"Knowledge is the Sword - Experience is the whetstone."
Ered Luin, Thamas Lorn, Late Winter in the Late Third Age
On this winter morning the sun rose only hesitatingly, as if she was shy to show her entire self. But soon her rays were driving away the dim twilight that had ruled over the land in the earliest hours, in shades of grey, in which all colors had faded. Those who had doubted or considered during the clouded night, were awoken from their quiet stasis.
Lhûthindë stood by the window in her room. She had opened it and cast the curtains aside, breathed in the fresh air, that lay just below the point to which water would freeze. A mortal being would have probably felt the sharp biting wind blow that came up from time to time, but the Elves were more hardy than the other races.
She looked down on the silver grass. The night had brought frost.
More and more the light of the sun fell into her room, was reflected by her white-golden hair, of which she had taken a few strands and had woven them into thin braids. It was no fashion that she actively wore, but rather a result to her absent-mindedness.
The only times when Lhûthindë would arrange her hair into a pinned up, vivid pattern of golden threats, jewelry and flowers, would be, were she to appear on a festival or be invited to an exalted community.
But there was no such event in the coming days and so Lhûthindë preferred the leisure of her night-gown, the hair open for the wind to caress over.
Her thoughts were on what she had planned for the day. I hope Cirionar will not take offense on the fact that I come without notifying him, she brooded. On the other hand, despite he is often busy, he will surely be not so occupied that he could not spare an hour for me in the beginning of the day.
She gulped and shuddered.
A very cold breeze had found her, so that the Elf retreated away from the window, closed it and drew the curtains before it to ward off any wanton looks from the outside.
While Mischief was still sleeping, curled into a ball of fur, Lhûthindë exchanged her night-gown against a light dress that left her shoulders free. The seams were adorned with bright stripes of velvet and the lower part was tailored that the cloth would sway elegantly about her feet.
Her mind had not found any true calm yet. She had been lying awake all night, imagining all kinds of scenarios that could have happened when she told Cirionar of her ability to see the aurae of the High Arts that surrounded those beings that were especially blessed with them.
She raised her hands before her eyes and observed the blue shimmering with the white clouds of stars that flickered within. What is your secret, she asked the power rather than speaking to herself. What use it is that I can see you if you hold your nature a mystery that I am unable to solve? It was driving her to sleeplessness and sometimes she was so far buried into her own thoughts, that she heard neither Gwathiell, nor anyone else who spoke to her.
For a moment she hoped for an answer and she heard into herself.
But there was nothing.
Heavily Lhûthindë sighed, bound her hair to a single braid. She went over to Mischief, who still slept. The Hefad-Dal purred quietly as Lhûthindë began to scratch the spot between the ears, his eyes remained tightly shut.
»Lhû«, she heard someone saying, although no one else was within the room. It had been Mischief who had spoken.
Gwathiell had begun to teach the animal how to speak in the way of the Elves and Mischief was a quick learner, but Lhûthindë knew that she would never have a risen conversation with her peculiar companion. The Hefad-Dal's mind was sharp, but it circled usually about things such as food, sleep and the opportunity to play and cause mischief.
The animal looked up at her from its big eyes and enjoyed the attention.
»We both are going for a long walk«, Lhûthindë revealed to him. She had decided to take the furred companion of hers with her. It would do him only good and distract herself if something would not go as she had planned. »We are visiting someone important. So you must be polite.«
Her words coaxed an expression from Mischief, that seemed as if he would grin all too knowingly. She wondered if he would not turn out to be more trouble than help.
Lhûthindë grabbed the Hefad-Dal carefully around the slender middle and set him onto her shoulder. Together they walked down the small tower that sprouted from the Elf's home and descended down into the living rooms. It was pleasantly warm down here.
She saw that a fire was burning already in the oven, which had to mean that Gwathiell was most likely awake already and began to prepare for her day herself. Lhûthindë had to smile. Despite the hard beginning and Gwathiell's still childish demands, she studied hard to follow her aunt in her foot-steps. The Aûthial even had considered to show her niece a few useful invocations.
Maybe when I come back, if I got time then. Otherwise when the academy has opened, I am sure to find her there constantly. Ready, she is definitely. She granted Mischief and herself a winter-apple. The fruit was sour, but it brought her mind to awake now fully from the dimness that had shrouded it from the night long meditations and researches, worries.
