The Horn of Gondor!
Boromir, Boromir, Boromir...
No! No!No!
*His fingers grasped the hilt, and with Aragorn's help, held the sword to his heart. Such pain in Aragorn's blue eyes, the fire that was in them had dimmed, as his hope was dying too. For a moment, he felt no more pain, and the world went black.*
His name echoed quietly in his mind every time he looked down at the vambraces that held the still too raw memories of Boromir's life with the Fellowship and death. Boromir, Boromir, Boromir…. He wore them every day until his coronation, just to honour his friend. He was now King, that afternoon between the meetings he made a small request to an old friend to renew the vambraces to their former glory. The mithril embedded in the leather was set anew and the leather polished. When he was presented with them, he remembered. His name no longer echoed in his mind; just the image of him, as he was.
.