Disclaimer: Middle-earth and all its peoples belong to the Tolkien Estate. I own none of them. Some of them, however, seem to own me.

A CONVERSATION IN RIVENDELL

“Lord Boromir?”

At the sound of that gentle, but firm, voice, Boromir lowered the towel from his sweaty face, to glance at another face level with his, though he was seated, and the other was not.

“Ringbearer,” he replied courteously. He had, of course, spoken briefly with the dark-haired halfling several times in the weeks since the Council of Elrond, but they had yet to have any real conversation.

Frodo blushed. “If you please, Lord Boromir, I am not comfortable with that title. As we are to be travelling companions, I would be pleased if you would just call me Frodo.”

The Man smiled. “Very well--Frodo--if you will also drop the title, and just call me Boromir. Please, be seated.” He could tell the halfling had something to say. “Did you want something?” he prompted.

The halfling sat on the other end of the bench, and grinned. His blue eyes turned upon the Man of Gondor brilliant with joy and gratitude. “I was watching you teach my cousins a few minutes ago. I want to thank you for being so kind and patient with them.”

“Ah,” Boromir nodded. He had been a bit surprised a week ago, to be summoned to Elrond’s library, where he found not only the half-Elven Lord, but Mithrandir and the elderly halfling, Bilbo Baggins.

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“Be seated,” Elrond had said. “As you know, we have agreed to allow the two youngest hobbits to be part of the Company as it travels South.”

Boromir had nodded. He was both surprised and more than a little dubious about that decision, but his opinion had not been asked.

Bilbo Baggins must have noted something in his expression. He gave a small snort. “Master Boromir, you underestimate my young kin. I have no doubt whatsoever that they had already laid plans to slip out and follow Frodo if the permission had *not* been given. They will be far safer as *part* of the Company, and not trailing along behind it. Furthermore, Frodo will *need* them; they are family.” This last word was spoken with the snap of finality and authority that reminded Boromir that this small person was well over a hundred years of age, and used to being listened to.

Elrond continued. “Normally, this is a task I would ask Aragorn to perform, but I need him to lead one of the scouting parties. I do not command you in this, but I do ask if you would be willing to teach the young hobbits the rudiments of using their weapons?”

Boromir’s eyebrows climbed nearly to his hairline, but before he could think to say “yea” or “nay”, the Wizard spoke.

“I know,” said Mithrandir--or Gandalf, as these Northerners called him--”that you have experience of this. I seem to recall that on one of my visits to Minas Tirith years ago, that you had the training of some of the young cadets?”

Of course. Faramir had been one of his students. He had quite enjoyed the job, too, until his father had decided he was not harsh enough with the lads. Denethor had him replaced with a sour and grizzled old veteran who knew the way to his lord’s esteem was to be extra hard on the Steward’s younger son. But Boromir had continued to teach his little brother in secret.

Bilbo spoke up again. “If my cousins are to have swords, I’d as soon have it that they learn what to do with them. I was lucky. Spiders do not carry swords. If I had been so unfortunate as to encounter an enemy who did, I should not have lasted two minutes.”

“Very well,” he had answered. After all, teaching swordplay was something he was good at. And the task would give him something to do besides cool his heels until time to leave.

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“Truly, Frodo, it has been my pleasure. Merry and Pippin are very engaging young people.”

The Ringbearer smiled fondly. “I know that very well. They are dear to me. But I know that some find their exuberance to be a sore trial.”

Boromir laughed. “I can understand that.” Indeed, Merry was remarkably inventive in instigating mischief, from raiding the kitchens to dying the hands of Lord Elrond’s sons, when they had made a stop at home between scouting expeditions. And Pippin! Boromir wondered when he found time to breathe for the chatter. Yet he had discovered they took his lessons quite seriously and to heart. He said as much to Frodo.

“I am glad to hear it.” He looked away for a moment. “Do you have family waiting for you at home, Boromir?”

He nodded. “Only my father and my younger brother. My mother died when we were young, and I have no wife or children. And you?”

Frodo gave a bitter laugh. “I’ve cousins by the dozen. But none of them are waiting for me. None of them will miss me; a very few are probably actually glad that I am gone. Indeed, the only hobbits who *would* miss me are right here in Rivendell *with* me now.”

Boromir felt a bit of a shock; the loneliness in Frodo’s voice was palpable. How could he be so unappreciated? Even in his brief acquaintance it was clear that this was a person of exceptional character.

“You see, now, why it means so much to me that you are taking this trouble with them. I would leave them behind in safety if I only could, but they are nothing if not persistent. Do you think that they can truly learn to defend themselves?”

Boromir pursed his lips, and thought for a moment before answering. This small person would not want false reassurance. “It is true that they are small and any foe that they might face be much larger. Yet I think that if necessary, they could protect themselves--” (and you, he thought)-- “for a few minutes, if we larger warriors were otherwise occupied. Pippin is nimble on his feet, very agile, and has already learned as much as I can teach him about ducking and avoiding blows. He has more to learn about *landing* them--he tends to lose focus. But I think that will come with time. Merry is an exceptional student. He has a knack for swordplay surprising in his kind, I think.”

Frodo nodded. A talent for wielding weapons was not found much in hobbits.

“I believe that if he were a young one of my kind, he might grow into a mighty warrior. But even at his size, he will make a formidable foe, that someone larger will underestimate at peril.”

“I am pleased to hear it. It makes me feel a bit better, though I still wish they could be persuaded to remain behind. That is one thing, though, that I have never been any good at. From the time either one of them could walk ‘remaining behind’ was something they never understood.” He laughed, perhaps remembering some of those occasions when he would have preferred to leave small cousins behind.

Boromir grinned. “My little brother was like that. It took a soldier’s oath of obedience to make him learn that lesson.” And even so, it had taken all of Boromir’s persuasion to keep Faramir from defying their father and following after him on *this* errand. He would have forsworn himself for his older brother’s sake, and Boromir could not allow that.

“I’m sure that Merry and Pippin would be too canny to bind themselves that way. Or they would find some loophole to slip through.”

Both of them chuckled, recognizing the truth of that statement.

Frodo stood, and gave a polite little bow. “I thank you for your time, Boromir. You have helped to set my mind at ease a bit. For I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to those two on my account.”

“As I said, it has been a pleasure. I am sure we will have many more occasions to talk. I look forward to it.”

Frodo smiled, and the sun shone out of his eyes, and then he turned and headed off.

Boromir picked up his surcoat, to put back on over his shirt. He thoughtfully watched the halfling walk off, and saw in the distance Merry and Pippin come up to him, laughing and talking.

If there was any way he could, he would see to it that those two were kept safe, for Frodo’s sake as well as their own.