A/N: Hello, everyone! It's been a LONG time, hasn't it? We won't go into why we haven't updated in so long because that would take a lot of explaining, so we'll just apologize profusely for the wait. Thank you all for your reviews, we appreciate them, and we hope that you continue to enjoy the story as we've enjoyed writing it.
Keep holding on
When my brain's ticking like a bomb
Guess the black thoughts have come again to get me…
Sing along, mockingbird, you don't affect me
Wait, I'm coming undone
Unlaced, I'm coming undone, too late
Please strike
Make it quick now
I'm trying to hold it together
Looks like I'm not getting better
'Coming Undone' by Korn
Chapter 29
For a long moment, all Boromir could do was stare at the space beneath him that should have contained a small body. The thick blankets of leaves were dented where a body should have been, and more leaves were disturbed and rustled into the air to let him know the hobbit was moving.
His throat tightened with rage. Frodo was leaving – fleeing with the Ring. Taking it far away from him, no doubt. He understood now. Frodo had gotten up and left earlier with plans to leave them. He knew how valuable the Ring was to them, he understood that it could aide his people, but he cared not. Frodo was the twisted one, not he. Carrying the Ring all this way did something to Frodo's mind, and now he would take it to their enemy. Boromir could feel the truth of that down in his bones. He directed his speech in the direction he thought Frodo had gone in. "I see your mind! You would take the Ring to Sauron!" His voice echoed dimly in the deceptively silent forest, but he knew the Hobbit was still there. Listening. "You will betray us! You go to your death, and the death of us all! Curse you!" he screamed, spittle spraying the air in his anger. "Curse all you Halflings!"
Boromir struggled to his feet and prepared to run in the direction he was sure Frodo went in. He tripped however, although he did not know what he could have tripped over. It suddenly felt as if his feet gave way under him. He felt weightless for a brief moment, and suddenly the ground was there, leaves scratching his palms and dirt hitting his knees. He heard the sound of feet moving through the brush. Frodo.
Frodo.
Boromir didn't move from the ground, and only listened to the sound of his own harsh breathing. Where was Frodo? He looked around the silent forest as if seeing it for the first time, and how did he get on the ground again?
There had been a veil over his mind, like a thin wool cloth turning his world grey. It was clear now, and left confusion. Why had he tried to do that? Why had he felt the need the Ring so badly? He knew it was evil.
He recalled the horror in Frodo's blue eyes at his words, and instant guilt and regret flooded the Man. He felt like a beast.
"Frodo?" he called out. His voice sounded small against the large forest. He strengthened it. "Frodo?"
The forest was still. He couldn't be gone. Boromir had to speak to him. He hadn't meant those awful words. What was wrong with him? Was his mind so befuddled and blinded that he would willingly threaten Frodo, and in doing so, threaten the whole Fellowship's trust?
"What have I done?" Horror washed through him, and a sob he could not contain shook his chest. "Frodo, I'm sorry!" he yelled hoarsely.
The remaining Hobbits were told to stay at the campsite, near the water. Legolas prayed they did as they were told; however, he couldn't be certain if any place was safe at the moment.
The forest was deadly quiet, and it unnerved him. It felt as if the trees and animals were holding their breath, waiting for something climactic to occur. The trees were still with fear that tickled the back of Legolas' neck. He knew danger lurked nearby.
Nevada did not need Legolas's communion with the trees to understand that the possibility of battle was very close. She didn't dare call out Frodo's name at this point. Rather, she relied on the Hobbit's heavy footsteps to indicate where he was. So far, she was hearing nothing but Gimli's, no matter how still she stood. She began walking again, the feeling of danger growing higher until she found herself breathing shallowly through her mouth, her right hand clutching the hilt of her sword.
She turned her head to look at Legolas, yards away. He was scanning the trees and rocks, and turned when he felt her eyes on him. He shook his head. Gimli was further behind her, taking slower steps, mindful of his heavy footfall. His axe was already clasped in his hands, and he seemed content to let Nevada and Legolas do most of the searching.
