Boromir gets a surprise when he dismisses the ability of the hobbits to defend themselves...

The Right to Bear Arms
By Pearl Took
Beta by Llinos and Marigold

Tall and proud, the son of the Steward of Gondor strode down the path in Imladris. They were heading off to war . . . well, they were heading off to war eventually. They would spend a few weeks here readying themselves, then they would stealthily make their way southwards. The Ring was being taken to Mordor.

He huffed to himself. “Folly! ‘Tis folly and perhaps even arrogance to think of destroying the Ring,” he thought, with an irritable look in his eyes. “And thinking we can remain hidden whilst bearing it though open lands!” He huffed again.

Suddenly Boromir slowed his steps and came to a standstill. He heard the voices of the halflings coming to him from the very place he was heading. The smithy.

“Thank you for taking care of this for my friends.”

He heard one of their voices saying. He thought it sounded like the eldest of them, the one who carried the Ring, Frodo Baggins.

“Strider said they really needed to get these blades attended to if we are to go forth into the wild.” Frodo’s voice continued.

“They are quite old, we’ve been told,” said another. “They came from a barrow on the edges of the Old Forest and Tom Bombadil said they were good blades and were made by enemies of the Dark Lord, so they would be good for us to carry.”

This voice belonged to the youngest of the halflings who had been introduced to Boromir on different occasions as Peregrin, Pippin and Pip.

Boromir stood just back from where the path entered into the yard in front of the forge. The four halflings stood about, three of them holding, swinging and looking over weapons that did not quite seem to be swords, yet fit well as such for the little ones.

“They are, indeed, as the First said,” the swordsmith told them, smiling as he watched them. “They are both goodly blades and made to wage battle against the worst of all foes. Bear them well.”

“We would like to, and thank you,” said the halfling called Meriadoc and also Merry. “Though we really don’t know how. It has been long ages of our reckoning since hobbits have fought any battles. We’ve no idea of how to properly wield weapons such as these.”

“I’m a deft hand with a rock,” put in the one named Samwise or Sam. “And Tooks are usually good with bows and arrows. But Mr. Merry is right sayin’ as hobbits know naught of usin’ swords.”

“Could you show us?” Pippin asked the swordsmith.

“Will it be of much use?” Boromir asked as he strode out into the yard. “Surely that is why they are sending others of larger stature with you. I’m surprised you are even being allowed to carry such weapons as these. And as I recall,” here he looked at the two younger Halflings, “you aren’t even going with us.”

All of the Halflings made some sort of derisive sound. Frodo folded his arms over his chest. Sam put his fists on his hips while Merry’s hands were also fisted but remained at his side. Pippin stood as tall as he could, puffed himself up, then strode forward to more directly confront the tall soldier of Gondor.

“That, sir, has yet to be decided.” There was fire in the words and in the little one’s eyes.

“Pippin.” Merry warned.

“Well, it hasn’t. Has it?” Pippin turned to look at his cousin, but the other cousin answered.

“No,” said Frodo calmly. “It hasn’t exactly been completely settled upon, but . . .”

“Then it is yet to be decided,” the young one cut his elder off. He turned back to Boromir, the gleam in his eyes growing brighter. “You think we can’t learn to use these, don’t you?”

Boromir easily batted away the blade that the little one waved about, its point not even coming to his chin.

“I did not say that you could not learn, but that it is pointless to teach you something you will have no need of. You are too short, both in height and reach, to make a sword a good weapon for you. That and you have made it clear that you are not fighters.”

“We aren’t soldiers. We haven’t fought battles. That doesn’t mean we can’t fight, Mr. . . . eh, Mr. . . .” Pippin turned to Frodo, his eyebrows raised in a questioning look.

“Boromir, Captain of the Army of Gondor and heir to the Steward of Gondor,” the eldest hobbit supplied in a rather unimpressed tone. “And I don’t think they use the address of mister, Pippin.”

Pippin gave a quick nod then turned back to look up into Boromir’s eyes. “It doesn’t mean we can’t fight, Captain Boromir. You might find yourself hard put to stop one of us.”

The Elf swordsmith turned his head away to hide his smile. Sam rolled his eyes. Frodo made no effort to hide his grin. Merry’s expression looked very parental.

“Pippin!” he said, the warning edge clear in his voice. “Pippin, back down.”

The soldier was not helping. “You think you could gain a hit on me?” he challenged.

“Yes!” Pippin confidently replied.

The big Man laughed. “You shall have your chance then!” He turned to the swordsmith. “Where might we be able to procure practice weapons? I would hate to see this little one cut his own leg off with his newly cleaned and honed blade.”

