To Capture the Heart of a Warrior

Title: To Capture the Heart ofthe Warrior

Chapter one: Stealing the Heart of the Warrior

Work in Progress, almost complete

Author: Ghost in the Mist

Pairing: Boromir/Pippin

Rating: NC - 17

Summary: A little AU. Boromir falls for a certain little Took. He's only ever been with women. Pippin has experience, but doesn't want any more. Slut!Pippin! Virginal! Boromir! Smut, romance, kink and fairy-wings, too.

Content/Warning: Hobbit/Man love. If that squicks you, then please don't read.

Spoilers: none, unless you've never read the book or seen the movie

Disclaimer: Not mine, and more's the pity. The characters belong to JRR Tolkien and/or New Line Cinema. I'm just borrowing them for the sake of pervy hobbit fancying
Author's Notes: I've read a lot of fics where Pippin has a crush on Boromir. I wondered what would happen if the tables were turned, and this monster was born. It's very long, but I'm told it's worth the read. This was my very first slash of any kind.



To Capture the Heart of a Warrior

By

Ghost in the Mist

Boromir trudged through a mud puddle. He knew it was a mud puddle because he couldn’t keep from staring at his feet while he walked. He had never been so at odds with himself in his life. He was absolutely miserable. His boots made a terrible squish-squash sound as he walked along, but he scarcely paid it any mind. He wasn’t watching where he was going, so when he caught up with the others he didn’t even know it until he ran into Pippin, knocking him flat on his face right into another mud puddle.

If there were one thing that could be said about Boromir, it would be that he was sure of himself. Anyone who knew him would tell you this. It wasn’t as though he was wrong in this, either. He was very accomplished, a magnificent warrior and leader, well spoken and well spoken of.

One would never know this, however, when he was in the presence of a certain someone. This was apparent to everyone, to Boromir’s utter humiliation. Not only was he aware of his heartache, he was aware that everyone else was aware of it, too.

Everyone except, that is, the one who could suddenly and without the least effort, cause Boromir to suddenly lose every bit of his confidence. That was what burned and stung more than anything else. The one person in Middle Earth who shook him to his bones from head to toe was completely unaware of his feelings.

From the moment he laid eyes on Peregrin Took, he’d been captured. This Little One, who asked to be called “Pippin,” had lit up the world for Boromir from the very first second he’d looked into those bright, green eyes. From that moment on, whenever Pippin was around, Boromir lost his dignity, his self-confidence, his pride, his composure and last, but not least, his heart.

Boromir had sacrificed his personal happiness to serve Gondor, never even taking a wife or sweetheart. Not that he’d wanted it that way, either. Many a lass had caught his eye, and many were the times when Boromir could have had the one thing he desired above all else: love.

Yet he had sacrificed this, his greatest desire, in order to fulfill his duties as the eldest son of Denethor. He had vowed to forsake this dream until his country was safe, and now this decision had been taken from him quite unknowingly by a little sprite of a hobbit with a contagious bubbling laugh, sparkling eyes and the most perfect little bow of a mouth in all of Middle Earth. It was a mouth easily given to smiling and laughter and clever remarks, and Boromir had never before seen anything he wanted so much as he wanted to kiss that mouth.

So anytime he was around this Little One, Boromir found himself running smack into trees, tripping on his own feet and stuttering like a small, frightened boy.

He was unable to sleep or eat, unable to concentrate, unable to stop his hands from trembling whenever Pippin was near. He was unable to tear his eyes away from that adorable little form, unable to shut his ears to the musical voice with its charming burr of an accent. Neither could he tear his eyes away from that face with it’s smooth, youthful skin, it’s animated expressions, it’s crown of light brown to gold curls that seemed to forever hang down in a charming veil of tousled curls that almost, but not quite hid those remarkable eyes. And most of all, he was unable to just stop himself from falling further and further in love.


He fully expected to take a lot of teasing for this, and had been surprised that none had said a word that might be taken as teasing. Instead he’d found only silent assent or sympathy. Instead, he’d found that the others saw that his feelings might have been seen as quite comic but for the fact that his lovesick condition was quite serious and that his pain bordered on outright cruelty. He was perhaps a little rankled that he seemed so vulnerable to the others, but try as he might, he couldn’t help himself. He had been bitten and bitten badly. He sighed, embarrassed at his clumsiness and his seeming defenselessness against such charm as Pippin so easily and unknowingly wielded.

