Flame of Gondolin, book 1: Love Story

CHAPTER FIVE
Late Spring, 509 FA

The arrow buzzed dangerously close to the target.

Dangerously close – but not close enough, as it flew by and landed in the tree beside it with a 'thunk'.

Anárië cursed unceremoniously, and whirled around with another choice word on her lips. She'd been trying to land an arrow in the target unsuccessfully for about an hour now, and her luck was nowhere close to being anything but ill. She didn't even know what she was doing wrong. She'd done everything just like she'd seen Lasgow teach the new recruits. Granted, it had been a while back, but she had no more luck than before.

Sighing as she calmed herself, the elleth slowly went to gather her misplaced arrows. The one that was in the tree had punched deep into the wood; she placed her bow down to get a better grip, her palm flat againt the trunk.

"I didn't know Ecthelion taught you how to shoot with a bow."

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the voice; looking back over her shoulder, Anárië saw Glorfindel standing at the entrance to the stables. He looked as if he had just come in from riding.

"He did not," she answered after a moment, returning her attention to the arrow, "I taught myself."

If he was surprised by her answer, he didn't show it. Instead, Glorfindel crossed the distance to her and gently placed his hand over hers on the arrow.

"Here; let me."

Their eyes met. Anárië lowered her gaze and slowly pulled her hand from his. The Elf Lord wasted no time in pulling the arrow out, inspecting the tip.

"You're in luck – it can be reused."

For that she gave him a glare and took the arrow from him.

"Thank you."

She turned and walked back to where she'd been standing previously. It was only when she turned around again to notch an arrow that she noticed he had not moved. She didn't even know why he had come in the first place.

"Are you not leaving?"

Glorfindel shook his head with a small smile, "No, I think I'll stay here."

He was standing dangerously close to the target. Given her recent luck with hitting that, Anárië felt the need to warn him.

"I am not the most proficient of aims, Lord Glorfindel. I am certainly not Lord Duilin."

He arched an eyebrow.

"Is that a warning?"

"Call it what you will," she said, fixing the leather strap on her arm and carefully notching an arrow before lifting the bow again. She took longer to aim this time, her heart beating wildly in her chest. If she missed, if the wind blew … if the arrow hit Glorfindel by any chance … she would never be able to show her face in public again.

The weapon flew, and missed the target, flying too high. Anárië let out a frustrated breath.

"Calm yourself, child," Glorfindel said, unclasping his cloak and letting it fall, "even the best miss sometime. Try again."

She met his gaze, but could not hold it; instead, she focused on the arrow again and lifted her bow to take another shot.

Her eyes met Glorfindel's again, and the sapphires unnerved her. She let go of the bowstring, the arrow flew – and narrowly missed Glorfindel as he swiftly leaned to avoid it.

Mortified, Anárië felt colour drain from her face.

But the golden-haired lord simply laughed.

"Verily, you are very much like Lord Duilin – in his younger days. It took him yen to hit the target properly."

Her heart lodged in her throat, she could do no more than give a tiny nod with her head.

Glorfindel smiled and returned to her side, placing his sword against the wall of the stable and taking position next to her.

"I saw the arrow coming, Anárië; you need not fear on my account."

Her green eyes were still wide, and doubtful. He chuckled and leaned close, "I won't tell your father if that's what you fear. Truly, if I wanted Ecthelion to mock me, I could find a better reason. I will not serve him such an opportunity, however. Standing too close to a target and barely avoiding an arrow? I'd never hear the end of it."

She still looked doubtful, but felt slightly better, so she took a breath and exhaled after a moment, slowly composing herself again.

Glorfindel, seeing she was ready, made her lift the bow without an arrow first.

"Let me see your stance, and how you pull the string."

She did as she was told, repeating the motion over and over again. He lifted her elbow a little higher.

"Make sure that you always draw back into the same position," he explained, "only when you're able to do that will your aim be sure. Now, notch an arrow."

She did as he told her, and then carefully pulled the string back. He placed his hand over hers, and the sudden contact made her loose the weapon prematurely; it disappeared into the bushes, sending some birds into the air.

"Alright, that was unforeseen," Glorfindel laughed, "again. I will do the same thing. This time, I want you to wait before you loose."

Anárië tried not to focus on how close he was standing, or how gentle his touch was when he placed his hand over hers again.

"Always feel with your mouth and cheek," his voice murmured close to her ear; he tugged the string a bit more back, so that the feathers of the arrow tickled the corner of her mouth, "this is the proper position. The bow is bent enough."

She certainly wished it was, because her shoulders were starting to hurt. She did not say so, however.

Glorfindel stepped closer still, correcting the way the bow was positioned, lowering his head to be able to see what she saw. Her stance was good, her arms strong enough; he could not do much about her sight, however, if it were not what it should be.

"Don't think about anything else but the target," he breathed. Anárië focused on her breathing first, and then the target at hand.

"Allow your breathing to become one with your heartbeat. See the target. See the arrow in the center. See it hit. Envision it. Feel it. Believe."

She closed her eyes momentarily. Just for a moment. His skin was warm on hers, his breath tickled her ear. But all the same, she thought she could follow his instructions.

Opening her eyes, the elleth let go of the bowstring with a snap; the arrow flew and pierced the center of the target.

Anárië felt her lips part in a bright smile as she turned to Glorfindel with excitement.

"I did it!"

He had to laugh at her enthusiasm: "You did. Just remember, repeat the same thing every time. Given enough training, you'll be deadly with the bow soon."

