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It was late afternoon; the companions had already eaten the soup Sam had brewed and were sitting scattered about the camp. They ought to have been sleeping, but the sun shone brightly that day, piercing even their closed eyelids and keeping sleep at bay. They would press on during the night, when the darkness could shield them from the enemy's gaze. Gimli sat upon a stone, sharpening his axe against a whetstone he had first moistened with water. Boromir joined him— unable to sleep anyway—and drew his own sword from its scabbard to examine it in the sunlight. The blade was still clean—they had encountered no Orcs on the short journey from Rivendell to Hollin—but the crossguard and the silver pommel, exposed to the rain, no longer caught the sun’s rays with a gleam. He took out a cloth, soaked it in oil, and wiped it over the metal.
"Do we have to do that with our swords, too?" asked Pippin, watching Gimli and Boromir tend to their weapons.
"It would be wise, unless you wish to have a useless sword when you face the enemy," Boromir replied, looking up. Merry had also drawn closer and was examining his own small sword—which had remained well-protected in its scabbard—as he held it in his hands. Boromir set his own sword aside.
"Come here; I can show you how to care for them," he offered.
The Hobbits sat down on the rock, drew their swords, and handed them to Boromir. In his large hands, the blade looked more like a dagger. He examined it from various angles, frowning slightly.
“Did you never clean them?” he asked skeptically.
“No,” the two hobbits answered in unison.
“They look surprisingly good, though. No rust, no nicks, and sharper, almost, than my own sword,” Boromir said, handing the weapons back. “They require no further care than this. I would not have thought you Hobbits had such a good forge; you are always talking about food.”
At these words, Gimli glanced over curiously.
“That is not a Hobbit forge; it is Westernesse work,” he remarked. “No simple blacksmith could forge steel that resists rust for so long. Where did you get them?”
“Oh, we found them on our journey from the Shire to Rivendell,” said Pippin. “It is a shame we can’t actually use them, though—seeing as they are such fine blades.”
“We are hobbits, after all, not trained warriors,” Merry interjected, standing up.
“True, but we could learn,” Pippin added, looking at Boromir. “We do have some fine warriors in our Fellowship, after all.”
“Oh, Pip,” Merry murmured, though he too cast a brief, hopeful glance at the man from Gondor.
A smile played upon Boromir’s lips. Those large, pleading eyes reminded him of Faramir when he was small and would come to him, wooden sword in hand, begging to play. Boromir could never say no to his little brother’s sweet requests—and, truth be told, it had been his favorite way to spend his pastime, too.
He stood up.
"I am no stranger to teaching the art of the sword. We shall go where the ground is level and free of stones," he said, pointing to a flat area below.
"Of course, Master Boromir!" Pippin exclaimed, his voice ringing with such exuberant delight that it made Boromir smile broadly. The two Hobbits hurried after him, struggling to keep pace with his long strides.
"Before we even begin," he said, turning around, "Bear in mind that you are holding a sharp sword; we will therefore keep the pace slow and not strike anyone with full force. I am afraid I have no blunt training blades with me, and the holly trees here will not yield good wooden swords, either."
"We will be careful," Merry assured him, and Pippin nodded eagerly to emphasize the words.
Boromir began by showing them how to hold a sword properly. Because the Hobbits were small and had little physical strength he taught them to wield the sword two-handed so they would have more stability and momentum in their blow. They moved swiftly and were remarkably steady with their footwork for they had shorter legs that granted them better balance.
"You are doing well so far,” Boromir praised after they had practiced a simple sword stroke, "But real combat is more brutal and your opponent will not wait until you are ready. They will strike first, therefore you must defend yourselves before you start a riposte. For that we will learn a simple technique. Merry, strike at me”
The Hobbit raised his weapon high, Boromir parried the blow with his sword from below and swung it quickly to the left. The blade stopped dangerously near at Merry's temple; only a finger's breadth kept him away from chopping his ear off.
"Be careful and start slowly. The movement comes from the hips,” Boromir explained.
Merry received Pippin's blow, swung his sword in a tight arc and stopped before his blade could touch Pippin's head. Boromir caught his wrist in the middle of the movement.
"Behold. You reach your arms to strike Pippin — this will make you unstable. If Pippin had been able to catch your blow and strike back, you would not have been able to defend yourself,“ he said and pressed against Merry's blade as a demonstration which quickly gave way under the pressure.
