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Elf, Interrupted: Book One: Glorfindel Redux  by Fiondil

103: The King of Nargothrond’s Squire

Alassiel wondered just when Findaráto planned on "beating that arrogance" of hers out of her, for at first he did nothing more than talk about it. The next day when she went to his pavilion he handed her two sheets of parchment. On one was a diagram of an ellon dressed in typical elven armor with each piece neatly labeled. The other paper had the same list of the different parts of the armor followed by a brief but thorough description explaining where it would be placed on a body, the order of its placement as well as its function in the overall scheme of protecting the warrior.

"Memorize these," Finrod told her and she sat down to do just that. She prided herself on her retentive abilities and on being a quick study, so she did not anticipate any problems, but, of course, nothing was simple with her cousin. He gave her two days.

On the third day she walked into his pavilion to find pieces of armor scattered about while Finrod himself was dressed only in breeches and shirt. She gave him an admiring glance and he chuckled. "Keep your thoughts to yourself, Cousin. You’re bound to shock my aunt."

Alassiel blushed when Melian, who had been escorting her, laughed. "After living in Doriath, my dear, nothing shocks me anymore."

Finrod grinned, then turned back to Alassiel. "You will dress me in the armor, in the order in which it is to be donned. You will name each piece and its function as you go and you will do it from memory."

She suddenly became afraid. "But... but I’ve only had two days! I still don’t understand half of what is written here." She held out the pieces of parchment that she had been holding.

Finrod shook his head, taking the parchments from her hands and putting them on his writing desk. "I don’t expect you to get it all right the first time, Alassiel. It took me months to get it right, but we don’t have months, only weeks. So do the best you can and I will help you when you get stuck. Looking at an illustration is only the first step. You will remember better if you have to handle the individual pieces themselves. Now, start with the undertunic."

Somewhat mollified by his tone, she complied, picking up the silk tunic and helping Finrod don it. "Why silk?" she asked.

"At first glance you would think it folly wouldn’t you?" Finrod said, nodding. "Check the weave and compare it to your gown."

She did. "The weave of your tunic is not as tight."

Finrod nodded. "It’s a more open weave, almost like a mesh, yet it is still heavier than the linen weave of my shirt so it produces better padding for the hauberk. Also the mail slides on and off more easily with the silk than it would with linen. What’s the next thing that goes on?"

It took her a moment to find what she was looking for and Finrod nodded in approval when she was able to name the piece and give its function. It was slow going, dressing him, for she had to stop and explain each piece and then figure out how to put it on him based on her memory of a flat drawing. Sometimes she got the order wrong or the name but Finrod proved a patient teacher and when the final piece of equipment was in place he praised her.

"That went much better than I anticipated," he said, adjusting the surcoat to hang better on his shoulders. The surcoat was dyed a royal blue and embroidered with his personal device of a harp and torch. "You have a quick mind, Cousin. Now, why don’t you help me out of all this and then we will have dinner? Afterwards, I will show you how to clean the different pieces. As my squire, it will be your duty and your joy to see that everything is kept clean."

"Joy?" Alassiel asked with a sneer even as she helped him out of the surcoat and began folding it neatly. "What possible joy could there be in anything so..."

Finrod took her by the shoulders, his demeanor grave. "Yes, Alassiel, joy. I sincerely hope that in the coming weeks you will find within yourself that special joy that comes from faithfully serving another. Vorondil has found it, as you may have noticed, certainly Laurendil and Manwen have as well. Look about you, child. Notice the joy that permeates those who are willing to humble themselves in service to others."

She looked at him doubtfully but slowly she began to perceive his own joy as his Light of Being brightened. "You’re no servant," she said confusedly.

"Am I not?" he replied with a wistful smile. "Lord Námo and Lord Irmo may have something to say to that."

Then, Finrod turned and rifled through a clothes press at the foot of one of the cots. He pulled out a shapeless tunic that had seen better days. "Vorondil’s decided to have another growth spurt and is wearing out his tunics. This should serve you well enough. When we finish dinner, you may change into this so as to save your gown from getting filthy. Cleaning armor is somewhat dirty work." He handed her the tunic and then turned to Melian. "Perhaps you wouldn’t mind giving Alassiel a hand with the rest of this."

In short order they had Finrod divested of all his armor and then they ate. Afterwards, Finrod excused himself so that Alassiel could have some privacy to change. When he returned she felt somewhat self-conscious with her legs below the knees exposed. The sleeves were a bit long and she had to fold them back. Finrod gave her an appraising look and she found herself laughing in spite of herself.

"Now it’s your turn to keep your thoughts to yourself, Cousin," she admonished him.

Finrod merely smirked and Melian actually giggled. Then Finrod picked up the hauberk and started explaining the proper way to care for it. Soon she was busy polishing. She noted that Finrod was not idle, but was checking over all the equipment with a practiced eye before letting her handle it, then he began going over his weapons. As he was checking his sword she wondered when he was going to start teaching her how to wield one as he had threatened to do.

As if divining her thoughts, Finrod spoke up. "I’ve had Lord Aulë’s people fashion appropriate gear for you. It should be ready by week’s end and then we’ll begin your training."

