To Capture the Heart of a Warrior

The Warrior, the Wench and a Most Unquenchable Hobbit





Boromir regarded Pippin with pride. They had taken a last stroll through the markets of Minas Tirith to buy a few gifts. Pippin wanted to bring back keepsakes to give to his father, mother and three sisters, and Boromir was more than pleased to go along. He wanted to see what Pippin would choose for each member of his family. Pippin had chosen for his father a small marble carving of a soldier of Gondor in a uniform like that of his own. For his mother he had chosen a book of herbal remedies not known in the Tooklands or the Shire proper. For his sisters he had chosen bangles and beads, and for his little nieces and nephews he had chosen dolls and toy soldiers.

Boromir had been helping Pippin carry his packages, and while he had bent to lift yet another, he looked up to see Pippin drop his own packages. Unsheathing his blade, he had run ahead of Boromir, and Boromir saw Pippin approach a Man who had just back-handed a woman. This Man had just drawn back his fist to strike her once more, and Pippin had pressed the point of his blade against the Man’s groin.

“You shall let her go, Sir!” Pippin growled fiercely. “Else this troll’s bane shall make a gelding of you.”

The fellow paled, his eyes darted, and seeing Boromir a look of recognition passed across his features. As plain as day Boromir could read his face. He knew who Pippin was, knew he would carry out his threat, and knew no hand would be laid upon the Halfling for doing so. Moreover, pity the fool who tried to aid him against this fierce little warrior whose blade now nicked the tender skin just by his scrotum.

“Mercy, Sir Peregrin!” the Man cried. “I beg of you, Sir, let me go and I shall trouble her no more, I swear it!”

Boromir had slowly and casually collected all the packages, grinning at the coward all the while. He put the packages down, then grasped the man by his tunic. “You know me, do you not?”

“Aye, Sir, you are Captain-General Boromir! Please, Sir, ask your Knight to let me go!”

“If you know me, you know my brother. And you know that I know the King, and that right well. You will leave this city. Should you return, it shall be at the cost of your hide. Do you understand?”

The Man nodded. Blood now trickled down his thigh. “Look, Boromir!” Pippin grinned, “I do believe it’s his time of month, he bleeds!”

Boromir laughed. “You can let this… this bitch of a Man go now, Pippin. He’ll not be seen in Minas Tirith when the sun sets this day. Is this not correct, maggot?”

The man nodded, tears running down his cheeks along with the stinking sweat of fear. Pippin drew his blade away, but not before giving the Man a small scar to remind him of the perils of crossing the wrong Halfling. The Man backed away, turned, and with one frightened look back at the small warrior and the large one, ran like a rabbit. The woman he had struck had slumped against the doorpost of the shop she had been standing near when her attacker had accosted her. Pippin sheathed his sword and went to her. As Boromir deposited the packages on the street nearby, he watched Pippin fumble for a handkerchief as he gently pushed a stray lock of her hair out of her face. Her mouth was bleeding at one corner and tears coursed down her pale face. Her hands shook with her recent fright, and she clutched her mantle in white-knuckled fear, trying to collect herself. Pippin dabbed at the blood on her face and gently stroked her hair. He was making soft, comforting little nonsense sounds in an effort to calm her, and she looked gratefully at her small rescuer. Boromir stooped by her, giving her a gentlemanly hand up. She looked at him, and suddenly her fearful expression changed to one of surprise.

“Boromir?” she said, eyes wide. She smiled, producing a sweet dimple in her cheek.

“Isildur’s Teeth!” Boromir said with a wide grin. “Miriel!”

“Boromir! Oh, Boromir, at last we meet again!” She let her mantle fall away as she embraced Boromir in a warm and familiar manner. “How I have wanted to see you again! When I heard you were back I could not believe my ears! Such a tale!”

