To Capture the Heart of a Warrior

Chapter nine: Sing to My Heart




Pippin was rabbiting around the camp and bothering most everyone. Gandalf had begun to “harrumph!” and Boromir knew it was only a matter of time before his Little One earned a reprimand. He had to smile at himself; he never tired of watching his Little One, even when he was pretty much making a pest of himself. It was part of Pippin’s charm.

The halfling had finished giving Sam a hard time about hurrying up with their meal, and now he tore through the camp and skidded to a stop in front of Gandalf. The halfling paused and regarded the wizard with his big, green eyes. He looked very much like a mischievous kitten.

The wizard regarded Pippin back, looking at him from under his bushy brows like an old owl. To Boromir’s surprise, Pippin hopped up in Gandalf’s lap.

“You needn’t look at me like that, Gandalf. I’ll try to do better,” said the Little One. He gave Gandalf a chaste little peck on his bearded cheek and hopped down to tear off in another direction and sit quietly by Merry.

“Hobbit pertness! You have my sympathies, Boromir.” Gandalf muttered.

Boromir laughed. It was a warm feeling, this companionship of the Nine Walkers. Of course, this warmth was small in comparison to what one particular little fellow caused to burn within him. He felt something deep in his chest, something like a bubble that grew and grew, something that yearned to reach out to his beloved. Pippin quite suddenly turned and looked into his eyes, as though he could feel the reaching-out inside Boromir, and Boromir suddenly stopped laughing, sitting still as stone, caught in those green eyes like a butterfly in a web.

“It’s his fairy blood, you know.” Gandalf said, “Yes, Boromir, it is quite a powerful thing; you must guard him against peril. Should the Enemy learn of his powers, he will set his mind upon taking him, if only because it is a thing of perilous beauty. And do not think that love has despoiled his innocence, it has not, nor will it ever for his kind. The Enemy loves best to corrupt that which is innocent and beautiful. Peregrin would be a toy he could delight in destroying, but not before corrupting him entirely.”

“He…he is in peril, then?”

“Boromir, we are all of us in peril. But yes, his fairy blood does make him a treat too tempting to the Enemy to pass up, should he discover it. But do not look so beset! Pippin is loved well, and by us all, I should say; though Merry and yourself do have a special place in his life. Again, this is his fairy blood; they enchant even when they do not mean to. He doesn’t know he’s doing it. He doesn’t mean to do it. But there is a reason why we all suffer his mischief gladly, the same reason Elrond was against his coming with us. Our little fairy prince has no idea how powerful this magic is. But my heart tells me he has a great part to play before all this is done.”

“It’s ready! Supper! I’m famished!” Pippin cried out, a mere fraction of a second before Sam called out the very same news.

“You see, Boromir? He doesn’t know.” The wizard said, rising and giving the warrior an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “He’s an innocent. You must see to it he is safe.”

Boromir rose and walked over to where Pippin and Merry sat. He stood a moment, watching the two together, and his heart swelled. No wonder Merry loved Pippin so; there was much there to love. Merry had done a wonderful job in regards to how Pippin had grown, and for that alone Boromir could love Merry. He stepped forward and offered each hand to the pair. The two each took one of his hands and they walked together to get their meal.

Soon it was bedtime. Their week of no watches was almost over now, and Boromir meant to take every advantage of this special time while he could. He took two water bags to their bed for their morning bath and made himself comfortable. Pippin was just bidding their other companions sweet dreams, lingering a little for a smoke with Merry, and then he made a beeline for their bed.

When he got there, his warrior was already under the blankets, his clothing neatly folded and set aside. Pippin grinned. He regarded his warrior a bit from under his lashes. Then he stripped, throwing his clothing willy-nilly around the bed, and scrambled under the covers to cuddle up with his large lover. Pippin began to sing, softly and sweetly. Boromir found he could never quite make out the words when Pippin did this, but somehow the sweet, high voice would crawl inside him through his ears and curl like smoke around his heart, creep like fog through his brain, wind like ropes around his limbs. Was this fairy magic? Did he care if it was? He was suddenly burning for his Little One. It was an inescapable inferno.

Boromir caught the halfling in an embrace and Pippin curled into the embrace like a wriggly little mouse. He tipped his head back, and as was Boromir’s habit when his hobbit did this, he bent and kissed the small and welcoming mouth. Boromir felt the bubble in his chest again, the bubble that was filled with reaching-out, and the bubble grew and grew. The more he kissed Pippin, the bigger and more full of reaching-out the bubble became. He grew lost in the kiss, and did not notice right away that they had begun to float.