She merely nodded, not willing to speak her thoughts, even as she continued polishing.

****

True to his word, her armor was waiting for her when she entered Finrod’s pavilion three days later. Melian had warned her in advance so she was suitably attired in breeches and shirt. This time Finrod helped her to put on her armor. Laurendil came in at one point and helped Finrod don his.

The armor seemed strange to her and she felt clumsy but both ellyn assured her she would adapt soon enough. Then they were outside and she could see that a section of the grove had been roped off. There were two wooden practice swords and shields.

That first session was spent in acquainting her with the weight of the armor on her body, the feel of a sword in her hand and the movements necessary to keep her alive. By the time Finrod declared an end of the training for that day, she was dripping with sweat and reeling with fatigue. She was barely conscious by the time Melian escorted her back to her own pavilion.

****

After that Alassiel fell into a routine: working in the stables, helping with luncheon, resting and then having sword practice, usually followed by a stint of polishing her armor as well as Finrod’s. As she became more proficient with the use of her sword, Finrod stepped up the pace of her training. Laurendil joined them during this time, acting as a marshal of the list to ensure that nothing untoward happened between them.

However, as time went on, Alassiel began to dread her sessions with Finrod, donning the breeches and shirt with distaste after her afternoon bath. She finally had enough about two weeks after first picking up her sword. Finrod had been pounding on her relentlessly, shouting instructions that seemed to her to be contradictory, thereby confusing her and making her feel clumsy. Finally, she threw her sword at him, shouting invectives. Finrod deftly avoided the sword and watched her go into her tantrum with something like amusement in his eyes.

"I HATE YOU!" she screamed and then turned away to leave when Finrod tackled her from behind and drove her to the ground. Then she really let go, screaming and clawing at him with a fury born of fatigue, shame and hatred for her cousin. Finrod hung on and let her have her way. Eventually, though, she stopped out of exhaustion, weeping. "Ihateyouihateyouihateyou..."

Finrod gathered her into his arms, removed her helmet and rocked her. "Did I not warn you, daughter, that you would come to hate me?" He paused and kissed her forehead. "I want you to hate me, Alassiel," he whispered. "I want you to hate me with every fibre of your being."

"Why?" she asked, feeling confused. Sometimes her cousin just didn’t make any sense.

"Because I mean to break you, Alassiel," Finrod answered. "I mean to break you and remold you and you have every reason to hate me, and yes, to fear me, for what I’m about to do to you."

She shuddered at that. "I want to go home," she finally said forlornly.

"No, child," Finrod said somewhat sadly. "That is no longer an option. Your fate is in my hands now. I will break you, Alassiel, if I have to kill you to do it."

The implacability of his words sent her into a spasm of retching, leaving her even more miserable than before. Finrod continued holding her, wiping her mouth with a piece of cloth that Laurendil gave him. "I think you’ve had enough for today, Cousin," Finrod said solicitously as he helped her to rise. "Go with Melian and plan not to do anything tomorrow. You’re excused from all your duties until the next day."

"What about the armor?" she asked hesitantly. "I should clean..."

"I’ll get Vorondil to do it." Finrod gave her a sly smile. "He’s been dying to get his hands on the armor ever since we started. He’s very jealous of you, you know. It’s one reason I’ve kept him away from our sessions."

Alassiel stared at Finrod in disbelief for a moment, then snorted in a rather unladylike manner. "Elflings," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Indeed, " Finrod said with a short laugh.

Alassiel left shortly thereafter with Melian while Laurendil stayed behind.

"She’s very stubborn, aranya," Laurendil said conversationally once Alassiel was out of sight. "Any other elleth would have thrown her sword at you after the second day."

Finrod snickered. "Another five minutes and I was ready to throw my own sword at her. Lord Oromë was correct in his estimation of my cousin’s worth."

Laurendil chuckled. "Let me help you divest yourself of your armor, aranya."

Finrod shook his head. "I can manage. Why don’t you go tell Vorondil he’s about to get his fondest wish."

Laurendil flashed Finrod a smile. "You know the ellon’s going to be insufferable after this."

Finrod laughed. "I’m sure we’ll survive. Go now."

Laurendil bowed. "By your leave, aranya."

When Finrod entered his pavilion it was to find Ingil there. The Maia smiled at him. "Lady Melian thought you might need help with that armor."

Finrod smiled and nodded his thanks. When Vorondil came running into the pavilion all excited a few minutes later it was to find the former King of Nargothrond and a Maia trying to untangle Finrod’s hair from the aventail of his helmet and cursing one another roundly as they did so.

****

Note on armor: I have kept the descriptions deliberately vague as I suspect that elvish armor was somewhat different from armor worn by Men. At any rate a hauberk is a knee-length sleeved-shirt of mail. The aventail is mail attached to the bottom of a helmet, often by vervelles, or staples, covering the neck and shoulders. I have no way of describing them in Quenya, since Tolkien did not provide us with such terms, and I prefer to use technical terms which are more precise than general descriptions.





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