Title: Sword Play
Author: Lindelea (“sword” sequences supplied by Ariel—Thanks!)
Rating: G
Main Characters: Faramir Took, Goldilocks Gamgee, Thain Peregrin I, Mayor Samwise and the rest of the Gamgee family
Disclaimer: The characters aren’t mine, but I sometimes sneak out with them for a cup of tea and a biscuit or two. Thanks to Marigold for beta reading!
Brief synopsis: Farry teaches Goldi a little lesson—or is it the other way around? Originally written for Marigold's Challenge 5. (Premise: Write a story where a character learns something.) 

Sword Play

‘Now you two visit nicely whilst I just stir up some scones for tea,’ Mistress Rose said briskly, and before either could say a word she was gone.

Young Faramir Took felt a stab of alarm at the prospect of being alone with this... with this... lass even for the time it took to stir up scones. He eyed her unobtrusively, only to find she was looking at him, too. He dropped his eyes to his knees. This would never do.

‘Lovely weather we’re having,’ the lass in question said, her tone an imitation of her mother’s when entertaining an important caller in the parlour.

He mustered all his considerable will and muttered in return, ‘Lovely.’

‘Do you suppose it will rain, later on in the week?’ she persisted.

He sneaked another glance. She had a grown-up smile fixed upon her ten-year-old face, she was sitting unnaturally upright, and she was holding her teacup with the little finger crooked in an affected manner. She reminded him of... of... “Auntie” Poppy, his father’s cousin, one of the Great Smials Tooks, and proud of it.

He couldn’t suppress a snicker at the flawless imitation. She elegantly raised an eyebrow at his impertinence and took a sip of her cambric tea.

Bored again, Farry looked about the room. If only all the other Gamgee children weren’t busy about their tasks, or away on errands, or napping (the younger set, that was). All he had for company was... Goldilocks.

‘Mouldy-Goldi,’ he muttered under his breath.

She could give as good as she got. ‘Hairy-Farry,’ she shot back, sparks flashing in her eyes. It reminded him of the day, not so long ago, when she’d been making mud pies in a quiet corner of the yard of the Smials with some of the other lasses (her father was consulting with the Thain, and her mother was taking tea with the Mistress), and Farry had chased Merry-lad past, splashing the lasses with mud in their passage. The lads had laughed at the lasses’ indignation and gone on with their game of chase, accidentally-on-purpose running too close to the busy little cooks a little later... and... Goldi had thrust out her foot and tripped him as he passed. He’d measured his length in the mud, coming up with a handful which he had enthusiastically applied to those curls of fascinating gold. He’d often wanted to do that...

She’d screamed, more in rage than terror, and an all-out mud war had erupted. The lasses for all their prissy ways had given as good as they got, and all were coated with mud from curly crown to woolly foot before the matter was settled.

Now the golden hair was tied back in a kerchief and there was a smudge on the pert little nose, but she sat as regally as a princess, looking down her nose at him. She gave a sniff and said, ‘May I pour you more tea?’

‘No, thank you,’ he replied, dismissing her with a sniff of his own. His eyes wandered over the parlour, stopping at the sword that hung over the mantel. ‘What a beauty!’ he exclaimed.

Her eyes followed his. ‘That’s Sting,’ she said.

‘Sting?’ he mocked. ‘What kind of name is that for a sword?’ He knew, of course, the tale of Bilbo’s adventure by heart, and a little of his father’s journeys with Frodo, though Farry suspected there was much more to the story than his father or cousin Merry had told him.

Rather than being incensed at his rudeness, she looked at him with a pitying expression. ‘Bilbo’s Sting?’ she said with exaggerated patience, as one would speak to a hobbit of little wit.

‘Bilbo and the Spiders?’ he said, interested in spite of himself. He hadn’t realised that Mayor Samwise had that famous sword in his possession. He thought Frodo Baggins would have taken it with him over the Sea. However, Goldi’s condescension could not be allowed to stand. He decided to prick her pride. ‘O that’s just an old children’s tale,’ he said. ‘You nearly had me.’

‘It is not just an old tale,’ Goldi flared, just as Farry had hoped. His needling was having a fine effect.

