Boromir raised his own horn — the great horn of Gondor, banded with silver, cloven once in battle and repaired by the smiths of old. He put it to his lips.
And the last watch began.
And the Anduin ran black.
From the east, a single long note echoed across the water. Not a horn. Something older. Something that remembered the light before the first sunrise. Boromir raised his own horn — the great
The night answered with a thousand pairs of eyes. banded with silver
"For Gondor!"
"You should rest, Captain," said a voice from the stair. Madril, his second, climbed up with a torch that fought a losing battle against the fog. "The men speak of a figure on the far shore. A hooded shape that does not move." Boromir raised his own horn — the great