he been so tempted to seduce a female. He could have done it, he knew. He was skilled in such matters. It would have been a simple matter to use that skill, to exercise his expertise in an area in which all elves excelled.
Ever since he had learned of Amarië's elven blood, he had thought of nothing except that now he could allow himself to bed her. Very likely he would have done so if Lornarië had not shown up when she had. Once the healing had been completed, he would have kissed the soft skin beneath her beautiful hair, wrapped his arm around her slim waist, coaxed her down upon the bed, spreading kisses downward . . .
Perhaps.
Or perhaps not, for as much as he wanted her, he also did not want to risk hurting her. Why did she have this effect on him? Should he yield to it or fight it? He did not know which would be the wiser course of action.
He would have to decide, and very soon, for his yearning for her had increased tenfold since this morning. Now that he had actually tasted her, touched her, felt her quiver in response . . . was there any turning back? Perhaps he should never have kissed her in the first place. It may well have been a grave mistake, one he would pay for in the days to come. He would not be suffering so much now if he had simply used his much-renowned self-restraint. How Rúmil and Orophin would have laughed.
Shaking his head with self-disgust, he stripped off his clothes, and walked over to his own bathing tub, already filled and waiting for him as he had requested. Quickly, he heated the water to his liking and climbed in, prepared to relax before he had to meet with his brothers and the mortals. Surely they would arrive soon, although the transport of the wounded men would slow them down. It was unfortunate that humans healed so much more slowly than elves.
Draping his long hair over the outside edge of the tub, he sank into the water, enjoying this rare chance to enjoy one of life's little pleasures. At the same time, it made him think of her again. At his age, he ought not to be thrown into such turmoil over a pretty face. He was unused to feeling such conflict within himself. Always he knew what he wanted. Always was he decisive, sure of himself and his instincts. Why should that change? Why was it different with Amarië?
He had gone to her room to discover whether she was angry and whether he had given her just cause to feel so. As an excuse, he had been going to invite her to come and try that Galadhrim bow. If she had accepted his invitation, he had also thought to teach her a few words in Elvish, which would provide an opportunity for both education and pleasure. And then he had seen her wrapped in that tiny bit of cloth, and all else had flown from his mind . . . .
With a grimace, he realized that he should have left the water cold; this line of thought was causing him considerable discomfort. He finished washing, dried himself and quickly dressed, this time exerting his accustomed self-discipline to subdue the result of his lustful thoughts. Then he strapped his sword to his waist, picked up his bow and quiver, and left the room. He would go and await the arrival of his brothers. Sooner or later, he had no doubt that Amarië would make an appearance. At least she would be wearing clothes.
#
The moon shone high in the sky by the time Rúmil and Orophin led the group into Caras Galadhon. The men were weary of travel, and the elves were weary of the men. Not that the humans had complained all that much, once Rúmil had managed to make them understand what was happening. The one called Ennis held some small kind of authority over the rest, though neither Rúmil nor Orophin could see that they were much in the habit of obedience.
Thankfully, Haldir met them as they brought their ragged assembly of mortals to the designated meeting area. The men had taken turns carrying the litters, which they set down carefully and gently in the place they were directed. The two wounded men had made progress, and both still slept, thanks to elven enchantments that woke them only occasionally to see to basic needs.
"You did well," Haldir told his brothers. "Any trouble?"
"None to mention," Rúmil replied. "But that one," he nodded toward a large, burly fellow with a red beard, "has it in him to be a problem. I would watch him more closely than the others. The rest are fairly passive, like young sheep easily herded."
"Why are they here?" Orophin asked. "That's what we all want to know." His gesture encompassed the other five elves they had chosen to accompany them.
Haldir took in their selection with a slight frown, but made no comment. "They are here to be trained. We will spend the next few weeks teaching them basic warfare."
Rúmil and Orophin stared at him, then at each other. "Basic warfare? In a few weeks?"
Haldir scowled at them. "That is what I said. Do you question me?"
