Chapter 12: A Raven in flight

Dawn graced the eastern horizon with the first rays of light when they reached the small river, Kili hardly able to stand, the strength that had carried him through the battle under the mountain finally burning out. Dwalin caught the younger dwarf when he collapsed. "Boromir!" he called out to their companion who had scouted ahead. "Day is coming; I think it's safe to stop now."

The human warrior turned and came back to them, one glance at Kili who had struggled back to his feet, and now stood, though supported by Dwalin, spoke for itself. "I can go on," Kili said bravely, he was pale, the wounds and shock finally taking its toll.

"No," Dwalin grumbled. "We can camp here. Sit down on the rocks by the stream, I'll build a fire." The older dwarf spoke with the authority of a much older friend. "No discussion, Kili, you will need your strength to heal."

When the young dwarf followed his instructions, Dwalin walked a few steps with Boromir. "I can build a fire, and there'll be fish in this stream, but we have nothing to treat Kili's injuries with. The lashes will fester soon enough…"

"It's summer; we can find something for them." Boromir said. "We may not be healers, but I do recall a lot of what Kili uses during travels."

Dwalin looked at him strangely. "Good. You do that; I'll take care of camp." The old warrior and former mercenary had often been forced to survive with whatever he had on his body and he agreed with Boromir that during the middle of summer it would not be too hard.

Knowing Kili was in good hands the Gondorian walked upstream. Dreambane grew close to rivers, and it worked well against fever and pain, he recalled. But to prevent the wounds from festering… what had that horrible weed been Aragorn had been so fond of? The one that smelled so sickly sweet, he had used it in the houses of healing, and also to help Frodo when he had been stabbed by that Morgul Blade. During their travel south the Ranger had used it more than once to treat cuts, injuries and a wolf bite. Boromir could not recall the name but he recognized the plant well, growing in the sunny spots. The same white flowered plant, Boromir had seen the Ranger harvest and use and Thorongil had been a competent healer. Taking the clean throwing knife concealed in his boot, Boromir cut off the flowers of the weed, along with the long leaves that he had seen Aragorn use. He also found some dreambane and elfroot, both would come in handy.

By the time he returned to camp, Dwalin had gotten a fire to burn, with some fish roasting on sticks. The dwarf handed Boromir a stone that the water had washed out into the shape of a flat bowl and another stone that might serve as a pestle. "We won't be able to heat great amounts of water at once, but enough to begin with." He said, pointing to the side of the fire.

Boromir nearly laughed. Like him Dwalin had managed to hang onto a few things and their steel mugs had been among them. Both sat in the glowing embers, filled with water to heat. "Thank you, Dwalin, that helps a lot."

The older warrior barked a laugh. "If you know what to do with all these weeds…" He pointed at the herbs the Gondorian had gathered.

"I've seen it done often enough," Boromir replied, sitting down with the stones. He knew the herbs had to be grounded with a little water into a paste that would be mixed with scalding water before used on the wounds. He was not quite sure whether Thorongil had used both flowers and leaves of this herb, though.

"Oh, I can't watch you do that," Kili said while reaching for the herbs. "Give it here, you look at those poor herbs like you want to make salad of them." The young dwarf quickly sorted the plants, and then gently took the athelas plucking the flowers and some leaves to grind them, before mixing them with a little water and the grounded elfroot.

"Good choice of herbs, Boromir, but the dreambane needs to go into extra water and I am not sure if any of us wants something that strong. A dose of a ripe umbel is enough to send any dwarf sleeping for a day or two." With steady hands he began to grind the herbs with the stones, putting a bit of hot water on them before continuing. A soft smell rose from the concoction.

"I always thought that weed would smell much stronger," Boromir recalled how strong it had smelled when Thorongil had used it; he had always found it sickly sweet.

"Unless you have seen it in the hands of one of your kings of old, I don't know how," Kili replied. "athelas is a good herb but it is said that it will yield its full power only to the hands of the royal house of Numenór." Kingsfoil could help to clean a wound, and he was glad Boromir had remembered the knowledge of his people, but it would not do much more beyond that, in spite of being fabled.

