A/N: SURPRISE. I decided that if I had to look at flufftober fills today I would start vomiting blood, so I wrote this instead. Because the "have fun living in this awkward hell" is the perfect antidote to fluff, apparently. Although if fluff is what you're looking for, I already have nine fills over on my tumblr (esta-elavaris) for various fandoms! Bon appetit x
Sybil was torn – in perhaps a hundred different ways. Primarily, between what would be easy, and what would be best. What would be wise. The greatest difficulty, of course, lay in accepting the correct course of action over trying to puzzle out what that would be. Requesting that Boromir train her was the only course of action. As far as her training and her progress in that training was concerned, as far as trying to maintain some semblance of civility, if not unity, within the Fellowship was concerned – and as far as the faith of others in the Fellowship was concerned, too. Those gathered here would be watching what she might do next, and they would judge accordingly. Deservedly.
No, the conclusion was a bygone one. She would have to ask Boromir if he might train her…and hope that she wouldn't choke on her pride as she did her best to swallow it. Still, from there more problems sprang up. How she should ask him, where, when, and what he might say in response. One of those things was entirely out of her control – and if he reacted badly, that would say more about him and his character than hers. But that fact was a cold comfort.
So immersed in her stewing was she that Sybil started when a hand reached across her and topped up her glass of wine, next to her barely-touched dinner. Blinking, she followed the arm and then stared in surprise when she found Gimli at the end of it. It shouldn't have been surprising. Not least because Dwarven arms and hands were rather distinctive. But thus far she'd exchanged bare bones pleasantries with the dwarf and little else – primarily because she feared an extended conversation would motivate him into reciting opinions that were similar in spirit to those of Boromir's.
She could not fight a war on every front.
But her surprise showed on her face more than she anticipated, for he saw it and chuckled gruffly, shaking his head.
"Don't look so shocked, lass, or else I'll think you don't believe me a gentleman."
Perhaps you might look to Aragorn as an example of gentlemanly behaviour. Sybil winced. It was remarkable how quickly her own words could come back to haunt her now that she was growing accustomed to, well, speaking.
"I was leagues away," she said apologetically, taking a sip of her wine. "Thank you."
"We've not spoken much, you and I," he said without preamble.
"No, we have not," she said. "If I have caused you offense, I-"
"Relax yourself, lass, relax yourself – we Dwarves do not go looking for insult where none was intended," he interrupted kindly enough.
Sybil wasn't sure his words were wholly accurate, at least where the Elves were concerned. But she was not an elf, and he did not mean ill, so she kept any inkling of that carefully away from her face and the rest of her manner.
"I don't suppose you know much of dwarf-women?" he asked when he saw that his words had reassured her and she had visibly relaxed.
"Only that they are fewer in number than their counterparts of other races," she said.
"Then you know enough," he said. "They rarely venture out of the mountains save for in times of great need – and our male-folk are very protective of them, given how few they are in number. But it is not the same for men, I suppose."
"And these are times of great need," Sybil said quietly.
"Aye," Gimli said heavily. "That they are. I came across your training the other day."
"You did?"
"While I was looking for somewhere less…" he gestured vaguely about them with distaste, "…flowery to sit and think awhile. I watched - only for a bit. I saw enough, 've done well, given the time frame. We can ask for no more than that. From you, nor from the halflings."
"I…thank you," she said, hardly daring to believe what she was hearing.
"Just keep the sorcery side of things away from me, and we'll get on well enough," he finished gruffly.
That much she could not begrudge him.
"You have my word," she said – and meant it, lifting her glass and holding it so he could clink his own against it.
It was difficult to say whether her vow, or the fact that she drained the glass rather quickly, endeared her to him more, but the conversation ended pleasantly either way. And she would need the liquid courage, for Boromir was showing signs of moving across the way, his plate now clear and his glass almost empty.
It would be better to go to him now. The temptation was there, of course, to insist to herself that she should take the night to think matters over, but she knew she would come to no conclusion that had not already reached her. Instead, she would only torture herself over it all night. At least this way, she could say that she'd handled it swiftly – for better or for worse – and once it was done, she could stop thinking about it. Once she'd spoken to him, the worst of it would be over. Well, until it came time to actually train with him. Should he agree.
