Live Journal FeedTrue be told, he had only been in the armoury for a few hours, and Durvagor had only given him a selected number of armour to polish, but to Amrothos at least, it felt like he had been locked in the armoury for days.
He rolled over on the bed and felt something hard dig into his back. Frowning, he rolled away to find a wooden sword, previously unnoticed, at the end of his bed. Picking it up and examining carefully, Amrothos could see how superior it was to any other wooden sword he had ever seen. Instead of being merely plain and functional this sword was beautifully carved with gilded detail on the hilt and even delicate carvings along the blade. Putting the sword back down carefully, Amrothos read the letter that accompanied it.
This sword belonged to me when I was younger. It was given to me by my grandfather Angelimir as a replica of his own. For that reason alone it is of great sentimental value to me and I learnt many a skill with it that I have later come to depend on. I am entrusting it now into your care. Use it well, my son, and when you have proved to be of sufficient skill you shall be allowed to progress to steel.
Your Father
Your Father
Elation coursed through Amrothos like a sweeping tide. He had been entrusted his father’s sword! It was not the sword Imrahil used in battle, but still, he had something that neither of his brothers had ever been given. And it was beautiful! Oh, how magnificent it looked to Amrothos, even in its wooden form. He imagined his father as a young man, using both speed and the agility of his weapon to prove his prowess in the sparring field. He could even envisage the original sword in the hands of his great-grandfather Angelimir, slaying any opponent foolish enough to cross its path.
The jarring sound of chuckling roused Amrothos from his reverie. He looked up to find Erchirion leaning against the door frame, a ludicrous grin plastered over his face.
“Hello, brother. Did you enjoy cleaning all that armour? We heard all about your little incident,” he mocked. “I have to say I am a bit surprised. After all, I know Lothiriel can be an annoying little wretch sometimes but surely you did not have to try and slice her fingers off, now did you?”
Amrothos glared at his brother and was just about to say something suitably antagonistic in reply when Elphir came up the corridor behind Erchirion.
“Erchirion! Go and get your things. Master Durvagor is waiting for us at the sparring ground. Make haste.”
Erchirion grinned amusedly at Amrothos before running off down the hallway to fetch his training gear. Elphir started off down the corridor to follow his brother before he stopped short. “Well come on then,” he said, looking back at Amrothos. “Are you coming or not?”
“Me?” stammered Amrothos.
“Why not?” Elphir shrugged. He smiled. “Erchirion could do with a little healthy competition.” He looked down at the sword in Amrothos’s hand saying, “you had better bring that with you as well,” and turned to continue his stroll down the corridor.
It took all of two seconds for Amrothos to pick up his sword and run after his brother, barely concealing his whoop of delight.
