Ok, first things first:
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, they all belong to the Great J.R.R. Tolkien.
Secondly, I apologize if anybody else already made a story about this plot-line. I've not encountered one yet, but that obviously doesn't mean that there aren't any.
Ow yes, English is my third language: all grammar mistakes are mine!
Hope you enjoy this! R&R, please?
Chapter one: Fight at Amon Hen
Boromirs world had narrowed to the clashing of metal upon metal, the quick steps aside that saved
one's life, the play of parry and attack. He was doing what he had to to repay his earlier
deeds, he was fighting to protect the Hobbits. His 'little ones'. There was nobody there but
him. Nobody else who could keep them safe, just him. And he desperately needed to make amends.
He had tried it, he had tried to force Frodo into giving him the One Ring. It had been a moment of despair, when he tried it, but that was no excuse. For in that moment Boromir, first son of
Denethor, steward of Gondor, had fallen. Fallen even lower than Sauron in his own opinion.
He had betrayed not only Frodo in that moment, but all his other fellows as well. Merry and
Pippin, now secure behind him; the loyal Sam; the brave dwarf Gimli; the noble Prince Legolas and
... and his King, Aragorn. At this thought Boromir despised himself deeply.
His sword cleaved through another Uruk-Hai, the movement trowing its corpse out of the way.
Looking around he could see that he had killed a great number of the beasts already, but it did
not seem to matter much. The other creatures still seemed plentifull enough and they were not
ones to be deterred by their kins death. Ducking beneath a blow, the Man lifted his sword and
ran the Uruk-Hai through.
A gasp from the Hobbits was all that saved him from being beheaded as from behind another of his
attackers swayed his weapon. 'Turn and parry,' Boromir thought to himself, all
the lessons from his youth returning to him in these moments to aid him in his self-appointed
task. He and his brother Faramir had been well trained in Minas Tirith, and it had saved his
life countless times at different battles around the Realm that his father governed.
But now it didn't seem that important if he lived or died, just as long as he could protect
Merry and Pippin.
Parry, attack, parry, attack. They were closing in on them, Boromir was vastly and horribly
outnumbered, yet he continued to fight the assailants off. He wondered briefly where the others
were, but that thought was quickly discarded as it would not come to his aid. He had blown the
Horn of Gondor in the beginning of the fight, calling for help. But maybe the others were
protecting Frodo and could not come. He did not want to wrong the Ringbearer again by taking
his true friends from his side, so he fought on alone.
Unnoticed by the Gondorian warrior, an Uruk-Hai drew his bow and notched an arrow. The black
leader of the savage pack drew back the string. With a look of decided glee and superiority on
its face, it aimed right for the Humans hearth. In its mind the ominous words of his master
rang. "Kill all but not the Halflings. They are to be brought here, unspoiled and unscarred."
But this was not a Halfling, so he could kill it. Noticing that the Human had not seen him yet,
the Uruk-Hai felt triumph thrilling through it's body as he released the arrow which flew
straight for its target.
**********************************
Notching another arrow, Legolas saw how an Orc was in close combat with Aragorn. Gimli swung
his axe with the strength of a true Dwarf and felled another of the foul beasts. There were
many, but despair did not get hold on the Elf. He trusted his own abillities as well as those
of his companions. Even if they were to fall, it would not be a battle over wich these Orcs
would brag. The earth was littered with their corpses, dark black stains at their sides where
the blood flowed away.
Having a moment of relative safety for himself, he let the arrow fly at the Orc that was putting
pressure upon Aragorn, felling it. The Human didn't have any time to thank him though, for at
that time, a strange sound was heard, echoing mightyly through the forest.
The sound of a horn that summoned others to its bearers aid, that called out towards friends on
their comrads behalf. It sounded again, it's tone urgently beckoning.
"The Horn of Gondor." Legolas said. "Boromir." came Aragorns answer, before he dashed off to the
Gondorians side. Gimli took down the last Orc, then turned to follow the Ranger as fast as his
legs would carry him. Legolas, for some moments, didn't move. It wasn't because he didn't want
to fight at Boromir's side. The Elf considered Boromir to be a friend, even though he could feel
the Humans constant fretting over the Ring. He knew the heir of the Steward of Gondor was only
trying his best to protect his beloved city and he had respect for that. It was something akin
to what he himself had felt when fighting to keep his fathers land clean of Orcs, Wargs, spiders
and the like.
