Chapter 3: To begin anew

Waking up felt like diving up a long dark shaft full of icy water with the light unreachably high above. Awareness began slowly to creep into the darkness of Boromir's mind, blossoming like the spark of a fire in the wind. It was not the external awareness that brought him back from the deeps, even as he slowly realized he was lying somewhere on a blanket beside a fire. It was something else that he felt more strongly; it was another awareness, like an echo, a candle of light in the back of his mind, the mithril chain, his anchor. The bond was there again, as strong and intense as it had been; only that Kili's presence was stronger, more vibrant than he had ever felt it.

"How are we going to explain this?" He heard a voice say. "If he will not kill us, Uncle Thorin will have our hides for this." It had to be Kili, the voice was familiar though it yet lacked the deep bronze quality it had held in later years.

"He won't do anything of that sort, Kili. He will see the mark and know what it means; he always said you were special." Boromir recognized the second voice as Fili's, even as he had him heard him speak only once.

"You know that's not true," Kili protested. "it must be a mistake; a misunderstanding or something. I mean, I'm not... only heroes have marks like these! I am no Frérin Dragonsbane, or Alberic Stonebow, they were great warriors and…"

"Look at your arm, little brother," Fili spoke in calm, nearly gentle tones. "This is the dragon seal… it has to mean something, that you have a path, a destiny to fulfill."

Boromir bit his lip to not groan. He knew the stories of Frérin Dragonsbane and Alberic Stonebow, both were dwarven heroes of the elder days and both were legends Kili had liked. He had heard them a dozen times, sometimes told by Kili or Dwalin, sometimes sung by Bofur. And both had received a mark, a sign of sorts, after battles in their youth, which heralded their destiny.

"But… even if Uncle does not skin us for this. How are we explaining this to him over there? Fili, he took an arrow for me and now suddenly he has an oath mark on his arm? He's not going to like it, and I doubt he'll understand…" The younger brother turned around, having felt a surge of awareness from their strange guest.

Boromir sat up, finding that he was in a small camp below a rock face and it was obviously after dark. "Why don't you try me?" he asked, in response to Kili's last words.

Both brothers stared at him with wide eyes. "You understood what we were saying?" Fili found his words quicker than his brother.

Now Boromir realized his own mistake, the brothers had spoken Khuzdul amongst themselves. Dwarves would often retreat into the relative safety of their own language when they did not want to be understood by others. They guarded their language jealously, and there were few outside of their race who spoke their ancient tongues. In his years among them Boromir had learned the language, it had been a sign of accepting him as one of their own that they had been open to share the gift of Mahal with him and with the years passing he had gotten so used to hearing the dwarven language that he hardly noticed the difference any more.

"Look at him; he has no idea what you are on about, Fili." Kili said, getting up and walked to the other side of the fire, where he squatted down beside Boromir. "You understand what I am saying?" he asked, still talking Khuzdul. His dark eyes searched Boromir's face, showing worry and compassion in equal measure.

"Of course," Boromir replied, his response had been entirely to that familiar glance, in that moment he had spoken to his friend, only to realize that Kili here did not know him yet. "I…"

"But you think you still speak Westron," Kili smiled and shook his head, mistaking what Boromir had wanted to say for something else. "Legend has it that it was what the oath mark did for Khaelin when he saved Alberic from the dragon…"

"I know you speak dwarven, I have heard it before, but you sound strange at the same time." Boromir could not help but notice that Kili sounded much different from the man he'd know later, the accent he spoke was different. Maybe he had changed as he got older, but right here and now the difference was startling.

The dark haired dwarf looked at him amused. "You speak it too, and you sound like someone taught you ancient Moria-Khuzdul. Who in the world would still speak that?" Kili sighed. "I don't know where to even start explaining."

Boromir had never seen Kili so insecure; usually the dwarven leader had known what to say or how to approach a situation. The calm confidence of him had often been his strongest trait in confused situations. He could sense a whirl of emotions and fears through the bond, compared to that Kili's outward pose was remarkably calm still. "Why not begin where it all started?" Boromir suggested. "We took care of those orcs, the farmers got away and you got that arrow out of me, thank you for that." he could see a clean bandage on his right arm, left and right of the dressing shone the dragon mark in fresh fire.

"You are right, meeting Orcs made us forget our manners." Kili replied. "This is my brother Fili, I am Kili, sons of Dari, at your service."

"Boromir, at yours and your family's." How long ago had he first heard this greeting, not truly knowing dwarven formalities, back in that cave under the Misty Mountains?

Tilting his head slightly, Kili looked at him questioningly, like expecting something. "Boromir of which family?" he eventually asked.

