Frérin Durin · @DurinUncle
24th Feb 2015 from TwitLonger
Stone-verse: Family Reunion
Stone-verse: Family Reunion
After http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1skrli5
Thirán and Anvari come to Osgiliath on their search for Kíli.
@DurinUncle ?@AnvariShadow @SilmarilNaro @Valandhir
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Anvari
Anvari pulled his cloak more firmly around his shoulders as they hopped off the supply cart, that had allowed them to ride along towards the ruined city of Osgiliath. Their journey south had been through a wet and windy autumn, and they had arrived in Minas Tirith at the gates of Winter. They had assumed the disguise of two traders looking for a contract partner who's trading partner had been killed on the road north. It was nothing too unusual.
While the Gondorians were aloof and could be a tad haughty, they respected that law was law and contracts were just that. Strangely Thirán had garnered a number of strange looks and had also been treated just a bit less sternly by a number of city guards and warriors. In Minas Tirith they had learned that indeed was a blacksmith named Kíli living in the Undercity who was away at the moment, serving with the armies in Osgiliath. Chatter in the taverns also had supplied the fact that it had not really been his turn to supply the armies again, but he had taken the place of another Master smith, who having freshly married had been reluctant to go.
Getting to Osgiliath had proven much more complicated, the city was a fortress at war and as such under Gondor's martial law, which meant civilians were only left in, if they served the army in some capacity, or if they were approved by either the Commander of the fortress, the Captain of Gondor or the Captain of the Rangers. Having no such high contacts and no hopes of gaining permission otherwise, they had gone to the Army scriptorium in the fifth ring of the city and claimed to be wandering blacksmiths, seeking to work in Gondor and being willing to earn it by working for the army first.
The young scribe had looked at them confused, but then a grey-haired soldier had stepped in. "It's been a long time to see your kind on the road," he had said. "but I won't turn your kind down lightly. You will go to Osgiliath and assist the blacksmiths there for the winter - if you are worth your salt, they will recommend you to the Captains of the Army, who then will decide on giving you permission to stay or not." He had decided and with a writ they had been sent along with a supply caravan, that carried a number other crafters, mostly conscripted journeymen, young men who were nervous about their duty in the city. Anvari had talked with such a one during their ride. A young bowmaker journeyman of 20 years, who had never actually seen an Orc in his entire life. Anvari had tried to encourage him best that he knew how.
Now that they had arrived a young soldier herded all the crafters towards the fortress commander - or whomever he had put in charge . An old soldier, with iron-grey hair and a countenance that belied his greying mane, eyed them all calmly. Baranor - that was his name - first dispatched the Gondorian crafters to the respective masters they were to assist, keeping Thirán and Anvari for last. "So you are the two blacksmiths who volunteered for working here?" he asked, studying them. "A permit to stay is not easily earned and I can offer you a hard and shorter way and an easier but longer path."
Anvari was surprised that the soldier -like others before him - seemed not to look down on them in the way he had experienced in the North. "What paths would that be, Sir?" he asked politely.
"The easy part is that you work for Agandir the winter - he is a senior crafter from Minas Tirith, well respected and will treat you fairly. His assessment carries weight, but it might take longer to get your permit, as he is not a crafter who is a primary army supplier and sometimes does not understand our needs that well. The hard way is that you go and work for Kíli for the winter - he is of your kind and does not like working with other dwarves much. He likes to work alone for that matter and the few apprentices he ever trained up were... odd cases. You might also find yourself objecting to work for him, once you've met. I have seen your kind run and rethink their decisions in that before. But if you keep with him and he says you are worth it, you will probably be working for the army full time by springtime. Your choice." With those words his gaze went to Thirán, clearly expecting to hear the decision from the elder dwarf.
Thirán
The assessment of the two options amused Thirán to a degree, but more-so the commentary on Kíli. If the baby he knew had grown up to be anything like his father, he would have a stubborn streak a mile wide. Add onto that the scenarios Thirán had considered as too why he ended up in Gondor, a lot of 'good' dwarves might object to associating with him on principal, a lot like they reacted to the Lost.
"I would not be one to back down from taking the hard path and I have heard a few words of Master Kíli that makes me believe that in the long run it would be better if we took up a position working for him." Thirán spoke, giving Baranor a quirk of a grin.
Anvari
Anvari could see a strange glance Baranor cast Thirán, a little like some of the men in the city had. "Very well then," he replied. "I will bring you there myself."
Without further preamble he led them through the gate and across the main yard of the fortress. The forge sat close to the outer wall, a solid stone building with a heavy roof, the stones were rough, but well placed. While no time had been taken for beauty, the craftsmanship that had gone into the building was solid. Anvari could feel - sense - the presence of an arcane flame, bright and hot, emanating from the forge as much as the heat of the two smelters that seemed to be working.
Outside the forge stood a cart that was just being unloaded by a few soldiers. Among them Anvari spotted a smaller figure - a dwarf of about five feet, a bit on the light side of built for a dwarrow, but definitely one of them. "I know, I know, Erandir - it is the worst Orc junk I ever laid eyes on. Whatever forges they have over in Gorgoroth must employ trolls, if I am to judge by this rubbish." The dwarf said, while unloading a huge troll hammer, tossing it on a few pieces of troll plate armor.
