For XtremeFrolicker, who wanted to know: Why do the hobbits need to be so silent when they move? It's seems like some sort of adaptation, but what is it for?

“[Hobbits] possessed from the first the art of disappearing swiftly and silently… and this art they have developed until to Men it may seem magical. But Hobbits have never, in fact, studied magic of any kind, and their elusiveness is due solely to a professional skill that heredity and practice, and a close friendship with the earth, have rendered inimitable by bigger and clumsier races.” ~ FOTR, The Prologue

Chapter 5: A Dangerous Game

“Look! He’s waking up!”

“Thank the stars!”

“Are you all right, sir? Please be all right.”

“How many fingers do you see?”

“He might be able to answer if you stop waving your hand about. You’re going to make him ill.”

“Let’s give him some breathing room, lads. Merry, go get Elrond. Pippin, put your hand down.”

“No sir, don’t try standing up or you’ll… pass out again.”

“At least he passed out on the bed this time.”

“Pippin.”

“What?”

“Go get Elrond.”

“I thought Merry was going-”

“Go. Get. Elrond.”  

Six hours earlier…

The hobbits met Boromir that morning in the Hall of Fire and followed him out of the east passage where a trail led around the back of the house. The trail was lined with flagstones and bordered with verge and trellised vines. It wound its way down the shallow hillside until it leveled out and widened at the stables. The trail continued around the paddock to the far end of the corral and passed under the pines of the forest, narrowing again as it led straight and sure through the trees. Pine needles crushed underfoot, filling the air with their crisp scent.

The morning was chill and the wind stung at their faces and sent shivers down their arms and legs. The hobbits wrapped their cloaks tight around them, the cloaks getting caught in the wooden blades strapped around their waists. They looked around in wonder though they knew their destination well; they had been to the waterfall and its pond before this, but never with the intention to train. They knew not what Boromir’s plans were and they cast about for signs or clues of what was to come.

A mile into the woods, the trail widened again so that they could walk two abreast, and the trees dropped away at either side, revealing the waterfall and the pond. They could hear the waterfall wherever they went in the Last Homely House but here at its base the power of the rushing water was nearly deafening to their sensitive ears. The spray of the fall was blown about by the wind, adding to the chill of the morning, and they pulled their cloaks tighter still. Sam stayed close to Frodo’s side.

“Are you sure you’re up to this sir?” he asked his master quietly. Frodo had not said so, but Sam could tell from the shadows under his eyes that he had not slept well.

Frodo nodded, resolute. “I’ll be fine, Sam.”

Boromir continued to the water’s edge, the spray of the waterfall like a cloud of mist behind him, the ripples it created in the pond came to the bank like small waves. He turned toward the hobbits and motioned for them to line up in front of him. Like them, he wore his practice blade at his side but he removed his cloak for his tunic was thick and heavy, enough to protect him from the cold.

The hobbits lined up in front of their instructor, just as they would were they in the training room. Sam scanned his surroundings with one quick glance. He had not been here as often as the others, only once in fact, and then he had studied the foliage that grew near the water’s edge and the base of the mountainside. He eyed the pond wearily, hoping their exercise today would have nothing to do with water, especially if his master was not at his full strength.

Boromir called the hobbits to attention and drilled them briefly to warm them up. He brought them to attention again and peered down at them.

“We have been at our lessons for about two weeks now,” he began, hands clasped behind his back. He began to pace before them, his voice rising clear and stern over the roar of the waterfall; he was accustomed to speaking to large crowds of warriors and could project his voice with ease. “You have learned much in a short amount of time and are now ready to begin dueling against each other. Dueling will help to hone the skills you have learned as well as pinpoint the skills you still need to develop. Most importantly, it will get you accustomed to facing an opponent.

“Before we advance to that stage of your lessons we will test what skills you have learned thus far. The test will be simple.” Boromir stood before them again and waved an arm to indicate the forest around them. “I am the enemy, you are the prey. I will give you a half-hour to find a suitable hiding place and then I will come for you. In that time, you are to devise a defense attack against me based on what you have been taught so far. If I catch you or overcome you, you are dead. You will return to the pond and wait here for the end of the contest. If you defeat me, then you win the match and you will return here to wait with the others. Any questions?”

