His father told me where to find him, but I am too late. I am too late, at least, for Denethor's plan. But a new one forms in my heart and quickly consumes me. He is surrounded by Orcs and evil things the likes of which I have never seen. However, naught causes me fear, and so I wait.
Fruition comes quickly. Though he fights hard, he is no match for them. I am a little surprised to see the Scourge of Gondor fall. I see the Halflings being taken. Well, they do not matter to me. I do naught but turn and watch until the beasts leave him; he sits in the grass, pulling arrows from his body. I furrow my brow in surprise. Still, even at death's door, the man shows incredible haughtiness. I think that is why I hate him the most. Always so sure of himself. Always the know-it-all. 'Well, leave the arrows in,' I think, 'it will make no difference. You are dead and do not even know it.'
As the last of the creatures leaves the area, I step forward.
"I am here, Lord Boromir. I came too late."
"Did you see them? I cannot any longer. Two little ones. Did you see them? We must rescue them."
His breath catches and I know he has but minutes to live - and I have but minutes to question him.
"The quest, my Lord? Were you able to find Isildur's Bane?"
"I did. I tried to take it." He sobs.
I sit back on my haunches. "I will take your place, Lord Boromir. Tell me who has it and where he is. I will take your place."
His eyes rise in hope and I would have smirked if I thought it would pass his notice. But even wounded unto death, the son of Denethor is still a force to be reckoned with.
"I promise to uphold your honor, Boromir. I will take your quest upon me and help in its fulfillment. Tell me where it is."
He swallows convulsively. He only has moments. I dare not show my hand though, else he would know my purpose.
"The Halfling has it. I believe he went to the river. You must help him, Húrin. He is pure and gentle and will be o'ercome by all he sees in Mordor."
"I will help him, Lord Boromir. Go now to your rest. You have done all you could."
He weeps quietly. I kiss him, only for his father's sake, upon his forehead, and move off.
Running silently, as Faramir had taught me, I reach the river in short time. There are no Orcs about, nor any other creature or man. I curse under my breath. 'Where is he? Where has he gone?'
I hear a whimper and look upriver. He stands there, oblivious. My spine tingles. He has it in his hand. 'By Morgoth's breath, it will be mine.'
He never hears me. Never feels a thing but the quick, killing blade. Then it is over. He lays at my feet, eyes open wide, hand clutching it. I howl in triumph - not aloud - never aloud for the forces of the Enemy might still be about. I take it and scream in pain. It takes me, takes my mind! I have never felt such pain, but the joy that courses through me, primal joy unknown before, fills me and I run, run as fast as I can towards the stairs that lead to Minas Tirith. And I know I will NOT give it to the Steward. It is mine.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.