For one moment Boromir was tempted to say Boromir Son of Denethor as was his reflex, even as he had not used that name in many years. But he could not, he knew he had no bonds to his blood anymore, and thus could not claim kinship. "I do not have a family," it felt strange to say it out loud, painful even.

Suddenly he felt a strong hand on his shoulder, Kili's eyes looking at him with such compassion. "I am sorry," the young dwarf said. "I did not mean to pry, or hurt you."

"Do you remember what happened at the end of the fight?" Fili spoke up. "When you took that arrow? What were you thinking?"

"I do remember seeing that Orc, trying to shoot Kili," Boromir replied. "I have seen that tactic before; they send their rabble on a fighter while one archer shoots him from a distance and I wouldn't let them."

The brothers looked at each other, there was a wealth of words on only their glance, and they did not need to words to converse. "So you thought only of protecting my brother?" Fili went on. "That might… just might… explain things."

"Explain what?" Boromir did not need to look at them to know they were trying to explain something to him, something they did not know how to say.

Kili pointed at his arm. "Do you see that mark?" he asked, before removing his own bracer and revealing the identical mark on his swordarm. "It's called a bond-mark or an oath-seal, they are all but legends but they appeared right after you took that arrow for me."

Seeing the familiar dragon mark on Kili's arm send a surge of warmth through Boromir's chest, in this moment he knew he may be stranded in a different time, in a different fate entirely, but he was not lost. His brother was right here, even if it may take him years to understand what the mark meant. "An Oath Mark like the one Thalion received when he saved Durin II from the Balrog?" Boromir knew that term but he was not sure if the mark was the same as the dragon mark on his arm. Only now that he looked he noticed that the runic inscription under the dragon's mouth was gone. What did that mean?

"You only saved him from an Orc," Fili teased. "It's a crippled age we live in. But yes, it is fundamentally the same; you know your legends well."

"A dwarf I wandered with for a while was fond of them." Boromir leaned back against the rocks, relaxing slightly. There had been several dwarven heroes and legends that had been singled out through a mark of some sorts, but Boromir had never expected that their bond, the seal of brotherhood would ever be seen in this light. No one had in their time, but of course they had known how it had come about. "An oath mark is the sign of loyalty, is it not? Sworn to the carrier of the seal?"

"That's what the legends say," Kili shook his head fiercely. "But this here is different. You did not know me, and you certainly have no reason to be bound to me like this. We'll find a way to undo it, somehow."

The compassion and care for others that spoke from these words was so very familiar to Boromir, No matter how much younger this was Kili, true to form. "Thalion did not know Durin II either, nor did Khaelin know Alberic when he saved him from the dragon," Boromir pointed out; glad he knew these legends well enough. "Fate put them on a path together for a reason. Breaking this mark would make me an oath breaker, Kili, and no matter how it got there in the first place, I won't become an Oath breaker for it." He still remembered those haunted figures from Dunharrow on the fields of Pelennor, driven, twisted, tormented and seeking a forgiveness that could never be fully reached.

Some of his own dread at that memory must have spilled into the bond because Kili suddenly put his hand firmly on Boromir's shoulder. "Nor would I put you to such a shame," the young dwarf said earnestly. "But you had no choice in this and you hardly know whom you got bound to. I am no leader, no King, and certainly no Durin II, I am a wandering blacksmith and…" Now a well familiar determination shone in Kili's eyes. "no matter what this means, I'd rather begin as friends, than anything else."

It was such a Kili thing to say, he had always preferred an honest friendship to loyalty stemming from obligations. His modest assessment of himself all but made Boromir smile, here, in this moment it was truly hard to see that this same warrior would be crowned under the great dome of Dwarrowdelf a century from now. "Then friend's it is," he said, offering a hand.

Kili responded in typical dwarven fashion, a warrior's handshake, hand around the other's forearm. The young dwarven blacksmith looked at the human warrior and silently wondered if Boromir had any idea what he had gotten into. An Oath Mark was a seal of loyalty as strong and powerful as any oath a man might take on his life and soul. How and why this mark had appeared, Kili did not know, even as he knew that some of the greatest dwarven heroes had found their most loyal companions in much the same way. Whatever came of this, from this moment on, he was responsible for this warrior and would look out for him best that he could.

They broke camp at the hour before dawn, the brothers quickly packing their things on the two shaggy pack ponies they had with them. They had found Boromir's horse the evening before and it had been grazing peacefully beside the two ponies. "Where are you headed?" Boromir asked as they walked into the grey dawn. Both ponies were too well packed to be ridden; he could spot tools, iron staffs and other things left and right on them.