Her smile was full of satisfaction this time as she went to retrieve the arrow. Glorfindel watched her move in the breeches and the shirt, wondering which of Ecthelion's chests she'd snuck these from. By the embroidery on the sleeves, he was sure her father would never miss this particular item of clothing, if he ever realized it was missing in the first place. Glorfindel could still recognise the work of his friend's mother.

"You said you taught yourself to shoot with the bow," he commented after she retrieved all the arrows and returned, "does Ecthelion know?"

He was certain he knew the answer already. Anárië's face only confirmed it as she looked down at her boots.

"He would not like it."

Undoubtedly, but who was he to spill her secrets?

"I never saw you," he commented with a small smile, allowing himself the small indulgence of satisfaction when she looked up with gratitude written all over her face. She could have asked for anything then, and he would have given it to her.

"Is it only the bow which holds your fancy?" he asked after a moment, as she was putting the weapon away.

Her smile was surer this time; more confident.

"I have only just begun with the bow, Lord Glorfindel. I am my father's daughter."

Which would mean only one thing.

Anárië pulled a sword from its scabbard and returned with light steps. Glorfindel watched as she rolled her shoulders slightly and flicked her wrists couple of times, lightly swinging the weapon.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was already freeing his own longsword from its ornate scabbard; she looked at him at the sound of metal against leather.

"Show me."

She could feel her body tense in apprehension and anxiety. Gondolin's best warrior was standing, almost lazily, opposite her, the tip of his sword lightly placed against the ground. It was a heavy weapon, she could see that. But Glorfindel was taller and stronger than her. He would have no problem wielding it with one hand only if he had to. Her own sword seemed like a toothpick compared to his, and yet she could not turn down the challenge.

She never could.

With determination, she slowly turned her body sideways, both hands holding the sword as she faced Glorfindel. He had not moved as of yet, preferring to watch her. Sizing her up. Taking her in.

"Was the sword made for you?"

She shook her head, crouching a bit lower, "My father's squire. He was given a new one for his knighthood."

He gave a curt nod; and then he was suddenly moving. Anárië had never seen Glorfindel fight before. Heard of it, yes, but never seen it.

It was the most frightening thing in her life.

She barely avoided direct contact with his blade as he came towards her, jumping to the side and bringing her blade up in defense as he spun around, giving her no respite. The blades clashed together loudly. She ducked and his sword slipped over her as she kicked at him, momentarily catching him off-guard.

The smile she gave him reminded him of her mother's cat, Larca.

"I never said I fight fair."

Glorfindel snorted, and went into the attack again. This time, she didn't have a moment to spare, his blade came upon her from all sides. She barely had enough wits to parry each hit.

But every time she did that, despite the vibration against her arms, she was aware of a blazingly obvious factor.

"You aren't fighting me!" she accused him as she spun away, dancing from his longer blade, "Your hits are weak."

Glorfindel answered by bringing the longsword down in a grand diagonal arc, forcing her backwards again.

Anárië growled and launched herself into a half-hearted offensive, but he blocked every move with little effort. Her frustration grew.

"Lift your sword higher," he instructed as he spun, and she blocked, "a longsword like mine, as heavy as it is, can slip over. Higher!"

He was hardly even breathless. It angered her and fueled her hits; she managed to push his blade away and swing in a wide half-circle, forcing him to jump backwards.

"Hit harder! You're treating me like a woman."

Their blades clashed again furiously, and again she could sense, quite clearly now, how he checked the force behind the blow, pulling back before it was too much.

She feinted to the left before diving right, but he smacked the attack away like he would swat at a fly.

"Faster on your feet. You don't move enough."

She danced; the duel became faster then. Low, high, left, right, behind, spin, duck, everything. And all the while, no force behind his blows. None at all.

"I am not a child to be coddled!" she spat in his direction after he pushed her away using his blade, but it felt like a gentle shove, "Do you fight this way in the field?"

The bright eyes flashed, but she was nowhere near prepared for what happened next.

The first blow sent a vibration all the way up her arms and to her skull. The second sent her sword flying and she hadn't even seen it happen.

The cool steel of his sword was against her neck. It had been only seconds.

"You are exactly a child to be coddled," he told her in a quiet voice, the exertion not even visible. Perhaps it had not even been there in the first place.

Anárië could feel her heartbeat in the vein right against his sword in her neck, like a hummingbird's wing as she fought for breath and words, watching him. Unbidden, tears rose to her eyes, but she was too proud to let them fall.

Glorfindel's expression changed, becoming unreadable, and he lowered his weapon, before turning away and sheathing it.

"You are still good, for a beginner. With time, as with your archery, you will improve."

She didn't know whether she felt humiliated or mortified that he had seen her and treated her thus, even if she had brought it upon herself. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, the elleth pushed her chin up.

"I will, Lord Glorfindel. Someday. I was not meant to run a household."

He let out a soft sigh and turned to look at her over his shoulder.

Her emerald green eyes were hard again: "Someday, I will hold a sword to your throat. This I swear to you."

For an odd second, he believed her. She looked so fierce standing there, her hair escaping the braid it had been captured in, her cheeks flushed, her head raised proudly. Proud as only a Noldo could be.

And his Vanya blood doubted.

"Perhaps."

He left without another word, leaving her there. Anárië braced herself against the wall and took deep, calming breaths, trying to slow her heart. Her eyes went to where she had seen him last, only moments before. She did not understand this effect he had on her.

And she still did not know why he had come.