Chapter 24: The Price of Victory

The world suddenly began to spin before Boromir's eyes and a fierce jab of pain erupted in his chest, he knelt so as not to collapse entirely. A new night had fallen on the field outside Erebor and the battle was won, but the search for wounded continued into the night. Like all the others still able to stand he had helped with that. But now he felt an exhausting drain on his strength. "Kili… Fili…" he could feel them weakening further.

"Boromir!" Bard squatted down beside him. "We better get you to a healer; you look ready to fall over." The bowman observed, worried.

"I am not injured," Boromir whispered, it was really only scratches and bruises, the black chainmail had held against all the attacks without breaking or letting a blade through. "I need to find Kili and Fili…"

"The two Princes?" Bard asked. "Dwalin brought them to the elven healers, after the shapeshifter got King Thorin there. Why?"

"They are fading, I can feel their wounds… life draining from them." Boromir steadied his breathing, trying to hold onto their bond tightly, letting them draw on his strength.

"You can… feel their wounds?" Bard had seen Dwalin when he had carried Prince Kili off the field, and the boy had barely been alive. "Light… and you are still standing?!" He could hardly believe it, feeling something like that on top of his own wounds and exhaustion, Boromir should have collapsed long ago.

The Gondorian pushed himself back to his feet, standing only a little shakily. "What choice do I have?" he replied. "They need me strong, now."

Bard rose, grasping Boromir's arm to support him as they walked. "I will get you there," he said. "Don't give up just yet, the Elves have a reputation as great healers."

They walked slowly, Boromir feeling further surges of nausea as they went. He was grateful for Bard's help, as it allowed him to get to the postern the dwarves had opened to allow the wounded be brought into their fortress. Inside the dark hallway, they were approached by Aelin. "Another wounded, Bard?" the elf asked, like most of his people he had been helping with the wounded.

"No, not wounded." Boromir managed to stand on his own for the moment. "Aelin… what about Kili and Fili, Thorin?"

The Noldor shook his head. "Elrohir is still working on Thorin, he says the King might make it. The Princes… not so much… we did what we could but the wounds are too severe."

A lance of pain shot through Boromir's body and his arm, he nearly fell but Aelin caught him. The elf's eyes widened when his hands touched Boromir's arm. "Sweet Valar! You are linked to them… Bard, leave him here and take care of whatever tasks he still had."

The Bowman frowned at those words. "Will he be alright?" he insisted. "He said he could feel their wounds."

"I know." Aelin replied. "and no, Bard, he will not be well. I do not know how this could happen… it was never meant for mortals to use… but if the Princes die, so will he." The Noldor did not take time for further explanations but led Boromir to a small barren room. Kili and Fili had been bedded on blankets on the floor, their wounds had been dressed and treated, but the brothers were breathing shallowly, drifting slowly closer to the darkness from whence there was no return. Aelin guided Boromir to kneel down beside them; he could sense the bond that linked those three. "How… how could this happen?" he asked. "That spell…"

"Unimportant," Boromir pushed the words out. "No time for that. Do any of your people have something like White Ithal Nuts? Stonefork Root?"

Aelin looked at him without understanding. "The Berserker draught? Boromir, even if our kind were to use such means, it could not help these boys."

"Not them… but it could help me over the weakness, so they can draw more strength from me," Boromir told him, now that he was close to both brothers the drain was not quite as bad, like it was easier to share what strength he had left. Gently he touched their arms, just enough to make it even easier for the bond to work.

"Nothing, no draught or spell could give you the strength to do that," Aelin said softly. "Boromir… how far would you go to save them?"

"As far as necessary," Boromir closed his eyes, focusing on the bond, it had been part of his life for twenty years, he had learned a lot on how to work with it during that time and he would not give up on them.

The Noldor warrior could see the determination in the human fighter, and he had to admire the sheer determination in the man. Aelin had been there when that spell had come into existence, one of seven immortal elves who had linked their strength and lives to safe one warrior… to save a King… but this went beyond it. Men did not have the skill to extricate themselves from such a link again or survive the drain of strength, for them to dare do this was to burn out what life they had quickly. He rose, leaving Boromir alone with the two dying dwarves, to find Caredhil outside with the other wounded. "Caredhil," he approached the younger warrior who had become something of a friend as well. "I need your help."

