Then his eyes were open.

Boromir gasped and arched, rolling onto his back and staring blindly at the blue sky.

The orcs were running - even now he could see the last of the company running past as if he was just another rock.

He hissed and rolled to his side again, curling his legs so that he could push himself up to his knees. He was not dead - it would take more than one filthy arrow to kill the son of the steward of Gondor.

He found his sword where it had been lying under him, but the orcs were just dark figures in the distance. His eyes caught on the small glint of a blade near him, and he felt his burning chest collapse in sudden realization - Merry!

He struggled, but once he made it to one leg he stumbled and almost fell.

But he was caught, a hand gripping his arm and weight pressing against his side to hold him up. He surged back, trying to fight, but a familiar voice rang in his ear, distant somehow but audible. "Boromir! It's I!"

Legolas, his mind noted, and he stopped fighting and sagged against the solid weight of the elf. Legolas was slight, but strong, and he held Boromir easily. "Still! Be still! There's an arrow inside you."

Boromir would have laughed if his mind wasn't on the poor hobbit now taken up by his enemy. "I'm aware of that," he said instead. "Where is..." His voice failed and he felt a weakness coming over him.

"Down, Boromir. Lay down here among your fallen foes, and I will bring aid to you."

Boromir obeyed mostly because he didn't have the strength to argue. But his mind was replaying over and over he filthy uruks grabbing at Merry, tossing him around as if he was a prize they had won. They had him, they were taking him...

Aragorn was suddenly there, and he didn't know how much time had passed. To his shock there was a weigh pushing a bandage to his side, where the arrow had pierced through, but the arrow itself was gone.

Aragorn was speaking, elven words by the sound, in a low mumble. Boromir grasped for his hand. "Aragorn..."

Aragorn looked up in surprise and relief. "Be still. You've bled badly."

"The uruks. Merry."

Aragorn nodded grimly. "Pippin as well. There were too many to keep him safe."

"Frodo...?"

"He is gone, with Sam. Across the river and out of our hands."

"I..." He breathed in, and it was hard with such fierce weight holding him down. He knew that was in his mind, though, and he sucked in air stubbornly to try again.

But Aragorn silenced him. "I know what happened, but the madness hasn't won, and its cause is now far away."

Boromir sat up, and for a moment Aragorn protested, but then he aided, no doubt seeing the stubbornness in Boromir's eyes. "They took Merry. And Pippin. We must go after them."

"But the ring bearer is our true mission," Legolas said from somewhere behind. "Ought we leave him to whatever fortune he finds?"

Boromir found his sword beside him. He took it in his hand and started the slow and painful struggle to his feet. "Elves can choose their own path, but I have chosen mine. " He couldn't shake the image of Merry's face from his mind, and he knew with more certainty than he had ever seen his path before that he must go to his aide.

"Boromir. You're wounded. Whatever we decide for ourselves, you are near to your city and ought to go there and recover. You'll get nowhere like this."

Boromir glared down at Gimli. "Men are not made of anything weaker than dwarves. I will not crawl to a healing house and lay abed while my friend is out there being held by those filthy creatures. Whatever you decide, Gimli, I will not have my own choices blocked. "

Gimli's eyes went to Aragorn. Legolas too was looking to the man. Boromir reached his feet, finally, without aide and swaying just slightly before he could draw in air and relieve the crush in his chest, and stand more solidly. "My wound is not fatal."

"The chase might be," Aragorn answered, his eyes dark as they studied him.

"I have the right to choose the manner of my death, if that be so. But this will not kill me."

Aragorn frowned and looked away for a moment, off into the distance. "We will take an hour. I will think. Boromir, take a rest. If you're so driven to do this, it will be the only one you get for a time. " He frowned out at the trees. "The ring bearer...I feel sure that he did right, and that it is no longer my task to aid him. Frodo's fate is in his own hands now, his and Sam's. I would have gone with them to the end, to Mount Doom itself. But Boromir is right. Merry and Pippin cannot be abandoned."

He looked back at them, the three left in his company. "At last my heart speaks clearly. Rest, Boromir, and we will gather our packs. You will carry nothing but your sword, but you may still find it a trial to keep up with the chase we shall have to make."

Boromir nodded, sinking back and sitting heavily against a tree. "I am ready for a trial."