Boromir Aesir · @Boromir_Aesir
22nd Jun 2014 from TwitLonger
Th Captain, the Stone and the Arcane Smith
First of another new 'verse! Stone-verse? :)
@Boromir_Aesir @Valandhir @Silmaril_Naro
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Boromir
Boromir does not know exactly why he picked up the rock, all those years ago, after he escaped from Minas Morgul. Even now, his memory of the trek back to Gondor-controlled territory was hazy at best, as he had been in pain, from injuries both physical and spiritual. He does remember waking up after a brief nap, hidden in a clump of brush, and picking up the dirt and leaf-litter encrusted rock, and with a twig starting to dig the dirt out of the pitted surface of it's rusty black basalt.
How a piece of Mordor basalt got on the western side of the mountains, Boromir did not know, as such volcanic stone was a product of Orodruin. Maybe it was the incongruity of the black stone that made him pick it up originally, but he doubts he will ever quite know, especially considering prevalent superstitions in Gondor about anything related to the Shadow Lands.
In the early centuries of the Third Age, when people believed the evil of Sauron gone from Mordor, intrepid attempts to explore the land were made, but samples of Mordor rock brought back were quickly associated with unusual bad luck of anyone in possession of it. With the eventual reappearance of the Nazgûl and their takeover of Minas Ithil, anything of Mordor was quickly shunned as cursed.
It was because of these beliefs that Boromir kept the stone hidden when he made it home, keeping it tucked away in bags and only taking it out when he was alone and no one would fuss about the type of stone.
There was something about it, this rock, that gave Boromir a sense of calm when his spirit felt disturbed and his mood glum. He would almost swear it felt warm to his hands, but he thought it may only be a fancy of his mind. Boromir developed a habit of sitting of an evening and quietly speaking his thoughts and feelings, pouring out his worries to the stone. The stone took his words and did not judge. It took his secrets and never revealed them, even to his closest family, for truly there were times he felt he had good reason to keep his thoughts secret from his father.
It was by shear accident, several years after his escape and finding the stone that he dropped it on stone cobbles and a fragment of basalt shattered off to reveal glossy, brown-black mottled obsidian under the rough outer layer. It made him wonder if the whole of the inner layers was also the mahogany glass and start trying to gently chip away more of the outer basalt. It was a new habit that managed to ruin a few daggers before Boromir got hold of a proper chisel, though he still felt he needed to be careful, he did not want to split the whole stone in half, only uncover the unusual inner layer.
Somewhere in all this he failed to recall when the young woman started appearing in his dreams. It was not some great dream love, or such fairytale thing the like, she simply was *there*, more and more frequently. Tall, with dark, long, curly hair and grey eyes, garbed in simple clothing of any Gondorian woman, she was frequently unobtrusively in the background, with a fond smile. In many ways her presence had a feeling to it not unlike how he felt about Faramir, with the same simple friendship and reliability of a sibling.
He came to think of her as a dream-sister, someone he could trust, the way he trusted his rock. She smiled and kept his secrets safe, promising in her wordless way to never speak it to anyone. She and the stone, the stone and her. The two came to be more and more the same thought in his mind until he viewed the stone and the figure in his dreams as one and the same.
He still wished to find a way to reveal the glossy obsidian under her surface, but no Gondorian would wish to touch a stone of Mordor, no matter what he said.
Kíli
The five heavy pack horses and the rather diminutive man, who led them towards the gate could have attracted stares easily enough. The horses were a large, heavy breed, and even more heavily packed. Though their master treated them with care, they hung their heads in the summer's heat, and the load they carried was not an easy burden. Their owner was not nearly as tall as them, five feet.... short, he appeared even tinier between them. His long hair, a proud mane that more than one maiden secretly envied, was loosely tied back, brushing on broad shoulders. He wore a light leather tunic and breeches, along with boots.