Rúmil feigned a bow. "As your soldier, I do not, but as your brother . . ." He let out a laugh. "Have you lost your mind?"
Orophin cleared his throat meaningfully. "Rúmil."
Rúmil glanced at him. "Oh. I beg your pardon, Haldir. We do not question you."
Haldir eyed them with growing suspicion. "Why do I not believe you?"
Rúmil and Orophin gazed at him, saying nothing.
"Why do you look at me like that?" Haldir demanded.
"Are we looking at you?" Orophin asked innocently. "It is only that we have sorely missed your companionship."
Haldir looked pained. "Ah, I understand. This is about your wager."
"What wager?" Rúmil said quickly.
"These men need rest," Orophin inserted. "Let us not discuss this now. You had better speak to them in their own tongue, Haldir, and set them at their ease."
Haldir sighed, knowing that now was not the time to take his brothers to task for bandying Amarië's name about in a disrespectful fashion. He motioned to Ennis, saying, "Here is where you will take your rest. Food will be brought to you. As you see, there are comfortable recesses set into the roots of our great mellryn trees. You are safe here so do not feel you must keep your weapons close. Our borders are well-protected, and no one here will threaten you. You will, however, remain in this area. None of you are permitted to ascend the stairs of our city. All our training areas are on the ground level so this should not be an issue. Any questions?"
"Yes. Where is my sister?" Ennis asked.
Haldir favored the unfriendly young human with an assessing look. "To the best of my knowledge, she has been dining with Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel this evening. I expect she will be here presently to greet you."
"She is well then?" His piercing blue eyes fixed hard on Haldir's face.
"She is well," Haldir replied. He caught a movement off to his left, a shimmer of white that warned of her approach. "In fact," he added dryly, "she is here."
#
As Amarië descended the last of the steps, she realized that all eyes, elven and human, had shifted to watch her approach. All were silent, save for Ennis, whose eyes roved over her more critically than the rest.
"Hail, sister," he said, walking toward her, his gaze scanning her rich clothing. "It seems you were successful in your mission, for here we all stand, deep in the heart of Lothlórien. I trust you had no difficulty?"
She halted, knowing what question lay behind his words. "Nay, Ennis, none at all. How are the wounded men?"
Ennis frowned. "Well enough, I think, though they are still entranced by spells."
"You will rest now," Haldir said, stepping forward as though to intervene with this objection. "I have ordered food to be brought for any who wish it. Your wounded will continue to be tended. We will start your training early tomorrow."
"Very well." Ennis seemed content, yet still he hesitated. "I would speak to my sister alone."
Haldir nodded and walked away, motioning with his hand for the other elves to follow.
Ennis gripped her arm, pulling her off to the side. "He accepted you then? This elf lord is truly your grandfather?"
"Yes, he accepted me," she said. "I am being treated far better than I could ever have imagined."
"What of that one?" he asked, motioning with his head in Haldir's direction. "He seems to have great authority here. That does not extend to you, I trust?"
"Haldir has no authority over me unless it is when he is teaching me. You cannot imagine the level of his skill. All of us could learn so much from him, and doubtless from these others. You must be sure to take advantage of it, for I know not how long they will allow us to importune upon their hospitality."
"Aye." Ennis sighed, then cast Haldir a rather worried look. "As long as his teachings to you do not extend beyond the archery range."
"You must not speak like that," she countered, rather angrily. "What would you have me do? Spend the rest of my life alone? You know I belong not in the world of Men. These elves have accepted me. Eventually it is conceivable that one of them will want me, perhaps even love me, in a way I have not yet experienced. Do you expect me to turn that down?"
He gazed at her, his eyes filled with dismay. "Nay, but you do not yet know their ways. I have always heard that elves are lusty and careless. Look at our mother. All my childhood she was distant, never herself, never whole. And all because of an elf."
She heard his pain, but they had spoken of this many times before. "I will not discuss this with you now, Ennis, when you are weary."
"You are right." He shoved his hand through his hair, his face etched with fatigue. "Then you will be here in the morning?"
