Word Count: 100
Disclaimer: All Tolkien’s – none for Kortirion
The cloven horn was now enfolded by soft gold bands engraved with stars surrounding the White Tree; emblems of the King wrapped around this last talisman of the Steward’s Son.
Faramir had agreed, Boromir’s horn should lie with honour among his forbearers. The ceremony was small, private, something almost over-looked among the busy days at Court. Only the King, Steward and Wizard attended.
Aragorn gently laid the heirloom to rest. He stepped back scrubbing a tear from his eye. Mithrandir watched him.
“Dust,” said Aragorn, “in my eye.”
Before leaving, - all found they had dust in their eyes.