Boromir did not reply directly to that, he had always known Thorongil was a competent healer, and he had been there in the houses of healing, he had seen him call people back from the brink of death. But he had never quite attributed that to the royal line. Maybe his old rivalry with the man had evaporated and he was able to see clearer now. "Will that help your injuries?"

"Yes, it will clean them and allow them to heal without ferstering." Kili put the stone with the hot paste on the ground; he could not apply it for himself, as the lashes were on his back.

Dwalin exchanged a glance with Boromir, the man had a lighter touch than the old dwarven warrior. The Gondorian understood what the dwarf was silently telling him. "Let me see your back, Kili." He said, taking the stone.

Kili discarded his bloodied coat exposing his back. It was marred with criss-crossing lashes, blood had smeared them, and the brand on his shoulder blade had taken an angry red color. Dwalin watched, as Boromir began to treat the injuries, Kili sitting unmovingly, if he felt pain he did not show it. His dark eyes went past them, wherever he might be in his thoughts, Dwalin could only guess. "Lad, you couldn't have done anything for Ori," Dwalin said, guessing that Kili, like Thorin, tended to beat himself up over people he lost. "T'was bad luck that he fell like that." And Ori had not been able to control his fall like the three warriors had, but Dwalin did not say that out loud.

"Dwalin," Kili actually looked up, his dark eyes were troubled, shaken, but free of tears. "I appreciate what you are doing, but… I need to think this through. Alone, if you don't mind."

It was a new tone from the young warrior, Dwalin thought, no, from the young Prince, he correct himself. Dwalin had seen this same in Thorin, when the darven leader wished to be left alone, over the years Thorin had perfected that stare that drove most others away. The bald dwarf gave a curt nod, signaling understanding and fell into silence.

Boromir had watched the exchange, recognizing that tone of voice; he had not expected to hear it yet. But this was Kili Ravenswing who had just spoken, like always he had approached Dwalin with respect, asking for the distance he needed, rather than demanding it, but it was a request that would be followed. Once he was finished with the injuries he left Kili alone, advising him to get some rest.

ADL

Kili lay awake on his coat, it was unusual for him to lie half naked, but this way the salve would have the best chance to work on his marred back. He had rested his head on his arms, pretending to sleep, while Boromir had taken first watch. Dwalin lay asleep on the other side of the fire, snoring softly. The young dwarf could not sleep; the events in the caverns under the mountains were still too vivid. He knew he could close his eyes without reliving the torture; his own pain was insignificant to what had happened to Ori. Kili knew he could not have done anything for the young scribe, nothing at all. Still, from the moment they had been separated from the others, Ori had become his responsibility. There was no shying away from that.

He sighed softly. Until this summer he had always been allowed to hide behind his big brother, his Uncle, and Mister Dwalin, they had shielded him, protected him. But with Thorin's announcement before they had left this was over, he had to take responsibility for the others, try to live up to their expectations. Again he thought of Ori… he knew Ori had heard him, had been aware that he was there, but he had been afraid. It had been clear in his eyes, when he had seen the dagger in Kili's hand. Kili would never share what had been said between them in those final moments, and he hoped that Ori would find peace in Mahal's halls.

He had to stop thinking about Ori, he told himself. Mourning the dead must never take precedence over the care for the living. And there was a lot to care about right now. They were stranded somewhere east of the mountains and had to find the others. Think, Kili, he told himself. Thorin had planned to cross Mirkwood, the only way to do that was the old Mirkwood road, to reach that they would have to cross the river at one of the old fords. There were two of them on Northern Anduin, one near the High Pass Road, and the other where the old Framsburg road met the river. High Pass Road then, Thorin would aim for that way, because it connected to the Mirkwood road.

His hand went to his belt, while they had lost most of their packs, they still had what was on their bodies. He fingered the pouch on the belt, forming a tentative plan. Head north and find a village or settlement in Anduin valley. If he managed to fence off the contents of the pouch they could buy ponies and catch up with the others. Not much of a plan, but all he could think of.

The restless thoughts accompanied Kili for hours, until noon, when Boromir woke Dwalin for change of watch. In the drowsy heat of the summer day Kili finally found some sleep.

He was in a dungeon, chains holding his arms up, he was barely able to stand. His body wracked with pain. Someone, an old man doused him with a load of water to wake him. In the dark liquid of the bucket he could see his own face, mirrored on the surface. An older, grim face, framed by dark hair with grey streaks.

