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Feanor of the Peredhil · 06-09-2006, 08:33 AM

Farahil carefully emptied what was left in one trunk before lightly folding gowns into shapes far more compact and travel-worthy. He left the packing of womanly necessities to Linduial, as was only appropriate, and took a final look at the trunk, smiling with fond remembrance of Adragil's sudden desire to carve Lin a chest and his immediate departure for country sides unknown wherein to learn the art. Farahil was certain that Linduial could have fit a half dozen more items at the very least had she been taught to pack for adventures at sea and he smiled wider, not minding at all that his baby sister had never learned of such things. She did well as a lady; her power did not come from intimidation by sword or by nightly stealth but by carefully chosen words and a demeanor that called for respect and wariness.

He sat on her bed, smoothing the covers that he had lain in place for her before they had gone downstairs, and he looked at his hands, remembering every scar.

He ran a cold finger over a dark red line that ran from his left forefinger to nearly the inside of his wrist. He'd been playing swords when he was young, gloating that the weapons master had never landed a hit. He was cocky, over-confident; a child, he remembered. The master had grown weary of his foolishness and whipped a dagger from his sheath and sliced carefully forward with it even had he distracted Farahil with his longsword.

I'm bleeding! What have you done?

I've landed a hit, young lord, and don't forget it.

But you cheated! That's bullying! It's unfair.

Is it unfair to use the weapons for which you have been trained? A time will come, Farahil, that you will face an opponent larger, stronger, and far more experienced. That time will be, by all odds, that in which you will be asked to use techniques that they have never learned, weapons with which they have no familiarity. Will you use them? Will you call your learning an unfair advantage and allow them to strike? Your life and those of others are in your own hands, boy. There is an honor among those you will fight that will not extend to you. Do not forget to use what you know. You will bear a scar now, to remind you.

Linduial would bear scars. She would not forget her ordeal. But she had learned more than she could have under the best teachers about what makes a leader and what makes a lady.

Farahil had come to bring her home and he would; but he would also bring her back. She had learned here that which those at Dol Amroth could only partly teach. These people were good people, honest ones, if a little odd. The lady Saeryn... she would be a good friend to Linduial, and the lords Eodwine and Degas... they would protect her from all they could. And Lin... little Linny... she could protect herself.

06-09-2006, 08:33 AM	#354
Feanor of the Peredhil La Belle Dame sans Merci Join Date: Feb 2003 Location: perpetual uncertainty Posts: 5,956	Farahil carefully emptied what was left in one trunk before lightly folding gowns into shapes far more compact and travel-worthy. He left the packing of womanly necessities to Linduial, as was only appropriate, and took a final look at the trunk, smiling with fond remembrance of Adragil's sudden desire to carve Lin a chest and his immediate departure for country sides unknown wherein to learn the art. Farahil was certain that Linduial could have fit a half dozen more items at the very least had she been taught to pack for adventures at sea and he smiled wider, not minding at all that his baby sister had never learned of such things. She did well as a lady; her power did not come from intimidation by sword or by nightly stealth but by carefully chosen words and a demeanor that called for respect and wariness. He sat on her bed, smoothing the covers that he had lain in place for her before they had gone downstairs, and he looked at his hands, remembering every scar. He ran a cold finger over a dark red line that ran from his left forefinger to nearly the inside of his wrist. He'd been playing swords when he was young, gloating that the weapons master had never landed a hit. He was cocky, over-confident; a child, he remembered. The master had grown weary of his foolishness and whipped a dagger from his sheath and sliced carefully forward with it even had he distracted Farahil with his longsword. I'm bleeding! What have you done? I've landed a hit, young lord, and don't forget it. But you cheated! That's bullying! It's unfair. Is it unfair to use the weapons for which you have been trained? A time will come, Farahil, that you will face an opponent larger, stronger, and far more experienced. That time will be, by all odds, that in which you will be asked to use techniques that they have never learned, weapons with which they have no familiarity. Will you use them? Will you call your learning an unfair advantage and allow them to strike? Your life and those of others are in your own hands, boy. There is an honor among those you will fight that will not extend to you. Do not forget to use what you know. You will bear a scar now, to remind you. Linduial would bear scars. She would not forget her ordeal. But she had learned more than she could have under the best teachers about what makes a leader and what makes a lady. Farahil had come to bring her home and he would; but he would also bring her back. She had learned here that which those at Dol Amroth could only partly teach. These people were good people, honest ones, if a little odd. The lady Saeryn... she would be a good friend to Linduial, and the lords Eodwine and Degas... they would protect her from all they could. And Lin... little Linny... she could protect herself.