To Capture the Heart of a Warrior

Music Hath Charms

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For SailorAurora, because she was nice enough to review and to respond

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Chapter ten: Music Hath Charms







“I think you should go and look for them.” Aragorn said, his face showing signs of real worry.

“You’re right,” agreed Boromir. “I shouldn’t have let them go by themselves, but I thought it would be a good thing to let them have time to themselves. After all, they love each other so much. They’ve always been together.”

“Yes, but I think perhaps the next time they go looking for firewood, you ought to go with them.”

“You’ll get no argument from me on that point.” Boromir rose and headed off up a narrow, winding path that Merry and Pippin had taken. He’d only gone a short ways when he saw it.

“Oh, no. Ruins. I should have known.” He mumbled to himself.

It was a long-abandoned outpost, made of stone. The doorposts had collapsed and the door lay on the ground in rotting pieces. He could plainly see there in the dust two sets of small footprints going inside. Boromir poked his head inside. He could hear the Little Ones talking.

“Hoy! Pippin! I’ve found something wonderful!”

“What, do tell, could be so wonderful?”

“Look!”

“Oh! My goodness, this is a find!”

“Yes, and look, there are bottles and bottles of it! I wonder if it’s all any good, still.”

“Well, there is one way to find out.”

Boromir heard the clink of glass and the sound of a cork popping.

“Oh, yes, it’s still good, alright!” Merry said.

“Just what do you two think you’re about?” called Boromir.

“Acushla!” called Pippin. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m just making sure you two haven’t been eaten by some horrible halfling-eating troll. What have you found?”

“Wine! Very good wine, in fact!” called Merry. “Acushla? What does that mean, Pippin?”

“It’s the language of Fae, Merry. It means, ‘my love’ or ‘my heart.’” Boromir called. “Now, come out, you two! We were worried about you. You’ve been gone for far too long.”

“Why don’t you come in?” answered Pippin. “We want to look around just a bit more.”

Boromir surveyed the collapsed doorposts. “I’m not so sure I can get in, poppet. Come, now, come on! Everyone is waiting.”

“Oh, alright! Worrywarts. Wait!”

“Pippin? Are you well?”

“Yes, yes!” he answered testily. “Only look! I just found a prize.”

“Well, whatever it is, can’t you just bring it out with you? Really, poppet, everyone is anxious, and we need firewood.”

“Coming!” called Merry.

‘Good old sensible Merry’, thought Boromir. ‘I’d never be able to manage Pippin without him.’ He could hear them coming now. Merry came out first, brushing himself off with one hand. He had a half-rotted bag with him, which he carefully put down. Pippin followed soon after. He was a dusty, dirty mess with cobwebs in his hair. In one small and very dirty hand, he clutched a beautifully worked little flute.

“Oh, look at you!” Boromir scolded. “You’ve made a mess of yourself. You’ll bathe before you eat, Peregrin Took.” He began brushing Pippin’s clothing and plucking cobwebs out of the soft, golden-brown curls.

“Hoy! Boromir, look!” said Merry. Merry had emptied the half-rotted bag and several bottles of wine were now lined up like obedient little slope-shouldered soldiers. He held out an open bottle to Boromir. “Taste!”

Boromir took the bottle and turned it up. It was quite good wine. He held up the bottle and appraised it. He may have been raised to drink from silver goblets, but he was a soldier, too. Drinking from a bottle wasn’t exactly as he would have preferred, but they were, after all, on the road. Such things as genteel manners must be put aside. This did not and would not excuse a shabby appearance, however. He handed the wine back to Merry.

“You’re quite right, this isn’t just good, it’s fine.” Boromir said. He took two bottles in each hand. The halflings did the same, and they went back to camp with no firewood, but with something certainly worth the trouble to return with. After they had presented the others with their find, Boromir, Merry and Pippin went back out after firewood…and more wine. When they returned, Boromir insisted on giving Pippin a good cleaning.

While Sam did the cooking, he settled Pippin in his lap, and with a bit of cloth, which Boromir kept for just such purposes, and a sliver of soap, he began to clean his halfling.

