A distant light 11/?

[valandhir]

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

Part II: Road into Darkness

Chapter 9: A measure of trust

Boromir’s arrow struck down another rabbit. They were not exactly a fat animals but they’d do. The company was conserving their provisions by living off the land as much as possible, which was working out fairly well with them having several experienced hunters among their ranks. With both rabbits Boromir fell into a sharp pace and caught up to where Sam was leading the pony.

The hobbit took both of them to examine. “They look good, Boromir. Not so much like that dreadful old hare Gimli caught yesterday.”

Frodo, walking by Sam’s side actually laughed. “Bilbo always said that dwarven cooking was somewhat unpalatable. Except if Bombur did the cooking.”

“Bombur was one of the thirteen brave, was he?” Boromir asked, honestly interested in that story.

“I all but forgot that you came to Rivendell with Kili,” Frodo replied. “Bombur too was part of Thorin Oakenshield’s company, along with his brother Bofur and cousin Bifur. Gimli’s father was there too, Gloin.”

“Bombur... He isn’t that fat dwarven merchant in Bree, is he?” Sam inquired. “Master Bilbo introduced him to old Gaffer amongst others – he always paid good prices for our produce.”

“It seems a number of them did not stay at the mountain when it was retaken?” Boromir recalled Bofur’s reaction when he was asked about that.

Frodo sighed. “Bilbo rarely spoke of that – of all that happened in the battle of the Five Armies. He lost friends there. He only said that with the King under the Mountain dead there was some dispute about succession among the dwarves and that a number of Thorin’s companions did not like the outcome and chose not to stay at Erebor. Dwalin and Kili accompanied Bilbo on his journey home.” A small smile now lit up Frodo’s face. “Dwalin’s encounter with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins ruined Bilbo’s reputation forever and the old rascal so loved it.”

Suddenly, something shook the bushes off to their side. Boromir at once moved between the Hobbits and whatever was there, axe poised ready to strike.

The bushes shook again, branches cracked and broke as a cursing Gimli freed himself of the uncooperative undergrowth. He shook off the branches and tossed another rabbit at Sam. “There ya go laddie, something to cook stew with tonight.”

Relieved Boromir put down the weapon. “Gimli, you make enough of a racket for a dozen Orcs!”

The dwarf gave a snort for an answer. “Dwarves don’t make racket, they walk.” He grumbled, walking past them.When he brushed past the Gondorian captain though, his eyes caught the glint of the dwarven weapon. Gimli stopped, scrutinizing the sharp blade he saw glittering in the sunlight. “How did you come by that?” he demanded. “it can’t be yours. Where did you get it? Did you steal it? Rob the dead?” The dwarf’s temper flared in all but a moment and it was as hot as his forge.

“I am not answerable to you, Gimli.” Boromir would have told him but being accused of stealing or grave robbing was not something he was going to tolerate.

Aragorn, who had been walking at the head of the company, turned around. “Gimli, take point. We can discuss this tonight at camp, not in the middle of the march.”

The dwarf grumbled but did move ahead as he was told. “Dwarves and their treasures,” Legolas shook his head, heading off too to scout ahead.

They marched until nightfall to make camp in a small hill forest. There was enough dead wood to get a fire going quickly and Sam took to cooking immediately. Gimli had pointedly kept his distance from Boromir, but seemed all the more irritated by waiting.

Aragorn, sitting on a rock to the side, looked at him. “Gimli, why do you take issue with Boromir’s axe?” he asked. “It’s of dwarven make, but that does not say anything. Caldemir had been trading weapons and armor south for decades. I would not be surprised if a good number of their works ended up in Gondor’s armories.”

Gimli crossed his arms in front of his chest, but being asked reasonably did a lot to calm the dwarf. “It isn’t just an axe of any ordinay make, Aragorn,” he explained. “this one comes from the very treasury of Erebor itself! There are only three others of the same make. There are only three others of the same make. One of them was buried, while the other three should be in the hands of dwarves. It could not have come into the hands of any man except through theft.” He stared challengingly at Boromir.

Aragorn shook his head. “You are too easy to make this accusation, Gimli.” He pointed out.