"What is it, Aelin?" Caredhil asked at once. "Does Elrohir need something for Thorin?"

"No, this is about Thorin's sons… I dare not leave them for long at this moment." Aelin wished he could go and do this errand himself, but he could not, not with what Boromir was trying to do. "The Lord of the Dragon forge, can you please find him for me?" he asked, having recognized the Noldor Prince the moment he had first seen him on the field. "Please, find him and tell him that Aralaimé begs his indulgence on a matter of the Tealan Kal, and asks him to come here, three lives may depend on it… or rather two, if I am reading the matter correctly."

Caredhil understood only half of what was asked, but he got the maybe most important part. He nodded and hurried outside to the field, to do as Aelin had asked.

ADL

The one handed warrior had been searching the battlefield, knowing what he would find. He had seen the young dragonblooded burn out, succumbing to the madness of the blood. Most of them he had found dead, a few dying, not yet gone from this world. For those few that he found still breathing he could do nothing, except to be with them in their final moments, praying that their creator would take mercy on them. When he had taken them in a short century ago, it had not been an act of mercy entirely, maybe one of obligation, maybe even in respect to the past too.

He had seen the different faces of Aule's chosen children during his long life, he had seen their stubbornness, their honor, their fierce bravery to stand even in the face of a dragon… and he had seen their greed and their presumptions to raise their hands against an elven kingdom they should not have dared to touch.

It had seemed a bitter irony that it would be them who had found him after his fall, one of theirs to risk his life to retrieve him from the chasm of fire and nurse him back to health. The people of the Reach may have known who he was but they had not cared. For long ages they had given him refuge deep in the peak of Erebor, shielding him from a world that believed him perished. He in turn had aided them against the Frostwyrms and the drakes that would come down from the Withered Heath and plague their hidden homeland. The Dragon Forge becoming his home and slowly becoming a legend to the outside world, a legend guarded by the people of the Reach. They had respected his wish to be alone, to not live amongst their kin, only a few of them daring and curious to try and befriend him. Some he had taught, some he had chased away, and in time he had come to appreciate the little company they would provide. Until Skar… the blind young skald had brought a gift to his life that he had thought long lost, the music of his harp.

A pained cough interrupted his thoughts; he had come back to the bloody hill where the final fight had taken place. A wounded warrior had freed himself of the orc corpses lying atop of him. "Fion!" He recognized the dwarf at once; he had not believed he would find his young friend alive, not with the way the brave warrior had gone down.

"Rú…" Belfionn's voice was rough; he had trouble speaking at all.

The name brought a smile to his face; it was a short version of the days when the dwarfling had not been able to pronounce Russandol properly. The elf knelt down beside the wounded fighter, for the first time taking off the helm that had obscured his face, revealing a proud and noble face framed by dark auburn locks. "No… don't try to speak, conserve your strength," He found Fion's eyes clear, no sign of madness in them; he had not been taken by the blood. Quickly he helped Fion to sit up; the dwarf had yanked out the blade that had hit him, pressing one hand on the bleeding wound.

"So much worry… doesn't become you, Rú," Fion's voice steadied a little. "Tell me that the blood will heal me and to stop being weak… might get me back to my feet." There was honest affection in his words, and the grim will to pull through.

"You won't walk anywhere," Russandol said a bit more sternly. "I will bring you to a healer. You must not rely on the dragonblood to heal you this time, not with getting so close to being overwhelmed."

"Couldn't let that happen. I made a promise to my father when he died…" Fion told him.

He remembered the promise, Skar had died not ten year after the dragon had come, and the promise he had asked his son for, had been touching but Fion had been too young to dedicate himself like that, even as he had kept to it ever since.

"My Lord?" They were interrupted by an elf approaching them.

Russandol acknowledged the elf with a glance. "Help me carry him, he needs to go to the healers," he said, it was not quite an order but a request that would be heeded.

"My Lord," the elf began again. "Aralaimé asked I find you, he begs your indulgence on a matter of the Tealan Kal, and…"

He held the younger elf's eyes with a cool gaze until he stopped speaking. "I have a wounded warrior here and you will assist me to bring him to the healers. Once there, I may find Aralaimé."

