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Chapter 15
Nemir leaned her head against her harp and let out a groan of frustration. She sat in her room surrounded by various pieces of parchment containing songs, poems, and stories she had meticulously copied from her favorite sources at the library. She had spent the better part of the week searching for the perfect song to perform at the feast, but every time she plucked the strings the notes sounded flat and lifeless to her ears. She was determined not to waste this opportunity. Performing for such prestigious guests would instantly improve her reputation and make her an eligible option for other noble families. It might even lead to a permanent position.
Her growing feelings of gloom were interrupted by short, solid taps coming in quick succession from the floor beneath her. A broom handle was 's prefered way to signal for her presents downstairs since she was unable to climb the steep steps up to the room. Nemir gentle placed her harp on the bed and tidied the papers the best she could before exiting her simple room and down the dark hallway.
"Haven't you decided on a song yet? I'm tired of listening to songs with no endings," commented as she shuffled along the small kitchen sorting an assortment of gifts from the garden. "Peel those potatoes," she motioned to a pile on the worn wooden table.
Nemir obliged, grabbing the small paring knife from the wall and taking a seat, "No, I'm still searching. I just want it to be perfect."
The older lady huffed, "There's no such thing as perfect."
"Clearly you haven't met by mother," she said, smoothly drawing the knife's blade over the surface of the root.
"Well she could have done a better job of teaching you how to peel a potato. I could have done five by now if I trusted my eyes," she grumbled tossing other vegetables into a pot boiling on the hearth. The younger woman smiled good naturedly as she continued her task. The woman had a sharp tongue but a good heart.
"I recommend you sing about Minas Tirith," she said, "I have yet to meet someone from that city who can't stop blathering about how glorious and marvelous it is."
"I'll considered it," said Nemir, "but I haven't been able to find one. If I had more time I could search the library more thoroughly, but a week has already flown past."
"I might be able to assist you with that," she said stirring the pot and adding spices causing a delicious aroma to fill the kitchen. Nemir lifted her head from the spud she was working on, hopeful eyes turned toward the woman. "I worked in the castle for several years, when I could get along easier. I remember when Lord Denathor came to woo our young and beautiful princess. He had his bard sing a long and elaborate song about the White City hoping to impress her."
"And you still remember it after all this time?" she asked excitement growing.
"Well it was hard to forget. It became a of favorite of the Princess and she had it performed on a daily basis by her personal bard. It lost popularity after she left. I think everyone was grateful when they didn't have the hear it anymore"
Nemir dropped the knife and rushed to the old woman's side, grasping her thin, wrinkled hands, "You must teach me. Please."
"Not until you finish those potatoes," she demanded, " I don't have all day and they need to be added to the stew." The bard renewed her task with new vigour, hoping the lady held the key to her success. Dinner preparations continued without much chatter, and once everything was added to the large kettle they could only wait.
"Have you put any thought into what you're going to wear?" asked as she lowered herself into a padded chair near the fireplace.
Nemir glanced down at her current outfit which consisted of a long skirt, blouse, and corset, "Not really. Something similar to this I suppose."
Her answer caused the older woman to start in surprise, "You can't be serious. You've spent all this time torturing yourself about a perfect song, and you were going to arrive in that."
"I wore something similar to the festival feast," she said defensively re-examining her clothes. Sure they weren't fancy, but they were clean, well made, and allowed movement.
"First rule of court. Appearance is everything. No one would take you seriously in that. Not even if you cried diamonds and called lighting from the sky."
"They should be judging me with their ears, not their eyes," she furrowed her brow and crossed her arms in frustration. "Even if I had the gold to purchase a new outfit, I doubt a seamstress could complete the most basic of garments in a weeks time."
"I forget sometimes how naive you are with all your fancy learning and books," pulled herself from the chair and slowly walked toward her bedroom door. "I might have something that could help." From the open door, Nemir could hear the scraping of wood as a heavy object was dragged across the floor and the rustling of fabric. When she emerged from the room, she was struggling to carry a bundle of gray fabric. Nemir rushed to take it from her before she stumbled on the dragging fabric.
Nemir held up the bundle to reveal a grey linen dress trimmed along the neck, sleeves, and hem with dark blue lace. The sides were open, but tiny loops allowed for lacing to form the dress to the wear's figure. The neckline was a shallow scoop and the sleeves could be removed or reattached with a few stitches. She spotted a few places were the thread was bare, but beyond that it seemed to be in great condition.
"This hasn't had fresh air for many, many years, so you'll need to air it out for a couple days," Gollel explained as she felt the fabric between her hands, searching for any imperfections. "You will need to procure some fabric or lace to be added to the hem. I wore this before I got this hunch in my back, and it will still be too short on you."