She bent a little as she gave Pippin a graceful curtsy. “This, then, is the Ernil i Pheriannath, my rescuer! Good Gentlehobbit, brave Knight, I am most honored to make your acquaintance! More, still, to be rescued by you. I had heard you were quite a fair lad. I see now this was an understatement.”

Blushing at the compliment, Pippin took her hand in his, bowed low, and gave her slim hand a kiss. “Peregrin, son of Paladin Took, at your service and your family’s.” he said. Boromir noticed Pippin had grown into a rather genteel little fellow, adopting more courtly ways than he had shown when they first met. Coupled with his bravery in battle and his nobility in saving Faramir, Pippin had swiftly become a consort any noble man could be proud of. His little hobbit lad had grown to be quite a princely young lad, and Boromir’s heart swelled with pride. Miriel could plainly see it in Boromir’s face, that and a great deal of love.

“Good Ernil, Boromir, will you walk with me to my home? I should be very pleased and proud if you would but visit with me a while, and share a few cups of wine with you both” she asked warmly. She watched Pippin look up at Boromir, as if waiting for his acceptance, and when Boromir agreed to a visit with her, she noted the halfling beamed with delight. The bold and fierce little Knight seemed to transform before her eyes into a most charming and delightful fellow. How sweetly he looked from Boromir to herself! Such a dear and charmingly delightful little fellow he seemed to be. He and Boromir gathered the packages they had been carrying, collecting the three she had been carrying as well. Her home was nearby, and as they walked into the cool interior and placed the packages on a nearby table Miriel poured three cups of wine and served them to her guests. When she served Pippin’s drink to him she noted he blushed just a little, and when she caught his eyes with hers, the blush deepened. What a sweet, charming little thing he could be!

Boromir, too, noticed Pippin’s behavior, and Miriel saw Boromir smile indulgently at the halfling. “Little Knight,” she said, “Shall I introduce myself to you in more detail? It seems Boromir has forgotten himself. As you know, my name is Miriel, but you may call me Miri. Boromir and myself have been friends for quite a long time, now. If I may be so bold, I should like to say I am pleased, most pleased with you. Please do not think me rude, but he never gave his heart to any lass, including myself, though all would have been glad to be given it. But he was saving his heart, and I see now why it is yours. I confess, I find you charming, my champion! And I thank you for helping me. That fellow has been nothing but trouble, and I am not sorry to see him gone.”

Pippin trailed his bare, furry little toes across the floor, then tucked one foot behind the other, blushing yet again, peeking at her shyly from under the curtain of curls that hung in his face, not quite hiding his large, jewel-like eyes. “Who…who was he, Lady? The Man who attacked you,” Pippin said with a crooked little grin.

“Only a cur that was once a lover, now spurned. But call me not a Lady, Sir Knight, for I am no Lady!” she laughed. Pippin looked at her, then Boromir; plainly he did not understand. “Boromir, shall you explain, or shall I?” she laughed. Pippin gave Boromir a confused but questioning look, and Boromir laughed. He lifted Pippin, then sat on a nearby chair and sat the halfling on one knee.

“Well, Pippin,” Boromir said, “Do you recall that I once told you I had known a lass here and there, now and then?” When Pippin nodded and looked up at Boromir, it suddenly dawned on him the meaning of Boromir’s words.

“Aye, I do,” answered the halfling. He then asked, eyes innocently wide, “Is this, then, one of your many lovers?”

“Yes, Pippin, Miriel was one of my many lovers.” Boromir said. Again, he was giving Pippin an indulgent smile.

“Then she is a…” Pippin looked shyly at Miriel, blushing yet again. “She is a… a … a…” he bit his bottom lip, trying to hide his eyes under his mop of golden-brown curls, and in a hushed voice he finished, “a courtesan? A real, live courtesan?”

Boromir laughed gently. He ruffled Pippin’s hair. “Yes, poppet, she is a courtesan. A real live one.”

Pippin hid his grin behind one hand, stealing another look at Miriel.

