Author's Note: Hi. This is my first fic. (I just needed to get that
out.) To give you a bit of an intro, this story will be about Boromir's
feelings and reactions near the end of the movie, so if you're a Boromir
fan that is in denial about his death, please just don't read this so you
won't be mad at me.
Like I usually do, I would try to combine the versions of Boromir's death from both the movie version of The Fellowship of the Ring and Tolkien's book, The Two Towers, but the two versions are very different at this particular point. Plus, he has already written the book. I wanted to try something different that is my own style. I apologize for my more modern writing style – I know I'm no Shakespeare, but I'm working on it. :)
I, obviously, don't appreciate flamers – but if you spot an error in my work, feel free to point it out. Thank you for reading and please review – please! You know that all writers like to know that someone out there has at least read their story.
I could see the little ones being pursued by a large group of Orcs. They were racing down the hillside, fear in their large eyes. I knew I must protect them; they were so small and would not stand a chance against the tall, powerful Orcs. I raced across a weathered stone bridge, the cold air whipping past me, the chill freezing yet exhilarating.
An Orc stood menacingly, its axe raised high against two of the Halflings. With a yell, I swept it back, snatching its own weapon. It snarled at me; I could smell its foul stench and hated it more for all its kind had done to my land, my people. I felled it in anger, digging the axe deep into the Orc's chest. It grunted and collapsed to the forest floor. Turning to face the multitude of fell beasts, I threw a dagger at another approaching Orc. Every death of theirs was a victory for Gondor, another avenging act for the suffering they had inflicted. It hit the Orc squarely, plunging it violently to the ground. Leaves scattered, their dusty hues obscured by the bloodstains.
Still more came. Their vast army, only a small part of their number, charged toward the hobbits, Merry and Pippin, and I. I knew that the only way we could escape with our lives would be with the assistance of the others. I seized from my belt the Horn of Gondor, and from it I issued long blasts, sparing only seconds to catch my breath. Surely they would hear it and come rushing to our aid. I motioned for Merry and Pippin to keep on the move, and we continued down the hillside, skirting craggy rocks and thick foliage. "Run! Run!" I called desperately. I sprinted down a set of ancient steps, the hobbits close by. A shadow of fear was looming in my mind. I have fought many battles, stood against impossible odds, but something was wrong, and I could not shake off the feeling that doom was impending. I did not like this prophetic warning.
I hacked and slashed at two more Orcs, rushing in for the kill easily. The glory of battle was rushing through my veins, filling me with energy. And I felt invincible for an instant – for a mere moment the One Ring did not matter, nothing was important and I could face up to any thing – and I was struck down.
Everything happened rapidly. I stood, anxious to battle, when I saw the Orc, out of the corner of my eye. It was merely another creature of darkness, some one to be slain and left to rot, forgotten. It raised his crude bow and aimed at me, and before I could raise my sword I was pierced by the black feathered arrow. I staggered from the foul assault. Pain arced through my left shoulder, piercing my every being. Unable to bear the fierce pain, I dropped to my knees. The Halflings were staring at me in shock, their innocent faces soiled with grime from their scramble through Amon Hen. I looked back at their small faces. No, I could not let them down. Though I knew now that my time was over, I could still save them.
I lurched to my feet, ignoring the sharp pain that coursed through me. More Orcs rushed against me, knowing that I was weakened, mortally wounded. I knew they were fools, minions, and though I might be injured, they were no match for a man of Gondor. I raised my sword and hewed through their filthy ranks. But another arrow pierced me, this one in my stomach, knocking me again to my knees. The pain was becoming a dull ache, and I knew that my time was drawing to a close. I tried to yell at the hobbits to run, but it required too much energy and concentration to call to them.
Forcing myself to rise, I swung again at the Orcs. Their faces leered at me; the world spun. The evil Orc still stood at a distance, watching the fight. Again it took aim and my chest was pierced. The force propelled me to fall, and I was at the Halflings' level again. Merry and Pippin were standing yet next to me, their eyes filled with fear and distress. I took in a great breath, and then another and another. I could not speak for fear that I would stop breathing forever. Their eyes were filled with sorrow and with resignation they took up their small swords in a futile attempt to defeat their foes, yelling, "Shire" in their small but valiant voices.