No what caused Legolas to stand still at this moment wasn't a lack of friendship towards the
Human. It was the voice of the forest.
Like all Wood-Elfs, Legolas often heard the earth and its living creatures speak to him. Mostly
soft noises of comfort, joy, sadness or welcome; but a single time they would speak with words.
And this was one of those times. Around him the trees stirred, though a mortal would not notice,
bearing their message to him. "Run, friend, run. Your human friend is in danger, he needs your
help." It was the stressing of the last 'your' that made Legolas suspect that Boromir needed
aid NOW.
Breaking into a run, the prince shot through the forest with the speed that only a Wood-Elf can
muster. Hearing the forest urge him to go faster still, Legolas used all his strength to speed
up even more. He thought he saw Aragorn briefly through the foilage, but couldn't be sure
because of the blur his speed turned everything into. He knew he would only have one shot at
this, the message had been too urgent for it to be otherwhise. Knowing he had to take in the
scene before him in mere seconds and make a choice, Legolas took one of his knives out of its
protecting leather encasing and sprang into the clearing where Boromir was still fighting off
the Orcs.
For a mere second, Legolas thought the forest had made a mistake. Then he noticed the drawn bow
off the Uruk-Hai captain. And its intended target. Cursing loudly to himself, Legolas made his
decision.
**************************
Minas Tirith that same time:
Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Ruling Steward of Gondor sat in a chair high up in one off the many
towers that the White City held. This particular tower however was off limits to anyone but the
Steward, his family and his manservant. It was here that the Lord Denethor kept his own secret:
a palantir, one off the lost seeing stones. When all the others were deemed to be lost, the one
in Minas Tirith had never left its place, it had simply been forgotten. But not by all.
Ecthelion had told his son about it's presence on his deathbed. He had never used it and urged
his son to do the same. 'Maybe,' Denethor thought as he was sitting before it, 'if the times had
not been so dark. Maybe then it would have been possible for me to obey my fathers last wish.'
But Sauron had risen again and Denethor had desperately sougth a means to give him an advantage
over the Dark Lord, so that he was able to keep his city safe.
And he had found that what he needed. The palantir allowed him to see things: movements of the
Ennemy, movements of allies, the dealings of people who didn't even know they were in danger yet.
And still there were many times when Denethor wished he had never heard of the accursed stone.
For even though he had his advantage, the price to pay for it was terribly high. His sleep
became disturbed by nightmares that mirrored what he had seen by day into the night. He dreamt
of large armies assembling against him, of his people being beaten into obedience even as their
city burned behind them.
And then there were the struggles in will with the Lord Sauron himself.
Denethor sighed, feeling very old and tired. Getting a firm grip on himself again, he focused
his mind on the seeing stone. Today there would be no fights concerning its use. He was not
going to look at his ennemies, he was going to look for a friend. He was going to look for his
eldest son.
No message of Boromir had been received after the one that told of him passing through Rohan.
Many months had passed since then, bringing no word of his son and Denethor had began to feel an
anxiety whenever his thoughts strayed towards Boromir. So much that he had decided to use the
palantir to find him.
The stone remained stubbornly black for some time, then came into focus, the scene displayed a
peacefull forest. Frowning, Denethor saw his son running, sword drawn. Boromir ran into a
clearing filled with Orcs. He seemed to be defending two short persons, that Denethor would
have mistaken for children if it weren't for their hairy feet. As his son blew the Horn, he
imagined that he could hear it vaguely in the distance, the sound floating in through the small
window.
Denethor waited patiently for his son's companions to show up and defend him. Only when minutes
had passed and no-one came, he began to panic. Was there nobody there to defend his son? The
panic turned into dread as he saw a large Orc draw his bow and target his son. Boromir had not
noticed apperantly and kept on fighting. The bow sung, the arrow headed right for its targets
hearth. As his own hearth nearly stopped, Denethor saw his son whirl around, hearing the
projectile that in mere moments would claim his life.
Sudden knocking on the door caused a distraction large enough for Denethor to loose his hold on
the palantir. The image faded as in his hearth a rage flared into existence. The one who had
disturbed him had taken away his chance of seeing the final moments of his eldest and most
beloved son. He would never see Boromir again. A deep desperation caugth hold of him, making the
anger burn all the more.