ADL

Dwalin pointed another group of wounded to be brought down to the mountain. The field was slowly clearing; the count of wounded, dead and dying accumulating to whatever number it would be at the end of the day. The warmaster was exhausted, physically and emotionally but he could not break down and rest. A warmaster kept things going when the battle was over. His heart was heavy while he saw to the troops. Thorin, severely wounded, Kili and Fili… near death, it was these thoughts that weighed more heavily on him than anything else. "Dwalin," Bofur approached him, the miner looked as tired and exhausted as Dwalin felt and there were traces of red rims around his eyes.

"Bofur," Dwalin approached him. "have you seen a healer yet?"

The miner shook his head. "I am not injured, Dwalin, and Bombur… he won't be needing a healer anymore."

The expression in Bofur's eyes reminded Dwalin so vividly of the day on the bloodfields by the gates of Moria, the many dead, beyond counting. He had not allowed himself to cry then, and he could not here either. Not yet. Mahal knew the pain would be there in days to come. "I am sorry, Bofur," he said. "Mahal receive him gently."

Bofur shook his head, and looked at Dwalin with such a heartbreaking sadness. "Dwalin, you need to go to the seventh hall… Balin…" He did not manage to say it fully, but the warmaster understood what had remained unspoken.

Balin… an iron clamp grasped his heart, his brother… wise, compassionate Balin. He bit his lip, forcing himself to be steady, to be calm. "I have to see to the troops, Bofur, I… I will see Balin soon."

"No," Bofur said firmly. "The search is well in hand, Dwalin. Bard and that mercenary know what they are doing. Go and see Balin, go now. You'd never forgive yourself if you did not."

Dwalin followed Bofur back to the mountain, the halls were restless, anyone who knew his way around healing was treating the wounded. Women from Dale, elves, dwarves from the Reach, all trying not to let any more fighters die before the night was out. As they passed through the halls Dwalin saw Boromir with Fili and Kili and a small spark of hope rose within him, maybe… just maybe the Princes could be saved.

He found Balin resting on a blanket in a less noisy hallway, Dwalin had seen many grievously wounded fighters in his life and he had no doubts that Balin's wounds were lethal. While they were now treated and bandaged, he could tell that several orc spears must have nailed his brother down in the end. Kneeling down beside him, he gently touched his forehead. Balin's eyes fluttered open. "Brother," he rasped. "You came…. Thorin?"

"He will make it, that elf Elrohir is a decent healer and says Thorin will live," Dwalin sounded more reassured than he was.

"Good… I feared for him…" Balin coughed. "The Princes?"

"Stop fretting brother," Dwalin grumbled. "You need to pull it together, Bal, someone has to talk sense in this mountain… and you can't ask me to do that."

There was a pained smile on Balin's old face. "You have more sense than you think, brother, if you were only to try and use your wits now and then." He grasped Dwalin's hand. "Brother… they will need you, in days to come. I am worried about Dáin… he has been plotting too much and… they will need your strength. Thorin and the boys…"

"Do not worry, Balin," Dwalin whispered. "I will protect them as long as I live, and I will keep an eye on the boys, you'd never forgive me if they came to harm."

"I will hold you to that, brother." Balin's hands closed around Dwalin's mighty arm and the end came swiftly.

ADL

"Bofur?" The pale haired elf's words startled the miner as he left Dwalin to share his last moments with his brother in private. The miner tried to remember what elf this was, his hair had the color of sea-foam, and he had seen him before amongst Elrohir's riders, but had his doubts he had ever heard the name.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked, tired as Bofur was, as much as he wanted to weep for his brother, there were others who still needed help. When a mine collapsed you did not cry for your friends, but you kept digging through the rubble until the last body was found.

"I was told that you were the cousin of Bifur?" The elf said. "Glóin pointed me to you. My name is Ivordaer."

"Bifur…" Bofur's heart nearly stood still. "Don't say he died as well…"

Ivordae smiled gently, reassuringly. "No, he was wounded severely, but he will recover. I thought you might wish to see him, even while he is asleep. The surgery was not easy, but under the circumstances… and he will be fine."

Dazed Bofur followed Ivordaer to another place, where he saw Bifur rest and sleep comfortably. Several bandages covered his body and there was one covering his head. Bofur's eyes widened. "The axe… you removed it?" He asked, no healer had ever dared try, fearing it would kill Bifur. But then… they never had had the means to see a very good healer, let alone an elven one.

