(( Well, this is what you get for watching Lord of the Rings while trying
to think up story ideas. Enjoy :) ))
Darkness. Pain. Cold. But all this is bearable. For it is nothing more than I deserve. Though I expiated my sins slightly, I am still guilty of betraying the vows I made. Though it is not possible to have their forgiveness, I would. Especially Frodo's. Perhaps this is now the time for the truth to be known. I was always a proud children, for did I not have every right? I was the first son of the Steward of Gondor, the Heir Apparent. For all knew that the heirs of Isildur were no more, having been wiped out by Sauron for fear of what they would do. But we still did not take the title of King that was ours by right. For my father said that Stewards we were, holding the throne for the rightful king, and Stewards we would remain. And then came the dream. To my brother Faramir first, and then to me. As was my right by birth, I answered the call and travelled to Imladris. The journey was hard, but I will not speak of it now, for that was a time when I was happy, free of my role in the city of Gondor, and free of the influence of that accursed Ring. Imladris, Rivendell, home of Elrond Half-Elven awaited me. I would that I had never seen it, for it was there that my path diverted and I saw the Ring for the first time. From the moment that the hobbit Frodo brought it forth, I could only see how the Ring could benefit out people. It would have made Minas Tirith the heart of the world, the city and people that had the courage to turn the weapon of the Enemy against him! Even now, its baleful force reaches out to touch me. But it cannot use me. For I am no more and can do longer succumb to its evil. The pain I felt at the news that the ring must be destroyed was unbearable and in my mind were planted the seeds that would eventually germinated. And at the council it was also revealed that the Heir of Isildur lived! But this could not be! This, this Ranger, the heir to the throne of Gondor? No. My pride made me deny the truth, for fear of losing the position that I stood to inherit. I would make Gondor great, not this upstart ranger.
The Fellowship of the Ring. True friends one and all, brave warriors. And I had my place in this company. I do not say that out of pride, but only acknowledging what many have said. But even then, the seeds that the Ring had planted were beginning to sprout. The thought preyed on my mind that with this Ring I could aid my people and stop the fall of Gondor. For now I knew that Aragorn was Isildur's Heir, and the rightful king of Gondor, and I acknowledge him as such. The Ring could not tempt me to take over his place.
Lothlorien. I could not see the beauty of this special place, for my mind was filled by thoughts of the Ring. And Lady Galadriel knew this. She tried to tell me that hope was not lost, but I could not see it. In my blindness I denied the truth.
But I ramble now as the chill closes in. I need not explain my every thought in an attempt to justify them. For always my pride, my vows to the Fellowship, and the Ring controlled my actions. It was my greatest betrayal that I feel compelled to explain. The Ring had sunk its poisonous claws deep into my heart, soul and mind. I was no longer Boromir, but a pawn of the Ring. A madness gripped me tight, and I knew not what I did. But as Frodo ran from me, the madness lifted from my mind, and I saw what I had done. I saw the lies that the Ring had presented me with and how eagerly I had swallowed them. I saw how I had betrayed what I had sworn to uphold. And then came my chance of redemption, however slight it might be. I had failed Frodo, but I would not fail Merry and Pippin. No matter how many foes were sent against me, I would defend them to the last breath in my body, perhaps giving them time to escape, perhaps giving time for others to come to their aid. But them came the Uruk-Hai with the bow. The first took me in the shoulder, like a red hot iron pressing into the muscle. Despite the pain, I kept fighting, using my other arm. The second took me in the stomach. The pain lanced through me like a bolt of lightning but all I could see were the faces of the two hobbits, horror struck and terrified. That gave me the strength to continue. But the third, ah, that was my undoing. As it struck deep into my lungs, I could feel my breath fading away. Feeling the blood bubble inside me I fell to the ground, feeling the effects of the other arrows starting to take the toll that I had tried to deny. I did not see the hobbits carried away by the Uruk-Hai, I could only see the ground in front of me, feeling the pain ravaged the core of my being. I had failed again, and as I passed away, that stayed with me. But the words of my King comfort me now. "I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you that I will not let the White City fall." My people are safe. I cannot see what will happen now, but I can hope, and pray that the Valar will aid the Ringbearer and my King. And now the darkness beckons again.
