towers

the window on the west 871
‘A broken sword was on his knee. I saw many wounds on
him. It was Boromir, my brother, dead. I knew his gear, his
sword, his beloved face. One thing only I missed: his horn.
One thing only I knew not: a fair belt, as it were of linked
golden leaves, about his waist. Boromir! I cried. Where is thy
horn? Whither goest thou? O Boromir! But he was gone. The
boat turned into the stream and passed glimmering on into
the night. Dreamlike it was, and yet no dream, for there was
no waking. And I do not doubt that he is dead and has passed
down the River to the Sea.’
‘Alas!’ said Frodo. ‘That was indeed Boromir as I knew
him. For the golden belt was given to him in Lothlórien by
the Lady Galadriel. She it was that clothed us as you see us,
in elven-grey. This brooch is of the same workmanship.’ He
touched the green and silver leaf that fastened his cloak
beneath his throat.
Faramir looked closely at it. ‘It is beautiful,’ he said. ‘Yes,
’tis work of the same craft. So then you passed through the
Land of Lórien? Laurelindórenan it was named of old, but
long now it has lain beyond the knowledge of Men,’ he added
softly, regarding Frodo with a new wonder in his eyes. ‘Much
that was strange about you I begin now to understand. Will
you not tell me more? For it is a bitter thought that Boromir
died, within sight of the land of his home.’
‘No more can I say than I have said,’ answered Frodo.
‘Though your tale fills me with foreboding. A vision it was
that you saw, I think, and no more, some shadow of evil
fortune that has been or will be. Unless indeed it is some
lying trick of the Enemy. I have seen the faces of fair warriors
of old laid in sleep beneath the pools of the Dead Marshes,
or seeming so by his foul arts.’
‘Nay, it was not so,’ said Faramir. ‘For his works fill the
heart with loathing; but my heart was filled with grief and
pity.’
‘Yet how could such a thing have happened in truth?’ asked
Frodo. ‘For no boat could have been carried over the stony