A distant light 10/?

[valandhir]

With big THANKS to the wonderful harrylee94 (http:// www.fanfiction. net/u/ 2916221/) for betaing and input on this chapter. You rock!

Interlude: Where many paths and errands meet

Most guests of Elrond’s house only knew the very heart of the valley, the court and very core of the small elven city. Yet, Rivendell was indeed a kingdom unto itself and far bigger than was easily visible. On the side opposite of the mighty waterfalls right in the shadow of the mountains lay what was known as the trader’s court. No kingdom, no matter how small or large could be quite without trade. Rivendell in particular only permitted those proven trustworthy to go there for trade and most of them came from the other elven kingdoms. Around the trader’s court lay the artisan’s halls, the workshops of elven craftspeople and the forges. Having been invited to stay for at least a while, Kili had found his way there. His weapons and armor were in dire need of repairs and Aelin, the elven swordsmith was usually willing to allow a dwarf into his forge. As a matter of fact he proved not the least bit surprised by Kili’s appearance. “I heard your name earlier this very day and then the name of Bolg mentioned in the same sentence,” he observed, inviting Kili with a gesture to join him in the workshop.

“Bolg is dead – he had the undeserved honor to fall from the hand of Boromir of Gondor,” Kili began with an examination of his gear. The chainmail had lost many rings, due to arrows and barely sustained hits; it would need a lot of work to repair each of the rifts. The sword had escaped most of the damage, it just needed sharpening. “He died as dimwitted as ever, though, calling me Kili unda Thorin.”

The dark haired elven smith laughed. “Tell me, Kili –since when do you expect Orcs to have a proper understanding of ancestry? They are lucky when they know their own breeding pits.” He cast a glance at the torn chainmail. “Throw that into the melting pit and start anew – it’s already been repaired several times too many. There’s material enough for you to start before long.”

“Aelin…” Kili tried to refuse the offer politely, but the elf simply arched an eyebrow.

“I need your help with some works that Lord Elrond wishes prepared quickly and I do not have a skilled apprentice at hand.”

They both had worked together before, there were very few true spellsmiths left in the world. The skill to create magical things, to work spells and runes into your forging had never been one that many possessed. But with the waning years it thinned out and there were fewer and fewer of them among all the races. Both their families looked back on a long tradition in the craft and thus their friendship had sprung even over the shadows history cast on both of their races.

Heavy footsteps outside interrupted their conversation. “Aye, this seems to be the forge.” A voice grumbled, there was little doubt a dwarf was speaking. In fact it was three of them approaching. “Master Smith our axes have grown blunt and dented by fighting our way across these mountains, we would see them repaired,” one of them said.

“Bah – what does an elf know of a dwarf’s axe?” A redheaded one snorted loudly. “We better do our own work.”

“And maybe you’d do well with more politeness.” Kili tried to keep his voice steady, he had recognized two of them right away and he wanted to forestall a full clash between them and Aelin, knowing the Noldor’s prideful streak all too well.

The dwarves turned towards him, their eyes widening. “Kili,” the younger one pushed past the others. “well met indeed.”

Kili’s heart sank, but he inclined his head in greeting. “Well met, Gimli, son of Gloin, Gloin, it is good to see you too. I assume King Dain send you here?”

The older dwarf looked uneasily at Kili. “He did indeed, wants to hear what these elves have to say. I doubt there’s much importance in it. They tried to feed us greens already. What brings you here, if I may ask?”

“Helping a friend, mostly.” Kili could read Gloin’s unease all over his demeanor. “Has your family been well?” he asked, trying to ease the situation. Gloin had been one of the company who had remained at Erebor, having familiar ties to Daín. Kili bore him no ill will for that, he had not wished for any of his former companions to choose the hardship of the second exile, though most had anyway.

“It would be of no concern to you,” Gloin turned and marched out of the forge, followed by his one companion. Gimli lingered still. He had not seen Kili since they both had been dwarflings in the Ered Luin. Once Kili and his brother had been taken by their Uncle on his journeys, their visits had been sporadic and Gimli had been deeply disappointed that he was not permitted to join them on the quest for Erebor.  “Please forgive him,” he grumbled. “the rift you caused has hurt many.”

“The rift I caused?” Kili asked sharper, the temper of his family coming through in his whole stance. “You’d do well to remember it was not my choice, Gimli.”

The elven blacksmith gestured towards the wide open way out. “You were not invited here,” he said coolly. “and you better take your leave.”

“That was unnecessary,” Kili observed, his eyes still following Gimli’s receding figure in the dark. “he is not at fault for all of this.”

