To Capture the Heart of a Warrior

Chapter sixteen: Alone and Hurt






Pippin wished he had never looked in the Palantir. He wished it for so many reasons, because he had seen so much, and what he had seen was torture. The pain he had felt when Sauron had pressed him had been indescribable, but there had been more. There were things he could never talk about. He had been forced to watch Boromir killed yet again, and it was as if he was seeing it for the first time. Every arrow that pierced Boromir’s body had pierced Pippin’s very soul. The grief was renewed in him, and a blackness seemed to seep into his heart as if he would never see the sun again. His Boromir, his acushla, gone, gone, murdered by those foul creatures as he bravely fought to defend Merry and himself, and Pippin wished he could have died with him.

But worse than that, even worse than that was a vision Sauron had given him, a vision of Boromir alive. Alive, but in chains, locked away in some dark and horrible place, and Sauron telling Pippin, “Bring the One to me, and he shall be yours once again.” What a horrible, horrible lie to torture Pippin with. Pippin knew it was a lie because Sauron hadn’t the power to bring back the dead, no one could do that.

So much had happened since then. He had been spirited away to Gondor by Gandalf, separated from Merry, his Merry, who was all Pippin felt he had left. He had met Boromir’s father, Denethor, and he had grown to understand the pain Boromir must have grown up with. He had met Boromir’s brother, and the sight broke his heart all over again, for Faramir looked so much like Boromir. And because Faramir had been so loved by Boromir, Pippin loved him, too, loved him because yes, he was altogether as wonderful as Boromir had said he was, but also because Boromir had loved Faramir so much. Pippin loved Faramir because Faramir had loved Boromir so much, had looked up to him, been raised by him and cared for by him. Faramir was all Pippin had left of his greatest love, his only real love.

Pippin had saved Faramir from a horrible death, only to find his Merry at death’s own door, and Pippin’s heart had broken yet again. And now Pippin stood dressed in armor and ready for battle at the Black Gate, and he knew he may very well die. In fact, he was sure he would never see his Merry again, but he also felt that if he did die, perhaps he would get to see Boromir again.

And then the fighting had started and Pippin had seen that terrible troll snatching up Pippin’s brothers-in-arms, ripping their throats out with its horrible teeth. He saw the troll go after his friend Beregond, Beregond who had known his Boromir, Beregond who served his Boromir’s brother, whom Boromir had loved so much. Pippin had suddenly become filled with rage, rage at all the horrors he and his kin had been put through and rage at the forces that had taken Boromir’s life, and he was as fierce as Bandobras Took the Bullroarer himself. Pippin had charged the troll and killed it.

And then the troll fell on him, crushing him, and Pippin thought about how he had known he would die, and a dark little laughter ran away from him, and he knew no more. All was blackness. So this was death, then.

He felt himself slipping away into the darkness and knew this was death, knew it because he saw Boromir. Boromir had embraced him and kissed him and told him how proud he was of him, and then he had told Pippin that it wasn’t time yet, he was not yet dead, just very nearly so and he must go back because he was needed.

And then Pippin woke and he was in terrible pain. He couldn’t even breathe without hurting. His head pounded and he couldn’t see a thing. One arm was bound, but with the other he felt his face and discovered that it, too, was bound about the forehead and eyes. His legs were two twisted ropes of pain. He tried to cry out, but all that came out was a whimper, then someone came and pressed a cup to his lips and made him drink, and he was soon feeling less pain, and then he slept.

When he woke again, he could hear people talking. Aragorn he recognized right away, and was that…? No, that couldn’t be Boromir. Boromir was dead. It had to be Faramir. Pippin listened quietly.

“I sent to Parth Galen for his things. I thought you might want them. In the bottom of his pack we found this.” Aragorn said.

Then Pippin could hear Faramir, sounding so much like his brother that he nearly cried out. Faramir was reading something, obviously some note or letter Boromir had written. Faramir sounded so much like Boromir that Pippin decided to just lie quiet, pretend he was still sleeping, and pretend it was Boromir’s voice he heard.

“ ‘My Dearest Faramir,

First, I should start by saying that I miss you terribly and wish I were with you now. I am very homesick. So much has happened on this journey, but I’m sure you shall have the full telling of it, if not from me, then from others. Suffice to say at first I hated the journey, but then as it went on, happenstance saw to it that my opinion should be changed, and such a remarkable change it is. More than just my opinion has changed, brother, so much more. My heart has changed. My very soul has changed. I am a much better and happier man than I was, for something wonderful has happened to me.

If you are reading this there is something you must do for me. I have met someone. I have fallen in love. I think you would understand though Father will not, so I ask that you keep this to yourself, for my love is a love he will never understand or accept.

First, I should tell you my love is no woman. I know that this surprises you as much as it did me. I battled myself for some time because of this, and bless him, he did not know. Secondly, he is no woman, no, nor is he a man, but a halfling. His name is Peregrin Took, and I love him with all my heart. I had a bit of a struggle in winning him, but as you know I cannot bear to lose at anything. It seems that in matters of love my nature has its will in this, as well.

I cannot tell you how deeply I love him, for there are no words in any language that can hold what he stirs in my heart, even in my soul. 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?’ Aragorn, can this be true? Could Boromir have…”

“It is true.” Aragorn answered. “You know the length of my years, and I tell you I have seldom seen such love. Yonder lies your brother’s best and only love, wounded to the point of near death, and I tell you now that he all but sacrificed his life in memory of your brother his lover, and out of love for you as well. A deed nobly done out of love can never be truly repaid. But wait; he stirs. He has heard.”

Pippin wept quietly, though no tears could be seen because of the bandages over his head and face. Hands gentle but callused held his good hand and stroked it, another set of hands caressed his cheek, and they felt so much like Boromir’s touch that Pippin wept all the harder.

“Ssh, now Little One,” said Faramir.

Pippin tried to speak, but he was so weak he had to force the words out. “He used to call me that.”

“If I have upset you by saying the words, I apologize, Little Master. I would not cause you further pain, especially in your heart where your wounds are the worst.”

“I… I miss him so,” Pippin said.

“As do I, Little Master. Or shall I call you ‘Little Brother’? For if he loved you so much, I would do his bidding. It is the last thing he asked of me."

Now Pippin could hear Faramir choke a little, and he knew that Faramir, too, was weeping. A cup was once more pressed to Pippin’s lips.

“Drink, my Pippin,” said Aragorn. His voice, too, was heavy with tears. Pippin turned his head, trying to avoid the cup. He wanted to hear what Faramir had to say.

“Let me,” said Faramir. The cup was taken away only to be once more pressed to his lips. “Drink, Little Brother. I will sit with you a while, and we shall talk until you find sleep.”

And Faramir sounded so much like Boromir; he even smelled like Boromir, that Pippin did as he was asked.

“I shall leave the two of you to it,” said Aragorn. “My duties are many, and I would have you two spend some little while together, and may you both find comfort, one in the other.”

Pippin felt a weight settle on the bed next to him. Faramir took his good hand and held it gently, speaking softly and with great tenderness and understanding to Pippin, asking him questions about Boromir that Pippin could answer without too much pain. Pippin even found comfort in talking about Boromir and hearing Faramir telling little stories about their boyhood. At last, he slept once more, and he dreamed of Boromir flying to him on wings of silver and pearl, bearing him away across a painted sky of blue and gold, around the White Tower as silver trumpets sang and echoed back from Mount Mindolluin.


To Be Continued