The guards greeted him with a grin. "Bran and Benjar will be glad to hear you are back, they are overworked with all the repairs for the army." one of the guards said, greeting the arrival with a clasp of hands. The small blacksmith was well known in the city, and to many of the guards he had always lived in Minas Tirith. He had been there when they had been boys and snuck down to the bowels of the Undercity to watch the secretive blade-smith living down there, they had come to him for their first real blades and had seem him to repairs in war-camps whenever called to do so.
Kíli had lived for many decades in Minas Tirith, and he greeted the guards with a grin of his own, taking a moment to chat with them, to hear about their families, the latest from the east and what had happened in the city. Once a year he would close his shop and ride to the White Mountains, all in the city knew he was picky with steel, and went to some mines directly, to get the materials he needed for his best - and most expensive - works. They did not know he had other reasons to seek out the Valley of Eagles in the White Mountains. When he first had come there, almost 8 decades ago, half starved, exhausted and sure he'd die soon, a killer still haunting his trail, he had not believed he'd find help there. Or friends.
Even as he had not stayed with them, he kept his promise to Old Draghun and returned there regularly. He liked the kind old dwarrow, and he loved his people, even as living among them would hurt too much. For them he had first come to Minas Tirith to clandestinely sort a mess between them and the ruling Steward Turgon. He had stayed as a craftsman, a stranger permitted to stay, and having that permit renewed many a time.
It had been in the early years of Steward Denethor's reign that Kíli had been offered to become a citizen of the city. He had been torn, but in the end he had accepted. It came with more duties, but this city had become his home and he greatly liked her sometimes complicated people. "Celantir, have your boy look by my forge the next days. He's going to be drafted this summer, and he'll want to have a good blade, when he does." He said to one of the guards, before guiding the pack horses through the gauntlet and towards the entrance to the Undercity.
After becoming a citizen he had been offered to move his workshop up into fourth ring, but Kíli had politely refused. He loved the cavernous Undercity, along with the colourful mix of people inhabiting the ancient halls. At his home he met Alla, who was kind of a housekeeper. She was a widow from a poor family, earning her children's bred by washing things and doing odd housework. She'd been a blessing to Kíli's place.
"There's a long list of requests," she said, pointing to a ledge. "I tried to write them all down correctly, or have the esteemed customers make a note themselves."
"Thank you, Alla." Kíli replied. His customers knew him, they knew he'd be gone after New Years and be back some time in early spring. This year he had been late to leave, because the workload on all smithies had been great, thus he was later to return as well. Unloading the horses he stacked the materials carefully into his stash. Other contacts brought him materials as well - materials he bought from the Mountains. He made a point of having a good stash of them at hand, because all too often there was need of it.
Alla left, leaving a bowl of soup and Kili lit the brazier's outside the door. The two blue flames were the sign he was home. Then he sat down, outside, on the porch overlooking the hall below, and relaxed for a moment. This was the strangest place to be... but he could not regret being here.
Boromir
It was not something that was part of Boromir's usual duties to immediately know about traders coming and going from the city, especially not ones who were trusted citizens of Gondor, but it did come to his notice when a tradesman who was considered one of the city's best swordsmiths returned from what all reports say was a journey to obtain quality metal, which he had a hand in smelting and used for weapons that many compared to legendary pieces like Narsil.
It did come as a welcome message, Boromir himself had work he needed done - damaged plate armour, chainmail that, to his eye, would be better replaced all together, and his trusted dagger broken entirely and also in need of replacement.
He also wondered if this smith knew how to shape stone. Given the reports he has read, Boromir knows the smith is a dwarf. He hopes that means he does not have the same superstition about Mordor stone as most of Gondor had. He would like it if he could finally do something more than his inept chipping to reveal and mayhap shape the brown-speckled obsidian into a nice shape, a shape worthy of his silent dream-sister.
Better to go see now, before duties got in the way again, he thinks as he gathers up the pieces in want of repair (or melting down for the metal to be used elsewhere). The smith may be too busy to do it straight away, but best go now, when he is not due back on the front for the time being.