The knocking returned, this time accompanied by an inquisitive "Father?". So it was Faramir then
Denethor reasoned. Glancing quickly at the stone, he wished fervently that the positions of his
sons had been reversed. That Faramir would lie there in that faraway forest and that Boromir
would be standing right outside his door, waiting for his permission to enter. Cursing whatever
fate had decided to leave him with the son that cared for noting but what that wizarding fool
Mithrandir said and take away the son that had been his most treasured belonging, Denethor called
for his youngest to enter.
Keeping his eyes on the black stone, he heard Faramir approach him. "My father, I'm sorry for
the intrusion, but our scouts have reported a large movement of troups between Harad and Mordor.
They will pass through Ithilien on their way. Maybe we could send a group to hinder their
movements?"
Unable to retain his anger any longer, Denethor lashed out verbally towards his son. "Yes, we
could certainly do that. The former Rangers of Ithilien should be assigned to this task under a
leader that we can miss here." Putting just the smalest amount of stress on the word 'miss', the
Steward added, "Maybe you would care to lead them." A small smile graced the Lords lips as he
saw his sons eyes narrow almost unnoticably. "Very well father," Faramir said evenly, "if that
is what you desire, I will lead them." Denethor returned his attention to the stone. "The
Council will determine your time of departure tomorrow. You are excused."
As Faramir left, Denethor was surprised not to feel the wave of triumph he had expected.
***********************
Boromir could feel himself tire. All about him, corpses littered the forest floor, but it was
not enough. They kept comming, screaching out their rage at him.
Through a pause in the assault, he could suddenly hear something. It was a short 'twang' that
strange enough reminded him of the noise that Legolas' bow made when the Elf let loose an arrow.
The funny thing was that none of the Orcs he saw was carrying a bow. Daring a swift look around,
he caught sight of the pointed messenger of his own death.
The arrow was but seconds away from his hearth as time seemed to slow and Boromirs memories took
him back to another battle, several years ago on the borders of Minas Tirith. He had been
leading a company of warriors, fighting off a band of Orcs. Right after he had killed one of the
last of them, he had seen an arrow as it was released on a Man that stood perhaps 3 feet from
him. Boromir had shouted at him to get out of the way, but the Man hadn't heeded him. He just
stood there, like he was frozen, eyes wide in surprise, unable to escape his own downfall. The
arrow had pierced his heart moments later.
Returning to the present, Boromir found himself in the same situation. He couldn't move,
couldn't think clearly, could only accept the fact that he was going to die. Boromir, the heir
to the Steward of Gondor was going to die, the Orcs would take the Hobbits and all of his life
was in vain.
A flash of gold and green appeared in the corner of his eye, the next moment something hit him,
not with much weight, but with a terrible speed. Giving a yelp of surprise, Boromir went down,
falling beneath the object that had hit him. Just before he fell to the ground, he heard the
sound of the arrow that glanced off something and the cries of the Hobbits. As he hit the earth,
the air was knocked out of him. Together, he and the person(?) that had thrown him of balance,
tumbled down a small slope. Boromir felt a sharp tug on the band that held his Horn before it
cracked and was left behind somewhere in the midst of their descent.
As they finally came to a stop he glanced up, surpised to see Legolas on top of him. The Elf was
panting hard, but struggled back onto his feet. The terrified screams of Merry and Pippin seemed
to fade as if a distance came between them. Something that sounded like a curse in Elvish sent
his gaze to follow that of the Elf. He swore beneath his breath as he saw the Hobbits being
carried of like disobedient children, slung across the shoulders of two of the beasts. Another
one had grabbed his Horn, that had been broken in their fall.
The Elf and Man attacked together, desperate to free their small friends. A snarled "Kill them!"
came from somewhere on the field and they found themselves beleagered from nearly all sides, so
that they were forced to fight back to back lest they were instantly overcome.
Furious at the lead that the capturers of the Hobbits got, the two slashed mercilessly at their
ennemies, creating a true bloodbath. Yells from other directions finally announced the comming
of Gimli and Aragorn. The combined effort of the four fellows proved to be too much for the
Uruk-Hai to handle and after some time, Boromir was finally able to dispatch the last of them.
Weary bejond words, they sank down, lacking the power to go after either Merry and Pippin or Frodo and Sam.
**********************
There you go, first chapter's finished. Maybe the second one will be a bit shorter :) Hope you enjoyed!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, they all belong to the Great J.R.R. Tolkien.