“He does not know where his loyalties lie and there’s no worse vice than that.” Aelin said while they both set to work. “Either they are with Dain and would complain about your very presence here to Lord Elrond, or you are their Prince still, which means they live on the wrong side of the mountains.”

***

Boromir still felt a little awkward when he entered the wide balcony where the council was to be held. Rivendell had proven to be a very strange place during the last two days. At first he had not felt so ill at ease, but this had been while Kili had accompanied him. Somehow the company of the dwarven warrior had made things easier. But Kili had departed the moment he knew Boromir safe among Elrond’s guests and vanished to wherever the trader’s court was on the outskirts of the valley.  Indeed Boromir had been very grateful for Elrohir’s occasional company. The elf was someone he found easy to talk to and had explained more than a bit of the comings and goings surrounding this council.

Now, as Boromir entered the high aisle that was reserved for the council, he spotted Elrohir standing in the back, a few steps left of his royal father.  He looked around and studied the whole group of elves, men and dwarves as they assembled up here.  There was a number of elves present, representing their different kingdoms, the Grey Havens, Mirkwood and Rivendell. Boromir noticed the overt absence of any envoy from Lothlorien, but he guessed that even elves making haste might not have made that long journey in time. Or that there was an envoy of them present, just not openly announced.  The envoy of the Grey Havens seemed to be well known to the court, if the way he was greeted by Lord Elrond was any indication. The Mirkwood Elf appeared to be more of a stranger in Rivendell, though. Boromir knew very little of the woodland realm, except the grim and not exactly polite jokes Elrohir and Kili had shared at their expense. He wished Faramir was with him, he could have probably told him something about any of these elves and their esteemed ancestors.

A dwarven delegation was here too, coming from Erebor, the Kingdom under lonely mountain. After hearing Kili speak of the mountain home so often, Boromir had expected them to be much like his dwarven companion had been and was all the more surprised that they were much more of what any man would expect a dwarf to be: heavy armored, longbearded and bowing with their eternal ‘at your service’ before sitting down.  They were introduced as Gloin son of Groin, Gimli, son of Gloin and Arí son of Cardin. The only name that sounded familiar was Gloin of course; Kili had mentioned him in his story about the trolls. So he had been one of the thirteen brave.

Frodo looked ill at ease as he came in and sat down silently beside the wizard. He had recovered from being stabbed by a Morgul blade, an impressive feat even with elven healing involved. Boromir would have been inclined to see the young Halfling as weak and scarcely more than a child, but knowing what he had gone through and survived changed his perception quite a bit. And there had been the story about Frodo’s uncle who had joined thirteen dwarves on their great quest. There had to be more to these little people than appearances might show.

Boromir found his gaze drawn to the man sitting on the other side of the aisle. Thorongil, or rather: Aragorn, son of Arathron, leader of what remained of the men of Arnor. After what he had seen of Arnor’s remains Boromir’s opinion on them was undecided. He still despised that they had given up on their land so utterly, but after seeing what they had to contend with, he would admit that their fate was harder than most knew.

Hours passed with listening to the story of the ring and how it was found. Boromir wished the elves would be a bit less verbose in their relating of events. What got his attention was Lord Elrond’s descriptions of the last battle against Sauron when the ring was originally lost. But he frowned when Elrond suggested the outright destruction of this weapon. It was the first time Boromir spoke up at the council; he could immediately tell that his words were not well received. They acted out of fear and fearful people rarely had the guts to do what was necessary. His words were still not heard, they fell on deaf ears. With great effort Boromir reigned in his temper and sat down to listen again. But when Elrond said that the ring had to be brought to the cracks of doom at Orodruin he could no longer be silent.

“One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep, and the Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust, the very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly.” He looked at them, hoping they would hear him. They had no clue what they were planning here.

“Did you not hear what Lord Elrond said: the ring must be destroyed!” One of the elves exclaimed, Boromir failed to notice which of them.

“Boromir’s words are not without wisdom,” Aragorn said, gesturing Legolas to sit down again. “Mordor’s borders were always dangerous and we do not know what lurks there now when the enemy is gathering his armies there. And we will need the aid of those familiar with his defenses.”

It seemed an irony that it was Thorongil who spoke sense here. Their eyes met and Boromir could see the man understood – he knew what Mordor meant. His respect of the ranger grew. If only they’d see how desperate their plan was.

***

It was hours later before a decision was reached. Boromir had to admire that small Halfling who stood up to take the burden most men, elves and dwarves would not dare to touch. Frodo seemed so small and fragile to Boromir, to burden him with the fate of the world. No matter how resilient and strong his kind had proven in the past. No one should have to carry a burden like this, least of all someone so small. How was he to survive such a journey alone? He would need some good fighters to carve a path for him, someone to protect him from the foul creatures lurking in the wilderness. “I will go with you,” Seeing all eyes moving towards him, Boromir realized that he volunteered just the same moment as Aragorn had.

