A distant light 3/?
Chapter 2: The death of men
Boromir stopped at the end oft he barely visible path, ahead lay another wide valley. Grass, rocks, scarce trees and a view of rolling hills stretching to the horizon; that’s what the north seemed to be composed of. He had seen many places from the White Mountains to the southern coast, from the wide plains of Rohan to the borderlands of Mordor but nothing like this wild land. It touched something in him he could not name. Far off to the west the tips of another mountain range cast blue and grey shadows into the autumn sky. “Those mountains, are they…?”
“The Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains near the ancient lands of Forlindon.” Kili replied, catching up with him. While the dwarf was visible at home in these parts and well familiar with the paths and trails of this land Boromir still was the faster marcher by a long stride. If the dwarf noticed at all it did not seem to bother him.
“How long until we get to Rivendell?” Boromir did not want to sound impatient but the sheer size of this land made him wonder.
“Two weeks, maybe three.” Kili shrugged. “We need to steer clear of the Ettenmoors and we don’t want to get any closer to the Trollshaws than we have to. And that means crossing Rhudaur until we can get to the Great East Road.” He moved ahead downhill, heading slightly more southwest then before.
“Rhudaur was part of Anor,” Boromir mused. “are there still people in this land who could aid us? Or provide horses?”
“Very few people live in this land, there may be a settlement here or there but I do expect little help there. A stable to sleep in is as much as we may hope for.” Kili replied picking up the pace.
The day proved hard for Boromir, not the march itself, though. He could keep up well with the seemingly inexhaustible dwarf. No, it was the ruins that began to appear on the tops of hills or in the vales. Ruins of Towers, of houses and bridges, remains of an entire civilization vanished. Many of them showed signs of violent destruction if you had the eye to discern a wall torn by a catapult or the collapse a wild fire would cause. He hardly noticed Kili shooting two hares that had come too close.
“There,” the afternoon was already wearing late when Kili pointed ahead. Down in the valley below them were a few ruins, remains of a wall and a tower. Boromir spotted the traces of few stone houses that once had stood there. A small well defended settlement it had once been. Down in the deep ground of the valley he could see graves - the typical barrow mounds Anor’s people had built for their dead.
“We’ll camp there for the night. Easy to defend in case we have to.”
“I’ll go and gather some wood,” Boromir said, heading past the dwarf and towards a patch of trees to their left. It did not take much searching to find a fallen tree and break it into serviceable chunks that would last long into the night. The work allowed Boromir to release some pent up emotions. He was almost angry at his companion who walked through this sad land with a casual acceptance of someone who did not see the tragedy of what had happened to this place. How could he not see? Or was it simply that the dwarf cared little for the fate of the human kingdom?
The sun was setting slowly when Boromir brought the last of the firewood to the tower, Kili would hopefully have found water already. The last light of the sun touched the empty window in the tower’s west side, warm rays bathing it beautifully. For a moment Boromir could imagine the tower still standing, people walking here, horses in the stables, guards… Was this what would remain of Gondor too? Ruins and a memory? A memory swiftly forgotten by those still alive?
Kili came out to help him carry the rest of the wood inside. “Lets get inside - who knows what will be creeping about after dark.”
“Is this all you care for?” Boromir snapped, his words sharper than he meant to. “This was once a village of men, people living here. This was their homeland and now look at it… broken, crushed… all but forgotten. Their entire homeland sunk to ashes.” He brushed past the dwarf and walked inside. “They fought Angmar and when they broke who cared to remember?”
“In my experience the world will not care for those broken or cast out,” Kili’s words were grim, short and did nothing to actually assuage Boromir’s stormy feelings. He had squatted down beside the ancient fireplace, clearing away leaves and small rubble. “That’s strange…” his eyes narrowed.
“What?” Boromir asked not seeing what in the pile of rubble on the fireplace was so strange.
“These stones, they were placed here like this deliberately.” Kili explained patiently like it was obvious. “someone wanted to make it appear like this fireplace had been buried under rubble a long time ago already.” He turned to his pack to produce some tool for digging up the fireplace.