He stooped and helped Pippin up, blushing and stuttering apologetically so much that his Little One only laughed and cuffed him playfully on the chin. It seemed for hours he could still feel the touch of that small hand, warming and tingling his entire soul. He could not help berating himself, that it should come to this: a stripling of a hobbit could so easily topple a Captain-General of Gondor, heir apparent to the Stewardship, eldest of the sons of Denethor and Warden of the White Tower itself…he had fallen, and the crash of the inner Boromir was so complete that had the White Tower itself been toppled, the chaos and quake could not have been more earth-shaking.

As if this was not bad enough, Boromir was terrified of pressing the issue. What if this Little One refused him? Could he take such humiliation as well as heartache?

Neither he nor any of the others understood how Pippin could just not notice until Merry enlightened them. It seemed that Pippin had got his fill of heartache. It was then that Boromir and the others understood that Pippin had been used, and many times, so much so that the little Took had made a shut door of his tender little heart. So warm and welcoming in every other regard, Pippin’s heart he kept to himself, a cold and lonely thing, afraid of being broken again. He blinded himself to such attentions, quite deliberately. He did not want to know, and so he refused to see.

“It started with me,” Merry admitted, sighing sadly. “He had such a crush on me, but I could not do that with him. It isn’t that I don’t love him; I love him with all my heart. It’s just that I like lasses. After that, he looked elsewhere, and I blame myself for that. He is, after all, a pretty lad, and there were more than enough to pursue him, but bless him, he wants more than mere bedding. He wants love, Boromir. And now I must ask you; do you want love? Or is it just that you…rut…after him? I must know! I do love him, and cannot bear another heartache in him. He has so much to give.”

Boromir sighed. “Merry, I have had plenty of that which you spoke of. In the end it is always the same. Once fulfillment is found there is nothing left. It is far more than mere physical desire; so much more I cannot bear it. It is my heart that wants him far more than any simple animal desire. It’s not his body so much as him. It’s all of him. I do not think I can bear it!”

“Then you must take care! He is frightened now of such attentions. Try to understand. So often has he had his hopes raised, false promises made...you must be gentle and patient."

“I would do anything for him. I would die for him if he but asked.”

Merry regarded Boromir for some time. Boromir was a Man of great pride and dignity, a most princely Man. Yet here this great, strong warrior seemed to be falling apart at the seams right before Merry's own eyes. It was if a great fortress was crumbling at its very foundations.

The sight of it made Merry's heart break for this noble warrior. The halfling gave Boromir's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "You say you would die for him if he but asked," Merry's voice, soft, gentle and filled with sympathy and understanding filled Boromir with great hope, and with great trepidation as well, somehow. “I believe you would, Boromir. You have eased my mind and my heart. Now be patient! I’ll do what I may.”

Merry saw Boromir heave an enormous sigh. His breath gave a great hitch. He swallowed hard, and for a moment Merry was sure the Man was about to fall to bits and peices right before the halfling's gentle eyes. Silently, Merry vowed to do what he might to help this great Man. Merry's heart told him that Pippin's heart would be in good hands with this Man. Boromir locked eyes with Merry, and silently, he gave his assent to place his trust in Pippin's kin.

Later, Boromir lay in his bedroll, sleepless, as usual. He gazed up at the clouds in the sky, wishing he were anywhere but here, wishing he had let Faramir come, and had not taken this journey as his own. How would he ever make it? How could he go on like this, in such misery? He had never felt so lost, so alone and groundless in his life.

What would his brother say? Nevermind that, what would Denethor say? Worse, what would he do? More than likely, his father would have him beaten bloody. And it would not be the first time, either. It made his palms sweaty just thinking about it. And people wondered why he was fearless! That was not so hard to do, when there were times he actually sought death as a respite.

He rolled onto his side, and could see Pippin’s face, calm and serene in his dreaming. Boromir forced himself to close his eyes, and the image of the halfling’s face remained in his mind’s eye, ever tormenting him. When he finally managed to drift off to sleep, his dreams were filled with images of what might be, and when he woke, he felt more tired than he had before he slept.

