Who: Idril and Tuor What: Haha. Where: Stuff When: Noontime Warnings | Status: TBD | in progress
"Tuor!" Idril insisted, as she dropped the sword for the third time in ten minutes. It wasn't necessarily heavy in her hand, and indeed she knew well how to hold it--he'd showed her that before, in Gondolin. It was only that everytime her husband had thrust his own at her she responded with surprise and simply failed to defend herself. It wasn't out a lack of wanting, or indeed, a lack of interest in learning. She was just ill equipped to wield a weapon, and she was perfectly okay with that.
Tuor had since convinced her that it would be a good idea for her to learn, but thus far their lessons were coming to naught. Their son was much better at holding the sword and he was only four. Idril didn't mind that, either. It made perfect sense to her that her son should learn how to wield a sword, and who better to teach him than his father?
But she on the other hand was hopelessly pathetic at it. She smiled at her husband, "Hush!" she insisted, stooping to pick up the sword again, "It's such a very foul thing. It feels wrong in my hands." she gave him a Look as she spoke, then shifted her stance. "Like this?"
She dug her toes into the soft earth, distracted by the feel of the world through her feet. How she loved it! How she loved being barefoot. She never wore shoes if she could help it, she hated them.