To Capture the Heart of a Warrior

Chapter twenty-one: To Fall; Perchance to Fly






As Pippin ran off of the edge of the White Tower, he felt the cool stone beneath his toes seem to fall away. He could see the elven boat bearing the body of Boromir, though his eyes were filled with tears, which his falling drove up along his temples and into his hair. He felt as though he were falling quite slowly. He could hear the silvery notes of the trumpets. He did not cry out, or even make a sound at all.

He kept his eyes on the elven boat and his lost love. In a matter of seconds, he would be with his acushla forever. He saw the Men bearing the boat suddenly drop it as if it had grown too hot to hold. A pale, cold light filled the boat. It grew brighter quite suddenly, as bright as the sun and Pippin found he was now falling blindly. He had hoped his acushla would be the last thing he saw in his life, and now even that had been taken from him.

Down and down he plummeted, blindly. It would soon be over now, only a few more brief moments, and it would be over. He turned his eyes away from the blinding light and saw the rough stones of the street rushing towards him. Just before he hit the street, he shut his eyes tightly and…

His falling stopped. Something had wrapped itself about him and he came to a sudden stop. Was he dead? Was this death? The silvery sounds of the trumpets echoed back from Mount Mindolluin, and amid the sounds he heard a voice.

“Oh, thou art beautiful, oh, my love,
Thy limbs are strong enough to hold me,
Thou art beautiful, oh my love,
Thy heart shall not break upon mine,
For my love is as strong
As the mountain,
Deeper is our love
Than the roots of the mountain.
Thou art beautiful, oh my love,
Thy beauty is like unto the endless waterfall,
Thy love flows from thee
Into me and does fills me,
Until our hearts are like the oceans.
Thou art beautiful, oh my love,
Thy desire empties me like the sky
When the thunder calls and the lightening beckons.
Thy love fills me and cleanses me,
Our love is like unto the rain.
Thou art beautiful, oh my love,
Thy strength binds me to thee
As beauty is bound to the rose…”

Pippin opened his eyes. He was being borne upward, upward, spiraling around the White Tower, flying upward against the painted sky while the trumpets rang silver and the sound echoed back from Mount Mindolluin. Up and up he went, and he found himself wondering if he was being borne away by one of the great eagles.

But no, that was Bilbo’s story, and Frodo’s story. Perhaps he was dead, dead and being taken to whatever lay beyond life. But then he once more felt cool stone beneath his feet as he was put down at the top of the White Tower. Hands grasped him and lifted him, turning him about.

And surely he must be dead, surely he must, because it was Boromir, Boromir clothed in white flames with wings of pearl and silver, and Boromir embraced him tightly, and, cupping Pippin’s small and tearstained face in one hand, Boromir bent his head and kissed Pippin. Pippin’s arms went around Boromir’s neck automatically and without a thought, and something was happening, because he felt a searing heat creep down his throat and settle in his chest, and it was as if he were going to burst into flames…

And then he was in the realm of Fae, and there was his acushla, clothed in cool blue flames with his wings of silver and pearl.

‘Thou art beautiful, oh, my love…” he said. “You spoke the words, you spoke them in the language of the fairies, my poppet, and you wakened me from my dark sleep.”

“Am I dead?” Pippin asked.

“No, poppet, you live! You live and because you live, so do I.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

“In the Golden Wood, you fought for my soul, poppet. You fought with all your pure, sweet heart, and because you did, because you love me so, your fairy magic came into me and kept me and protected me, waiting for you to call it back into yourself. When you spoke those words, the magic wakened, and when it wakened, it wakened me from death itself. It is love, poppet, which brought me back to life. Your love, your love for me. It is your reward for your part in defeating the Enemy.”

“Then, I am not dead? You aren’t dead?”

“No, poppet. We live yet! We live and shall go on living for a long time.”

Pippin stared in wonder. How beautiful Boromir was! Words failed Pippin then, and all he could do was wrap his arms around Boromir’s neck and kiss him. The kiss was wonderful, warm and long, and when he finally pulled away, he found they were at the top of the White Tower with a painted sky around them and a cool breeze fresh on their faces. Boromir was no longer clothed in flame, and his wings had once more vanished, and when Boromir kissed him again, it was with the simple beauty of flesh and blood. Pippin’s heart pounded in his ears and tears of joy now washed the former, more bitter tears away. He peppered Boromir’s face with kisses over and over, and was delighted to hear Boromir laughing, joyous to feel his own, small face peppered with Boromir’s kisses.

“Oh, Boromir, I love you, I love you, I do, I love you so, I could not bear to live without you! Acushla, my acushla! Never leave me again, my beautiful, beautiful sweet boy!” Pippin said, the words rushing out of him in a steady stream, until they were stopped once more by Boromir’s mouth on his.

There was quite a ruckus below them, and they could hear the feet of many rushing up the stairs of the White Tower. Boromir reluctantly broke the kiss and put Pippin down, kneeling before him for one more quick embrace before they were found by the soldiers that ascended the Tower.

“Come, poppet!” Boromir said. “I want to see my brother and the others, now. And after…”

“What, after?” Pippin asked.

“What do you think, Little One?”

Pippin smiled up at his acushla. He knew very well ‘what, after’."



To Be Continued