Boromir watches Bilbo volunteer to take the Ring to Mordor.
The little master stood before us all, his eyes stubborn. Aye, I did not doubt his courage, but how many steps lie down the long, foolish path this almighty council would send him on? Did he know? Surely his short legs could not carry him clear to Mordor?
Laughter swelled in my throat, and almost it escaped, but one look around silenced it. Pity I saw, and memory. And tears. Tears in every eye, that Isildur's thrice-cursed bane should come to this. Yet small hands may match a heart braver than a Captain-general's, it seems.
Nay, this was no jest.