Footsteps
By Evendim
This is a not for profit work of fan fiction based upon the works of J.R.R. Tolkien
Inspired by Footsteps by Chris De Burgh
Chapter Two
Taking Counsel…From a Hobbit!
For Pipkin Sweetgrass
ooOoo
Boromir strode from the glade where the Council of Elrond had just concluded. The Gondorian was filled with turmoil, for this encounter had not panned out quite as he had expected. His father had sent him here to engage the assistance of the free races to repel the filth of Mordor, and yet here he stood, sworn to escort the diminutive Frodo to Mordor, to destroy the very object his father wished to seal within the vaults of Minas Tirith in order to hold it out of Sauron's reach. How had he been coerced into this madness?
"You seem…troubled," said a soft voice behind him, and Boromir spun about upon one boot heel, tilted his head back regally, and met the eyes of…his king.
"You truly are no elf," said Boromir, "you are a wolf, come in sheep's clothing, insinuating yourself into the presence of your kin without troubling to announce yourself. Men of the south are welcome here, aye, and of the north, also, it seems!"
"I ought to have been less…guarded…with the truth, when we met last night in the Sanctuary of the Sword, I understood this in the same moment that Legolas so callously threw my heritage in your face. I apologize, friend," said Aragorn.
"Friend….?" Boromir snorted. "You are the one who shall tear down everything that my family has lived, has died, to sustain! With your return my father shall pass into that place where none shall recall his greatness, he shall be shut out of your glory, condemned to die in the past which shall be his realm to govern, but without even a rod with which to rule. You are his nemesis."
"It need not be so," said Aragorn, "there shall be a place, still, for so good and faithful a servant."
"We Hurins do not eat crumbs cast from the table of Isildur. The Steward of the House of Anarion has no need of your niggardly charity," Boromir had never bowed to any man other than his father, he was not about to do so now, and especially not here, in a foreign realm, and to a man he could not respect, far less honour. Turning abruptly from Aragorn's presence he strode away a second time, and was there no place in this benighted land where one could be alone with one's tumultuous thoughts?
ooOoo
Boromir loosed the gold clasp that held his fur-lined travelling cloak in place, and he sat down upon it nearby a tinkling little rivulet, and there he wept. How long he sat there, permitting himself to dispel his pent up frustration and misery, he could not tell. He had been so stressed upon taking up his father's rightful place at the Council, and so utterly worn out, physically and mentally, from such a prolonged journey, (which Denethor had to have been insane, unbalanced at the very least, to have his heir embark upon unescorted) that the final straw which had broken his back had been that haughty little prince-ling from Mirkwood with his smug outburst. Could not Elrond, out of common decency, have taken Gondor's Captain General to one side and explained precisely what Aragorn's relationship was to Gondor, and by doing so have spared Boromir the humiliation of being fetched face to face with his future king before the representatives of all the free races? Apparently not; and now Boromir had been written off as some egotistical boor who did not even have the grace to bow to his king.
"I am a Hurin," he whispered aloud, "I bow to no man!"
"You should try being a hobbit," said a familiar voice, "we bow to everybody, quite unintentionally of course, except maybe for the dwarves. Take my hanky, it's quite clean, I just dusted off my feet fur with it before eavesdropping upon the Council; no bogies, I promise." For a moment Pippin thought he had made the distraught man's situation even worse, but then he realized Boromir was not weeping, he was laughing himself hoarse!
"What exactly are 'bogies'?" Boromir asked.
"Erm…boogers, hanky greenflies, you know, snot?" Pippin had fully exhausted his vocabulary, but now the mortal had cottoned on, and he was rolling on the springy grass in utter abandonment, flattening the manicured verge as he did so.
"Forgive me," said Boromir as he delicately dabbed his eyes and passed the 'kerchief back.
"Why? Here, maybe you should just keep this," Pippin wrinkled his nose, and held up his hand to block the hanky being returned.