Secondly, I apologize if anybody else already made a story about this plot-line. I've not encountered one yet, but that obviously doesn't mean that there aren't any.
Ow yes, English is my third language: all grammar mistakes are mine!
Hope you enjoy this! R&R, please?
Chapter one: Fight at Amon Hen
Boromirs world had narrowed to the clashing of metal upon metal, the quick steps aside that saved
one's life, the play of parry and attack. He was doing what he had to to repay his earlier
deeds, he was fighting to protect the Hobbits. His 'little ones'. There was nobody there but
him. Nobody else who could keep them safe, just him. And he desperately needed to make amends.
He had tried it, he had tried to force Frodo into giving him the One Ring. It had been a moment of despair, when he tried it, but that was no excuse. For in that moment Boromir, first son of
Denethor, steward of Gondor, had fallen. Fallen even lower than Sauron in his own opinion.
He had betrayed not only Frodo in that moment, but all his other fellows as well. Merry and
Pippin, now secure behind him; the loyal Sam; the brave dwarf Gimli; the noble Prince Legolas and
... and his King, Aragorn. At this thought Boromir despised himself deeply.
His sword cleaved through another Uruk-Hai, the movement trowing its corpse out of the way.
Looking around he could see that he had killed a great number of the beasts already, but it did
not seem to matter much. The other creatures still seemed plentifull enough and they were not
ones to be deterred by their kins death. Ducking beneath a blow, the Man lifted his sword and
ran the Uruk-Hai through.
A gasp from the Hobbits was all that saved him from being beheaded as from behind another of his
attackers swayed his weapon. 'Turn and parry,' Boromir thought to himself, all
the lessons from his youth returning to him in these moments to aid him in his self-appointed
task. He and his brother Faramir had been well trained in Minas Tirith, and it had saved his
life countless times at different battles around the Realm that his father governed.
But now it didn't seem that important if he lived or died, just as long as he could protect
Merry and Pippin.
Parry, attack, parry, attack. They were closing in on them, Boromir was vastly and horribly
outnumbered, yet he continued to fight the assailants off. He wondered briefly where the others
were, but that thought was quickly discarded as it would not come to his aid. He had blown the
Horn of Gondor in the beginning of the fight, calling for help. But maybe the others were
protecting Frodo and could not come. He did not want to wrong the Ringbearer again by taking
his true friends from his side, so he fought on alone.
Unnoticed by the Gondorian warrior, an Uruk-Hai drew his bow and notched an arrow. The black
leader of the savage pack drew back the string. With a look of decided glee and superiority on
its face, it aimed right for the Humans hearth. In its mind the ominous words of his master
rang. "Kill all but not the Halflings. They are to be brought here, unspoiled and unscarred."
But this was not a Halfling, so he could kill it. Noticing that the Human had not seen him yet,
the Uruk-Hai felt triumph thrilling through it's body as he released the arrow which flew
straight for its target.
**********************************
Notching another arrow, Legolas saw how an Orc was in close combat with Aragorn. Gimli swung
his axe with the strength of a true Dwarf and felled another of the foul beasts. There were
many, but despair did not get hold on the Elf. He trusted his own abillities as well as those
of his companions. Even if they were to fall, it would not be a battle over wich these Orcs
would brag. The earth was littered with their corpses, dark black stains at their sides where
the blood flowed away.
Having a moment of relative safety for himself, he let the arrow fly at the Orc that was putting
pressure upon Aragorn, felling it. The Human didn't have any time to thank him though, for at
that time, a strange sound was heard, echoing mightyly through the forest.
The sound of a horn that summoned others to its bearers aid, that called out towards friends on
their comrads behalf. It sounded again, it's tone urgently beckoning.
"The Horn of Gondor." Legolas said. "Boromir." came Aragorns answer, before he dashed off to the
Gondorians side. Gimli took down the last Orc, then turned to follow the Ranger as fast as his
legs would carry him. Legolas, for some moments, didn't move. It wasn't because he didn't want
to fight at Boromir's side. The Elf considered Boromir to be a friend, even though he could feel
the Humans constant fretting over the Ring. He knew the heir of the Steward of Gondor was only
trying his best to protect his beloved city and he had respect for that. It was something akin
to what he himself had felt when fighting to keep his fathers land clean of Orcs, Wargs, spiders
and the like.
