Movement I: A Song of Reunification

    “Haleth?” She spun around at her father’s voice, her bared sword still in hand.
    “Father,” she said as coolly as he could have if he had been faced with a transgression. “It is a surprise to see you here. After all, you’ve been spending most of your time with Haldar.”
    He hid a wince, and was shamed; it was true that he had been almost ignoring her with a single-minded intensity, trying to ignore her unmannered behavior and hoping it would go away on its own. That was, of course, a silly hope, but he had not wanted to reprimand his daughter whom he treasured above all else.
    “Malron tells me that he teaches you the sword,” he said without any inflection.
    “Aye,” she replied in the same tone of voice. “If you’ve come to forbid me to do so or give me a lecture, please come to the point or leave. I’ve already run through all of your responses.”
    Blue eyes challenged blue, and abruptly, he roared with laughter. “What a son you would have made!”
    “But I am not your son, father. Haldar is your firstborn son and heir, while I am your unwanted daughter.”
    He sobered as swiftly as he had laughed, and the mirth in blue eyes disappeared. “Ah, Haleth, do you truly believe that?” He knelt before her and took the hand that did not hold the sword. “If so, then I am sorry indeed for bringing this upon you.”
    “When ever did you give me proof that you loved me? You have ignored me in favor of Haldar. You forbid me everything I’ve ever wanted.”
    “I gave you anything a lady could ever ask for—”
    “But I am not a lady. I wish to be a warrior.” She gestured at her abandoned needlework and at the dried herbs. “I have no desire for such as this.”
    “Then what do you want?”
    “Training in swordscraft and a place within your warriors’ ranks.”
    “The first I can grant you—but not the second. Nay, my daughter, indulge me in this, not because I believe you a coward or because you are a woman, but because I could not bear it if you fell in battle. In this at least, Haleth, do my will.”
    “You mean it is because your warriors will taunt you should I take my place beside them,” she said, turning her head aside to hide her tears.
    Haldad’s scarred hand reached up to guide her head to face him, and dabbed at her eyes with his shirt’s sleeve. “If you would be a warrior, Haleth, face me.” He released her chin and she gazed down at him, waiting for whatever else he would say.
    “As long as there is even a chance that some of our people may survive, you will be among that number. You are under my command, Haleth, and you will do as I order. I give you leave to be among the archers but you will not go with the sorties I lead. You are not yet skilled enough.”
    “I can fight. I have been practicing—”
    He shook his head. “No, Haleth. You do not know what fierce enemies the orcs are. I will not risk having you freeze in battle, thus endangering the others. And I will not have you die. You will live to see better days.”
    “And if the messages you sent are not answered and aid does not come?”
    He rose and looked down on her this time, and blue eyes grew bleak. “Should that ill day come, then I swear to you that I will allow you to take up your sword for a last defense.”
    “Thank you, father,” Haleth said, elated that her father would at least let her be among the archers. And then Haldad left, thinking only one thing that Haleth could not hear.
    War is not a game. Have I done ill to let Haleth fight?
    And though his mind screamed YES! at him, his heart lay silent until it whispered, No.
    It was moons later when Haleth remembered his other words and warnings.

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