Of Dwarves and Men {Boromir/LOTR}

Chapter 3: Always think...unless you're Boromir

Chapter 3:

Always think...unless you're Boromir

With the breaking dawn comes the typical silence of those not claiming to be "morning people." But as the Valar so works, one of the only attributes I take from my mother, other than her sarcasm, is a great energy in the morning. And thus, as I bounce over to the campfire in a jazzed excitement, the others groan in annoyance. And to be specific in my naming, Gimli growls at me as I accidentally jump over his crouched head. Yes, accidentally.

It seems as though the sun has awoken earlier than expected, peaking its head over the horizon with enough light to switch on our consciousness. And thus, we eat in due speed, awaiting those of nighttime favor to fully come upon their senses. They will be little help in a state of danger if they cannot keep their eyes open.

Sam mans the fire as the others chat idly by. Ruelin and Legolas, dream couple, are on watch over the horizon, jobs being lax as we are high upon an Eregion hill. Gimli is trying to corner Gandalf into conversation, most likely relating to the path on which we travel. Aragorn and Boromir have taken to teaching Merry and Pippin proper sword fighting while Frerin, Cashel, and Frodo watch on. Then there is me, lost on what to do with my overwhelming energy and hyper tendencies.

"Get away from the blade, Pippin...on your toes. Good, very good! I want you to react, not think," Boromir commands of the small hobbit, much like an older brother does for the younger. If I wasn't so irritated with the man of Gondor, I would take to applauding his kindness with the hobbits. But as it so stands, I have a hard time ignoring the error of his words.

"Should not be too hard..." Sam mumbles from near the campfire, not breaking his stare at the burning embers. A small giggle escapes my lips at his very words, no matter how cruel they are. Pippin may not be the sharpest sword in the armory, but he has a golden heart of great intention. Only a virtuous hobbit would choose to partake in this adventure.

"I do believe that is the worst instruction I've ever heard..." I remark with a pointed glare at the man of Gondor. Breaking it off, I look to the wandering eyes of Pippin, catching them with my own before continuing with a grin. "Always think, Pippin, or you'll end up like Boromir here."

"Move your feet, hobbits. And shut the hell up, Princess," Boromir orders, not paying any second to return my gaze. I growl in anger at his words, seeing as I dislike the very mention of my title and his tone of voice. I am not one to be commanded, and Boromir surely won't be the one to change that.

"You should make her...you know, by kissing her," Ruelin adds in from her perch upon a log and near Legolas' side. If Boromir hears her words, he makes no mention of it, continuing his sword fight with the two hobbits. As I have come to conclude, Boromir must be nearly deaf and overly dumb in order to miss the innuendos that Ruelin keeps throwing out.

"Quite good, Pippin," Merry compliments Pippin like the great friend he is. Honestly, I desire a friendship like that of the two hobbits fighting before my eyes. But as I come to reason, the only explanation for their great companionship is the innocence that keeps them connected. It's impossible for a person like me to have a friend like that. But as friends go, all Pippin needs for grateful acknowledgement is a "Thanks."

"If anyone were to ask for my opinion, which I note they have not, I would say we are taking the long way round. Gandalf, we can pass through the Mines of Moria. My uncle, Fundin, would give us a royal welcome," Gimli remarks, obviously succeeding in cornering Gandalf. I scoff at the idea of Moria's mines, seeing as they lost contact many moons ago. Smaug could be living there for all we know.