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Far, far above, the sky was inky-black, sheltering the world away from any peaks of sunshine, forming an eerie blanket of shadow. Somewhere nearby, a river was sloshing gently, a white noise of sorts that lulled the others to slumber. Ever so quietly, a distant nocturnal bird could be heard crowing softly. It was a comforting sound.
Boromir rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had been on watch leaning against a tree for only a few hours, but already sleep was clawing at him, pulling him under and into the darkness. He snapped his eyes open — it was not yet time for him to sleep. He looked over the fellowship, a group of people he had come to call his friends. Their sleeping patterns were something that he’d come to notice over time while getting to know them all better.
Legolas, graceful in all he did, slept alike an angel. He may complain about his hair being “disheveled” come dusk, but Boromir personally couldn’t see any difference in the elf’s fair hair. Gimli was certainly the loudest; he snored loud gusts of air all through the night. Boromir could hear the rumble of it now. Usually, such a thing would be bothersome, but the noise was oddly… comforting. Boromir finds hadn’t felt comfortable in a while. Aragorn, being a ranger and all, was slightly hard of sleeping, but once he nodded off, he was out like a light. Boromir was glad of this; he’d hate for Aragorn to trouble himself attempting to stay alert when they had designated watchers.
His favourite, however, was how the four hobbits would sleep. The little fellows would all clump up into a big pile, indistinguishable from one another, random limbs or hairy feet sticking out every which way. Merry had explained that the hobbits weren’t used to having to sleep out in the cold, and cuddling up created a warmth for them that felt like home. Such news touched Boromir’s heart. He oftentimes found himself worried for the little ones, considering their inexperience on such a mission as their quest, so hearing that they at least had found some kind of a comfort was nothing short of reassuring.
His train of thought drifting through his list of friends was cut glaringly short. Boromir tried unfruitfully to remove the thought of Gandalf from his mind, heart aching. Gandalf, he had learned after countless unsettling situations, was a strange sleeper. More often than not, his eyes would remain open during slumber, and he also snored occasionally, a light and scratchy sound. The wizard could sleep in any environment — be it on cold hard rock or atop a tree, so far as Boromir could tell. But alas, the wise wizard had fallen, and Boromir was always taught to forget what was gone and focus on what’s to come.
(Despite these teachings, grief tears at his heart, the screams of his friends reverberating in his skull. He does all he can to push it down.)
Suddenly, a noise like a tree branch cracking sounded behind Boromir, who jumped out of his sleepy reverie. He stepped quickly around the tree, preparing for a dangerous creature or even (he prays not) a Black Rider, but instead has to cast his glance downwards to find… a sheepish looking Peregrin. He lets out a heavy sigh of relief.
“Uh… hello, Boromir!” Pippin smiles somewhat awkwardly. Boromir lets his guard down and fixes Pippin with a curious glance instead. “…I was just, you know.”
“No, I do not. What were you doing, pray tell, master hobbit?” Boromir asks suspiciously. Pippin’s smile drops, and he groans irritatedly.
“It’s just— I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t think anybody would notice. I was going to take a walk.” Pippin admits, eyes downcast. Worry strikes Boromir like a spear.
“Well! You ought not to, small one, as we are in dangerous times where enemies could be around any corner. It’s never safe to be alone, in the dark no less.” Boromir reprimands, hand falling kindly on Pippin’s shoulder. Pippin bristles, and Boromir hesitates before backtracking.
“Be honest with me, Peregrin. What is it that ails you?” Pippin frowns slightly at the use of his true name, a small movement that wouldn’t be perceived by an untrained eye. Boromir remembers with a jolt that almost only Gandalf called him that. He curses himself for his stupidity.
Of course Pippin was mourning the late wizard. He had known Gandalf ever since he was a small child, as far as Boromir knew, and even though the two were notorious for how often they fought, Boromir was sure they were close on some level. The difference in their ages and maturity created a divide between them, but that shouldn’t be enough reason for them to dislike one another, he thought.
“Is it… about Gandalf?” Boromir asks tentatively. Pippin’s eyes snap to him immediately, and that’s as good an answer as any. “Would you like to talk about it? My brother, while not having dealt with the loss of somebody close, has many a time experienced quails. Discussion always seems to help, for the two of us at least.”
Pippin seems reluctant at first, but as Boromir spoke he seemed to grow less apprehensive. His eyes softened and took on more of an easy demeanour.
“…Okay.” He says, then stays silent, apparently thinking through his words. Boromir waits patiently, sitting down and leaning on the tree trunk once more. Pippin (despite being approximately the same height standing as Boromir is sitting) joins him on the grassy ground.
“It’s just…” Pippin takes a sigh and opens his eyes. Boromir is sorry to note the hint of sadness in them. “I can’t help feeling that Gandalf’s death was my fault.”
