He heard the voices before he saw them, but he didn't have to see them to realize something was terribly wrong.
"Will you not at least let me make trial of my plan? Lend me the ring,"
"No!" Frodo. Sounding scared and defensive.
Merry moved through the trees and saw them both and what he had feared most was all over Boromir's face - his kind Boromir wasn't there anymore. Instead was this twisted and angry man.
"You can lay the blame on me," he said, his voice low and cutting and hard. "You could say I was too strong and I took it."
Frodo backed away quickly, his eyes huge and frightened.
Merry stepped forward. "Boromir!"
They both spun towards him, and Frodo gave a faint sound of relief and instantly moved to his cousin's side. But Merry kept his eyes on Boromir, worried and shocked. "It's the trouble in your mind talking, not you. Think!"
Boromir glared at him for a long moment. There was nothing familiar in his eyes, nothing that said he recognized Merry beyond an interruption to his plans. He stepped forward, and those large hands were balled into fists.
Frodo grasped Merry's arm and pulled at him. "Back to Aragorn," he said in a hiss. "We've got to get-"
Merry shrugged him off. "Go, then," he said, taking a step to meet Boromir.
Frodo let him go, but didn't answer.
Merry forgot about him, moving up to meet Boromir. "You know what I think? I think you're in there, and I think you're closer than you think. Boromir. It's me." He spoke quietly, his eyes on Boromir's.
Boromir stopped, looking down at him. The glower in his eyes lasted another second, then two, then it faded back like a cloud being blown away by sudden wind. He blinked and shook his head as if clearing away lingering sleep, and his feet stumbled.
"Boromir." Merry knew the moment his Boromir was back, and he moved in without fear and put a hand on his arm. "Boromir?"
"What have I done?" Boromir looked up, his eyes bleak. "Merry?"
"It's alright. You were gone for a moment, you weren't in control. But it's over now."
"But...Frodo. I threatened to..." Boromir shook his head, looking lost. "It wasn't me. The voice was mine but the words..."
Merry frowned. "It was the ring, and Frodo will understand that."
"I have to go." Boromir shut his eyes and let out a low breath. "I have to go to Minis Tirith, and the ring cannot come with me." He shook his head. "With the power that ring has, even my father should fall to it. I understand now. I see the danger. It is too much for me to be near. Aragorn was right."
Merry heard defeat in his voice, as if he had failed. He tugged at Boromir's hand, since the man was too high up for him to reach any other way. "It is too much for anyone. Gandalf was to scared of it, and the lady of the woods. It's no defeat to be overcome by something that even the strongest people fear."
"It's defeat, Merry. Defeat of my hopes." He crouched down slowly to look at Merry. "Thank you. If you hadn't come, the madness would have overthrown me. I would have done something that could not be undone." He glanced behind Merry. "Maybe I already have."
Merry turned, and saw that Frodo had gone, run off while he was distracted. "He's gone to Aragorn, Boromir. He will tell him what's happened. I suppose we'll have to deal with that as it comes. But maybe it's for the best. The ring can go on its own way."
Boromir nodded, and stood up straight. "Then we best go back and face the mess that I have made. Come, Merry."
But there was a shriek suddenly, a cry in the woods beyond them, between them and the campsite the Fellowship had made.
Merry gasped - he recognized that shriek from the depths of Moria. "Orcs!"
Boromir's sword flashed in his hand in an instant. "Stay with me. Let's try to get back to the others."
Merry obeyed, his heart racing with fear as he stumbled after Boromir out into the trees beyond. He had his own small blade in his hand, though he didn't remember grabbing it, and as they ran he saw flashes of moment beyond them, between trees and among the bushes. First from their right, then their left, and he could hear more voices shouting from behind.
Surrounded, he thought, and he would have been paralyzed with fear had Boromir not seen him slow and called to him. "Merry! Come! Don't let the fear control you."
He ran more towards Boromir than away from any fear, and he trampled along in a blur of fright. He had to get back to Pippin and the others, and to stay with Boromir, and--
"Here's one of the little rats now!"
A hand, rough and scaly, clamped on Merry's shoulder and threw him to the ground. He gasped, staring up at a large, strong form. Not an orc, one of those things Gandalf had called uruks.
The thing was grinning down at him with horrid black teeth, his great hands pawing him, trying to get a hold to lift him up.
There was a sudden fierce blow, a high note that drove back the fear from Merry's heart, and caused the Uruk to jump back, staring around wildly.
Merry looked up to see Boromir blasting another high note on his horn before charging back towards him and slicing the air before the Uruk, driving it back. "Up, Merry!"
Merry shot to his feet, and saw that they were surrounded on all sides by approaching figures, orcs and Uruks both.
He gripped his sword tightly, backing up closer to Boromir. There was no time for thought or talk, and they were set upon. Merry's little sword flashed, slicing at hands that tried to grab for him. Beside him Boromir sent orc after orc falling to the ground to lie still.
Merry didn't have time for much thought, but it was easy to see that the orcs weren't trying to hack and hurt him the way they were lunging at Boromir. There were no swords coming for him, just hands.
They were trying to capture him, he knew suddenly, but for what reason he couldn't tell.
There was a sound, an odd, high-pitched sound, like air buzzing over his head, and an odd kind of thump.
Then under the sounds of fighting and the screams of orcs, there was the softest noise, the tiniest whoosh of breath. Merry spun around, driven by a sudden, incomprehensible sense of urgency, and saw that Boromir had fallen. On his knees now, and from his body there stuck the end of an arrow, black and edged with matter feathers.
Boromir's face was gray, and his eyes seemed glazed and glassy. He looked up, and for a second his gaze brushed over Merry.
A movement dragged his attention away, and he spotted an Uruk behind Boromir, cocking another arrow into his bow, and aiming as if to shoot Boromir in his back as he kneeled.
Merry acted without thought, a cry of despair ripping from his throat. He lunged past Boromir and threw himself at the Uruk, knocking the bow from his hand and driving him back half a step. The Uruk laughed and grabbed him by the shirt, lifting him easily and tossing him as if he weighed nothing to another Uruk behind.
"We've got what we came for," the Uruk growled.
Merry struggled in the second Uruk's grip, raising his arm and swiping his blade down on the creature's arm. With a roar he was dropped, but the first Uruk grabbed him again, ripping the sword from his hand. "You want a sting yourself, little rat?"
Merry grabbed at his arm, biting his hand hard enough that he could taste black, foul blood. But the Uruk only laughed, and he wrapped his other hand around Merry's neck easily, hauling him up to eye level. "Do you want to end up like your friend?" he hissed into Merry's face, twisting him and holding him out to see Boromir.
Merry's struggles ceased in horror. Boromir had fallen, was lying on his side with that arrow jutting out. His eyes were closed.
Merry wanted to scream, but the grip around his throat made him hoarse. Instead he wept, tears burning down his face and over the skin of the Uruk.
He didn't fight anymore.
The orcs and Uruk ran, taking him off through the woods away from the company. He looked back until he could see no more, his gaze locked on Boromir, still as death.
His eyes were closed.