Summary: The account of Boromir's last moments as he defends Merry and Pippin on Amon Hen, from his perspective. Rated for violence, just to be safe.

Author's Notes: I've been told that I have mastered simplicity, in my writing of Given Up. Now tell me, do I master the telling of a hero's death? This one-shot was inspired by Sean Bean's moving last stand against the Uruk-Hai in The Fellowship of the Ring.

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I have broken Frodo's trust. I turned upon him, in my madness to have the thing he bears. Leaves cling to my hair as I realize what I have just done.

"Frodo, please!" I cry, weeping. "Come back! Frodo, I'm sorry!"

He had put on the Ring and fled. I could not tell which way he had gone. I sat on my knees, feeling tears pour from my eyes. I had betrayed Frodo, the Ringbearer I had sworn to protect. I had failed the Company.

Rising to my feet, I drew my hand over my eyes to brush the tears away. I had better go back to camp, though I do not relish telling Aragorn what had happened. He will be angry, I know.

The leaves crumble loudly beneath my feet as I make my way slowly back down the hill, toward camp. Then I hear a cry. It is familiar to me, the hateful growl, though it is of a different dialect than what I remember.

Orcs!

A shrill cry tells me that Pippin at least is still alive – for how long I know not. Drawing my sword I race away. My legs are pumping, and I can only hope to get there in time.

After what seems eternity I finally see Merry and Pippin, the younger two hobbits of our Fellowship. They had been running and were trapped between orcs. One was coming at them with a poleaxe. I suddenly felt a burst of energy and caught the axe with my left hand and cut down the orc.

I took out my dagger and threw it at another orc that was running towards me. It lodged in its throat, and it too, fell.

"Run!" I cried to my little friends. Where they would go, I could not think of, but anywhere was better than here. The orcs were many, and I was only one man.

More orcs came, and I slew as many as I could. I could not hold them all off, and desperately drew out my horn. I blew three short blasts upon it, watching the orcs fall back in fear of the allies that were sure to come. But no one came to my aid.

More orcs came. The Halflings both tackled one, knocking it to the forest floor, stabbing it to death. I fought off two other orcs, cutting them down. Blowing again upon my horn, I turned to Merry and Pippin.

"Run!"

They ran a little way and took up some stones. They began tossing them with all their might at the oncoming horde. Several of the vile creatures' helmets were dinted and they fell momentarily, stunned by the force of the projectiles.

I blocked the blows of two orcs who were running at me when I felt it. The thick wood of the ugly-shafted orc arrow pierced my shoulder. I stumbled back in shock and looked down at it. Panting from the intense pain, I tried to push it down. I had to keep going. The Hobbits weren't going to get away if I didn't.

Forcing myself to fight on, I plunged my sword into another orc, blocking a blow and knocking another away. I felt another surge of pain, this time in my chest. Another arrow protrudes now from my body.

I fall to my knees, gasping from the pain. My eyesight focuses on the Hobbits. Their faces are shocked, horrified. It reminds me of the look Frodo gave me when I leapt toward him. I'm betraying them too...I have to fight. It's all the honor I have left.

With a cry, I lunge toward another cursed orc, knocking it down. I plunge my sword between the plates of its armor and it is stilled forever more. I block another blow and end another life.

Stumbling to my feet, I turn in time to feel another arrow entering my stomach. I cannot stand anymore. The pain is just too great. I hear the angry cry of Merry as he takes up his sword and rushes toward the waiting enemy. Pippin followed him, his own shrill cry piercing the air.

The orcs take them, carrying them away. I look toward them as I remain on my knees. I feel an apology is due to my little friends, for I cannot defend them. Merry looks at me as if to say, "Get up and fight!"

But I can't. My eyes fall to the ground and I can't do anything else but focus on the pain I feel. The orcs are running away, and one stands before me. The sight of its ugly bow and arrow fill my vision. It looks me in the eye as it bends back the bow.

I look at it steadily, though my breath is leaving me, and my body shakes. Even if I die by its hateful hand, I will defy it. Let it be known that I, Boromir, fell under not one arrow, but four. Let it riddle me with as many darts as it likes. Let it be sung that it took more than one to kill me. I died defending my friends, though I have lost my honor. Let it take my life. It is a good day to die.

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