With horror, I watched as the Orcs easily intercepted their attack and swept them up. The hobbits disappeared from my line of sight and all seemed to become still and silent for one moment, but the one Orc remained.
I could not move as it approached me. The imprint of a white hand was emblazoned on its head, which only added to its savage, primitive appearance. The Orc growled at me in hatred and lifted up its bow to take aim for the last time. The bow creaked as it nocked it. A lesser man would have begged for mercy, but I am of a long line of the noble blood of the Stewards of Gondor. I would accept my death valiantly.
Just as it raised its bow, Aragorn came charging into the fray and intercepted the fell being, swiftly knocking the arrow off target. Snarling, the beast engaged its new enemy. The sun shone through the trees and illuminated Aragorn's face, making him seem as if he were the embodiment of a Valar come to Middle-earth. They continued sword-to-sword, and the heir to Gondor lost his sword and it was flung away. The Orc then hurled its shield at Aragorn, and Aragorn was pinned between the shield and a large tree. Quickly, Aragorn ducked under the shield and with a deft lunge, stabbed it in the leg with his dagger. The Orc roared at him and pulled out the dagger easily, and flung it at Aragorn in return, who had retrieved his sword and parried the attack. They began to battle again, and Aragorn began to attain the offensive. Nimbly, he batted the Orc's weapon away and severed an arm, and then thrust his own sword into its chest, but the Orc merely glowered and pulled the sword deeper into itself, in the process getting closer to Aragorn. Aragorn pulled his sword out of the beast and decapitated the Orc. The head flew off and its fetid body collapsed to the ground.
Aragorn stepped back from the carnage and ran over to me. Long since I had collapsed and watched the battle amidst strewn bodies. I needed to tell him what had happened. He knelt beside me. "They took the little ones," I gasped out. The words left me short of breath. Black dots clouded my vision.
"Be still," Aragorn said, his noble face concerned.
I needed to know one thing, though I was struck by shame as I asked it. "Frodo, where is Frodo?" I forced out.
"I let Frodo go," Aragorn replied, his countenance solemn.
So he was to continue alone on his journey. That would be best. I had fallen to the Ring's calling myself, and Frodo would not be safe among the others. I felt anguish pour off of me as I recalled my attack on him to steal the Ring. My mind had been clouded, but I knew that it had been no one's fault but mine that it had happened. "Then you did what I could not. I tried to take the Ring from him," I said.
Aragorn did not look angry with me, though I had expected that to be his reaction. "The Ring is beyond our reach now," he said gravely.
"Forgive me, I did not see it," I pleaded. I knew Frodo would not forgive me, but I wanted to die knowing that some one would know I was repentant.
"No, Boromir, you fought bravely! You have kept your honor," He said softly. He reached to pull the arrows from my flesh, but I resisted. Perhaps he thought that I could yet be saved.
"Leave it!" I pleaded. "It is over. The world of men will fall, and all will come to darkness, and my city to ruin." For my father, the Steward and ruler of Gondor, was growing old; and I could not take his place. I also knew that Faramir would want to take the throne but most likely would be rejected by my father. The future would bring no brightness and in my heart I had known this before the Fellowship set out on this quest.
"I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you I will not let the White City fall, nor our people fail!" Aragorn promised me. As he said this I knew he had decided to take his rightful ownership of the throne, as the heir of the kingship of our land.
"Our people? Our people," I said weakly. I outstretched my hand so that Aragorn could give me my sword, and I grasped its hilt, resting it on my chest. The forest was growing dimmer; belatedly I could recognize Legolas standing not far off and Gimli rushing up. The three had been too late to save me but I was glad that they had survived.
I looked up at Aragorn. Several months ago I had despised him, but during the journey all members of the Fellowship had developed camaraderie, though we had never been close. Now, he seemed more kingly and I felt safe in the belief that he would return Gondor to its former glory. Peace overtook me and I breathed my last breath before departing from this place forever.