"Coldrock crossroads," Fili told him. "They hold autumn market there, the day after the last autumn moon. Last market during the year for them and most villages around will come. There'll be a lot of tools and blades to repair now that harvest is long home. There's something just like this one in Archet nine days from now. If we are good, we'll make both before we return to our hideout for the winter."

"We might make Whitewater bridge still, if the good weather holds," Kili added. "Do you mind guarding the ponies during the day? The people around Coldrock are no bad kind but there are always thieves and rogues when there's a market somewhere, especially this late in the year."

"I'll take care of that." Boromir had let the reins of his horse go; it followed him at his command anyway, and took his bow from the saddle. High above them he could hear the distinct call of the Northern geese flying south. The wandering geese were still here, meaning winter would truly be late this year. When they came closer to land on the grassy hills, he stopped firing three arrows in rapid succession, only to notice that Kili had done the same.

Rolling his eyes Fili ran to gather up the fallen birds, when he returned his grinned broadly. "Bad luck, little brother, you lost three to one, this time." He said ruffling Kili's hair affectionately. "But yours was the fattest of the bunch."

"We wouldn't eat any more than one either way." Kili shot back defensively. "Fat or no fat."

"But we can sell the rest." Fili told him cheerfully. "Many of the villagers don't know how to hold a bow for the very life of them."

"Sell them all, Kili and I will have you a bunch of hares before we are at Coldrock crossing," Boromir interjected, which earned him a happy grin from the younger brother.

Fili watched as his brother and their new companion strayed to the hills left and right of their path. Boromir's words had resulted in a cheerful archery contest between them and Boromir in spite of being a good archer had to be on his toes to keep up. Kili was very good with his bow and had a keen eye along with a swift aim. The older dwarven brother knew that Kili thoroughly enjoyed the contest with someone who was good at Kili's chosen weapon and he also knew his brother minded little when he lost as long as the contest was good. They'd have quite a bit of extras to trade at the market, which was always a good thing.

But it was not the market or works that occupied Fili's thoughts on this morning. It was the human warrior whom he watched as he went hunting with Kili. When the fiery bands had grabbed both their arms and Fili had seen the mark appear on his brother's skin, he had felt like he had suddenly stumbled into a great legend. Frérin Dragonsbane had been marked by such a seal, indicating the destiny that awaited him, Durin II was another great example from the elder days and suddenly Kili, his little brother had been touched by the spark of destiny as well.

Fili was not jealous in the least, Kili had always been special, he had known that since the horrible storm night his little brother had been born in. While he had been very small himself at the time, Fili remembered that night well, the rolling thunder echoing through the valley, the noise of fighting in the distance and rain trashing down on them. A lightning bolt had struck the very moment Kili had been born, setting the trees aflame and their mother had always said that Kili had been born under a sign, which was why he was special. Fili smiled fondly, when he saw Kili cheerfully congratulating their companion on a good shot. Try as he might deny it, Kili had gained his first follower, done his first step on the path to destiny, and his brother would protect him best that he could and as long as he could.

The two of them returned, tying some hares to the other load on the horse. Fili met the warrior's eyes, green eyes meeting blue, and in that moment the older brother knew that Boromir understood. He knew what the oath mark meant and accepted it. Why he would do so Fili could not determine, but maybe he felt as strongly as Fili did that this was meant to be.

Coldrock crossing was nothing but that, a crossroads under a stony hill in the shadow of a few ancient oak trees. The paths running into the hills led to the next few villages, settlements of hill people mainly or of whomever still were stubborn enough to try and hold onto this wild land. They had arrived early, and Boromir was seeing to making camp for them, freeing up the two brothers to set up shop down by the road. Fili used an old tree stump to anchor the small anvil firmly, while Kili prepared their small fire pit, what they did resembled much a battlefield forge Boromir had seen in many war camps in his time.

Only that this was the typical traveling dwarven smithy. They did not need a larger fireplace, because they used dwarven fire. During his time among them Boromir had quickly learned that dwarves could make a hot fire from nearly all flammable matieral that needed very little fuel, a good dwarven smith also could use his innate link to the flame to keep his work piece at exactly the temperature he needed. They attributed this skill to Mahal giving them the gift of fire and forge at their very creation and cherished it especially.

Meanwhile Boromir had gotten a normal fire going; there was enough dead wood to be had to keep a fire going all day. He hung the kettle over it, skinning the rabbits they had shot, their meat along with some mushrooms and late herbs would make a decent stew. He had noticed that the brothers had set out without eating anything in the morning, and they'd be hungry ere the day was out.