"It is the manner of dying that makes the difference," The old man said, eying him like a hawk might look at a mouse. "tell me, how did you ensnare my son into your spells? How did you make him forget his loyalty to me? You shall give up your secret before you beg to die."

"Every man can die only once," Kili told him. "whether he is guilty or not." He knew this man, he knew why the old man hated him so. Something that Kili had done and that the old man was not forgiving, but he could not remember what it was, what had happened.

"You were not quite as… brash… when the Goblin King had you," the old man observed softly "and this wasn't even the first time was it? Only the first others saw. What a weak impression you must have made against the… what did he name it?... the bonebreaker?"

With his bare hand he touched the dwarf's broad chest, and sheer agony ran through Kili's body. He bit his lip, he would not scream, he'd not give his enemy that victory. The pain came and came again, a touch of the aged hand all it took, to flay every inch of his body with sheer unadulterated pain.

"The bone-breaker," the old man said softly "I never seem to quite remember that entire story…"

The old man approached the dwarf again. "I was told that they used knives to carve into your skin, here," the old man's hand touched the dwarf's shoulder blades, a searing pain mingling with the memory of what had been done then. "of course they did lash you, they always do, don't they. I never can quite understand why." he circled Kili again. "and then they brought the bonebreaker... not a hammer, but a saw. A vile rusty saw to sever your bones in the shoulder," he touched the place where a speckled scar ran across Kili's strong shoulder. "And as you screamed your agony into the darkness, your Uncle watched... your King left you to suffer alone."

The pain returned, remembered pain and new pain mingled into one blaze of agony that stripped him of any control. He could not tell when the brands had been brought, between the screams and the pain everything else had faded.

The glowing seals were burning into his hands and the old man's vile touch sent even worse pain through his entire body. "You will tell me how you enchanted my son, and how to break your bane on him." The Steward demanded. Kili could not say how he knew that title, but a distant part of his mind knew that this title and this man came together. "And you will beg for my forgiveness before I permit your death."

He would not give in. Never let the pain be stronger than you. He had lived by this rule for decades now and pain had become an old friend, one that he might not necessarily like to see, but that would find him time and again. It was alright, pain was the whip to remind him he was still alive. "If I ever were to do this, it was me whom I could not forgive," Kili's voice was rough; the words came out in gasps.

"Enough!" A familiar voice bellowed, and he saw Boromir storm into the dungeon, sword in hand. He was followed by a man of similar looks... his brother, Kili somehow knew.

The old man turned around, his face falling. "My son…" he whispered. "he stole you from me… he stole your love, your loyalty." With one fluent move the Steward drew his own sword, advancing towards his son. "I will not allow him to corrupt you."

Horrified Kili watched father and son fight, accusations flying back and forth between them, and there was no doubt that Boromir was the superior swordsman here. When Denethor - that was the old man's name! - called Kili an Orc slave, he could see sheer rage rise in the human warrior. Beyond the horror and pain, Kili was shocked and touched how quickly his friend jumped to his defense, and with what violent rage he went after Denethor. "Boromir! You will not kill him!" Kili had never used this tone of voice, the clear command that would be obeyed, on his friend, but here and now he did. He would not have him kill his own father, not over something like this.

The events spiraled out of control, he could not prevent it and Denethor's dagger embedded itself in his younger son's chest.

"Faramir!" Kili woke with a yell, panting, his entire body shaking still, remembered pain and fresh pain from the welts mingling.

"Kili! Are you alright?" his scream had woken Boromir who was on his feet hurrying over to him, Dwalin had been startled in his watch, the dwarf stood axe ready to fight.

"I… I am sorry, I did not mean to wake you." Kili replied, still dazed. What had he just seen? It had been so real, so very real. An echo of the pain he still could feel. The searing iron in his hands… looking down his eyes widened; his palms shone with the glossy dark mark of a raven's wing in each hand.

"It doesn't sound like nothing, lad," Dwalin said, he too had come close and had been the first to see the wings. "Your hands… what happened? And what was that name you called out? Faramir?"

