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    Summary

    Boromir is wounded at Amon Hen, but his friends will not let him fall.

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    Boromir fell to his knees.

    Somehow, with the hobbits there, it had felt like there was something left to fight for. That after what he had done to Frodo, he could atone for his sins. Now that was gone. His breath was shallow in his chest – it must have been that way all that time, but he never noticed. His limbs were heavier still – each like ten boulders, in need of strong horses to pull them. His vision rippled, its edges closing in. Everything was either very dark or very bright. He felt pain, but it was not part of him.

    The bowman stood before him, a white, hungry smile on his grime-caked face. He raised his bow and pulled a final time.

    Language:
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