Nevada was feeling too paranoid to be irritated with him. If she did not know any better, she would have sworn that terrible something was so close, it could be breathing down her neck –
Snap!
Three heads jerked to the right, and in the near distance they could make out the shapes of large dark forms making their way in the general direction of the Dwarf, Faerie, and Elf.
Legolas strode up next to Nevada, his bow in his hand and an arrow already loosely fit. "They haven't spotted us yet," he breathed in her ear. "Get ready."
"What are Orcs doing out in the daylight?" Nevada whispered back. A chill went down her spine at the very thought of her enemies no longer seeing daylight as a weakness, but able to walk in the sunlight and fight at all times of the day.
"They look too large to be Orcs," Gimli observed. His grip on the axe's staff tightened.
Legolas shook his head in agreement. "They are not Orcs. Although I am not sure what they are." The forms drew closer, and the Immortal's eyes could make out white face paint on the faces of their enemy – hand prints.
Their skin looked leathery, tough; arms bulged with muscles most Orcs lacked. Orcs were generally built slighter than this; these resembled unnaturally large men, with long stringy dark hair and bull-like faces.
Legolas looked some of them over from head to toe, assessing their armor, where it left them vulnerable, and where would be a waste to shoot. The armor about their throats looked particularly weak. As they loomed closer, so much larger in stature than anything Legolas had ever fought, he felt a quick snake of apprehension slide down his spine before he steeled himself for battle. They were not Immortal, he told himself; they could be killed, just as Orcs could. He would kill them all before they reached the Hobbits.
"Behind the trees."
Nevada almost jumped at Legolas's quiet command. She wanted to snap that she knew what to do in a situation like this; in fact, it would have made more sense to go up into the trees, but they couldn't leave Gimli. The monsters were too close to make any last minute decisions concerning that type of movement. They'd wasted enough precious time as it was gawking at the new breed of evil. Legolas took behind a large oak to Nevada's left, and she slid behind a similar oak to her left. Gimli took behind another tree and crouched down low, his fingers curled tightly around the staff he was prepared to swing at any moment.
Nevada didn't pull out her sword. The Elf had the right idea – these bastards were too large, many of them needed to be taken out by arrows first. As they drew closer, however, she started to see just how large they were.
They were chanting something. Marching in lines of two, and every once in a while she could hear them snarl, sounding for all they were like mightily pissed off wild boar.
Nevada felt fear of her enemy for the first time since the Balrog.
They were huge. At least a foot taller than she, and outweighed her by at least eighty pounds. There were dozens of them. Normally this wouldn't bother her, but it did. She had never seen anything like them before, and they were walking around in daylight like they had the right to be there.
They were a few dozen yards away when one of the beasts in the front stopped his slow jog. He spoke to the others, but Nevada couldn't quite catch what was said, since he spoke rapidly, his voice guttural. He motioned for some to follow him, and about half of the dozens upon dozens followed him further ahead while others stayed.
The group that stayed followed one larger beast, who ushered them in their direction, and about halfway across the small clearing before the trees started growing, the large beast stopped.
He turned his head left, then right, looking as if he were sniffing the air.
Can he smell us? Nevada thought, mildly horrified by the idea.
Abruptly, the monster threw his head back and let out a deafening, animalistic roar that his companions imitated moments later.
"Holy shit," Nevada breathed, eyes widening. "Oh shit. Shit." They were going to eat her alive.
Stop it, she scolded herself. They're beasts that can be killed, they're just larger and much more frightening looking than you're used to. That's no reason to feel like running in the other direction. Get over it. Her body gave one hard shudder.
Legolas looked at Nevada, and waited for her to look back and nod. She did, but he could tell she was frightened. Her pupils had contracted to small pinpoints, but she held her ground. Legolas knew once the fighting started, she would feel more confident. Gimli shifted to be ready to spring up, and Nevada pulled her bow and an arrow out. She notched it at the same time Legolas did, their muscles tense in preparation of letting the arrows fly, ready to coil back for another arrow the second after the first was released.