“However if you would hold your arms in front of your face", Boromir explained further, shifted the Hobbit's arm to his forehead and pressed against it, “You will be better prepared to deflect a riposte. Remember, you must not stretch out your arms except for a thrust”
The Hobbits nodded eagerly and tried again.
"Pippin, keep an eye on your footwork,” Aragorn said, standing up from a stone where he sat, Andúril in his hands. Boromir turned around and smiled faintly.
“Have I found a fellow instructor?” Boromir asked, sounding composed although his heart gave a leap.
Aragorn tilted his head, a single strand of his dark hair falling into his face.
“I thought a demonstration would aid the Hobbits to understand it better”
He raised his sword to his face and bowed slightly as if to provoke Boromir to a duel.
"Unless the captain of Gondor is afraid to face a ranger of the north,” Aragorn teased him. A mischievous smile curled his lips and made him look younger, almost like a little lad trying to challenge his elder brother.
"Ohhh,” Pippin exclaimed in amusement and shut his mouth as Boromir glanced at him with his deadly gray eyes.
“I meant.. I merely think a demonstration would be a great help,” Pippin said to save himself.
“Verily, we would understand the movements much better”, Merry added as a help.
“And perhaps", Pippin dared to say, “It is even better if we can see you sparring so we can understand when we should use this technique in a real combat”
At these words, Legolas also pricked up his ears.
“Did I hear about sparring between the captain of Gondor and the future king of Gondor or do my ears betray me?”
“Your elvish ears do not betray you, Legolas", said Aragorn, “At least I for my part am ready to cross blades"
The companions, even Sam and Frodo who were sitting on a rock, looked expectantly at Boromir.
"I have fought many times and I do not fear. I shall accept your challenge,” Boromir said proudly, raising his sword in salute and bowing his head.
"Aye, this is an interesting match”, grumbled Gimli, his axe lying completely forgotten on a rock beside him, “Who is betting on the ranger?”
“Me," said Legolas "He was raised and educated in Rivendell among my kindred. The Captain of Gondor may possess great strength but I am counting on the techniques Aragorn must have learned"
“My vote goes to Strider as well,” said Frodo.
"Me too!” Sam added quickly, following his master.
“Well then I am betting on Boromir," Pippin said and Merry nodded.
“So am I. We must not turn against our sword master.”
"Aye,” Gimli agreed, "He always talks highly of the bravery of Gondorian men, and a brave man he is indeed. I am betting on him"
Now even Gandalf was watching them while puffing on his pipe. His eyes peered out from beneath his brows; an amused glint lay within them.
“You have placed your bets now, but what is the prize?"
They fell silent for a moment. They were on a perilous quest and had not brought more gear than necessary. So gold, jewels and coins were out of question.
“We could bet on pipe-weed," Pippin suggested, "The ones who lost the bet have to give some of their ration. Everyone have some pipe-weed and we all smoke”
"I neither smoke nor do I have any pipe-weed,” Legolas interjected.
"Do you have a better suggestion then?” asked Gimli.
"Aye. The ones that lost have to wash the dishes for the next five days," Legolas said.
"I think this is even better,” remarked Merry, “The prize of giving my beloved Longbottom leaves is too high”
"Fine,” Gimli gave in, "Then let the match begin. Do not make me wash the dishes in front of an elf, Boromir!"
Aragorn held his sword low, the tip pointing at Boromir. In his eyes there burned a fire that made him appear wild and dangerous but Boromir could also see the joy beneath it. His heart was pounding hard in his chest filled with excitement. Boromir forced himself to tear his gaze away from Aragorn's mesmerizing grey eyes — he had to concentrate or he would lose.
Aragorn leaped forward, Boromir struck Aragorn's sword down only to see Andúril bounce and come back from above with a great swing. He parried the blade and felt the clash of metal, turned his sword to the left and feinted the technique he had shown the hobbits, only to quickly shift the blade to the right. Boromir knew if they were armoured he would have struck faster without the fear of harming Aragorn but now with sharpened blades and no helm Aragorn saw the slowed movement coming. But so did Boromir and they were trapped in a never ending dance of ringing metal and the whistling sound as they cut through the air.
Boromir pushed himself from Andúril, dust whirled as he stepped back. He had to think of something new. He had to use a technique to catch Aragorn off guard otherwise he would stand no chance of winning.