Kíli
It was the hustle that alerted Kíli to the goings on. Usually when such a ripple of unrest went through the lower part of the Undercity, the guards were here for some good reason. But today he did not hear the familiar voices of the guard or the loud arguing of some of the more - colorful - people down here.
Instead Kíli sees a tall man stride along the twisted paths of the Undercity, with the demeanour of someone who knows his way down here. He knows this man, though they never formally met. There is no one inside this city, and no one who served at a war-camp who would not recognize Boromir, warmaster... Lord-Captain of Gondor. He was a living legend, and the best Lord Captain this city had seen in hundreds of years. Without him this city might not be so comfortably unharmed as it is.
At first Kíli believes that the Lord Captain will want to go further down to Sharmarinale, the Dorvinion trader, who comes every two or three years with his silks and certainly has more than a bit of intelligence about the East and who can have his tongue loosened, by a bot of wine and good company. But the Lord Captain turns and takes the ramp that leads right up to Kíli's workshop.
Kíli gets to his feet and bows politely as the other man approaches him.
Boromir
Seeing the smith rise from his seat out the front of his door, Boromir gives a polite nod as perfunctory greeting. "I have a few things I would like to either repair, or replace entirely." He absently shrugs the shoulder where the pack holding the armour in question sits. "Some armour that could be recovered, chainmail I have doubts about, a dagger completely broken I would order a new one in place of." The pack is heavy though and the shrug was enough for his shoulder to tire from it, so he sets it down. He gives the smith a thoughtful look. "Do you have any skill at shaping stone?"
Kíli
Seeing the pack come down quite swiftly Kíli steps forward to take it. It is simply only polite, no crafter expects someone of high rank to carry his things into the workshop. The question surprises him a little, he never really ventured into the stone trade in the city, beyond the odd chess set for soldiers, usually people he liked, and gifted with one. "That depends what you need, Captain." he replies, leading the taller man into the main workshop, handling the weapon's bundle with practiced ease. "I know how to build a house, or how to fix walls and tunnels, if necessary I know my way around a quarry as well. As for the finer stone works..." he points to a few stone figures that serve as scones to hold torches or candles. All of them have fanciful shapes, two fighters upholding a the torch scone, a dragon, who's mouth holds the candle with a crazy grin, an Orc who just seems to have dropped the candle, looking stupidly at the flame. "just small things."
Boromir
Boromir looks at the pieces of work with an eye of curiosity. The work is something at least equivalent in quality to any of the best sculptures in the city, and the images for these... they were a mix of both thoughtful and amusing. The clumsy orc manages even to elicit a soft laugh. "In truth, what I would ask is something far simpler. I have a stone I consider something of a... keepsake." He tugs at the pouch at his belt, half hidden under the coat he wears. Opening it he draws out the rock, turning it to show the cloven side that shows the inner layer. "I have no complex ideas, only to remove the outer layer and smooth her into something more regular."
Kíli
A stone for a keepsake... there is something about this that appeals to Kíli's taste as dwarf, but he does understand why the question is asked with a bit of hesitancy. Men can sometimes be strange about what they perceive as odd. Carefully he touches the stone, sensing an echo of warmth emanating from it. "The outer layer is basalt... black basalt, and the inner one..." he peers at the cloven piece, "flame obsidian... that piece came up under quite high pressure to say the least. Probably flung high with an eruption, which explains the outer shell's ash traces... The last time that volcano went up..." He stops, realizing that this is not the assessment the Lord Captain wants, fascinating though it might be. "It should be easy to remove the basalt layer and polish the obsidian to an even shape, Captain." he replies coming back to the task. The stone still tingles at his senses, there is a warmth in it, but there is no evil, nor darkness in it.
Boromir
Something within Boromir relaxes as Boromir hears that. "That is good to hear. There are some superstitions about Mordor stone, but this one has never drawn ill luck to me, so..." he shrugs. "How long do you think it will take?" He changes the subject a little.
