Chapter 2: A path uncharted

The guest room of Faramir's home was comfortable but terribly impersonal. At this moment Boromir preferred it that way. Queen Arwen had told him that for the portal to be opened under the light of a new moon and Faramir had invited him to stay for the three days that remained. These three days had been good; Boromir had met his nephew and niece, along with his sister in law Éowyn.

But now, this afternoon he had returned to the guest room, to sort through his things, preparing to leave. Most of it was easy, he had ridden from Dwarrowdelf with what was needed for a longer journey, because he had not been sure Faramir would truly be in Annúminas, so most of it was shifting things around in the saddlebags, and leaving some things behind that he would not need where he was going.

Done with that he went to the armor stand in the corner of the room, taking off the silvery harness, pauldrons and gauntlets, their make was too distinctive and would draw too much attention. Gently he traced his hand over the engraved raven on the chest piece, he had worn the armor for years now, it had never failed him. But if not the splendid make of it, the material would draw too much unwanted attention. He kept the black chainmail, though, it was more practical for travelling and the dark metal did not as easily show what the material was.

Unrolling some things from the saddlebags, Boromir changed into travelling clothes. A leather tunic under the chainmail, and a coat above, the dark green leather coat with the hood was of dwarven make but very practical when on the road and would keep him warm, leather vambraces and selfsame boots and Boromir knew he'd not look like the Captain of the Ravens any more but like any other traveler on the road. He had often made use of that fact when he had not wanted to draw the attention of others.

"You really mean to do this," Faramir had walked in soft-footedly as always. "Boromir… this is madness."

The Captain of the Ravens turned to his younger brother, seeing pain and fear in Faramir's eyes. "If it was Thorongil you'd do it in a heartbeat," he said in friendly tones. "and you'd not let anyone talk you out of it."

"It always seems easier to advice others to avoid danger than doing it yourself," Faramir conceded the point. "Still… if you do this, there will be no way back for you. How can you even hope to accomplish this? And what about us? Will it be like you are dead… you will die there, Boromir."

"I do not have all the answers, Fari," Boromir told him honestly. "but I know it needs to be done. And I won't deny that I will die there, even if the bond will keep me alive for longer than our blood should live, eventually my time will come. Maybe my soul will be born again in Gondor then, Mahal willing. If not… I can only trust those who made the plan for this world to know better than I do."

He took off the scabbard holding Shadowbreaker, the black sword had accompanied him for twenty years, since that dark day during the War of the Ring. "I will need you to look after this, Fari." He said, handing the blade to his brother. "If I don't return… give it to Elboron when he is ready for it."

Faramir's eyes widened when he received the sword. He too still wore Lightbringer, easily the most powerful of the three blades. "You are not taking it with you?"

"Brother, think!" Boromir said. "Where I am going I may well meet the very man who made these, I hope I do. And he would recognize the sword at once. No, Faramir, these swords must rest in that armory at Minas Tirith all but forgotten until the time comes for us to find them. I sometimes think they were made with that one horrible battle in mind."

"But… you will need a weapon." Faramir was distraught, seeing his brother was determined to do this. He knew no one could talk Boromir out of this, not even Kili were he here. For a cause he believed in, or for a man who had his loyalty, his brother would do nearly everything, take any risk, fight any battle.

As an answer to his question Boromir picked up the double scabbard resting against the bed. During the years of the War of the Return he had quickly learned that a long blade like Shadowbreaker was impractical in narrow tunnels. Dwalin had taught him the dwarven way of fighting dual handed with shorter weapons. Boromir would never be a master at it, he did not have the dwarfs natural inclination for using both hands equally well, but he had gotten a lot of practice ever since. "I'll use these; they will draw less attention too."

Faramir set Shadowbreaker aside and approached his brother. "I do not know how to let you go, brother." He said. "knowing that you will never return. Or how to explain to anyone… especially your King."

Silently Boromir pointed to a letter sitting at the table, it had taken most of the past night to write it, he had never been a man of the written word, but there had been things that he had to say, and this letter was the only option. Somehow he knew Kili would read between the lines all the things that Boromir had been unable to express. "You let me go a long time ago, Fari. We never knew I'd return from the North, or from Moria. Do not fear and do not fret. You have a good life, a whole life, and your King is going to need you like this whole and healthy. This is my choice, and as much as it pains me to leave my friends behind… I somehow know I will find the best of them back on the same path."

The brother's embraced, knowing it would be the last time. When Faramir pulled back he took a long look at his brother like to memorize his face, like he never wanted to forget it. "May a light illuminate your path and may a star guide you home, always." He finally spoke a goodbye that would last a lifetime.

Boromir led his horse up the hill above Lake Evedim outside the city; the Queen awaited him on the hilltop opposite of the ancient capital of Arnor. She had brought only one guard and it was little surprise to Boromir that she had chosen Thoroniâr for the task; the man would keep his silence. The elven Queen stood utterly still, only her long cloak fluttering in the wind. "You have come," she said calmly. "I will ask you one last time, if you are truly willing to cross the threshold many have not dared to face, not for all the promise it held."