“If this goes on like this, it will never end,” said Legolas.
"Maybe this is better so — then no one has to wash the dishes,” Frodo said.
"I do not want to miss the opportunity to see an elf washing all the dishes,” interjected Gimli, “Boromir, show us the strength of Gondor!”
“Strength will not help him master dwarf. They are both holding back because they do not want to hurt each other. All that could help is a secret technique not known by the other,” Legolas replied calmly.
Boromir drew a heavy breath. He didn't think he knew a technique that was foreign to the Ranger but he might be able to surprise him with one that was seldom used. His gaze met Aragorn's. A mischievous sparkle flashed across his eyes as he jumped forward for another attack. Their swords met in a bind; Boromir held firm against Andúril with all his might, then reached between Aragorn’s hands with his other hand and, with a twisting motion, shoved the hilt toward himself. It was a disarming technique he barely used, for in a real battle it would help little. There one would hit the enemy with his raw strength through the chainmail and armour.
Aragorn gasped and tried to resist the downward-pressing motion that threatened to tear his sword from his hand.
“Yield, Aragorn, you have lost," panted Boromir.
Aragorn chuckled.
"Not yet. It takes more to take me down, son of Denethor,” replied Aragorn near Boromir's ear. His breath brushed against his cheeks, and suddenly the gray eyes gazed deep into Boromir’s. Without any warning, Aragorn leaned into him. He pressed his soft lips onto his and Boromir gasped into the Ranger's mouth in surprise. He froze and placed his hand onto Aragorn's neck. He could not tell himself whether he did it to stop Aragorn so he could scold him for kissing right in front of the fellowship in the middle of a fight or to bring him closer to himself so he could get lost in his warmth.
Then Boromir felt something cold pressing against his neck. Aragorn gently pulled away from him with a roguish but lovely smile.
“The elf was right; this fight could not have been won by strength. You are better than I thought,” said Aragorn and sheathed his sword, “I needed help in the form of a sweet diversion ."
Boromir was speechless but the voice of the Hobbits returned.
"Ohh, I knew it!" cried Pippin, “He kissed him!"
“Shhh, we have all have seen that Pippin," scolded Frodo but he couldn't hide his smile.
“Besides, we all knew beforehand they were in love," said Merry, "But it was indeed very courageous of Strider to kiss him like that!”
“Stop shouting around like this," said Sam sheepishly who was blushing as much as Boromir, “It is none of our business what happens between these two"
Boromir found his voice back.
“This was.. this is not in the rules! That you simply.. do something like this”, he said lamely.
“Nor is it forbidden," countered Aragorn with a grin, “Or is there a rule in Gondor against it?"
"No, there is not, but...” Boromir said, breaking off. He didn't know what to say and to be honest he was not really mad either.
Legolas stood up and smiled faintly as he walked past Gimli.
"Well Master dwarf, it seems you will have to wash my dishes tonight”
Gimli snorted in disbelief.
"Me? No. I will wash the dishes of the ring bearer but not yours. The two young Hobbits will do it for you”
"Alas!", cried Pippin, "I have forgotten about that. At least we do not have to give our pipe-weed”
"Verily, I would have not been able to handle it,” agreed Merry, “But Boromir is not to be blamed. He fought well"
"And could only be defeated by Strider's lips!” cried Pippin.
"If I were you, Master Peregrin, I would not be so reckless with my words while I have my sword in hand," warned Boromir in his deep voice.
"I am sorry, Boromir,” apologised Pippin, "It was not my intention to make fun of your affection with Strider. On the contrary; I support this from the bottom of my heart!”
“Maybe too much," sighed Aragorn.
"Now, this is your fault,” murmured Boromir, "Because you kissed me in front of everyone”
"Are you angry with me?”, asked Aragorn though he already knew the answer.
Boromir shrugged. He was too proud to admit he was not — at least at the moment.
“You could see it as a compliment," said Aragorn gently, “Only a few can hold their own against me for so long in a fight. And I could only defeat you with a little surprise.”
"It might have been different if we had fought in armour and blunted swords with no fear of harming each other,” interjected Boromir.
"You are right. We need to try this out. Perhaps when this mission is over and we are in Gondor”
Boromir smiled.
"Yes, in Gondor. Without any surprises", he said.
Aragorn laughed and Boromir's smile widened.
“I see. I will spare my next kisses for the night when we are alone"