Boromir had seen several monuments in his life. There was the Amon Anwar warning beacon, which was known by the Rohirrim as Halifirien—holy mountain. Now serving as the last of the seven northern beacons and the only beacon manned by Men of Rohan, it was once the burial place of Elendil until Steward Cirion gifted the region of Calenardhon to Eorl’s people and he moved the remains to the Hallows of Minas Tirith. It was also in this place that the Oaths of Cirion and Eorl were spoken, binding together the Men of Gondor and the Men of Rohan in friendship. Though that alliance had waned somewhat in recent years, the people clung to hope that it would hold, and this hillside at the border of Gondor and Rohan was one way to prove that the five-hundred-year-long bond of friendship still endured.

Another monument he had seen in Rohan was the statue of King Helm Hammerhand at the Hornburg. It was said that Helm fought against the invading Dunlendings with his bare hands. The call of his war horn instilled terror in the enemies of Rohan, and the might of his rage haunted their every waking moment. During one of the frigid wintry nights, the King succumbed to famine and to his grief for his sons and died, standing firm on his feet with his fist in the air, fighting to the very end. A statue was erected near the place where he took his last stand, and a great horn installed within the fortress.

Boromir asked Théodred what the horn sounded like, as he had a bit of an interest in war horns. Théodred admitted that he did not know, because the horn had not sounded in his lifetime, nor in recent decades. He said that he wished to never know, for only when war should come to the Hornburg could the horn be blown. He hoped that such a thing would never come to pass.

But it did come to pass. Within days after he nearly escaped death, he found himself behind the walls of the Hornburg, staring down the dark wave of Uruk-hai and Dunlendings that were marching upon the fortress. After several hours, the walls were breached, and the Rohirrim and the four members of the Fellowship were forced to retreat deeper inside. Aragorn persuaded Théoden King to ride out and face Saruman’s army head-on, and the king declared that the horn of Helm Hammerhand would sound in the Deep. Even Boromir shivered when he heard it. He didn’t know if this was what the Dunlendings heard in the dark against the biting arctic winds over two hundred years ago, but he had an idea of the terror they felt. He was glad to be on this side of the wall.

Near the former Elven haven of Edhellond, about fifty miles from Dol Amroth, there is a statue of an Elf-maid who is looking out to sea. She is Nimrodel of Lórinand, before it was known as Lothlórien. She fell in love with Amroth, the King of the Golden Wood, but never married him. When Durin’s bane awakened in nearby Khazad-dûm, she fled to the borders of Fangorn Forest. Amroth found her and asked her to come with him to Valinor, and they traveled together with some Silvan Elves. While crossing the White Mountains, they became separated, and Amroth made it to the port city of Edhellond. He waited in a boat, but Nimrodel never came, having rested by the river Gilrain and falling into a long sleep. A storm came and swept Amroth’s boat out to sea. He leapt out of the boat and tried to swim back to shore, but he was trapped in the current and drowned. When Nimrodel awakened from her slumber, she continued on to Edhellond and did not find Amroth or any ship to sail West. Nimrodel’s fate was unknown, and nothing more was said of her in the old songs and tales.

Boromir saw the statue once when he went sailing with his cousins. Erchirion told him the tale of the statue’s significance. Boromir did not fail to notice that the city appeared to be completely abandoned, which seemed a shame to him. Unlike the former capital of Osgiliath, Edhellond was not a ruin, and it could still be a flourishing city, even if the Elves were leaving. He also thought about the subject of the statue and decided that he never wanted to put someone through that. The life of a soldier was already full of unknowns, and though he had already decided he would never wed—for various reasons—he was more certain than ever that he would not wish to burden anyone with his death or disappearance, leaving behind a grieving loved one, standing alone and vigilantly watching the horizon for a ship.

Beholding the Argonath was unlike anything Boromir had expected. He had never been to this part of the lands that were included in the ancient kingdom of Gondor, but he had read descriptions and seen paintings of the Pillars of the Kings. The awe of the Fellowship as they gazed up at the figures of Isildur and Anárion was palpable. The hobbits had never seen statues of this size that were still intact. Even Gimli was impressed with the craftsmanship of the builders. Aragorn’s demeanor changed as he looked upon the likenesses of his ancestors, appearing then more like the kings of old than the Ranger he had been. Boromir felt pride when he beheld them, getting a glimpse of the greatness of Gondor long ago. The Argonath had been built following a great victory against Gondor’s enemies, and the two kings held their left hands out as a warning to those who would seek to do Gondor harm. And although the borders of Gondor had shrunk in recent centuries, Boromir felt closer to home when he looked at them.

Although the White Tree was only viewable by those who knew the secret word to enter the seventh circle, it was a symbol that could be seen all throughout Minas Tirith. It was on the city’s banners and on the armor of the soldiers and Citadel Guard. The people who had never seen the real tree in-person still knew that it had died many years ago. Even so, the tree continued to serve as a symbol of hope for the war-weary people of Minas Tirith, and just like the images on the banners, the tree would return to life with the return of the king. Boromir had doubts that the king would return, but he saw the White Tree often, and rather than bitterness or shame, he regarded the tree with a sense of admiration for enduring so long in such dark and perilous times, just as the Men of Gondor had done and would continue to do, against all odds, to whatever end. And one day that waiting paid off, and one spring morning ushered in a new era where the throne no longer sat empty and the White Tree bloomed once more in the City of Kings.

Thank you for reading!

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