Chapter 35: Friendly Fire
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When Lossrilleth and Ginnar arrived at the practice court, Angharad was warming up with the group of children in training. This time some young adults were with them, in a separate formation to the side. She looked for Legolas and saw him swinging a blade over to one side of the practice court. She stepped up next to Thranduil and gave him a quizzical look.
"They do not allow live blades on the training courts. Legolas must pick from one of their practice weapons. As the guest, they are giving him first pick. You missed a lively discussion. Apparently, it would be customary to spar unarmed, but Angharad insisted that it is generally not our practice to do so. She convinced them to allow weapons sparring, but they will permit her to use nothing more than a wooden staff, to her ire. She wanted to use a spear and she was reminded that she is only considered a senior in the children's cohort," the old king explained. Lossrilleth thought he was looking very entertained.
"Now it appears we are to be treated to something of an exhibition. These candidates to become permanent residents will be sparring as well as the children this afternoon. I believe they have combined both evening sessions for this," Thranduil explained.
Legolas jogged back to them, carrying two short swords.
"These practice blades are so light, Adar, it is almost silly. She will need more teaching than she thinks when it comes to weapons if these are all she has touched. These were the best weighted ones I could find. They seemed to be trying to talk me out of it, I do not know why," Legolas commented. Thranduil held out a hand to take a weapon and test it for himself.
"Hmm, light indeed. And a dull blade for training, I see. It is well balanced, though." he told his son absentmindedly. He was not worried in the least about Legolas, nor did he need to be.
Angharad finally rejoined them, carrying a flexible wooden staff and a red fan. She was smiling slyly.
"I convinced them to let me have a fan, too, when they saw you take the butterfly knives" she said proudly. "They were a little worried you would not know how to use them properly, but I told them both of you usually fight two-handed with blades."
"So, you believe this fan will help you?" Legolas asked her coolly. She had moved well with the fans. It was a beautiful art form. He was not really sure why they were considered weapons.
"Maybe," she said, keeping her face straight.
Thranduil hummed with approval. Yes, keep the secrets of your unfamiliar weapon to yourself, he thought. Good strategy.
"This Master will be joining us so he can explain their sparring customs while we watch the novices," Angharad told them when a monk approached them.
The elves all greeted their guide graciously.
"I see I have two translators today. Hello again, Rock," the monk said.
"Happy to help. I wouldn't miss seeing this," Ginnar joked a little. He couldn't be the only one a bit amused about all of this.
"Nor would I. We are all curious indeed to see the fighting skills of elves," the monk replied, ignoring the invitation to tease his student. "Are you feeling confident, Anhe?"
"I cannot win against my father," Angharad said. "Unless by some luck. But my grandfather says the real test is whether I can make him work for his victory."
"You are young and have much to learn still, but do not count yourself out too quickly," the monk encouraged her.
"I thank you, but I do not think you understand who my father is, respectfully, teacher. He is almost four thousand years old. He was crown prince and a warrior of a kingdom under siege by dark magic for many centuries. Not to mention that he is a war hero who helped defeat an evil spirit who had threatened all of the West for several thousand years. Don't get me started on my grandfather. He does not like to speak of it, but I believe he killed a dragon once," Angharad said matter-of-factly. She was hoping this would be less embarrassing if everyone at least understood just how great her sires were.
"Killed a dragon?" Ginnar said in surprise. Angharad shrugged.
"It is a very impressive history. But do not forget what we have taught you about the power of a beginner's mind," the monk said. He was impressed. But, to be so ancient, one might get stuck in one's ways. The girl should keep things very fresh, he thought.
"I think there are some things in this fight that will be unfamiliar to your father, do you? He has not fought in our Tradition or anything like it, since you opposed a hand-to-hand fight so much. I imagine you to be shorter, lighter, and faster than his normal opponents. What else can we think of children?" The Master prompted them.
"He does not know how we use the fans as weapons," Angharad added. She'd been thinking about what to do with that already.
"She knows him better than a real enemy would," Ginnar chimed in. "You can read your own da, can't you? And he won't want to hurt you. He might be too careful at first."
The Master was nodding along. All good thoughts.
"But I don't want to hurt him, either. And he knows me, too. You know we're still connected in spirit, don't you?" Angharad said with exasperation.
"What does that mean, exactly?" the Master asked. He could remember her saying something when she arrived about not yet being spiritually separated from her parents yet.
"We have a sense of each other? We can kind of feel each others' presences all the time. He would know if I was hurt or upset, or really happy. He can probably feel that I'm nervous, now that we're reconnected. We got cut off for a while… that was really bad," the girl rambled a little. She shivered in discomfort at the last comment.
"But you can feel him as well?" the Master clarified. It would be strange to fight another person who was part of you in a way he had ever heard of before.