The beasts were yards away, and they couldn't wait any longer.
Nevada aimed for the larger one in the front. She let the arrow fly, and the beast jerked back with a feathered arrow sticking out of the hollow in his throat. A split second later, one hit him in the middle of the forehead, and he dropped like a stone.
His companions did not hesitate. With a deafening roar, they brandished their weapons – rusted curved swords, daggers, bow and arrows, and charged.
Nevada's mind shut down on anything but the task before her, and let loose arrow after arrow into the thick of the monsters. Legolas' mingled with hers, and five or six of them went down under their rain of arrows. Gimli charged from behind his tree with a roar, too soon – Legolas had hoped he would wait until he and Nevada ran out of arrows. Swallowing a curse, he followed the Dwarf out in the open for his own protection, waving Nevada back.
Like hell. She fired three more arrows, found her supply already low, and decided to be done with that. They were coming in far too close, anyway. She put the bow away in favor of her sword, and stepped out into the clearing.
She was immediately spotted by the beasts, and three came charging in her direction.
"That's hardly fair, is it?" she called out to them, expecting no response. They drew out their weapons, and Nevada's mind worked quickly on how to get out of this alive and bring them down while she was at it. The first giant came at her, and she ducked low when his curved sword arced through the air. She heard it whistle near her skin, and, not giving him a moment to bring the sword back up, slammed the handle of her own sword into the wrist holding the curved blade.
His fist opened, and the sword flew out of it. He let out a roar that Nev thought would surely deafen her. She twisted her wrist, and her blade arced into the air at the same time she bent her knees in preparation to jump. She directed her sword towards the beast in front of her, but instead of sticking him with it, she leapt into the air. Nevada turned her body and kicked her left leg out, the ball of her foot connecting forcefully with his side. It was enough to drive him back, and as her body turned with the kick, she brought her sword down to the monster behind her.
He brought his sword up to meet her own, and the blades connected with a loud metal crash. Nevada bit back a gasp as sharp pain reverberated up her arm from the force of the connection. She gritted her teeth against the growing numbness in her arm and grabbed for the dagger in her belt. She swung it towards his face, taking him by surprise. The blade cut deep into his cheek, and she pulled her sword away and backed off to have enough room to kick him in the face. She landed a nice roundhouse kick, but she didn't anticipate him catching her foot with his hand.
It threw her off balance, and Nevada found herself stumbling back onto the ground. She gained her balance in time to get swiped across the face by the beast's large hand.
Pain exploded in Nevada's jaw and cheek bone, and she managed to catch herself on her hands and knees before she fell on the ground again. "Shit!" Her face felt like it was on fire. She could hear him behind her, and Nevada twisted and lashed out. She grabbed his leather boot and gave a vicious tug. The monster toppled and fell to the ground, and Nevada scrambled on top of him and brought a fist down to his face. She connected with his nose, and Nevada tried to ignore the fact that it felt like hitting a brick wall and she might've broken her hand doing it.
Black blood spurted from his face, and with a roar his hand came up and groped for her neck. No, I don't think so, Nevada thought, and reared her head back and gripped her knife in one hand. She brought it down swiftly, aiming for the thin line of dark skin showing between plates of leather and armor. The blade almost connected when his hand shot up and wrapped around hers and the dagger. She stared incredulously at him.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she cried. "Why won't you die?"
"Nevada!" she heard Legolas call, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see him fighting his way over to her.
"No!" she yelled back, and when he tried to get up, she locked her legs and applied all her weight down. "I'm fine, this one's going to die, keep fighting!"
She turned her attention back to the beast, now hell bent on destroying it. Nevada tried to pull her hand away from his, but he kept a grip on it and grinned hideously at her. She was getting a little frantic on how hard it was to kill this thing.
