11 years of age--

Amära focused on keeping her fingers out of the way of the knife as it lurched with starts and stutters around the potato. She sat on a low stool shaving the skins and more often than not chopping off a piece of the tuber.  Potato peeling was dangerous, difficult and messy. The shavings missed the pail and created a messy circle around her. Amära flicked her eyes up to her eldest sister, Dawyn who sliced radishes rapid-fire on her cutting board and slid them into the boiling pot for stew. 

"How many have you finished?"

Amära looked up to her mother sitting in a worn chair, finishing the hem on a black cloak. She knotted the final stitch in a single movement and used her teeth to cut the thread. Next to her chair sat a small pile of winter undergarments and a wool saddle blanket.  

Amära looked down at the misshapen spuds. "Six... almost seven." She added. 

Her mother looked unimpressed. The dark circles under her grey eyes spoke of the several months of late-night sewing. 

"You'll get faster." She said, as though consoling herself. 

Amära didn't like that; it made it sound as though she would have to do more of this potato peeling. 

"Who's the saddle blanket for?" Balmere, the youngest only six, asked. He held his wooden horse in hand. Amära smiled, remembering how she'd once been as carefree as him. 

"For the Smithy...Bron." 

"Can I have one?" 

"When we get a horse." Her mother smiled, eyes warming with hope towards her son. 

Amära watched thin-lipped then looked over at the saddle blanket. She missed riding her father's horse, Deagread. 

"I'll be the fastest rider in Rohan, a famous Orc-hunter!" Balmere cheered. Amära noticed her mother wince. 

"So will I." Amära blurted. Her older sister glanced at her while carrying turnips to the stew pot, Balmere's eyebrows furrowed. 

"But you're a girl." 

"Yes, but... Father said I have a natural balance." 

"All girls have that." 

Amära's cheeks warmed as her sister giggled. 

"He also gave me sword lessons." She said. 

Balmere looked to mother with a frown. "I want sword lessons." 

"When you're older." Mother replied. "For your protection." 

Her brother watched her wrestling the potato. "Can you teach me to ride too?" He whispered. 

"We need a horse." 

"We'll both be Rohan Riders!" Balmere burst out, Amära couldn't help but grin at his enthusiasm. 

"That's enough." Her mother gathered the sewn garments and put them in a basket. "Amära, take these to the Smithy, he's expecting them today." 

Amära lit up, threw the potato knife into the pail, impaling a crudely cut potato. She jumped to her feet, wiped her hands, grabbed the basket, rushing to the door. 

"And take Balmere with you." Her mother added. 

Amära nodded as she opened the door, Balmere, horse in hand, followed her as she left. The walk to the smith was quiet and short. Balmere pranced around the late autumn grass and then closer to her side when they passed the cliff. 

When they reached the smith, Amära placed the basket onto a clean chest sitting outside the workshop.  "Amära," Bron stopped her. 

"Yes?" 

"A group of villagers found your father's sword." He held a delicately carved sheath, gripping it and the hilt he pulled the double-edged blade out, two metal-carved horse heads adorned the top of the leather-wrapped hilt. She gasped. It was if someone had been listening. 

"I cleaned and polished it. Could you deliver it to your mother for me?" 

"Yes!" Amära exclaimed. "Thank you! I'll take it straight home." 

He chuckled, sliding the sword in and presented it to her, making sure she had a good grip on the weapon. Amära thanked the man repeatedly. She rubbed her hand against the familiar feel of the worn leather and cold kiss of metal. Nodding to Balmere she held the sword at her side, and they started home. 

"Can I see it?" Balmere asked. 

Amära stopped and carefully shifted the sheath to her left side, sliding the top of the sword out. Her little brother beamed as golden sunlight glinted off the horse heads.  

"The hilt is the most familiar characteristic of a sword." She said as he traced the intricate lines of the horse heads. She lifted the sword poised it to her right side as they started moving again. "Father would tell stories of battles that our ancestors fought." 

"With Gondor?" He asked. 

Amära shook her head vigorously. 

"Can I use it to fight?" 

"We'll ask Mom." 