"Be at peace, son of Gondor." After a moment of peace, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli turned away from their departed comrade with sorrow eminent in their faces. A proper funeral would be needed, and they would have many things to do.
Like I usually do, I would try to combine the versions of Boromir's death from both the movie version of The Fellowship of the Ring and Tolkien's book, The Two Towers, but the two versions are very different at this particular point. Plus, he has already written the book. I wanted to try something different that is my own style. I apologize for my more modern writing style – I know I'm no Shakespeare, but I'm working on it. :)
I, obviously, don't appreciate flamers – but if you spot an error in my work, feel free to point it out. Thank you for reading and please review – please! You know that all writers like to know that someone out there has at least read their story.
I could see the little ones being pursued by a large group of Orcs. They were racing down the hillside, fear in their large eyes. I knew I must protect them; they were so small and would not stand a chance against the tall, powerful Orcs. I raced across a weathered stone bridge, the cold air whipping past me, the chill freezing yet exhilarating.
An Orc stood menacingly, its axe raised high against two of the Halflings. With a yell, I swept it back, snatching its own weapon. It snarled at me; I could smell its foul stench and hated it more for all its kind had done to my land, my people. I felled it in anger, digging the axe deep into the Orc's chest. It grunted and collapsed to the forest floor. Turning to face the multitude of fell beasts, I threw a dagger at another approaching Orc. Every death of theirs was a victory for Gondor, another avenging act for the suffering they had inflicted. It hit the Orc squarely, plunging it violently to the ground. Leaves scattered, their dusty hues obscured by the bloodstains.
Still more came. Their vast army, only a small part of their number, charged toward the hobbits, Merry and Pippin, and I. I knew that the only way we could escape with our lives would be with the assistance of the others. I seized from my belt the Horn of Gondor, and from it I issued long blasts, sparing only seconds to catch my breath. Surely they would hear it and come rushing to our aid. I motioned for Merry and Pippin to keep on the move, and we continued down the hillside, skirting craggy rocks and thick foliage. "Run! Run!" I called desperately. I sprinted down a set of ancient steps, the hobbits close by. A shadow of fear was looming in my mind. I have fought many battles, stood against impossible odds, but something was wrong, and I could not shake off the feeling that doom was impending. I did not like this prophetic warning.
I hacked and slashed at two more Orcs, rushing in for the kill easily. The glory of battle was rushing through my veins, filling me with energy. And I felt invincible for an instant – for a mere moment the One Ring did not matter, nothing was important and I could face up to any thing – and I was struck down.
Everything happened rapidly. I stood, anxious to battle, when I saw the Orc, out of the corner of my eye. It was merely another creature of darkness, some one to be slain and left to rot, forgotten. It raised his crude bow and aimed at me, and before I could raise my sword I was pierced by the black feathered arrow. I staggered from the foul assault. Pain arced through my left shoulder, piercing my every being. Unable to bear the fierce pain, I dropped to my knees. The Halflings were staring at me in shock, their innocent faces soiled with grime from their scramble through Amon Hen. I looked back at their small faces. No, I could not let them down. Though I knew now that my time was over, I could still save them.
I lurched to my feet, ignoring the sharp pain that coursed through me. More Orcs rushed against me, knowing that I was weakened, mortally wounded. I knew they were fools, minions, and though I might be injured, they were no match for a man of Gondor. I raised my sword and hewed through their filthy ranks. But another arrow pierced me, this one in my stomach, knocking me again to my knees. The pain was becoming a dull ache, and I knew that my time was drawing to a close. I tried to yell at the hobbits to run, but it required too much energy and concentration to call to them.
Forcing myself to rise, I swung again at the Orcs. Their faces leered at me; the world spun. The evil Orc still stood at a distance, watching the fight. Again it took aim and my chest was pierced. The force propelled me to fall, and I was at the Halflings' level again. Merry and Pippin were standing yet next to me, their eyes filled with fear and distress. I took in a great breath, and then another and another. I could not speak for fear that I would stop breathing forever. Their eyes were filled with sorrow and with resignation they took up their small swords in a futile attempt to defeat their foes, yelling, "Shire" in their small but valiant voices.