They ate their sparse breakfast on their way to the house of the Loth-i-Lonnath, where Cirionar resided as the new Indur of the Calarind order.
The night had not brought only frost, but also a fine layer of snow, that played now about Lhûthindë's leather boots. They were made from a dark leather that proved to be very resistant to water and was moreover very flexible, at the same time soft and welcoming warm. Mischief remained on her shoulder, instead of walking himself. He dared not to jump into the cold white.
Sometimes she wondered, whether she should have chosen wiser in regard to her home. Not that Lhûthindë disliked or missed something, to the contrary: The house was tailored and designed greater than it would have needed to be, but its location was a little unfortunate.
Due to the reason that Falathlorn was harboring the river Luné and its many arms, Lhûthindë was forced to take a long route, if she wished to pay the Circle, Cirionar or the Mithdirith a visit. The length of the way and the number of steps she had to take were of no regard to her - the time she required for this journey however was.
Lhûthindë owned no horse to accelerate the traveling. She would not find any time nor had the understanding to care for such a beast. She had all hands to do with Mischief already.
As she looked over to the Hefad-Dal, she thought to see a shrewd, gleeful glimmer in his big eyes, as if he would be able to guess her thoughts.
About an hour later, the Aûthial came upon the docks of Celondim.
The calm settlement was bordered by the river Luné and held many spots in which the inhabitants could seek calm and relaxed in solitude. Some of these places were guarded, not to hold the Elves out, but to emphasize that it was overall important to maintain the peace at these locations.
Elves that passed Lhûthindë, she gave a nod and she received always a greeting back. Some of who she met on the, at times, confusing net of streets, stopped and asked her how she fared. As much as Lhûthindë would have liked to stay and chatter away, she knew that she must not be late.
Not everyone knew her by name in Celondim, but her white robe, with the wafting skirt and the argent cloth cape around her shoulders, she was easy to notice as an Aûthial. And those were appreciated among the folk, no matter farmer, soldier or noble, for the Aûthia were said to often know the art of healing, or of dispelling bad luck or dreams.
Lhûthindë had to smirk, none of these things she was overly good at. Her strength was her talent of performing invocations. That was also the reason for why she had been invited to join the Circle, after her master had retreated from his duty. She had succeeded him. Her years as student were not lying too far in the past, now she was a teacher herself.
It was her zeal and dedication that had brought so quick on her way. It made her feel well, to have a purpose, teaching young Elves soon in the college of the High Arts.
Her gaze fell on one particular Elf, leaning exhausted and panting on the post that rose from the landing stage of the docks.
Lhûthindë went to walk over to him, not minding Mischief complaining about the possibility that water could get beneath his fur.
»Greetings! You look parched - Here! Drink«, Lhûthindë said and offered her own drink-flask to him.
The Elf wrought a smile on his, by exhaustion, distorted lips. The sailor's bag that he had worn over his shoulder simply slumped to the ground, followed by a thankful nod. Water ran soothing over his dry throat. »Thank you, hiril.«
Lhûthindë granted him a few moments to catch his breath. The flask returned to its owner, was hung on the broad girdle that the Aûthial had wrapped around her hips.
Mischief took the chance, jumped down from Lhûthindë's shoulder, to make for the save shore.
»Why are you running like so?«, she asked quite intrigued, though realized that she practically questioned a stranger, who could interpret her curiosity as penetrating nosiness.
»I am training«, he answered friendly. »Preparing myself to join the more strict testing of the Mithdirith.«
»O«, did Lhûthindë make, just now she recognized the attire of who stood before her. It was a tight sitting armor made from thick leather, like sailors wore them in battle. It had almost no components of metal at all, except for a few rings to hold the protection together, so that as much weight would be saved as possible. Would the sailor go over board, a too heavy armor would pull him into the deep.
»Then I wish you good luck. I have heard, that the training is very demanding. It would be nothing for me.« Lhûthindë had to chuckle at the thought of what kind of figure she would make as soldier. »But you seem very determined.«
»I am, hiril. And my name is Hifaedir«, the Elf responded and performed a complete introductory bow. His raven-black hair was held together by a leather band, but solitary strands had found their way out of the restraints. His face was evenly, a little strict; His slightly raised chin was a sign that he was proud of who he was.
