Oath

Glancing at Linta, Tornimrad patted her desk, inviting the bird to hop through her window and onto it, the motion of the goshawk scattering a few papers. She looked slightly battered, as if she had met another foe, but the tube with the correspondence seemed intact.

She drew the letters coiled up tightly from inside and stroked the lacy feathers of the bird’s chest.

Tell me.  Do you know why it is that the sword, above all else, be celebrated as the weapon of the warrior?

The bow is better for striking down a foe at range, and the dagger if they be overly close.  The hammer is better for crushing mail and bone, and the axe for hewing limbs and striking with might.  The spear and the halberd and all such polearms are better for ranks of soldiery, and the fist be best of all for subduing an enemy without causing overmuch hurt.

Why, then, be the sword beloved beyond all?

“How was the magistrate?” Belegorn teased playfully, his normally deep baritone voice jumping an octave higher to a normal man’s voice, looking bereft of the squire Baranor whom he had unceremoniously dumped into a local stable’s haybale. He carried his distinctive feathered-helmet in the crook of his arm and waved with his free hand.

It was so long ago when she have met Regnwald, he was sperewigend also, just joined the first eored, while she already rode few seasons with eored of Wold. She took time to teach each of the folawigends what she knew, some disliked that woman is there to teach them, but it was best way to learn when woman with shield is victorious over man in the dust. They all learned fast, it was time when goblins were hungry cause of long winter as well their wolves. In that winter they rode to the high valleys of the Mark defending the farms and small steads.

"You need to keep your rest, mister. " The old man looked up at the ceiling while hearing the woman talk. A think blanket covered the elderly man and a wet cloth was laying on his forehead. "I don't think that I have the strength to defy you." His speech was grizzled and showed a glint of the speaker's origin, something that he did not want to let know in normal circumstances. The woman that sat at his bedside took the wet cloth from the forehead of her patient. She drenched the object in a nearby bucket before placing it on the old man's forehead again.

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.

Reiven hold up the silver swan amulet which was stained with blood, which was once belong to Daenaro, Darnur of Nargothrond, now entrusted her to carry. The rays of sun danced on the silver swan as she was trying to close the lavalieres’ clasp with her frostbite, aching fingers. But she ignored the pain and didn’t stop until feeling its cold touch hanging safely on her chest.