Kíli
"Stone is stone, they all came from the deeps, they are beyond the power of shadow." Kíli replies softly, before placing the stone on the anvil and rifling through his toolbox for the two stone carving knives and a file. "The stone itself would not take that long, a few hours at the most... the other repairs, I'll need a look at..."
Boromir
Boromir nods as he hears that. He did not expect any of it to be done fast. "That sounds acceptable. I can return later, for the stone at the least, mayhap you will have enough time to look through the rest." While he feel fine with leaving the armour for a day or more, the stone is... different. He would prefer to have it near, to have his dream-sister near.
Kíli
Kíli sees the glance the man casts at the stone, and there is something odd about it. The arcane crafter in him recognizes the reaction, though he is not quite sure how it connects to an odd piece of stone. "With all due respect, Captain, it might best you stayed, at least until I have the outer layer of basalt removed," he replies smoothly. "only then a final decision on the polished form for the obsidian beneath can be made. I think it might lend itself to a perfect sphere, though I'll only know for sure, once the basalt is off."
Boromir
That Kíli would ask as much is something of an assurance to Boromir. He does not know the details of how one shapes stone, but he always thought the process of removing the outer layer seemed the most risky. "I would be amenable to that." He says, knowing he organised an empty schedule to come down here today.
Kíli
The reply has Kíli cast a short glance around, usually when some of the soldiers are down here, waiting for repairs, talking while he works, they simply sit on the low walls that encircle the wide open workshop, There simply is no real place to offer a seat, outside a tree-legged stool by the workbench. Whenever Kíli had dealings with the nobility of the city, he did not conduct it in the workshop. So he falls back on the fact that he talking to a soldier, high ranked though he might be. "I cannot offer much in terms comfort," he says with a half-smile, most soldiers are easy on that.
Boromir
Boromir nods, finding a place to set himself, a wry twist on his lips. "That is no matter, I have had my fair share of discomfort at times, I would worry I was growing soft if a bit of awkward seating started to bother me now." There were times Boromir looked at the various lords who were on the Council and thought he never wanted to grow as complacent as they.
Kíli
These words draw a grin from Kíli. "We might still end up carving some stone chairs over in Osgiliath, given the amount of time the army spends there." He carefully examines the stone, seeing the rifting lines in the outer shell. Using a very small chisel - usually one to break locks - he gently enhances the pressure on those, to deepen the cracks in the outer shell.
The true work though is done with the knives. They do not look like much, and they certainly look their age - a fair 150 years, give or take a few. The blades are shaped to carve stone, or other materials and when Kíli very carefully sets the firs to the basalt, it slices the dark stone like ti was nothing. Exactly for that reason Kíli works so carefully, to not damage the obsidian layer, while beginning to break up the Basalt shell along it's natural breaking points.
Boromir
Boromir leans back, watching the work Kíli begins on. He starts removing the basalt with a care that makes Boromir feel calmer, letting him turn his mind inward to the place within where he keeps the memory of the warmth he sometimes questions feeling from the stone. It naturally makes him think of the figure from his dreams, the quiet but supportive young woman. The stone is her stone, and in his mind he thinks of this work as showing a bit more of her pretty face and quiet friendliness.
Elennárë
She sits quietly, alert as the roughness comes off. This dwarf... she did not know at first if she truly trusted him yet - too sharp a memory of stories of old - but Boromir was willing to trust him, and he showed no true darkness. He was careful too, though she wondered at the fire within him. It reminded her of people she once knew, crafters of old, family lost.
Kíli
There is something, something warm and gentle that brushes Kíli's senses. Startled he interrupts his work for a moment, fingers tracing gingerly over the stone, and suddenly he becomes a bit more aware that the warmth extends outward, towards the Captain who his watching him work. Is he... can he even be aware of the stone? Again Kíli begins to work at the stone, removing more of the basalt, but this time touching the stone with his own senses as well. Carefully, and very respectfully, though, he allows the echo of his own flame to brush into his fingers as he works.
