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The Gift	By : mirasaui Category: +Third Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 9163 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
The Gift
by Mirasaui

Part 7: The Lords of the Dance
A circle was drawn in the dirt. Tunics were removed and weapons unsheathed, the blades of the swords shining silver in the sun. A line was drawn in the middle of the circle and a sword placed on either side, blades facing outward, hilts aligned in opposite direction. The two warriors stretched, bended, and twisted supple limbs, making sure their tight muscles would be limber enough to withstand injury. When both were finished with the warm-up, they crossed the line and stood face to face in the centre of the circle. Arms were clasped in a warrior's handshake, as both raised their voices to the sky in an age-old song. When the last note died, each took one step back and on a count of three picked up their sword. The dance began.
Neither said a word as the two took the customary stance of experienced fighters, each circling the other waiting to see who would make the first move. Haldir attempted a simple lunge, his thrust easily blocked by a parry from Lindir. They continued to circle slowly, eyes locked, knees bent, bodies balanced on the balls of their feet. The dance picked up speed. Soon the clash of metal, an occasional grunt, and the glide of soft leather across the dirt were the only sounds in the small clearing. The two warriors twisted, turned, spun, and lunged in choreographed, familiar practiced moves. Haldir was surprised at the skill of his opponent. Lindir had been taught well. He was quick and light on his feet. The marchwarden's scowl turned to a smile as he began to enjoy the challenge. The look was mirrored on the face of Lindir. Haldir began a more intricate dance, wanting to see just how much Lindir could handle. Soon feet and blades were flying. Silver hair merged with white in a tantalizing swirl of arms, legs, dust, and flashing steel. The dance continued.
Clouds moved to block the sun at the same time a figure stepped out from where he had been watching hidden in the trees. Glorfindel knew that Lindir was a reputable swordsman, he had seen him at practice. But either he held back during his daily sparring with Tebring or Haldir brought out the best in him, for Lindir was holding his own with every move the Marchwarden made. And of Haldir's skill there was no doubt. They had been going at it for quite a while now and both were drenched, sweat running in rivulets down their chests, the front of their leggings dark and damp.
"Daro!" (1) Glorfindel's voice rang out loudly. Both warriors ground to a halt at the sharply spoken word. Weapons were lowered and placed on the ground as each stood bent slightly and panting. Two heads turned to look at the speaker. The faces of both elves were flushed and covered with sweat-streaked dust. Wet tendrils of hair clung to their cheeks, forehead, and back. Almost in tandem, two arms reached upward to sweep heavy locks up and away. They laughed at their mirrored motion.
"Take a break, drink some water. I have a skin over by that tree. You may sit for a while, Haldir. I will take up the sword against Lindir for the next round," Glorfindel spoke in a quieter voice.
"I hardly think that is fair as you are fresh-faced and Lindir has been going at it for some time now," Haldir chided. "So, seneschal, what did you think?" Lindir turned to look at his commander, a stony expression in his blue eyes.
Glorfindel looked down at the ground. "You are the judge of this contest, Haldir. I will give my opinion after all three phases are over. But, I believe the agreement between you and Lindir was that your say was the final word." With that he stood up and removed his tunic then walked over and picked up his scabbard from where it was leaning against a tree trunk. Unsheathing his sword, he began a series of slow practice moves designed to limber his muscles. Lindir watched him as he danced in slow motion.
"You told him of this?" Lindir turned and spoke angrily to Haldir. "Why?"
"It is his opinion that matters most, is it not, Lindir?" Haldir returned calmly. "While Glorfindel trusts my words, I think both of you would feel better if he saw the evidence with his own eyes. We all take things for granted sometimes, even as commanders. Plus we cannot watch everyone under our command on a daily basis. Has he never questioned you about your sparring partner? He would trust you to be honest in your evaluation."
"Aye," Lindir said. "He has asked and I have never had reason to fault Tebring. We know our lives may one day depend upon the other. I guess I have never thought about the reason behind the method before. How did you think I fared, Haldir?"
"How do you think you fared, Lindir?" Haldir reversed the question.
Lindir grinned. "I kept up with you, did I not?"
"You have nothing to worry about, pen dond (2). There is nothing wrong with your form. I would take one with your skill into the Lórien guard without hesitation, would take you now if I thought I could lure you away. We will continue this farce for Glorfindel's sake, but I believe you have your answer. You had best stand up now, before your muscles tighten. I think your partner is ready for you."
Again, the dancers circled, Anor's (3) rays casting a golden glow on pale flesh. This time it was white hair that mingled with gold as the dance started slow then increased in tempo. Blue eyes locked as blades sang. Each thrust and parry was carried out with grace and litheness. Time passed and Haldir watched, mesmerized by the beauty before him. Then a curse and a soft cry rent the air, the dance faltered, and Lindir was on his back with a sword at his throat, his own just out of reach. Glorfindel kicked it to him. "Arise!" he said moving his weapon away from Lindir. "We will practice that move once more. Move to the left next time when I feint." And with that they were off again. Lindir did not make the same mistake twice.
The dance continued, moving faster and faster, always in a circle. They were not allowed to step out of bounds. That would give the other forfeit. As he had done with Haldir, Lindir matched Glorfindel stroke for stroke, but the minstrel was tiring. Haldir could hear him as he fought to catch his breath. His movements were not as smooth and quick. They would fight until one fell again, but there was still archery and knives left to judge. Haldir stepped up to the edge of the circle and as Glorfindel had done earlier, issued the command to cease fighting. Swords were put away and the two combatants granted a rest and water break. Haldir left to set up the archery targets. He would allow Lindir a chance to show his best skill, but had already decided to cancel the test of knives. They were not Haldir's favourite either. And it was pointless anyway. Lindir had already proven what he set out to accomplish.

Notes:
1. Daro! - Halt!
2. pen dond - tall one
3. Anor's - Sun's (the)
- 6
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- 8
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The Gift