It became habit to work on sword fighting with the hobbits almost every day when they stopped for their afternoon meal.

The lessons weren't taken too seriously, it seemed, except by those involved. Often Frodo and Sam would sit and watch and call out little jokes and try and distract their two younger friends. Aragorn would also watch, usually with a half-smile on his face as if he was amused, but at least he would occasionally call out a word of assistance.

Merry and Pippin took the lessons as seriously as they took anything - not very. But despite their big grins and their lighthearted words, they learned what Boromir taught. Even when the lessons dissolved into playtime, with the two hobbits playfully challenging each other to duels, they would interrupt the laughter to correct their grips on the handles, or their footing, to be more accurate.

So, not entirely flightly. There were things the creatures took seriously, but it seemed habit, at least with these two in particular, not to let it show.

Boromir had to admit to not knowing much about the others in the Fellowship. He knew that Sam and Frodo behaved nothing like Merry and Pippin. They seemed, as Merry had once put it, bowed down by responsibility. Maybe it was the ring, or the seriousness of the task ahead, but with every passing day Frodo seemed a hint more grave. And Sam was a bit more anxious about him.

When the company walked, it was mostly in silence. When they talked, Legolas and Gimli had taken to trading barbs with each other, though there seemed to be less heat in it as days went on. Gandalf and Aragorn would huddle together and talk about serious matters, about the road ahead. As if it did any good to constantly remind themselves what was coming.

Boromir kept to himself, and to his young wards. As a result, he was still uncertain about most of the others. Of course, he wasn't any more certain about Merry and Pippin. He would not make his mind up about any one of them until he had been into danger with them at least once.

He got his chance to find out, for the first time, during one of their sword fighting lessons. The fellowship had stationed themselves on various rocks, going through their lunch slowly as if to stall the time when the long march would begin again.

His hobbits, as much as they talked of laziness and hunger and sloth, rose to the lessons now without complaint, holding off their meals until they had a bit of practice in.

This practice dissolved into playtime fast, with an accidental touch of Boromir's sword to Pippin's hand.

Boromir jerked back in alarm, his movements instant. He had hurt one of his hobbits. "I'm sorry," he blurted at once.

Pippin raised his hand to his mouth and sucked gingerly at the wound, and glared up at him fiercely.

But Boromir detected that ever-present light of laughter in his eyes. His alarm lessened.

Pippin attacked at the first hint of a smile on Boromir's face, kicking at his legs and laughing through his feigned ferocity.

Merry, of course, was quick to join in, and the next thing Boromir knew, he was flat on his back with two squirming bodies wrestling to hold him down.

"For the Shire!" Pippin cried out victoriously.

Boromir quickly conceded. Laughter bubbled out of him, unbidden and free. More free than he could remember laughing in some time. Maybe ever.

Aragorn appeared as shadow behind the hobbits, tugging at their shoulders. "Gentlemen, that's enough!" His hands gripped the two smaller bodies.

Boromir watched the instant looks the two shot each other, the instant communication, and the turning of two bodies as one. And then Aragorn was down there on the ground, flat on his back. Air burst out of him sounding like laughter.

And Boromir was surprised to find himself resenting it.

These were his hobbits. Aragorn had his own two to watch out for.

But Merry and Pippin showed no interest in playing. They knocked him out of their way, and the two beaming, breathless faces turned once again to Boromir, sharing smiles.

Boromir wasn't sure, but from the way it felt on his face, his smile must have been as big as theirs.

The happy moment was just that, though - a moment.

Next thing he knew Aragorn was on his feet and grave again, and all eyes were on an approaching dark cloud in the sky.

"It's just a wisp of cloud," came the low growl of Gimli's voice.

Boromir shook his head. He didn't know anything of the magic and witchcraft that some of those in this company knew, but that was no cloud. "It's moving fast, against the wind."

Legolas was in front of all of them, and his sharp eyes made some connection suddenly, for his voice rang out sharply. "Crebain from Dunland!"

It meant nothing to Boromir, but Aragorn answered immediately with one shouted command. "Hide!"

It was trouble. It was danger, upon them finally.

Boromir didn't think. He turned to find his two small friends. "Merry! Pippin! Take cover!"

They were baffled, but as the company split apart and dove into hiding places, Boromir gave them no time to think about it. He took them both by the arm and dove for the thick underbrush of the bushes surrounding the rocks.

