Title; Three Arrows
Author; Hiko Mokushi
Rating; PG
Warning; Descriptive death
Disclaimer: Tolkien rules.
Summery; The death of Boromir is remembered through the eyes of a friend.

Three Arrows
Hope fades
into the world of night.
Through shadows falling,
out of memory and time.
Don't say
we have come now to the end.
White shores are calling.
You and I will meet again!

What is the definition of a hero?

Any intellectual, like my dear old friend Gandalf, would describe a person of renowned courage and abilities, admired for his great deeds and noble qualities.

Ask any child, like Sam's little girl Goldilocks, and they'd depict a tale of fantasy and magic; a handsome warrior who rides a noble steed and saves the day, rescues the girl and is loved and adored.

A hardy veteran warrior would describe a best friend, somebody always by your side.

Well, I am no intellectual. I'm no warrior. My eyes have seen many years, but they've never seen them through the eyes of any powerful figure or anyone of real importance. I was a part of a fellowship. I fought the good fight and tried my best. I stuck with my friends, even though I couldn't help any of them. I'm no hero.

Jokingly, once it was for the Shire. Many for Middle Earth. A couple for Frodo and Sam.

Once it was for Boromir.

I didn't know that letting Frodo go would have resulted in the death of our friend.

Boromir was great in many ways. Part of the Big Folk, part of a kingly nation with a legacy. He protected us, thought of us, wanted us to live. I never considered that somebody should be protecting him, thinking of him, wanting him to live. He was Boromir, big and strong. I'd never thought anyone could beat him.

Sometimes I wake up late at night because the blare from the Horn of Gondor is ringing in my ears.

My mind replays the scene on the back of my eyelids, I can smell sweat and blood and forest and river in the air around me. I thrash and cry out, scream loud enough I wake Pippin. But when I wake up and see his face, I know that he hears it too. He sees and smells and screams too.

No harm came to us while Boromir fought.

With an arrow to the chest, still he fought on. Cried out and blew the Horn. Called for help. And I stood there, my dagger at my side, and my eyes focused on his.

He fell to his knees and his eyes met mine and all he did was nod. He was bleeding from his mouth and his eyes were tired and he was sweating fiercely. But still, he got to his feet and fought on. With two arrows in his chest he slew still more Orcs that swarmed around us. With three arrows he fell.

No longer could I stand by and watch, I screamed and dashed for his side. Boromir had risked all to save me, me and kinsman, and he had fallen. He knelt and could do nothing but stare as Pippin and I were kidnapped. Even in my nighttime fears I can still see his eyes, crying; his chest, bleeding; his mouth, moving.

I'm sorry.

Boromir died for us.

Let me ask you again: What is the definition of a hero?

Just something I thought about while watching LotR: FotR last night.

- Hiko Mokushi