"Boromir's brother," Kili replied, the pain ebbing off a little. He still did not understand all that had just transpired, but a dreadful calm, a weight seemed to settle on him, crushing his soul. "At least I think it was." He looked up to the human warrior, he looked nearly like in Kili's dream, except for a scar on the jawline that had not been there and other small differences. Suddenly Kili realized that the man who had stormed into the dungeon had not had the dragon mark. How was this even possible? What had he dreamt? No, it had been no dream, but something much deeper and much more terrible. He wished he could discard it as a dream, a nightmare brought on by the events in Goblin Town. Much as he wanted to lie down and try to reason this out, he knew he could not.

"It was," Boromir confirmed the question softly, shocked, colour draining from his face. Kili could feel turmoil from him in the bond, and he looked at him, like searching for something in his eyes, that was not there.

While Boromir kept a stony façade on the outside, Kili could sense the storm of emotions held within, unease, fears and others coiled together to something that was hard to bear. Deep beyond all that was fear, a fear that Kili could not quite identify, but it was strong. A fear to break their friendship, to fail on this mission – whatever his mission might be. Kili reached out, touching the warrior's arm. "Sit," he said in friendly tones, encouragingly. "we need to talk. Dwalin, stay too."

They sat down by the low burning fire, afternoon had come with a lower sun and the drowsy heat emanated from the stones by the river. There was a soft wind from the mountain still, rustling the leaves that kept the heat from becoming unbearable. For a while Kili wondered how to begin, how to find the right words for the questions he had. Honesty, he decided, directness without any traps or tricks. "I learned your brother's name through a dream… I am not even sure it was a dream, but something that came through the bond." He began. "I was captive in a dungeon, your father interrogating me…"

Boromir's green eyes widened, it was easy to see he knew the events that Kili was speaking of. "You remember that, do you?" Kili asked, not trying to poke at painful things, but if Boromir knew of his dream, then he remembered an event that Kili most certainly did not. "Your father was there as was your brother, and yet… you said truthfully that you had no family. I could feel back then that it was true… and it still is." He knew that he was treading painful grounds and while needed answers he would not make this any more painful than necessary. He knew Boromir had been truthful with him so far, but on the same time he had not… or he had kept quiet about a lot.

The Gondorian tensed, his shoulders hunched, like he had been trapped. And trapped he was. Boromir knew there was no way out this time. Not without directly lying to Kili. It was a line a could not cross. He had evaded questions, or not answered things but he had never truly lied. And he would not, it would mean breaking his oath, it would mean betraying a friend. And if Kili had seen what he just mentioned… Boromir did not know how to explain it al all.

"It is true because…" Boromir looked past Kili at the fire. "Because I should not be here, I will not be born for another 40 years. To return here, I had to cut off all ties that bound me, save my oath to you."

Disbelief and shock warred in Kili, while Boromir's words were the stark bones of an answer, he could feel their absolute truth, the bond would never allow them to lie to each other. But if he had not been born yet… how was this possible. Then a sudden realization hit him. "The bond…" Kili could not claim to understand it yet, but he began to get a glimpse at something great and terrible here. "That's why it appeared the moment we met. If you swore an oath to me at some point and it was in this world and the next…"

"…as long as the world endures," Boromir had never even considered that swearing like this would reassert itself in this way. The world still endured and what did it matter in the eyes of Eru and Mahal that he had sworn that oath in another time? Loyalty was eternal, once given it held true, no matter how winding the path.

The human warrior looked at the dwarven Prince. Kili was shocked, his face had become a mask, but his dark eyes bespoke his state of mind. And there were many in them. Boromir averted his eyes, in the twenty years they had fought side by side, they sometimes debated, sometimes even clashed, but there had never been doubt or distrust between them and he found it harder to bear than anything else.

"But why?" Kili asked him. "Why would you do this to yourself, giving up your home, your family…?" He did not question the how; there was powerful magic in the world. And while he had never heard of something like this, he was sure it existed. If there was magic to make stones of light and forge rings of terrible power, swords that would keep their wearers alive and other things, then there probably was the magic that would traverse time and fate, if you took the time to find it.

Because you have been my brother for twenty years, closer than what was left of my family, and you were my King. "It was the only way," Boromir spoke slowly, still not looking at Kili. "there was no other option. The curse found you during this journey, and with the seven passed beyond reach and memory, it could only be broken this way."