"Bifur suffered another head injury, Bofur," Ivordaer explained. "It had caused the axe to move… forcing me to risk the surgery right here. He will need weeks to recover and heal, but he will live. I gave him a strong dose of dreambane against the pain; before I did he was awake and coherent, although I do not speak ancient dwarven beyond very few words."

Bofur smiled. "Don't worry about that, he has not been speaking anything else, since the axe got him." In the midst of the pain and the sadness he felt a spark of hope rise inside him. Wherever Bombur might be now, he would smile at them, happy to hear that Bifur had a chance to heal and maybe recover from the damage done to him so long ago.

ADL

Boromir looked up, when he saw movement in the door, he was not sure how much the bond was helping, but Fili and Kili were still breathing, neither of them having yet passed into the night. He saw another elf walk in, having brought another wounded dwarf from the Reach, who exclaimed Fili's name, as he was set down by the wall.

"Aelin said you might now how to help," Boromir had to focus on speaking, he was tired, the minutes seemed to tick by like hours formed of lead.

The redheaded elf squatted down beside him, his hand lightly touching his arm. "I will not ask how this spell came to you," he said firmly. "It was never meant for mortals to use and even with all your strength you cannot keep them in this world long enough for their bodies to heal to a point that would allow them to recover."

Boromir had heard that speech before, and Aelin had indicated there was more. "Aelin said there might be some other way, if you know…" Another surge of exhaustion went through him, he gasped, forcing his breathing back to the same invariable pattern as before.

The elf exchanged a glance with Aelin, who was quickly taking care of the dwarf's injuries, then he looked back at Boromir. "Would you risk your life for them? Would you accept death as the consequence?" he asked.

There was a way! The thought alone gave Boromir the strength to break out of the leaden tiredness. "Yes," he replied firmly. "I do not know who you are, but if you know of a way, of any way, tell me. If it takes my life… but what about the bond?" If he died the broken bond would kill them anyway.

"The bond can be reversed, dissolved," Russandol explained. "The process is draining, even for my kind. For you it is going to be lethal. All your strength, your very life would be flooding into them, with the bond dissolving gently in the process. They would live and take no harm but you would die, this was never meant…"

"…for mortals, I understood that the first time. What do I need to do?" Boromir asked, trying to not be impatient with the elf.

"Are you certain you want to do this? Once begun no one can save you." Russandol asked one last time. Men feared death, more than anything else and they were not very brave in facing their fears.

"Everything dies," Boromir told him. "We all are but candles before the night, it does not matter how long we burn, if our flame burns brightly. Tell me what to do."

Russandol's eyes went back to Fion, who sat pale by the wall, the wound may be bandaged but the dwarf was a long way from healing or recovering. Their eyes met and he saw Fion's pleading gaze. One of the boys here was his cousin, son of Skar's brother. "Aelin, come here," Russandol made his decision.

The warrior joined him only a moment later. "My Lord?"

"The bonds need reversing, talk Boromir through it, no need for secrecy," there were many secrets in this spell and Aelin would not have dared to pass them on without permission. "I will take care of Fion." He cast the warrior a glance that told him not to question, and not even think to ponder.

"Of course." Aelin replied. "Boromir, stay where you are, between them, you will need to keep contact with them for most of this." The darkhaired elf settled opposite of the human warrior. "Can you sense them in the link?"

"Aye," Boromir confirmed the question. "They are both there, weakening but alive."

"Good," Aelin replied, wondering if this would work the same way for them as it would for Elves. "Try to visualize the bond, to see them both inside the link you share."

Boromir closed his eyes, directing his focus inwardly to the bond. "Two flames," he spoke softly. "Fili, cold and pale and Kili… brightly golden…"

"Very good," Aelin said, this could work; the warrior had a measure of control over the bond, random and rough control but still control of sorts. "Now… reach for your own flame and push it towards them, pour all that you are, your life, your light into the bond and towards them,"

Boromir did as Aelin told him, surprised that he could reach for his own flame inside the bond and push it towards the others, it hurt… it hurt like nothing he had ever felt, like a knife twisting inside him, a fire gnawing at his insides. The pain surged, like his own flame was trying to prevent him from what he was doing but he did not let go, he could see how the silver and the golden flames at the other end of the bond became brighter and stronger, it was working.

