Bergil and Beregond remember Boromir's sacrifice.
Beregond shook his head. "Not west." He placed his hand on my shoulder and faced me toward the North. "Look to the site of Gondor's victory."
Of course I had heard the stories. How the Prince of the City was pierced by many arrows. How he had fallen but not faltered.
And then I understood. Our horn had been cloven, our chest pierced, but still Gondor strove on. Like Boromir.
The faithful jewel had not failed; he had conquered.