“Can we help each other?” Pippin asked.

“This is an individual match. We will have a group match near the end of your training, if you wish it. For now, you are to find places to hide as far away from each other as you can, but you are to remain within a hundred yards of this pond and you are not to climb the cliffs. Once you are hid, you are to stay there until either I find you or you see me and can execute your plan of attack,” Boromir said, adding this last instruction with a smile at Pippin. He had not forgotten the halfling’s confession to moving during their last game of hide-and-go-seek, and he did not wish for the contest to last all day.

“We can choose any kind of defense we want?” Merry asked.

“Yes, anything you think will give you the advantage.”

“What if you can’t find us?” Frodo asked next.

“The contest will continue until all of you have been found and have had your chance to duel with me,” Boromir said, “even if that means it takes all day for me to find you.”

“Master Boromir, I don’t believe my master’s feeling very well,” Sam said, watching Frodo closely. He could see Frodo swaying ever-so-slightly on his feet, almost as though he were being pushed by the wind as a bough in the trees. “He didn’t rest well last night.”

“I’m fine Sam,” Frodo said patiently, wishing his friend had kept quiet. Now his cousins were watching him with concern and Boromir was frowning down at him. “Honest. I am only tired. I’m well enough for a contest.”

“If you’re certain,” Boromir said, questioning. He would gladly wait until the following day and give the hobbits a day of rest if Frodo needed it, but in reality he knew that the hobbits were unlikely to find much opportunity for plentiful rest on the quest. If Frodo was willing to continue despite being weary, then he would be all the better for it.

“I am,” Frodo said.

“Very well then. You have a half-hour, until the sun rises over that peak,” Boromir said. He watched the hobbits as they turned and walked along the pond’s edge toward the far side of the forest. Pippin veered off first, then Merry. Sam and Frodo continued together, Sam reluctant to leave his master’s side. “Remember,” Boromir called after them, “you are to hide and fight separately.”

Before they disappeared into the cover of the trees, Frodo placed a hand to Sam’s shoulder and spoke a few words to him. Sam replied and left his master’s side as they gained the shelter of the pines.

When the sun peaked over the distant mountains, Boromir left the pond and approached the forest. He went first to where he had seen Pippin enter the woods and searched the ground for tracks, keeping his ears tuned for sounds of movement or breathing. The ground was dry for the autumn rains had not fallen yet and very few pine needles littered the earth. Here and there were berry bushes, some bearing red or blue fruit, others dormant, but none had dropped their leaves. No twigs lay upon the ground save a few. There was little to be disturbed by the movements of a small and lithe hobbit. Swift and light of foot, he had made no tracks upon the soil to follow or give a hint of his direction.

Boromir stepped lightly, remembering that Pippin had said he could hear the man the last time they had played this game, but in the silence of the woods, his footfalls echoed loudly even to his own ears. Only by moving slowly and deftly was he able to minimize the noise he made and that would simply take too long. He would not be able to gain the element of surprise on his prey but that would mean little in the end.

After a time he found a clue, a bent twig on a bush, freshly broken. He turned and followed the winding path of the trees in this new direction, his senses honed to any sign of pursuit. He stepped into a small clearing. The sun was now high enough to clear the treetops above, though the light had yet to reach the forest floor. The man passed through the clearing, his eye catching movement in his periphery near a bush that sat up against a boulder. He continued as though he saw nothing but slowly moved his hand to the hilt of his sword.

Boromir did not hear the attack so much as he felt it. The hairs on his nape bristled and his muscles readied instinctively for battle. He drew his blade and whirled around, sure he would find his opponent stunned into stillness. There was nothing there. He glanced up quickly to the bush and saw the lower branches quivering. Something had just left its cover, of that he was certain. He turned around in all directions, his blade at the ready. As he turned, he grew aware of something just behind him, but every time he turned around there was nothing to be seen.

This was familiar. Why was it familiar?

