Pippin walked the woods of Lothlorien in solitude, his curly head hung low, his large green eyes swimming with tears. Merry had offered to accompany him, but Pippin had shaken his head and told his best friend 'no'. He wanted to be alone.

Completely, utterly alone. As alone as Gandalf had been when he had hung on to that ledge at the Bridge of Khazad Dum. As alone as Gandalf had been when he fell down into that deep, vast chasm. After he, Pippin, had caused his death.

No one had accused him. Not yet. Although Pippin felt certain they must be thinking it, hating him for it. Had it not been for his stupid, idle curiosity, the dark creatures of Moria would have remained far below, resting in their sinister caverns, silent and unaware of the fellowship. But no, he had alerted them. He, Pippin, had killed the wisest, kindest creature he had ever known.

Pippin nearly stumbled and fell many times. His vision was blurred from tears. His curls fell into his eyes and blinded him further, but it was not enough. He had his sight, his heartbeat, his life... what did Gandalf have?

And what did Frodo have, now that he had taken all their hopes away and, in Frodo's case, even more than that - Frodo had loved Gandalf so much, it had sometimes hurt to watch it.

A branch caught Pippin's hair and scratched his temple, but he was oblivious to the pain as he started running. He ran and ran. He had no idea where he was running to, he only knew he had to get away from his companions, before he could cause any more grief and death. He wanted to run until there was no place left to run to, and then he wanted to simply disappear forever.

Branches cracked behind him, leaves rustled, as heavy footsteps followed him, but Pippin didn't care. He only ran faster, his cape catching on bushes and tree stumps, and he began to hope that whoever was running after him would eventually catch up and end his misery. He didn't care how it would be done. He didn't care how much it would hurt.

He heard his hunter's voice now, too, and it sounded familiar - deep and resonant, desperate. He didn't hear the words it called out to him, and he didn't want to.

Only when a large hand gripped Pippin's shoulder, and an arm wound around him from behind, stopping him despite all his struggling, only then did he stop, because there was no other choice. He wasn't strong enough to tear himself loose. He could only struggle ineffectively and cry out, plead to be let go off.

"No!" he was told, one arm strong around Pippin's waist, the other over his chest, holding him pressed back against a broad chest and a rapidly beating heart. "No..." A voice close to his ear. A man's voice, and the man was kneeling behind him, clutching onto him for dear life. "No."

Pippin sobbed loudly, shuddering with grief and guilt. His head fall forwards, his face against the arm across his collarbone, and he drenched the burgundy, studded sleeve with his tears.

The man did not speak anymore, he simply allowed Pippin's tears to flow freely. Finally, he turned the hobbit and pulled him close, tucking him under his chin while strong arms encased the small figure like a suit of armour. No, something stronger than that: a wall against all that was around them - kindness and beauty, sweetness and hope - and they cried together in their shelter of misery.

When they could cry no more, the man loosened his grip very slightly. Only enough to watch Pippin's face - tear-streaked and pitiful, all the pain of the world washing down over the strong cheek bones, drowning the eyes usually sparkling with merriment and the lips usually smiling brightly.

Pippin blinked up into the kind green eyes, trying, and failing, to rid himself of the sheet of tears blurring his vision. "Let me go," he pleaded in a whisper, too weary and sad to sound determined. "Please."

Boromir shook his head, squinting back his own tears. "Never."

Pippin tried half-heartedly to shift out of the strong arms but inevitably failed. "Please," he begged.

Red-rimmed green eyes held Pippin's gaze, a large hand resting on his cheek and stroking tenderly. "You do not truly want that, little one."

"I do!" Pippin lied, more angrily than he meant to. "I must," he added more meekly.

"Why must you break all our hearts?" Boromir asked with desperation in his voice.

Pippin wanted to speak, explain what he himself thought obvious. Had he not already broken everyone's hearts? Was this not the only thing he could do?

"Do not break mine, I beg of you," Boromir pleaded, and only then did Pippin truly realize the man had been crying as much as he, perhaps more, and looked as desolate as he himself felt.

Pippin's lips parted. He wanted to speak, ask forgiveness, or simply ask why. Instead, he let Boromir continue.