"Its beautiful," Nemir was overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude and relief causing her eyes to well up. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
"Oh don't go acting like I did something difficult," she tiffed, "It was taking up space in my truck and I was never going to wear it again. Now let's check the fit. The garments you have on now should serve as a decent set of petticoats."
Nemir gently lifted the bottom of the dress over her head, and after a little struggling managed to pull the garment around her. The unlaced sides, made it sit awkwardly and required some shifted to get it settled. quickly set about tightening the lacing, pulling the dress snuggly against her thin waist.
"That fits nicely," she said doing her best to examine her handy work with her limited sight. "Take a few steps, lets see how it moves."
Nemir took a cautious step and then another until she walked the span of the lower room. The dress moved easily enough, but it was made with a heavier fabric and the added layer was thicker than what she was used to wearing. The sleeves fitted tightly against her arms, making her feel restricted. She had never enjoyed sleeves for that reason and avoided wearing them whenever possible. Her mother felt the same way. It would take some adjusting, but she would adapt.
"I was right about the hem. It will need to be extended a few inches. It will cost you extra to the rush order, but I think it can be done within the time needed."
"Do I look presentable?" she gave the gown a twirl.
"Well we are certainly making progress," grinned.
Nemir's hold around Morfindir's waist tightened as the horse's pace increased from a casual walk to a brisk trott. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she fought the urge to bury her face into his shoulders. Her rigid body bounced uncomfortably with each step and she knew she was going to fall off and be trampled at any moment.
Morfindir chuckled, "You need to relax. You're making the horse nervous. Try moving with Rocharan, like a piece of wood drifting with the tide. Up and down. Up and down"
"Easier said than done" she grumbled. She tried to release some of the tension trapped in her leg muscles, but the feeling of slipping quickly ruined any progress.
"Now you know how I felt during our first swimming lessons," he teased turning his head back the best he could to observe her. "At least try to loosen your grip around my waist. I would like to breath," he sent her a reassuring smile and faced forward.
Her face growing warm, she slowly slipped her arms away from his stabilizing center. She settled for grasping his shirt and prayed to Ulmo that if she tumbled it would be enough to save her. The only reason she agreed to ride the terrifying creature was because it was the fastest way to the beach. Morfinder wasn't thrilled when she informed him of her midnight visits to the docs for her weekly swim. He insisted on taking her outside the walls and away from the cliffs to an actual shore secluded from unwanted eyes. She had agreed before he informed her of the need to travel on horseback. She was having regrets.
"You need to learn how to ride," he lectured, "You can't swim everywhere. What if I'm not here?"
"I will use the docks," she insisted, teeth clinched in concentration.
He let out a frustrated sigh and his brow furrowed, "Its too risky Nemir. I don't like it, but I've already said my piece about it."
"I have my cloke and if needed I can summon fog to cover me," she wasn't in the mood to argue, but it did take her mind off her fears. "I'm grateful for your help, but I'm not taking one of these things out alone. Maybe never again if I can help it."
"Don't be so certain about the future. It has a way of proving even the wisest wrong," he said confidently.
About an hour and a half later, the destination finally appeared. Nemir waited for Morfindir to dismount and assisted her down from the saddle. Her legs protested as they swung over horse's back and slid to the ground. A groan escaped her lips as she rubbed her sore thighs and bottom.
"My legs haven't felt this tortured since my first sparings with Mithiell"
"You should've listened to me," he didn't hide his amused grin as she attempted to hobble toward the shore, "You wouldn't be nearly this sore if you would relax."
Instead of soft sand, the waves met a large collection of small stones and rocks worn smooth from years of fighting the water. A few larger boulders also lined the shore forming small pools that reminded behind when the tide fell. She let the smell of salt and the melody of lapping of waves overcome her, feeding the constant need within her soul. In a trance, she slowly removed her cloke, boots, tunic, knives, and was unlacing her leggings when a cough interrupted her.
"I'll be over there," he motioned to a wall of stone. There was blush forming in his cheeks and his eyes were focused firmly on the ground.
Her own face flushed but he had seen her with a bound chest before, though it seemed like a lifetime ago now. She had changed and so had he. "Do you want to join me?"
"In this cold? Nay, I don't want to catch my death."
"Oh," she hadn't considered the weather. It had become significantly cooler as Winter approached.
"Go. Enjoy yourself and I'll have a warm fire waiting. There's plenty of driftwood here," he dared look up momentarily to meet her eyes before retreating behind a rock.
She removed the leggings and added them to the collection placed upon a waist high boulder and walked toward the waves. The cold water flooded over her feet and instantly soothed some of her discomfort. Instead of shivering with goosebumps, she felt refreshed and continued farther into the waves. When it reached above her waist, she transformed and dove into the dark depths.
After a couple hours of frolicing, Nemir finally returned to the stony shore. In her hands she carried two large fish which she presented to Morfinder who was stoking a roaring fire.