“The axe was the gift of a friend,” Boromir said. “when we said goodbye we exchanged weapons, he gave me this axe, for luck in battle. His name was Kili.”

“They came to Rivendell together, Gimli.” Aragorn forestalled any direct answer by the dwarf. “Kili had that axe with him.”

The dwarf frowned deeply. “Very well then. But if this means you are taking issue with…”

“I do not take issue with anything, Gimli, son of Gloin.” Boromir said directly. “except with a certain dwarf implying I am a thief, or slandering my friends.”

“Bah,” Gimli turned and walked off ostensibly to gather more firewood.

Aragorn let out a slow breath. “His temper makes him speak harsher than he intends,” he said to Boromir. “and had I not seen you and Kili, I may have asked too. That axe is distinctive.”

“It’s a remarkable weapon,” Boromir agreed. “I have seen some fine works but none like this.” He sat down too on a rock, now that the argument was ended. “You said something about weapons from Caldemir being traded south, Aragorn. I know those but it’s not dwarves we buy them from.”

“Caldemir is a dwarven settlement in the Ered Luin, close to the ruins of one of their oldest kingdoms.” Aragorn explained. “their steelwork is among the best there is these days. I think they make use of some trader in Bree for their contracts.”

***

It was past midnight when they heard the first wolf. The howl was a sound echoing in the breeze, mingling with the eternal mourning of the whispering wind, sometimes becoming indistinct, and then returning tenfold. There were more wolves answering the first one, their voices travelled through the night, drawing closer and closer. Boromir, who had woken nearly at once, jumped to his feet and hurried to the remains of the fire. Tossing in some light wood, he rekindled the flames from the still very hot ashes. Aragorn came close to reading his mind, selecting the longest branches from the firewood lighting them as long torches, handing them to the hobbits. “They’ll be better than swords.”

The next moment, the wolves were upon them. Attacking form nearly every side, they clearly tried to reach the hobbits, who stayed close to the fire.

Boromir had not heard the wolf coming, but he saw the shadow moving from the corner of his eye. Drawing his sword, he thrust it upward, hitting the wolf’s belly as they hairy beast jumped at him. Letting go of the blade, he used the short moment he had to grab the axe. Swinging it he beheaded the next wolf in one clean stroke. Arrows hissed into the dark, Legolas shooting wolves on the other side of the camp, preventing them from coming close. Standing with their backs to the fire,  Gimli, Gandalf and Legolas defended the far side of the camp, while the two men held the other one. Boromir saw a wolf slide past Aragorn and turning to the ranger’s back, he broke flank and killed it before it could attack. The near same moment Aragorn killed one that had flanked Boromir in much similar fashion.

A scream made both men turn. One wolf had made it past Legolas and jumped at the Hobbits. Merry and Pippin both moved towards it, trying to keep it off Frodo as they brandished their swords at the unimpressed beast. Boromir winced. No swordsman could see that without feeling pain; those two were in desperate need of some lessons. Before he could tackle the wolf, Gimli had already buried his axe in the beast’s furry head. With a last furious howl the wolves backed off and fled into the night.

***

“One, two, three – good!” The smaller blade was easily caught by Boromir’s block, but the Hobbit was improving. It was the seventh night since the wolf attack, and each evening had been spent with giving some much needed sword lessons to Merry and Pippin. Both Halflings were eager to learn and once they learned to use their small stature to their advantage, they would become quite good in their own way. Much of the lessons had to take their height into account, but Boromir found he enjoyed the challenge teaching them presented.

“Move your feet!” Aragorn was watching the lesson again, often helping by showing the Hobbits the proper forms or giving advice. He put away his pipe to get up just as Merry lost his blade for the fourth time. Gracefully the Ranger picked the sword up, handing it back to Merry, who smiled ruefully. “Thanks so much, Strider. I never seem to get anywhere. Boromir is so strong.”

Aragorn hesitated a moment, before he squatted down, to talk to the hobbit. “That he is. But that does not make him invincible…”

Boromir did not catch what the Ranger whispered to the hobbit, he only saw that Merry returned back to the field more confident. “And again,” they went through the forms again; it was the first blocks, parries and thrusts that nearly all swordplay was built at. Merry managed to last through more repartees than before, and then he suddenly ducked and dodged one of Boromir’s attacks causing Boromir to overbalance and stumble. Quickly the Hobbit used the advantage he had to tackle the taller warrior and toss him down. “For the shire!”