With horror, I watched as the Orcs easily intercepted their attack and swept them up. The hobbits disappeared from my line of sight and all seemed to become still and silent for one moment, but the one Orc remained.
I could not move as it approached me. The imprint of a white hand was emblazoned on its head, which only added to its savage, primitive appearance. The Orc growled at me in hatred and lifted up its bow to take aim for the last time. The bow creaked as it nocked it. A lesser man would have begged for mercy, but I am of a long line of the noble blood of the Stewards of Gondor. I would accept my death valiantly.
Just as it raised its bow, Aragorn came charging into the fray and intercepted the fell being, swiftly knocking the arrow off target. Snarling, the beast engaged its new enemy. The sun shone through the trees and illuminated Aragorn's face, making him seem as if he were the embodiment of a Valar come to Middle-earth. They continued sword-to-sword, and the heir to Gondor lost his sword and it was flung away. The Orc then hurled its shield at Aragorn, and Aragorn was pinned between the shield and a large tree. Quickly, Aragorn ducked under the shield and with a deft lunge, stabbed it in the leg with his dagger. The Orc roared at him and pulled out the dagger easily, and flung it at Aragorn in return, who had retrieved his sword and parried the attack. They began to battle again, and Aragorn began to attain the offensive. Nimbly, he batted the Orc's weapon away and severed an arm, and then thrust his own sword into its chest, but the Orc merely glowered and pulled the sword deeper into itself, in the process getting closer to Aragorn. Aragorn pulled his sword out of the beast and decapitated the Orc. The head flew off and its fetid body collapsed to the ground.
Aragorn stepped back from the carnage and ran over to me. Long since I had collapsed and watched the battle amidst strewn bodies. I needed to tell him what had happened. He knelt beside me. "They took the little ones," I gasped out. The words left me short of breath. Black dots clouded my vision.
"Be still," Aragorn said, his noble face concerned.
I needed to know one thing, though I was struck by shame as I asked it. "Frodo, where is Frodo?" I forced out.
"I let Frodo go," Aragorn replied, his countenance solemn.
So he was to continue alone on his journey. That would be best. I had fallen to the Ring's calling myself, and Frodo would not be safe among the others. I felt anguish pour off of me as I recalled my attack on him to steal the Ring. My mind had been clouded, but I knew that it had been no one's fault but mine that it had happened. "Then you did what I could not. I tried to take the Ring from him," I said.
Aragorn did not look angry with me, though I had expected that to be his reaction. "The Ring is beyond our reach now," he said gravely.
"Forgive me, I did not see it," I pleaded. I knew Frodo would not forgive me, but I wanted to die knowing that some one would know I was repentant.
"No, Boromir, you fought bravely! You have kept your honor," He said softly. He reached to pull the arrows from my flesh, but I resisted. Perhaps he thought that I could yet be saved.
"Leave it!" I pleaded. "It is over. The world of men will fall, and all will come to darkness, and my city to ruin." For my father, the Steward and ruler of Gondor, was growing old; and I could not take his place. I also knew that Faramir would want to take the throne but most likely would be rejected by my father. The future would bring no brightness and in my heart I had known this before the Fellowship set out on this quest.
"I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you I will not let the White City fall, nor our people fail!" Aragorn promised me. As he said this I knew he had decided to take his rightful ownership of the throne, as the heir of the kingship of our land.
"Our people? Our people," I said weakly. I outstretched my hand so that Aragorn could give me my sword, and I grasped its hilt, resting it on my chest. The forest was growing dimmer; belatedly I could recognize Legolas standing not far off and Gimli rushing up. The three had been too late to save me but I was glad that they had survived.
I looked up at Aragorn. Several months ago I had despised him, but during the journey all members of the Fellowship had developed camaraderie, though we had never been close. Now, he seemed more kingly and I felt safe in the belief that he would return Gondor to its former glory. Peace overtook me and I breathed my last breath before departing from this place forever.
"Be at peace, son of Gondor." After a moment of peace, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli turned away from their departed comrade with sorrow eminent in their faces. A proper funeral would be needed, and they would have many things to do.