What is your weapon of choice?
I have been comfortable with many weapons, coming to think of them for the most part not as a method of attack but as the extension of my mind through my hand.
My fosters taught me to use the bow as they used it, sighting down the shaft of an arrow until I had merged my mind with the feathered dart and sent it aloft, as a hunting hawk, to chase down the object of its desire.
In the hands of the Easterlings I learned to use my fists when I could, as they had the all important quality of always being with me. I also learned to use my wits, and to keep them always sharper than a arrow - a man must care for his weapons if he wants them to work well. I understood in the fullness of that time that no man could easily be rendered weaponless, and less often still defenseless.
Next I learned to use my senses, following the river to the sea, where I was taught to love well the sword, to understand the ebb and flow of the waters of the world, and the value of a brother at your back.
When the wind stung tears into my eyes, I would smile, feeling the ocean in my body, feeling the track of the salt as the mark of my mentor on my cheek, the kiss of blessing given by my god.
In Gondolin, I learned the fire that comes from defending what is your own, the power that makes your fight personal because you have something to save, not just something to lose.
Looking back, I will tell you then that my weapon of choice is belief.
Belief put the words of a god onto my mortal tongue. Belief allowed me to fight where despair would have counseled me to go quickly by my own hand. Belief won for me a love I should have feared to dream of, let alone pursue. Belief that my pulse echoes the pulse of Arda lets me fight with conviction. Belief allowed me to know that no loss could stop me from trying again, unless I stopped myself.
Believe and conquer; believe and defend.
My fosters taught me to use the bow as they used it, sighting down the shaft of an arrow until I had merged my mind with the feathered dart and sent it aloft, as a hunting hawk, to chase down the object of its desire.
In the hands of the Easterlings I learned to use my fists when I could, as they had the all important quality of always being with me. I also learned to use my wits, and to keep them always sharper than a arrow - a man must care for his weapons if he wants them to work well. I understood in the fullness of that time that no man could easily be rendered weaponless, and less often still defenseless.
Next I learned to use my senses, following the river to the sea, where I was taught to love well the sword, to understand the ebb and flow of the waters of the world, and the value of a brother at your back.
When the wind stung tears into my eyes, I would smile, feeling the ocean in my body, feeling the track of the salt as the mark of my mentor on my cheek, the kiss of blessing given by my god.
In Gondolin, I learned the fire that comes from defending what is your own, the power that makes your fight personal because you have something to save, not just something to lose.
Looking back, I will tell you then that my weapon of choice is belief.
Belief put the words of a god onto my mortal tongue. Belief allowed me to fight where despair would have counseled me to go quickly by my own hand. Belief won for me a love I should have feared to dream of, let alone pursue. Belief that my pulse echoes the pulse of Arda lets me fight with conviction. Belief allowed me to know that no loss could stop me from trying again, unless I stopped myself.
Believe and conquer; believe and defend.