"I have not faced it before, my Lady, but I am willing." Boromir replied politely, she seemed different today, less of the Queen and more of the Eldar, a Princess of the Elven Folk before their waning years.

Her eyes pierced him, like she was seeing to the core of his soul. "Then now hear what you must know approaching the portal," she said. "once it has begun you must continue, no matter what. No pain or doubt may hold you back. When you see this sign," her hand drew a golden layered star into the nightly air, "you will approach it and not look back, you will walk onto it, no matter what you see or hear. Do you understand me?"

"I do, my Lady."

"Good. Now, remember this for you will not hear it again: your path is your own regardless how far you travel. Whence you are headed your path will be your own but begun anew. You will have neither ancestors nor family, and whatever life you make will be up to you. When you die there you will die as what you made yourself, mayhap someone whose true name and family no one will know. And when the time for your mother comes to bear her son, Mandos alone may know what soul he will carry. Your own destruction may be the price of your victory. Can you face that?"

"I can and I will, my Lady."

Again her eyes studied him and he met them evenly. He knew that all this could be the price, but he would follow this path. If he died knowing his King was free of the curse, free of the torment, it would be all he could ask for.

"Lastly, know this: changing the fate of one man is a noble goal and worthy to strife for, changing the fate of an entire house is something few have ever accomplished but it has been done before. Try changing the fate of the world and you will incur powers that will crush you with all their might Not even the wisest can foresee the path you are about to take, consign yourself to your task, and your task alone and you may yet succeed, try to reshape fate itself and you will be faced with powers beyond your reckoning. Are you ready?"

"I am, my Lady." Boromir bowed to her politely. "And I thank you for aiding me like this."

"Do not thank me, Boromir, you may not wish to do so once your journey ends." Arwen stepped aside and pointed to the mountain path. "Walk swiftly or have anything more to say?"

Boromir took the reins of his horse and led it up the path, passing by Thoroniâr who stood on his post, always the faithful guard. "The day we marched on the Thorn Fortress, my friend, what was it you said to me?" he asked not stopping.

From behind him he heard the familiar voice. "We are all but men, Boromir, not more or less than any hero or villain before us. If you remember that you will prove stronger than you may hope to become and your enemies fear you to be."

With that voice carrying behind him Boromir followed the path, he did not see Arwen chant behind him, for that moment shedding the appearance of the mortal Queen and appearing as a Lady as powerful as none other since the passing of her famed grandmother, nor did he see the lights rising around her. He followed the path onwards, where he saw the golden light of the layered star. It shone like a beacon in the night, the new moon's light fell upon it eerily.

When Boromir approached it, the star's layers began to move, rotate, the first lines springing to flame, burning brightly. The Captain knew he must not waver, nor stop. Thus he grabbed the reins more firmly and approached the burning menace, leading the horse firmly with him.

When they crossed the first line, a fiery pain ripped through his body, like a whip lashing down through his entire being, gritting his teeth Boromir went on. The next step he took brought ghostly images up all around him. His grandfather, Ecthelion, his Uncle Imrahil, his cousin Veryan, all standing their pale trying to deter him from his chosen course, he did not stop. "Boromir…" it was Ecthelion's whispering voice that desperately reached for him, while Veryan's eyes were only sad, unbelieving. It hurt more than any torture to feel his bonds of blood, of kinship to them severed, scorched away by the flames of the star.

The last image to appear was his father's, the apparition did not speak but all the words he had said before his death echoed in Boromir's mind. He nearly halted his step but made himself go on. He had chosen this, chosen to forgo all ties and bindings, to follow this path. When he took another step, the images vanished like he they had never been there but the pain returned. It was not a pain of the body, but one of the souls, like bleeding cuts he felt all the bonds and ties he had held in this world sever.

Another step, onward and onward, Boromir was hardly aware of the tears in his eyes, his entire focus on passing through the crucible. A searing pain rose in his sword arm, where the dragon mark was, no… he could not surrender this, not the bond to his chosen brother. He nearly stumbled when the hill path vanished, only the fiery star was burning in the darkness, and the dragon mark was churning on his arm. He went on, he had to, but he would not surrender the dragon mark, with all that was in him he reached for the bond, for mithril chain that had anchored his soul for the last twenty years, to the oath that was sworn upon it. The emptiness seemed to stretch farther, only darkness and the burning star.

He knew this place, Boromir realized. Years ago he had been permitted a short glance at the void, the place where the souls walked. Here the bond had been forged. "No, I will not surrender it." he whispered, walking on, not knowing if there was even ground under his feet. This was when he saw him, the silent warrior he had seen so long ago in this place, the guardian whose short glance had taught Boromir so much about the mercy of the fate of men. Back then the short glance the guardian had cast at him had nearly shattered him, shaken him to the core. This time, as their eyes met, for that second that would be longer than Boromir's entire life, he saw something else. Understanding. A Mercy he could not even begin to grasp.

And then it was over. The flaming star burned out, the void vanished and he stood on a cold hilltop above ruins of ancient Annúminas on a grey autumn morning. The last autumn moon was setting on the western horizons while the first winter sun was slowly rising.