“The training hall is only a short way further along the path that brought you here,” the smith replied, pointing. “The swordmaster should be there. He can supply you both.”

Boromir turned to Pippin, bowing whilst making a sweeping gesture towards the path. “Shall we?”

With a small bow of his own, Pippin replied, “With pleasure,” and they all proceeded in the direction the Elf had indicated.

“You’re being a fool, Pippin,” Merry hissed in his cousin’s ear.

“No I’m not, Merry. How many times have you told me 'bigger isn’t always stronger or faster'? I’ve a plan. I’ll be fine.”

Soon the two combatants were armed with wooden swords - well a sword and a long knife, and faced each other in the middle of a sandy arena. They circled clockwise, they circled anticlockwise, they paused then circled again. Boromir suddenly thrust forward with his weapon, fully expecting to get his hit.

But he did not.

Pippin easily sidestepped the attack.

“They’re quick little blighters!” the soldier of Gondor thought as once more he and the halfling circled.

A slashing attack!

Pippin jumped back, sucking in his stomach as he did so.

A thrust!

Sidestepped.

A slash to the head!

Pippin dived below it and rolled to come up behind the tall Man. He quickly slashed at the back of Boromir’s left knee. Boromir spun and stopped.

The flat of the Man’s blade lay on Pippin’s shoulder, its edge was nestled against his neck.

“You are dead, halfling!” Boromir crowed between deep breaths.

“I’m not!” Pippin retorted. “You’ve cheated!”

Boromir’s tone was icy. “I do not cheat, little one.”

Pippin looked over the wooden blade that still lay upon his shoulder to where the swordmaster stood. “I cut the back of his knee.” the lad’s voice was higher than usual in its urgency. “I hit him with the edge of my sword. I cut the back of his knee. He should have fallen to his knees, but he didn’t.”

Pippin paused to take a breath and to look back at his opponent, before returning his attention to the Elf. The swordmaster came over to the two in the centre of his arena.

“Did you feel the blow to your knee, Captain Boromir?” the Elf quietly asked.

Boromir’s eyes widened a moment. “Yes. I felt him land a hit to the back of my knee.”

“Were these weapons real, my lord, would the blow have deeply cut you?”

Boromir nodded. “It would.”

The Elf smiled, as did Boromir. “The Halfling claims the first hit. Do the combatants wish to continue?”

“Yes!” Pippin answered. “That is, I would like to start from my rolling and hitting his knee. But I would like him to fall as he would if his knee were truly injured.”

Boromir and the Elf raised their brows, then Boromir nodded in agreement. Pippin stepped back in front of Boromir, the swordmaster stepped away then gave the command, “Begin!”

Not as quickly this time Boromir repeated his slash towards Pippin’s head. Pippin dived, rolled and came to his feet as before, slashing the Man’s knee before he could bring his blade around to attack the Hobbit who was now behind him. Boromir cried out in mock pain. Clutching at his “wounded” knee as he fell to the earth on his uninjured knee.

Quicker than he would have imagined, he felt his hair being grabbed and the edge of a wooden blade held tight against his throat.

“You are dead, Big Person!” Pippin hissed in Boromir’s ear.

“The hit and the kill belong to the Halfling,” the swordmaster exclaimed. “And well done, Little Master,” he added to Pippin.

Boromir looked over at the halfling, respect mixed with wonder in his eyes.

“How did you know how to do that?”

Pippin was smiling broadly, but it was Merry who answered.

“I taught him. Well not the cutting with a sword, but the duck, roll and go for your opponent’s knees. He added that last bit, the sword to your throat, himself.”
Pippin was now standing before the kneeling Man, offering Boromir his hand in friendship. “We do wrestle back at home,” he said brightly.

Boromir grinned, shook and hung his head. “I would not have thought it from all you had said.” He looked up, smiling, and took the lad’s hand in a firm grasp, patting him on the shoulder with his other hand as he did so.

“Well done. Well done, indeed.”

“And you as well,” Pippin replied. “You nearly had me when you went for my stomach.”

The soldier stood, brushing the sand off his knees as he did so.

“Would you like to learn how to handle a sword properly? How to best use it bearing in mind your stature?”

“Yes!” Pippin exclaimed.

The other hobbits had walked over to join them. All of them expressed an interest in learning to use the weapons Tom Bombadil had claimed for them from the barrow, while Frodo felt he would like to do justice to his Elvish blade, Sting.

“Then lessons will begin tomorrow,” Boromir said, then looked to the Elf. “If it is all right with the swordmaster that we use his arena?”

Permission was happily granted.

“Isn’t it nearly time for luncheon?” Pippin asked. “I’m starving.”

Boromir and the hobbits walked back up the path to the main house, all of them chattering away as though they had known each other for years.