"I will be here," she assured him. "And all will be well. Good night, my dear. Rest well."
She turned to go, nodding at the seventeen men still standing, watching her with dark and hungry eyes. Long had they been without their women, she realized. And none of them had ever really liked her very much.
The large one with the red beard had always been the worst. A good fighter, with potential, but superstitious and wary of anything he deemed unnatural. He had always been the one most likely to mutter imprecations beneath his breath. Witch, he had often called her, though never within her brother's hearing.
Not so now. Tonight his eyes crawled over her, and another word came from his mouth, very soft and menacing, yet it carried easily to her ears.
Whore.
#
The jagged word echoed off the dim walls of her dreams, coiling around her throat, cutting her with its malice. They did not understand . . . how could they?
No one knew.
Bright soothing light, shining down upon her face, blinding her, pulling her to safety far beyond the dragon's bladed tooth.
Where am I? Who is here with me?
A hand upon her arm, tender and loving, a drop of sunshine spilling on her cheek.
Cormamin lindua ele lle, a'maelamin tinuamin.
This time she touched him, felt the warmth of his hand, lifted her fingers to his long, silken hair. So fair was he, her father. So fair and so beloved.
You must come higher. Try.
His hands drew her gently. They floated into colors, melting rainbows of sensation, rich in taste and hue. A little easier this time. So soft and sweetly scented.
Another voice, familiar. Amarië, where are you?
His soul bared, his pride lanced. Shadows, rising blood.
The bladed tooth bit near.
He will call to you. You must be ready. This is the only way.
Silver sounds, a chiming in the distance. She could not go that far.
Sapphire eyes, filling the infinite well of the horizon. I, too, will call you," she warns. Learn while you can and face your truth.
Her father's lips upon her brow.
Be strong. Hear my words. Here is the lesson . . .
#
Amarië awoke with a start. It was dark, clearly still the night, and the remnants of the dream yet lingered in her mind. The bladed tooth. It was all she could remember, but for some reason that small phrase frightened her.
Before she could reflect upon it, she realized what had awakened her. Voices, blending in perfect harmony, creating a song of such haunting beauty it brought tears to her eyes. Slipping from between the sheets, she crossed the room and opened the door to stand outside upon the balcony. The song was exquisite, like poetry woven from the fabric of the stars.
Listening closely, she began to pick out the elven words and realized that this was what Haldir had spoken of when they had discussed the burial of the five slain men. The sweet, clear voices sang a lament for the dead, honoring the mortal men in what she could only assume to be some sort of elven ritual or ceremony. The men should hear it from their position near the base of the trees. She hoped someone would tell them what it meant.
Quite suddenly, she felt lonely and bereft. Without conscious intent, her gaze wandered upward toward the rooms she knew were his. All was dark. Was he there? Did he listen as she listened? Was he lying on his bed? Or did he stand motionless in the dark, gazing down at her with that finely tuned elven eyesight? Did he see her here, with her thin white nightgown fluttering in the cool night breeze?
Did he think of her at all?
Such a fancy! As though an elf of his rank and stature had nothing better to do with his time. Very likely he was resting or spending time with a friend. And yet the urge to go and see him was so strong, so potent, that she could literally feel her body tremble. What would he say if she went to him? Would he stretch out his arms and welcome her? Or would he frown at her, demand to know what she thought she was doing?
She dared not go. Her spirit was still too fragile, too easily wounded. She would rather face a hundred Orcs than suffer another of Haldir's rejections.
Knowing herself for a coward, she returned to her bed, but it was a long time before she found rest. Even her dreams left her alone.
#
In the morning, she donned the leggings and tunic she had arrived in and braided her hair, something she had not done for several days. The elegant clothing Galadriel had provided was inappropriate for training purposes, not to mention that it would inflame the negative attitude the men felt toward her. Since they had no idea why the elves had accepted her, or given her such garments to wear, they had without question arrived at the only other logical conclusion. They may not have had the courage to say it to Ennis, but she knew very well what they were saying and thinking about her. However, she told herself that she cared nothing for their good opinion. What mattered was that they learned the skills they needed, and returned to their people to make good use of those skills.
