A/N: The third Lotr fic. Boromir annoys me in the middle of the movie but I love him when he's around Merry and Pippin. It seems to me that he always had a soft spot for them. This is just a peek inside his head after he tries to take the ring from Frodo and when he's fighting off the orcs. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: If I owned Lotr then Frodo would have just bitch-slapped Boromir in the beginning and then he wouldn't have died.
He knows, as he stares into their horrified faces, two arrows sticking out of his body, that he can't fail them like this. He's done so much wrong, but he can't fail them. He's failed so much, but he cannot fail them.
He doesn't know why he loves them so. Boromir is not one to love so lightly, yet Merry and Pippin have stolen his heart. They are his family, his children, his little brothers. He taught them to fight, and loved it when they tackled him. They were tough little buggers; what they lacked in size and speed they made up for in spirit. Nothing could defeat their spirits.
He loves them, in a way that he can't even describe. They are so full of spirit, so full of life, so full of love. They have no place in the wide world where they can be so easily crushed, but they don't even seem to care. Their loyalty is something he admires. And he wishes he had enough courage to be like them.
When he sees the orcs streaming towards them he knows that he has to help them. He runs for the orc that is coming towards them. No one is going to hurt them, his little ones, not so long as he has breath in his body. Not so long as he can wield a weapon. He strikes the orcs, slaying one after another, slaying whatever comes near him. A few slip by him, but he taught Merry and Pippin to fight and he hopes to whatever god is listening that they can take care of themselves.
The first arrow strikes him straight in the chest and he nearly screams. He sinks down and the orcs surge towards him, and towards the ones he so desperately loves.
No. He says, silently in his mind. He clambers to his feet and keeps fighting. He knows he's going to die, but maybe he can give the little ones time to flee. In his heart he knows that they won't go, but he keeps fighting anyway.
The second arrow buries itself into his chest and spins him around, so that he faces the two hobbits. He falls to his knees, strength nearly leaving him. He's shaking and it's hard to breath and it hurts more than anything he's ever felt before. What hurts more is the thought that he's failed, again, that these two hobbits he loves so much will fall and their spirits will be broken and the light will leave their eyes.
No. To everyone's surprise, even his own, he surges to his feet again, and his sword slices into another orc.
The bastard archer, the leader of the orcs, the hideous monster, is striding towards him, an ugly snarl on an even uglier face. He raises the crossbow again and fires.
Boromir knows that he's not getting up from the third arrow. The orcs sweep around him and gather up the crying and fighting hobbits, who scream his name. He doesn't watch them go, because his heart is breaking to know that he's lost them.
The orc is in front of him know, crossbow aimed straight at him. A shot from such a close range will kill him for sure. There will be no more life after that fourth bolt.
I love you, Merry and Pippin. I'm sorry I failed you. He doesn't close his eyes as he waits for the last shot, his chest heaving. He sees Aragorn leap seemingly out of nowhere; watches as the man who he failed kills his murderer. He knows it's too late.
He's lost the ones he loves.
He's lost his little ones.
And even if they can forgive him, he can never forgive himself.