Disclaimer: Tolkien’s imaginarium, Kortirion’s just paddling in the shallows.
Sombre trees cast dark shadows along paths perennially dimmed in twilight; mists swirled delicately pale against the dark needles of cypress and huge, ancient yews that by their girth had stood as long as the Great Hall. Boromir had pleaded with the lord to linger, and linger he did... through days, months, years that rolled into one long single moment of regret...
He wasn’t alone... sometimes he heard distant music, or lone voices, but they were hidden in mists too thick to breach. Better to wait on the shining sea-strand, gazing out expectantly... eventually rewarded, joyfully he greeted his king.