Blade of Erogrund

Chapter 40- Battle

Ducking under the tent flap, Godric was greeted by the sight of Ennor and Vyron preparing themselves in armor. A tremendous kite shield with a surface of plain royal blue rested against the table beside a similar one of sea green. The latter displayed a bronze sun which was emblazoned on its battle-worn surface to glow in the morning light that poured through the opened tent flaps. 

"Good morning," Vyron greeted. "How was your night?" 

"It was alright, many thanks," Godric replied kindly. "And yours?" 

The older knight shrugged as he fastened his left bracer to his forearm. "Not the peace I had hoped for but enough to give strength to my arms." 

"Let us hope it has also graced your legs for I fear we may have to hurry to keep from arriving last to the battlefield," Ennor halfheartedly jested, gazing at the trains of soldiers heading out of the Grove. 

"And where is your armor, lad?" Vyron asked. 

Godric felt his face blush in the cold. "I was never given armor, Sir. I confess I don't know." 

"Do not fret," Ennor reassured him. "Rodrick, if you would." 

An attendant dressed in half-armor entered the tent with a capacious sackcloth bundle that rang with every step. Even the servant looked set for battle as a shield hung from his back and a sword hung from his waist. 

"Sir Godric, if you would," he said, gesturing for the boy the turn around. 

He obliged the attendant hastily as the man drew armor from his sack and laid it tenderly on the ground. Wasting no time, Rodrick brought the large breastplate over Godric's head and fastened its straps around his chest and shoulders, tightening them with fierce jerks. Next were the bracers that clasped around his forearms and elbows before the rear piece of the breastplate was set in place. Grieves followed, tied stoutly around his calves and thighs until he could hardly recognize his own frame under the bulk of the armor. 

After Rodrick had finished Godric turned to face Ennor and Vyron again. Each step felt like he was moving a mountain of weight from his legs to his shoulders. Every piece of metal weighed more than he could have imagined, all adding to an overwhelming burden that pressed on him. 

"Well that won't do," Ennor muttered. His eyes traced the immensity of the armor disapprovingly. 

"I can't hardly move," Godric protested. He tried to lift his arms. His elbows only got as far as his mid chest before the weight of the metal dragged them back down. 

"Remove the plates on his upper arms, legs, and hauberk," Ennor ordered. "Ecthion knows we don't dare risk taking any more." 

Rodrick nodded his agreement and complied quickly. As he did so the tent flap fluttered aside and Saracyir, followed by Mira, entered.  

Even in her sauntering gait the elf caught the eye of the Men. Every step set the brilliant white of her unique armor setting aglow. Sunlight dazzled every silver leaf that adorned her plate until they shone clearer than moonlight. Her hair was tied in a tight knot on the back of her head in order to fit the gorgeous helm that rested in the crook of her equally beautifully adorned arms. The helmet looked close fitting while nearly as terrifying as even Thain's. Eye slits as slender as Elderwood leaves curved from the protruding nose piece and followed the contour of the cheek guards to form a slender opening down the center of the helm, presumably allowing for speech. Silver lined every etching of the helmet even to the shallowly pointed crest where a blue horsehair plume cascaded down. 

"Ennor, Lord Vyron," she bowed respectfully. 

The Men returned the gesture. 

"My lady, if I may," Vyron murmured, "never have I seen you as fair as you look on the eve of battle. It shall be an honor to ride with you."