From afar he could hear Aelin's voice, or maybe it was his own, speaking the words to reverse the bond, etching them into his soul as he went.

From the path you chose to tread,

to the gateway mortals dread,

through a blaze so angry red,

to the night where you must die,

under the cold winter sky,

hear the ones you loved pass by,

in the dawn you will note wake,

to the chains you now must break,

releasing them for others' sake.

Pass the door so cold and clear,

to the shadow that draws near,

through the night so many fear.

Under the failing sky,

in this hour you must die.

His body was weakening; he could not keep on his knees much longer, sinking down beside them, Boromir held onto the hands of the brothers, while his strength flooded into them. It was still painful but easier, he did not need to force it anymore, it just happened, like a floodgate opened. He could feel them getting stronger even as the bond began to wane, to slowly fade out of existence.

He could see Kili come awake, and the suddenly stronger grip on his left hand told him that Fili too was awake, no longer unconscious. It truly did work! Seeing Kili sit up Boromir smiled. Strangely he thought of his father's words that the magics of the elder times were a dangerous and wondrous thing, back then he had not understood; now he did. He had been right; the magic of the elder ages could achieve wonderful things.

He saw Kili's lips move but could not hear him, the bond was fading further and Boromir could not speak any more. He focused on what was left of the bond, telling Kili not to mourn, not to grieve. He had done what he came here to do, breaking the curse; helping to save Kili's family… he had gotten that far, changing the fate of a family. This was victory, if he had ever seen one and he was happy. There was no need for grief or tears.

The bond winked out of existence, Boromir gasped, shivering. In twenty years he had gotten so used to the bond, the comforting closeness of his brothers, without it he felt a loneliness he had not experienced in so long. But it passed, the room darkened more and more, fading away. He still could see Kili's face but it too faded into the night, for a moment it changed and he saw the other Kili, his comrade, his brother… his King. Boromir smiled and then the darkness came.

ADL

He stood alone in the endless darkness, he had been here before, only for forbidden moments during which the spell had been worked. This time it was different but Boromir did not fear the guardian warrior, he had long understood that it was by his mercy that men were allowed to leave this world behind. When he made a step into the darkness, it shifted around him, consumed by a bright red light. Warmth surrounded him as he found himself at the gate of a mighty forge. A warm spark soared in his heart, his friends had sometimes claimed that he was one of them and would join them in this place one day… but knowing it was true gave him a wondrous feeling of homecoming.

Only now he saw the two figures beside the fire, one the guardian warrior the other the great smith, both looking at him. Boromir raised his chin, knowing it was time to be judged, he approached them steadily, without fear. They knew his path and his choices, he had no regrets.

For a time beyond reckoning they just stood, then the great smith raised his hand pointing to both sides of the forge. Following the hand's gesture with eyes Boromir perceived two gateways, one leading towards a grand hall, where he could hear music and laughter, the other leading into darkness. There were no words but suddenly he understood the choice he was given, the mercy he was being granted. He wanted to kneel and thank them for their gift, but he could not move. He knew what the doors were, if he went to the hall, he would be allowed to rest, to be at peace and wait for his friends when they left the world of the living and came home. The other door, the gate into the darkness would mean for his soul to go on, to be born again, to continue the journey. It was the chance to go on, to be born again in the place where he had been born originally and the burden to having to do it all over again, the pain, the suffering, the battles, the losses.

It would mean to face the shadow again, to fight again, fight harder than ever before, not knowing what he knew now but still changed by the path he had travelled. Boromir cast a long glance at the gate to the hall, no, he was not yet so tired that he wished for the eternal rest, for the place where there was neither pain nor darkness. He still could stand and fight; he still had strength to give to the eternal battle. He bowed deeply to his silent judges, then turned towards the door into the darkness. When he walked past the guardian warrior, he saw a commanding gesture making him turn to face the silent guardian again. The silent one raised his hand in a gesture of blessing, before releasing him to go. Boromir went on, towards the dark portal into the night and he saw a sparkle on the ground, under his feet he saw a light, shaped like a whirling layered star.

Author's Notes

Harrylee94 was her marvelous self again, helping and inspiring me. I suggest you check out her profile for her own amazing stories :D