The villagers arrived with carts and pack ponies; there was neither rule nor true order to the market of theirs, just a kind of silent compact, maybe tradition to rule certain things. Many things traded here were grain and flour, other produce, very little in terms cattle and livestock, though. Fili and Kili soon had their hands full with work, many of the villagers bringing tools to sharpen things to repair and so forth. The sun rose on that windy early winter day into a cold blue sky, the fire down at the field forge and up at their camp being a comfortable thing in a day such as this. Around noon Boromir brought two bowls of stew down to the brothers, who just had been fixing the blades of a plow. He could see both were not used to take much breaks during their work, but hungrily took the stew. "Do we have enough still?" Fili asked, spooning down the hot soup quickly

"I shot another goose, if that's what you worry about." Boromir told him. "Eat up." He realized that with their work the brothers had little time to hunt or find food, being forced to make do with whatever pay they received for their work.

Returning back to their camp on the hill, Boromir checked on the ponies, he knew his horse would have made a ruckus if anyone came close and it seemed that the presence of an armed warrior was enough to keep the thieves and rogues, and there clearly were a number of those, at a distance. With the market being noisy there was little hope for hares or other game to come close, but it was still valid to keep an eye up for the wild geese that roamed the sere fields of the villages close by and came to the small stream near the crossing.

Meat, Boromir learned quickly on that afternoon was a good thing to trade. It seemed most farmers had little in terms of livestock, or maybe just too much was stolen by orcs, and they gladly traded for some extras. It was a hard faced hill woman who gladly traded bread for the goose he had shot. "You are with those dwarf boys, are you?" she asked, inspecting the goose. "I wonder what they do to keep you around."

"Maybe I am just a friend." Boromir replied, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Mighty fine friend then," the village woman sniffed. "Too high and mighty for their kind, if you get my meaning. But it's said they have the noses for treasure hunting if that's your business." She began to bundle up the bread and the flour bag they had agreed on.

"You don't like them." Boromir observed. "Why? They do honest work, and I doubt you'll find a better blacksmith somewhere nearby."

"They do good work, aye," The woman shook her head. "but they ain't decent folk. Dwarven wanderers, belonging nowhere. They aren't proper decent people."

Boromir cast a disdainful glance at some of the people around them. "I think I prefer them to the proper decent people of this place." He told her sharply. Returning back to camp he had to try and keep his temper in check. He knew that her assumptions were probably based on his weapons and maybe the way he spoke, but her looking down on the two brothers, was something he found hard to tolerate.

The sun was already deep on the western horizon when the market began to break up. Many of the farmers were loading their carts and ponies to return to their villages, some others made camp to spend the night here in the safety of a larger group. Kili and Fili did not have such a quick respite, there were still people coming to them for repairs and horseshoes.

For about an hour Boromir had observed a young farmer watching them, and then retreating again, and watching anew. Eventually he approached the man, when he found him watching again from a distance. "Is anything wrong?" he asked him, trying to sound firm without outright threatening. "You have been watching the dwarves for an hour now."

The young man with the shaggy brown hair shrugged. "I'll be going then," he said. "I don't want trouble."

"Boromir, just send him over!" Kili called out, having finished the last horseshoes for another farmer. He supported the call with a clear gesture, waving the man over to them. The Gondorian watched as the man approached Kili showing him a badly damaged axe. Even without the ragged state of the man's apparel it was easy to tell that the farmer or woodcutter would not have the coin for the repairs. They talked for a few moments, and then Kili lightly clapped the man's arm. "Don't worry, sit over there, it won't take long." He said, taking the axe along for repairs. It took him a while to repair it before he gave it back, sending the man away with a friendly word.

Night fell and the two dwarves joined Boromir by the fire, exhausted from a day of hard work and hungry as young wolves. "Where did you learn to cook?" Kili asked between two spoons of hot stew. "This is good."

Boromir put aside his bowl, having watched the two young dwarves mostly. "Warcamps, you have no idea what kind of things some soldiers will put into a kettle and call soup." Inwardly he had already decided he'd see to hunting the next days, with enough time on his hands he could at least make sure those two saw plenty of food.

Kili looked up at him. "You are forgetting to eat," he said. "Dwarves may be the most interesting of all races but not interesting enough to forget your food while watching us."

Fili chuckled. "Now you will have to prove to him that we are an interesting race at all, little brother. You owe us at least one ballad tonight."

Authors Notes

With big thanks to the wonderful Harrylee94 who helped me to sort through all this and keeps on untangling dwarven braids and the webs of fate.