A/N: I don't own any of the characters contained in this story. Nope. Not a single one. Don't sue me. Want to read more? Pick up the Trilogy and read it. It's incredible. Oh, and Thanks to the ElvenArchers, for putting up with my obsession. :-) Yes, I messed with the timeline a bit, but not very much. Here Boromir is killed the day after he tries to take the ring from Frodo and not on the same day. Cool? Song Lyrics come from "Staring At The Sun" by the Booda Velvets. Oh, and if you'd review, I'd love you forever! Happy reading.
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No one stares at the sun for too long for fear of blinding,
What if you knew it would never rise again?
Boromir looked at the sunrise. He didn't know it'd be the last one he'd ever see, but it didn't matter. He was watching it like he'd never seen one before. The quiet beauty of it all was calming, and it helped him think. And there was much to think about.
The ring had been on his mind all night. His dreams woke him often, and he was frightened at how much power it had over him. He hadn't been himself when he tried to take the ring from Frodo, but he had been acting on the sheer urges building within him, and within his heart. It could not be used, they all said, and now he was starting to believe it. But he still needed the ring, and wanted it, because something inside him screamed it was his only hope. He heard his people crying out, and they were crying for the ring. They echoed what he had thought before, when he had first heard that the ring had been found. They called it a gift. They needed it. They screamed for it. Shrill and insistent, they would not be denied. But that wasn't what broke him. In the midst of the shouts for the ring, he heard a small voice, like that of a child. It spoke sadly; reminding him it was his job to save Gondor. That was his quest, and he was to do whatever it took to succeed. 'If that is the ring, so be it.' It said simply, like it was a concept that even this small child's voice could understand. It whispered words of encouragement, talking of the way things used to be, and the way Gondor would be once again if he were to defeat Sauron. It whispered and whimpered about horrible things going on at home until he broke. And did he ever break. As he thought about it, he wrung his hands in horror, for now little Frodo was pitted against the ring, alone.
Sure he was more than meets the eye, but Boromir could not help but think of all the times that they had to save him. The world was looking very bleak indeed. Frodo was up against a power so strong; it had brought the most hardy and valiant men to madness. Himself included.
The black sky was now filled with a flaming red light, and Boromir felt a sense of foreboding. He sat, mourning for Middle-Earth, and especially for Gondor, who would surely be the first to fall. For the ring was wandering slowly into Mordor, and no matter what Frodo's intentions were, Boromir just couldn't see the hobbit succeeding in destroying the ring. Poor Frodo would go to his death like the rest of them, and Middle-Earth as they knew it would be no more.
The sun was brighter now, and a sight that was both beautiful and painful to behold had replaced its once quiet grandeur. He started to shield his eyes from the burning rays, but stopped himself, not able to tear his eyes away from the sight. He stared into the sun, not conscious of the world around him. He saw in it his people, chained and captives of Sauron's forces. Orcs ran amok, and he clenched his fists. There had to be some way to stop this! His eyes watered, and lost all focus, but he still saw images of Gondor, becoming more and more painful to watch. Yet he couldn't tear his eyes away, no matter how horrible the image, or how much his eyes hurt from the brilliant rays he was looking directly into. He tried to turn away, but something held him bound to that one place, staring into the now fully risen sun. And then everything went back. Frightened for a moment, he rubbed his eyes, and realized that he had finally succeeded in closing them to the visions in the sunlight. Breathing heavily, he opened his eyes and looked around him. The world had not changed. He looked up at the sun, but the visions were no more. The voices were silenced. He wondered if he had finally beaten the ring's control over him. The sudden urge to go to Aragorn and to tell him everything he had experienced rose in him, and led him from his solitude and back to the camp, where the others were rising. He now felt no need for the ring. But the need was now filled with a longing to follow Frodo to Mordor, to help the little hobbit defeat the ring's power. A tiny voice reawakened in Boromir's mind. 'Do not forget Gondor," it chided. And he wouldn't, he resolved. He would fight for his home until he died.