Miriel laughed brashly. “And you are now Boromir’s lover,” she answered boldly. She placed two cool, soft fingers under Pippin’s chin and tipped his face up so she could better see his features. “And little wonder! Why, I am quite taken with you, myself!”

Pippin squeaked, hiding his face in his hands, then peeking between his fingers. Boromir laughed and gently pulled first one small hand away from his face, then the other. The second hand Boromir continued to hold, stroking the back of the halfling’s small hand with one thumb. “Why, Pippin!” he said jovially, “Do my eyes deceive me, or do you fancy Miriel just a bit?”

Pippin squeaked again, this time turning his face and burying it in Boromir’s chest. Miriel knelt before Boromir and Pippin, then she leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Pippin’s smooth cheek. She looked at Boromir, and playfully scolded Boromir. “You’re embarrassing him, Boromir! But for his pretty blush, I think I would get a little upset with you. But I can’t be angry with you for making him blush, only look at him! What a face you have, Little One. By what grace of the Valar were your parents blessed? Sweet Sir Peregrin, had Boromir not claimed you, I say now I would be sorely tempted. But do not be so shy, sweet one, I am quite sure you have been pursued by many a lass of your kind! Lucky little things, to have had at least a chance to woo and win you! So unfair, that I should be denied the chance to at least steal a kiss.”

She leaned forward once more and once more kissed Pippin’s smooth little cheek, lingering a little this time. She then planted a soft kiss on his mouth. Pippin’s eyes slid shut, his lungs hitched in mid-breath. She drew back once more. Boromir was still smiling at Pippin, but there was a spark of mischief in his eyes now. “Look at me, Pippin,” Boromir said. Miriel watched Pippin tip his face up to look at Boromir. “Do you want her, Pippin? I dare say she wants you!” Pippin looked a little distressed and would not answer. Once more Boromir spoke, smiling at Pippin with that indulgent look and Miriel could see how the warrior doted on this little cockerel. “Answer your acushla, now, poppet. You want her, don’t you?” Blushing deeply now, the halfling nodded.

“Aye, I do!” he finally answered. “Do I anger you? If I do, I am sorry, Boromir, truly, I don’t want to make you unhappy with me.”

Boromir bent his head, and Miriel watched the big Man kiss Pippin’s sweet mouth, lingering for a while. The halfling moaned softly. “No, poppet, you do not anger me!” said Boromir huskily. “If you want her, just say so. And do not be afraid to say so. If you want her, I assure you she shall be most happy to give herself. Just tell us so.”

Pippin bit his bottom lip once more, shamefaced, then answered, “Aye, I do… but I am afraid, Boromir! Am I supposed to be afraid?”

“Am I to believe such a charming little thing like yourself,” Miriel said softly, “has not lain with a female before?”

Pippin looked from Miriel to Boromir. “I must say no, I have not. But I couldn’t, acushla! I couldn’t do that. I would be too afraid, unless… unless…”

“Poppet, if you want her and are afraid to do anything for fear of upsetting me, do not be afraid! If you so choose, I will go with you.”

Pippin gasped. He threw his arms around Boromir’s neck and kissed his cheek. “Could you? Could we, I mean? If you were there, I think I would quite enjoy it, and you could help me. I… I want her, but I just can’t, Boromir! Not unless you are there.”

Miriel watched as Boromir took Pippin’s mouth completely and deeply. When the kiss was broken, Miriel saw that both Man and hobbit were a bit breathless. Boromir stood, carrying Pippin in his arms. “Shall we, then, Miriel? Shall we show my Little One the pleasures of a woman’s body? Would you like to be his first?”

“Come, my beautiful boys!” Miriel said, plainly aroused at the idea of being this halfling’s first experience with the opposite sex. “Bring him to my bed, Boromir.” She said, her voice now deepening with desire. “Such a treat must not be passed up!”

She rose and led Boromir, holding the halfling in his arms, to her bed.


To Be Continued