Chapter Thirty-Five

Trial and Error

Everyone seemed to take the hint, and quieted down after that, getting back to the business of eating and then returning to duty. I ate more than I really wanted, sure that dinner would involve much standing behind the Steward's chair and little eating on my part.

Finished with the meal, everyone dispersed to his different stations. Dorion escaped my wrath by saying that he had duty in the Citadel and decamping, leaving me with Morwen. I felt her eyes on me as I retrieved Celetirmar from behind my seat, and when I turned back, two more figures had joined her, a man and a woman. 'No,' I thought, looking closer, 'two women.' Here stood the only three females I had noticed in the hall.

Morwen introduced them casually, flicking her hand at one, then the other. Ortaine's jet hair threatened to escape its coronet. Lithe and strong, she looked to be much of an age with me, though I hoped my eyes would never grow that wary and hard. I had originally taken Silmarien for male, and this seemed to be the image she wished to project, both with her stance and with the slightly curling black hair shorn at her shoulders. The trio brought Boromir's words to mind: 'Some go openly to war, but it is not required, and they are not many. And some cut their hair and go in secret, in the name of husbands or fathers or brothers. Or sons.'

I nodded affably as both newcomers sized me up. "Good speech," said Silmarien.

"Nice and short," said Ortaine.

"You sounded very like him. Did he teach you to speak like that?" Morwen wanted to know.

I shrugged, choosing my words carefully. "That is hard to say. He taught without knowing that he did so, sometimes without even my knowing." All three women looked at me with eyes half hungry and half envious. It was, I realized, impossible to be under Boromir's command for any length of time without falling in love with him. I had probably fulfilled each woman's fantasy, and none of them liked it, since I was, to quote the man in question: 'a stubborn, dowerless girl in men's dress.' Just like them. Yikes.

My words seemed to mollify them somewhat. I hedged my bets by continuing, "The Lord Steward does not require me at present. Is there some duty I might assist you with? I would not sit idle."

Silmarien's cool green gaze met mine. "No, you are not one to sit idle, I think. Very well." She tapped her lip with a forefinger, glancing at Morwen, who spoke for both.

"We've not enough men even for watch-and-watch on the second level ramparts. I know for a fact that Firion and Ancir have not slept these two days."

Silmarien looked to me. "You and I shall relieve them." Her intonation made the statement a question. I nodded. "Morwen is captain of the wall-top," she explained, jabbing the 'Captain' with a friendly elbow.

"Wait." The three of us turned to Ortaine. She jerked her head at Celetirmar. "You speak as a soldier of Gondor, I would see if you can fight as one."

I swallowed hard. Given a choice between wall patrol and a sparring match against this brittle woman, I would take the wall hands down. But she had thrown down a challenge, and I knew that even the most oblique refusal would lose me face in the eyes of Gondor's soldiery. I searched desperately for a compromise, wondering what Boromir would do.

With a deep breath, I took control of the situation. "What is the time, perhaps an hour after noon?" Morwen answered with a noncommittal nod. "How long do you walk the walls, in one watch?" I asked Silmarien.

She shrugged. "I will begin now and walk until night falls, sup, and then walk until dawn, my lady."

The 'my lady' did not please me, and neither did the hours. I turned to Ortaine. "How many hours have you in which we may spar?" Her reply of 'two hours' was nonchalant and noticeably title-less.

I thought for a moment before nodding at her. "So. We shall have a bout, and then-" I looked to Silmarien. "-I shall find you on the wall. This evening I must go and wait upon my lord Steward, for he has taken me as esquire."

The three women nodded as one, and I ducked my head, trying to shake the feeling that they were acquiescing to my orders. Morwen and Silmarien took themselves off, leaving me with a tense, half-defiant Ortaine. Smiling encouragingly, I motioned toward the doors. "Lead on. I do not know the way."

A smirk of triumph, and she strode out, catching up her own spear on the way. I examined the weapon as we made our way down to the practice yards. It looked heavier than my own, and not as well made, but the blade was sharp, though, which was what mattered.

I tried to plan my approach to this mock duel I'd gotten myself into. Should I let her win, or would she accept me only if I mastered her? Could I win, or even move the match to a draw? Her blade caught the sun, throwing the light back into my eyes. Grimacing, I wondered if a 'friendly' practice match was even wise with such lethal weapons. I had no wish to be carried bleeding before Lord Denethor to explain how I'd gotten that way, nor to give him news that I'd killed or maimed one of his soldiers. I chewed my lip, thinking.

