The past is already written.
The ink is dry.
But the future remains unset and the Valar have begun to sing a song anew.
Gondor is a kingless state falling into ruin against the Shadow of Mordor. Doomed to fail and forsaken by Men and...
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"I want to learn to fight," Aeardis blurted out one night over supper with her father. She had seen Boromir and Faramir sparring in the yard that day, yet all she could do was watch the two boys and tuck her nose back into her book like a proper little lady.
Ohtar set aside the letter that was meant for the King of Rohan with a heavy sigh. He supposed such a request was only expected considering the amount of time she spent with Denethor's sons.
"Who will teach you, Aeardis?" It was not often that a teacher would willingly take on training a girl. That was simply the way of things in the land. There were other duties more important than learning to wield a sword, yet Aeardis had already excelled in those lessons. Her father sighed again and leaned forward on his elbows. "I am old, child, I fear I would not be a sufficient instructor." It was true, though still youthful in appearance her father was beginning to slow with achy bones and muscles.
Aeardis was silent for a moment, a pensive frown settled on her lips. "The master-at-arms?" She sounded uncertain that he would train her, but then she thought about the brothers. Boromir was already an established warrior in his own right, almost old enough to go off to battles. He was five-and-ten now and she was just two years younger. Faramir had yet to move on to wielding heavier swords but was already a far better bowman than his brother. They could teach her. "Boromir and Faramir would teach me."
The master-at-arms had been reluctant to accept her as a student but he was in no position to deny the Steward's personal advisor. The first days had been horrific. Bruises were plentiful, the small nicks and scabs too numerous to count, and her muscles ached, but it slowly began to fade. Each bruise was a lesson and each lesson made her better. She had told one of the healers that when the master-at-arms took her. Now Elanor wore a pensive frown whenever she saw the young girl treading into the Houses of Healing.
She repeated her refrain about bruises and lessons again, "Evidently not, Lady Aeardis, or you would not return to me with so many bruises." Murky eyes flicked up in a disapproving glare while gentle fingers applied a thick layer of sticky-sweet Alfirin syrup to her most recent wounds. She was terse with the girl, yes, but she had grown into familiarity and Aeardis found a motherly figure in the healer. Besides, if she really did believe that statement, she was doing a poor job of getting better at anything save collecting those lessons.
After a solid month, her sword was not so heavy anymore, her movements were more fluid, her strikes carried more force behind them. She had not frequented the healers in some time too. "You're a quick learner," Boromir commented and Aeardis beamed at the praise. Like Faramir, however, her strength was in her skill with the bow. She had even tried her hand at throwing daggers.
In a years' time, as the autumn slowly approached again it became clear that if her training persisted then she had the potential to become a great warrior. Yet it was not greatness that Aeardis sought, only proficiency and so her formal lessons ended and what extra training she undertook was instructed by both Boromir and Faramir.
