Chapter 6: The plans of a wizard

The first week of April found Boromir, Kili and Fili on the road near the borders of the Shire, waiting for word on how to proceed. In all honesty Boromir had been glad to leave Cardemir behind. With Thorin's announcement regarding Kili's status and the adoption of Fili the whole dwarven community had become a humming bee swarm, full of gossip and stings. He had believed he knew dwarven society well enough, but those he had seen in Moria had been different, maybe time and eighty years of Kili's unconventional leadership had changed things by then. Cardemir had been buzzing with rumors, talk and expectations in tradition s that went back all the way to Durin I. Things had been tense and Kili had been short of snapping at nearly anyone a couple of time, especially when elder dwarves reminded him of tradition left, right and centre.

And when poor Gimli had asked if Fili would swear fealty to the new Prince, Kili had nearly bitten his head off. Boromir had seen that the young dwarf was just excited and deeply disappointed that he was still too young to be considered for such an honor.

At least Thorin had decided to keep the dragonmark a secret for now; those few who knew about it were to keep their silence, a wise and brave decision.

Still the whole situation had left Kili tense, he hated the role he was suddenly assigned, much as he did all he could not to disappoint Thorin. The forge had been his refuge. Whenever things got too much he'd retreat there to work. The evening before they had left the Ered Luin, Kili had pulled both Fili and Boromir into the smithy that was still warm from the day's workings. Two swords had rested on the anvil. Well familiar with dwarven tradition by now Boromir knew that a weapon was a traditional gift for a new follower, sometimes even standing in lieu of a formal oath, he had not been surprised that Dis had send her son to work in the forge right after their return. And most dwarves in the city expected some gesture of acceptance from Fili towards Thorin's chosen heir.

Much as the dwarves of this city should know Kili, their expectations were shaped by tradition and they never even thought that Kili might not share they ideas. "I know what the people of this city expect," the young dwarf had said with a grim mien, which so much had reminded Boromir of other days. "and I will not have it. You and I, we are brothers, we belong together, and they have no say in this. I have one brother of blood," He had smiled and reached for Fili's shoulder. "and one of the heart, of choice," he had reached for Boromir's arm, the two were the anchor Kili had in this whirlwind of fate. "and I made these for you, not for oaths or stupid traditions, but because you are my brothers."

Fili had reacted with all his natural affinity for his younger brother and hugged him. "You should have made one for yourself too." He pointed out.

"I am an archer, big brother, I keep some distance to the enemy, and I don't have the faintest idea about making bows." Kili had replied, relaxing a little.

Boromir had never seen Kili so sly before, everyone who saw the weapons would assume that the formalities had been taken care of, and leave them alone from now on. He had felt Fili's glance and they had found themselves in silent agreement. Kili was not in any state to deal with oaths and loyalties right now, not with the quest ahead of them and Thorin's demands on him. So they'd silently hold to that vow until the Kili was ready to hear them properly.

"Boromir!" Kili nudged him. "Gandalf send word, we are to be in Hobbiton by nightfall. He has found us a burglar." Travelling and the quest itself had helped Kili a lot to find his inner calm again, but there was a change in him still, that echoed deeply in their bond.

"Hobbiton, that's somewhere in the heart of the Shire," Boromir observed mounting his horse. "will the others come too?" He had heard several recounting of the famous unexpected party at Bag-End, Kili had told him about it and so had Frodo on one early evening during their march across Hollin. Everyone, the Halfling included, seemed to hold this party in fond memory.

"We should be there around nightfall," Kili said as their horses began to trot. "What has you smiling like that? You seem almost excited."

He was right, only here and now the reality of it had hit Boromir. He had heard the story of the thirteen brave to reclaim their homeland several times, most memorably in the night before the Black Gates. It was a story he had always found inspiring and touching, thirteen brave going against a dragon. Only now he saw that curse or no curse, if he had been asked, he'd have gladly joined them, because of the ties of friendship that tied him to the two brothers. "I am just happy to be on a task again," he said to Kili. "Did your father tell you who will be coming?"

"Some of it," Kili replied. "Balin, Gloin and Óin obviously; Dwalin should be there too, Bofur, along with his brother Bombur and their cousin Bifur, they volunteered when they heard we were going. Dori and Nori as well, I do not know what he did decide in regards of Ori, though."

