One Shots » LotR

Evanesce

ev·a·nesce

     evəˈnes/

verb

     literary

1. to pass out of sight, memory, or existence.

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Boromir felt the first arrow.

He felt it.

A startled gasp broke from his lips and he stumbled, his eyes dropping to the shaft of the black arrow protruding from his chest.

His breathing slowed.

Scarlet blood seeped from the wound, staining his tunic. Damp stinging turned into roaring agony and he gasped again.

Slowly, his gaze drew up to his attacker-- a tall Uruk with a white handprint across its face. Its dark eyes gleamed in victory and its mouth parted into a triumphant snarl.

Boromir's eyes fluttered.

A face... it was Pippin's, he realized after a moment. His eyes had fallen to halfling's face, whose brown eyes wide with shock and horror.

Not... not the hobbits.

Pain ruptured through his chest but Boromir ground his teeth tightly together, trying to fight though it. The world faded in and out.

And he steeled himself, gripping his blade tighter and forcing himself back up again.

The closest orc turned its attention back toward him but Boromir ducked under the sword, stabbing the creature deep in the chest. He fell forward slightly, his weight on the blade.

Then he yanked away, whirling around to the next snarling orc.

"I promise, brother. I will see the White City again."

For a split second, Faramir's face danced before his eyes. The trust in his gaze as he gripped his hand tighter, nodding tightly.

"I will hold you to your vow, Boromir."

Suddenly, Boromir heard it... he heard the bowstring pulled taunt. His senses screamed in both terror and alarm and he whirled around--

Pain exploded through his shoulder.

The impact of the second arrow was so powerful, it sent him stumbling, red spotting his vision. A sound left his lips-- a broken cry or cracked shout of agony, he couldn't quite tell.

Blood roared in his ears.

This time, no two shocked yells met the air. Boromir's reddening vision locked on the hobbits to see white faces, their hands that clutched rocks slowly wavering.

Lowering.

Boromir felt his strength fading and he gasped for air, sinking down to his knees. Rocks dug into his knees and he fell forward, only one arm holding him from meeting the ground.

Hot blood... he could feel it staining his chest. Trickling with the very essence of his life.

Once more, he met the eyes of the hobbits. Tears already gleamed in their eyes and they simply stood, as if unable to believe what they saw.

The tears did not yet fall. But the rocks slipped from their hands, hitting the dirt with quiet thuds.

Not the little ones.