Boromir’s heart drops. “Pippin—“
“Don’t start!” Pippin rushes out. “I know already what you’re going to say, ‘that’s preposterous! Don’t be silly!’. Merry’s already said everything you’re thinking now. That doesn’t make me ponder it any less.”
Boromir is at a loss for words and feels terrible for it when he sees tears prick at Pippin’s eyes. “Could you… tell me why you think this, little one?”
“Because, if I hadn't been such a Fool of a Took, as Gandalf would always say, I wouldn’t have dropped that stone down the well and made that clang, then we wouldn’t have been attacked, and we wouldn’t have come in contact with the Balrog, and then Gandalf wouldn’t have—…” Pippin cuts off, wiping his eyes quietly. Boromir is suddenly and painfully reminded of a time in his boyhood when he was comforting Faramir after their father had striked him for doing an ill job sharpening his sword. The looks in Faramir and Pippin’s eyes were shockingly similar.
(Boromir, in a tearful rage, had confronted their father and ticked him off until he received a striking of his own. Faramir had been hit many times before. Boromir never had.
The injustice only made the mark sting all the more.)
“Pippin, you cannot truly believe that!” Boromir says, shockingly determined as opposed to his usual gentle disposition. The unfairness of his memory brought forth his grit. Pippin looks at him confused. He continued, lowering his voice so as not to wake the others, “Not any of that is your fault. Yes, dropping that rock down the well was foolish, but those goblins were soon to attack us either way, should you have done it or not. And even then, Gandalf made the choice to save us from the Balrog, and I don’t believe he wanted to die, but he chose to sacrifice himself for us. For you.” Boromir stresses, trying his best to sway Pippin from his guilt.
Pippin’s eyes are misty when they make contact with his own, but there is a spark of trust (of hope) in his eyes.
“Oh. I suppose I hadn’t thought about it that way.” Pippin said slowly. A small smile drew itself onto his mouth. “Thank you, Boromir. I’m sure Gandalf would have been sorry to leave a man such as you.”
Boromir huffs a small sigh. “I’m sorry to say, master hobbit, but I’m not so sure Gandalf was any fond of me. It’s you he would miss.” Pippin’s jaw drops in outrage.
“Me?! Have you gone mad? Gandalf hated me!” Pippin exclaimed before slapping a hand over his mouth. Gimli stopped snoring for a frightening moment, before rolling over and starting his small rumbling snores over again. Pippin continued in a whisper, “Gandalf always resented my foolishness, probably ever since I was but a lad. And I get it now, too — I realise how he’s all wise and whimsical, and, well, I’m just an immature hobbit. When I was a lad, he was just Bilbo’s odd friend who would perform firework displays.” Pippin shrugs. Then, he perks up, smiling with admiration. “But you, Boromir, why wouldn’t he be fond of you? You’re brave, kind, witty, you protect others and you always help those who need it. You’re nothing short of an admirable soldier.”
Boromir blushes, scratching his neck in fluster. He was not used to receiving compliments from anybody aside from his family, and even then his father would place him on an impossible pedestal and his brother would have to shout his appreciation up from the ground below. “I don’t know about all that, but thank you. The truth is, I believe Gandalf foretold something dark within me. He begrudged all of my family in some way; my father, while good at heart, is a cruel man. I worry that I may have adopted such cruelty, too, over time. Perhaps Gandalf thinks the same.” Boromir admits.
Pippin’s face is something to behold, his bottom lip being gnawed between his teeth and brows furrowed in conviction. “No.” He says simply. “Gandalf surely couldn’t hate you for that reason; even I’m not foolish enough to hate you for it, let alone him! Your father is cruel? So be it, but you are not him! You are the kindest man I know, not that I have much ground for comparison. Still! Surely Gandalf could see this, or else he clearly isn’t so wise as we preach.”
That shocks a laugh out of Boromir, who has to cover his mouth to disguise his chuckle. Pippin grins.
“Right, that’s enough out of you, little one. How about you get back to bed, then?” Boromir says softly, ruffling the curly blonde hair on Pippins head. The young hobbit rolls his eyes but hoists himself up, wandering back to the hobbit-pile and snuggling up between Frodo’s leg and Merry’s. His arms stretches outwards like a star and his hand falls right by Sam’s head. Boromir is so keen of the display that he has to stifle his chuckle yet again. Pippin falls asleep in this awkward seeming position within minutes, snuggling closer to the others in his sleep.
Boromir knows in his heart that this young hobbit is going to face challenges of all kinds in the near future. He may have to battle temptation or suffer from wounds of uncaring blades.
Right now, though, this doesn’t yet matter, and Pippin is free to have comfort and love surrounding him. With a smile fresh on his face, Boromir lets himself drift off to sleep as Legolas awakens to take over watch.