Lhûthindë responded with a bow of her head and formed the shape of an Alfirin petal with her index-fingers and thumbs. A ceremonial greeting. »I am Lhûthindë of the Aûthia Circle. I am glad to meet you.«
»Well met, Aûthial.«
Hifaedir remained in his strict military posture until he recognized her grin and took in a more relaxing stance after his running exercise. »What did you mean that it would mean nothing to you, hiril Aûthial?«
His question brought Lhûthindë to smile shrewdly. »I am not very well versed with martial arts, I am afraid«, she said, shrugging her shoulders. »Neither am I particularly good with sharp biting steel and iron. I doubt I would even qualify before the lords of the Mithdirith. I do not possess the endurance and build of a warrior.«
She saw how Hifaedir's lips began to form a wide grin. Just now Lhûthindë noticed the absence of any aura on this Elf. It seemed like he was a warrior by heart, had no great connection to the High Arts.
He looked her up and down, maybe estimating her in his own way, but without appearing impolite.
Lhûthindë was indeed a tad smaller than the usual Elf women. Her thin stature and her slim face with the high cheekbones had never lost the very youthfulness, while other Elves acquired hardening face attributes during their immortal life. She was overly petite, had small female features. At least the attire of the Circle granted her, an a bit more exalted look.
»All I heard, is that it is demanding, yes«, Hifaedir said finally and took a deep breath, before he continued, »No one has told me anything else, so I thought to be best prepared.«
Lhûthindë nodded in agreement. »You look like you are ready to meet the requirements, if I can speak so bluntly. But better do not push yourself too hard, hm? A burn in your legs is the last thing you want during a long march, I imagine.«
»Aearandir had advised me to run more often. I am hoping it will strengthen my endurance on slow marches.« Turning briefly to the water, he said, »But, I suppose you are right to say. I have been pushing hard of late.«
»If the lord Aearandir says so, he may be right. I can hardly advise you in how to train your body, except of the unification and communication with the High Arts.« Lhûthindë cleared her throat. »But you can come and see me, if you want to prevent a mean burn. I have surely a few salves. My niece is skilled in making them herself.«
Hifaedir regarded her friendly offer with a smile. »I must say, this meeting grows ever more pleasant, hiril. I will most likely be needing your kind services, for I am none too wise about these things.«
»Should your muscles ache after the training, do not hesitate to seek me out.« Lhûthindë pointed to the other side of the river Luné, that she had crossed to the south. »You can find my house just a few miles that way. I am sure the locals can show you the exact location. Or you come to the house of the Mithdirith, when I am there to speak with Indur Cirionar. Though I cannot be found there, at just any time.« Lhûthindë could not repress a faint snickering sign of amusement. »After all, I must turn to my students, researches and niece, as well.«
Hifaedir nodded, both recognition of that he had understood and be thankful for her generous offer. »You have many duties then«, the Elven soldier commented the heard. »I'd assume the teaching of such complex things has many troubles as well as benefits for you.«
»I always try to see the good out of it, over the daily exhaustion and that I have rarely time for myself.« She rose her index-finger and her voice turned into that of a well-meaning, yet reminding teacher. »It is very important, probably to all of us, that others learn not to use the High Arts like tools that you are simply granted.«
Hifaedir nodded slowly.
As he possessed no aura, unlike everyone in the Circle, to Lhûthindë, it was quite hard to read out about what he thought or what he felt.
She looked closer, concentrated; Maybe she could sense the aura of powerful High Art potential after all. It happened before that she did not discover the colors of a person at first, that it required a certain event to become visible for her.
Lhûthindë wanted to try that. It required not much to bring her aura into motion. With a smile on her lips, but else loud- and gestureless, she observed how a single thread, thin as spider-web, of blue began to reach out from her own aura, touched Hifaedir apparently.
The Aûthial regarded him closely, but not to her surprise, nothing happened. No aura, no reaction of the Elf who stood before her.
No wonder, she thought. For most Elves the touch would have been too subtle to be noticed. I wonder if I would have felt it, would I have been in his skin.
