Boromir watched in awe as his grandfather stood on a high platform of white marble, inspecting his troops. Lord Ecthelion was tall; he was clad in shining armour, his long sword sheathed at his side; his golden shield flashing like fire the reflected rays of the sun.
"Ride forth, ye people of the Tower of Anor!
Your watch will not be in vain…"
Lord Ecthelion raised to his lips the horn of the elder son, bound with silver and written with ancient characters. Boromir gave a shout of excitement as Lord Ecthelion blew a stirring tone on it. The soldiers of Gondor raised their swords in the air, keen blades glinting in the sunlight, saluting their Lord. They rode out of Minas Tirith, their hearts swelling with pride, their heads held high, to do their Lord's bidding.
Boromir thought that his grandfather looked like the images of Isildur and Anarion as they stood carven in their majesty in the halls of Minas Tirith. Lord Ecthelion watched until his men were out of sight and then turned his attention to the little figure that now stood by his side. Boromir bowed respectfully to the grandfather he admired so much. Lord Ecthelion bowed in grave response.
"Grandfather, when I grow up, will I be as tall and handsome as you? Or will I just be like Daddy?"
Lord Ecthelion smiled. "You will be Boromir – you will be taller and stronger than both grandfather and Daddy. And when you blow the great horn of Gondor, you will strike fear in the hearts of our enemies."
"Your great horn will one day be mine?" Boromir's eyes shone as he looked at the great curved horn of the wild ox of the East.
Lord Ecthelion knelt down on one knee and gravely presented the horn to his grandson.
"It is yours now."
Boromir looked up at his mother, unsure if it was permitted to accept his grandfather's gift. She smiled and nodded. Feeling his grandfather's hand gently touch his cheek, Boromir looked into his grandfather's smiling, kindly eyes.
"I present the Horn of the Elder Son to Prince Boromir of Gondor." Lord Ecthelion bowed as he presented it again to Boromir.
Boromir drew himself up to his full height and took the horn in his hands. It was heavy – almost too heavy for him to carry. But Boromir held it proudly, as if he were already a tall man of Minas Tirith. He saw himself in his mind's eye, dressed in shining armour just like his grandfather; standing on the marble platform, inspecting his troops. Boromir raised the horn to his lips. He gathered a deep breath, blew with all his might… and made not a sound.
Lord Ecthelion smiled to himself as he strode back to his throne room. He paused to look up at the white pinnacle of Minas Anor, Tower of the Sun. All of a sudden, he saw a flash … a flash of blinding light from the top of the tower. It was not the reflected light of the dazzling sun. As he watched, the light flashed again, and Lord Ecthelion somehow knew what it was. The Palantir of Anarion. For centuries, never once had anyone dared to look into it. Until now.
His eyes filled with concern… Lord Ecthelion quickened his step and rushed to the white archway at the base of the tower. He began to run up the spiral stairway to the top of the tower, taking the steps three or four at a time…