Pippin shivered. It wasn't cold, on the outside. Inside he felt that his heart was frozen. Blood flowed, icy cold, through his veins. He was vaguely aware of his heart pounding in his throat. A jagged rock was stabbing into his back, but he was afraid to move, even if it would ease the pain. This had to be a nightmare, it just had to be. Boromir couldn't be dead. He was too strong, too brave, too noble…
And he was gone. The last Pippin had seen of Boromir's last moments were clouded, he couldn't think properly under the orc brew. Three arrows had protruded from his chest. He'd heard another orc draw back his bow, the sound piercing the air like a death knell.
He'd died trying to save them. He'd given his life for Pippin and Merry, and yet here they were, trapped. Pippin tried to fight sleep, tried to stay alert, tried to keep his eyelids from dropping, but he soon lost the battle. His mind slipped away from the conscious nightmare, and Pippin had no choice but to follow.
He noticed the smell first. Sweet, warm summer air, filled with the scent of foxglove and blueberry pie. He was back in the Shire. Oh, how good it was to be home. He walked over to a nearby tree, leaned back, and took in another deep breath. His nose stung with the scent of orc. A horrid, rank smell that made his eyes water. Arms wrapped around him. The tree was gone, replaced with a leering face. He managed to turn enough to see great yellow eyes glaring back at him. Pippin wanted to scream, but only a small note squeaked past his now gagged mouth.
Boromir was doubled over in front of him. Suddenly, Aragorn leapt into view. Pippin saw orc after orc slain, one by one falling to the ground. An arrow whizzed past his ear. Pippin's head spun. He felt a throbbing pain in his abdomen. His stomach was pierced, in three places, he noticed as he looked down in horror. A deep voice filled his head. Even the smallest corners of his mind echoed as he desperately tried to figure out the speaker.
"Do not worry, little one," it said, "I will be here for you, always."
It couldn't be. It couldn't be Boromir, because Boromir was dead. He'd seen him with his own eyes, he'd seen him struck down, seen him suffer, seen him die.
"Live for me, Pippin."
He reached down to touch his stomach. Blood trickled over his fingers and his thoughts began to swim. Pippin shook himself awake.
Soft breath tickled Pippin's cheek. It was Merry. Merry was still alive. They still had a chance.
They would make it through.
For Boromir.