To Capture the Heart of a Warrior

Chapter twenty: The Choice of Master Peregrin





It was a long climb for a hobbit, especially one recovering from battle wounds, but Pippin had finally made it to the top. Pippin sat on a low ledge and surveyed what he saw; the White City Boromir loved so much. He sighed and thought back on the last week.

Aragorn had questioned Artamir closely. He had decided that if Boromir had somehow survived in spite of everything, that it must have been due to fairy magic. Somehow Pippin’s fairy blood had protected him. He decided to send out search parties to see if they could locate the elven boat that he’d sent over Rauros, the boat that had held Boromir’s seemingly dead body. Perhaps if they found the boat, some clue as to Boromir’s whereabouts could be found.

Reports had returned soon enough. No boat had been found. There had been a band of miscreants found, Umbar pirates that had somehow jumped ship and escaped, and had been living in the forests, robbing passers-through. Among their pilfered goods two items had been found. One was the silver collar with the great white jewel that Boromir had worn. The second had been the belt of golden leaves the Lady of the Golden Wood had given Boromir. The miscreants had been interrogated and revealed that they had found the boat, taken what they had wanted off Boromir’s seemingly dead body and then buried him in the boat.

A party had been sent out to recover the body, and Pippin meant not to see it. His highest hopes had been crushed utterly and completely. When he heard the news that Boromir had been buried, perhaps alive, he had fallen into deepest despair. Faramir had gone with the searchers to recover the body, and Legolas had gone to Pippin, knowing he was crushed.

Legolas had held Pippin as he wept, grieving his loss all over again.

“It’s so unfair,” Pippin had said. “Eowyn has her Faramir, you have your Aragorn, Frodo has his Sam. But my Boromir, my poor acushla, my sweet boy…I’ll never see him again.”

“My heart breaks for you, Pippin.” Legolas said. “But I should tell you, I have lost, too. Arwen comes, and I have lost my Man. At least he isn’t dead, unlike yours, but as far as that goes, he may as well be, for me. Arwen comes to claim her love, and because she comes, I have lost my own love.”

“I’m sorry, Legolas. Men. I once thought I knew the truth about Men. Now I know more. How beautiful they are… how they can steal your heart so easily, and just as easily break it.”

“All too right, I fear.” said Legolas.

“Well!” came a familiar booming voice. It was Gimli. “Far be it from me to call the future king a fool,” he said, “but were I him, I would not cast aside such a one for all the Evenstars in all Middle Earth.”

Pippin watched the elf and the dwarf, watched them closely. He saw them lock eyes, and as surely as he drew breath, he witnessed a thing of uncommon wonder. So, Gimli was in love with Legolas! Pippin grinned wryly at them. Well, he hoped that they at least would find happiness. As for himself, he had none. All to soon he would return to the Shire. Sam and Frodo would have each other. Merry would return to Estella Bolger, and as for Pippin…he would be alone.

Alone. Was there a more horrible word in all the histories of the entire world? Pippin didn’t think so. Eventually Legolas and Gimli had left, leaving Pippin alone, all alone. So Pippin had wandered about the White City that Boromir so loved, and then decided to climb the White Tower and watch for the return of Faramir and the searchers. They were supposed to recover the body and bring it back in the elven boat for a proper burial, one fit for the Man who was to have been Steward and Prince of Ithilien.

So Pippin had climbed the Tower every day, waiting and waiting, watching and watching, even taking his meals there. He waited and waited and waited again, not sure what he was going to do when he saw them return. He was still uncertain what he would do when he heard the silvery sound of trumpets. He looked towards the great gate, and sure enough, there they were, and many Men were bearing the elven boat. He could see something in the boat. Yes, even from this distance he could see it, the body of Boromir. At last, all hope in him was utterly destroyed. Boromir did not live. He would not return. Robbed at last of his only remaining shred of hope, Pippin stood on the low ledge. He watched as the boat made it’s way on the sturdy shoulders of Men, Men who had loyally served under his acushla, Men who had seen many years of sorrow and death, and on their faces was stamped the look of great loss.

Pippin’s tears slid silent and hot down his cheeks. He felt emptier than ever, now. At last, he drank of his last measure of sorrow, of pain, of grief and of loss.

He weighed all this against his life, and he made his choice.

“No more, please, please, no more!” he cried to the empty, uncaring sky. “My Boromir, my sweet boy! My acushla… oh, thou art beautiful, oh my love… I come to you, Boromir! We will not be parted forever, I come, I come…”

And with that, he ran off the edge of the low ledge.


To Be Continued