Finduilas sighed, looking at the piles of gifts.. Elaborate daggers, intricate tapestries, hideous sculptures, tiny gowns heavy with embroidery, not meant to be worn.  All ostensibly "for" Boromir, now just one month old.

The next gift was in a small wooden box, with a note that read, I thought your Boromir might like a gift that he can actually play with.  Morwen of Rohan.

A simple stuffed pony, made of boiled wool, mane and tail of soft rope. No other decoration at all. 

Finduilas laughed, turning toward the bassinet at her elbow. "Look, Boromir", she whispered, "your first horse from Rohan."