He lowered his blade, keeping it in front of him. He feinted to the right then quickly reversed his direction to the left and trapped Merry at the end of his sword. The hobbit jumped back lithely and easily blocked a strike but Boromir was ready for the block. He twisted his sword about the hobbit’s blade and pulled it from Merry’s hands. He then advanced, bearing down on the hobbit until he stood over him, the blunt edge of his sword raised in a kill position.

“You’re out, Merry.”

“That wasn’t fair,” Merry accused, rubbing the wrist of his sword hand.

“Battle isn’t about being fair,” Boromir said. “You kill or you get killed.” He sheathed his blade and helped Merry to his feet. “Had you attacked right away you could have stood a better chance.”

“I was trying to confuse you, and hopefully make you dizzy,” Merry explained.

“And you did confuse me, but then you allowed me to gain my bearings again. Take the advantage when you have it, Merry. Hesitate and it could very well be the last thing you do.”

Merry nodded and picked up his wooden sword. He handled it with ease. Already he could wield it as efficiently as one who had been dueling for years, but still he was reluctant to use it. Boromir knew this would be the greatest challenge with the hobbits and that was another reason for this contest – to get them used to drawing their blades against another person. So far they had attacked only dummies and even that had been trying for them.

“Go back to the pond and wait there,” Boromir instructed. “Try to think of a better defense while you are waiting. We will go over it again at tomorrow’s training.”

He continued his pursuit, not waiting for Merry to get out of view. He was one hobbit down, but it was not the hobbit he had been expecting to encounter. The halflings were more difficult to track than he anticipated and even walking back to the bush he knew Merry had been hiding behind he could see no trace of the hobbit’s path. He was now glad that he had taken Gandalf’s advice and had set a perimeter that the hobbits could not go beyond, otherwise the contest really would take all day.

Only twenty minutes passed before he came upon his next opponent. A rare footprint gave the hider away and Boromir was able to step around a small clump of trees to the brush on the other side, poking his blade into the foliage until he met resistance and Pippin squeaked. When Pippin was standing before him, brushing off his breeches and cloak, Boromir asked, “So, how did you lose?”

“You said we couldn’t move,” Pippin said, “and I could hear you coming but I didn’t know from which direction.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” Boromir said. “You have a wall behind you and thick foliage in front of you. It’s a good hiding place, but not a good lookout point. How would you have attacked me?”

“Well, I was thinking of throwing dirt in your face and then running,” Pippin said sheepishly. He had not been able to think of anything better than that and he doubted in his ability to overcome such a seasoned warrior.

Boromir smiled kindly. “Not a bad strategy but you can’t throw dirt in the faces of all your enemies. We will go over some engagements tomorrow that you can practice. If you feel you need extra instruction, just let me know.”

“I will,” Pippin said and beamed up at the man. “But I still hid very well, didn’t I?”

Boromir laughed and patted the little one’s shoulder. “You did indeed. I doubt very much that the enemy would take so long to look for you halflings as I am. They would walk right past you and be none the wiser.”

He sent Pippin on his way back to the pond and returned to his hunt. He turned toward the cliffs, as that was where Frodo and Sam had entered the woods, and his hunt for Merry and Pippin had taken him in the opposite direction. Despite his instructions, he doubted that Sam would be very far from his master. If he could find Frodo, it would only be a matter of minutes before he found Sam, and vice versa.

Another half-hour passed before he found another footprint, but this one was too faint to give him any hint of who had made it and in what direction they were headed. Still, it was enough of a sign to tell him he was going in the right direction and he continued toward the base of the cliffs, the waterfall now tumbling loudly to his left, drowning out all other noise. He paused at the base of a tree and scanned the remaining foliage, his eyes and intuition all that were left to him. There were not many places here for even a hobbit to hide and he was at a loss as to where the last two halflings could be. Then suddenly he remembered Frodo’s question: what if you can’t find us?

A sneaking suspicion began to grow in his mind and Boromir raised his voice over the roar of the falls. “Frodo! You better not be wearing that ring!”

“Why not?” came Frodo’s voice just to the man’s left. Boromir wheeled around, not seeing Frodo anywhere.

“Well for one thing it isn’t fair,” Boromir said.

“I thought battle wasn’t about being fair,” Frodo said and now the voice was to Boromir’s right.

“It will not aid you against agents of the Enemy,” Boromir said.

