Notes: After pondering my next few projects, I decided to do a short piece on Boromir's death scene, with what he was thinking and whatever. All dialogue was from the movie and movie transcript. I neglected using the book.

Special thanks as always to Katrina, my beta.


One Last Breath

I never thought I would never be able to breathe, he thought to himself, struggling to collect his thoughts, choked from the arrows piercing into his body, slowly drawing his breath away. Each breath came as an apparition to his ears, sounding hollow and farther away. He could feel the heat from the dozens of orc surrounding him, their lifeless faces ridiculing in their own ways the cruel fate which would soon befall him.
The boots were the first blurry objects his eyes spied. He slowly drew his gaze up the hideous, thick legs to the rotten, foul ensemble. His eyes widened when he spied the bow and arrow before he saw the face.
I deserve this, he said to himself. He owed it to himself. I tried to take the ring. It captured every thought, every action, every last instinct. He had tried to take the ring from Frodo.
The bow was raised, every excruciating second that Boromir forced himself to breathe. The explosion of pain inside him caused deep welts of insanity in his head. I need that ring now, he chastised himself. If I had the ring, I could hide away. This Uruk-Hai would never be able to find me.
He forced himself to drive all thoughts of the ring from his mind. His stunned eyes followed the arrow. Inside, he could feel the pain growing. It was becoming harder to breathe. His vision was starting to blur worse. His lips trembled.
The bowstring drew back. Boromir stumbled on his knees, his eyes pleading. His life flashed in his eyes, a loud blur of people, places, and sounds. The horn of Gondor sounded like a trumpet blare. The White City loomed in all of its glory before him, his father and brother by his side, younger and more unaware of their surroundings than ever. The images fell away.
He faced his foe, the fear falling away from his eyes. Even as his breath continued in shallow, painfull gasps, he was carefully sizing up his opposition as fury overtook him. The Uruk-Hai had no reason to destroy him. He was an innocent, the son of Gondor. He could practically hear the thoughts melting away.
He could hear the sounds of ragged footsteps and clanking metal. The orc had been taken down. He could feel the relief wash over him in waves as he fell backwards. The impact against the ground made the pain within him more unbearable. His fingers arched into the ground, trying to draw up the strength and the power.
Suddenly, two hands were upon him. He turned his blurred gaze and found Aragorn's face looming over him. He tried to smile, tried to speak. It hurt so badly.
"They took the little ones," he gasped out, every breath sending sparks of white to his brain, every movement causing a greater explosion of pain than before.
"Stay still," Aragorn whispered, his eyes glancing over the body of the man fallen before him.
Boromir glanced around, his eyes widening in panic. "Frodo!" he gasped. "Where is Frodo?"
Aragorn lowered his gaze almost apologetically. "I let Frodo go."
There was admiration in the dying man's gaze. "Then you did what I could not." He could feel the shame inside of him. "I tried to take the ring from him."
Aragorn nodded his understanding. "The ring is beyond our reach now."
Boromir turned his head to the side. His gaze was darkening. He tried not to move, but a painful wrench came from his lungs, forcing him to cough up more blood. "Forgive me," he begged, repeating the words over and over in his head. "I did not see it. I have failed you all."
Aragorn was stunned by the shame and rejection in the man's voice. "No, Boromir," he corrected the man. "You fought bravely. You have kept your honor."
Boromir could feel Aragorn's fingers reaching toward him. They clasped around the shallow arrow and began to pull it from him. "Leave it," Boromir snapped, clumsily pushing the other man away. "It's over. The world of man will fall." Another realization struck him as did another spasm of coughing and gasping. "All will fall into darkness, and my city to ruin."
Aragorn clasped his shoulder, surprising him. "I know not what strength lies in my blood, but I swear to you I will not les the White City fall, nor our people fail."
There were stunned tears in Boromirs eyes. A smile graced his lips, as his mind imagined the king of Man, pounding into the city atop a white horse, rescuing them from the grip darkness had. It was a beautiful image.
"Our people," he marveled. "Our people."
Aragorn reached over and clasped the sword lying next to him. He picked up the remains and held it to the light before placing it inside Boromir's hands.
"I would have followed you my brother. My captain. My king."
It was almost a death wish, Boromir realized. How he had wanted to go to Gondor. He would have gone anywhere with this man. He would have died again, if it meant his people could live.
His breaths become more sporadic and he could feel his last breath coming on. He took it, savoring it, knowing full well that this was his forgiveness for causing pain to those he cared about most in this world.
Lights flashed before his eyes. A beautiful white gate opened, adorning the white city in splendor, lights and glory. He walked inside, shield in one hand, his precious horn in the other. His eyes danced back and forth, savoring every building, every shadow, every person who greeted him on their way. A smile fluttered to his lips, turning his face into awe as he glanced about him. "I knew he would do it," he whispered, setting his shield aside as he swept farther into the city.
He was home.

the end