"No, not really. It doesn't go both ways with parents and children. That only happens with married people. I just know they care for me. I can feel when their attention is on me, and I have this sense that they are keeping me from harm. If I reach for them, I can call them to me. Even if they couldn't reach me very quickly, they could guide me," she said, trying to put it into words. A subtle look of relief washed over her face. As she'd described it, she had instinctively searched for that ineffable sense. It was still there. It still wasn't broken.
The Master kept his features smooth as he considered this. There were many implications he wished to think over. What he would do for an interview with that couple. Fascinating, elves.
"Your father would not use this sense against you, I think. From what you say, I think it would defeat its purpose. But as Rock said, he may be wary of landing a hit on you – all the more if he will feel that pain himself. Or he will feel your mother worrying. Early in the fight you will have an advantage, then. Do not worry about bruising him, Anhe. If he is as great as you say, he will have had worse than hits with a light staff. And he is likely to fend most blows off anyway. Do not hesitate to try landing good, strong strikes on him. I think this is one of your best chances," the Master advised her.
Two of the young adults had gathered on the court, both armed with staffs. They each bowed formally to each other, then waited, ready to move. A bell sounded and they began to circle. They scuffled for a while, until finally one of them was disarmed and he conceded. When they finished, two more students entered the court, this time holding a sword and a glaive, respectively.
The Master began giving notes to the guests. How to greet the other fighter, how to begin. The bounds within which they must stay. If a weapon hit, the fighter had to hobble themselves. They could continue one-handed, or dragging one leg, or they could yield. He told the elves how to indicate that you yielded. Depriving the other fighter of their weapons was not an automatic win, but a yield usually soon followed. He explained that it was dishonorable to refuse to concede in sparring when the fight was clearly won.
Legolas and Thranduil were watching these customs carefully. Legolas felt more comfortable as the exhibition unfolded. These were careful, studied fights. It really was about skill and learning. The students did hit each other, but they were careful in controlling their weapons. No one walked away with more than some bruises (or in one case, a sprained ankle.) Both the fighters and the audience were calm. Sometimes other students or a teacher might call out. He asked Angharad what they said; it was usually encouragement, or a tip.
One of the masters stood and began explaining the customary spar for visiting parents and students. He welcomed their guests and gave his audience a little extra reminder to be courteous and quiet. Anhe's training cohort was bursting at the seams, fidgeting in their seats with excitement. Finally he invited the two onto the court.
"Make him earn it," Thranduil told her as the girl stood and made her way into the ring. She fixed the fan to her belt, where she could grab it easily and took her place with the staff.
Lossrilleth leaned and whispered in Legolas's ear just as he was about to get up. "If you hurt her, I will skin you," she said.
"Have you no trust in me? Calm yourself, nana bear. No one is walking away from this with more than a few bumps and bruises. Better from me now than from someone nasty later," he told her, then got up and walked onto the court, swinging the twin practice blades to get a better feel for them.
Lossrilleth let out a noncommittal hum as he walked away.
"Well, let us see what they have taught you here," Legolas told Angharad as he took his place. He gave her a friendly fëa nudge, which she returned. She was feeling alright to him. A little adrenaline was appropriate.
"Bow now, ada," she whispered and bowed to her him as her opponent. He did as he was told and waited for the bell to start. As soon as it rang, Angharad started moving around him. She wasn't sure if she should make the first move or if that might be disrespectful.
Legolas could see her doubt. She was moving a bit slowly. Well, he could take care of that. He darted in at her and swung a knife between her hands where she was holding the staff in front of her.
She blocked high and took two surprised steps back. Valar have mercy, he was faster than anyone she'd ever faced. Even the high masters she'd practiced with one-on-one on occasion were not so quick. He was already coming back at her from below with his other hand. She blocked low, still letting him force her backwards.
Lossrilleth was watching curiously. This is the exact spot where she repeatedly got stuck. Once she was in a defensive position, too often she never got out of it again.
But Angharad wasn't having it. She ducked under his next swing and came back up with the butt of her staff aimed squarely at the center of his chest. He knocked the staff aside, but she'd already had it primed to swing back with the other end. She smacked him in the ribs, then spun off to his left and began circling again.
A few of the children's cohort had clapped for her when she got a hit.
"Ooh, that was more than a tap! She is not playing with him, is she? I think she heard you," Ginnar exclaimed for the benefit of the Master, who was still sitting with him.
The monk nodded serenely. It had won her a hit, but he thought she'd wasted it on a move that got her no closer to any sort of victory. Her father appeared to have misjudged how hard she'd swing at him, as they had expected. He had dodged, but he hadn't moved far enough. The Master doubted he'd make that error again.
