Some say that I only live for my city. I guess it would seem that way, I usually only talk about the valor of Gondor and Minas Tirith, it's people, or my father. That had always been fine though. I have never really been given a chance to talk about anything else. I am always expected to carry the weight of a proud country on my shoulders. I never minded though, I always embraced the thought of taking over after my father passed. Then Aragorn came. Aragorn. Wise man of the Dunedain, Elf-friend, adopted son of Lord Elrond even. He is Isildur's heir, heir to the throne of Gondor. I refused him openly at the Council, but that was only because it was my first experience with something that would most likely destroy my father's ego and there was nothing I could do. From the first time I saw him, in my heart I knew what he was, what he was going to become, but the truth still hurt.
I came with Frodo to help, honestly. My intentions were just that. But despair often comes over men, and it happens to me quite a few times. But the proud Boromir does not let his people down, he cannot let weak emotions seep through this barricade shunning love and affection and let his people see him as a woman. That is how it has been, that is how it will always be.
Over time, I made an unlikely friendship with the two young Hobbits Merry and Pippin. They were the only ones I really talked to; they told me stories of the Shire and I expressed, expressed mind you, that I would very much like to see their land. In Lothlorien we shared many afternoons together, laughing or trying to talk secretly about Elves and magic and such. Legolas, the Elf in my company, would always look at us uncertainly. I am sure he could hear us, but we didn't care; it made us laugh harder.
Now I sit, my will broken by my own actions. I tried to take the Ring from Frodo, by words at first, and then force when he refused me. The only reason tears do not come is because of my City, I have left my dignity and honor behind, but I shall not start crying now. I shall never cry.
'Frodo!' I hear in the distance, and leaped to my feet. Someone besides Frodo was in trouble, I think it was Sam, you could tell by how he called. I grabbed my sword and took off into the forest, not bothering with the cloak that would most likely hinder me in battle.
For a while, my running had no results, but then I saw Merry and Pippin running about 200 yards to my right, but way in front of me. There were large black Orcs about, of which I have never seen. And they travel in sunlight, a sure sign that the darkness is creeping upon us.
Merry and Pippin stop, afraid of going on.
'Don't stop!' I yell as loud as I can, but I suppose it didn't reach their ears because of all the snarling and growling from the Orcs. I run over the crest of a hill, willing my legs to go faster as the first Orc approaches my friends. He swings his weapon up high, and I am just barely to throw the weapon back with my hand, causing it to blare with dull pain. I sink my sword into his head, watching briefly as the blood gurgles up from the wound I put between his eyes. I tear my sword out of his flesh to hew another, and one more as they all run towards us as if we have something they desperately want. They bear the white hand as a mark upon their heads, and I remember Mithrandir telling us at the council about the treachery of the White Wizard. The Ring…says a small voice in my head. Realization creeps along my spine even as I throw my only small blade into the neck of an oncoming foe. They want the Hobbits!
'Run! Go!' I yell to them, and we retreat a few paces while more Orcs run at us. Now is the time. It has never failed me before, but I have little hope now. I pull the Horn off my belt and blow as hard as I can, three blows, calling for help. The Orcs all stop, they look around terrified of what might come. Nothing does though, and there is a massive swelling of more Orcs.
They come at me in twos and threes, but my sword can still kill and I still have strength in my arms. I kill another and quickly put in three more blasts before dropping it abruptly as another comes, seeking my blood. The Hobbits have begun throwing large rocks; they told me that the Hobbits had a mysterious ability to throw rocks at enemies very well. But that will not save any of us, there are too many.
Pain came so suddenly I was almost knocked to the ground; the breath was torn clear out of my throat. I looked at Pippin and Merry, they looked shocked and confused. It bothered me for a minute, the one minute I let an Orc get very close. I grabbed the sword I had dropped from the ground with my left hand; an arrow had been shot through my right shoulder, tearing muscle, tissue, and tendons so I could no longer use my hand. I blocked one sweeping strike that was rather low and cut apart the Orc's insides, knowing that his organs were slipping out by the noise. Strength comes to me in the way that my muscles burn, and I am fighting with all that I have, as soon as I let go I will die. With this effort letting go is inevitable, it will come eventually. Then another arrow hits me like a ram, and I fell to my knees. My eyes blur out and back into focus as I notice the second vile arrow protruding from my stomach. Hot fire has already spread through my stomach, making my knees ache to bend and my head become dizzy. My gaze moves upwards and I see the still-shocked face of the Hobbits, their eyes watery with tears I could never cry. But they are my friends, perhaps the best two I've ever had. With a yell, I get back to my feet and ram myself into the nearest Orc, knocking him over, and then sinking my blade into his mutilated flesh. Then the third hits, my strength fails me. Three arrows, one in the shoulder, one in the stomach, one in the chest. This is all it took to take down the proud man of Gondor.
The Hobbits let out a yell and rush to fight, whether they want revenge or not, I shall never know. They are captured easily, I hear Merry yell, 'Ah! Boromir!' I want to go after them so bad, but I can't find the strength. I am ashamed. I have failed them.
An Orc comes up, I presume he is the one that shot me as all the others have left and usually warriors with no honor finish the job in the worst ways they can think of. That usually means torture, but I do not care. I have failed my two friends, and they will suffer worse than I shall.
He pulls the arrow back, smiles, and then Aragorn, another whom I have failed, knocks him to the ground. I sink onto my back, no longer able to support myself. I hear the ring of sword against sword, and I sincerely hope Aragorn wins. But I cannot concentrate on their fight. All I see is their happy faces as they told stories of the Shire and poked each other just to see who could make who get angrier first. Tears do not come for my lost companions, who I will never see again.
"They took the little ones!" I said shakily when Aragorn returned into my line of fading vision. If I tell him now he can run and save them, but only if he goes now.
He will not go; he looks at my wounds gravely. "Frodo, where is Frodo?" I ask him, forgetting to praise him for his fight with the Orc.
"I let Frodo go," he says, as if he thinks I will have harsh words for him.
"Then you did what I could not, I tried to take the Ring from him." I know I shall now be shunned from him; I will die dishonoring my father and city. And the Hobbits.
"The Ring is beyond our reach now," he says, looking to the East, towards Mordor.
"Forgive me," I say, but he will not. "I did not see. I have failed you all." I wanted to cry. I felt the painful stinging behind my eyes, but I couldn't.
"No Boromir!" he says, and the faintest bit of love sparked in my chest, riddled with arrows as it was. "You fought bravely. You have kept your honor!" The small spark suddenly exploded and only now do I realize what a friend I had missed, I know now that he is the only choice for King, the city would have been good in his hands. But the world of men shall not last. It will be crushed under the Dark Lord's finger.
He reaches to take the arrow out of my shoulder, but I know that I am done. "Leave it!" I say, "It is over. The world of men will fall, and all shall come to darkness and my city to ruin!" I have failed. It is total and complete failure of which my father would reject me for. I will never see his face though, nor my little brother, or Merry and Pippin.
"I do not know what strength lies in my blood, but I swear to you I will not let the White City fall, nor our people fail," he says.
"Our people?" He nods. I am overcome with wonder and gratitude, but also weariness. "Our people." I reach for my sword; I may have lost all of my honor, but I shall not die in the shadows, afraid and cowardly as I hide from the world. I cannot reach it, but he gently puts it in my hands, and I bring the hilt to my chest. I know I have only one chance to say what I need to say to this man, for I have but one sentence left in me.
"I would have followed you, my brother, my captain, my King." My eyes slide out of focus; I know where I am headed. Forgive me, Merry and Pippin. But I do not cry.