The Hobbit Imagines

Final Stand (Boromir)

July 8, 2015: This was requested by GalionJones . I would also like to tell you guys to look at her Legolas fanfiction. It's called, "Dear, Legolas" and it's awesome! On top of that, I would just like to take a little bit of time to thank you for getting me to 1,000 views!

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This is Boromir's last stand.

Boromir's POV

I was surrounded. In the end, I had no place to run, no place to hide. The only thing I possessed was the courage to keep on fighting the massive group of orcs, confronting what I knew would have been a death wish.

Protect Merry and Pippin, that was the only thought running through my head at the time.

Even while I kept on slaughtering orc after orc, their numbers never seemed to dwindle. But I kept on fighting, since I felt unhappy and even mad at myself for being tempted to take the ring from Frodo. I knew that if I died protecting the other two halflings, I would die knowing that I haven't sacrificed my life for an unworthy cause. These four hobbits, after all, were the only ones that could take the ring to Mordor.

I blew the horn of Gondor, still clinging on to the slightest bit of hope that Legolas or Aragorn could help me or, at the very least, witness my last stand against evil. However, the horn just alerted more orcs that there was a man who overwhelmed and would be an easy target.

Slashing my sword into every orc that dared to come near me, I saw, in my peripheral vision, archers. They were ready fire, taking their aim.

I ignored it; I kept on fighting.

I felt the first arrow pierce a couple of inches underneath my left collar bone. I stopped fighting for a few seconds and fell to my knees- I had never felt the excruciating pain of an arrow being lodged inside of my body before. With every move, the arrow head moved with me, causing even more damage. Normal men would feel this pain and collapse, not having a will to go on, wishing for their death.

But I am not a normal man.

I ignored the pain; I kept on fighting.

I regained my composure and continued fighting. For I knew Merry and Pippin would either be killed or taken by the orcs if I stopped fighting.

Just as quickly as the first arrow had found a mark on by body, the second one landed underneath my rib cage. I heard the orc who had been shooting the arrows snarl, in hopes of killing me when I had fallen to the ground once again. I was now eye level with Merry and Pippin, they both looked at me in horror, knowing that I would surely die after this. Seeing their faces, I didn't want the orc or the hobbits to witness my death just yet.

I ignored the temptation to stay on the ground; I kept on fighting.

I realized I wasn't fighting for my life. After all, my own was lost. I was fighting for all the good that was left in the whole of Middle Earth, and I hoped people wouldn't live to see a day when evil came close to defeating good.

In the midst of focusing on fighting and not on my wounds, yet another arrow when through my light armor. It burrowed itself in the middle of my chest.

The time I breathed normally was long gone and forgotten; I had to fight for every single breath, each one becoming more shallow. My body was screaming in pain, asking for more air than I could deliver it. My organs were shouting as well, they were punctured and shutting down more and more every second I refused to die.

Seeing me struggle with pain, the hobbits charged forward, wanting to kill the orcs like they had successfully attempted to kill me. But Merry and Pippin had misjudged the size or the orcs. The orcs easily overtook them and forcefully picked the two halflings up and, with them thrashing about, continued running in a pack behind me.

I ignored the screams of the hobbits; I kept fighting the urge to die.

My vision started to blurry, and my senses were starting to fade into oblivion. I could barely see or hear any of my surroundings until Aragorn appeared in front of me, easing me to lay down on the ground.

"I would have followed you, my brother, my captain, my king." I managed to choke out.

To the onlooker, it was the moment after that when I breathed my last breath.

But to me, I saw my late mother, Finduilas, reading to a story to Faramir and I.

We both were giggling when she read to us the part where the prince kisses the princess. Then I puffed out my chest and said, "I'll be the prince."

Faramir had a hurt expression on his face. "Then what does that make me?" he asked.

"Well, we can both be princes, and we'll find the princess." I reply, while poking his chest.

My mother laughed.

I hadn't heard my mother's kind, gentle laugh in years.

A new scene played before my eyes, one almost identical to the final time she had read us a story. Except she seemed to be looking at me, sitting on a rocking chair in the grand hall of my father's home in Minas Tirith.

Her melodic, soft voice called out to me, "Boromir, I'm proud of you. Now won't you come and join me?"

I walked across the room to reunite with my beloved mother.