“That’s not what you said at the Council,” Frodo pointed out.

“It’s against the rules,” Boromir tried now.

“No it isn’t.”

“Well, moving after you’re hidden is, and you must have moved if you heard me speaking with Merry,” Boromir said.

“I wasn’t hiding then. You said you would give us a half-hour to hide. You didn’t say we had to be hid within that time. I only just a short while ago realized that I had the perfect hiding place with me all along,” Frodo said, sounding smug and very pleased with himself.

“Wearing the Ring is cheating, Frodo. Now come out where I can see you.”

“I’m not wearing the Ring, and I can’t come out. You said once we were hid we were to stay there until you find us or we assail you,” Frodo said, laughing now. “Well, you haven’t found me yet and I haven’t assailed you yet, so I have to stay hidden.”

“Frodo,” Boromir started when a pine needle fell on his forehead. He reached up and brushed the needle away then looked up into the boughs of the tree. A blur of cloth passed over his vision and before he could react a cloak was covering his face. He heard a thump behind him as Frodo landed on the ground and by the time the man removed the cloak from his face the hobbit was gone.

Boromir pursued him. Frodo had left tracks where he landed and for a few feet beyond. Boromir headed in that direction and up ahead he could see the foliage moving where the hobbit had crashed through the branches. The man burst through the bushes and was hit in the chest by a hobbit running and jumping at him at full speed. Boromir tumbled over backward, falling onto his haunches but he was as quick as the halfling and he grabbed Frodo by the ankle before he could dash off again. They wrestled on the ground, rolling in the dirt as Frodo squirmed to get away. He nearly succeeded but the man was stronger and soon enough pinned him to the ground. They froze, both of them laughing and panting from the exertion.

“Very clever,” Boromir said. “I did not know that your kind could climb.”

“Most hobbits don’t like heights, but they don’t bother me,” Frodo said, catching his breath.

“I thought you were feeling tired this morning,” Boromir said, letting the hobbit go and helping him to his feet.

“I was but this has woken me up quite effectively,” Frodo said.

“I’m glad to hear you are in better spirits, but you still lost your campaign,” Boromir said, growing serious. “Why did you not draw your blade?”

“Well, if you hadn’t caught my foot, I might have,” Frodo said, that same reluctance in his eyes that Boromir had seen in the others.

The man nodded. He had a bigger job before him than he had originally thought. If the hobbits couldn’t bring themselves to actually use their swords when the time for battle came, then all their training would be for nil. So far, only Merry had attempted to parry with him. He wondered what Sam had up his sleeves.

He patted Frodo’s shoulder. “You did well, Frodo. You even used the noise of the waterfall to provide cover for your movements. A very impressive attempt. Now go to your cousins while I search for Sam.”

“Sam’s still hiding?”

“Yes. He is the last.”

Frodo nodded. “That makes sense. He was the spy of the Conspiracy. Plus he’s a gardener.”

The halfling walked away before Boromir could ask him to explain that last comment. What did gardening have to do with hiding? Unless… Yes, of course. Sam would know better than the others which bushes would provide the best cover and allow the best vantage points to spy his opponent. Which meant Sam could very well be watching him right at this moment, for Boromir was still convinced that Sam would not have hidden far from his master.

Boromir scanned the surrounding area and spotted a couple of bushes that he thought the gardener might feel were adequate cover. He headed toward the one closest to Frodo’s tree and was nearly upon it when he heard a whistling sound approaching fast to his right and all went black.  

“Look! He’s waking up again!” Pippin said excitedly.

The hobbits jumped up from their game of draughts and crowded around the foot of the bed as Elrond came to the man’s side. The elf lord placed a comforting hand on Boromir’s head, quieting the throbbing pain there. Boromir blinked up into the faces of the hobbits, dazed and confounded. How did they get back to the house? Why didn’t he remember the return journey? Why did his head hurt so much?

The hobbits looked at him, their faces full of worry and concern. Sam was the most distraught. He was wringing his hands together and looked ready to plead for mercy and beg forgiveness.

Sam. … Why couldn’t he remember catching Sam?

“Sam?” the man said and at this word the gardener broke and fat tears rolled down his cheeks.