When she reached the practice area, the men were already assembled. Haldir and his brothers were there, and five others, several of which she recognized from the battle with the Orcs. To her surprise, Ferodir had also shown up, though from his clothing, it did not appear that he would be participating. All turned and looked at her as she strode over the grass in their direction.
Ignoring the stares, she went and stood by Ennis, curious to see how Haldir would organize matters. At this point in time, she was unsure whether she would be receiving training or giving it. Haldir had said she could help, but she did not know whether any of the men would heed her, especially in front of the elves. Never before had anyone but Ennis showed interest in learning from her, a mere woman. Though she had saved some of them from death during their journey, she knew very well that they resented it.
Haldir began by breaking the men into groups to test their current level of skill, first with the bow, then the sword. Amarië was a little startled by the low murmurs of the elves while this occurred. Though they spoke softly, she could hear a few disparaging remarks concerning the men's abilities. Even Rúmil and Orophin seemed to find the mortals amusing, though they hid their amusement somewhat better than the rest. Few of the men performed well, suggesting that they were finding themselves intimidated by the tall, graceful elven archers who were so obviously their superiors.
Haldir next divided them into groups. Ennis had performed better than any of them, and to her delight, Haldir decided to work with Ennis alone. The others were divided up among the other elves according to performance. To Amarië's surprise, Ferodir was assigned to work with her on her swordplay.
Ferodir gave her a bow and smile. "I am unused to fighting anyone as lovely as you," he said, "and will consider it an honor." Of course he said it in Elvish, so she was forced to simply smile and look confused.
No words were necessary for what Ferodir had in mind. He handed her a gleaming, razor-sharp scimitar and cocked a dark eyebrow in challenge. A little nervous, she gripped it tightly, hoping he would not use the full force of his formidable skill against her, yet eager to learn from one with such proficiency.
She need not have worried, for although he was many times her superior in skill, his ability to instruct matched his ability to fight. As their swords flashed and clashed in a scraping of metal, Ferodir maintained a fine line between challenging her and treating her with gallantry. At least three times his scimitar should have sliced her open, but each time his quick reflexes and controlled strength halted the progression of his blade. Each time, he gave her one of his rakish grins and then resumed, giving her still more opportunities to learn under his expert tutelage. Never had she enjoyed fighting with swords as much as she did this day, even though her weapon did not once come close to cutting even a single thread in Ferodir's ornate tunic.
Eventually, she began to tire, the effort of holding the sword loosely enough to control her swings causing them to become erratic. She saw Ferodir smile as he lunged forward; she raised her sword to block, but her aching arm went numb from the force of his stroke. She staggered back, almost falling, her breath coming in great gasps. Clearly enjoying himself, Ferodir pursued, his weapon whirling toward her more quickly than it had before. She swung the scimitar in a rapid parry, but it went wide, missing him as the force of her swing spun her around. Again, she stumbled, this time tumbling to the ground. Playfully, the dark-haired elf put the tip of his weapon under her chin, an inch from her throat.
"Do you yield to me, sweet lady?" he asked, laughing softly.
The bladed tooth.
Without warning, the frightening phrase blasted through her mind, wiping the answering smile from her face.
Ferodir gave her a peculiar look. Lowering his weapon, he stepped back, and with a gesture indicated that it was time to pause and rest. Yet he continued to watch her, his brilliant blue eyes fixed on her face as if he found her fascinating.
She shook her head and rose, trying to remove the disturbing words from her mind. What did they mean? And why did that phrase come to her just at this moment?
Ignoring Ferodir, she returned her attention to the elves and men, and realized that the joking had escalated. Dismayed, she approached the nearest group of elves, eavesdropping on the conversation the humans could not understand.
"That one," murmured one elf, "is so slow that I could compose a poem in the time it takes for him to swing his sword."
