2. Drabbled Epilogue
Strong winds drove the distant screams to his cell atop Barad-dûr. Shackled to the wall, he listened -- Orcs roamed freely, burning, raping, killing. The chains that held him were unneeded; crushed of spirit, memory of his own deeds held him more captive than any bond could: his father, murdered; his brother, imprisoned; his people, enslaved; his city, destroyed.
Defeated, his legions annihilated, even honor in death had been denied him. The Ring-maker thanked him as he took the jewel from his hand, then sent him to this cell.
Alone in eternal darkness, Boromir hearkened the world false pride had wrought.
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