"It is you alone who gives me hope."

Pippin's heart clenched within his chest at the sound of the words and the sight of the trembling lips.

Boromir continued, in halted tones, sobbing. "When Merry said you'd gone to be alone, I knew... Knew with certainty you would not come back. And if you did not come back--" He gasped. "I would rather leave with you and vanish into shadow and darkness as well."

A strangled sound escaped Pippin's mouth. "Why do you say this?" he asked. "I bring nothing but sorrow to those I love. Did you not see me kill Gandalf? Tear out Frodo's heart? What else will I do to hurt you? All of you?"

Boromir shrank back as if struck, but he did not, would not, let go of Pippin, no matter how much the hobbit struggled to free himself.

"You were not there when Frodo was nearly killed because of me, Boromir!" Pippin called out desperately, self-hatred causing his sweet voice to break. "A black rider stabbed him. They would never have found us had I not thought my empty stomach more important than my own cousin's safety."

Boromir wished to speak, but Pippin's eyes silenced him.

"And then I killed the gentlest being I know. The one who would have led us all the way to Mordor safely, with wisdom and a kind heart. I killed him with my stupid curiosity. I killed the one whom Frodo loved above all!" He was sobbing as much as speaking now, and it tore Boromir in two. "I beg of you to let me go!" Pippin implored, big eyes full of terror and shame. "For else I may be the end of you all."

"No one blames you but yourself, Pippin. Not a single one of us. Not even Frodo. You must know he loves you dearly." Boromir was desperate to make Pippin understand.

"He loved Gandalf more dearly, and I took him from him."

"You did not!" Boromir grabbed Pippin's shoulders harder and shook him a little. "You meant no harm! You could never hurt anyone with intent." He swallowed. "I saw how you cried over his loss. I saw how not even Merry could console you. How can I make you understand that there is nothing but sweetness in you? That it is your innocent charm that helps us all to cope with this dark, heavy burden?"

Pippin's eyes stung with tears. He wished Boromir would let go of him, or take him fully in his arms instead, so that he might forget who he was and what he had done.

"I cannot let you leave, my little one. For with you, any hope we have of brightness would be gone, and any hope my own confused soul might have of finding wisdom over malice would be lost forever."

Pippin trembled violently. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Boromir combed damp curls back from Pippin's face, but left his other hand firmly around the narrow back to prevent the hobbit's escape. "That if you left, my descent into darkness would be a certainty. Already, I hear the call of the ring, but I can resist for as long as there is something here for which I care more. Do not leave me, little one. Please."

Pippin sobbed. "Don't call me that, Boromir."

Boromir's eyes filled with tears once more. "I'm so sorry. I did not mean to cause more pain. Forget I spoke of this." He lowered his gaze unhappily.

"No. No..." Pippin tried to explain, his fingers digging into Boromir's shoulders, finding the solid strength he craved right there, under his tiny fingertips. "I cannot bear such tender words when I am so undeserving."

Boromir looked up, the wet sheen of his eyes like morning mist over a lake. "Were you like me," he began softly, as though his sadness had suddenly instilled him with a desperate calm. "You would be undeserving. I am weak and easily tempted by evil. You do not give a thought to the powers of the ring, only to the feelings of your friends. But I..."

Pippin listened attentively. He owed this man he loved so dearly and so secretly that much before running away from him, and from all he'd ever known.

"I crave it," Boromir said gravely. "I wish to do good, but I would do evil. I need it, but it would destroy me. Pippin." He held the hobbit's arms tight, eyes focused on him imploringly. "I have no anchor to keep me from drifting into darkness, if you should leave and take my hope with you."

Pippin gasped, the pleading in the man's eyes finally getting through to him. "You mean to say--"

"That I depend on you. That I cannot lose you without losing myself!" Boromir inhaled sharply. "Do you not see how much I need you?"

Pippin searched his mind for more reasons, needed to tell Boromir one thing, just one, that would make the man let go of him. But he could think of nothing to outweigh the great pain on Boromir's face. Could he, Pippin, truly be so worthy? Did Boromir really mean what he said?

