Chapter 9

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I made a moodboard for Beruthiel! Images are not mine but the moodboard is, so no stealing, please.

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Beruthiel stood with a groan, her muscles screaming in protest. She lifted the heavy sword that lay on the rocks and climbed down to the relatively flat ground where Boromir stood with Merry and Pippin. "Am I supposed to spar with those midgets?" she called down.

"You are a midget, Ruth," Aragorn said around his pipe.

"I didn't ask you," Beruthiel said with a mock glare.

"He's right," Boromir confirmed. "But you're going to be against me for now."

Beruthiel groaned again. "But you're - you're all big and muscular and manly-"

He shrugged. "Can't help it."

"Hmph." Beruthiel carefully stepped around the large, irregular rocks, holding her cloak out of the way so it didn't snag on anything. She hopped down from a large rock, landing with bent knees. "Okay..."

"Right," Boromir started. "Remember the exercise I taught last time?"

"Yep. The, uh, two-one-five one, right?"

"Right. Slowly now..."

Aragorn had handed over his sword-tutor responsibilities to Boromir for the day. He sat on a large rock, watching over Merry and Pippin as they drilled and occasionally giving instructions. Now, it was Beruthiel's turn. "Come on, Ruth!" he said with a wide grin.

"Shut- up," Beruthiel grunted, concentrating on the silver flash of Boromir's blade. He was rightly going harder on her than the hobbits. "Eek!" She jumped back as the blunted practice blade, carved from wood, rapped against her knuckles. "Ouch," she complained. "Aragorn. Quit distracting me."

Boromir glanced at Aragorn, then quickly looked away, his cheeks reddening. Aragorn grinned back - Beruthiel noted that it was his flirtatious grin. Ooooh, does someone have a crush? "Are you all right?" Boromir asked, lowering his sword and stepping forward.

"Yes," she mumbled. "But I really don't understand why you swordsmen don't wear anything to protect your knuckles. I mean, we archers wear wrist cuffs to protect us from the bowstring." She gestured to her own arm, then toward Legolas, who perched on a rock high above them.

"We do," Boromir answered, looking offended. "But gauntlets are made of metal, and metal is heavy, so we don't lug it around unless we're in full armor."

"Hmph." Beruthiel shook her hand a few times, then assumed the 'ready' position again.

This time, Boromir darted forward with an attack, which Beruthiel successfully deflected with the flat of her blade. "Good," he panted as he regained his footing on the uneven ground. "Now let's see-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Beruthiel stepped forward with the new attack that he had taught her. She pushed his sword out of the way with several short, choppy strokes and had her practice sword at his neck. "Did I do that right?" she asked hopefully, not lowering the sword point.

"Ow, yes," Boromir grumbled. "Drop the sword, you're poking me." Beruthiel's face visibly brightened as she realized her success. "Now, practice those strokes on your own a few times - remember, you don't want it short and choppy. You want to be fluid, so it's easier to move. It takes the weight off your sword." Beruthiel nodded, taking a deep breath. "And remember to work on your footing - how good your arms are with the sword won't matter if you can't move your feet accordingly."

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