To Capture the Heart of a Warrior
folder
Lord of the Rings Movies › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
12,458
Reviews:
36
Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Lord of the Rings Movies › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
32
Views:
12,458
Reviews:
36
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings book series and movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Caradhras
Chapter thirteen: Caradhras
The snow whipped around them, the cold slipped through clothing and froze them. The halflings were turning blue and Boromir was growing livid. He had warned them against this and they had not listened. At least they had wood, if he could ever talk the others into a good fire.
“We cannot stay here!” he shouted. “This will be the death of the halflings!” The wind whipped at his words, seeming to blow them in every direction. Boromir dug Frodo out of the snow, and the halfling, his eyes drooping as though falling into a fell sleep, kicked like a rabbit. Boromir plunged his arms into a snow bank, searching for halflings by feel. He looked desperately around. Frodo now stood huddled with Merry and Sam behind the pony, but where was Pippin? Again, he plunged his arms into the snow bank. There! Was this Pippin? Desperately he grasped the cold little body and dragged it out of the deep drift.
Pippin was pale and his lips were quite blue. Boromir pulled him close and wrapped his fur-lined cloak around his halfling. Something must be done, or they would all die, and this, his most precious one, would be the first to go.
“The choice is now near between fire and death!” he shouted. “It is useless to sit here until the snow covers our heads! We must do something to save ourselves! We can do nothing to thwart the Enemy if we are all dead! What good will come of it? Some day our frozen corpses and the One Ring will be found, and by whom or what we will have no choice. What do you say to a fire, Gandalf?”
Gandalf took out a leathern flask, took a small sip and passed it to Boromir. “The Cordial of Imladris! Pass it around. Just a mouthful for each. It is very precious. Elrond gave it to me at our parting.”
Boromir took a mouthful and swallowed. Immediately he was filled with a feeling of well being and warmth. He pressed the flask to Pippin’s mouth and let it trickle down the halfling’s throat. Slowly, Pippin came around long enough to swallow. Boromir passed the flask along.
“What do you say to fire?” he asked again. “We must choose between fire and death. Doubtless we shall be hidden from all enemies once we are buried beneath the snow, but that is no help to us.”
The old wizard thought for a moment then nodded his head. “You may make a fire, if you can,” he replied. If there are any watchers in this storm then they can see us fire or no.”
But though they had brought both kindling in plenty and wood at Boromir’s insistence, neither elf nor man nor dwarf could start a flame that would hold its own until the wet wood dried. Finally Gandalf touched his staff to it, calling “naur an edraith ammen!” and a great green and blue flare ignited the wet wood.
“If there are any eyes to see I am at least revealed to them,” said the wizard. “I have written ‘Gandalf is here’ in signs that all can read from Rivendell to the mouths of the Anduin.”
The little fire blazed. Snowmelt trickled under their feet, and hissed like a small dragon. Yet they were all glad of the fire, small though it was. They huddled around it, hands outstretched as though to capture what little warmth they may. The dwarf, the elf, Aragorn and Boromir each held a halfling in his lap to keep their small bodies warm.
Boromir held Pippin tightly, rubbing his cheeks and ears and toes to help him warm up. Pippin was miserable and frightened. More than once he looked up into Boromir’s eyes as if to ask, ‘What are we to do? What is going to become of us? Are we going to die up here?’
Boromir tried to soothe Pippin’s heart. He told him he would be fine, that Boromir would take care of him, that he would let nothing happen to the Little One. But Pippin’s trembling was from more than the cold. He was learning fast that this was an unforgiving world. Sorrowing for this, Boromir kissed the top of Pippin’s head. “Don’t fear, poppet,” he said, “Not while I live will you die. Not while I yet live.”
The following morning, Boromir had dug them out, using only his great arms, like a bear or a huge badger, then carried the halflings down along with Aragorn. He had started with Pippin, and when he put the halfling down to wait for the others, he saw that Pippin’s anxiousness had lessened somewhat. He knelt in the light dusting of snow where he had put Pippin down and gave him a peck on the cheek. The Little One had caught his hand and pressed it to one cold cheek in silent gratitude, and Boromir saw then that Pippin had all the faith in the world in his warrior. Boromir couldn’t have said when the last time was he had felt so fulfilled.
