Half-drowned, bleeding, weeping as the wild water claimed his terrified, screaming horse, Boromir crawled onto the bank of the angry river.
He had lost horse, saddlebags and sword. He had now only the clothes on his back, his shield and, most precious, the great Horn of Gondor. What madness sent me on this mindless quest? Father was right—our despair compels us to chase moonbeams.
Then he remembered his brother's hopeful face as he spoke of the voice of the dream and the far light in the West. Whatever awaits me in the North, I will find it. For Gondor!
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.