“No.” Boromir stopped him. “whatever is buried in there - it probably belonged to the people who lived here. When they had to flee they buried their possessions for the day they returned. We shouldn’t steal them.” He could see in Kili’s gaze that the dwarf was about to point out that it was centuries ago and no one had returned. “I won’t be part to stealing from those who’d be my people.”
Kili shrugged and returned to building a fire. It did not take long and the fire flickered merrily at the broken tower walls, the two hares roasting above. Boromir had sat down with a bit distance, leaning his back against the old stones, he still felt it hard to calm himself.
“I know it is hard to bear,” Kili suddenly spoke up. “to see the land of one’s people, one’s kind destroyed like that. To know no one will ever come home again… it hurts, and it should. But their memory is not dead, nor is this land entirely forgotten.”
“And how would you know?” Boromir asked, reigning in his hard tone. He could see the dwarf was trying to understand, to reach out. He actually was a good companion to try and not to be indignated for being snapped at.
“More than 200 years ago the dragon Smaug attacked the dwarven kingdom Erebor, driving my people from their mountain home.” Kili responded, his voice softening. “they fled, wandering the wide world, working among men, settling here and there where they could find a place. Me… I was born after, having never seen the mountain home. My mother and my Uncle would tell me of the Lonely Mountain, of our homeland… and when they spoke of it there was a pain, a great sadness in their eyes.”
Surprised Boromir looked at the dwarf on the other side of the fire. He recalled history, there had been a great number of wandering dwarves a bit more than two centuries ago. Many a good construction work in Gondor had been accomplished making use of these extra wandering workers. He knew little else of this. “Where was your father?” he asked, noticing how Kili only mentioned his mother.
“Dead. He fell in battle against the Orcs when I was very young. My Uncle was more of a father to my brother me - the only father I can remember. He took us in and eventually helped us to settle in the Ered Luin.”
“Does he still live there?” Boromir had seen the far away mountain range, wondering if there were any northern mountains unsettled by dwarves.
“No. He too fell in battle… as did my brother.” Kili’s eyes were on the fire, for a moment a deep sadness shone in those dark orbs but when he looked up it was gone, locked away. “Hope does not die.” He added more firmly. “It was my Uncle who led our people to reclaim the mountain home when I was young warrior. Many then argued that we had a new home in the Ered Luin, we were even prospering after a fashion, why risk our lives for something dead and gone?”
“Because it is home.” Boromir spoke with conviction he well understood what Kili meant. He only wished he knew more of Dwarven history, but whenever he had needed such tidbits of information - which had been nearly never - he had simply turned to his younger brother who would provide them.
“Boromir? Are you alright?” Kili had noticed his absent gaze short as it had been.
“I am - you just made me think of my younger brother.” To his own surprise Boromir found himself smiling. “He would know the kingdom you speak off, when it fell and when it was retaken - including your Uncle who led you back there. He must have been a mighty warrior.”
“That he was,” Kili reached over the fire and got the grilled hare off the pick, handing it to Boromir. “Tell me of your brother. Is he a warrior like you?”
“No… he is more a warrior in your vein, a quick archer and swift runner.” Boromir’s voice became fond when he spoke of his brother. “Faramir loves lore and learning, books and scrolls. He prefers wisdom over weapons. Were these more peaceful times he would become a renowned scholar. How did you become an archer? Forgive me for saying so your people have little reputation with the bow and more with their axes.”
Now it was Kili’s turn to laugh. “I learned it during our travels. My mother took very sick when I was about 30 that’s barely half grown by dwarven standards. Sif, a former serving woman and now innkeeper agreed to take care of her, but she could not handle two extra mouths to feed let alone two young boys. So my Uncle took us along when he went wandering again. We were old enough to help around the forge and that way he could earn the money for mother’s healing and keep us fed. For one whole long summer we were camped outside that fortress of men that you call Dol Amroth making swords, armor and horse shoes for some clash with Umbar. There was a young human - Berengil was his name - the son of some nobleman who had employed our Uncle’s services. He would often come down to us in the evenings to talk - he taught me how to use a bow. My Uncle approved as it made me better able to defend myself on our wanderings.”