"What speaks against him?" Boromir asked, he had never met any of these three. Ori had died in Moria, Dori had died of natural causes some time before and Nori had vanished even before never to be heard from again.

"Can't fight," Fili said. "he never learned to use a sword or axe, and he is even younger than Kili. I doubt he passed his adulthood trial yet. Thorin won't take someone who can't defend himself with some manner of efficiency."

"He might respect his courage and take him anyway." Kili pointed out. "Ori has a good heart and is a good scribe."

"And he can't carve up an Orc if it stood still long enough." Fili shook his blond mane. "I doubt the Orcs will shake in fear of a scribe's feather."

"How could they, if they can't read one word of what those feathers put to paper?" Boromir teased the older brother lightly. "Sometimes people have skills and qualities that don't show on first glance."

They rode through the Shire, a land Boromir had heard much of but never had seen with his own eyes. It reminded him of the things the little ones had talked of during their journey. It was astonishing that in the middle of the chaos that Eriador was, a place such as this could exist. They arrived in Bywater shortly after dark and left their horses at the Green Dragon inn, garnering some frowns and stares from the innkeeper, along with the not so indirect hint that Buckland lay to the east and Tookborough to the south. After reassuring the good man that they would be off east at first light, they continued on foot up the hill to Hobbiton.

ADL

The first thing that Boromir noticed was that Bilbo looked nothing like Frodo, nor did he behave anything like him. Where Frodo had a quiet dignity that never faded from him, Bilbo was exasperated and flustered by all the arrivals. His attempt to send them away was easily swayed by the brothers, Boromir entered after them, having to duck with the low door, just quick enough to take the whole weapon's arsenal from Fili, before he could drop it on the Halfling.

Fili grinned at him, humor sparkling in his eyes, but Boromir's glance went past him, where Kili was just greeted warmly by a familiar figure. A huge warrior with a bald head and hands like shovels. Dwalin. When Boromir had gotten to know the dwarven warmaster Dwalin had been all grey, if still one of the mightiest warriors of his people, this Dwalin was younger but as gruff as he remembered him. "Kili, Fili, come on, give us a hand!" He said, Kili slung his arm around the warrior's shoulder. "Mister Dwalin…"

Before the Halfling could hurry after them, Boromir spoke. "Do you have a chest where I can put these, Mr. Baggins?"

Bilbo looked at him like he was trying to decide whether or not Boromir was an improvement of the situation. "Down the hall, second door to the left, put them on the chests there." He said politely.

The way down the hall was enough to teach Boromir the chief calamity of Bag-End, which was the low ceilings. Dwarves might be able to move freely through the place, but it was not made for men. Still he found the room and dropped the weapons on a chest there, safely out of the way of anyone prone to get cut or stuck on them. When he returned he saw Bilbo open the door to an entire group of dwarves who landed on his doormat, with Gandalf behind.

Within the chaos that ensued around the pantry and with the dwarves, Boromir did not fail to notice the inquisitive glances the old wizard cast towards him. He too was not quite calm meeting him. This man, Gandalf the Grey… the last time he had seen him like this had been before the battle with the Balrog in Moria. The Gondorian had shared many differences with the Grey Wizard, and he was surprised how much he had missed the familiar presence of Gandalf the Grey.

Again he felt an inquisitive glance of the wizard and their eyes met. The old wizard's brows furrowed. "Who are you?"

"He is a friend," Kili had just helped his brother with the barrel and now was back in the hall. "he is with Fili and I."

The answer certainly was not what the old wizard might have expected but right beside them a fight for the tomatoes ensued and drew his attention back to the Hobbit.

ADL

If all Boromir had ever been told about the unexpected party at Bag End had been colorful, nothing quite compared with the real thing. He wondered why Gandalf would allow it to happen at all, but the warrior saw how Gandalf watched Bilbo, and silently assumed the wizard was testing the Hobbit, watching how he reacted to the whole dwarven group.

Kili seemed to go with the mood of the group, joking and making fun along with them, even instigating that inane dishes song as Fili tossed him that first plate. It actually made Boromir smile, for a moment the cheerful young dwarf resurfaced here, singing and laughing with the others. The moment passed quickly enough with Thorin's arrival.

With no chair quite fit for him, Boromir had sat down on a low chest in the corner behind Kili and Fili, the rest of the group had settled at once now that Thorin was present. The dwarven leader ate silently for a while until Balin asked how the meeting he had journeyed to had gone. Thorin confirmed that all seven kingdoms had send envoys, but any cheerful comment from the others was cut off by Dwalin asking directly about Dáin and the negative news Thorin had to share led to some loud discussion among the dwarves.