Not a moment too soon. An instant after they were all still and under cover, the dark flock was upon them.

Birds, black and large, swooped over their small area, circling and cawing to each other.

Boromir was half on top of Pippin's legs, and he could feel the slight nervous shaking and quick breathing in Pippin's body.

He reached out carefully, and without thought, to rest a hand on Pippin's knee.

Merry lay sprawled on his back beside his friend, and as they stared in wonder and fear at the circling nest of birds, their two small hands were in each other's grasp.

So natural for those two. So instinctive to turn to each other. To touch, to comfort, to be free and open with their emotions.

Boromir thought about Merry.

Most of their emotions, anyway.

He felt a warmth on his hand, and his eyes flickered up to see Pippin's free hand clutching at his.

Boromir stared for a moment, then slowly let his hand turn on its back. His fingers caught Pippin's, and the young hobbit squeezed tightly.

He squeezed back, enough to be firm.

When the birds were gone, circling at last out of sight of their small hill, Gandalf emerged noisily.

The others followed his lead.

The wizard was grave, even more than usual. "Spies of Saruman."

Boromir frowned, his eyes going to the departing cloud as he absently brushed the dirt from his clothes.

"The passage South is being watched." Gandalf turned his eyes from the path they had been following, the relatively easy hike that was planned for the next few days. "We must take the pass of Caradhras."

Boromir jerked his eyes to the wizard. He couldn't be serious.

But he was. Gandalf was staring right at the cold, impenetrable mountain range in the distance.

But surely.

There was no way. Even if the men could survive, these tiny and soft hobbits wouldn't last a day.

He opened his mouth to speak in protest, turning back to Gandalf.

But he looked to them first, and found their eyes already on him.

Merry was serious. He had looked at the mountain, no doubt, and knew what they had in store for them.

Pippin was just curious.

He met their eyes, and then their gazes moved again, Merry's back to the mountain, and Pippin to Gandalf.

But his heart did a silent stop and start when he realized.

They had looked to him first. They had looked to him at all. In this company, with their wizard friend, with Aragorn, whom they had come to depend on before meeting Boromir, with the elf and dwarf who knew so much more of this land.

Still they had looked to him.

His protest died silently, buried under new thoughts, and their hike began again on its new course.

Those new thoughts had time in the silence to run around themselves.

Odd that the realization should strike him so hard. The one thing Boromir was used to was being looked at as a leader. In times of trouble his men had always looked to him for aid.

But these weren't his men, and this wasn't yet a battle. Boromir, though he would never admit it aloud, was completely out of his depth here. This quest was bigger than him. This land was strange to him, the evil was one he didn't know how to fight.

Yet. Those two small, helpless hobbits had turned to him. Why?

Because they had spent most of their time together? Because he perhaps held on to his air of authority and somehow projected a certainty he didn't really have?

Or was there some other reason? Was it something besides wanting guidance or leadership?

Boromir wasn't sure - would never be sure - how the minds of hobbits worked. They were so different from men. But one thing he knew: the two of them, and Sam and Frodo as well, always turned to each other first. Whether things were good or bad, whether they were happy or afraid, they always turned to each other.

He had seen it a hundred times so far on the brief journey. To almost every announcement, every communication, there was a look. Sometimes quick, sometimes longer. Always at least a brief glance. Like they had to be sure that no matter what was going on, the other was right there to share it with them.

Could it be that.

Maybe they were friends now - Boromir and his little ones. Maybe the two hobbits had taken his instruction and his watchful eye as friendship.

Maybe they looked to him to make sure he was there, sharing this with them.

He couldn't quite believe it was like that, though. Not yet. Not after so brief a time. Friendships were made, if not instantly in a field of battle, over long periods of time. Trust had to be established, and then common belief, and then affection could come from that.

But, again. Hobbits didn't think the way men thought. Hobbits were more open with their affection; maybe they were more free in giving it.

He wasn't sure. Honestly, he shouldn't have been devoting time to thinking about it. There were so many other more important things happening. There was the ring, the quest.

The ring.

His eyes, as they walked, went from his hobbits to the two who walked in front of them. Sam and Frodo. Frodo, with that burden around his neck. That huge, important, burden.

His thoughts bent on the ring, and Boromir felt the little ones by his side slipping slowly, for now, out of his mind.