A/N: This is my take on what Merry might have thought that day he and his cousin were taken by Uruks. Reviews very welcome.
Disclaimer: Middle-earth and everyone in it is Tolkien's, however much I wish it otherwise. ; )
Merry wasn't one to judge, after all, he was only a hobbit, but he thought Boromir of Gondor was as noble and mighty as they came. The man had been tempted by the ring, but he had fought it, and in the end he had overcome it.
Sometimes, Merry thought, it was not those who managed to never be tempted who were the heroes. Sometimes the heroes were those who felt the temptation, took it, and then redeemed themselves. It seemed more impressive to him; and it seemed more human.
Boromir had done just that. But it seemed his redemption; his fight to prove himself trustworthy again, would come too late. He was valiant, and he was one of the best warriors without a doubt, but even he couldn't triumph against so many Uruk-hai. Merry knew it from the moment the son of the steward came to their rescue. He and Pippin were just hobbits. There was nothing they could do to save him. There was nothing they could do against such odds, and such monsters.
He was shouting, but he couldn't make out what he was saying. Pippin was yelling something, but the words were a blur.
Boromir was silent.
Uruk upon Uruk he cut down. Monster upon monster he slew.
Merry prayed for him.
The battle roared on. They all were injured now, some cuts minor, some a little more serious. Boromir was limping, but still he fought on. Somehow Merry knew it wasn't for himself anymore, somehow he knew that the Gondorian fought only to keep them two hobbits alive a little bit longer.
Just a little longer…
For what? Merry asked himself as he hurled a stone at an approaching Uruk. Why are our lives more important?
Because we are innocent, he realized. Boromir protected the innocence the Shire had nurtured, the innocence that the real world was now destroying. It was a flattering thought, but it made him sad.
Boromir would die for something that couldn't be preserved anyways.
As if on cue, the moment this awful thought entered Merry's head, the largest Uruk yet stepped forward. His bow was raised, his arrow nocked.
"Boromir!" Was that him screaming? No, it was Pippin. Merry was frozen in horror.
Then a thick, blue-black arm knocked the breath from his lungs as he was seized brutally and slung over a huge soldier. Next him, Pippin's cry was cut off as he too was picked up clumsily by huge hands. The ground jerked. They were moving.
Merry struggled frantically, calling for anyone, everyone. He screamed for Frodo, Sam, Strider, Legolas, Gimli, and last of all, Boromir.
The man was kneeling on the ground, a look of numb shock and pain on his face. Three thick black arrows protruded from his chest.
Merry's own chest wrenched in horror. He joined Pippin's wordless scream.
Oh, Boromir, my friend, he thought. You fought so valiantly for us, but it is too late. We've lost our innocence, now. We've lost our last illusion.
We've seen how easily even the mighty fall.
I'd love to know what you think. Review, please, and let me know!