As the whole scene unfolded, Boromir felt a stark pain inside him, up till now he had assumed the decision to go only with thirteen dwarves plus one Burglar had been made because of a plan. That Thorin had chosen those he needed to follow through with a plan, a daring plan for sure, but a strategy nevertheless. Now he could see what the dwarves had never said: they had no choice. Their allies were unwilling to commit, they had to make do with what they had, with the rough lives they lived… what choice did they have? What options had they left? Boromir had seen what their lives on the road were like, and he would wish that kind of life on no one in the world. Again he remembered the discussion in Ithilien after the war, only now he could fully appreciate what they had faced, what they thought when they had discussed having to leave Arnor. Pushed too far these dwarves were willing to dare the dragon, even if it meant they were marching to their deaths most likely.

When he saw Gandalf give Thorin the key, something else sparked in Boromir. He knew the old wizard had often been the inspirer of events, nudging people towards necessary goals, often for their own betterment. But he had also seen the old man play kingmaker before and he wondered about that for a moment. There were many things at work here it seemed, not all of them obvious.

There was little surprise that Bilbo rejected the contract, with that wording only someone crazy or with very wry humor would sign such a thing. The group had long broken up and spread out over the rooms of Bag End. Looking for the brothers, Boromir could not help overhearing the conversation of Thorin and Balin, He had not spoken much with the dwarven leader, but he admired the stubborn courage and nobility of Thorin.

The dwarves assembled by the fire but Boromir did not join them, he needed a moment alone, to think. He sat down on the floor in the dark hallways, hearing a familiar tune echo from the other room. He knew that song, had often heard Kili sing it. Now it was another voice that began.

Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away ere break of day

To find our long forgotten gold.

He closed his eyes listening to their voices, to the sad tune telling of their long lost home, of their dreams. Was Thorin aware that the treasure was cursed? That there was a curse on the ring his father had worn? What had been Thrain's fate ultimately? Not even Kili had known, or if he had, he had never spoken of it. Boromir wondered if there was any hope of preventing the curse from touching Thorin, there was a wealth of hope and desperation in the Dwarven King, and the former Captain of Gondor knew all too well what that could do to you.

The pines were roaring on the height

The winds were moaning in the night.

The fire was red, it flaming spread;

The trees like torches blazed with light.

The bells were ringing in the dale

And men looked up with faces pale;

Then dragon's ire more fierce that fire

Laid low their towers and houses frail.

Esgaroth, Lake town, Kili had said the town had been burned by Smaug, another suffering that had led to the confrontation that had ultimately ushered Thorin's way down into darkness. He looked up. Could this be the way? Prevent Smaug from flying up? Confront him in his lair and thus prevent the city from burning? If there was no army of elves and men make demands maybe Thorin would be less vulnerable to the curse.

The mountain smoked beneath the moon;

The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.

They fled their hall to dying fall

Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.

Boromir let the tune wash over him, hearing the echo of deep sadness in it. He did not know how much he could do, how far his strength could reach here, but he knew he had to try, to save Kili and to help the people he had come to love and admire.

Far over the misty mountains grim

To dungeons deep and caverns dim

We must away, ere break of day,

To win our harps and gold from him!

"You're not with them in there." The Halfling had walked out into the hall, he too had listened. "Why are you with them?" He looked at him curiously. "You are obviously no dwarf."

"They are my friends," Boromir told him, the truest answer. And Kili is my King. "and I will go with them, no matter how far the journey leads us."

"Even if it means your death?" Bilbo asked, he sat down on a chest, thus being eye-height with Boromir. "Even if all that happens… how did they put it laceration… evisceration… incineration?" he recounted the words still with clear fear in his voice.

Boromir met his eyes, he wanted to the Halfling to somehow see he was not bragging, just serious. "We all die, Bilbo, whether from a blade in the back or from the cart-horses' hooves when the drunken driver can't control it any more. It's what we fight for, what we die for that matters, I'd rather die for a friend, or my king, instead of dying of old age in my bed. It does not matter how long a candle burns as long as it casts a bright light."

"Do you really think they can do it?" The Hobbit asked, his eyes going back where the dwarves were gathered, the song had not left him unmoved, that much was obvious. "With thirteen odd people fight a dragon?"

