To Capture the Heart of a Warrior

Chapter twelve: An Innocent in an Unforgiving World




Even after they had made love, they didn’t sleep, tired as they were. They lay quietly together in the afterglow, murmuring to each other, holding each other as though they would soon be parted. Pippin peppered Boromir’s face with wet little kisses time and again, and as Boromir held his Little One, he once more was filled with a deep dread for both of them, and at once the greatest peace and joy he had ever known.

There was so much to talk about with Pippin, yet he didn’t have the heart to bring up such hard words just now. There was so much to talk about with Pippin, yet his words failed to make sense of the immense love in his heart. These feelings warred in Boromir, and so he tried to keep his talk both light and loving. Instead, he drew Pippin into conversation concerning his home. He loved to hear of Pippin’s quiet life in the Shire. The Tooks were river-folk, and this was dear to Boromir’s heart, as he had spent many a happy hour on the Anduin. Pippin could talk for hours on end about his kin, especially Merry. He told Boromir about where the best apple orchards were and who made the best tarts and whose pies were always perfect and why and where the best mushrooms were to be gotten, of course. Crop-raiding seemed to be a favorite pastime as much as evenings at the Green Dragon.

Boromir found such comfort in Pippin’s small talk. The halfling had no idea how unforgiving the world was just yet, and this was at the heart of his feelings of dread. All too soon, Pippin would learn, and it would be oh so heart-breaking to watch Pippin learn these hard lessons. But this was yet to happen, and for now, Boromir was happy that his Little One had yet to become a part of an unforgiving world. For now, for this last quiet time of privacy and togetherness, he wanted Pippin to be nothing more than what he was. Just what he was…

So he listened contentedly to Pippin’s sweet voice rambling on about the little, precious things in life that the halfling did not know were precious, because he had no reference as to just how sweet his life up to now had been. After a while, Pippin began to yawn, and Boromir as usual was charmed that a creature so small could execute such a huge gesture. He pulled Pippin close so that the halfling would use his shoulder as a pillow, as he always did, and soon Pippin had talked himself to sleep with a half smile on his sweet little face. Boromir studied the little face as his love slept, taking in every angle and curve. He eased away from Pippin, placing his surcote under the halfling’s head, went to his pack and took out a pen and a small book full of sheaves of paper. He dug around until he found his pen and a tiny vial of ink, sat near Pippin, and, placing his shield in his lap as a desktop he began to write.

‘I watch him sleeping and wonder if it is not I who am dreaming. There he lies, his jewel-like eyes closed in sweet sleep, and I am captured. Watching him sleep is like strong wine. I am drunk on the very sight. Did I fall down a flight of stairs? Did I run off the edge of the White Tower? Did I fall upon my sword? Did I fall into the ocean and drown? If I did any of these things, if I did all of them, I would do them again a thousand times a thousand.

How did I live until now? Did I live until now? I look at him, at my sweet little sprite, and I see so much more than just flesh. I see skies of crystalline blue and azure, I see the soft grasses and the silver endless river. He is like a river that flows over me and around me and through me. He is sea-longing, he is the sea itself. I am drowned and welcome the drowning.

He sings and my soul takes wings. He laughs and I am shackled. I watch him sleep and I see my sweet one, yet deep inside is a small stone on which my soul is shattered. I become something else. I become who I should be, should have been. I look in his eyes and see the two of us, as souls unfettered; we have met countless times across the stars and we will meet countless times more.

For him, my life began. For him, I live, and for him, I would die.

If you are reading this, my brother, then you know I have died for him. I will not be here to love him, and so you must love him for me in what way you can. Do this for me. Do this for the brother you always knew I was, would be. Take all the love you have in your heart for me and give it to him. My rights to Stewardship are forfeit, but believe me when I say he is worth it. Believe me when I say that he is well worth the price of my life. Would I give it, otherwise?’

Boromir let the ink dry, folded the paper carefully and placed it in a leather case embossed with the White Sceptre and the White Tree and placed it back in his pack, deep in the bottom. He crept back to bed, carefully pushed the surcote out of the way and settled Pippin’s head on his shoulder, curling one arm around his special little bundle of innocence. He softly kissed the golden brown curls and closed his eyes, and dreamed he flew on wings of pearl and silver around the White Tower, with silver trumpets singing and echoing off Mount Mindolluin.



To Be Continued