Lotr -

"For Gondor!"

Above them, the stars winked out one by one, as if snuffed by a cold and patient finger.

"And yet," Boromir turned from the river, and his face was the face of a man who has glimpsed a crack in the world, "something hunts us that does not hunger for meat or gold. It hungers for the sound of a horn that does not answer. For the name of a king that no one sings anymore." "For Gondor

"I have seen it," Boromir replied. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. The blade, forged in Gondor’s brighter years, still held an edge that could part silk and orc-flesh alike. But edges mattered little against what he felt pressing against the veil of the world.

The river moved in silence, darker than the space between stars. Boromir, eldest son of the White Tower, leaned upon his sword and watched the water slide past the piers of Osgiliath. Behind him, the great city groaned under the weight of shadow; before him, the east bank lay clenched in the fist of night. For the name of a king that no one sings anymore

He had stood here for three days without sleeping. Not from courage alone, but from a growing dread that tasted like copper on his tongue.

"Madril," Boromir said quietly, "do you believe in a darkness that thinks?" But edges mattered little against what he felt

Then the shape laughed. Softly. Once.

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.

"Let them come," he said. "There are still brave men in this broken land."