(some passages here are straight from the book. All gratitude to JRRT and PJ along with NLC)
To Be Continued
The snow whipped around them, the cold slipped through clothing and froze them. The halflings were turning blue and Boromir was growing livid. He had warned them against this and they had not listened. At least they had wood, if he could ever talk the others into a good fire.
“We cannot stay here!” he shouted. “This will be the death of the halflings!” The wind whipped at his words, seeming to blow them in every direction. Boromir dug Frodo out of the snow, and the halfling, his eyes drooping as though falling into a fell sleep, kicked like a rabbit. Boromir plunged his arms into a snow bank, searching for halflings by feel. He looked desperately around. Frodo now stood huddled with Merry and Sam behind the pony, but where was Pippin? Again, he plunged his arms into the snow bank. There! Was this Pippin? Desperately he grasped the cold little body and dragged it out of the deep drift.
Pippin was pale and his lips were quite blue. Boromir pulled him close and wrapped his fur-lined cloak around his halfling. Something must be done, or they would all die, and this, his most precious one, would be the first to go.
“The choice is now near between fire and death!” he shouted. “It is useless to sit here until the snow covers our heads! We must do something to save ourselves! We can do nothing to thwart the Enemy if we are all dead! What good will come of it? Some day our frozen corpses and the One Ring will be found, and by whom or what we will have no choice. What do you say to a fire, Gandalf?”
Gandalf took out a leathern flask, took a small sip and passed it to Boromir. “The Cordial of Imladris! Pass it around. Just a mouthful for each. It is very precious. Elrond gave it to me at our parting.”
Boromir took a mouthful and swallowed. Immediately he was filled with a feeling of well being and warmth. He pressed the flask to Pippin’s mouth and let it trickle down the halfling’s throat. Slowly, Pippin came around long enough to swallow. Boromir passed the flask along.
“What do you say to fire?” he asked again. “We must choose between fire and death. Doubtless we shall be hidden from all enemies once we are buried beneath the snow, but that is no help to us.”
The old wizard thought for a moment then nodded his head. “You may make a fire, if you can,” he replied. If there are any watchers in this storm then they can see us fire or no.”
But though they had brought both kindling in plenty and wood at Boromir’s insistence, neither elf nor man nor dwarf could start a flame that would hold its own until the wet wood dried. Finally Gandalf touched his staff to it, calling “naur an edraith ammen!” and a great green and blue flare ignited the wet wood.
“If there are any eyes to see I am at least revealed to them,” said the wizard. “I have written ‘Gandalf is here’ in signs that all can read from Rivendell to the mouths of the Anduin.”
The little fire blazed. Snowmelt trickled under their feet, and hissed like a small dragon. Yet they were all glad of the fire, small though it was. They huddled around it, hands outstretched as though to capture what little warmth they may. The dwarf, the elf, Aragorn and Boromir each held a halfling in his lap to keep their small bodies warm.
Boromir held Pippin tightly, rubbing his cheeks and ears and toes to help him warm up. Pippin was miserable and frightened. More than once he looked up into Boromir’s eyes as if to ask, ‘What are we to do? What is going to become of us? Are we going to die up here?’
Boromir tried to soothe Pippin’s heart. He told him he would be fine, that Boromir would take care of him, that he would let nothing happen to the Little One. But Pippin’s trembling was from more than the cold. He was learning fast that this was an unforgiving world. Sorrowing for this, Boromir kissed the top of Pippin’s head. “Don’t fear, poppet,” he said, “Not while I live will you die. Not while I yet live.”
The following morning, Boromir had dug them out, using only his great arms, like a bear or a huge badger, then carried the halflings down along with Aragorn. He had started with Pippin, and when he put the halfling down to wait for the others, he saw that Pippin’s anxiousness had lessened somewhat. He knelt in the light dusting of snow where he had put Pippin down and gave him a peck on the cheek. The Little One had caught his hand and pressed it to one cold cheek in silent gratitude, and Boromir saw then that Pippin had all the faith in the world in his warrior. Boromir couldn’t have said when the last time was he had felt so fulfilled.
(some passages here are straight from the book. All gratitude to JRRT and PJ along with NLC)
To Be Continued