Nevada tried cracking it in the head with her sword, and when that didn't work she decided to go for his jugular. She brought her sword back so the tip was near his neck just as she felt something slam into her back.
Nevada let loose a stream of curses as she abandoned the one below her in favor of killing the one behind her. It was a little easier because she was faster and much more angry. His sword strokes became defensive as she ruthlessly ignored the growing pain in her sword arm and attacked. Nevada slipped past his defense and her sword sank into the patch of skin near his underarm. When he went down, she thrust her sword down, cutting through leather and tearing open an artery. Nevada left that one for dead and turned her attention back to the bastard that had given her so much trouble.
Only to find it dead with a broad sword through his heart. Startled, Nevada stared as Aragorn pulled his sword back out.
"Why do I always have to save you?" Aragorn asked, giving her a grin.
Nevada gaped at him for a second longer before launching into a tirade he only half understood about the size of the 'overgrown monkeys with hands the size of Gimli's head' and how she'd been 'trying to kill that bastard for ten minutes and I would have finished him' and the rest was unclear because it was in her native language and shortly after addressed to the beasts they began fighting again. Aragorn found he liked it much better when she was fighting and delivering insults rather than on the ground and fighting for her life like he had watched earlier and he couldn't get to her in time. She seemed to be getting the hang of fighting the intimidating monsters, however.
Legolas was having a little more luck. He had figured out quickly that there was less coverage of armor near their necks and in the flesh underneath their arms, and was doing his best to bring as many down as he could. One had caught him unawares and he was now sporting a deep cut along his hairline, and he had rewarded that monster with a long knife to the throat. Every so often he kept an eye out for Nevada, who was finally getting back to her feet and wrecking havoc on a few of them herself, and also and eye out for Gimli. The Dwarf was adapting surprisingly well to the new breed of Orcs; Legolas had never seen Gimli use his axe with such ferocity. He had sent a few heads rolling in the past fifteen minutes, and the Elf couldn't help but feel a little pride for the Dwarf.
He was extremely grateful when Aragorn showed up. That meant that he had either found Frodo and tucked him away somewhere safe, or he didn't find him. If Aragorn could not find Frodo, then neither could the monsters. It was unthinkable that they would have better luck finding him versus the hunter he knew.
One of the beasts snuck up behind Legolas, but he heard the footfalls and spun around, long knives twirling to meet his sword. The Elf worked the beast backwards and finally managed to knock away his sword. Legolas went in for the kill, and as the body fell, he heard it.
The horn of Gondor.
The battlefield had cleared some due to the dead bodies littering the ground, and from across it Nevada paused and met his puzzled gaze with one of her own. Aragorn's head had turned sharply towards the direction of the horn.
Gimli lobbed off the head of another beast, and once it was clear he was alone for the time being, he looked over to Legolas, uncertain of whether that was a friendly calling or not.
"The horn of Gondor," Legolas supplied, and Gimli nodded. "Boromir!"
The four took off for the direction the horn was coming from.
The world became hellish the moment Frodo slipped on the Ring. What was once the forest around him became a desolate landscape, the once sunny area turning gray with shadows everywhere he looked. Screaming winds tore at his clothes and blew through his hair, making it hard to see as the wind made his eyes tear and sting.
He had to get away from Boromir.
Praying he was going in a direction that might lead him back to camp, Frodo ran through the torn and gray forest, fighting against the strong winds that blew from every direction, that seemed to have no purpose other than to hinder him.
Through the winds and the dying trees, Frodo saw a large, crumbling stone structure looming closer as he ran. That would have to do. As he made his way towards it, hid behind it, he became aware of a voice that was carried on the winds around him.
He knew that horrible voice.
No! He screamed silently. Leave me alone! Go away!
The deep timbre of the voice was suddenly closer, as if whoever was speaking was right in his ear, and Frodo jerked back. The landscape in front of him changed, and Frodo was no longer looking at gray trees and crumbling stone. The landscape in front of him disappeared, and in its place was a much darker area than he could ever imagine.
