Sound the Bugle

by Eruvanne

A/N: This is a song/tale that I've had rustling around in my brain for a while. The song is "Sound the Bugle" from the movie "Spirit: Stallion of the Cimmeron". I hope you all enjoy it.

Sound the Bugle

Sound the bugle now - play it just for me
As the seasons change - remember how I used to be
Now I can't go on - I can't even start
I've got nothing left - just an empty heart

Rising from where he had fallen, Boromir looked around him anxiously. "Frodo?" he called quietly. Not hearing anything, Boromir turned around, hoping to see the Ring-bearer. "Frodo," he repeated, "forgive me." Desperate for the hobbit to hear him, he yelled, "Frodo, I'm sorry!" The steward's son fell to his knees crying bitter tears. What anguish of soul he felt. He had betrayed the very person he had sworn to protect. Not only betrayed but had accused him of thoughts of betrayal, had even cursed him and his fellow halflings. How could he have done it? Boromir mourned even more bitterly knowing that Frodo would never see him in the same light, possibly never to remember the noble knight of Gondor that had set out on the journey at the beginning. In his grief, a thought flitted through his mind. He had disgraced Gondor. He, the eldest son of the steward of the White City, the city of kings, had fallen and taken the honor of that city with him. A new feeling of horror and revulsion pierced Boromir breaking heart, leaving the pieces now empty of all hope and pride.

I'm a soldier - wounded so I must give up the fight
There's nothing more for me - lead me away...
Or leave me lying here

There was nothing left for him now. Without honor, what was a soldier? A warmonger. A murderer. Every part of his being cringed from these ideas. Yet this was what he had done to himself. Hearing the sounds of battle, Boromir was roused from his reverie into action. He rushed forward with a yell, eyes blazing, sword unsheathed. Perhaps for this, his final battle. Yes it would be his last. In death, there was always honor for a soldier. He would remain here forever to sleep without waking. In death, there would be no condemnation, no agonizing disbelief. He would fade away. The company would leave his body to be taken by the oncoming orcs and they would be right in doing so. For what honor should be given the body of a traitor than to be taken by the enemy?

Sound the bugle now - tell them I don't care
There's not a road I know - that leads to anywhere
Without a light feat that I will - stumble in the dark
Lay right down - decide not to go on

As he was fighting the Uruk-hai, Boromir's mind was not following the motions of his body. Instead he was thinking of home. How could he return to Minas Tirith now? Disgraced and dishonored. His father would be harsh with him, he knew, but Denethor would recover, thinking it some mistake on the part of the fellowship and not any fault of his son's. But Faramir . . . Boromir could not bear to think of what his brother would think of him. His dear brother, the embodiment of all the honor and grace and wisdom of the kings of Gondor to Boromir, would be crushed. For Faramir, to see his brother, his idol, fall from his pedestal would be a blow that nothing could heal. In his mind's eye, the steward's son could see Faramir's eyes fill with inexplicable shock to hear of his brother's doings. Those eyes that had always expressed the younger's son's inner emotions. Boromir could not face him, those eyes, with the guilt that now lay darkly and heavily upon. Even if he said nothing, Faramir would know of it. He had always been perceptive and could read what his brother was feeling no matter how Boromir tried to hide it. Pain in his chest immediately brought him back to Henneth Anuin. He looked down to see a black feathered arrow protruding from his breast. Looking up, he saw the assailant and continued to fight those orcs closest to him. How could he have been so blind as to miss the archer in the group? Truly, he was no longer worthy to be called the Captain of Gondor. No captain would have allowed such a thing. But that title had been stripped from him the moment he had attacked Frodo. He cared no longer as many more arrows pelted him. He would fall here then far from all those who had retained their honor, amid those who knew not what honor was at all.

Then from on high - somewhere in the distance
There's a voice that calls - remember who you are
If you lose yourself - your courage soon will follow
So be strong tonight - remember who you are

Preparing for his death blow, the steward's son watched, in a haze, a man ram and engage his assailant. When the fight was finished, he was finally able to see his savior. To Boromir's utter shame, it was Aragorn. Him who claimed to be the heir to the throne of Gondor. Him who had nothing dishonorable in or about him in any way. He would be the one to find the disgraced son of Gondor. Slowly he spoke to the Ranger of the North. "They've taken the little ones!" Again he had failed, failed to keep those innocent halflings from falling into the hands of the orcs. "Stay still," Aragorn urged him. But Boromir could not rest. "Frodo! Where is Frodo?" All his thoughts were now focused on the one he had wronged the most. "I let him go" was the reply. Pain ran through him that came not from the arrows . "Then you did what I could not. I tried to take the Ring from him." He could not look his leader in the eyes. Aragorn answered, "The Ring is beyond our reach now." "Forgive me," persisted the dying man, "I did not see. I have failed you all." Comforting the fallen man, the Ranger said, "No, Boromir. You have fought bravely. You have kept your honor."

Ya you're a soldier now - fighting in a battle
To be free once more -Ya that's worth fighting for

Barely hearing Aragorn's answer, Boromir continued. "It is over. The world of men will fall and all will come to darkness, and my city to ruin." All the despair that had welled up in his heart broke forth in his statement. He could see it now. The White City in ruins and its people afraid and enslaved. Through his reverie, he could hear Aragorn speaking. "I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you, I will not let the White City fall. Nor our people fail!" Did he truly just hear what he thought he heard? "Our people." Truly, this Ranger deserved to be the hero of the White City, its true hero. Never would the Ranger know how much those words rang brilliantly within the fallen man. "Our people." From this man, this seemingly beggar and renegade of the North, he was returned his honor. "I would have followed you my brother, my Captain," yes, "my King." And so passed the great Son of Gondor, his honor yet guilding him as shining mail.