Aragorn found this amusing. “You look like a cat, holding down a kitten for a good wash.” he commented. Boromir grunted and gave the ranger a wry smile.

Legolas sat down by Aragorn and watched the proceedings. “You missed a spot, just there, on his nose.” Legolas pointed out. “What have you got there, Pippin?”

Pippin handed Legolas the flute. He looked it over, appraising the scrollwork on the pretty little instrument. “I’ll just clean this up for you.” The elf said.

Boromir and Legolas worked in silence for some time, and soon their efforts yielded one squeaky clean hobbit – squeaky in this case because he almost continuously squeaked in protest at the scrubbing he was getting – and one clean, shiny and ready-to-play flute. Pippin began to experiment with the flute a bit as Boromir finished cleaning behind one grimy, pointed little ear. He finished up with combing Pippin’s curls with his fingers, getting out the last of the tangles, cobwebs and debris. He kissed the top of Pippin’s head, put him on his feet, and patted his behind. He made a shooing gesture. The message was clear: ‘Go practice somewhere else, we’re talking.’ Pippin kissed Boromir on the cheek, gave him that smile that only Peregrin Took could give him, and walked away, trying to place his fingers on the flute properly.

“A word with you gentlemen?” said Boromir.

The elf and the ranger leaned forward, eyebrows raised. “Yes?” said Legolas.

“Right,” said Boromir, “Yes, well…I just wanted to ask that you do something for me. In case something happens to me.”

Aragorn was tempted to reply with the standard ‘nothing is going to happen’ speech, but thought better of it. The Captain-General had something on his mind, and Aragorn would know what weighed on his heart. After all, he was Denethor’s heir apparent, and as such would some day be a great Lord and Prince as well as his good right hand.

“Tell me,” Aragorn said, “What would you ask of us?”

Boromir sighed, stared at his feet a bit, then met Aragorn’s gaze. “Gandalf tells me that Pippin could be especially in peril because of his fairy blood. He says the Enemy would take great pleasure in destroying him little by little, if only because…how did he put it? Ah, yes, because fairy magic is a thing of perilous beauty. For my part, he might have been talking about Pippin, himself. If something happens to me, you must take care of him. It must be so. It must be so!”

The three sat in silence for some time. A little ways off, they could hear Pippin struggle with notes, then suddenly seem to catch on. He began producing clear, clean phrases.

“You see?” Boromir said, “Now, some might say he just has a natural gift for music. But I tell you now, when he does these things, like suddenly just knowing how to play a flute, it’s his fairy blood. Gandalf says he doesn’t know he’s doing it. He says Pippin has no idea how powerful this magic is. He is an innocent. An innocent, gentlemen. Will you give me your word to take care of him should something happen to me?”

“Consider it done, Boromir. I will guard him with my life. Depend upon it.” said Aragorn.

“You have my word as well.” Legolas agreed.

There were a few moments of silence, then, softly, they heard a gentle, low melody from the flute, produced as though the player was a master.

“Boromir,” Legolas said, “After hearing that, let me reassure you, he will be taken care of. This magic of his…Gandalf is correct. It is quite powerful. We are most fortunate he is with us and not the Enemy.”

Supper was soon ready, and all were eager for it; it had been a long march. They were all weary and hungry. Most simply sat in silence and ate, but afterwards, the wine was passed round. The Nine Walkers all raised their wooden cups in a silent toast. “Merry! Merry! Good Old Merry!” was repeated more than once.

Pippin took up his flute and began to play. After a few more drinks, Aragorn, of all people, stood and began to dance. Pippin picked up the tempo, to see if he would dance faster, and was not disappointed. It took a little longer to influence Legolas, but after a bit, he too, began to dance. Neither dancer stopped for more wine; they would simply dance with a bottle in hand. Merry was getting deep in his cups and living up to his name, laughing and making outrageous jokes, many of a sexual nature. Gandalf and Gimli began to sing along. Sam and Frodo slipped away out of sight, and Boromir guessed that his suspicions were true. They must be long-time lovers.