Their scuffle only lasted moments before Boromir managed to grab the Hobbit and toss him off. He was careful to not toss him too hard though, as Merry had not yet learned to break a fall and would more than likely end up injured being thrown on the stony grounds. Getting to his feet, the tall warrior saw Aragorn grin and he realized he had just seen something that closely resembled a prank comrades may play on each other. His good humor was unfortunately disturbed by Gimli discussing the mines of Moria with Gandalf again.

“I have my doubts about that path,” Aragorn said softly. “Moria is a dark place.”

It was easy to hear the worry in Aragorn’s voice, but Legolas’ warning shout alerted all of them of the Crebain-swarm approaching quickly. They scrambled to hide under the bushes and branches as the crows swooped past them. And for the first time in weeks Boromir had the same feeling of being watched that he had felt when he first passed the gap of Rohan.

***

Frodo slipped on the snow on the icy pass, tumbling downwards. He was lucky that Aragorn caught him in time. Boromir had turned to assist, when he spotted something glitter in the snow. He reached down picking up the ring on the silver chain the Halfling wore. It glittered coldly in the sunlight, colder than the snow itself.

An icy hand seemed to brush Boromir’s back as a hot wind tousled his hair. He stood at the crossroads in Ithilien, facing towards the road to Minas Morgul. At his back an army, hardened fighters, survivors of countless battles, men of Gondor, Riders of Rohan, Rangers of North, waiting for his command, ready to march up that pass and retake Minas Ithil. They stood in silence, awaiting their Captain’s command, his command. He drew his sword, pointing it towards the pass…

“Boromir! Give the ring back to Frodo!”  Aragorn’s voice cut through the whispers, bringing Boromir back to the harsh realities, to the cold pass in the heart of the Misty Mountains.

Marshaling all control he had Boromir walked over, giving the ring back. “Surely. I care not.” He said, quickly ruffling Frodo’s hair. He could well see Aragorn’s hand on the weapon and Frodo’s gaze that all too clearly accused him of betrayal. Boromir turned quickly and headed on, evading their eyes.

***

The second avalanche nearly took two of the halflings. Boromir counted himself lucky he had managed to hold onto both of them as the tumbling snow nearly ripped them all into the chasm. Carefully he set them as close to the rock face as possible. “Boromir, are you alright?” Frodo shouted over the storm, pointing up at something.

Touching his face Boromir realised that an iceshard had cut him. The wound was already freezing over. “It is nothing, just a scratch.” He shouted back. “try to keep to the rock face.” As they marched on he tried to shelter and aid them best that he could, just as Aragorn was doing for Pippin and Sam.

The snowfall increased and the storm became stronger as they further advanced on the Redhorn pass. The third avalanche was not just snow, it was also rocks having come lose high above them. Boromir angrily shook off the snow. “Gandalf! We can’t go on. It’ll be the death of the little ones.” He snapped, angry at the wizard. Even Aragorn or Boromir would hardly last another day in these conditions. The halflings would be the first ones to freeze to death or fall with another cornice coming down. “We need to find shelter and wait the storm out.”

He was not sure that the wizard had heard him at all, but Gimli had and he pulled himself out of the snow he had been buried under. He and Legolas were still the easiest moving of the company. They moved ahead and it did not take that long for Legolas to come back reporting Gimli had found a cleft that they could find some shelter in.

The cleft proved to be the entrance to small cave, not very deep, yet enough to find some shelter from the wind. However they still needed Gandalf’s help to get a fire going. The warmth it gave seemed shallow in the icy breath from the storm outside, but it would keep them alive. “We cannot go back,” he heard Frodo say to Gandalf. “there must be another way.”

“We could go south,” Boromir spoke up. “split up in groups and sneak past the gap of Rohan unseen. Once we are in Rohan we reunite and go on. The Rohirrim are friends of Gondor and would give us aid to reach Minas Tirith.”