‘Probably just a fake sword, for show,’ Farry continued.

‘It is a real sword! My father slew a Spider with it to save Mr. Frodo!’ Goldi shouted, and then she clapped her hands over her mouth with an apprehensive look towards the doorway. What would her mother say, to hear her shouting at a guest, the son of the Thain at that? What would her father do if she disturbed the conference between the Mayor and the Thain of the Shire?

‘Spin on, little tale-weaver, spin on,’ Farry said with an irritating grin, sitting back and folding his arms.

‘It is real! I’ll show you!’ Goldi hissed, remembering to keep her tone low.

She’d been dusting the parlour when the distinguished visitors had arrived, and now she pulled the folding step stool from where it had been hastily secreted behind her father’s overstuffed chair, unfolded it, and before Farry could say a word, she’d scampered up and was carefully lifting the sword from its rests. She stepped down much more carefully than she’d ascended, holding the weapon awkwardly but reverently.

‘You hold it like a lass,’ he said in disgust, taking the sword from her. Though he was only eleven, it felt strangely right in his hand, oversized, but perfectly balanced. He’d never held a real sword before, only the small wooden practice sword, for he was not yet old enough to wield a real weapon, not even one with a blunted edge. And to be holding “Sting”, famous throughout the land of the Shire, was beyond his wildest dreams...

He held the sword out, eyeing its leaf-shaped straight blade, and then balanced it just in front of the guard on his finger as he’d seen his father do. The elegant sword’s balance made it feel nearly weightless in his hand. He took the hilt his hand and tested the keen edge with a cautious thumb.

‘Careful!’ Goldi said.

‘I know what I’m doing,’ Farry said loftily. Frowning slightly, he extended his arm fully and sighted down the shining blade to the deadly point. ‘Lovely!’ he said under his breath, and suddenly grinned with delight. Positioning his feet as his father had taught him, he took a few practice swings, slashing the air vigorously and coming dangerously close to cleaving the arm of an overstuffed chair.

Goldi watched, fascinated. She wanted to caution Farry again, but she didn’t want him to stop his display. The sword seemed to sing to her, a song of great deeds and courage...

‘Goldilocks Gamgee!’ Mistress Rose said sharply from the doorway. ‘What do you think you’re about!’ She strode into the parlour, her eyes snapping very like her daughter’s had a bit earlier. Stopping before Faramir, she held out a peremptory hand. ‘I’m sorry, young master, but that is no toy you’re holding.’

Farry gently relinquished Sting. Mistress Rose gave a sharp nod, turned, and returned Sting to its resting place. She gave the hilt a soft pat, almost a caress, before turning back to the youngsters. ‘Your father will deal with you when he’s finished with business,’ she said to Goldi, and the lass dropped her eyes, murmuring an apology.

Faramir had seen the tears in Goldi’s eyes before she turned away, and he said hastily, ‘It was all my fault, Mrs. Gamgee.’

‘Very kind of you to say so,’ Mistress Rose said, flashing a sceptical look at her daughter. ‘Why don’t the two of you go out in the garden? Perhaps you can pick some flowers for the tea table.’

‘Yes’m,’ Farry said instantly, and Goldi nodded, keeping her head down. ‘Come along, Goldi,’ Farry said, bravely offering his hand to the lass. He could always wash it later.

He had the feeling she would have scorned the gesture had her mother not been there beaming at the young master’s manners. As it was, she snatched her hand away as soon as they were safely in the garden and out of her mother’s sight. She scrubbed her hand on her pinny for good measure, to wipe away any contamination from the hand of the lad. Who knew when last he’d been holding a toad or gutting a fish... or worse?

They began to pick flowers in silence. She was the first to speak, heaping scorn upon his head. ‘That’s not how you gather blooms,’ she said. ‘Ripping them out of the ground, or tearing their heads off! This isn’t a battle! You want some survivors to come to the table.’ She brandished her handful of flowers, stems of uniform length and all suitable for arranging in a vase, and watched with a critical eye as he plucked a few more.