"No, I have not…I meant forgive me for my lack of self control; your 'kerchief is quite un-anointed," Boromir laughed.
"What lack of self control? I do that when I stub my toe," said Pippin.
"Well, stubbing those toes must hurt abominably," said Boromir.
"Budge up on that cloak, this grass is too green to be anything other than wet. Nice place, eh, Rivendell?" Pippin opined.
"If one could only remove the elves," Boromir mumbled.
"What was that like last night? What a palaver! Yon Senny-schal, Lord Erestor, was in high dudgeon at you, and no mistake," said Pippin.
"How was I to know he was not a groom?" Boromir sighed. "How may one discern their rank? Gilded ear points?"
"Oh, here, stop that, I have a stitch in my side," Pippin hooted.
"You need to stretch, no, arms higher, over to one side, better?" Boromir asked.
"Here, that worked a treat," said Pippin.
"Infantrymen get cramps with boring regularity," said Boromir.
Pippin sat back down, closer still this time, but not quite in the man's lap, for that might be an invasion of his personal space, but close enough to take Boromir's hand, just as he had the previous evening. The hobbit instinctively knew this would be acceptable to the big, bluff, soldier of whom he was growing so fond. Boromir made a little snickering noise, but still he allowed the contact, more personal upon this occasion, given he was not gauntleted today.
"Do you ever have time for yourself, big man? Only, every experience you describe has a military theme," said Pippin.
"One supposes one must have some free time," said Boromir.
"How do you pass it, this rare downtime?" The Halfling was not being impertinent; he was merely intrigued by all aspects of this mortal. "What hobbies do you have?"
"I…and then there is…one supposes one could include…" Boromir shook his head and glanced away.
"You puir wee soul, its little wonder your nerves are strung tighter than Lobelia Bracegirdle's corset!" Pippin said in horror.
"It that very bad; to be compared to…whose corset?" Boromir enquired.
"Long story, an extremely fecund family the Bagginses," said Pippin, "do you mean to tell me you never just lie on the grass and listen to the birdsong?"
"Minas Tirith is hewn from a mountain, her skirts are made out of stone, and there is very little birdsong so close to Mordor, Master Took," Boromir replied.
"So, you pass your days in soldiering or on display in the city, that is so sad," said Pippin.
"I have known no other way of life, to be a Hurin is an occupation as much as a to be a…smith, or a miller," said Boromir.
"So, when Aragorn was revealed as your king, you thought of how you, and your folks, have held his realm together, and yet he is out there, free to dance to a tune of his own making almost, it had to have been a knife in your heart, eh?" the Halfling asked.
"I would have liked to have had some prior warning," Boromir confessed, "for then I might have been able to control my emotions, and not acted like some…oik!"
"Well, no point in crying over spilled milk, eh?" a loud growl rumbled long and low, and Pippin clasped his stomach and frowned, "it is no use, for the beast will not relent until it has been fed. Yon Erestor has a heavy hand with the jam; crusty bread fresh from the ovens, golden butter, blackcurrant jam, oh, come on, there's bound to be enough for both of us!" Pippin sprang to his feet, and it had to require practice, Boromir mused, as he watched the hobbit's agility, and then Pippin hauled upon Boromir's arm to fetch him to his feet.
"Hurry up, for if Merry gets a whiff of fresh bread he'll scoff the entire batch!"
"Pippin…?"
"Aye…?"
"Thank you, for your company," said Boromir, "and for sharing your wisdom, little one."
There was no derogatory tone to this new form of address, and Pippin suspected it was more an accolade than a put down, and so he took this new label on board willingly.
"Come on, big man, today just might be your day in the sun," said the wise little hobbit.
TBC
Thanks to all who reviewed, I have missed penning these two (Boromir/Pippin) characters, for they have a magical, innocent, quality that is a treat to explore! Besides, Billy Boyd was born about eight miles from where I live in Scotland, and his accent is a joy to replicate!
Evendim