Darkness. Pain. Cold. But all this is bearable. For it is nothing more than I deserve. Though I expiated my sins slightly, I am still guilty of betraying the vows I made. Though it is not possible to have their forgiveness, I would. Especially Frodo's. Perhaps this is now the time for the truth to be known. I was always a proud children, for did I not have every right? I was the first son of the Steward of Gondor, the Heir Apparent. For all knew that the heirs of Isildur were no more, having been wiped out by Sauron for fear of what they would do. But we still did not take the title of King that was ours by right. For my father said that Stewards we were, holding the throne for the rightful king, and Stewards we would remain. And then came the dream. To my brother Faramir first, and then to me. As was my right by birth, I answered the call and travelled to Imladris. The journey was hard, but I will not speak of it now, for that was a time when I was happy, free of my role in the city of Gondor, and free of the influence of that accursed Ring. Imladris, Rivendell, home of Elrond Half-Elven awaited me. I would that I had never seen it, for it was there that my path diverted and I saw the Ring for the first time. From the moment that the hobbit Frodo brought it forth, I could only see how the Ring could benefit out people. It would have made Minas Tirith the heart of the world, the city and people that had the courage to turn the weapon of the Enemy against him! Even now, its baleful force reaches out to touch me. But it cannot use me. For I am no more and can do longer succumb to its evil. The pain I felt at the news that the ring must be destroyed was unbearable and in my mind were planted the seeds that would eventually germinated. And at the council it was also revealed that the Heir of Isildur lived! But this could not be! This, this Ranger, the heir to the throne of Gondor? No. My pride made me deny the truth, for fear of losing the position that I stood to inherit. I would make Gondor great, not this upstart ranger.
The Fellowship of the Ring. True friends one and all, brave warriors. And I had my place in this company. I do not say that out of pride, but only acknowledging what many have said. But even then, the seeds that the Ring had planted were beginning to sprout. The thought preyed on my mind that with this Ring I could aid my people and stop the fall of Gondor. For now I knew that Aragorn was Isildur's Heir, and the rightful king of Gondor, and I acknowledge him as such. The Ring could not tempt me to take over his place.
Lothlorien. I could not see the beauty of this special place, for my mind was filled by thoughts of the Ring. And Lady Galadriel knew this. She tried to tell me that hope was not lost, but I could not see it. In my blindness I denied the truth.
But I ramble now as the chill closes in. I need not explain my every thought in an attempt to justify them. For always my pride, my vows to the Fellowship, and the Ring controlled my actions. It was my greatest betrayal that I feel compelled to explain. The Ring had sunk its poisonous claws deep into my heart, soul and mind. I was no longer Boromir, but a pawn of the Ring. A madness gripped me tight, and I knew not what I did. But as Frodo ran from me, the madness lifted from my mind, and I saw what I had done. I saw the lies that the Ring had presented me with and how eagerly I had swallowed them. I saw how I had betrayed what I had sworn to uphold. And then came my chance of redemption, however slight it might be. I had failed Frodo, but I would not fail Merry and Pippin. No matter how many foes were sent against me, I would defend them to the last breath in my body, perhaps giving them time to escape, perhaps giving time for others to come to their aid. But them came the Uruk-Hai with the bow. The first took me in the shoulder, like a red hot iron pressing into the muscle. Despite the pain, I kept fighting, using my other arm. The second took me in the stomach. The pain lanced through me like a bolt of lightning but all I could see were the faces of the two hobbits, horror struck and terrified. That gave me the strength to continue. But the third, ah, that was my undoing. As it struck deep into my lungs, I could feel my breath fading away. Feeling the blood bubble inside me I fell to the ground, feeling the effects of the other arrows starting to take the toll that I had tried to deny. I did not see the hobbits carried away by the Uruk-Hai, I could only see the ground in front of me, feeling the pain ravaged the core of my being. I had failed again, and as I passed away, that stayed with me. But the words of my King comfort me now. "I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you that I will not let the White City fall." My people are safe. I cannot see what will happen now, but I can hope, and pray that the Valar will aid the Ringbearer and my King. And now the darkness beckons again.