Chapter Five
Boromir
I walked, reveling in the springy grass beneath my new boots and the taste of the air around me, until I heard voices, and the twang of bowstrings. An archery contest was in progress, more of a Robin Hood affair than something modern.
I had no intention of competing because, while I'm a fair shot with a compound bow, I can't draw most longbows big enough for me. It didn't help that I could barely see what they were aiming at. So I sat down behind everyone to watch from under a tree.
After a moment's observation, it became clear that I had arrived during the elimination rounds. One by one, with good temper or ill, the elves withdrew, either stalking off or ranging themselves around me to watch.
The last two contestants resembled each other as the sun resembles the moon, bright gold contrasted with soft silver, and I could tell from the bets being laid around me that their names were Haldir and Legolas. Haldir seemed to be the one with the gentle features of the Elves of Lothlorien, and their white-blond hair. Legolas' features were more defined, his hair a darker gold.
They backed up for the final flight, obscuring my view, so I got up and sidled left, into an argument. A particularly irate dwarf bickered with two elves about the odds they were or were not going to give him. I stifled a laugh, apologized hastily, and took myself off to yet another vantage point.
I was beginning to wonder about Lothlorien. Taken as a whole, it appeared to be an Elvish community, but then one had the hobbits. And the disconcerting Strider, not to mention the bright elf who'd just won the tournament or his friend the dwarf. Were they refugees? Had they come, separately or together, on some errand unknown to me?
I watched as another out-of-place figure strode up to Legolas, clapping his shoulder and congratulating him in an undertone, and I wondered at the difference in his figure and Strider's. If I had called him lord, I should name this newcomer a prince among men.
Not as tall as Strider, he was broader in chest and shoulders. His garments bespoke human strength more than Elvish grace, though they were beautiful and well made. Strider's stubble may have suited him, but this man wore a small, closely cropped beard that lent his stern face a noble air. Something haunted the back of his eyes even as he spoke of Legolas' triumph. Until, that is, Meriadoc and Pippin burst out of the trees to ambush him. Then his face smoothed, and he smiled genuinely as they danced around him.
No longer able to abide my curiosity, and having an excuse now, I sauntered over to them. "May I beg an introduction, Pippin?"
Pippin let go of the man's tabard to look up at me. "Can't you introduce yourselves?" This earned him a light cuff on the back of the head, but not from me.
"I am Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor." He offered me an appraising look and a bow.
I could tell he wasn't used to people here knowing who he was. I offered only my name, and watched him wait for an of or daughter of after it. Obligingly adding an ambiguous "of Lorien", I held out a hand to shake, but nearly drew it back when I remembered that that might not be the custom here. As it turned out, Boromir grasped my forearm, squeezing it once in a warrior's salute before withdrawing. His hesitation over the gesture told me he probably didn't have many female comrades-in-arms, and I wanted very much to know why, and perhaps do something to change this.