Yalúmessë

Fair-Play





Artanis could not help stealing a few glances at Celeborn who sat across the table from her. The candlelight shone warmly on his silver hair and in his soft gray eyes.

“Lord Finrod,” Thingol’s voice broke Artanis’s thoughts.

“Yes, your highness?”

“When are your brothers due to arrive?”

“In a months-time, my lord.”

Thingol nodded silently.

//Nerwen, why do you keep looking at Lord Celeborn?//

Artanis was startled out of her thoughtfulness and she turned her mind to her brother.

//I was trying to figure something out. And I was not looking at him. I was staring at nothing in particular over his shoulder//

//All is well, Artanis, do not get so defensive//

//I am not being defensive//

“Are you well, Lady Artanis?” Celeborn asked, seeing her frown.

Artanis’s attention switched to him and she grew angry with herself for being so obvious. “I am fine,” she answered. Celeborn gave her an odd look before he resumed eating.

“What is happening to me?” Artanis wondered.


*~*~*~*~*


The late evening found Artanis wandering down the halls toward Lord Celeborn’s chambers. She did not know what possessed her to go. Before she was even aware that she was going in that direction she was already halfway there. Artanis rapped gently on the door.

No response.

She tried again.

Nothing still.

Artanis then boldly opened the door and peeked inside. From what she could see of his chambers, it was well organized and finely decorated. There were two swords on the farthest wall. There was a large shelf full of scrolls and books, which suggested he was more into the art of lore than of war.

“I wonder how skilled of a warrior he is . . .”

“Skilled enough to hold my own.”

Artanis jumped and whirled around to find herself pinned by Celeborn’s cool, silver gaze. Her fascination with the room had distracted her from sensing the elf lord’s approach.

Artanis quickly regained her composure. “Would you be willing to test that, my Lord Celeborn?”

Celeborn raised an elegant eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, my lady?”

“It is.”

“Then I accept.”

“I will meet you in the practice room in ten minutes,” said Artanis.

“I will be ready in five.”

“Five minutes, then!” Artanis cried and turned on her heel towards her chambers to change.



*~*~*~*~*~*~*



When Artanis arrived in the practice room she found Celeborn already there and waiting. He wore a leather jerkin and leather strips sewn together protected his shoulders.

Artanis found herself gazing in awe at the scholar-like man who now looked like a wonder in just leather armor. She was afraid to think of him in full armor lest she melt altogether.

Artanis had donned her usual dark blue riding habit for that was all she had that gave her the greatest amount of freedom in her movements. It consisted of riding breeches and a long dress tunic that stopped a little below her calves.

Celeborn looked her over. He hated to admit that she still looked stunning, even in breeches and a tunic.

Artanis noticed that the sword he was holding was one of the swords from his wall. She looked at her own sword, a regular elven blade.

“What is the name of your sword?” Celeborn asked, for he suddenly had the urge to stall this confrontation.

“Nindénarë. Yours?”

“Atha'lân.”

Artanis nodded quietly then put herself in a ready stance. “Are you prepared, my lord?”

Celeborn followed suit. “Always, my lady.”

Artanis began the assault with a thrust, which Celeborn parried with very little effort. Artanis and Celeborn were well matched. Celeborn almost beat the sword out of Artanis’s hand and she admitted to herself that he was indeed a great swordsman.

The match went for almost a half-hour. Finally, when she ducked a swipe from Atha'lân, Artanis kicked Celeborn’s feet out from under him.

Celeborn hit the ground with a thud. But, before he could even lift his head Artanis was on top of him with her sword pointed at his throat.

They sat there panting for what seemed to be hours. Artanis glared down at Celeborn who only looked back up at her in shock.

“That was not very sporting.”

“Orcs are not ones to concern themselves with sport.”

“Are you calling yourself an orc?” Celeborn said with a grin.

“How child-like of you! No, I was not. I was just pointing out the fact that on the battle-field you cannot fight fairly with an orc."

“I would not let myself be so easily beaten if I was fighting an orc.”

“Oh, really?”

Suddenly, Artanis was shoved to the ground and Celeborn was straddling her with his sword poised at her throat.

“I was not fighting as I would with an orc. I was fighting as I would with, Eru forbid, a fellow elf.”

Artanis’s expression darkened. Celeborn caught it and made a mental note of it. But, whatever concern was whirling about his head at the moment was gone, for he felt Artanis’s soft hand begin to travel up his thigh.

He swallowed hard. “What are you doing?” he asked in a choked voice.

“Oh, nothing in particular . . .” Artanis purred.

Celeborn then felt her legs move under him. His breathing became labored and he broke into a sweat when she put her legs up against his torso.

“Nan Belain . . .” he whispered hoarsely. *

Artanis graced him with a slow and suggestive smile, then suddenly Celeborn’s world went upside down and he found himself once again, on the floor, at the mercy of Artanis’s sword.

“You have been defeated,” she said proudly, then swiftly got up, leaving Celeborn on the floor in a daze and wondering to himself what had just happened.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*





Nan Belain: By the Valar.


What’cha think? Send a review!