He was amazed at how quickly he had become used to it, and yet at the same time, never used to it. This, he craved. It was like nothing else, and he could no longer imagine his life without it. He pulled Pippin on top of himself, and he could see the flaming green wings as they spread and grew and wrapped themselves around him. Each time they made love, this had happened more and more often, and more easily. Pippin still would faint upon occasion, and when he did, Boromir would calmly call him back. But this enchantment; it was growing in power. Somehow Boromir knew in his heart that it was his great love for Pippin that fed the magic.

He skated his hands down Pippin’s sides. Touching and being touched, inside and out, kisses and more kisses, hands on bodies, body against body, he felt the heat increasing, now. Pippin’s small tongue darted and raced slick and agile through his mouth, ferreting out all the places that drove Boromir mad with desire. Then the little mouth on his ear, teasing, nibbling, whispering, yes, whispering in a language he had never heard, the whispering becoming like a song, like music that he ought to but did not know.

He let his hands find their way to Pippin’s behind. He caressed and squeezed and stroked the sweet curves he found there. Pippin continued to murmur his song in Boromir’s ear, and the words crawled inside him, looking for the bubble full of the reaching-out. The halfling slid down Boromir’s body and reached behind himself, fumbling for his prize. He found what he was feeling for. His gaze never left Boromir’s eyes. Boromir was caught once more in those eyes, falling into them. Or were they boring into him? He didn’t know and couldn’t tell. The murmured song continued, crawling deeper and deeper inside him. Now Pippin sat up, straddling him, and, grasping his lover’s manhood, guided him inside. And this was odd, because Boromir found they no longer needed the little jar of ointment.

But none of that, indeed nothing at all mattered now. All that mattered was the beautiful creature that had him caught up in this rough net of magic, alight with cool green flame that danced across their skins, cooling and warming and drawing-together until they felt not like two people but one. The murmured song was curled deep inside Boromir now. It found the bubble inside him and curled around that, too, and then suddenly the reaching-out feeling seemed to attach itself to whatever magic Pippin had sung awake inside of Boromir. Then it wasn’t so much reaching-out anymore as it was melding the two together, this time in more than just body or heart, but something deeper even than that.

Suddenly he could understand the murmured singing.

“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…”

The song seemed to be a part of them both, now. Their souls touched, exchanged something, and instantly their bodies did the same. They both cried out in that strange, unheard-of tongue. Boromir felt something pulled from inside him as his juices were surely pulled from his body, and at the same time, something of Pippin curled into the place where something inside Boromir had been pulled into Pippin.

And then something happened that had not happened before. Boromir fainted. He was awake within himself…or was this some other place? Was this some magical realm he’d been pulled into? He could see Pippin clearly. The flame-wings were gone, and in their stead was a set of wings like those of a butterfly, all metallic greens and blues.

“Oh, look,” said this dream-realm Pippin, “Now you have wings, too.”

Boromir could feel them. He could feel wings growing from his back, unfurling, growing bigger and wider. He looked over his shoulder and saw that his own wings were all silver and pearl. He could hear himself speaking in that strange tongue, only now he knew it, so it wasn’t strange.

“Where are we, my love?” Boromir asked.

“Fae. This is the land of Fae. I see it so rarely, and it is so beautiful, I’m glad you can see it, too.”

Boromir looked around him. It was beautiful. He was in a forest of trees so large they were like castles. Strange flowers bloomed around him. The air was thick with the scent of them. Golden light was everywhere. He blinked in the bright beams of golden light. Pippin patted his face, and he blinked again…

And they were back in their bed together, sighing and embracing, lying on the rocky ground with only a bedroll between them and cold stone. They looked deeply into each other’s eyes. They had entire conversations with their eyes only. Then Pippin spoke.

“I’m not sure what just happened, Boromir, but I do know this. We are part of each other, now. Our souls joined. I could feel it.”

Boromir wrapped his arms around Pippin, cradling him close. “I felt it, too.” He said, and his heart was filled so full of emotions that he choked on his own words. He felt so deeply in love with this little hobbit lad just now that he was filled with a deep dread, for himself and for Pippin. Pippin seemed to sense this. He stroked Boromir’s cheek, then kissed it gently.

“We’ll never be truly parted now, Boromir! Don’t worry. Nothing can ever keep us apart for long, now. Didn’t you feel it?”
Boromir, unable to speak, simply nodded. Yes, he had felt it. He kissed Pippin tenderly on the lips and caressed his soft cheek with one finger. Finally, he was able to say, “Yes; I felt it. I did. And I’m glad, Pippin. I’m glad, because without you, I’d die, I just know it.” Boromir blinked back tears, and Pippin cooed over him and kissed his eyes.

“Ai acushla nenihundi, a ai.” Boromir said.

“Yes, love, that’s right; that is exactly what I said. ‘Oh, thou art beautiful, oh my love.’”

Boromir rolled Pippin over on his back and became very busy with a more earthly kind of love.


To Be Continued