Aragorn had begun to worry about the situation. The strain on Boromir was beginning to show. He was losing weight rapidly, and shadows were always under his eyes, those eyes once so keen and quick. Recalling the beautiful and charming toddler Aragorn had once known when he had served Gondor as Thorongil, Aragorn's heart filled with pain. Long had Aragorn wanted Arwen, and he knew the pain of love unreturned all too well. This problem had been partially resolved for Aragorn and Arwen, but watching the Gondorial warrior fading away was too much to bear.

When they stopped during the evening’s march, Aragorn sought Gandalf for advice. After a somewhat lengthy discussion, a decision was made, and Gandalf gave to Aragorn a small bottle filled with a thick, brown fluid.

“No more than a few drops, now!” admonished Gandalf, “For a large man such as he, about four drops should do. But just in case, make it eight!” The wizard chuckled at Aragorn’s look of surprise.

When they stopped near dawn to rest, Aragorn handed Boromir a cup of tea, which Boromir downed swiftly and gratefully. The drug worked marvelously and quickly, and soon Boromir lay asleep, peacefully this time, and with no dreams to torment him.

Now, thought Aragorn, for a certain young hobbit I know of…

He sent Pippin after firewood, waited a few minutes, and then silently shadowed the victim.

“At last, a chance alone with you…” said Aragorn. Pippin looked perplexed. Aragorn gently took the firewood from Pippin and tossed it on the ground. He knelt before him, taking Pippin by the shoulders, and kissed him solidly and thoroughly on the mouth.

Pippin gasped and turned a lovely shade of pink before turning and running back to camp with a little squeak.

Aragorn sat on the ground, laughing to himself. He almost felt guilty for his actions, but something had to be done. Things could not go on as they had. This was a conspiracy, true, but one made for love.


Pippin pelted back to the camp and ran into Legolas. “Pippin, are you well? Did something follow you in the wood?” he asked. Legolas scooped him up and began to caress the little one’s cheek. Of course, Pippin squeaked yet again, and, squirming out of Legolas’ grasp like a small lizard, tried to hide behind Gandalf. Gandalf, more gruff than usual, shooed him away, saying he was busy thinking. Pippin then headed toward Gimli, but Gimli showed him such a sour countenance that the little Took had little left in the way of respite.

He turned to see the other three hobbits sitting about the fire having a good laugh at his expense; they had seen the exchange with Legolas. Pippin was embarrassed, and was a little put out the others thought his predicament amusing.

Finally he sought the last refuge left to him: the sleeping Boromir. He practically dove under Boromir’s blankets, and seemed to be trying to burrow into him. He lay there trembling for some time, but the warmth from the big body under the blankets made him drowsy, and he was soon sleeping next to Boromir.

The rest sat about the small, smokeless fire for a little while, enjoying a quiet laugh. They had made up their minds; the two sleepers would end this nonsense soon enough. It was high time to put matters to rest in both Pippin’s heart and Boromir’s as well. They had decided. There would be no escape for either party.

Boromir woke a little a few hours later. His arm was a bit numb, and when he tried to move it, he found there was something on it. He lifted the edge of the blanket, and blinked his eyes twice. Was that a crown of curls there?

“Pippin?” he called. How had this come to pass?

Pippin opened his eyes. He looked at Boromir as though he expected a reproach. It made Boromir feel entirely guilty.

“What are you doing here, Little One?” he asked, gentling his demeanor.

“I...I was feart.” was all Pippin said.

Boromir tried to think about the situation through his drug-induced haze. What should he do? He could not, would not take advantage of the situation. He must remain a gentleman at all costs.

“What frightened you, Pippin?” asked Boromir.

Pippin was silent a moment. He seemed to be terribly embarrassed. “I…I just got scared, that’s all.” he answered.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Little One.” Boromir said. How he wanted to kiss that soft cheek, stroke that small back, to comfort the hobbit. But no, he would not take advantage…“It’s all right. You are young, after all, and small. I imagine there is much that would frighten me were I you.” he said.