A lone hawk circled the grey mirror of Lake Evedim, the bird's shrill cry the only thing to disrupt the silence of the autumn morning. Had it not been for the ruins he could see across the lake, Boromir would have doubted he was where had intended to be. But the broken road below, overgrown with barren trees and the broken walls close to the water left little doubt that he was at least not where he had been only hours ago. He leaned against the horse, the full impact of what had transpired catching up with him, there was an empty spot in him that he had never felt before, bereft of something he could not name. His eyes fell to his swordarm, the he could only see the back of his hand, the rest was covered by the vambrace, but he could see the faint outline of the dragon mark. Boromir straightened up, his eyes warming when he saw the mark. No matter that he was no one's son now, belonging to no clan or house, he still had a brother and he was still sworn to Durin's line, who needed more?

Noise like footsteps of several people down in the valley broke his reverie and reminded him that this might not be the time and place to be about daydreaming. "Hurry, up the hill and to the ruins! Run!" he heard a voice bellow. "More are coming!"

A handful of people, all of them hill people were scrambling up the hillside, Boromir counted seven women, a number of children and three men. "Run!" he heard someone snap. "make for the ruins." Boromir could not see the person who had called out, he must be further down in the vale. But like an answer he heard a howl, the deep fierce howl of a Warg echo from the other side of the valley.

If he had harbored any doubts about where he was, this would have settled it. He was definitely back in the Lone Lands, and the Warg pack was right down upon him. He left his horse behind and hurried downhill to where those covering the fleeing people must be.

To his surprise he saw only two fighters, aiding the fleeing farmers. Two short figures, standing between the rocks in the valley. One blond with two swords in hand, ready to fight, the other an archer, long brown hair flying in the autumn wind, his arrows still aimed well enough to pick the Orcs off their ugly mounts. Only two, but they were ready to fight the Orc pack.

Boromir saw more Orcs appear to their left; they were enough to encircle the two brave fighters easily enough. He leaped forward, standing between them and their target. His blades crippling two wargs on first strike, cutting their front legs off. Several warg riders turned to him, launching into a wild attack, he had seen it countless of times, attacking them just as fiercely, getting rid of their wolves first, before turning on the orc riders. On the other side, he saw the blond dwarven warrior fight much the same way, he had a tough stand against a number of them, but he held himself with a ferocious will, thinning out their ranks with his blades. What a fighter! An arrow hissed past Boromir, taking out an orc that had been at his back.

It had been no more than a dozen warg riders and as Boromir cut down the last one with a quick stroke of both blades to the throat, leaving a carcass sprouting stinking blood on the dry grass, he saw one last orc at a distance raising his bow, aiming for the archer. "Oh no, you won't…" Boromir was in the path of the arrows quicker than he could think, bringing his blade about. He had seen Kili do that hundreds of times, deflecting arrows with his sword, but he failed at it, the blade missed the arrow and the black orc arrow impaled itself in Boromir's right forearm. The orc never got a chance for a second shot. The blond dwarf had thrown something, a small axe and it hit the orc right into the head.

"That was the last of them," the blond warrior announced, sheathing his swords, walking around the rocks towards Boromir. "Thank you, stranger, that was timely aid."

"You are such a buffoon, Fili, he just took an arrow," the archer came around too, both standing in front of Boromir. The Gondorian warrior's eyes widened. This was Kili… he knew it beyond the shadow of doubt, the face, even the wild dark mane were familiar, but he was so young. Without a proper beard and a youthful confidence shining in his eyes, like he could take on the entire world and still come out on top. There was nothing of the grimness, the pain that would mark him in later years. There was a light and life shining in those black eyes, Boromir had seen the same expression in the older Kili but rarely, in moments when Kili was relaxed, laughing with friends, his eyes would shine like that. But here… this young warrior was still alive, unbroken and not touched by pain and shadow. And the one beside him, it had to be his brother. Boromir had of course seen drawings of Fili as well as the stone statue Kili had carved, but he always imagined an older brother to the Kili he knew, not a warrior so young that he'd remind him of Faramir of long gone times. He sat down on the rock, his head spinning.

"You alright?" Fili approached him. "You didn't get a warg bite?"

"No, I am fine." Boromir replied. "we need to get these people out of here. Do you think there's an Orc pack behind those wargs?"

"Doubtful," Fili replied, with a cool shrug. "Mahal be thanked they are not that organized. Let me have a look at that arrow in your arm."

"Later," Boromir shook his head. "these people don't need to scramble through half the ruins of Annúminas, let's bring them home first. I'll break off that arrow, remove the rest later."

"Are you crazy? That's an orc arrow; you don't want to get their rabies?" Kili hard joined them. "It'll make you grow black skin and tusks. Here, let me see that, if it went through clean we can remove it quickly." He reached for Boromir's arm, when their hands touched a surge of sheer pain, ran through both, Boromir bit his lip, while Kili screamed, as a fiery band wound around both their arms, like fiery drakes flaring brightly. For a moment it hovered like liquid fire, burning trough their skins to their very souls, and then blackness took them both.

Author's notes

With many thanks to harrylee94 again, who keeps encouraging and inspiring me.