"They are a little more different than I might have expected," Thranduil commented to the girl's mother.
"Is she more like you?" Lossrilleth asked, wincing as they continued to swipe at each other with increasing strength and speed. This did not appear as gentle as the other contests had been, at least to her eyes.
"No," Thranduil said slowly. He was smiling fondly as he watched his granddaughter feint, keeping Legolas guessing about what she was trying to do. "No, she is more like his mother."
Thranduil's wife had not been in a real fight in a long time now, but he could remember when she'd taken up arms beside him, ages ago. She could be a fury when she wanted to be. She had figured out some tricks that made her spectacularly difficult for opponents to read. Thranduil made a mental note to have her train with Angharad in Valinor; he was pretty sure the girl could master those techniques in a heartbeat.
While they'd been talking Legolas had caught his daughter out: she was using the 'switch' trick too often and she'd become predictable. He aimed at her, waited for her to block, turn the staff to return the blow with the opposite side. With both blades, he hooked her staff and sent it flying out of her hands. He made sure to stand between her and the staff where it lay on the ground.
The girl was surprised, but she refused to be beaten yet. Once they'd gotten started, she had begun to have fun. They'd chased each other around forests or gardens before. This was like that… but more challenging.
Angharad took out the fan, spreading it before her and giving it a twirl. She could see Legolas's face turn skeptical. Two short swords versus a silk fan?
"She is meant to yield if she is beaten, correct?" Thranduil asked, curious about what she was thinking. Was the fan a baffle? Was she going to try to confuse him to get her staff back?
Ginnar chuckled. "You clearly have not seen her use the fans. One minute she looks like the daintiest dancer, the next she is a holy terror," the dwarf snickered.
"I still do not see what a fan can do against a blade," the old king replied.
"The ribs of the fan are steel inside the silk," Ginnar commented, a hand over his mouth in case Legolas could overhear. "The ends are like sharp teeth under the fabric."
Thranduil raised his eyebrows at the boy and turned to Lossrilleth.
"This should be interesting, then," he said thoughtfully. It was an odd instrument, but it would be heavier and stronger than Legolas was expecting. A swipe to the ribs could produce a painful surprise.
The girl darted in towards her father and away again, swinging at him with the fan before folding it again. He smacked the fan with the side of his blade and was surprised when it connected solidly. That thing was surprisingly heavy.
Angharad backed away and smiled deviously at him, twirling her fan elegantly as she'd been taught to in her dance lessons. She'd learned later most of those moves were a tweak away from being a fighting maneuver.
Her father lunged, trying to knock it out of her hand. Angharad bent all the way over backwards, letting his blunt blade pass over her. She unfurled the fan at her side and began to lift it over her head. Just as his knife might have disappeared, she brought the fan down over it, letting the blade slice through the silk between two steel ribs. She snapped the fan shut, slid it down his blade, and hooked it back towards herself in a long arc as she rose and pulled it away with her. She ran backwards on her toes, out of reach before he could recover from surprise.
"Ha! Yes!" Ginnar shouted.
Her cohort was clapping loudly and letting out a few hoots, which their teachers discouraged. Thranduil was clapping with them, smirking in glee: she had disarmed Legolas! The old king had thought she'd do pretty well, but stealing a weapon out of his son's hands was a feat. She'd lost the element of surprise now, but she had spent it well. But, he still had the other knife.
The Master sitting with them nodded in appreciation. Better. Don't drop it now.
The girl extracted her newly acquired weapon from the ribs of her fan, still watching her opponent from a careful distance. She tried not to be too impressed with herself and to keep her face neutral.
Legolas was shaking his head at her, grinning. "That was good, iell nin," he chortled, too pleased to be upset on his own behalf.
"I expect you will show me what else you can do with these fans before we go. Perhaps this is what your mother should be learning. A lady could hide that in plain sight," he said sincerely, holding himself still, but ready.
Angharad couldn't help but beam at him. She had let her arms soften a little, thinking he was a safe distance away and distracted with banter. She had barely blinked, and he was almost on her in a sudden sprint. She raised her arms to block, but he hadn't swung at her. Before she could readjust, he had her in a body lock, the remaining blunt blade held a safe distance from her throat. It made its point.
The girl groaned and tapped her shoulder twice, admitting defeat.
"You cannot ever relax like that, do not let anyone fool you with talk," he told her quietly. "But really well done overall. A good match – the first of many, I hope."
"Yes, ada. I will want more chances to best you. Even if it takes me a thousand years," she said. She turned and bowed to him in the formal way of her training.
The trainers and the junior Tradition masters who had come to watch were all chatting quietly with each other. There was a general consensus that they would be interested to see the two adult warriors square off; and they were curious to test one of their grand masters against the elves. Perhaps before the snow melted they might find a polite way to gauge their willingness. Anhe's father had had all the talents they admired in the girl. But they also knew what a practiced fighter looked like, and he was miles above her still.