Again their eyes met and Aragorn nodded curtly. “It would be good to have you with us.”

Boromir could not bring himself to like Aragorn, but the fact that the ranger had volunteered for the task at once spoke of courage and Boromir had to admit that whatever else Isildur’s heir may be, he was brave.

He was not much astounded that Gimli, the dwarf offered to accompany them. From the impression Boromir had, the dwarf was a strong fighter and pigheaded as he might be would make a loyal companion. If Kili was an example to judge dwarves by, Gimli would prove an excellent addition to the company. When the wood elf volunteered Boromir wondered how to judge that. There were other elven warriors present, but as none of them felt they had to correct this decision, he decided to trust that the elf would prove a good addition as well.

The whirlwind of three more hobbits, one Sam, one the other two young ones interrupted the discussion and Elrond announced them Nine Walkers. Boromir’s glance wandered to the three hobbits beside Frodo. They seemed so young, so eager and so completely innocent. “That makes four to protect.” He said mostly to himself. From the corner of his eye he caught Aragorns glance and for the first time they knew themselves completely in agreement.

***

The fire at the forge was slowly burning down but the stones still radiated the heat into the cool autumn night. When Kili heard soft steps approach he thought for a moment that Aelin was returning early from court, but then a different voice spoke up.

ldquo;That reminds me of the fire Bifur made from a chair and a harp – I did never dare to ask what else he used.” A small, greying figure stood in the entrance of the forge.

“Bilbo!” Kili rushed over, greeting the hobbit with a hug.

“Some friend you are,” the old hobbit chastised him. “helps to save my nephew but never manages to visit once!” He pretended to be very insulted.

“I thought you’d have your hands full with your nephew and three more hobbits in tow.” Kili replied, making room, so Bilbo could sit down on the three legged stool by the workbench. “I had certainly not expected you to come here.”

Bilbo watched Kili sit down on the ground, back to the wall. In the familiar surroundings of the old forge the dwarven warrior was more relaxed than usual. He felt at home here, letting his guard down. “I needed some fresh air,” Bilbo said. “and I wanted to see an old friend. Tell me of your travels.”

Thus every conversation between them had begun, whenever Kili’s journeys had brought him to the Shire. Smiling Kili began to tell of his travels, of all that had happened prior to his arrival in Rivendell. He knew Bilbo loved a good story. But this time Bilbo seemed distracted and getting more distraught the more Kili mentioned of the hunt. Eventually the dwarf broke off telling the story, rose and walked over to Bilbo. “Bilbo… what is it? Something is haunting you tonight.”

The old hobbit reached up to clasp Kili’s shoulder with one hand. “I left Frodo a terrible burden… a terrible legacy, Kili.” He said softly. “and now… he will have travel far, into the dark land itself, to set it right. I… I should have seen, have trusted my friends…”

Gently Kili hugged his old friend, pained to see him so distraught. “Bilbo, you did what you believed right. Sometimes… even the best intentions lead to dark results.” He pulled back looking at him. “Is there anything I can do help? Aid Frodo?”

Bilbo shook his head, not as an answer to the question but at Kili's very reaction to it. “You are so much like your family, Kili – always rushing into danger to protect your friends, never even asking how dangerous it is. You don’t even ask what the task is…”

“There is something the Dark Lord would want from you,” Kili said. “and as you never undertook big travels after meeting us, it must have happened during our journey. It certainly wasn’t something from Smaug’s hoard and I doubt the Troll hoard held anything of that significance. That leaves only the one time you were separated from us for a longer time: your adventure under the misty mountains.” Kili discounted the time in Thranduil’s palace. If Thranduil had anything that dangerous, some elves with more sense would hopefully have confiscated it long ago. Bilbo had told them of his encounter with Gollum and later during the spider fight in Mirkwood had revealed his means of getting invisible. “If one takes into account the great lore of the artifacts… that leaves one frightening possibility.”

Bilbo actually chuckled. “Why am I trying to slip something like that past a spellsmith – one of your line especially? Your house held the first of the seven, after all. I… I am just glad it was lost before you were old enough to feel its taint.”

Kili ducked his head, he had not wanted to make Bilbo uncomfortable. “Is there anything I can do to help Frodo?” he asked again. “Whatever is needed… just tell me.”

“No, Kili. I could not ask something like that of you.” The old Hobbit said warmly.

“Of course you could. We are friends,” Kili said firmly. “and friends help each other. Besides, I owe you my life. Twice. Once in the dungeons of Mirkwood and once at the Battle of the Five Armies. Had you not found me there, I’d be dead.” He had been close to bleeding out, without Bilbo he’d have died. “And… I never really thanked you for that, did I?”