Elennárë
Something in the the light touch of this dwarf's flame makes her want to reach out and touch back, though her trepidation has he instead reach across the quiet bond to Boromir assuring herself of his presence before she feels brave enough to interact with Kíli directly. She offers a gently questioning probe towards Kíli, alert but not hostile.
Kíli
The touch returns, much more focused time and like a stalwart echo Kíli suddenly gets aware of Boromir's presence in the arcane realm. He focuses on the gentle probing, opening up to it, an invitation to come closer, but not a demand. "Karak tan dur, urdu cal il dar." (I bear you no harm.) Kili says softly in the deep voice of his mothertongue. It seems only natural, or maybe it is the dwarrow in him who finds nothing odd to speak to a stone.
Boromir
The words Kíli speak are strange to Boromir's ears, but the tone and how he directs them to the stone is even stranger. It makes him reach for the warmth, wondering what is happening.
Elennárë
She does not understand the words, but the intent behind them is clear enough; an assurance, a promise of good will. Boromir's reaction in turn has her reaching back, this being perhaps the first time he has actively reached out to her. She gives him her own reassurance before turning again to Kíli. "I know not your tongue, though I sense you mean me well."
Kíli
Her voice is beautiful, melodious and warm and it tugs at Kíli's heart, though he cannot say why. Her speech is in Westron, though, or at least thus is appears to him. "I apologize, Rú-Na," Kíli instinctively chose the polite address for a Lady, a term of respect, that had no real translation. "I did not know what tongue might be yours. I said I meant you no harm..." He replies, the words echoing clearly in his mind, as he is not sure what it is that she truly understands.
Elennárë
"Have learned this language of the Edain since I came into Boromir's keeping, though the tongue I was taught in my early years is that of the Undying Lands." Her tone remains a bit shy as she says so, knowing that with the link to Boromir open, he is also hearing this, hearing her speak for the first time and knowing her as more than just a dream.
Boromir
He can hear her, his dream-sister is no dream, but someone... he does not know how to feel about it, only that a part of him feels gleeful while another part is... strangely shy.
Kíli
Kíli is keenly aware of both presences, arcane training of many years has taught him enough focus to recognize the stone for one, and Boromir for the other presence, and those two are intertwined. "Then I am very honored to meet you, Child of the Undying lands." he replies switching back to Westron tongue. He looked to Boromir, who seems strangely tongue tied, or maybe the captain is only watching how Kili reacts. "You are blessed, m'Lord," he says after a moment. "very few will ever encounter a soulstone."
Boromir
For a moment Boromir remain speechless, but gives himself a shake. "I truly did not realise what she was." He says, his voice soft. "I thought she was just a dream..." Now that he knows she is there, he can feel her in the back of his mind. It is a feel that makes him feel comforted.
Elennárë
Elennárë finds herself turning over Kíli's words. "Soulstone...?" The term is not one she has had applied to her before, but all things considered, it sounds appropriate. She would rather be known as a simple 'soulstone' than be pursued for her more famous identity.
Kíli
Now Kíli looks surprised at the stone, and at the echo of the beautiful lady he can see in his mind. "Long ago, when the world was young, before the sun rose in the skies and before a cold moon would guard the nights, Mahal walked the deep places of the world. There he created his children and there he found stone that was more than stone. Souls having taken form inside the stone. Some say he shaped some of the great first dwarrow from such stone, others say that Durin the Deathless found the cavern of living stone when he founded the first kingdom..." Kíli's voice has gone soft, as he recounts a tale, dwarves will tell their children. "and story has it, that deep under the Earth, in the ancient deeps, between the first fires and the waters from which life itself came, the living stones still exist. And only sometimes, as a great blessing, one of them might find it's way above the Earth."
