Collection of One-Shots

》the right question

Their first meeting hadn't been on the best of terms. It began with a swordfight in the gardens of Rivendell and a backhanded compliment.

Sírdis had been practicing with the newly crafted blade that Glorfindel had gifted her from the forges of Lindon. It had been when Sírdis spun to carry out a smooth slash that Steward-Prince of Gondor raised his own sword in challenge, halting her movement.

Boromir had arrived in Rivendell a week ago, but now the anticipation of the council meeting and tranquility of the elven settlement was gnawing on his patience. He had ventured into the gardens for the same purpose, training. Even a seasoned soldier like he still needed time with a blade.

The sparring match had begun with silent acknowledgment by both parties. With the first blow and parry, both Boromir and Sírdis knew they were equals.

She swung at him again, the blade swinging neatly through the air as it came at Boromir. His blade met hers easily, and the impact sent a jarring reverberation down Sírdis's arms. The Gondorian used a broad, two-handed sword, but he wielded it confidently with a single hand.

Using his strength, he shoved Sírdis back, trying to throw her off balance and leave an opening for his attack. Gritting her teeth, she quickly moved backward, recovering the poise and stance of one who had wielded a blade for far longer than Boromir had. Sírdis swung at him again, using the force of her twisting footwork to add more power to the sword's strike.

The blades shrieked as they met, sharp edges grinding together between their bodies. The stalemate made Boromir pause. He looked down his nose at the elf maiden.

The great wall of his chest rose and fell with his labored breaths. Something like a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You fight almost as well as a man," Boromir remarked stepping back.

When he saw the soured expression overcome her fair features, he realized his mistake. The apology was on the tip of his tongue when Sírdis smirked and slipped the shining steel back into the sheath on her hip. "Funny," she mused, "I was going to say the same about you."

︽︽︽

Sírdis fell back at Boromir's side after the two young Hobbits raced ahead to catch their kin. She had lived a sheltered life in Lindon and Rivendell. Only venturing as far as Lady Galadriel's realm when the famed blacksmith, Celegorm had offered to take her as an apprentice. That must have been several centuries ago by now, though.

"Tell me about Gondor," she said suddenly. Having heard him speak of Gondor with such affection and pride at the Council had stirred something within her. A burning curiosity to learn of the world that she had been hidden from.

Boromir looked to his side and adjusted the shield on his back. He had grown incredibly fond of Sírdis in their short time of acquaintance. The Steward-Prince imagined that the fair elven maid would enjoy Gondor and his city. "I think you would be happy there," he noted.

"Boromir," she chided, pushing the loose strands of dark hair that had come loose from her braid. "That's not what I meant." Sírdis wanted to hear the admiration in his voice, to see the wonder glistening in his eyes. "Tell me about Minas Tirith." He looked to his side again and offered a fleeting smile. "Your beloved city," she added in a soft whisper.

"The White City is hewn from the mountains," Boromir began, "the Tower of Ecthelion glimmers like a spike of pearl in the morning sun..."

︽︽︽

He pulled the cloak off his back and held it out for her to take. Sírdis shook her head and pushed the dark cloak back toward its owner.

"I won't let you freeze because of my own folly." She had fallen into a stream while helping make camp. Dealing with Merry and Pippin's churlish antics was no easy feat. Sírdis had paid dearly when the two Hobbits bounded out from behind two trees near the stream where she had gone to refill the company's waterskins. Elven grace could not save her and she tumbled backward into the fast flowing stream.