The light turned to black, and all he could see was a looming, dark tower that soared into the air. The never-endings winds grew stronger, and Frodo gripped the stone in front of him tightly. He watched as the top of the tower came into view, and on top rested –
Frodo cried out in horror and stumbled back. The huge, flaming eye that seemed to stare into his soul was right there, right there in front of him. That voice was in his head, coming from that wicked eye, and Frodo's heart thundered in his chest. Scrambling for the Ring on his finger, Frodo gave it a sharp tug, and then it was in his hand.
Light flooded his vision, and with a short cry, he realized he was falling.
He landed on the ground on his back, and his breath whooshed out with the impact. He stared up at the green trees and blue sky. He's gone, he thought thankfully. And I'm never putting that Ring on again. Ever.
Frodo sat up and shakily put the Ring and the necklace back around his neck. He never felt more grateful to feel the cool dirt under him and the sun over his hair and face. And Boromir was nowhere in sight. He would find camp again, but it occurred to him that if Boromir was not himself, what of the others?
Who could he trust now?
With a sinking feeling, he realized that the best course of action now would be to continue on alone. His friends would be so much safer that way. He had a hard journey ahead of him, and he didn't want anything to happen to Sam, Merry, or Pippin. And as much as he was grateful for Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, and Nevada, he just wasn't sure if he could trust them now. They may not be able to help themselves.
So that's it, Frodo thought despairingly. It's just me now.
"Frodo?"
Frodo looked up, startled. Aragorn walked towards him. It hurt Frodo to take a step back from once trusting the ranger to now looking upon him with suspicion.
"It has taken Boromir."
Aragorn couldn't say that he was surprised. "Where is the Ring?" He started towards Frodo to make sure he was all right, but Frodo nearly stumbled in backing away from him.
"Stay away!" Fear climbed back into Frodo's heart. He did not want to put the Ring on again, but he knew he wouldn't be able to evade Aragorn if he tried to take it from him.
Puzzled, Aragorn stopped and stared at him. "Frodo?" The Hobbit looked at him with fear in his bright blue eyes, and suddenly Aragorn understood. Frodo was afraid he wouldn't be able to control himself either, and would try to take the Ring from him. The man shook his head. "I swore to protect you."
"Can you protect me from yourself?" Frodo asked. He put the Ring in his hand again, cupped it there. "Would you destroy it?"
Aragorn stepped forward so he was in front of Frodo. Hesitated. He stared at the golden Ring in the small palm, and felt a whispering tug at the back of his mind. Calling his name. Take it. It would bring so much. You could end this war with that much power. Aragorn listened to the voice that was not his own in his head, and for a brief moment, it made sense to take the Ring. Use it to stop this war. But then he looked at Frodo's wide, fearful eyes, and remembered why they had to destroy this Ring. Why it was evil. With a bit of struggle, he firmly shut the voice away. It was not his voice – he would not listen to it. No matter how hard it was.
Kneeling down in front of Frodo, Aragorn implored the Hobbit with his own eyes. I will not betray you, he said silently. He understood what Frodo needed to do, if he could not trust members of the Fellowship any longer. He reached out and placed his larger hand on the Hobbit's smaller one, and curled Frodo's fingers in to hold the Ring.
"I would have gone with you to the end." Aragorn felt the grief of a friend letting the other go to whatever dangers lay out there. He did not feel right that Frodo should go alone, but he knew it had to be. This task was Frodo's; no one else's. "Into the very fires of Mordor."
Frodo looked into Aragorn's blue eyes and felt relief wash through him. "I know. Take care of the others. Especially Sam. He will not understand."
Aragorn went to nod, and looked down. An intense blue glowed emanated from Frodo's scabbard. Alarmed, Frodo stood up and drew his own sword. "Go, Frodo!"
Frodo looked down and, horrified, saw that his sword was glowing.
"Run!" Aragorn gave the Hobbit a push in the opposite direction of where he could hear the Orcs moving in. "Run!"
