It was a calm day; the wind whistled softly through the trees, nothing seemed amiss this day. But near Parth Galen blood stained the ground and the Horn of Gondor laid cloven in two next to her fallen captain. Boromir was drawing his last breaths. His thoughts were tainted with regret and he could not find peace, not even now in the hour of his death.
What have I done? He thought, taking in a few pained breaths. His arrogance, his want of power, he simple desire only to save Gondor and her people. It had driven him to madness. Boromir recalled his fight with Frodo over the Ring. The Ring could save his people, but Frodo would not let him have and Boromir had tried with force to take it from him. The Hobbit ran, he slipped the Ring on and disappeared from sight.
Boromir had not realized his folly until it was too late to stop Frodo. His greed would surely be the destruction of the free peoples. The greed and corruption that had kept the Ring in existence this long had taken Boromir's mind. He only wanted to save his people, to please his father, but the Ring was evil and it had other plans for the captain. He tried to take back the deed, but now it was too late. It was just too late to stop the Ring-bearer from running.
Boromir took a few more pained breaths and listening to the few birds singing in the trees. His eyes were clouding and darkness would soon fall over him, taking him into a sleep that he would never rise from.
He had tried to redeem himself by helping Merry and Pippin in their time of need. Boromir had charged headlong into battle with the Uruk-Hai to keep them from taking Merry and Pippin. But the poisoned arrows of the beasts had hit Boromir's heart and he was soon powerless to chase after the Hobbits. Not only had he failed to protect Frodo, but he was responsible for the loss of Merry and Pippin. How could he expect to die with honor now?
All these thoughts trailed through his head as the sun continued to set on his life. Boromir's thoughts continued to trail back to his father. The old Steward had always favored Boromir as one of his strongest warriors. But now, in this hour, Boromir saw himself as a weak man who may have destroyed any hope for victory against the Dark Lord. He closed his eyes and tried to sit up, but each time he moved more crimson liquid flowed from his wounds.
"Boromir!" The captain knew this voice too well. It was Aragorn, he had come to his side.
"Aragorn," He struggled to say, "They have taken the Halflings, Merry and Pippin, they have taken Merry and Pippin!" He took in another pained breath before speaking again, "Farewell my friend!"
"No Boromir. Speak not of such things." Aragorn took Boromir's cold, sweaty hand and knelt beside his fallen companion.
"Protect Minas Tirith my friend, the people need a strong leader."
"As long as I draw breath I will not let our city fall."
Boromir's eyes filled with tears as he spoke, "I have failed, I tried to take the Ring from Frodo. I have doomed our people." He could feel his heart slowly, it would soon be over.
"No, you have fought bravely and there is no warrior who deserves more honor." Aragron sighed, squeezing Boromir's hand lightly.
Boromir would not speak again. Aragorn let his friend's hand fall and he gently closed Boromir's still wide eyes. Aragorn wept slightly by his companion and Legolas and Gimli soon joined him. Aragorn placed a soft kiss on Boromir's brow. The remaining three members of the Fellowship took one of the boats from Lorien and placed Boromir to rest in it before setting him out onto the Anduin. There would be no dawn for Boromir, son of Denethor, captain of Gondor.