The elves' guide was thinking similarly. "Rock, would it be rude to ask her grandfather how much her father was playing down to her skill level?"
The dwarf shrugged. He never understood what elves or Eastern folk considered 'rude'. Most of the truth, anyway. He turned to Thranduil.
"They are curious how much he held back on account of her being a student," Ginnar asked.
"Oh. Much," Thranduil replied. He or his son could still defeat the girl in less than a minute if they wanted to. But she was on a good path. "You can tell them we are also familiar with the principles of training the young. One does not want to discourage them too soon. These things must be built up."
As Ginnar translated the Master was nodding knowingly. He bowed to the elf beside him when the boy was finished. It was as he had suspected.
Angharad was excited to talk through the matches with Legolas and Thranduil now, looping in the Master with translated Eastron to be polite. As the community tested itself, from the children to the initiated monks, there were many things worth discussing in the grand exhibition that emerged as the afternoon progressed.
When it was clear this would go on for a long time, Lossrilleth tapped Ginnar lightly on the shoulder and shrugged her head to one side, seeing if he wanted to go deal with his secret problem. He agreed readily. Everyone was distracted now, it was the perfect time, even if he'd have to miss the rest of the show.
Lossrilleth nudged her husband in their spirit sense. When he glanced up at her, a bit confused, she gave him a subtle sign that the two of them were leaving. She put her finger to her lips to indicate it should be kept quiet.
He tested her to see if something was amiss, noticing some sadness echoing through her. It was mostly overshadowed by a fierce, warm determination. The boy must have some secret problem she'd agreed to help him with, Legolas guessed.
A few fights later, Angharad turned to say something to Lossrilleth and rose suddenly, turning wildly as she looked for her missing mother.
"Shh, hush Angharad, she is well. She is not far away, I can feel her still, do not worry sweetheart. She will meet us in the room later," Legolas reassured his anxious child, holding her wrist and pulling her gently back onto her cushion.
Angharad resisted the urge to cling to him in front of her peers.
"She did not say anything to us, how can you even know?" the girl protested, clearly upset. Legolas made sure she could feel his full support and care in that special sense they shared.
"She did not want to hurt you, I promise you. I am not certain, but I think Ginnar asked her to help him with something sensitive. They slipped off together less than an hour ago. If your friend is like Gimli, I imagine he would have asked her to keep such a request private, yes?" he reasoned with the girl. She was pressed up as closely to him as a fëa could be.
She took in a breath, held it, and let it out, repeating this ritual a few times, until she felt calmer to her father, who was watching very carefully. If it looked like she was going to fall apart the way she had the other night, he would extract them from this very public situation swiftly.
"I wish she had told me she would be gone, and when she would come back," the girl said to him finally.
"Then let us tell her so when we see her later. She will listen. But I do think there might be moments like this, from time to time, when it is a little hard to share us with your friend. We want the best for him, too, while he is still so far from home," Legolas said.
She didn't like it, but what he was saying made sense. She didn't want Ginnar not to get help from Lossrilleth. But she needed to know where her mother was.
"You are sure she is close? And she is not hurt or upset?" she asked. He'd already said, but she wanted to hear it again.
"She is very close. She has a very particular feeling right now – the one she gets when she is solving a tricky problem," Legolas told Angharad warmly. They both knew what that looked like.
Anghard took another breath in and let it out and nodded. She moved closer to her father and cupped her hands around his ear so she could whisper without Thranduil overhearing.
"I hope she is fixing his hair. It is one big tangle under that cap. I would have offered to help, but he has been so sore about it I did not dare admit I noticed," she told him.
"Ah, that seems likely then. If that is the case, let us keep quiet about it if he looks different later. Dwarves are very proud of their hair and beards. I am not surprised that he would be quite upset about it," her father confirmed, whispering back.
Secretly, he was impressed with his wife. He wondered if she knew what an important confidence the boy had shared with her in less than two days of acquaintance. If he knew Lossrilleth, she'd have it solved before the day was out and she would never breathe a word about it, even to him.
"Do you want to keep watching?" Legolas asked his daughter. "We can go if you would prefer. You can blame me when you excuse yourself if it helps. Tell them you forgot to mention it, but elf-men turn into horrible beasts if they are not fed properly after a fight," he joked. "They do not know, do they? I could grow tusks."
He'd gotten better at this, over time. Ridiculous humor reliably raised his wife's spirits; he'd been delighted when he realized this skill worked on their child as well. As he'd hoped, the tension drained out of Angharad's small face as she covered her mouth with her hands so her vigorous snickering would not be misinterpreted.
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