Pippin regarded Boromir with his brilliant green eyes, heavy-lidded from sleep. “I’ll move, if I disturb you…” offered the Little One. It made Boromir’s heart race to see that sweet face looking up at him…so damnably appealing. But No! He would not, he would not!

He forced himself to drive passion from his heart and instead channeled all the understanding he could muster in his response.

“No need to do that. If you find comfort here, then comfort you shall have.” He curled one muscular arm gently around his Little One. Pippin smiled gratefully.

“Thank you, Boromir.” said the little Took, and pillowed his head on Boromir’s shoulder. He suddenly raised his head again. “Are you ready to get up?” he asked.

“Indeed not, far from it. I do not know why, but I feel I could sleep a week.”

“Then sleep,” said the Little One, smiling at Boromir from under his heavy lids. He yawned hugely and laid his head back on Boromir’s shoulder. Boromir couldn’t help grinning. He tousled Pippin’s golden-brown curls.

“Sweet dreams, then, Master Took.” he said around a yawn that was even more huge than Pippin’s had been.

When next Boromir woke, he became aware of a little weight across his belly. He opened his eyes, and to his delight, the first thing he saw was Pippin’s mischievous grin. The little Took was sitting astride him, a playful look on his face.

“Wake up!” said the hobbit, “You shall miss breakfast! Can you not smell it?”

“Yes, in fact I can, and it smells wonderful.” Boromir smiled. He didn’t know by what magic his Little One had suddenly taken such a liking to him, and did not care. As far as smells went, the first thing he smelled was Pippin. Now that they were so close, he could smell the sweet smell of apples on a crisp autumn morning. However does Pippin manage to smell like that? he wondered. He decided he didn’t care how the hobbit managed it, but it was the most wonderful smell he had ever known.

Boromir stretched. This rocked Pippin like a child on a rocking horse and the little Took laughed aloud with delight.

“Come, now, get up and eat!” said Pippin, giving Boromir a slap on one massive shoulder. “Ouch!” Pippin said under his breath. He rubbed his stinging hand against his thigh. “You are as hard as an oak.”

Pippin got up, offering his hand to Boromir in a token gesture of helping him up. Boromir grinned. Pippin’s mood was catching, and he accepted the small hand. Breakfast was good and plentiful today, and Boromir ate well. Pippin noted Aragorn watching the two of them. He slid his bottom across the log that served as a bench, so that he would be closer to Boromir.

The rest of that evening’s march would have been a nightmare for Pippin had it not been for Boromir. If he strayed too far from the big warrior, Aragorn or Legolas would approach him with a wicked look in their eyes. Pippin would immediately catch up to Boromir and the harassment would cease. His fellow hobbits were no comfort to him; they thought the situation far too humorous to suit Pippin. Gandalf was too grumpy to bother. Come to that, Gimli was no help, either. As the hours wore on, he found himself constantly at Boromir's side.

The evening march over with and the last meal before sleep having been eaten found Boromir and Pippin still together. When it was time for sleep, Boromir laid out his bedroll and lay down. He closed his eyes, but was soon interrupted by a small sound; someone was clearing their throat. He opened his eyes and saw Pippin standing nearby.

“Are you afraid again?” he asked.

Pippin stared at his furry little feet in shame. Boromir only lifted the corner of his blanket, and Pippin swiftly settled in beside him. The hobbit gave a deep sigh, as if in relief, and snuggled close to the big Man.

Yet again, Boromir mastered himself. He would not take advantage. He must not take advantage. But how long could he hold out? As the days and nights went on, it was the same. The Man soon began to wonder if he would ever be able to sleep again without that little weight, such a small weight, resting on his shoulder, as if that was all that was needed to hold him to the earth. He slept better since this little ritual had begun. He noticed his appetite was back as well.

The days and nights went on much the same. Even when either Boromir or Pippin was on watch duty, they seemed more comfortable close together. But Pippin had begun to have problems sleeping, seemingly, for his eyes often looked red-rimmed and tired.

Boromir didn’t understand what was wrong, but Pippin certainly did. He was frightened to do anything about it, however. The days and nights were long and tiring, yet Pippin still found little sleep. Each time Boromir laid out his bedroll, Pippin hovered nearby, waiting to be invited in, and invariably he was.

To Be Continued