Boromir stood, and she knew it would be better to get this done in private rather than under the watchful gaze of all those who sat down to dinner. The Elves, given their hearing, would likely hear it all the same – but at least she wouldn't feel the eyes. And the headway she'd managed to make with Gimli, without even truly trying, had emboldened her. Counting to five after he departed, Sybil quickly stood and trailed along after him, affording him just enough of a head start so that they'd be out of the way of everybody when she did catch up.
She did, finally, although it took a little bit of a jog for her to catch up with his long strides.
"Lord Boromir," she called at his back.
He paused before he slowed, turning his head and staring at her in surprise – almost like he was tempted to believe she'd been calling on another. It was a fair assessment.
"May we speak a moment?" she asked.
Steeling herself, she kept her face impassive as she braced for a sneer or a snide remark. Instead, he continued to watch her for another long moment, perhaps trying to work out what she wished to discuss from her demeanour alone. Finally, he inclined his head.
"Here?"
"Wherever best suits you," she said.
Nodding slowly, he moved to rest one hip against the nearest rail, his hands clasped behind his back. Sybil was wondering what would be best to do with her own hands, and settled for entwining her fingers together before her simply so she could not fidget. It was already dark, Autumn having well and truly taken root, and she hoped that the darkness might mask her discomfort more than her own powers of artifice ever could.
"My training with Ilaria has progressed nicely – to hear her speak of it," she explained, finding herself unable to look at him as she did so, instead turning her eyes out to the valley. "However, with the strength of the scouting parties being priority, she finds herself tasked with joining them. From here, I have two choices. The first being to task Ilaria with finding me another instructor – who will doubtless be sent out in the coming weeks also, and so the process would repeat over and over, my instructor constantly changing the moment we grow used to working with one another."
There was a pause then, and Boromir did not seem inclined to grant her a reprieve in the form of filling in the blank.
"Or," she pushed on, "...I might find instruction with one who already gives it to others in the Fellowship, and who will remain here for the same duration as I."
The few seconds of silence that followed proved too difficult to bear, and so she pressed on.
"The latter solution, while I acknowledge that it will be of some distaste to you, would be the best as far as the greater good is concerned. One, continual instructor who knows the art of combat well gives less opportunity for the teachings to grow muddled."
Realising she was running the risk of rambling nervously, she let silence fall then, keeping her gaze fixed on their setting rather than at the man beside her. If she stood here waiting for an answer while watching his reaction – his smugness, no doubt – she would only rescind the request and run to her rooms like a coward. But he only replied when she finally dragged her eyes back to him for the briefest of moments.
"You're asking for my help?"
Sybil looked away quickly again. This had been a mistake. A laughably stupid mistake. Why had she ever thought that he might-
"For my tutelage," he amended his words quickly before she could respond, his tone surprisingly devoid of edge. "I seek to fully understand what it is you're asking of me before I respond, that is all."
Well, it was better than his openly mocking her to her face, she supposed.
"I ask that we might set out differences aside, in this case, so I might learn well before we set out, my lord," she replied quietly.
"The hobbits have a recovery day scheduled for tomorrow," he said.
Sybil finally found it in her to look at him again, dark eyebrows raising in question.
"It…would be a good opportunity for me to get to grips with what our starting point will be," he said.
For a moment, she almost smiled. It appeared he caught it, too, for something seemed to brighten within his gaze for an instant. But she schooled her expression, and his face once again became inscrutable.
"You'll train me, then?" she sought confirmation.
Boromir cleared his throat, straightening. "As you said, it's for the good of all. That is what we must prioritise now."
"On that we're in agreement," she said, awash in relief. "I…very well. Thank you. Truly. I shall inform Ilaria, and see you…?"
"At dawn. Find me at the gates down below."
Without anything else to say in parting – for another thank you sounded wet and pathetic, and something like goodnight too friendly. Or would it be too friendly? She didn't know, but she also didn't want him to think she thought them friends now because of this. Not least because she knew that such a notion would not be a welcome one, in his mind.
So she forced her arms to stay down at her sides to prevent any fidgeting, bowed her head, and replied.
"I will be there. Until then, my lord."
The title was no longer something she levelled out as a jab – and a small, annoying part of herself hoped that he knew that. It was merely a reminder, to herself more than anybody, of the distance to be maintained between the two of them. That she should not grow too comfortable around him. He would not desire it, and she would not thank herself for it if she made the same mistake again.
Thankfully, he seemed to understand that. His lips thinned a little, but no more of the fury blazed in his eyes that had been there when they'd last rowed.