Word count: 100
Disclaimer: Tolkien knew about this – Kortirion can only surmise.
Boromir sank to his knees, every muscle burning with exhaustion, chest heaving as he swayed slack-jawed, staring at the ground.
Once, this was a green place. Now, the carnage of crimson and black befouled it, torn flesh, bloody offal, shattered bones. His arms and sword were mired elbow-deep in gore; body trembling uncontrollably as his green eyes glazed with pain, confusion, and utter, utter weariness.
His Captain heaved for breath, staring at the kneeling boy.
“How does the Steward’s son?”
The Captain turned to answer.
“His first skirmish? He killed clumsily, but with courage. He’s still green – but... he’ll do!”