Frodo ran, but not before looking back and seeing the large, dark creatures making their way towards Aragorn. Please, let Aragorn win this fight. Let him be okay and stay alive. The Hobbit ran as fast as his legs would carry him, down the hill and deep into the forest where he could hear more of the beasts roaming around.
He narrowly dodged some of them be hiding behind trees when they came running near him, and finally he came to a large oak that had a good deal of brush in front of it that would hide him. He slid behind that, and crouched there to catch his breath and slow down his thundering heart.
Noises to his left, leaves and twigs under someone else's foot caused his heart to clamber in his chest again, and when he turned to look, he nearly collapsed with relief.
Merry and Pippin were hiding behind the tree across from him.
Pippin saw Frodo and, excited to find his friend, motioned for him to come over. "Here, Frodo, hide here!"
Feeling that despair climb into his heart again, Frodo shook his head silently.
Pippin tilted his head curiously. "What's he doing?"
Merry stared hard at Frodo, and Frodo looked back, his eyes imploring. It took him a long moment, but Merry finally understood. "He's leaving." Why, Frodo?
Pippin, horrified at the prospect of Frodo continuing on by himself, did the first thing that came in mind. He leaped out of the bush and towards his friend. "No, Frodo!"
"Pippin!" Merry hissed, and then left with no choice, crawled out of the bush to follow his cousin. Dozens of footsteps to their right made them both look over, and their eyes widened at the sight of the giant Orcs running in their direction. Merry looked down to where Frodo was still hiding. He would never get a chance to continue this mission if he died here.
Be careful, Frodo, Merry willed silently. And then, praying that he and Pippin would get out of this alive, waved his arms above his head. "Hey! Hey! Over here! This way!"
The beasts changed their direction and began running straight towards Merry and Pippin. Merry pulled on Pippin's shirt sleeve and they took off, running headlong into the forest with the large Orcs not far behind. They ran past Frodo, completely missing him in the brush.
"It's working!" Pippin gasped out.
"I know it's working, run!" Merry said. Once again, the Hobbit cursed his smaller stature and inability to run fast enough to stay out of harm's way.
The two hurdled down slopes and through trees, feeling the Orcs practically breathing down their necks. They ran straight into a clearing, where even more of the beasts gathered. We're going to die, Merry thought in dismay. There's just too many of them.
The beasts in front of them, however, seemed preoccupied. They were fighting someone. Merry couldn't quite see who, until two of the monsters were cut down by someone's sword.
Boromir!
The man spotted the two Hobbits as they came careening into the clearing, and his task of protecting his own being turned into protecting three. He fought his way towards them.
"We need to hide, Merry!" Pippin said desperately.
Merry wanted to help Boromir, but he looked as Pippin's terrified face and decided they would be more help to Boromir if the man didn't have to worry about them. "Come on." He led Pippin to some shrubbery, and they darted behind it. Hoping that would be enough, they both crouched and watched Boromir fight, prepared to run out and aide him if he needed it.
Boromir breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that they hid, and turned his attention back to fighting the beasts that had surprised him earlier after Frodo left. So many of them came, and they were enormous. Never had he fought against Orcs so large, and in the daylight! It was to his advantage that over half of them were not superb fighters, and he was easily able to subdue them, but quite a few were skilled, as well.
He was becoming quickly outnumbered. There were simply too many of them. He spun and his sword sunk into one of the beast's shoulder, burying deep and accompanied by the beast's roar of pain. Boromir jerked it out, spun around, and stabbed another in the chest. His arm was growing tired from the constant fighting, but he would certainly die if he stopped.
He became aware of the slight weight against his hip and looked down, remembering the horn of Gondor. Relieved, he continued fending them off as his left hand grabbed for his horn. If he only had some aide, he would be able to defeat them and the Hobbits would be safe. After his betrayal, that was the least he could do.
