[Amanaduial the archer]

Faerim looked down, uncomfortable with Bethiril's curiosity. Why had the elf asked how old he was? It was the sort of question that one would ask a small child who was playing at being older than he was, puffed up with childish importance and full of maturity that he did not possess. Was that how the elves saw him? As a foolish child? The boy's fingers faltered slightly on the buckle of his sword.

But then, what right had they to judge him? Faerim had had access to practise with weapons since he was fourteen years old, since he had started his apprenticeship in the blacksmith's workshop. He had the ability to wear this sword, more than some of the soldiers several summers older than him who had joined the army already. He looked up and fixed Bethiril with his clear, bright gaze, raising his chin. "I am seventeen years old, my lady."

"Seventeen?" Bethiril seemed surprised, but whether it was that he was older or younger than she had expected Faerim didn't know. He glanced at Erenor, but she was studying the other elf's face also. He nodded, maybe a little too quickly. "Aye, seventeen - I will be eighteen this spring." If we ever reach spring...

Resisting the urge to ask the elf how old she was, Faerim began to walk towards where Belegorn had gathered and was prepping a group of men. The elves followed, and Faerim continued. "You are right in thinking I was technically too young to join the army," he said, then looked up at Erenor's surprised face and grinned. "Aye, I can guess what you're thinking sometimes as well, Lady Erenor. But due to the...the seige on Fornost, every man able to wield a weapon with some ability was drafted into the army. I have been trained with a sword and bow since I was young - it has always been my intention to join the army, as my father and his father before him have done." He shrugged. "It did not matter that I was a year too young; you have both seen that I can use a bow, certainly."

Bethiril frowned slightly, her eyes flickering away from Faerim's, but Erenor laughed. "I suppose you aren't bad," she conceded sarcastically, a reference to their previous conversation. Faerim grinned cheekily, shaking his blonde hair from his face although he just managed to restrain the urge to wink at her - an alliance with the elf was one thing, but he was fairly sure that Erenor would not appreciate the gesture. But he was not able to restrain the next question he asked Bethiril. "Why do you ask?"

The elf's step faltered slightly and Faerim wished he could retract the question, or at least the tone it had emerged: as a challenge. Pale skin reddening, he shook his skin. "Apologies, my lady, forget I asked..." he muttered hastily, speeding up slightly towards where Belegorn stood, blushing furiously.