“I’m that sorry, Master Boromir, honest,” Sam said frantically, as Frodo reached over and patted his friend’s shoulder reassuringly. “I didn’t think as I threw it that hard, and it were only a pinecone.”

“A very small, hard pinecone,” Pippin interjected.

“Now, Sam, didn’t we agree that the heads of Men must be as soft as their feet?” Merry said. “That would explain why they wear helmets to battle.”

“Elves wear helmets,” Pippin said.

“Well, they must have soft heads too,” Merry said. “No offense meant, of course.”

“None taken,” Elrond assured, placing a cold compress over the man’s head.

“Anyway, it’s not your fault Boromir failed to tell us this,” Merry continued. “He said we could use any defense we felt best to use and you did. And you won. You should be celebrating.”

“I nearly cracked his head open!” Sam cried, not at all in the mood to celebrate.

“You did not,” Pippin said with a flip of his hand. “Elrond said it was only a concussion.”

“Pippin,” Frodo said, a warning in his tone.

“What?”

“Why don’t you and Merry go find the attendants and let them know that Boromir is awake? He needs to eat something and Sam could do with some food as well. We’ll have our tea in here with Boromir,” Frodo decided, and Merry dragged a reluctant Pippin from the man’s room.

Boromir watched this all with confusion, the ache in his head growing more persistent by the moment. He attempted to sit up but Elrond firmly held him down, a good thing for even that small movement sent the room whirling about the man’s head.

“What-? What happened?” Boromir managed weakly.

Sam’s sobs renewed and he hid his face in his master’s shoulder. Frodo soothed him as best he could before explaining. “Sam threw a pinecone at you and it knocked you out. We tried to revive you but we couldn’t, so Pippin ran back here to get help. You’ve been out for about five hours now.”

“A pinecone?” Boromir said, disbelieving. He had been knocked out by a pinecone?

Elrond produced the object in question, placing it in the man’s hand. Boromir wrapped his fist around the pinecone, which was about the size of a small rock and nearly as hard and heavy. Then he reached up and gingerly touched the spot where the cone had landed just above his right temple, a place especially susceptible to pressure on any man's head. That whole side of his head was largely swollen and tender to the touch. He drew his hand away with a hiss and squinted at the cone, his vision in his right eye blurry around the edges. Then he looked at Sam, who was still sobbing into Frodo’s shoulder.

“A pinecone?” he asked again. “Why would you even think to throw a pinecone?”

“Hobbits have good aim and we’re sure at the mark,” Frodo answered for his servant, who was now hiccupping as he attempted to gain control of his sobs. “You said to use the defense we were most comfortable with and that would be it. A well-thrown rock will bring down a rabbit or squirrel or a low-flying bird, or even predators trying to get to your livestock if you use a sling.”

“I’m sorry!” Sam cried into Frodo’s shoulder. He peered up at the man, his face tear-streaked and eyes red. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, honest!”

Elrond tipped a mug to Boromir’s lips and helped the man sit up enough that he could drink the mixture inside. Within moments, the pain was lifting and Boromir was able to feel more compassionate toward the distraught halfling. The man waved his hand in what he hoped was a comforting, reassuring manner.

“You did as you were instructed Sam,” Boromir said. “Perhaps it was not such a good idea to have you hide after all. A line duel would have been better. Yes, next time, we’ll do that. Tell me, how did you all become so adept at hiding anyway?”

Frodo shrugged. “We just are. All hobbits can disappear and hide at need. Gandalf thinks it’s because we’re small. After all, a rabbit can hide more easily than a deer, and a deer more easily than an ox. But I think it also has something to do with the time before we settled in the Shire. It is a skill we would have had to hone when we were roaming the wilds.”

Merry and Pippin returned then, carrying trays of food. There were tea and crumpets for the hobbits, and a bowl of broth for Boromir.

“We’re back!” Pippin announced and Boromir’s headache returned full force.

“Yes,” Boromir muttered, “next time, we’ll try not hiding… And no throwing things. Definitely no throwing things.”

“Not even dirt?”

“Pippin.”

“I know, I know. Go get something.”

To be continued…

GF 10/9/06