48 Quellë, present days
"Move those arms 'Calie! Quick cuts! One, two, three! Strong strikes now! Never lock your elbow when striking, young elleth!"
Sparring on the shoreline of Forlond's bay was something Earcalie loved most during her visits to family, while elven mercantile ships rolled lazily along the waves leaving the port. She left Imladris rather late than her usual, ending up in Lindon by the tail end of autumn, when red and orange leaves were falling and the grasslands turned ochre. But the sky, oh the sky was as azure as ever. The crisp breeze didn’t disturb her while she deflected Histealdo’s blade and responded to it with a swing of her own, aiming for his lower left side in a feint… which he of course didn’t fall for and deftly avoided, swatting the sword from her hands with a twist of his wrist.
“Damn it!”
“Language, young lady. And don’t be angry at yourself, it was a good try… but I know you and I know how you move so that “feint” would never have worked on me”. He retrieved the sword from its bed of sand and presented it back to his grumbling niece. “That is enough for today. Let’s go sit by the rocks, I brought something to eat”.
Not far from the foreshore a group of five rocks stood from the sand, the biggest of them short and with a flat surface, where a basket full of apples, glasses and a bottle of grape juice waited for them. Slumping on the rock with a huff, Earcalie grabbed the first apple within reach and took a large bite off of it.
“I will win, soon, just you wait”
“And I actually look forward to that day, as it will mean the student finally surpassed the master, but you still think too little and rush too much. Patience is a virtue that you have never learnt to cultivate”
She muttered something that suspiciously sounded like “boring” and Histealdo sighed. “That’s what I meant… well, never mind it now, I have something to wipe that scowl off your face”. In response to her quizzical expression, he moved some apples from the basket, taking a box covered in cloth from the bottom and under the cloth, two lines of seaweed rolls, sprinkled with sesame seeds and fresh mint as her mother used to do when she prepared them. Her favorite dish in Middle Earth because it reminded ‘Calie of her so much. Her scowl made way to a wide smile instead as she promptly took one and ate half of it in a single bite.
“Thank you uncle”. He ruffled her hair, settling in companionable silence. Forlond’s bay used to be a lot busier in years past; the quiet rolling of waves, breeze and seagulls cries, perhaps a vessel or two sailing along the coast made up all of the noise the elleth could hear. She never gave much time to the thought of leaving as so many did instead, for her the world was still fresh and vibrant and the Eldar still walked its paths. Not so long ago in fact she accompanied a caravan transporting goods to Mithlond and small settlements still dotted the grasslands along the way. Well… thinking about it, the wood probably was for building ships destined for the Blessed Land.
Often she wondered what that land may have looked like in the past. Sure, the stories her family and some friends told her painted a fascinating picture of evergreen grasslands, sparkling rivers and Elves roaming from settlement to settlement. Craft and trade bustling, much more than now, and the most common topics of conversation were many, not reduced to “we must sail West soon”.
Perhaps Histealdo sensed her musings, as he broke the silence. “Would you like to accompany me somewhere tomorrow?”
“Ah?”. Roused from her thoughts, Earcalie blinked, and turned to look at him. “What?”
“I said, if you’d like to accompany me somewhere”
“… depends on where? If it is to escort yet another caravan directed to Mithlond…”
“That would be our final destination yes. But first we would travel far north, to meet with the one who requested additional help in transporting his goods. You know where Athrad Amdir is?”. She nodded.
“A small settlement in the northwestern reaches of Forlindon, near the source of Gelion and the first slopes of Ered Luin. I thought only a few hardened guards and hunters reside there permanently?”
“Not quite. Among them is an ellon named Maeth. He is a smith and the one who requested help transporting his wares south”. Seeing his niece raise an eyebrow at that name, he chuckled. “Maeth is not, as you might have guessed, his real name. He chose to be known with his cilmessë since a long, long time ago… since the end of War of Wrath when he relocated here from eastern Beleriand in fact”. Those words piqued the elleth’s interest, as he hoped they would. “I thought you might like to meet this person, as you love stories of the ‘old days’ he might be amenable to tell…”
“Does he accepts commissions?” she interrupted him, and he sighed. “Is that all you gathered from what I said? Whatever would you commission to him? You already have a perfectly fine pair of sword and shield… and he might not even consider you worthy of his time”
“That is not the point! I feel like they do not represent me anymore and I would like a new design. I bet he can make something even more beautiful with the heirlooms you gave me a few summers ago*. Asking doesn’t cost anything!”.
Earcalie shoved the rest of the seaweed roll in her mouth, gulped the grape juice and jumped off the rock. “We have preparations to make for tomorrow’s journey then! Get up and let us return home!”
Valar give me patience… he thought.
some names:
Maeth: battle, fight
cilmessë: self imposed name
Athrad Amdir: ford/crossing of hope