“The gap of Rohan is closed to us, Boromir, as long as Saruman holds Isengard.” Gandalf said. “there is yet another road we may try. I did not speak of it before – not before it was needful, for it is a dangerous path to choose.”

“No.” Aragorn spoke up. “we spoke of it before Gandalf. “it is not a road we should use unless all other options run out. Lord Elrond had send scouts ahead of us, one of the lower passes may still be open.”

The wizard shook his head. “No, Aragorn. The passes are closed to us, as surely as the gap of Rohan. The Mines or Moria are the one way that we still may take.”

Gimli nodded in agreement. “Some of my kin ventured there years ago, led by Balin. My Uncle Oin went with him too. They would lend us aid.”

Boromir cast a glance at Aragorn. Why was it that the Ranger was the one who usually talked sense in this group? “The one time Kili mentioned Moria, it was in dark words. He did not say much but, anything to bring such an expression to anyone’s eyes can’t be a good place.”

Now he had drawn Gimli’s attention. "It's dwarven politics, Boromir. Balin's decision to reclaim Moria broke the remaining exiles apart. With Kili's role among them, it most likely came as a bad blow for him to having disappointed Balin that much."

Aragorn raised his hand forestalling more words. “I agree with Boromir, the whispers I have heard of Moria in recent years were dark. No one dares to speak out loud of this place anymore.”

“Yet it is the road we must take.” Gandalf said more firmly. “we cannot go back and we have no other road forward.”

“We all are tired,” Frodo said eventually. “let us rest for the night and decide our new road in the light of another day.”

There was another piece of sense in this madness. “I take first watch,” Boromir volunteered, seeing the others were as exhausted as he was. After what had happened on the mountain it was the least he could do to make up for his fault. The others agreed and soon settled down close to the fire. Boromir stood, leaning against the wall of the cleft entrance, watching the storm raging outside. There was nothing but the dark and the whirling snow, yet now and then he thought he could hear fell voices over the wind.

“It’s calling to you, is it?” a small voice startled him, Frodo had gotten up again and sat down on a rock by the cleft’s narrow entrance.

Boromir cast down his proud eyes, feeling ashamed for what had transpired earlier on the pass. He knew that with any derision, with any slip up, he’d only do the enemy’s work. But it was hard to keep the gnawing doubts at bay. “I can only beg your forgiveness for what I nearly did,” he whispered.

A small hand reached for his, squeezing it. “No… I understand.” Frodo looked at him earnestly. “I feel it too. It whispers, it grows. It wants to leave me – it knows I am a prison to it. It longs for someone stronger, someone like you through whom it could achieve power.”

Freeing up his hand Boromir grabbed Frodo’s shoulder. “Promise me, when it happens again you will get away. You will run. Don’t look back – do not let me break the trust you so freely gave. Promise me.”

“You are stronger than that, Boromir,” Frodo replied. “I know you’d never allow yourself to betray us. You are too strong for that.”

***

The next morning the storm had not passed, merely lessened to a point that allowed them to make their way down the pass again. Aragorn and Boromir carried the Hobbits through the drifts of snow back towards safety. Boromir was not sure who was more surprised, himself or Aragorn, that Frodo choose to go with the Steward's son when it was his turn to be carried across the deep drifts When they were below the dreaded Redhorn gate a last avalanche came down, blocking any path back.

It seemed like a sign of sorts that the weather got better the further they got away from the passes. Eventually they were on snow-free grounds again and the wind was not so cold. Instead there was a darkness that began to hover over the land, like shadowy mists creeping from barren trees, growing stronger and stronger with any mile they got closer to Moria. Boromir could not help it. He felt a dread chill clasping his heart when the walls of Moria came in sight. Nothing good awaited them here.

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Author’s Notes

Going to Moria: I chose to stick with the book version that Gandalf was for and Aragorn against Moria, for various reasons, it always seemed more logical to me.

Gimli: I know that some of Gimli’s reactions in this chapter seem a bit strange. They are in context with the unresolved dwarven succession and the decision his own father made to follow Dain. The remaining exiles are a complicated and sore topic among denizens of Erebor. What he says strongly reflects what he has heard of some things, not necessarily what could be called certain knowledge.