"They are all slow and stupid," another scoffed. "The red-haired one is like a great bull, raging and clumsy, with a brain the size of a pebble. Our skill is wasted on him."
"Wasted on all of them. They can barely move their feet."
"They move like ents," chortled another, a remark greeted by elvish snickering.
And so it went. She moved on to the second group, which included Rúmil and Orophin. At the moment Rúmil was working with the youngest of the men, an eighteen-year-old named Angus, an apprentice to a blacksmith. His face was red and sweaty, but he was trying very hard to keep up with Rúmil. To his credit, Rúmil was not smiling, and seemed to be attempting to take the young man seriously. But just when she decided this, Angus slipped and fell backward to land on his rump, and Rúmil's mouth betrayed him.
The third group stood a short distance away on the archery range. Three elves were attempting to have the men hit some of the closer targets. She knew for a fact that three of these men had never touched a bow, for each preferred close-range combat with a sword. One of the elves had turned away, occupied with laughter so great his shoulders shook. The mouths of the other two were twitching in obvious amusement as they tried to show the poor man how to stand and hold the arrow.
Anger swelled in her chest, an anger so great she could scarcely contain it. She would speak to Haldir! He would know what to do, what to say, to make his soldiers take this seriously. She stalked over in the March Warden's direction, but he and Ennis were engaged, their swords clashing as they circled each other. Ennis appeared to be holding his own, she noticed proudly. This was no time to interrupt.
Frustrated, she walked back toward Ferodir, who stood watching her with his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze was speculative and faintly ironic, almost as though he knew what was going on in her head. She frowned at him, then started to pace, paying closer heed to the nearest group of elves.
This was turning into a farce! Even the men realized they were being mocked, even without understanding the words. The elves were joking amongst themselves, making insulting wagers and jests while the men struggled to keep up with them. Haldir did not yet realize what was going on. Granted, she was pleased he was spending time with Ennis, explaining to her brother exactly what he needed to do to develop his skill while patiently demonstrating the various techniques. But still-!
Her temper hanging by a thread, she returned to where Rúmil and Orophin stood, watching a third elf work with one of the other men, a slender fellow named Aden, who until recently had been a farmer by profession. Right now poor Aden looked miserable and embarrassed as he attempted to acquit himself with his dignity intact.
"Come on, mortal," taunted the elf, "are you asleep? Wake up and fight! Ah, you fight like a child."
Fury swept through Amarië. This had to stop! If Haldir was not going to do it, then she would. This charade had gone on long enough!
She squared her shoulders and for some reason looked at Ferodir. His expression was inscrutable, but his eyes gleamed. She looked away and took a deep breath.
"Daro!" she shouted in her loudest voice.
All activity came to a dead halt.
She gazed around at their startled faces, but did not dare to look at Haldir.
In fluent Elvish, she continued, "You sons of Orcs, you ought to be ashamed of yourselves! This is no laughing matter!" She pointed an accusing finger at the nearest elf. "You joke and jest and think yourselves so amusing, but you are not! To these men, this is a life and death affair! Many of them have seen their families slaughtered, their crops and homes destroyed!"
She turned to Rúmil, glaring at him. "That boy who amused you so much, he came home one day to find his mother slain, his young sister raped and left for dead. He found his father's head set upon a pike in a nearby field. Does this amuse you? Does it?"
Dimly, she knew her voice had grown shrill and that she was shaking from head to foot. Still they looked at her, all those beautiful elves, but shock had now replaced the laughter in their eyes. Even the men looked shocked.
"Amarië, calm yourself." It was Ennis who spoke.
But it was not Ennis's hand that caught her arm in an iron grip.
"Come with me now and do not argue." The command was uttered in Elvish, the voice like winter ice.
She risked a glance at Haldir's face and knew at once the scale of his anger. Her throat tightened with the knowledge that he was at least as furious as she had been, perhaps much more, and that fury was aimed at her.
And she was suddenly afraid.
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