The practice yards occupied much of the third level's northern side; equipment sheds alternated with sawdust- or sand-covered areas. When Ortaine picked one of the latter out, I decided to try giving the orders a bit longer. I let my eyes drift from her weapon to my own, and then whistled quietly. "What shall I say to your commander if I do you an injury, and what report will you make to my lord Steward if you slay me?" I widened my eyes at her. "I am not careful in my blows, striking first and considering the angle of my blade later. I would spar with you, but let us use practice staves, that a misplaced blow may only bruise and not maim. What say you to that?"

Ortaine stared at me, nonplussed. "I say that it is my business to worry where your blows fall, and should you wound me, the hurt is mine to explain, not yours. If you land a blow, my lady," she sneered, "I will deserve the result."

'So much for practice staves.' She wished to test my mettle as well as my skill by treating this as a duel. 'Go to,' I thought grimly, wishing I were neither so tired nor so full. As the challenged party, though, I had a few rights. "First blood only," I specified, as Ortaine back away, spear held ready.

She nodded, face expressionless, before charging to meet me in a press of flesh and metal. I led with the point of my spear, aiming diagonally across her body, aware of the length at my disposal, but also of her lethally gleaming blade.

Busy beating the advance away with her own weapon, she did not have time to counterattack. I drove Celetirmar's haft behind her in an attempt to knock her off balance with a blow to the back of her legs. I did not work exactly as I had planned.

She spun her spear to push away my strike, using the momentum to bash me in the side of the head with her spear butt. I staggered backward as my vision exploded.

Ortaine laughed. Battle-fire lit her eyes, chilling me as I regained my balance. This was not a training exercise to her, not even a challenge. It was a battle, and I did not even know what we fought over.

She let me know soon enough. I brought my spear down to guard my flank an instant before her blade impacted, catching and forcing it back up. As I darted back in, meaning to slip a blow in under her guard, she struck at my arm, nearly shaking the spear from my hand. I did not drop it though.

"He taught you well," she scoffed, "but he taught me, too. And he taught me first."

'Was that what this was all about?' I thought, fighting for traction in the sawdust. 'Did she mean to win from me a dead man's affection?' I nearly laughed, the proposition was so absurd.

Sidestepping, I let her blow pass close to my left leg but not actually impact. I could tell she had stopped testing me and that she fought in earnest now, but anger and frustration had made her swings wilder, and hair had wisped free from her braid to straggle in her eyes. I put the thought of letting her win out of my head. Gondor needed me whole.

'First blood,' I told myself. 'First blood will end this. So I must take first blood.' I was stronger, if not faster, and I had not lost my cool. Flinging thoughts of defense to the wind, I attacked.

Three strikes she parried, but the fourth broke under her guard. Reversing the haft to lead with my blade, I lunged and let Celetirmar's mithril slice through the fabric of her trousers to kiss her calf. The metal came away edged with red. I backed off, smiling grimly.

It was a victory, but I did not feel victorious, only a profound sense of relief. Not even Boromir's 'Well done, Firiel,' in my head could stir me to triumph. I stood down, leaning heavily on Celetirmar.

Ortaine stared from me to her leg and back again, her expression a blur of disbelief and despair. "So he returned your love, is that it? Is that why he taught you better?"

I shook my head. "Boromir taught me to use a staff only, and that reluctantly. I do not think he would have slighted you."

"What would you know?" she spat, dashing sweat from her eyes.

"I knew him, and that was not his nature" It was the only thing I could think of to say, and I hoped it would not inflame her more.

"Oh, you knew him? How long did you know him, my lady? A month? Two? You did not grow up hearing his name shouted in the streets. He did not pick you out for his company, the First Company. You did not guard his back in battle; you let him die!"

I could feel my calm slipping away as I fought the urge to strangle her or spit her on Celetirmar. A few deep breaths helped to suppress the violent urges, but I still had no answer for her.

Tendrils of uncertainty niggled at my mind, curling tighter and tighter, constricting my confidence. She was wrong, wasn't she? Boromir had chosen me for his esquire, and I had not let him die. Unconscious at the time, I had not had anything to do with his dying.

Like a gift from heaven, a line from my mother's last letter entered my head with astonishing clarity, and I found myself speaking it aloud. "People don't lose their lives. Their lives are taken from them, or else they lay them down themselves."

Ortaine's turned nearly feral. "And was my lord's life taken from him, or did he lay it down?"

"He laid it down." 'For redemption, and for the safety of two halflings, and for his city: he laid it down. And for me,' I thought. 'For all these he laid it down.'

A kind of serenity washed over me. I wondered that I had not known this before, for now the knowledge seemed as much a part of me as my mother's love, or Boromir's. Dipping my head at Ortaine, I turned on my heel and walked away.