No what caused Legolas to stand still at this moment wasn't a lack of friendship towards the
Human. It was the voice of the forest.
Like all Wood-Elfs, Legolas often heard the earth and its living creatures speak to him. Mostly
soft noises of comfort, joy, sadness or welcome; but a single time they would speak with words.
And this was one of those times. Around him the trees stirred, though a mortal would not notice,
bearing their message to him. "Run, friend, run. Your human friend is in danger, he needs your
help." It was the stressing of the last 'your' that made Legolas suspect that Boromir needed
aid NOW.
Breaking into a run, the prince shot through the forest with the speed that only a Wood-Elf can
muster. Hearing the forest urge him to go faster still, Legolas used all his strength to speed
up even more. He thought he saw Aragorn briefly through the foilage, but couldn't be sure
because of the blur his speed turned everything into. He knew he would only have one shot at
this, the message had been too urgent for it to be otherwhise. Knowing he had to take in the
scene before him in mere seconds and make a choice, Legolas took one of his knives out of its
protecting leather encasing and sprang into the clearing where Boromir was still fighting off
the Orcs.
For a mere second, Legolas thought the forest had made a mistake. Then he noticed the drawn bow
off the Uruk-Hai captain. And its intended target. Cursing loudly to himself, Legolas made his
decision.
**************************
Minas Tirith that same time:
Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Ruling Steward of Gondor sat in a chair high up in one off the many
towers that the White City held. This particular tower however was off limits to anyone but the
Steward, his family and his manservant. It was here that the Lord Denethor kept his own secret:
a palantir, one off the lost seeing stones. When all the others were deemed to be lost, the one
in Minas Tirith had never left its place, it had simply been forgotten. But not by all.
Ecthelion had told his son about it's presence on his deathbed. He had never used it and urged
his son to do the same. 'Maybe,' Denethor thought as he was sitting before it, 'if the times had
not been so dark. Maybe then it would have been possible for me to obey my fathers last wish.'
But Sauron had risen again and Denethor had desperately sougth a means to give him an advantage
over the Dark Lord, so that he was able to keep his city safe.
And he had found that what he needed. The palantir allowed him to see things: movements of the
Ennemy, movements of allies, the dealings of people who didn't even know they were in danger yet.
And still there were many times when Denethor wished he had never heard of the accursed stone.
For even though he had his advantage, the price to pay for it was terribly high. His sleep
became disturbed by nightmares that mirrored what he had seen by day into the night. He dreamt
of large armies assembling against him, of his people being beaten into obedience even as their
city burned behind them.
And then there were the struggles in will with the Lord Sauron himself.
Denethor sighed, feeling very old and tired. Getting a firm grip on himself again, he focused
his mind on the seeing stone. Today there would be no fights concerning its use. He was not
going to look at his ennemies, he was going to look for a friend. He was going to look for his
eldest son.
No message of Boromir had been received after the one that told of him passing through Rohan.
Many months had passed since then, bringing no word of his son and Denethor had began to feel an
anxiety whenever his thoughts strayed towards Boromir. So much that he had decided to use the
palantir to find him.
The stone remained stubbornly black for some time, then came into focus, the scene displayed a
peacefull forest. Frowning, Denethor saw his son running, sword drawn. Boromir ran into a
clearing filled with Orcs. He seemed to be defending two short persons, that Denethor would
have mistaken for children if it weren't for their hairy feet. As his son blew the Horn, he
imagined that he could hear it vaguely in the distance, the sound floating in through the small
window.
Denethor waited patiently for his son's companions to show up and defend him. Only when minutes
had passed and no-one came, he began to panic. Was there nobody there to defend his son? The
panic turned into dread as he saw a large Orc draw his bow and target his son. Boromir had not
noticed apperantly and kept on fighting. The bow sung, the arrow headed right for its targets
hearth. As his own hearth nearly stopped, Denethor saw his son whirl around, hearing the
projectile that in mere moments would claim his life.
Sudden knocking on the door caused a distraction large enough for Denethor to loose his hold on
the palantir. The image faded as in his hearth a rage flared into existence. The one who had
disturbed him had taken away his chance of seeing the final moments of his eldest and most
beloved son. He would never see Boromir again. A deep desperation caugth hold of him, making the
anger burn all the more.