As for Boromir, he could barely tear his eyes away from Pippin. He began to feel an earthiness and a longing to hold Pippin, to kiss him, caress him, love him…as he watched his love, he noticed Pippin seemed to glow with a cool, green light, and little by little he could see those flaming wings. Apparently Merry saw them, too. The more passionately Pippin played, the more the wings became clearer and clearer. Merry gaped. He muttered under his breath, “Beautiful, so beautiful, my little Pippin is so beautiful! I’ve wanted to see him like this so long, now…”

The music played on, more powerful and quick now, and Aragorn and Legolas danced further and further away. Finally Aragorn grasped Legolas by the hand and led him away into the darkness. Boromir continued to be enthralled by his little fairy prince. Pippin’s mouth on the flute was doing things to him, things that made him feel as though he would soon have to take Pippin away to their bed very soon. The small mouth and fingers on the flute seemed so sensual. Boromir longed to feel them against his skin, around his manhood, stroking his hair, his cheek, his belly…

Before he realized what he was doing, he had risen and lifted Pippin in his arms and had begun to walk to their bed with Pippin still playing. He gently laid Pippin down. He began to sway with the music, undressing as he did so. His clothing was scattered everywhere. He knelt and began to undress Pippin, who continued playing the flute. At last, only the flute remained, and Boromir stepped back to behold his love, now alight with green flames. Boromir took the flute and laid it aside, and oddly enough, the music went on, slower now, more sensual and driven.

Pippin pushed Boromir onto his back and settled himself between those powerful thighs. He began to play Boromir’s body as if it were the flute. Boromir groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. In his mind, he could hear Pippin calling, “Acushla, my acushla, thou art beautiful…”

The spell must have caught Pippin, as well. He began to take Boromir deeper and deeper, which was odd because he shouldn’t have been able to do that, yet he did. Deeper and deeper he took Boromir until he had the entirety of Boromir’s flesh swallowed. Boromir lay helplessly, unable to move, barely able to blink. Could one die of pleasure? he wondered. He soon found out. His flood was amazingly copious, and Pippin never lost a single drop of it, and continued to swallow Boromir after he was spent. Soon Boromir had recovered. Pippin lay on his back and beckoned.

Boromir scrambled up on all fours and crawled over to Pippin, where he simply looked down at the halfling for a few moments. Then suddenly, he was on Pippin, in Pippin, and Pippin was all there was, there was no room for anything else. His halfling was like some wild little fox at mating. He dug his heels into Boromir’s back, and if Boromir slowed down, Pippin would deliver a singing bite to the shoulder. Pippin reached his climax quickly, but didn’t stop. Only a few strokes were all it took to bring him to his peak time and again before Boromir had found his once. And once he did, he found he couldn’t stop. Over and over, he was pushed beyond his limits, and still Pippin showed no signs of satiation.

The cool green flames enveloped him, swallowed him, consumed him and resurrected him. They mated like foxes, like minks. Boromir began to feel like an inexhaustible and starving animal. He loved it. He couldn’t get enough. His body became weary, his mind an inferno, and still he couldn’t stop until Pippin began to grow a little tired, then more tired. It was then that Boromir realized that it was Pippin, himself, Pippin’s hunger, that fueled Boromir’s desire. His fairy blood demanded love.

It was fully dark before Pippin began to be satisfied, and it was then and only then that Boromir was able to stop. Oddly, he didn’t feel tired at all. In fact, he found he had never felt so full of vitality.

It was bath time, and soon time to break their fast and continue their journey. He again settled his Little One in his lap for a good bath. He did a good job of it, which was surprising, because he found he just couldn’t stop kissing Pippin while he was doing it.

He decided to break his own rule, and make love just once more before the evening’s march. He was glad he did, because as wonderful as love under fairy enchantment was, Boromir wanted Pippin to know that his poppet needed no magic to enchant him. And he was very thankful he did this, because after they had both peaked together, Pippin peppered his face with kisses.

“My acushla, my acushla, oh, how I love you…” Pippin sighed as he snuggled with Boromir in the afterglow.

Boromir kissed Pippin deeply, tenderly.

“My life for you…” was all he could say.


To Be Continued