Swift Feet

There is none like thee among the dancers,
None with swift feet.
I have not found thee in the tents,
In the broken darkness.
I have not found thee at the well-head
Among the women with pitchers.
Thine arms are as a young sapling under the bark;
Thy face as a river with lights.

~ Ezra Pound~



Haldir assumed the first posture and focused on the clearing in front of him. He concentrated on the particles of pollen that hung in the air, like tiny jewels, and tried to ignore the way the muscles of his arms burned. He inhaled, remaining steady. For his arm to slip, even with the dulled practice sword, would be... unthinkable. He breathed out.

"Begin the exercise."

He brought the sword away from his body and stood in one smooth motion. He bowed over the steel in honor to the blade and gave a nod of respect to his instructor. He had not thought the older elf would be such a hard taskmaster. Yet, he felt up to the challenge.

He went through the steps of the exercise. Slow. Deliberate.

His tunic shifted with every movement, revealing the motion of each muscle to the watcher's eye.

The teacher nodded appreciatively.

He lunged, the line of his hip exposed to the instructor’s scrutiny. He rotated his shoulder and the sword flashed in an arc, the tip stopping a hair's breadth from the instructor’s chest.

The teacher smiled.

"See the position of your foot? It is pointing away from me. You are off balance. I will be able to parry the blow easily."

With lightning speed, the instructor’s sword struck Haldir's blade. He stumbled, his strength alone not enough to overpower the more experienced elf.

The teacher stepped in and locked up his blade, leaving Haldir unable to defend himself. Forced to step back, Haldir came full-circle to loosen his blade, his intent to draw the sword across the instructor’s stomach as he passed. The move left his back exposed for an instant -- a dangerous mistake. The teacher's arm reached out with whipcord strength and tightened like a band around Haldir's waist. Haldir twisted to no avail, his body pulled hard until his back met solid flesh. He felt the whisper of breath near his ear and the tip of something sharp, lightly scoring his side.

"I have a dagger, my lord." Haldir could hear the smile in the Elda's voice. "You are dead."

Haldir relaxed. "And I would die a thousand deaths such as this, were it in your arms."

The Elda's grip melted. She did not see Haldir's smile nor sense that he would take the opportunity to spin away from her and take his stance again.

"You would tease one such as I, child?" She laughed, easily parrying his blade away with one delicately gloved hand and stepping inside his guard again, this time pressing the dagger to his throat. "I have known warriors greater than you will ever be. That is, if you do not pay more heed to the training and less to the trainer."

Haldir swallowed hard. "Miriel, you tempt me too much."

She released him.

"Temptation!" She removed her gloves and retrieved a cloth from her pack wiping her dagger clean of his sweat. "You must learn to cast aside your desires, and attend to the training. Think you the women of the Haradrim hordes are unattractive?" Miriel looked him in the eye, chin raised, defying him to challenge her greater knowledge of the enemy.

She sashayed toward him, the cloth held over the lower part of her face, only her eyes showing. The look in her eyes shifted from defiance to smoldering desire. She did not stop until her body pressed against his. He groaned, her scent intoxicating him.

"Think you they would not slip a blade between your ribs, even as you knelt to worship them?" The cloth fell away from her lips as she spoke, while one hand slipped inside the open side of the tunic, her fingers splayed against his chest. "Even now, I feel your heart thrumming under my hand and your loins stirring."

"Mine is not the only heart that thrums." He bent his head towards her.

She pressed her fingers against his lips, preventing his kiss. "You are young, Haldir. You will learn."

She turned away from him and gathered her weapons. She threw his leggings towards him. "Get dressed. We are done for today."

"Miriel...," Haldir began.

"I said we are done." She left the clearing without looking back.

Haldir waited until she was out of his sight. Then he raised his sword, settled onto the stone and, once again, assumed the first posture. He focused on the clearing in front of him, concentrating on the particles of pollen that hung in the air, like tiny jewels, ignoring the way the muscles of his arms burned. He inhaled, remaining steady. For his arm to slip, even with the dulled practice sword, would be... unthinkable.

He breathed out.