Fool's Strike by Arinwende

Fool's Strike

Read Fool's Strike

The campfire of the advance scouts was crackling and spewing smoke, and a dozen warriors were sitting around it, just like in Istar's previous company. The nearest warrior rose, and Istar recognized him. Golden-haired, somewhat stockier than him, dressed in a black and red tabard with the star of Feanor embroidered with silver thread, and the same spark of laughter in his eyes, just like back then, before night fell, when they, little elflings, launched kites together.

"Alarco! Alayo, what are you doing here?"

The old friend looked like he was amazed even more.

"Istar? Greetings, friend! Long time no see!" Alarco Lauraldo laughed, recognizing him too. "It's me who should ask, though, what are you doing here. I didn't see you in Alqualonde, and neither did I on the ships, and suddenly you appear here, all dirty and disheveled, looking like you were running across all Middle-Earth from Cuivienen without stopping. Did you hide in a ship's hold?"

"No. I crossed the Sea on a boat of my own. Not quite of my own, but again, neither does Feanaro own these ones".

"Oh. I get it. So all that fracas about the vanished boat was because of you. I was thinking of all kinds of possibilities, but I never thought that it may be you. Istar, always a daring fellow. Now I understand what are you doing in our merry company of too daring elves. Let's go to the campfire".

They came closer to the fire and sat down.

"Brothers in arms, this is Istar!" Lauraldo said to the rest of the company. "The most daring Noldo this side of the Great Sea after Feanaro himself. You know, he crossed the Sea alone, on a small boat! Istar, this is Elencano, the leader of our company. This is Anarendil, and out there sits Arquenon..."

It was hard for Istar to wrap his mind around so many names at once, and he decided to memorize who is who one at a time.

"Lauraldo! Maitimo told me that one gets in this company for misbehaving. Now, why are you here?"

"Joking about Feanaro at my old campfire. Some elf of good will went and told everything to Lord Caranthir".

"Joking? What in the world did you joke about to end up on the most dangerous duty as a punishment?"

"Do I have to try this again?" Lauraldo dodged the question. "I wouldn't like to be the first against the Enemy's swords for a few years more! I'll tell you some time later, with nobody around".

"Oh, about the Enemy. And the enemies. Have you seen them? What do they look like, like us or like some Eru-awful thing?" Istar asked.

"Who knows?" Lauraldo shrugged. "Nobody has seen them. I'm very curious, too, against whom did we sharpen all that steel. By the way, do you have a weapon?"

"Only this" answered Istar, showing his shortbow.

"Yes, a great warrior comes to us! Dressed in some rags, armed with just a small bow... Why they didn't give you a good sword?"

"Lord Maitimo promised they'll give me a sword after we leave Losgar".

Lauraldo waved his hand, showing direction to a waggon loaded with bags from the ships' holds. "Let's go get you some decent clothing. It's in that waggon train". He walked towards the waggon, inviting Istar to follow.

 

There weren't any weapons in the waggon train, but Istar got a new cuirass of boiled leather, a warm shirt and a cloak. No heavier armor was allowed to a warrior of "the merry company", but he also received a quiver of arrows. The elf at the waggon train said that if Istar ever needs a shield, he'll receive that, too.

"Well! Now you do look like a warrior!" Lauraldo said. They were already on their way back to the campfire. "Wait, what is that noise?"

"Where?" Istar listened carefully. Yes, there was a noise of twigs cracking and rustling under someone's feet... not an elf, elves are never so loud.

"A beast of the forest?" Istar whispered.

"Don't think so. No beast would approach the encampment so close. DODGE!" Lauraldo exclaimed, jumping aside in a nick of time, and a heavy arrow buzzed where he was standing a moment ago.

Istar grabbed his bow momentarily, nocked, drew and shot an arrow blindly into the bushes, where, as it seemed to him, the assailant shot from. And he did hit: a raspy roar sounded from the bushes, mixed with some gibberish words. Lauraldo ran to the bushes, drawing his sword and crossing blades with some short, stocky dark silhouette. A clang of metal echoed across the shore.

"Alarm!" shouted Istar, nocking again and shooting again. The arrow hit the unknown assaillant's side, he screamed with pain, collapsed and went silent. Several more Noldorin warriors came and saw everything. Without words they bared their blades and quickly entered the forest.

Istar ran to Lauraldo's side. They stood above the corpse of an unknown creature and examined it, lighting a torch. Yes, the creature looked ugly: two hands, two legs and a head, just like an elf has, but that's where the similarities ended. Its skin was grayish-yellow, it was clad in rough hides. The face was a mockery of an elven face, scary and comical at once: a wide, angular jaw with sharp teeth, some long like a boar's tusks; a flat nose, small bloodshot eyes that stared maliciously and powerlessly into the skies, under a massive forehead. Its hair was coal black and oiled with some animal's fat, its shoulders wide, its arms long and thick. A crude wooden shield was in one hand of the creature, and a curved iron sword was in another. Its long-unwashed body stank, and its wounds oozed with dark, almost black blood.