He seethed inwardly but determined that he would pick faster and better than this lass. Soon she nodded and bent to her own picking, looking over occasionally, and suddenly realised that Farry’s armload was larger than hers! She settled with a will to her work... until there were no more bright blooms beckoning in the bed.

Farry laid down his flowers with a grin, but the lass wasn’t smiling, rather, she was looking from their flowers to the flowerbed with an expression of growing consternation.

‘What’s the matter?’ Farry said lazily. The smell of good things baking was wafting from the smial. It ought to be teatime soon.

‘We weren’t supposed to pick all the blooms!’ Goldi blurted, the look on her face almost comical.

Farry shook his head. He didn’t know what she was on about. One minute she was nattering about the proper way to pick blooms, and the next... she ought to be pleased that her student had learned his lesson so well.

Idly he picked up a stick, nice and straight, good balance for all it had obviously fallen from someone’s armload of firewood. With the titillating feel of Sting still fresh in his mind, he gave a few experimental slashes with it.

Goldi was fascinated. She rose from her contemplation of the garden bed and carefully laid her own armful of flowers down. ‘How do you do that?’ she said. ‘It looks just like Dad when he’s telling one of his stories... Teach me?’

‘You? You’re a lass!’ Farry said, but the large bright eyes looked at him pleadingly and he forgot his scorn.

‘Please?’ Goldi said more softly, and in self-defence he nodded and looked away, making a pretence of searching for another stick suitable for a practice session.

‘Here’s one!’ Goldi said, swooping to snatch a stout length from the woodpile.

‘Good,’ Farry said approvingly. ‘Now, here’s what you do...’ He took up a stance before her, his legs spread, his knees slightly bent and his body angled a little away from her. ‘Stand like this,’ he explained. ‘Your sword out front and the rest of you out of reach of your opponent.’

Goldie spread her legs in an attempt to copy him but with her legs unbent.

‘No, no!’ Farry frowned. ‘You’ve got to be balanced or else you’ll get knocked over the minute anyone attacks you. Bend your knees.’ Frowning with concentration, he tucked his stick under one arm and moved to adjust her stance, moulding her as if he’d taken a handful of clay from a riverbank. ’That’s right. Stand like you’d be ready to leap out of the way if you had to.’ He stepped back for a critical look. ’Yes, like that.’ He raised his stick. ‘Now, hold your sword up.’

Goldi, her tongue stuck out in concentration, raised her stick in a close imitation of her teacher’s position. Farry smiled, seeing his chance to put this uppity lass in her place.

‘Now you’re ready to fight.’ He lifted the stick in a mock salute, his eyes glittering with delight, and shouted, ‘Lay on!’ And with that he danced forward and tried to poke her smartly in her unguarded shoulder. Goldie squealed and jumped back, letting his zealous charge go right past her. He stumbled clumsily, but managed to avoid going head first into the flowerbed.

‘You’re not supposed to do that!’ he gasped. ‘You’re supposed to parry. You need to meet my blade and counter it.’

‘It didn’t look like you were aiming for my “blade”,’ she replied with irritation. ‘Can’t you show me how I’m supposed to “parry” before you go attacking me?’

Farry huffed, disappointed that his ploy had not worked, and faced her again.

‘Very well. When I go to strike you, you need to block my sword with your own. Like this...’ He held up his stick at a slight angle across his body. ‘Try and hit me just once.’

Goldi did. She brought her stick down towards his head as hard as she could, sending a few bits of bark into Farry’s face when he lifted his own stick to meet it.

‘Um, yes, like that. Though perhaps we shouldn’t be so enthusiastic until you know more.’

Goldi grinned and Farry felt a sudden urge to wipe the expression off her smug face.

‘Very well, little miss... mouldy-Goldi. Why don’t you try blocking me this time? Hold your sword up like I did.’ Goldi copied him as best she could remember and Farry reached out to correct her. ‘Yes, but angle it across your face a bit more to protect your head. That’s right.’

