From Ashes To Embers

CH 15 - Panties on Paintings and Pain Predicaments

Arryin huffed as she used her blade to knock Ashryn's sword out of his hands for the 34th time in the last hour.

"You're sloppy," she stated simply.

The poor elf, however, only pressed his palms to his knees as he, coated in sweat, panted loudly.

Still, Arryin continued. "Your form is loose. Your arm movements are anything but direct. And your legs...don't get me started on your legs. What are you? A broken donkey?!"

Ashryn glanced up at her before shaking his head and looking at the other trainees—who were also working with various instructors or peers—upon the field.

"My whole body," he began in a complaining, wheezing tone. "feels like...like it was picked up and beaten upon a river....repeatedly."

The Stellaris snorted. "Just imagine what it will actually feel like if you face an army of orcs or spiders."

Ashryn squinted at her as he sucked in more air, taking a moment to indeed imagine it. "Yeah, this is worse." He paused, slowly picking up his sword from the grass. "You push even harder than Prince Legolas."

"Yeah," Arryin stated, crossing her arms. "Because I'm better than him."

The elf, not having the energy to do anything else, just bobbed his head and leaned upon his sword. "I now see why everyone is scared of you. I am also scared of you by the way."

"As you should be." The Ranger then bent down and picked up a waterskin and took a long sip from it. "Considering you look like horse shit, you and I are done for the day."

"Oh, thank the Valar," Ashryn muttered. He then promptly collapsed onto the ground.

Arryin rolled her eyes at the trainee as she grabbed her bag and other discarded weapons. She then turned towards the armory and began weaving her way through the rest of the practicing elves. However, Legolas, noticing her movement, stopped working with the couple trainees that he had been instructing and jogged towards her.

"Arry, are you alright?"

She raised her brows as she adjusted the bag upon her shoulder. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just a little tired and I think I killed Ashryn; so, I'm going to take off early today."

The Prince glanced back at the field—at Ashryn, who was still sprawled out upon the grass—before nodding at Arryin. "Alright. Is there anything you need?"

The Ranger shook her head. "No. I'm fine, Legolas."

He gave her a small look of worry as he spoke again; however, his words were in the Nûr o- Gilgalad tongue for he was beginning to get more comfortable with the language and wanted to keep his next sentence secret. "Yë in winicë? Ië in winicë moina? (And the baby? Is the baby alright?)"

Arryin sighed as she sent him a look of slight irritation, but responded nonetheless. "In winicë ië moletta (The baby is fine)."

At this, the Prince nodded. He could tell she wanted him to not push; so, wanting to respect that and not piss her off, he didn't press any further. As a means of acknowledgment, he gently placed a hand upon her shoulder while he turned back to the trainees.

With that, Arryin made her way across the field, up the hill, and into the armory. However, as soon as she entered and was hidden from the elves below, her demeanor changed. She pressed her back against the cold stone and let her entire body become free from the tension. A loud, pained exhale left her lips while her expression shifted into one of discomfort. Her form followed suit, for she seemed to break down against the wall and sag upon the stone. Her shoulders leaned forward, her hardened posture faded, and her knees bent slightly.