Guilt and shame and terrifying hope warred in Pippin's mind, and his limbs and his very heart gave way under the burden, but Boromir caught him easily and lifted him. "Do not take me back to the camp yet," Pippin pleaded, his arms hanging limply around Boromir's neck.

"No. We will remain alone for a time." Boromir carried his little bundle of misery to the bank of the river, where he sat him down gently and dampened a strip of fabric from his own shirt in the water. "Let me take care of you, Pippin," he said with infinite tenderness.

Pippin blinked and nodded, his tears flowing yet again, but this time Boromir's care was the reason.

Dabbing gently at the tear-streaked cheeks, Boromir cleaned Pippin's face and removed the salty sting of pain from his skin's surface at least; to heal the little one's soul would be harder.

"Come. Sit with me." Boromir settled on the riverbank and pulled an unresisting Pippin into his lap. He cradled him like a child, rocking him gently, and soon, Pippin began to feel calmer and eventually dozed off a little.

Boromir held him, his eyes closed and his chin resting on the crown of Pippin's head. Was he wrong to place the burden of his own weakness on the little one? Was it selfish? Or was it crucial for the survival of the fellowship, for if they began to weaken to the ring, all would be lost.

So many questions, and Boromir could not even begin to answer them. The only answer he had to each and every question on his own mind was that to him, Pippin meant everything.

If circumstances should ever be such that they would lose Pippin, he knew he would despair. He would fight for him and defend him at the cost of his own life, but he could not hope to go on without him. He knew this with such certainty, a deep dread came over him.

How much time did they have? Did their quest have any hope at all, or were they merely delaying the inevitable fall of Middle Earth?

Boromir sighed heavily. In his arms, Pippin stirred, nuzzling closer. "Hush. Rest easy," Boromir whispered into dark curls. "Nothing will harm you as long as I still have a breath left."

Pippin murmured sleepily, his fingers threading into Boromir's cape.

Boromir stroked the lush locks from Pippin's forehead, trying not to notice the smooth skin and fine features, the sweet mouth and enormous eyes. He bemoaned the loss of the mischievous smile having left that face of late. What he would not give to see Pippin smile again. The man touched the back of his hand to a smooth cheek and was surprised when a small hand reached up to touch his own.

"What you said before..." Pippin murmured sleepily, his voice sad and lacking its usual liveliness. "Did you mean it?"

Boromir did not need to ask what Pippin referred to. "That and more."

Pippin raised his head, his gaze questioning. "More?"

Boromir nodded slowly, then bent his head and kissed Pippin lightly on the lips. He felt the hobbit's sigh more than he heard it, the slightest vibration against his own lips.

Pippin stared at him wide-eyed.

At first, Boromir thought he had gone too far, but before words of apology could leave his lips, Pippin pulled himself up by Boromir's neck and kissed him of his own accord - a light, nipping kiss only a hobbit could devise.

Boromir fought against his arousal, pouring his entire being into tenderness instead. "Oh, Pippin." He kissed him again, and again, while his hand rubbed soothing circles on the heaving, narrow chest.

Pippin whimpered softly, clutching onto Boromir, nuzzling against his neck, then finding his way back to Boromir's face, where their lips met once again. The slight scratch of the man's beard felt comforting, like the arms around Pippin and the warmth of the tall, strong body enveloping him securely.

Secure. Yes, that was what it felt like to be in Boromir's arms. Pippin knew the others did not really trust the man, but he did. If Boromir held him, he could stay; he would not need to disappear as he had thought he must. Perhaps it was the weakness they both felt in themselves that bound them together. Perhaps it was a deep understanding. But whatever it was, it would keep them both safe within each other, if not within all the world. For the time being, Pippin could cope that way, if only Boromir continued to hold him.

The strong arms tightened around his small body, and he sighed against Boromir's neck, letting the man's warm, earthy scent mask all the cruelties of life and lull him into exhausted slumber.

Safe in the certainty that Pippin had fallen asleep, Boromir stroked over the soft curls beneath his chin. "My Pippin. My little one." And with a sigh, "I love you."

End