Character: Faramir, Aragorn
Rating: warning for battle violence
Source: Fourth Age
Disclaimer: Middle-earth = Tolkien hoc fecit
“Use the pommel!” ...a voice from Faramir’s childhood ran through his head “...Swords have two ends!”
The corsair behind him collapsed, the heavy gold pommel caught him squarely between the eyes. Faramir whirled around, stamping on the man’s sword-arm, feeling bones snap underfoot, “...fighters win battles, not gentlemen!”
Faramir bared his teeth, in grimace or smile... ‘twas hard to say, but the barked instructions of their former weapons-master echoed familiarly “...manners won’t save you – use all to kill, or be killed!”
Another corsair came close enough to head-butt... dangerous tactics - the axe held high to strike barely missed him.
Faramir fought to his king’s side... it was grim work, fierce, bloody, but instinct and long hours of gruelling practise took over. He’d even time to note King Elessar’s fighting style, fluid and precise as it was, also accommodated unorthodox blows with mailed fist and armoured shoulder.
Later... breathing hard, standing loose-kneed amongst the dead, they looked into each other’s blood-spattered faces....
“Steward… you fight …with low cunning.”
“No mor’an you, my liege, my teacher… insisted…”
Aragorn nodded, “Amah...?”
Faramir looked surprised.
Aragorn laughed “...she always was a dirty fighter...!”
“Really...?” grinned Faramir.
“...'Twas her gift to me as well!”