To Capture the Heart of a Warrior

Chapter fourteen: Winning the War Within Peregrin






“Give them a moment, for pity’s sake!” Boromir exclaimed.

“We dare not stay here.” answered Aragorn, “By nightfall these hills will be fair teeming with orcs. Gimli! Legolas, get them up. Come, Sam. Frodo? Frodo!”

Boromir saw Frodo turn at the sound of Aragorn’s voice, and his heart wrenched at the sight. On his dirty little face was all the sorrow and weariness in the world. One lonely tear coursed down the halfling’s cheek.

This shouldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening. Gandalf, gone? Sam sat and wept, Pippin had caste himself on the stony ground and now lay racked with sobbing, even Merry unable to comfort him. He suddenly looked all too small and frail to Boromir. How could this be happening? Gandalf shouldn’t be dead, couldn’t be dead.

He looked about him and saw the others had been dragged to their feet and were beginning to follow Aragorn. All, that is, but two. Pippin seemed unable to stand, in spite of encouragement from Merry or anyone else. Boromir lifted him and the halfling laid his head limply on Boromir’s shoulder. He carried Pippin in one arm, and with his free hand took Merry’s hand in his own and led him on. It was time to move on.

By the time they arrived at the borders of Lothlorien they were all exhausted. They sat about while Aragorn argued with Haldir. Pippin still lay quiet in Boromir’s arms, Merry holding Pippin’s hand, gently stroking it and murmuring to his little cousin. It was unsettling, Pippin lying so quiet, almost like a dead thing. What good had it done to come here? Could no one see what was happening to Pippin, beside himself and the other halflings?

But at last they had been allowed to enter. They had been allowed to enter, and had been seen by the Lady and her Lord. Pippin had stirred a bit and finally raised his head, but said nothing. And Boromir had felt her enter his mind, looking inside him, searching his heart, fumbling and pillaging his innermost being, bringing his greatest fears and worries to the fore. Suddenly he felt burdened. Terribly, terribly burdened.

But then he heard a voice inside him, telling him not to despair. And he couldn’t be certain, not for sure, but it seemed she saw in his memory the realm of Fae, saw it, hesitated, examining it, turning it over in her heart, and told him to hold fast his dreams…

They were shown a quiet place in which to rest and were brought food and wine. He could hear the mournful singing of the elves as they grieved for the Grey Pilgrim.Pippin held him tight, now. At least he no longer lay limp in Boromir’s arms. Was this her doing? If it was, he was grateful to her for it.

He set Pippin down in the soft golden leaves and lay out his bedroll. Pippin sat quietly, saying not a word, seeming barely to breathe. Boromir called to Merry and Merry came to him. He insisted on looking Merry over. The halfling had taken quite a fall from the back of the troll. Merry was a bit battered and bruised but was otherwise unharmed. Then he and Merry looked Pippin over. Battered and bruised, but in body not truly harmed.

It wasn’t Pippin’s body Boromir was concerned with. It was the inner Pippin, that precious thing that lay hidden away now, deep inside the halfling, sealed tight like an egg. Somehow Boromir must crack that shell, let out the soft, liquid presence that was Pippin’s own essence. How? This was not a foe he could take on with a sword. Nonetheless, it was a war, a war for Pippin’s soul. Somehow, he must fight the darkness that enveloped his loved one, he must cut through the pain. He must fight for Pippin's sake, and he must win this war within. Merry seemed to be of the same mind, and he whispered a little strategy in Boromir’s ear.

Merry sat beside Pippin and took his hand once more. “Pippin, I’m glad you weren’t hurt any more than you were by falling from that troll.” Merry said softly. “Boromir says we’ll both be fine. But I’m worried about him.”

Pippin darted his eyes at Merry. At least this was some response. Better than the terrible stillness that seemed to be holding Pippin prisoner.

“He got thrown against that wall pretty hard. I know he hit his head, and his shoulder is very sore. He won’t let anyone look at him.” Merry continued. Now Pippin’s brow furrowed. “I just thought you should know. I don’t like to worry you, you seem so beset, cousin. Perhaps he’ll be alright. Try not to worry too much. He wouldn’t want you to worry, you know. Try to get some sleep. I’m done in, I have to rest.” Merry stood, patted his cousin’s cheek. “Goodnight, Pip. Try to rest.” And with that, Merry turned and walked away. He hesitated a moment, wiped his tears on his sleeve and walked away. It was hard to do, but he knew it was for the best.

Boromir lay in his bedroll and waited. He didn’t hear Pippin stand or approach. Halflings can be as quiet as mice, even this Little One who could raise a racket fit to wake the dead. He felt a soft touch on his shoulder as Pippin sat beside him. Little hands parted his hair, searching for bumps, bruises or cuts. Little fingers probed the thick muscles of his neck and shoulders. Boromir wasn’t truly hurt, and so he waited a little, then made himself twitch and wince as though Pippin had found some very tender and painful place. Pippin crawled around him and began to unbuckle buckles, unlace laces and unbutton buttons. Boromir lay quietly, letting Pippin look him over. When nothing serious was found, Pippin began to massage what he thought was the tender place.

Boromir was quite still, letting Pippin work his little fingers into his muscles, but he had begun to groan a little. He couldn’t help it. It felt so soothing, so good, the touch of his lover. Pippin bent and gave Boromir a quick little peck, firm and grasping. He then lay beside Boromir and looked up at the stars. He was a little better, but seemed distant still.

Boromir edged closer to Pippin. He curled an arm around him and pulled him close. Pippin nestled his head on Boromir’s shoulder, still staring up at the sky, still distant.

“You aren’t to blame.” Boromir murmured.

“How can you say that?”

“Because it is true.”

Again, “How can you say that?”

“He knew it was dangerous. He knew and he insisted on going anyway.”

“But, but I… I…”

“They already knew we were there, Pippin. You did nothing but make a little noise.”

“But Boromir! I… I…”

“They lived there inside that place for a long time, Pippin. They knew every sound, every current in the air, every scent. They knew the moment the gates of Moria collapsed. They knew. You are not to blame. You are not to blame.”

Now Pippin turned his head and at last looked at Boromir. Boromir took him in his arms, held him gently, let the tears come, quiet and many, silently from deep in the halfling’s heart. With Merry’s help, Boromir had done it. He’d cracked that shell, that seal on Pippin’s heart. He had won the war within Peregrin.

To Be Continued