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So this is what it feels like to die, thought Boromir son of Denethor.
His eyes opened to see the canopy of branches above him, just as it had been before he died. The light was golden and crisp, his senses seemingly sharpened by death.
He shifted a little, feeling…. not pain, but the memory of pain. Rising carefully, he glanced around. Bodies of orcs surrounded him, and he felt a spurt of fierce pride that he'd killed so many before being taken down by arrows.
Arrows. He gasped, glancing down at himself, and for a moment, his vision wavered, and it was almost as if he could see the black shafts, the blood pouring, but then he blinked, and he was again whole.
Turning, he looked back at the bole where he'd collapsed at last, almost expecting to see his own body lying there.
"Oh, now, they wouldn't just LEAVE you," said a voice suddenly.
Boromir spun back to see a figure standing where no one stood before. Again, his vision wavered, and he would have sworn the figure was tall and dark and terrible, but then he saw it was a woman.
She was, to him, a little short. She had long black hair that seems to dance gently in a non-existent breeze. She wore a black gown, not unlike those worn by elven ladies, unrelenting black that seemed to shift on its own. A single strange symbol hung from a silver chain at her neck, and black lines curved on her skin around her eyes. Still, her expression was cheerful and pleasant, her smile inviting conversation.
"Aragorn, and Legolas, and Gimli. They took you to the boats. Cleaned you up nicely, set you to lie in state in a boat."
Shaking his head a little, Boromir asked, "The hobbits?"
"Aragorn and the others will go to try and save Pippin and Merry. Frodo and Sam are on their own."
Boromir sighed. "At least Frodo has Sam with him."
"Yes."
"Will they be alright?"
She smiled. "I never peek ahead in my older brother's book. It's never worth it."
Boromir frowned, confused. "I'm sorry, this may seem rude, but, who are you?"
She stepped closer, her smiled widening. Boromir was drawn to stare into her eyes, bright and dark, clear and fathomless. "Do you not know, Boromir son of Denethor, of Gondor?"
He felt like he was drowning, lost in her eyes. "Mandos! Namo…" Struggling to keep his composture in the face of what felt like the awesome power and majesty of Her, he carefully dropped to one knee. One of the Valar themselves stood before him.
When he knelt, She grinned, and the oppression of Her presence seemed to dissipate. "Oh, aren't you sweet? You can get up." Boromir was suddenly reminded of his young cousin Lothiriel. He rose and She laughed kindly, as if they'd shared a joke.
"Well, are you ready then?" She asked.
Boromir hesitated. "My city? My brother…"
She gave a rueful shake of Her head. "Your time is over, Boromir of Gondor."
He sighed a little, instinctually understanding She couldn't tell him more, but still disappointed. "I wanted…."
"I know." She extended Her hands to him. "Come on, then."
He took her hands, and was enveloped by Her power.
Death
AN: Yes this is a series of short crossovers w/ Neil Gaiman's Sandman series. I didn't want to give it away too early.