"Ngwau! Where in the world does Moringotto get beings like this from?" Lauraldo squeamishly said. "No doubt this is a creature of his, no nature would give birth to it. And I bet it wasn't alone!"

"It wasn't" said one of the Noldorin warriors from under the forest's dark canopy. "There were four of them, and it looks like they were scouting and sniffing around".

"What exactly are these?" Istar asked.

"Seems like they are the Enemy's soldiers we were talking about" Lauraldo answered. "Thank you. If not for your first arrow that wounded it, it would kill me. It looked very strong. Let's go tell someone of the lords".

But there was no need for that. Several riders, Maedhros among them, were already coming close to the place of the skirmish.

"What happened here?" Maedhros asked, dismounting.

"Lord Maitimo, it looks like we've encountered the first creatures of the Enemy. Look at this!" Lauraldo said, once again lowering the torch to shed light on the corpse. Maedhros kneeled to take a closer look and winced in disgust.

"Who slain it?" he asked.

"That was me, Lord Maitimo!" Istar said, stepping a bit closer. "The fighters say there were three more, but this one was the first that attacked. He tried to shoot Lauraldo, and he was close".

"A-ha! Looks like our glorious mariner is now doing better than causing headaches to the House of Feanaro!" Maedhros laughed. "Good, otorno, I see you're a hero. No one gave you a sword, and you are already fighting! I think you deserve a fine sword as a gift. Let's go, you deserve it".

 

They reached a waggon train loaded with weapons, near the largest of the ships, the ship on which Feanor himself was on. Maedhros came close to a waggon full of wooden boxes and yanked off a cloth covering it.

"Before I choose a sword for you, I need to know what kind of swordsman you are" he said and took two straight wooden sticks from a box. These were training sticks used by all young swordsmen who only begin to pick up the skill. "Here, take one".

Maedhros was famous for being the best swordsman among all Noldor, and a fight with him, even a training stick fight, was a frightening thought.

"Don't fear, I'll hold myself back! I know better than injuring my warriors" he said, tossing a stick to Istar.

Istar caught the stick and grabbed its end. Maedhros swung his stick, making a figure eight, and struck from up-left to down-right. Istar parried the blow, dodged and swung his stick, trying to hit his opponent's side. Maedhros parried this blow easily and stepped back a bit. Istar jumped closer and hardly dodged a piercing blow, but he struck back, once again to no avail. Now that was Istar who stepped back, because Maedhros started spinning his stick so fast it whistled, cleaving through air. A quick and powerful blow near-missed Istar, but when the stick almost lost its momentum, Istar parried it away and immediately swun from straight up. Maedhros didn't expect this; he was trying to find a pattern in Istar's wild swings, and failing. Istar's stick slided down his opponent's, put to parry too late, and hit Maedhros' head.

"Yowch!" he moaned, sucking in air through clenched teeth. "That's for holding myself back... Didn't they tell you that you don't aim for the head when you train with sticks?"

"They did, but I didn't mean to..." Istar tried to make an excuse. "But it happened, I don't know, by itself..."

"By itself! You have no skill, that's why it happened by itself! A good swordsman never lets anything happen by itself, he strikes as he needs to strike! I frankly didn't expect anything like that, and because of that I failed to parry this blow. But I think you are doing well for someone with no skill. Train a bit, and you'll be a fine swordsman. You should learn a style of fighting that's based more on nimbleness than on strong blows, so you should have a lighter, longer, well balanced sword. Let's see..." Maedhros said as he put the sticks back in the box and opened another one. "That's it. What dou you think?"

The sword he handed to Istar was, indeed, long and light. Its crossguard was subtly bent like wings towards the blade, the hilt was wrapped in thin black leather and topped by a polished steel pommel. The blade was cold to touch, Tengwar letters were engraved on ot, and the very base of the blade, where the craftsman usually leaves his personal mark, the star of Feanor was engraved.

Istar swung the sword, trying its balance, made a figure eight with it. He picked up a twig, threw it in the air and slashed it in two. Picking up a piece of a twig, he was amazed how clean the cut was.

"It is a fine sword" he thanked Maedhros.

"One of the first ones crafted by my father" Maedhros nodded. "It's name is Helcanar, the Icy Flame, and it holds spells of victory against any enemy. Take it, and let it forever remind you of the generosity of the House of Feanaro. Oh, and one more thing. You shall have to train long before you defeat a master swordsman again. There is a lot of training between a random victory of a fool and a sure victory of a master".

 

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Chapter End Notes

Sorry for possible grammar errors, English is not my own language. This is my own translation of a part of a greater fanfic of mine, but it's in my native Russian.