I don't own any characters/places/things you recognize...that should cover everything else I don't feel like typing.

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Boromir knelt in the freezing cold of the great hall in early morning, looking with reverence at the heirlooms he was to be given that morning, laid out on the black velvet covered table. He cracked his head to the side, winching as vertebrae in his neck cracked back into place. There was Faramir, half sleeping, and also kneeling, the sixteen year old not that much worse for the wear after keeping vigil all night with his brother.

And the morning to come, he would be knighted, laid upon with the burden of being pronounced the heir to the stewardship, and given the tokens of the house of Húrin that labeled him as such.

Boromir's eyes glanced across the table again, looking at the sword his father had specially crafted for his oldest, the matching dagger laying along side, gleaming with unmarked lethal perfection in the cold shafts of moonlight from the high bank of windows near the roof of the hall. The spurs and the shield that would should that he was a knight of Gondor, and the great horn, gleaming in moon-silvered ivory splendor, all seemed to gaze back at him, calling... As his eyes focused more clearly on the horn, and then seemed to swim out of focus again, Boromir decided it wouldn't hurt to take a nap.

And while he slept, he dreamed.

'To sleep, to sleep perchance to dream...'

'Dreamed of the ones who've gone before...'

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Don't worry, the next chapter will have plot in it. I want to go somewhere with this... fear not, dear reviewers....