"I have lunch," she proclaimed as she pulled her cloak around her damp body and settling near the flames to dry.
"Well, look at those beauties," he exclaimed taking the fish from her and examining them. "These would go for a pretty price back in Fish Farm."
"Well if I don't succeed at being a bard, perhaps I'll become a fisherman," she said flashing a full smile.
He pulled out a small knife from his boot and made a long slit in the belly of each fish, scooping out the guts with his hands and returning them to the sea. He ran a skewer along the bodies and placed it near the flame to cook.
"I have some other rations in my pack. I'll be just a moment." When he returned he was carrying a water skin, a crusty loaf of bread, and some cheese.
"Well this is a proper picnic," she praised.
"I wouldn't be a proper soldier if I wasn't prepared," he said.
The fish didn't take long to cook, and the two were soon enjoying the simple meal. "How is the preparation going for the feast?"
She picked flakey flesh away from small fish bones,"Better than it was. I finally settled on a ballad about Minas Tirith."
"That seems suitable… do you not find this invitation odd?" he asked hesitantly.
"I was certainly surprised, but I couldn't have refused."
"I suppose," his tone was cautious, "I just worry about his motives."
"If Lord Boromir had extended the invitation, I would say that you were right to do so. But from what I can tell, his brother it not as arrogant and is a true scholar."
"Does the Prince not have minstrels of his own they could ask?"
"I'm positive he does. Perhaps he is trying to repay me for the assistance I offered him at the library."
"I suppose..." he said but he didn't sound convinced.
"No matter his motives, I can't turn down such a fortuitous opportunity," she stood tossing he skewer into the fire. "Now I'm going to dress and you're going to show me what the City Guard has taught you."
He lifted an eyebrow at the challenge and crossed his arms, "Are you challenging me?"
"I am. If I let my skills grow rusty, Mithiel will make my life a miserable next time I meet her."
"I won't hold back."
"Neither will I," she gave him a sly grin that sent a small shiver of nervousness down into his gut before dashing away.
She soon returned to find Morfindir performing simple stretches designed to warm and loosen the muscles. She couldn't help but admire the way his muscled body moved smoothly, with obvious strength. Even hidden under his tunic she could see the muscles bulge thanks to the training with the City Guard. Her gaze caused him to look up and she quickly tried to hide her interest by shifting it to a flock of seagulls settling nearby.
"You're not have second thoughts are you?" he asked, a mischievous grin growing as he unsheathed his longsword.
"Never," she followed his actions by drawing her ekets from her belt.
The pair slowly circled, searching, assessing for any weakness or opportunity. Nemir struck first, it was a quick attack that was followed by an immediate retreat used to judge the opponents reflexes. He blocked it perfectly and followed up with one of his own. They continued like this for a few minutes, slowly testing the other until Nemir became bored and decided to quicken the tempo. She rushed him, using both knives to slash at this center, he dodged and block with his own sword. He attempted to kick at her legs to make her stumble, but she leaped out the way and her steel met his in the air.
"I'm impressed," he said bringing his body closer to hers.
"This has only just begun," she freed her blades and swirled them around in a graceful display of control.
This continued for over an hour. Morfindir continued to hold his own against her more elaborate style and even managed to score a time or two. Eventually both parties finally agreed to a draw, and panting they collapsed upon the ground leaning against a large stone outcrop.
"That was marvelous," he gasped turning to give her a large smile.
"I didn't realize how much I'd missed this," she said also breathing heavily. "The City Guard has taught you well."
"Why do I get the feeling you held back?"
"Because if I didn't you would be standing" she laughed and extended her pointer finger toward his left hand. When the tip of her finger contacted his skin, a small electrical charge jolted him causing him to jump slightly and instinctively jerked his hand away.
"That's new," he held his hand against his chest and gazed disbelievingly at hand.
"I discovered some new tricks after you left" she explained.
"Are there any others I need to be made aware of?"
"I guess you'll just have to find out the hard way" she laughing at the scowl that formed on his face. "You look like I just stole your last candy." He sent an annoyed glare her way, which made her laugh even more.
"And yet you still can't ride a horse. I'm beginning to question your family's priorities."
"I can't ride land horses. I can ride a seahorse perfectly. I must say I find them superior in every way."
He gave her a doubtful look, "You're not serious. Seahorses?"
She stood and walked toward the fire without offering an answer but the edges of her mouth struggled not to turn upward.
"Nemir!" he called after her, "Surely you jest." He scurried to follow, continuing his protests which remained unanswered by the foam maiden.
I know nothing supper interesting happened this chapter, but I had to setup the big event. I'm also think I fixed the transition block I had in my head. I have a plan! Well I hoped you enjoyed. Please, please review. It really does help.
Till next time!