»What would you teach me then?«
Lhûthindë blinked. She would not have expected that he would ask her that. She saw his good humored look and smiled as quiet answer. She was sure that he was quite a bit older than her. That the younger would teach the older something new, amused her. »Hm, on this short note, I will give you one lesson.« She cleared her voice and adapted suddenly an explaining and unveiling tone: »Remember always that whatever gift of the High Arts you may use, never force it to bend to your will. It has a consciousness, I am sure of it and it will become a hindrance rather than a friend. Meditate, try to form a bond with that gift of yours and you will see: considering that power as a friend, will let you do much greater deeds than through forcing it out.«
Hifaedir remained quiet for a moment, before he found his words again. »Thank you for your wise words.«
Lhûthindë had to laugh quietly.
The Elf grinned.
»I just told you, what I was taught from my first day on, under my master. And what I learned from my still iffy researches. I am far from wise.«
»I see«, Hifaedir said slowly, his voice held neutral. He leaned with his hands unto the reeling on the landing stage, saw into his own mirror image. »I practice meditation often, these past weeks have seen me run and meditate, not much else.«
»Then I am sure, lord Aearandir will find you a suitable«, Lhûthindë hesitated, seeking for the right word. »How did they call them again? Ah, yes: Nethvaed!«
Hifaedir looked at her brightly. His honest smile was Lhûthindë very sympathetic. Furthermore did he have a nice voice to listen to, so that she had forgotten all about the time already. »I hope so. I cannot imagine another purpose for myself than standing within the ranks of the Mithdirith, hiril Aûthial. Another profession would not be suitable for me.«
With a cheeky expression in her onyx eyes, Lhûthindë turned to him. »Maybe, some day, I will be in need of protection by a Warden. I would be glad if I would recognize your face then below the helmet.« She stuck her tongue out slightly, what caused Hifaedir to laugh in good humor.
»That day may come, Lhûthindë of the Aûthia Circle. And I shall not be found standing aside and waiting.«
By his last words, Lhûthindë's eyes grew wide. She suddenly realized who was probably waiting for her! Cirionar!
Quickly she called for Mischief. The Aûthial had to hurry.
Ered Luin, Falathlorn, House of the Mithdirith, Late Winter in the Late Third Age
A figure snuck during the early morning towards the stables and stopped before the box, in which a beautiful horse from Edhellond had gotten its place. The stallion raised the head and huffed quietly, the ears stood upright.
»It is all good, Arant«, Hwethlenn was soothing him with her voice. »It is me. Just do not start a commotion.«
She opened the door, led the stallion out, laid the holster on and saddled him in the darkness.
The young Elf with the black, ungovernable hair and the shrewd face that was adorned with a number of freckles on the bridge of her nose, had gotten a few doubts during the last weeks of her training among the Loth-i-Lonnath. She was determined to take herself some forbidden vacation and intended to ride in the protection of the early dawn to Lin Giliath, where Celonbron, her crush was waiting for her. Before she would have to suffer another day among the wardens and squires, she would be gone and return maybe in a few weeks.
But for now, Hwethlenn held no great value to run from dawn till dusk, to swim and to fight with the spear, especially because she was not much of a talent with the long, unwieldy weapons of the order. Because she proved to be quite the rider and seemingly gifted in handling the sword, her mentor Istuir had put her to train the other aspects even more, which was not fun at all.
Lord Istuir have had the plan to make her a warden within less of a year, but that meant for the young Elven woman a merciless progress of cutting. No one of the trainers showed any form of pity and she was usually reprimanded when Istuir caught her taking a break.
And so the doubt had crawled into her consciousness.
Because in truth, she felt for the shame and remembered Istuir's warning of leaving Thamas Lorn without permission, she preferred to leave the house in all peace and with the cover of the early twilight.
In a letter to Curugirion, that she had slipped beneath the door of the Hirgonui, she had shortly explained her reasons and had thanked for the kindness that was bestowed on her.
Arant neighed quietly, rose and lowered the head, to make his mistress aware of the visitor who had entered the stables. Slightly ringing, the parts of a chain mail were sounding up.
Hwethlenn cursed beneath her breath. The situation became far too obvious. No one would believe one of her quickly thought of lies.
