--
A month passed, and I was about to be betrayed.
Gandalf had to take his leave for a meeting with some of his High Counsel.
"Can I not come with you?" I pleaded. "You would leave me here with a people who cannot speak my language and a Marchwarden who can but chooses to hardly speak at all?"
"Raena, you must remain and finish what we have started."
"But..."
"I shall return when it is time to leave for Rohan. Be well, Lady of the North and South, until we meet again."
He laid a hand upon my hair, then he left me there in rather a rush, with a grin upon his face--as if he were amused by my suffering.
I was feeling very much alone and abandoned and quite sorry for myself.
So, after that, I threw my mind into learning what was taught of me, wanting to remain distracted. I practiced handling arms even when Haldir was not present. I endeavored to be improved with each meeting. I looked about Lorien for anything to occupy my full mind, but could not read its texts for they were in Elvish. Things were so dire that I was actually starting to look forward to my time with Haldir, simply for some interaction.
Under his rather ruthless eye, I had, indeed become reasonably adept with a short sword. I was not expert, by any stretch, but I felt quite confident with the weapon now.
Much of this was to do with the Marchwarden's relentlessness. He did not hold back when training. It mattered not that I was a woman, nor that I lacked the same senses or talents of an elf, not one small bit. He pushed me as hard as I could imagine being pushed, and oddly, I was growing accustomed to his courseness. At times it almost seemed as though he might not find me so vexing. Almost.
Ever since I had dropped my arrow at his feet, he appeared to have gained a hint of humor, though I hadn't seen much of it since.
Mostly he liked to humiliate me with repeated, ingracious failures. Or at least,, that was how I saw it, anyway.
Such offenses often ended with my unceremoniously landing on my bottom after he stopped just short of skewering me with a sword. It was these times when I could swear the hint of a smile would return to him, while my expressions of annoyance became less and less concealed. As did my groans of exasperation. It had become our routine. He would do something underhanded and unexpected as I tried to mark him with my sword, and he would show no signs of pity whatsoever at the consequent tumbles and bruises.
"Get up, Raena. If this were a real sword, you would be dead. Try again." He held out a hand and helped me to my feet, and then we began once more.
Again and again and again we repeated the exercises until a slow reaction or flawed stance was purged out of me.
On one such occasion, I managed to successfully sidestep the thrust of his sword, but as I let out a "hah!" of triumph, he quickly knocked my feet out from under me with a smooth swipe of his leg. To my relief, he caught me with an arm halfway down, and holding the blade to my neck, both of us breathing heavily, he spoke in a low voice, his face not far from my own. "Do not let your guard down. Your enemy will not pause and allow you time to celebrate a dodged sword. Battle requires constant vigilance. Do you understand that?"
