Boromir's Return -II- Book Four of the Tales of the Fourth Age Series

Prologue

(you'll want to listen to this as you read)

Amon Hen

TA 3019, February 26th

It was his fault; he let himself be tricked by the ring, had tried to claim it for Gondor. No, for himself.

Boromir shuddered as he ran, unsure of where he was running to; all he knew was that he no longer trusted himself to do what was right for the Fellowship. Off in the distance, Boromir heard familiar voices.

"Hey, hey you! Over here!" It was Merry. "Run Pippin!"

Boromir could just make out the young hobbits as they ran, a swarm of orcs that seemed to rival Boromir in height and strength chasing after them. He stood rooted in place; one heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Then, like an arrow, he was loosed and sped off after them.

By the time Boromir had caught up to them, Merry and Pippin were by a small bridge, orcs almost upon them. With a mighty roar, Boromir leaped into the path of the orcs, slaying two before they knew what had happened. He sent three more to the Abyss then lifted the Horn of Gondor to his lips, sounding the call for as he and the hobbits were forced to retreat.

A second, then a third time he sounded the horn as the bodies began to pile up around him. Merry and Pippin were throwing stones at the never-ending stream of orcs, trying as they might to buy time for Boromir to finish them off.

There was a break in the waves, and Boromir took in his surroundings; then there was a sudden burst of pain. Boromir gasped, the agony dropping him to his knees.

He could barely lift his left arm as he tried to suck in air. In the back of his mind, he could hear more orcs approaching, and he raised his gaze to Merry and Pippin who stared in horror.

For Merry.

Boromir cried out in rage as he jumped up, sword arching in the air and coming on the nearest orcs arm, taking it off in one mighty blow; Then he fought like a man possessed. One by one they fell to Boromir's blade, and after taking off the head of an orc, another arrow ripped through his stomach.

He staggered, almost collapsing from the shock. He looked again towards the hobbits, fear, and despair filling their eyes.

For Pippin.

Again Boromir let out a battle cry, fighting with the strength of ten men. So fierce was he, he drove back the horde for a brief moment, and he took a breath; then came the final arrow.

Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision as he sank to his knees, knowing that this time he would not rise again. This would be his end. Boromir watched helplessly as the orcs took Merry and Pippin, their cries echoing in his mind.

One arrow for each hobbit he had failed; One for Merry. One for Pippin. One for Frodo.

Boromir could make out one of the creatures looming over him, bow in hand, arrow notched. It growled mockingly at him as if to say, You thought you could save them?

Boromir closed his eyes; one arrow for the Fellowship he'd betrayed.

Just when he thought the foul creature would finish him, he heard a shout and fighting. He opened his eyes, the darkness almost obscuring his sight, and saw Aragorn as he fought; only he looked different. At that moment Boromir saw Aragorn as he was; a king. He shone like a star, filled with the royal blood of Numenor, standing in the likeness of the kings of old.