"You came back to protect me from the Bane?" From the time he had been small Kili had been instructed on the secrets of Durin's line. He knew of the curse that had befallen the family, how they had evaded it at times and how it ultimately had always gotten to them. "We… my family never found a way to do that in generations."

"Aye," Boromir confirmed. "At first we did not know what we were looking at, you kept it a secret to protect your people. But eventually we found that the curse can only be broken here, now that the first of the seven has left your house. But there is one place the curse still lingers…"

"The hoard," Kili said, catching on, dwarves prided themselves in passing on the stories of old, and the older the family the more secrets and stories of old were handed down to the young ones; and he could put the lore together quickly enough. "by the curse it was made, by the curse it will be taken… and we wondered how we got the dragon down on us."

Boromir looked at him startled, that grim assessment was something he had come to associate with the older Kili. There was a change in the young dwarf Prince, something that was hard to name if you never had met Kili Ravenswing.

Kili's eyes fell to his arm where the dragonmark was shining. The oath had placed it there, no hint of fate or destiny and still it had managed to uproot his life quite effectively. "I guess I was not the one to kill the dragon the first time? Nor anyone else of the family?" It would help the curse to take root, claiming a hoard you had not conquered for yourself.

"No, the dragon attacked a settlement and was killed by sheer accident and good luck." Boromir would not belittle Bard's shot at the beast, the man had kept his nerves under fire, but it had been a stroke of luck that he had been able to see the weak spot and pull off that shot.

No fate, nor destiny charts the path of us, but the storm will find us and we must ride it. It will either carry us to the heights or plunge us into a pit. If you don't dare the storm, you are not of Durin's blood. Kili recalled Dis telling him that when he had been small and afraid. He rose to his feet and walked away from camp, needing to calm himself. His back ached when he moved and he ignored it. It was only a few steps to the rushing stream, walking on the stones by the water, Kili tried to calm himself. No matter how the dragonmark had come to him, even as it had never been a mark of destiny, the others expected him to kill the dragon. The very thought made his stomach clench. Even Thorin had stood no chance against the beast… and he, Kili, was supposed to take on that creature?

He raised his hands in front of himself, willing them to stop shaking. Breathing out slowly, Kili stilled, pushing the fear out of his mind. He was of Durin's line, he did not show fear and he would damn well not run. If he had to fight a dragon, then he would have to think of something. Boromir had said an archer killed the beast; maybe that was the solution then. This was the storm Dis had spoken of and he would have to dare fly with it, either he would be crushed or come out on top. No more small Kili, no hiding behind others. He was on his own now, it was his task to protect others, to fight for them. Fighting the battles others can't. He recalled an aged voice telling him, he could not fit a face with it, only a pair of eyes and a vague sense of warmth. But the voice had a name, scarce as the memories were. Thror, his great-grandfather. I will do it, great-father, Kili thought. I will do it, or die trying.

"My Lord?"

Kili did not need to turn around to know it was Boromir, his step was easily to distinguish from Dwalin's. For a moment the young dwarf was grateful he stood with his back to the warrior. Boromir had not approached him as a friend, or vaguely a leader, but as a warrior would approach the Prince he served. It was another role Kili would have to accept, much as he would not allow himself to lose his closest friends over that. "I am alright, Boromir," he said, his voice calm and steady. "I only needed a moment to truly understand the scope of this."

He could sense tension rising in the bond, pain too, and a well-schooled control of emotions. "I can only beg your forgiveness for deceiving you…"

Kili whirled around, to face the Gondorian. He knew why this brave warrior had risked coming here, why he had given up his life, or at least the mission he had done it for, but why anyone would take such a burden on themselves was something he could only begin grasp.

He reached up, to clasp Boromir's shoulders, making him look at him. "Forgiveness? Boromir, I do not know what I did in my life to deserve such loyalty as you have shown me. I am glad and grateful you are here. And I promise you I will make the best of the chance you have given me."

They embraced, Kili heedless of his injured back, no matter the pain, he felt complete. He had never known what he had missed. The few glimpses of Boromir's memories had not been conclusive or connected at all and he did not want to know. They would go from here and chart their own path. But he had found his brother again, and with that he could face whatever fate threw at him.