“Berengil of Dol Amroth taught you how to shoot?” Now there was a name Boromir could place even as the man they spoke of was long dead and buried. It drove home the point that Kili was probably already older than any man could get and not yet at the end of his people’s lifespan. “He fell in a skirmish near Osgiliath decades ago.”
“His ancestors receive him with praise,” Kili whispered softly, a dwarven blessing for the dead. Kili was gazing into the flames, as if he was seeing the things he had spoken of in the fire’s dancing shades. The light of the flame was mirrored in his eyes and played upon his features.
Boromir’s thoughts were interrupted abruptly, when a painful yell ripped apart the silence of the night. Like an answer a fierce pitched howl echoed the night. It was the rough, beast like howling of a giant wolf.
Kili jumped to his feet. “Wargpack” he snapped. “they are hunting again.” His voice echoed worries and uncertainty at the same moment. Another yell rang hollow in the silence of the night. It was much nearer than before and they heard quite clearly now that it was no Orc or goblin screamingbut a man.
Boromir could easily tell that Kili was not cold towards the person in danger out there but that experience and caution made him hesitate to act. “From where does it come?” he therefore asked.
“The other side of the valley by the old tombs.” was the prompt answer. The howling ripped apart the night again, louder and more angry this time. The voices of the Orcs joined the angry chorus. Their blood hungry screams were carried by the wind, echoing through the darkness. “They have not caught him by now.” Kili murmbered.
„Can we help?“ Boromir now asked directly.
Kili listened intently to the howls that were drawing nearer and nearer. “We can help him. Do we dare to? It’s a whole bunch out there and the Orc pack won’t be far behind.”
“What are we waiting for?” Boromir asked, he had not doubt that the man who had rescued him in the orc caves would not leave someone else to the wolves.
“The dark take it, you are right.” Kili growled then they hastened outside. A chill wind was sweeping across the hillside. He took the shortest way down to the ruins of the old gravesite. “They are chasing him down the vale directly towards us. We can cut them off.” He jumped over a fallen tree trunk, agile as a cat without even slowing down.
They reached the valleyground, ahead of them the shapes of the barrows stood in the darkness like shadows before an even grimmer night. The wind had picked up strength; cold gales whirled through the barrows, dead leaves dancing in the nightly air. The clouds were ripped apart by the gale and the pale light of the moon flooded over the barrows. In the silvery shine Boromir saw a figure stumble towards them, he did not hesitate to race towards him, supporting the man in the last steps towards them.
A growl rose behind him. He turned around to see a huge wolf-like creature with an Orc on it’s back racing towards him. The creature jumped but before it reached him it was killed by an arrow to the eye. The angry Orc was upon Boromir within moments. His head falling from Boromir’s blade.
More angry howls rose. Quickly Boromir ushered the injured man into the relative cover of the barrow, he and Kili taking position left and right in the narrow opening between the two barrows. Back to back they stood as the wargs swooped down. Boromir had never seen such creatures, Mordor did not used their kind, they were huge and fierce. When the next jumped him he ducked, ramming his sword into the beast’s belly. It worked but nearly ripped him off his feet. It was only the beginning.
He’d never know how many he had fought, had Boromir not been hardened by a life fighting Mordor he may not have lasted through that stand. The Wargs had been first to swoop down, followed by Orcs. Their only luck was that these Orcs had no archers. Between the dark barrows they were forced to attack in small groups giving them a chance to cut through them as they came. Still when they drew off at the hour of dawn Boromir had been wondering if this would be their end soon enough. They both were injured, bleeding and exhausted. It was the sun that decided this fight in their favour.
He turned around to see Kili lean heavily on his sword. The dwarf had a gory gash in the left side and was pale as dawn itself. “Kili,” Boromir hurried over, ever the captain, checking at once on his men.
The dwarf waved it off. “Lets see whom we saved first.” He said, pointing to the figure sitting on the ground, leaning against the cold side of the barrow. But this was a useless errand to make as Boromir could clearly see the sun reflected in the man’s broken eyes.