Elennárë
"That is a tale I have not heard before, though maybe it is one that belongs to Dwarves, and Aulë never told it to the Elves, not even the Ñoldor." Elennárë speaks in a thoughtful tone. "Though I will say that if he found souls in the Deeps as you say, I am not one of them, despite the resemblance. I was born in Valinor, a soul with no material body, and was adopted by a Ñoldor crafter who created a shell around me, to protect me." She has deliberately left out any names, or even the mention of her sisters. Even knowing Boromir for years, she is not ready to tell her full identity.
Boromir
Kíli's tale was a fascinating insight into a race Boromir knows very little about and speaks of a strong belief in the connection between Dwarves and the bedrock of Arda. His dream-sister's tale however makes him wonder, a soul with no body? The is a strange thought indeed, and though such an idea might sound like something one might hear in ancient legends, to have her here, now, that is the true wonder.
Kíli
"You are one... one of the lost fëar?" Kíli asks in a whisper, an ancient, ancient soul pushing into the foreground for a short moment. "Then your journey let you home in the end." He gently traces his hand over the stone shell, that is now more and more shaping up towards an obsidian sphere. He does not question further... she is here now, and under the Captain's protection. The past is the past. He keeps working, but with the infinite care and gentleness only dwarrow can express to the stone. "I apologize for being so bold... but by what name I may call you?"
Elennárë
"I would be willing to be called by the name my adopted father gave me," she answers Kíli. "At least by you and Boromir, I am less willing to pass it out to others. Elennárë, is my name. The Firestar." She could have given anything, she supposes to herself, but she has to trust somewhere, and what she has seen of Kíli seems worthy of it.
She does not even question how trustworthy Boromir is, and in thinking that thought, she gently reaches and touches his mind with a soft whisper of friendship and affection.
Boromir
The mind-touch makes Boromir shiver, but not from discomfort. He can feel the sense of trust there, and in the back of his mind has an image of the woman from his dreams rest her head on his shoulder.
Kíli
Elennárë the Firestar... the name rings a strange echo in Kíli, like he should have heard it before, or maybe his old soul did, long ago, in places and times sunken beyond the edge of memory. He can feel her drawing closer to Boromir's mind and withdraws a little, respectfully to not intrude on what is theirs and theirs alone.
Elennárë
Sensing Kíli's withdrawal, Elennárë turns her attention back to him. Something about him niggles at the edges of her mind, making her want to understand him better. "Don't, please?" She asks, reaching for him. "I miss having people I may talk to, though maybe I could have spoken to Boromir sooner..."
Boromir
Boromir shakes his head at her words. "You are forgiven for that." He tells her. "I may have taken it worse if I learned you were more than a dream before now. Remember the belief about Mordor stones. I am still a son of Gondor, and likely need the time to let that superstition lose all hold on me."
Elennárë
"If you say so, my guardian brother." Elennárë murmurs, a little embarrassed. Still, she does not let Kíli pull away very far, wanting to hold on to this new person.
Kíli
Kíli feels her reach for him, an invitation and a reaching out that touches a part of him that he usually keeps well locked away. He is surprised though, that the Captain does not protest the inclusion of a third person. "Mordor's stone, the Mountains, they were there long before the elves woke from the dream eternal in the east," he says softly. "and they stood proudly under the light of the new sun born, long before the shadow grew strong in the North. It is not from them that the darkness came." Kíli relaxes a little, opening his mind, enough to grasp Elennárë's offered hand, allowing her to touch his flame, his mindform taking shape, not his full mindform, but the one of this life. it appears a few years younger than he is now, the way he was right before his Awakening in the White Mountains.
Boromir
Boromir can sense, somehow across the bridge Elennárë offers, a sense of surprise. In truth he has remained unprotesting because he has to believe a soul originating from Valinor would know if someone is worth trusting or not, and if Elennárë has decided to trust Kíli, he would not stop her, just as he would not stop Faramir from making a new friend. (In a corner of his mind he thinks acting in such a way is too much like how his father can be at times and tries to avoid emulating Denethor's more possessive traits.)
