Impacted
By
Stargazer Nataku
*Thud*
Even though Merry had his eyes closed, he could still see the arrows strike home into Boromir's chest. He could still hear the dull sound of arrows impacting in flesh, though in the area around him, there was the rhythmic pounding of the heavy booted feet of the orcs who had taken them. The orcs who had killed Boromir.
Boromir was dead.
He didn't wish to believe it. But then again, there were many things Merry did not wish to believe, beginning with the fact that he his hands were bound and slung around an orc's neck as it ran. Pippin was hanging from the back of an orc, bound in the same manner, several paces ahead. He did not wish to think about that, either.
He tried to force his mind back to happier days, to the green hills of the Shire; of blue skies and laughing rivers, of days spent with Pippin doing nothing, no cares at all. And even once they had left the Shire. The long, happy days in Rivendell, the beauty of the Elves and the songs they sang in the Hall of Fire late into the night. Of Boromir's laughing face as they wrestled after sword practice, the day before they had attempted the Pass of Caradhras.
*thud*
Merry shuddered, and remembered the look in Boromir's eyes after he had been struck by the second arrow. It had been a glance that spoke volumes, even when he himself did not say a word. It had been a gaze of sorrow, of realization, of failure, and of fear. Fear for them, not for himself. Merry felt tears coming to his eyes, as he valiantly tried to quench them, when he remembered. It had been of sorrow, yes, and failure, but there was determination there, a strength that was essential to that which Boromir was. Or had been, he told himself sorrowfully. Boromir had died to save him and Pippin, fought until his very last bit of strength had been wrenched from him.
*thud*
Boromir. Merry could not see the purpose in his sacrifice, and it made it that much harder to bear. He had died, and they were taken anyway, headed for Isengard and whatever evils Saruman felt fit for them. They were headed for the same fate as Boromir. Merry just hoped, deep down in his heart, that the sacrifice they had made would matter in the end. Frodo was not here, he was not captured, and he was undoubtedly continuing on their quest to destroy the Ring.
He opened his eyes and looked up towards Pippin, still unconscious several paces ahead, and his heart sank still further. The Quest. It was probable, he surmised, that Aragorn and the others had gone with Frodo. That was, after all, the supreme purpose of it all. He and Pippin were going to die, but in the eyes of a world assaulted by the evil of Sauron, their lives did not matter. What mattered was the destruction of the Ring, not the lives of two insignificant hobbits.
*thud*
He heard the sound again of arrows striking flesh, and saw the look in Boromir's eyes. Maybe their lives did not matter to the world, but they had mattered to Boromir. He had fought for them. He had died for them. He had believed that they were worthwhile, that they were worth saving.
Despite his grief and despair, Merry found a sad smile spreading across his face, and he resolved then to face his own fate as Boromir had. He had never stopped fighting for them, though he had known all hope was lost and his life was over, because to him they had been important. He had not sought out Frodo, even though Frodo's quest was supposed to be his mission, he had come to them.
*thud*
Anger flooded Merry, along with determination. I must not despair, he told himself firmly, I must be strong. Though I'm only a hobbit, and small in the grand scheme of things, I must be worthy of what he did. Boromir was a great man, and he believed we were worth his life. He loved us that much, that he would throw it all away to protect us. I must not forget that.
*thud*
Clenching his fists, Merry kept his eyes open and looked ahead. He would not look away.
*Thud*
Even though Merry had his eyes closed, he could still see the arrows strike home into Boromir's chest. He could still hear the dull sound of arrows impacting in flesh, though in the area around him, there was the rhythmic pounding of the heavy booted feet of the orcs who had taken them. The orcs who had killed Boromir.
Boromir was dead.
He didn't wish to believe it. But then again, there were many things Merry did not wish to believe, beginning with the fact that he his hands were bound and slung around an orc's neck as it ran. Pippin was hanging from the back of an orc, bound in the same manner, several paces ahead. He did not wish to think about that, either.
He tried to force his mind back to happier days, to the green hills of the Shire; of blue skies and laughing rivers, of days spent with Pippin doing nothing, no cares at all. And even once they had left the Shire. The long, happy days in Rivendell, the beauty of the Elves and the songs they sang in the Hall of Fire late into the night. Of Boromir's laughing face as they wrestled after sword practice, the day before they had attempted the Pass of Caradhras.
*thud*
Merry shuddered, and remembered the look in Boromir's eyes after he had been struck by the second arrow. It had been a glance that spoke volumes, even when he himself did not say a word. It had been a gaze of sorrow, of realization, of failure, and of fear. Fear for them, not for himself. Merry felt tears coming to his eyes, as he valiantly tried to quench them, when he remembered. It had been of sorrow, yes, and failure, but there was determination there, a strength that was essential to that which Boromir was. Or had been, he told himself sorrowfully. Boromir had died to save him and Pippin, fought until his very last bit of strength had been wrenched from him.
*thud*
Boromir. Merry could not see the purpose in his sacrifice, and it made it that much harder to bear. He had died, and they were taken anyway, headed for Isengard and whatever evils Saruman felt fit for them. They were headed for the same fate as Boromir. Merry just hoped, deep down in his heart, that the sacrifice they had made would matter in the end. Frodo was not here, he was not captured, and he was undoubtedly continuing on their quest to destroy the Ring.
He opened his eyes and looked up towards Pippin, still unconscious several paces ahead, and his heart sank still further. The Quest. It was probable, he surmised, that Aragorn and the others had gone with Frodo. That was, after all, the supreme purpose of it all. He and Pippin were going to die, but in the eyes of a world assaulted by the evil of Sauron, their lives did not matter. What mattered was the destruction of the Ring, not the lives of two insignificant hobbits.
*thud*
He heard the sound again of arrows striking flesh, and saw the look in Boromir's eyes. Maybe their lives did not matter to the world, but they had mattered to Boromir. He had fought for them. He had died for them. He had believed that they were worthwhile, that they were worth saving.
Despite his grief and despair, Merry found a sad smile spreading across his face, and he resolved then to face his own fate as Boromir had. He had never stopped fighting for them, though he had known all hope was lost and his life was over, because to him they had been important. He had not sought out Frodo, even though Frodo's quest was supposed to be his mission, he had come to them.
*thud*
Anger flooded Merry, along with determination. I must not despair, he told himself firmly, I must be strong. Though I'm only a hobbit, and small in the grand scheme of things, I must be worthy of what he did. Boromir was a great man, and he believed we were worth his life. He loved us that much, that he would throw it all away to protect us. I must not forget that.
*thud*
Clenching his fists, Merry kept his eyes open and looked ahead. He would not look away.