Before she could move, Farry had darted forward again. This time he dropped his arm and struck upwards, aiming for the bottom of her “blade”, intending to send the stick flying from her grasp, but suddenly it wasn’t there. Goldi had darted to the side again and spun as she slipped on the grass, coming up inside his guard and neatly behind him. If that weren’t enough of an insult, she swung her stick, instinctively reaching for balance as she spun, striking him rather smartly on the behind, to her surprise and satisfaction.

‘Hi! What did you do that for?’ Farry cried, his dignity stinging as much as his backside.

‘I didn’t mean to,’ she explained. ‘I slipped – though you’ve a lot of cheek getting angry with me! I don’t know what you were doing but it didn’t seem much like “teaching”!’

Farry’s blush betrayed the fact that her words had hit near the mark but he gamely extended his hand. ‘We’ll call it evens, shall we?’

‘But you’ve still not taught me anything,’ complained Goldi. ‘So far I’ve felt more like your target than your student.’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Or do you only know enough to chase a lass around her garden? Humph. I’ll bet you don’t know enough to teach.’

That comment stung his pride. He drew himself up trying his best to look disdainfully down at her. ‘I’ll have you know my da says I am nearly as skilled as he was when he went adventuring! Why, I’ve almost bested Sword Master Telebard three times! I can so teach.’

‘So prove it to me!’ she challenged, satisfied she’d got the reaction she wanted.

Farry wasn’t sure but he suspected he’d just been manoeuvred rather handily. He scowled at her and set himself into position.

‘I’ll teach you something, all right,’ he muttered and then smiled falsely at her. Goldi returned his smile with cheerful brightness. He raised his voice, imitating Telebard’s pedantic tones. ‘Before you learn to hit something, you need to learn to block your opponent. Remember that stance – yes, with your knees bent like I showed you – good. Now you hold the “sword” up so it protects the most of your head. If it were held flat, you’d have to move it very far to block a blow from over here –’

Farry swung his stick slowly towards Goldi, instructing her to move her own to get in front of it as he did so. He was pleased at her responsiveness to instruction. ‘Yes! As you see, from that half-raised angle across your face, you can block a blow coming from almost any quarter. Like here...’ and he brought his slowly moving stick down towards her head. She moved the tip of the “blade” to counter him and Farry shook his head. ‘No, no! If this were a real battle, you’d have knocked yourself in the head. Block from the piece of the blade nearest the hilt – here!’ and he rapped her stick sharply just above her hand. She winced from the vibrations that rattled through the wood but did not complain. She had, after all, asked for this.

‘That’s the place where you’ve got the most strength and control of the “blade” – always try and block with that part of it. The tip is for reach and thrust, but the power is near the hilt. Remember that!’ He continued to show her the ways she could meet various attacks from her one position until her arm, unused to such efforts, quivered from fatigue.

‘How’s that for a first lesson?’ Farry asked, once he’d run through the various blocks.

‘Is that all?’ Goldie cried, indignant. ‘I thought you were going to teach me to fight?’

‘What do you think I’ve just been doing?’ he countered, growing irritated again. ‘Da always says you need to know how to defend yourself before you can attack.’

‘But…’ her lip quivered and her face started turning a few shades redder. Farry, unused to sisters, walked right into her manipulative clutches.

‘O all right! For mercy’s sake, don’t cry! I’ll let you have one crack at me and I’ll block it as illustration – but only one, mind you, and then we’re finished. What I’ve taught you already is quite a bit more than any lass would ever need anyway.’ He raised his sword as he’d shown her and nodded. ‘Lay on,’ he said.

Goldi wasn’t truly ready to try an attack, in fact, her arms were so tired that she could barely lift her stick, but she was not about to let him see her weakness. She swung, in a fair approximation of the blow he had earlier tried to strike against her, coming up from below, but her swing went wide of its mark and Farry was left standing unmolested in front of her.

Unfortunately, with her arms as weak as they were, she was unable to check the stick’s momentum. It completed its arching swing as she followed helplessly. The stick swung up, over, and then back down again, but Goldie’s failing strength could not raise it very far off the ground. The stick swung low, under Farry’s guard again, and straight into his unprotected shin.

‘Ow!’ Farry cried, dropping his sword to hop about, cradling his wounded limb. ‘You’re not supposed to do that!’