Boromir waited until there was a lull in the beasts around him to bring the horn to his lips and blow with all his might. The mighty, deep sound of the horn echoed throughout the forest. He was aware that by making such a sound, he would attract even more of the beasts to him, but he would so attract his comrades. The positive outweighed the negative in this aspect.
He blew it twice more before putting it down and continuing to fight. He was heartened by the amount of the dead that lay at his feet. He could hold out until his comrades came. Boromir whirled around to meet the blade of another Orc, side stepping another, and brought down his sword –
Pain slammed into his chest, so fierce that he could barely gasp in a breath. His entire body jerked backward, but somehow he was able to stay on his feet. His visions went black for a long moment, and then slowly cleared so he could see the clearing in front of him and the Orcs yards away. He could hear the horrified cries of the Hobbits in the brush.
The pain was obscene, his chest on fire, and when Boromir chanced a look down, he saw why.
A large arrow appeared to grow out of his chest. Stunned with this development, all Boromir could do was stare at it in amazement as sharp pains emanated from it. He wasn't positive that this was a mortal wound, and as other noises penetrated his hearing – bellows from beast's now only feet away – he realized that he had to keep fighting.
Boromir gritted his teeth against the pain, and with a yell, brought his sword up to meet the blows raining down on him. He managed to kill two of them and, feeling triumphant, he brought down a third. They will not kill me so easily.
Hot, searing pain hit him again, and this time it brought Boromir to his knees. He gasped out air, staring as a second arrow joined the first a few inches below it. What was this? Who was the shooter? Boromir looked up, and saw him.
This Orc towered over the rest. The massive beast stood at the top of the hill, grinning at Boromir, and notched another arrow from the large wooden bow.
There was no way that Boromir was going to sit there and take that arrow. Fighting past the horrible pain, Boromir picked up his sword in his weakening arm and, with a battle yell, continued to fight on his knees. Every time an Orc sword connect with his, hot needles shot up his arm, and with every jerk of his body pain coursed through it. Yet he still kept fighting.
His body jerked back with the impact of the third arrow, and this time Boromir could not lift up his sword. It was becoming hard to draw in a breath, so he breathed in with short, wheezing gasps. He still clutched his sword even though it had fallen to the ground.
Merry and Pippin could not believe their eyes. Boromir looked disoriented, in pain, and three large arrows protruded from his chest. He's going to die, Merry thought, and the thought of it made tears sting his eyes and sorrow squeeze his chest. Those bastards, Merry thought fiercely. How can they get away with killing like this?
He couldn't just stand by and watch that monstrous Orc kill Boromir.
Merry screamed at the top of his lungs, feeling the tears threatening to spill over, and reached down to pull out his sword. Pippin looked over at Merry, his grief-stricken expression matching his own, and Merry's urge to fight for Boromir caught on. Pippin let out a yell for all he was worth, and drew his own sword.
The two Hobbits ran towards Boromir, swords brandished, prepared to fight for the dying man. They weren't prepared, however, for how large and powerful these new Orcs were. Before they could use their swords, two Orcs grabbed the Hobbits up by the waist. Merry cried out in surprise as he felt himself being lifted in the air, panicked now that he wasn't on his feet. He met Pippin's terrified expression, and began to pound as hard as he could on the Orc's back. The beast all but ignored him, and continued to jog away from Boromir with Merry in his arms.
"Boromir!" Pippin yelled, arms reaching out for the Man who was rapidly becoming further away from them. All the wounded Man could do was watch in despair as the two Hobbits were taken away.
Boromir could hear the running footsteps of the beasts carrying the Hobbits away, as well as all of the other Orcs. He was confused as to why they would suddenly leave, but then recalled the words of one of them earlier – their only task had been to find a Hobbit. They found two, so their mission was complete.
And it was all his fault.
I'm so sorry, he thought, grieving for them. I'm sorry I let you down. All of you.
Boromir struggled to gain another breath, his eyes staring unseeing at the forest floor. One last set of footsteps walked toward him, and he no longer cared whose it was. He looked up, nonetheless.
