He seemingly strayed into a dream. He had that strange feeling, a lump in his throat, an intuition that his worst nightmare had come true. The nightmare of his immobile brother bloodied, in the dark, was something awful. He had woken panting and in sweat.

He waded into the shallow lake and saw what he dreaded, his own brother’s face, with his sword and cloven horn, deep in slumber or death as he had foreseen?

Grief unimaginable swallowed him whole, and he cursed at himself for not taking the errand instead.

Dear Boromir!

He fell to his knees and wept.