The knocking returned, this time accompanied by an inquisitive "Father?". So it was Faramir then
Denethor reasoned. Glancing quickly at the stone, he wished fervently that the positions of his
sons had been reversed. That Faramir would lie there in that faraway forest and that Boromir
would be standing right outside his door, waiting for his permission to enter. Cursing whatever
fate had decided to leave him with the son that cared for noting but what that wizarding fool
Mithrandir said and take away the son that had been his most treasured belonging, Denethor called
for his youngest to enter.
Keeping his eyes on the black stone, he heard Faramir approach him. "My father, I'm sorry for
the intrusion, but our scouts have reported a large movement of troups between Harad and Mordor.
They will pass through Ithilien on their way. Maybe we could send a group to hinder their
movements?"
Unable to retain his anger any longer, Denethor lashed out verbally towards his son. "Yes, we
could certainly do that. The former Rangers of Ithilien should be assigned to this task under a
leader that we can miss here." Putting just the smalest amount of stress on the word 'miss', the
Steward added, "Maybe you would care to lead them." A small smile graced the Lords lips as he
saw his sons eyes narrow almost unnoticably. "Very well father," Faramir said evenly, "if that
is what you desire, I will lead them." Denethor returned his attention to the stone. "The
Council will determine your time of departure tomorrow. You are excused."
As Faramir left, Denethor was surprised not to feel the wave of triumph he had expected.
***********************
Boromir could feel himself tire. All about him, corpses littered the forest floor, but it was
not enough. They kept comming, screaching out their rage at him.
Through a pause in the assault, he could suddenly hear something. It was a short 'twang' that
strange enough reminded him of the noise that Legolas' bow made when the Elf let loose an arrow.
The funny thing was that none of the Orcs he saw was carrying a bow. Daring a swift look around,
he caught sight of the pointed messenger of his own death.
The arrow was but seconds away from his hearth as time seemed to slow and Boromirs memories took
him back to another battle, several years ago on the borders of Minas Tirith. He had been
leading a company of warriors, fighting off a band of Orcs. Right after he had killed one of the
last of them, he had seen an arrow as it was released on a Man that stood perhaps 3 feet from
him. Boromir had shouted at him to get out of the way, but the Man hadn't heeded him. He just
stood there, like he was frozen, eyes wide in surprise, unable to escape his own downfall. The
arrow had pierced his heart moments later.
Returning to the present, Boromir found himself in the same situation. He couldn't move,
couldn't think clearly, could only accept the fact that he was going to die. Boromir, the heir
to the Steward of Gondor was going to die, the Orcs would take the Hobbits and all of his life
was in vain.
A flash of gold and green appeared in the corner of his eye, the next moment something hit him,
not with much weight, but with a terrible speed. Giving a yelp of surprise, Boromir went down,
falling beneath the object that had hit him. Just before he fell to the ground, he heard the
sound of the arrow that glanced off something and the cries of the Hobbits. As he hit the earth,
the air was knocked out of him. Together, he and the person(?) that had thrown him of balance,
tumbled down a small slope. Boromir felt a sharp tug on the band that held his Horn before it
cracked and was left behind somewhere in the midst of their descent.
As they finally came to a stop he glanced up, surpised to see Legolas on top of him. The Elf was
panting hard, but struggled back onto his feet. The terrified screams of Merry and Pippin seemed
to fade as if a distance came between them. Something that sounded like a curse in Elvish sent
his gaze to follow that of the Elf. He swore beneath his breath as he saw the Hobbits being
carried of like disobedient children, slung across the shoulders of two of the beasts. Another
one had grabbed his Horn, that had been broken in their fall.
The Elf and Man attacked together, desperate to free their small friends. A snarled "Kill them!"
came from somewhere on the field and they found themselves beleagered from nearly all sides, so
that they were forced to fight back to back lest they were instantly overcome.
Furious at the lead that the capturers of the Hobbits got, the two slashed mercilessly at their
ennemies, creating a true bloodbath. Yells from other directions finally announced the comming
of Gimli and Aragorn. The combined effort of the four fellows proved to be too much for the
Uruk-Hai to handle and after some time, Boromir was finally able to dispatch the last of them.
Weary bejond words, they sank down, lacking the power to go after either Merry and Pippin or Frodo and Sam.
**********************
There you go, first chapter's finished. Maybe the second one will be a bit shorter :) Hope you enjoyed!