“You all but wished you had died with them, Kili,” Bilbo’s eyes went past him, staring into the dark, into the past, nowhere. “You had been wounded more than in body. Your very soul had been scarred.” He looked up at him. “And I was glad when I saw that spark of life come back to your eyes months later. Whatever I did on the field that day, it was too little and too late.”

***

The morning was cold, the leaves were already drifting off the trees and the chill of the coming winter clung the morning mists. Elrohir knew the snows would be upon them all too soon. He had sent one of his men to find Kili but the messenger had returned without an answer and thus Elrohir made his way down to the forges himself. Although Aelin would never admit being friends with a dwarf, both were arcane smiths like there were few left in the world and when they worked together often forgot the world outside their forge. He counted himself lucky to not disturb them in the middle of some heavy work, but with repairs that looked mostly like work Elrohir’s own men would have dropped off there.

Kili excused himself from the sharpening wheel and came outside. “I apologize for not following your messenger, but he said it could wait.”

“Did he?” Elrohir could sense some light elven disapproval in that, the messenger would have assumed that anything Elrohir might want to tell the dwarf was unimportant. He shrugged, it was not important. “We may as well talk now.”

Following Elrohir away from the forge and on one of the lonelier paths of Rivendell, Kili could tell the Elven Prince was not in the mood for idle chatter, which meant something was up. Most likely it was something that had to do with Orc caves or former dwarven mines. Elves where great warriors but they were lousy finding their way below ground. “Someone was captured, I take it? How many and where? With Bolg dead Gundalbad will be up in arms.”

“I wish this was just me wanting your help poking around in some Orc den,” Elrohir replied, vividly recalling how he had first met Kili’s father and how often Kili had aided them in chasing the Orcs out of their dens all around the pass road. “but what I need to ask of you – what my father’s wishes to ask of you – is more dangerous than that.”

“Danger is everywhere these days, whether we seek it or not.” Kili wondered what may have happened. Elves hated asking help from strangers, and he usually tried to not make them ask, but simply offer. “I’ll do what I can.”

“The halflings you helped save will soon leave Rivendell,” Elrohir began speaking again. “theirs is a difficult journey, of a nature that I may not share with you. My father has send scouts ahead of them, to aid them and to find safe paths for them. But… one part of their journey remains largely uncovered.” His eyes went beyond the treeline to the chain of peaks they could see.

“The Mountain passage,” Kili gazed at the white peaks. “the paths will not be safe, the small paths will be worse, the gap of Rohan is fourty day’s marches away and Moria… is under shadow. There are no safe passages left, Elrohir. All are dangerous and with winter setting in, some will be closed soon enough.”

“Yes, but dwarves cross the mountains even in the worst weather, you know ways through these mountains no one else does. And… if needed it would be good to have scout ahead or lend aid when needed.”

“You have a number of Rangers who do too, and some elves that can’t keep their noses out of the deepest Orc dens,” Kili pointed out. “why me?”

Now the Elven Prince actually smiled. “Because you are already gone, Kili son of Dari. Your feet may trudge this path but your heart is already a thousand leagues south.” Grey eyes surveyed the dwarf closely. “Your friend Boromir is going with Frodo.”

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Kili studied the elf quizzically. “And you disapprove of that friendship?”

“No. He is a friend your house would choose – loyal, dedicated, prideful and stubborn. I am not surprised you find him worthy of friendship. But I know you, Kili – like I knew some of your line. You do not just live, you cannot sit in a forge and live your life." He pointed at the road yonder whence the company had left Rivendell eighty years ago.  "You  need a Cause, something to fight for. Your Uncle could not have sat idly; he fought for his people until the day he died.” Elrohir held the dwarf’s gaze evenly, unfazed. “You are the same, only that this course is barred for you. You can’t fight for your people any more; there is no place for you left. Even a prolonged stay of yours in Caldemir, in the Ered Luin would cause strife among your kind.” He could see he had touched a very sensitive point, even as Kili’s mien hardly changed, it closed becoming a façade. “but you fight well for your friends… and one of them fights for a great Cause, the greatest that may be left in Middle Earth. I know you, Kili. In your heart you are already on that journey south to assist him, be it on the field of battle or with your skills in crafting weapons. Deny it!”

Kili exhaled slowly, the elf had laid bare his entire situation in his short speech. All of what he said was true. “And as I am planning to go south anyway, I may as well be of use and scout ahead for your chosen ones?” He gave a curt nod. “you are right, it makes sense. And if I can help Frodo in any way, I will.”