ADL

They had returned to the fire, sitting down together. "Your brother, what happened to him?" Kili asked. "The last I saw in the dream was that dagger…" He hoped that Boromir had not lost his brother that day.

It was the strangest thing that Kili would not remember how he had saved Faramir, how he had saved each of them at a time, Boromir thought. "He survived, thanks to you," he said, knowing Kili should know how the mark had come into being. "you knew of this spell, you always said you learned it from a very secretive arcane smith living somewhere in the North, a Quenya spell, you had used it to save my life after I was nearly killed by Orcs in Amon Hen. When my brother lay dying, we used it together to heal him."

"It was how the bond was born," Kili may not know the spell but he understood the principal concepts working behind such things. No one became an arcane smith without getting the basics drilled into their heard and Thorin had never been forgiving when it came to that. "Our lives touched on a level that could not be severed. Did your brother share the bond too?"

"He did, but he never delved much into it," Boromir said. "Faramir had a full life, a loving wife, children, and his duties to his king. He once told me that he preferred not to share whatever heroics we two got up to."

This had Kili very nearly smile. It sounded so much more relaxed, so much like a side of Boromir that he usually did not show. He did not wish to know all that had happened, most seers considered themselves cursed to know the future and for good reason. He did not want to fall into the trap of believing things should happen… it was their own path from here onward.

He raised his hands so Boromir could see the palms. "Do you know these?" he asked, having the feeling that Boromir had been less surprised by their appearance.

"When the spell healed Faramir, it also healed you, instead of the brands on your hands those appeared." Boromir told him.

Another thing came to Kili, something he had noticed while they escaped, but only now found the time to piece together. "That song… the battle song you sang while we fought our away out of the caves," he said. "I heard it before. When the Goblins…" he would face it bravely, they may have put the slavemark on him, but he would never allow it to cow him. "When they branded me, I saw something. I was suddenly in that dark shaft, climbing towards the light, down below me was a man, fighting the Orcs. He sang the same song, while I climbed up, out of Minas Morgul."

"Laddie, no one ever escaped the dungeons of Minas Morgul," Dwalin said. "no one gets out there alive."

Kili looked at Boromir. "That was you, wasn't it? Climbing towards the light?"

The Gondorian shivered, he had not been aware Kili had seen that, while it sure was the pain that could make him remember. "Idráin gave his life so I could escape. He tracked them after I got captured; he made his way through the Mountains of Shadow and into Minas Morgul. I still shudder at the risks he took and at the price he paid to even reach me. But when he did, it became apparent we would not escape. Those dungeons… they deserve every bit of their reputation."

"But you got out." Kili asked anew.

"Because he stayed behind and fought, he created such a ruckus, fought such a battle that they realized only much later that I was gone. He sacrificed himself so I might live." Boromir drew in his legs, leaning his arms on them. It was an old memory, but it had been the first time that one of their people had deemed his own life of less worth than Boromir's. It was a sacrifice hard to accept and harder to live up to.

"To get into Minas Morgul he must have been very good." Dwalin observed. "That dread city is a place guarded by much worse than Orcs and I've talked to a few Easterlings who knew it."

"He was more than good, one of the best Rangers I ever knew." Boromir replied. "His son took after him a lot." It had been another aspect of the long war that he could not explain to his friends. How many soldiers of Gondor had fallen, how many mothers had kept the swords and bows against the day they would send their sons to join the battle? Many? Idráin's son had been eight when his father died, ten years down the road he had been a fine aspiring ranger and another six year after Boromir would send him on a mission that would consign him to a similar grueling captivity.

He felt Kili's hand on his wrist. "Too many memories, is it?" The dwarf asked with a new, gentle understanding.

"No bad memories." Boromir told him, pushing them back. This was not the time to let his mind wander. He had to let go of all that was done and gone. There was no use any more to cling to the past, not with them and an uncharted path ahead. "We should pack up camp; it won't be safe to stay here once night falls." He said.

Kili nodded in agreement. "If we move swiftly we can reach the Anduin before morning."

Author's Notes

With a lot of thanks to Harrylee94 who helped me with all the talky aspects of this chapter. What would I do without you.

I know… lots of more talking and little action… but they will get to Beorn's the next chapter.