"A good friend told me long ago that there was no strength in numbers, it does not take many people to bring down a great evil, just one fighter who has not forgotten that one candle is enough to burn away the darkness. I have found his words true more times than I can count." He smiled, remembering Kili's words, the strength he had seen in him during the War of the Ring. Maybe it was this stubborn courage, this never giving in that had inspired him most.

ADL

Finding a place to sleep in the Hobbit hole was not easy. Most of the dwarves camped on the floor somewhere, long used to make camp where they could find shelter; they simply lay down on the ground or slept in a chair they could find. Boromir looked for a calm place to do the same and saw Dwalin wave him over to another room. "Over here, that will save you from Bombur's snoring at least for today." The bald dwarf said.

Following him they ended up in another sitting room that actually had a fireplace. Boromir sat down on the floor, leaning with his back against the wall, he had gotten used to sleeping like that during the long war in Moria. It was easier that way and you were quicker on your feet when the Orcs came back. "Thank you, Dwalin."

The dwarf had camped down in a much similar fashion, his back to the fireplace's wall. "You don't look like someone used to travelling with our kind," the said wryly, stretching his legs and making himself comfortable. "and I would like to know what brings a son of Dol Amroth up here… or to follow a dwarven Prince."

His words chased off Boromir's tiredness at once. "Flattered though I am, I am not from Dol Amroth." He pointed out.

Dwalin barked a laugh. "Really, laddie? For you have their face, clear as daylight, even the elven fair hair – it's diluted a bit in you, but it's still there. And the way you speak… that shouts White City for those who know their tongue well. So, what brings you up here?"

"I may have been born in the White City, but I do neither have family nor blood ties there – I have not belonged to her in a long time." It was all true, his citizenship had been stripped the day Aragorn released him from the oaths, and Boromir had never regretted that. "And I am here because I am oath bound to your Prince, if that's why you asking."

The dwarven warrior mulled that over. "No family, huh… so there was some truth to the story about Tarin of Dol Amroth abandoning his own illegitimate son, damn I should have known that was true when he had that poor baby of his niece killed."

Boromir frowned, he recalled some sinister stories about Tarin of Dol Amroth, the man had only been whispered about and he had been said to have done away with a child after his niece had an affair with a minstrel. Those rumors while old had still cast a shadow over the house long enough to having nearly endangered Findulas of Dol Amroth's marriage to Denethor. "I do not have a family, Dwalin," he said a bit more firmly, trying to get that point across. "And you know a lot about Gondor it seems."

The dwarf shrugged. "They hired mercenaries for some clash with the Haradrim, fought two campaigns there… then had an offer from Dol Amroth for the Umbar campaign…"

"But?" Boromir asked, the but had been audible in Dwalin's voice and even more so in his face.

"I don't work for a man who has murdered a child," Dwalin replied coldly. "the story with his niece was all about, poor lass. She wasn't smart playing with that minstrel, but doing away with her child… he could pay me all the mithril of Moria and I wouldn't touch that contract. I went East instead, fought for Prince Tarkhan."

"You fought in the Great Imperial Succession?" Boromir knew of this war, the greatest war of succession in the Easterling Empire, with the youngest Prince winning the war and unfortunately bringing the land back under the dark wing.

"Do they call it that now?" Dwalin laughed. "We called it the war of the twins, and Mahal smite me, it was the best contract I ever took. Could have stayed too… he offered me a legion."

"Did he? Tarkhan… he was crowned Jadhur II then?" Boromir had studied the history of the Easterling Empire at least their wars quite extensively, to understand their strategies and their elite warriors better.

"Yes, Jadhur, the name the Oracle gave him. One hell of a fighter, tough as nails and downright vicious, but one of the best, fair to us mercenaries too… a great warrior king. I know you won't like it, but I'd call him a good man."

"They are people Dwalin," Boromir said. "and as much good or bad as others, that's the hardest thing in these wars, men fighting men in the name of greater powers. Why did you not stay?"

"Thorin had called, so I told Tarkhan it was time went back and fought for my king. He laughed and wished me good luck." Dwalin leaned back, comfortable with talking wars and battles, and they soon ended up swapping stories.

Author's Notes

The history of the Easterling Empire is made up by me as Tolkien never said much about them.

With lots of thanks to harrylee94 who is keeping me writing so much.