"Then we'll kill all the Orcs!" 

"Yes, we shall!" 

"We?" A voice laughed. 

Amära grabbed Balmere's hand, walking him faster.  

"Hey now, carrying a sword like that can be dangerous." Aldin, a boy a few years older, made a move to take it from her hand. She instinctively recoiled, holding the sword hilt up against her chest, glaring at him. 

"Easy now, I just wanted to take a look." He leaned on his staff. "Is that your father's?" 

"It is." 

"I thought it lost." 

"Some villagers found it," Balmere said. 

She opened her mouth, shut it and without a word, turned and resumed the walk home. 

Aldin rushed to keep pace. "Compliments to your family! Shame there was no saving the horse, you could've sold her to my father and made decent coin for the winter." 

"We would've never sold Deagread to you." 

"What about the sword?" 

"This is our family's history!" Amära spun around to face him. 

He stopped and considered her. "Amära," he began softly, "Your mother needs you at home, and it'll be years before your brother can wield it. With the sheath, my father will give you a good price." 

She barked a laugh. "My father was a warrior; I wouldn't sully his name or his sword by selling it, especially to a common stable hand." 

Aldin's eyes flashed, and he drew closer; Amära stepped back towards the edge of the cliff. Balmere tugged on her skirt giving the cliff and Aldin an anxious look. 

"Would you rather have your family starve?" 

"Don't worry about my family." Amära cried, the sword screeched as it flew out of its sheath flashing with yellow and red light. Aldin brought up his staff with both hands and, as the blade bit into the hardwood, pushed it away. Amära's grip loosened with the weight of the sword as it fell over her shoulder. She felt the leather hilt slip from her fingers, turned and saw the sword clatter down the rocks below. 

Amära fell to her knees, her hands curled around the cliff-edge as she stared down at the blade. It was out of reach, but she couldn't help but let her hand dangle towards it. She felt Balmere's hands on her shoulder. 

"We still have the sheath!" He grinned. 

Amära couldn't answer, she stared at the sword. 

"Amära, I--" Aldin started. 

"Please, leave," she said over her shoulder. Aldin hesitated before going.  

Minutes later, a new voice chimed. "Amära what are you doing? Move back from the edge." 

Amära bolted up, heart racing as she saw her mother standing, hands on her hips. 

"Mother--" 

"We found Father's sword!" Balmere erupted. 

Mother blinked rapidly, then searched the ground. "W-W-Where?" 

Before Amära could speak, Balmere answered. "It fell over the cliff." 

Her mother moved to their side, kneeling she peered over the edge, holding Balmere close to her. Amära felt her stomach roll as her mother brought a hand up to her mouth, tears spilling down her face as her body shook. 

Balmere patted her arm. "Don't worry; I'll get it back." 

"I'm sorry..." her words shrill as her throat tightened. She looked away, bringing a hand up to her eyes. She felt an arm wrap around her. "Shh...It's alright." Her mother replied.  A moment of silence fell, both women teary-eyed and holding each other while her brother voiced ways to recover the sword.  "In truth,"  Her mother started, her voice low enough for Amära alone to hear. "I would've sold it." 

Amära looked up gaping. "What?" She breathed. "It's... all we have left." 

"No, we have the memories, we have each other." She placed a hand on her cheek. "But we won't have that if we starve to death." Amära shifted away from her mother's touch. 

She leaned forward, but Amära shied away. "You'll understand..." Her mother sighed, as though consoling herself, in a louder voice. "Come, supper is on the table." She wiped her eyes again, taking the sheath in one hand and Balmere in the other, leading him home. 

"We can use a rope with a hook!" He chirped. 

She couldn't hear her mother's response. 

Amära stared down at the sword, glinting with the last rays of the sun. Tears rolled down her face, and she pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle the sobs. "She whimpered,  "I'm so sorry, Father."

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WOOO! Publishing the stories right now!
I'll be slow though since WattPad is being mean :')

I hope, you guys are liking it so far!

The Weakness(s): Pride, Hot-headedness, lack of fore-sight, a bit of carelessness