‘It’s a battle, isn’t it?’ Goldi argued. ‘Aren’t you supposed to get the best of your opponent?’

Both forgot the finer points of swordplay as Mayor Sam spoke quietly from the garden gate. ‘Tea’s on.’

Goldi gasped and dropped her weapon, but her father only said, ‘Wash up now, the two of you. Where are the posies you were supposed to gather for the table?’ His eyebrows rose as he regarded the ravaged flowerbed, but once again he did not scold, merely said, ‘I see we shall not have to pluck any dead-heads for a few days.’

In silence the young hobbits gathered their armloads of flowers and brought them to the kitchen, to be greeted with cries of astonishment by Mistress Rose, Elanor and Rosie-lass. They quickly washed up at the kitchen washstand. Farry did his best not to limp on his way from kitchen to dining room, but his father gave him a sharp glance as he took his seat. ‘They were playing in the garden,’ Mayor Sam said, and the Thain nodded.

‘Very kind of you to entertain Farry, Miss Goldi,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. He’d seen the last part of the battle from the study window before Mistress Rose had come to escort him to the dining room for tea.

‘Yes, Sir,’ Goldi said, not quite meeting his eye.

Rosie-lass came in bearing a large arrangement of flowers for the sideboard, and Ellie had another for the table. ‘We’ve enough flowers for every room in the smial!’ Rosie-lass giggled, and Elanor hushed her. They hurried out again to help their mother bring the platters of scones and biscuits and all the necessities thereto, and finally Mistress Rose sailed grandly in with the best teapot and proceeded to pour out for the guests.

The Gamgee lads boiled into the smial, pulled up short by a quiet word from their father and the sight of the Thain at the table. They ought to have been warned by the fact that the family were not taking tea in the kitchen, but being lads and perishing of hunger, their thoughts were more on nourishment than niceties. Soon enough all were settled and tea went on as such affairs usually do.

Mayor Samwise made no mention of any improprieties for the rest of that day. Indeed, after they’d sung the Thain and his son on their way, the family went about their usual business, all the way through supper and after-supper story and putting the little ones to bed... but instead of sending Goldi off with the rest, Samwise said, ‘Goldi, I’d like you to come out to the garden with me.’

The older children sat up at this and exchanged glances. Dad was taking Goldi behind the woodpile. What had she done? She’d been good as gold since teatime, especially helpful and sweet. They ought to have known she was for it, the way she’d been acting. What could she have done? Had she somehow disgraced her parents before the eyes of the Thain or his son?

Goldi gulped but said bravely, ‘Yes, Dad.’ She followed Samwise from the now-silent kitchen.

Rose watched her daughter with a sympathetic eye and suppressed a sigh. She supposed such discipline was necessary, but still... Turning to the remaining Gamgees, she said briskly, ‘Come now, sitting about staring won’t get the washing-up done!’

Out by the woodpile, Sam picked up a stick and tested its sturdiness. Goldi swallowed hard and fought back the tears. She could be as brave as any of the lads who’d been taken to the woodpile after a serious infraction. Each of her brothers, whenever such an opportunity was thrust upon him, had borne his punishment bravely, and though he’d be unable to sit in comfort the day after, he never made any reference to the matter afterwards. Sam had never before taken one of his daughters “to the garden”, however. Goldi was the first, a dubious distinction.

‘Now, Goldi,’ Sam said quietly, and waited for her to come up to him. ‘Sting is not a toy, you know, but a dangerous weapon.’

‘I know, Dad,’ she quavered. ‘I know it very well; you’ve told us often enough.’

He looked at her seriously, and she waited for her punishment to begin. She would not cry. At least, she’d do her best not to cry, even though the thought of disappointing her father was enough to make her want to howl with weeping.

Sam raised the stick, looking at it speculatively, and then lowered it again. ‘If you’re going to handle a sword,’ he said, ‘you’ve got to go about it in the right way or you’ll end up cutting off your own leg, as Boromir was so fond of telling me...’ He handed the stick to Goldilocks and selected another from the woodpile for himself. ‘Now the first thing you need to know...’

(Updated 7/2/4)