Something flat, light flew through the air and sailed before Hwethlenn's feet. She recognized the sealed envelope that she had left for the Hirgonui.
»So you grant your doubts victory over you«, said a known voice. Lord Aearandir must have observed her doing and had followed her. Leisurely, he leaned against a post, that carried the roof of the stable. »So be it then. Mount your steed, Hwethlenn. Ride away and do not return.« Aearandir sounded almost frivolous. »With that you confirmed all the prejudices of your competitors and begrudgers.«
»So?« Hwethlenn shrugged with her shoulders and pushed demonstratively the leather bands through the holes of the saddle. »It is all the same to me, what you think of me. It was my father's choice to send me here and to enter the training under a master.« She turned to Aearandir, whose face was lying in the darkness and could not really be made out. »I had no real choice. I either followed or disobeyed the word of my father. What should I have done?«
»And what choice do you now have, Hwethlenn Aearciriel?«
»What do you mean?«
»You can take down the saddle from Arant, stay here and maybe become one of the strongest wardens of our Order, or you ride away and end somewhere alone, because you found never a real home to turn to ... Istuir believes in you, girl. He believes strongly that within you slumbers the potential to be of great use for the fate of the Falas some day. He has taken you into his heart like a sister.«
»Istuir also fails at times to be right about certain things«, she said snide and placed a foot into the stirrup. »He was mistaken to see me become such.« With force she pulled herself up, unto the back of the stallion. »Tell him, that I was never right for this profession.«
»I will do so gladly.« Aearandir reached for the holster. »I will be the first who applauds, when you leave us. And I will applaud your failure. You are not worthy to be one of our Order. But what else can be expected of a chit of a girl like you? I told it Istuir from the beginning, but he would not listen.«
Hwethlenn's determination, not to react on the words of the warden began to disperse. »I may not be a glorious fighter such as you, Aearandir of the Mithdirith, but totally without honor I am not.«
»Oh? Is that so?«, the lord laughed disdainfully. »Now, what kind of honor could that be? That of a looser? Of a gutless wuss, as you are one?« His tone became ice-cold and snide. »Those who give up, because they are too weak, have no honor. I can insult you like I want, Hwethlenn. And alone these words would be a waste of my breath.«
With one jump was the Maiden down on the ground, the hand lay around the hilt of her sword. »Beware«, she threatened growling.
The gesture brought the lord to laugh, still his hands were holding the holster. »You would be a pile of blue spots within the blink of an eye, Hwethlenn. I would strike you to the ground with my fists alone, because I would not want to sully my good weapon by crossing it with you.« He pointed at Hwethlenn. »Go, girl. I knew that you would not be able to make it.« His hand gave the holster free. Then he turned around and walked to the doors. As quiet as he had arrived, Aearandir had disappeared again. »I will drink a bottle of wine with the Hirgonui that you are gone!«, he called as he left.
Hwethlenn's jaws were working and the pressure would have surely been enough to bring stones to splinter. Angrily she drew the sword and began to unleash her wrath upon one of the wooden posts.
Finally having made a decision, she began to take off the saddle from the confused looking steed.
»We will show them«, she promised Arant. »The wine shall be stuck in their throats and turn into vinegar, so that they puke for three days.«
In hurry, she brought the stallion back to his box and lifted the bag with the provisions up on her shoulders. Doing so, she discovered the letter to the Hirgonui. She took it, ripped it after a tiny moment of hesitation into thousand little pieces, and threw the remains into the wind. So easily you will not be rid of me, she thought. And a looser, I am even less. Agitated about the words of the lord, she failed to recognize, that the seal on the letter had not been broken.
Without seemingly caring much for it, how loud she walked through the hall ways of the house of the Mithdirith, she went to return to her chamber.
At the last turn, she would have almost ran into a group of Wardens, that came in that very moment out of the armory.
Right among them, she saw Aearandir, who wore like the others, a heavy metal- and leather armor. It was impossible that in the short time that had passed since he left the stable, he could have buckled on that kind of protection. I just saw him in a chain mail!
Irritated, Hwethlenn stared at Aearandir, who nodded at her simply. »Up so early already?«
Completely confused now, she shook her head and mumbled something about carrying weights, before she fled into her chamber.
Whoever she had met down in the stables, it had not been Aearandir.