The bastard who shot him three times stood there, impossibly tall. He grinned at Boromir once again, and then notched an arrow to his large bow. The wood creaked loudly as the Orc drew the arrow back, the wood on the bow straining as the cord stretched. It was pointed at his face. Boromir prayed for the Hobbits, for his people, and for himself.
It was to Boromir's complete surprise that the beast was knocked aside by a dark blur; a dark blur that became Aragorn. Boromir had forgotten that he summoned them with horn of Gondor. Numbly, the Man watched Aragorn fend off the monster who would have taken his life, and for once felt grateful for the Ranger.
Aragorn had no time to be surprised by the condition Boromir was in. He registered the shock of the three arrows in his chest, and then pushed it aside as he fought.
The beast's notched arrow flew harmlessly away from the bow to the ground and, enraged, he roared at Aragorn and leapt at him. Their swords clashed, and with a ferocity that stunned Aragorn, the beast gave him a shove that threw off Aragorn's momentum. He stumbled back hard into a tree, and before he could react, the larger opponent threw what Aragorn assumed was a shield at him. Bracing himself for impact, Aragorn was mildly surprised when the shield imbedded itself into the trunk around his neck, encasing his neck close to the trunk of the tree.
Aragorn lifted his hands and pushed at the shield to jar it from the trunk, his efforts growing more frantic as the beast charged towards him, lips peeled back to reveal sharpened, yellowed teeth. Aragorn was finally able to loosen the shield from the trunk enough to slide his head under it. Not a second later, the sword was imbedded into the trunk.
Free of the shield, Aragorn balled his right hand into a fist and drove it into the monster's stomach, driving him back a few feet. It didn't deter him for long, however, for Aragorn felt a larger hand grasp the cloth of his shirt, and Aragorn was thrown to the ground. The breath left his lungs, and he watched as his opponent raised his sword high to bring down on Aragorn. He rolled out of the way just in time, and viciously kicked out with his leg to catch the beast off guard. Aragorn reached for the dagger at his side, brought it out and up in an arch, and stabbed the beast in the upper thigh.
His opponent bellowed in pain, grasping his thigh, and then alternating his grip to bring a fist swiftly down on the side of Aragorn's face. Pain exploded in Aragorn's head, and he rolled to get out of the way, but his opponent grabbed his shirt first. He found himself hauled up to his knees, and without warning, the beast bashed his head with Aragorn's.
Suddenly getting hit in the face didn't hurt nearly as much, Aragorn thought, slightly dazed from the pain. He needed to think of something now, or he wasn't sure if he would come out of this fight alive. The beast still had a grip on his shirt, and he used that to his advantage by throwing Aragorn to the ground. The man felt himself go airborne briefly before colliding painfully with the dirt. He got on his knees, and out of he corner of his eye saw the beast rip out the man's dagger from his thigh with a snarl.
Breathing heavily, blood coming out of his nose and probably a dozen more places on his body, Aragorn watched the beast watch him while he licked his own blood off of Aragorn's dagger. Fighting off nausea, Aragorn grabbed his sword. When the beast hurled his own knife at hi, Aragorn brought up his sword to deflect it, sending it careening to the ground with a clang.
Aragorn's opponent picked up his own sword, and as he charged forward, Aragorn forced himself to get to his feet. He met the other sword with his own, and the two parried back and forth furiously before Aragorn saw an opening. He brought his sword down swiftly onto the beast's arm, and the momentum took the arm clean off. Aragorn changed direction, and thrust his sword forward, this time towards the beast's chest. Buried deep, the beast nonetheless did not flinch, and instead grasped the sword, pulling it deeper into him to get closer to Aragorn. He roared in the man's face, and instead of being intimidated, Aragorn felt fury wash over him. He pulled his sword out of the beast, and brought it as hard as he could in a clean slash towards his opponent's neck.
The monster's head was sliced clean off.
It was over.
