Tengwa malta by Sky

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Chapter 4

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He is striding ahead of me at a brisk pace. He is offering his upraised face to the dense autumn rain, merrily floundering and squelching with his boots along the mud-flooded road, casting rich brown drops onto his trousers and mine too with his heels. He is so prone to staining, tearing clothes, wetting through, leaving traces and forest litter everywhere…  unconventional, strange, wonderful elf. Without any daintiness, if you understand.  Without a streak for dancing in the glades all day long. I absolutely can’t understand dancing in the glades.

“Me neither,” - Maitimo turns back and smiles with one corner of his mouth. It looks very dashing.

 “Getting into my head again without permission?”

“Sorry,” - without stopping he slightly embraces my shoulders. – “You think very loudly”.

It’s so pleasant to lean into his warm side that I forgive that osanwë without permission at once.

“It’s all right. But tell me, what will you do if I’ll be musing about something improper?”

“I’ll blush and run away,” - a content laugh sounds somewhere above me.

 

Today he has been teaching me to fight. We went into the forest, and for three hours were clashing our blades on the rotting autumn leaves, crying wildly and effectively pretending that we were overcome with battle fury. The special, family one, you know. During the first hour my blocks were being crushed into dust by the onslaught of the giant long-sword, my feet refused to act in accordance with the rest of my body, and my fingers were trembling and wished, it seemed, to let go the iron bar and give oneself to the mercy of the fearful, seven feet high, scarlet-black-red opponent. But then, little by little, the hilt ceased to be so strange to the hand. I felt it and hit once, and twice. Slashed like with a saber, with the very tip, pulling it back to myself right after the stroke.

My feet got used to the position, the head cleared. Maitimo still fooled me with a feint every two minutes, stopping his awful sword a few millimeters away from my mortal flesh, but I ceased backing up all the time, at least.

By the end of the training several blisters swelled on my palm. It meant the day was a success.

 “What do I look like when I'm fighting?”

To tell the truth, I’m not in a battle mode right now. It’s very cozy and warm to walk under Maitimo’s shoulder when it’s pouring cats and dogs, so who in the name of Sauron's aunt wants to talk about swords?

 “You look fierce.”

I'm so pleased that I have to close my eyes, savoring the moment.

 

***

 

When, after walking along the wet dark streets for half an hour we finally reach the straight road to my house, the battle fury has totally dissipated from my head. Embracing Maitimo around the waist, I feel I am now hanging on him in the most disgraceful way. The wet silk and velvet under my fingers make me anticipate the warm house ahead where we can dry it all up, make me anticipate a hot shower and the heated sides of the cast-iron pot.

Without slowing his pace, the Fëanoring bends to me:

“If necessary, I can carry you.”

“Maitimo, you offend me.”

“As you wish,” - judging by his voice, the tall elf is smiling somewhere above me with the corners of his mouth, and I begin to fiercely regret my conceit at once. But there’s no way back.

“A warrior mustn’t shy away from exhaustion,” - I grin.

His crippled handless arm lies on my right shoulder. His elbow embraces my neck so softly that it’s hard to believe that there was a time when this Elda could be overcome with fury and was slaying and slashing living bodies on his way.

“A warrior has to pace himself sensibly,” - the Fëanoring says calmly.

“What else?”

Maitimo turns his head to me.

“Often think about his enemies.”

His face is floating over me, lit by the faint light of wet street-lanterns. There are dark shadows under his eyes, and his lean cheekbones, nose and chin, his high forehead rounded at the top, seem very pale. His hair, wet, dark-brown in the twilight , clings to his cheeks.

He has been thinking.

“You can’t compare our enemies. From your point of view, I have none”, - I say.

“Why not? Everyone has enemies on his own level.”

“Ha-ha... You’re right. Mine are just venomous children who can’t even master their own lives.”

“But they can ruin somebody’s else life,” - the Noldo remarks.

 “Maybe, maybe”.

Suddenly Maitimo stops and willy-nilly I turn to him.

“When you're taking revenge, above all you must  be eager to look into your enemy’s eyes so he can see his doom in your face, - he says with utmost authority. – Are you ready to do that?”

I picture the annoyed, weak-chinned face with its focused expression very clearly.  And my jagged iron bar in the foreground.

 “Extremely ready.”

Maitimo smiles and slams his palm onto my shoulder so that I barely manage to avoid falling on the wet asphalt.

 “So, everything’s fine!”

He slightly touches my braids, entwined with a golden lace.

“Let’s go home.”

 

 

***

 

I didn’t expect that the hilt would match his hand so neatly. Findekano is standing before me and thoughtfully shifts the blade from hand to hand not knowing with which one it would be better to fight.

“Use your right hand”, - I suggest.

Finyo hesitates, then gives me a serious scowl.

“For what purpose would you need such great knives?”

“Not knives, firstly, these are swords! And secondly… Finyo, for additional strength! What if we have to defend someone?”

“From whom?”

I shrug. What does it matter?

Findekano stands before me, holding the blade in his relaxed hand. The point of the sword is hiding among the grass stalks.

“Let’s start!” – I step up beside him and raise my blade. – “Look here”.

I stop an imaginary hit to the left shoulder and come round with a sweeping move, again from the left, and stop my blade, slightly touching his shirt.

Finyo laughs.

 “Can you copy that?”

The Nolofinwion narrows his lower eyelids and smiles at me menacingly.

“Well-well, my boy!” – I think calmly – and barely have time to beat back the attack flying at my right shoulder. Instinctively I hit from the right, too, - but the blade meets such a resistance that it is almost flung back into my face. With some barely perceptible move Findekano turns up behind my back and with the flat of the sword hits my… buttocks?!

 “Are you out of your mind?!” – I turn round, so angry that I actually throw the sword into the grass.

Finyo can’t stop himself from laughing out loud, which hurts still more.

“Well!..  well… you!” – I’m totally lost for words. To tell the truth, above all I want to curse in a very offensive way right now.

“What?!” – Finyo continues laughing. – ”You showed me that trick yourself!”

Some cause for laughter! I turn round to check my clothes. They are unharmed…

“Maitimo, don’t be offended,” - Finyo is smiling, but no longer in mockery. – “It’s just a game”.

I understand that the conflict should be settled, but hold my offended silence. The Nolofinwion picks up the sword by the guard and holds it out for me, hilt forward.

“Will you teach me more?”