But the link leaves him feeling strange, being able to sense Kíli, even see him on a mental level. Something about Kíli makes something within him react oddly, as if there is something about him Boromir is drawn to, like a lodestone.
Elennárë
Elennárë looks at the mindform in curiosity. She can sense something more to it, but will not push to know things Kíli would keep to himself. She also keeps an image that is not her true soulform, instead one that does not show her light, but shows the colouring she has always thought herself with. It is the same self-image Boromir knows her by, though her ears, often hidden under hair, still retain delicate elven points.
Boromir's reaction to Kíli has Elennárë looking back and forth between them, and the niggle in the back of her mind becomes more apparent. Somewhere, somehow, these two meeting echoes through the threads of Fate, and Elennárë wonders how many alternate lives have seen them meet as well.
Kíli
When Kíli steps into their circle, guided by Elennárë , he truly becomes aware of Boromir's presence as well. It feels like he is all of sudden pushed into the presence of a bright, warm light. The touch is warm, gentle, and it touches upon a part of Kíli's soul that he left dead and buried many many years ago. His first reflex is to run, to break away before he can get too close, but he forces himself to calm down.
He looks at Elennárë and for a moment he feels like he is seeing her in a mirror, reflection on reflection, mirroring and changing. The moment passes and Kili again has found control of his himself, of his calm. He bows slightly towards Boromir. "Thank you for allowing me to meet your dream.sister."
Boromir
That gains a soft laugh from Boromir. "Thank you for being the one who made me aware that she is more than just a dream." He still wants to reach out a touch Kíli, and the sense he is picking up from Elennárë of something that has happened multiple times breaks what control he has, and he reaches across the divide that Elennárë's presence has made so very narrow. The mental image of the touch is a light thing, a hand touching a hand, but the feeling to his soul... It shoots through Boromir like lightening.
Kíli
"Are not our dreams that what is eternal?" Kíli replies. His voice flees him as their fingers touch, and a presence, strong, powerful and oh-so-long missed touches his soul. His fingers close around the other hand, not wanting to lose the fleeting connection of their minds.
Boromir
"Mayhap they are, but too often out of reach when one wakes." No longer even thinking of resisting the effect Kíli has on him, Boromir draws closer, opening his arms - his very spirit - offering... friendship at least, though there is something deep inside him that tells him this would never stop at simple friendship. In a strange impulse he adds "I would rather not have to wake from this." in a hushed voice.
Kíli
"You will not have to, this dream cannot die..." Kíli responds as he too lets go of his barriers, truly embracing Boromir inside their mindspace, no longer upholding the carefully chosen form, his true soulform asserts itself as he embraces the other man. "For I could not let go either... not after finding you."
Boromir
The change in Kíli's form only makes this feel all the more right, and Boromir embraces him hard. He looks towards Elennárë to see a soft smile on her face, and responds with a smile of his own. She somehow made this possible, finding this dwarf who feels like a missing piece of his own soul.
Elennárë
Elennárë cannot help the near gleeful happiness within her. To be able to help this come about? She is glad she paid attention to those niggles from Fate. She would like to think of it as Námo pointing her in the right direction, but no matter what, it means her dear guardian is happy.
Kíli
Kíli can feel Boromir's gaze going back to Elennáre, and without letting go he extends one arm towards her, wanting to draw her close as well. She feels familiar, like someone he knew and lost long ago and finding her, along with finding his soul... he wants simply to hold onto them both and never ever let go again.
Elennárë
Elennárë willingly sinks into the hug, burying her face in Kíli's shoulder, as she feel Boromir wrap around her as well. "I have a family again." She whispers softly, feeling the sting of happy tears.
Kíli
One arm around her, the other around Boromir, Kíli feels his own throat go tight. His soul echoes her words, for he too has found family again right here and now. Whatever may come of this, it is the happiest moment in many years.