Lotr

"I have seen it," Boromir replied. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. The blade, forged in Gondor’s brighter years, still held an edge that could part silk and orc-flesh alike. But edges mattered little against what he felt pressing against the veil of the world.

The river moved in silence, darker than the space between stars. Boromir, eldest son of the White Tower, leaned upon his sword and watched the water slide past the piers of Osgiliath. Behind him, the great city groaned under the weight of shadow; before him, the east bank lay clenched in the fist of night. "I have seen it," Boromir replied

For three nights, the eastern shore had whispered. Not in words, but in the way the reeds bent against no wind. In the way the frogs fell silent all at once, as though a great mouth had opened somewhere beneath the mud. But edges mattered little against what he felt

He had stood here for three days without sleeping. Not from courage alone, but from a growing dread that tasted like copper on his tongue. Behind him, the great city groaned under the

The sound ripped through the fog, bold and bright and utterly, magnificently defiant. Behind him, a hundred tired men lifted their spears. Before him, the hooded shape on the far shore turned its head slowly, as though noticing a fly that had chosen to sting a giant.

"Madril," Boromir said quietly, "do you believe in a darkness that thinks?"