A sudden stumble and a lunge forward made a disastrous idea. Only the reflexes of a trained warrior prevented a crash into the polished metal pane serving as a mirror. Sinking eyebrows and a resolute “Hmpf!” uttered before returning to the previous position. How long had she been practicing now? And how come a simple movement such as the most common dance performed in the Halls of Elrond would best someone like Himwen? Granted, she was not the best warden around, but she had her moments of accuracy and grace on guard, protecting the ones left behind. Indeed, she did not join the males of her race in battle, however she would make damn sure not to be paralyzed should she become cornered or her fellow maidens become attacked. Whatever attacker came at her, it would scare her less than this... dancing. Pah!
She sighed, observing the garment made of silk, with some simple embroidery on. To her taste, a dress such as this was still too finely made; fit for a lady, but not her. Frustrated with her own shortcomings in her endeavor to best a few simple steps, she quickly took a simple dagger and swiftly cut a slit in the side of the dress. Perhaps a change of garment would alleviate the trouble of impaired movement. Again, grey eyes meeting dulled ones in the mirror, a polite nod and a lunge forward, followed by a rather clumsy turn. Yet the triumphant feel was apparent. Himwen’s lips parted into a grin. She had taken a first step to beating her flesh into submission. Perhaps the ceremony would not be so awful after all. At that, she pondered again on what that would mean.
Surprisingly, like a shadow, Tingruviel appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Himwen jumped into a salute, freezing like an icicle on a midwinters day. Tingruviel smiled friendly, urging Himwen to relax. This was not training after all.
“Suilad, dear Himwen. Are you successful in your practice today?” Tingruviel placed a parcel on the table in the middle of the kinship hallway. Himwen glanced at the brown leather embracing its mystery contents and for a moment, she felt a pang of curiousness rush over her. Still stiff as a board, she responded more timid and quiet than her normal self.
“Suilad, my lady Tingruviel. I fear this dance will beat me if I cannot best it in time. Could I not somehow… avoid such a ‘pleasure’?” Her eyes shifted towards the floor, staying there.
“I am sure Lord Tindir would disapprove if you deprived him of the lead of his lady in a dance on your special day, Himwen. Perhaps you just need to practice with him, since you seemed to do a good job on your betrothal.”
Tingruviel’s casual movements throughout the kinhall made Himwen pause for a moment. Not often did these two meet face to face, on account of Tingruviel’s absence in matters of running the kin, but the few moments they did made Himwen wonder about the young maiden’s calm appearance. Always collected, always proper and almost far reached. As if she was standing on top of a hill, graceful, helpful yet unreachable emotionally to all. In other aspects, she was always ready to help those in need. Recently though, something had changed. Tingruviel had become more involved in the daily affairs, and plans were made to start up the caravan line again. A glimmer of red sparkles jumped over the wall and seduced Himwen’s gaze to fall upon them. Emanating from a red garnet encased in silver hanging from Tingruviel’s neck, the sparkles danced more freely than Himwen ever had succeeded doing.
Disparaged, she remembered the dancing perian twins Jonda and Amygdalus, being more agile and skilled in the task she was trying to perform. While Tingruviel continued her task, tending to letters and inventory of the kin’s current supplies, Himwen began to feel increasingly annoyed at her own person. Then she remembered Rainith’s oath not long ago. How staunchly she had stood there, by the forges in Rivendell, swearing her allegiance to a kin that had no regard for her love for Galdorion, nor Galdorion himself. She would give up her own family to be with him, and here Himwen was sat moaning about the prospect of having to perform a simple dance on what should be the happiest day of her life. She would never experience the disgust of her kin for loving someone. Tingruviel had made that clear, as had everyone else in the kin. Save for maybe Uthaer, who thought little of Tindir from the start. But then, Uthaer had little regard for anyone but Rainith these days, so his opinions did not matter.
“That parcel is for you, by the way.” Tingruviel’s sudden breach of silence made Himwen jump. She stared at the brown leather again, curious but not quite sure she heard it correctly.
“F…for me? Why? From whom?” Thoughts rushed in her mind. No wonder, few save for a select two or three, thought of ever sending her anything.
“I am not sure. I found it on the doorstep this morning and since the rain was pouring all night, the note to which it was pinned has lost its message.” Tingruviel absentmindedly smiled and wandered off towards the kitchen while uttering her last words for the day. “Do not forget the gathering this evening! You better hurry if you are going to practice that dance of yours!”
Gnashing teeth mixed with the crackle of the fire was the only sound for a moment. She would have to attend Elronds Halls yet again, practicing what she had spent almost a lifetime to conquer. Thankfully, the good company she received from these events lifted her spirits enough to return now and then.
With an almost frightened look upon the parcel, which existance she had forgotten, she gradually moved towards the middle of the room and the table upon which its current ornament rested. She really did not know anyone well enough to send her unnamed gifts, apart from her adored hammerite. Not Sidhon, Rainith’s brother, nor Mistalion, who albeit being an old friend of hers did not harbor any affection past friendship towards her person. She was given gifts from her kin now and then, like the lovely Angelrian, who graciously labored to supply her with potions or Aelaer who toiled away by the campfires to supply them all with fine cuisine. She smiled, remembering the book once given to her by Faerlir.
Coming back to the present, she carefully peered at the wrapped leather, noticing the illegible note firmly tied to the string around the parcel. The ink had since long dried from being washed by the rain and only some grey letters were noticeable. Nothing one could use as any kind of information. With a sigh she gave up and started to unwrap the piece…