When the dwarf saw Baranor, he stopped his work and greeted the older soldier. "More leftover that our friends from Minas Morgul left behind?" he asked.
"No." Baranor shook his head. "I have too blacksmiths for you, to assist during the winter. They are your kind and want to earn a place. You certainly can use a few extra hands."
Now that they were close Anvari could see the dwarrow better, and his throat suddenly tightened. Because... while better fed, less wiry, and less grey... he had a look that Anvari knew from his own father. The same dark hair, streaked with a few pale streaks, the finely chiseled features, only the eyes were too dark, not blue. He wore simple working clothes, breeches, a leather tunic and his long hair was tied back for work. Anvari was almost grateful that the cart and the other soldiers departed, because words right now fled his mind. Could he have been right?
Thirán
Thirán watched as the dwarf in front of them sorted through the metal and spoke to Baranor, cataloging every detail. In many ways he was so very like what Thirán remembered of Thorin. Older than Thorin had been when he last saw him, but then Thorin had been barely into full adulthood when Azanulbizar had happened and Kíli had to be... Thirán could immediately call the numbers to mind, but at least a good forty to fifty years older than that.
He also could see straight off that there was good reason for all the odd looks they had received along the way. Mirrors were not common, but Thirán had one gifted to him for all his hard work to see his people settled. He knew well enough what his own face looked like and knew every one of those odd looks recognised him as being kin to Kíli.
"Well then..." He murmured, clearing his throat a bit, trying to push down the emotions running through him. "I go by the name of Thirán, this is my boy, Anvari. I would hope you have no great objection with our presence."
Kíli
Kíli only half heard what Baranor was telling him, his eyes were on the dwarf who had just arrived. For one painful moment he had believed it was Thorin standing there, the looks... they were too similar. On close up he could see it was not, yet the very thought was a painful jab in his heart. He forced himself to a semblance of calm. "My name is Kíli," he introduced himself - there was no 'at your service ' on either side. Once shamed one had no service to offer any more, none of worth at least. "and I welcome you to my forge."
He gestured them to follow him. "We better begin with work right away. I will see to you getting decent quarters before nightfall. The forge has little extra room, except for the attic... and that might be very warm but is hardly comfortable." He led them into the forge. "Baranor says you both are blacksmiths..." He turned to the younger one - Anvari. "There is a pile of blunted blades over there by the sharpening wheel. Take care of them. If you see any cracked or otherwise irreparably damaged blades, report them to me for exchanging."
When Anvari went off to work, setting his pack in a corner of the forge, he turned to Thirán. "I am in the middle of making new blades - the workpieces are done, and I would appreciate your help with them." He tried to speak calmly, but each time he looked at Thirán, he had the feeling that Thorin was standing here, and inside these walls, his presence always had been strong.
Thirán
His pack set aside with Anvari's, Thirán pulled of his coat and lay it aside as well, before moving to follow Kíli. "Swords are easy enough." he murmured, accepting an apron as they moved. "I expect you are doing standard strengthening enchantments in them?" He did not think acting ignorant about the arcane factor would suit Kíli, he knew it never suited Thorin and Dís had only a little more patience. "I will confess my own skills are not very high, but I can work the basic patterns."
Kíli
He was an arcane smith... usually Kíli would have been delighted to have another one here, someone to help with the work but... the fact alone was like another stab, another reminder of those not here. He pulled it together swiftly...*never never let pain be stronger than yourself*. "If you can do the basic the strengthening pattern it would be a great help and allow be to work the unbreakable weave into them." he replied. He had begun to do that more and more, simply because they needed it, even if he felt the strain like he had not in his younger days. Not having to do both patterns at the same time would ease the process a lot.
Thirán
That strengthening pattern was one he knew well, one of the first learned by any arcane smith, of any strength. Thirán had learned it straight from his grandfather, when Thrór had one of his clearer days. "That I can do." He said, as he picked up a hammer and briefly weighed it in his hand.
It only took a few moments to get working and Thirán found it easy to slip into the mindset that weaving power into a piece he was working on needed. He did not feel Kíli's power immediately, but as he worked he started to become aware of it. The feel of his nephew's flame... Kíli was strong, and had a lot of training, as Thirán could sense some of the deft working of his power. It reminded him, in a way, of the first time he had dared to stay during one of Anvari's lessons in Rivendell. Power, skill, experience, and all of it making Thirán's abilities feel stunted and inexperienced.
Kíli
It was much easier than expected. Usually Kíli had trouble to work with another arcane smith, to let another get that close, that both could weave into the same workpiece. But here... it was easy. Thirán's presence was steady, calm as rock itself and sometimes he seemed to anticipate what Kíli would do, and weave around him.
While working Kíli could sense Thirán's flame. It was strong, but... raw. Like he had not had much training, and then suffered greatly, to leave his flame so raw, so blunt. Again questions rose in Kíli, wondering who Thirán was... and what had happened to him. That he, much like Kíli, was shamed, was easy to read. But Kíli knew all too well, that the stories behind such shame usually were much darker and grimmer than his own.
They worked in tandem for hours, and as the evening drew nearer Kíli could feel that Thirán was tiring while they were on the last piece. Without thinking he did something, something he had only done with Thorin a few times, reaching out to the other flame, to allow Thirán to draw on his strength.
Thirán
It was easy to sink into work and lose track of time, going from one blade to the next, shaping the metal, shaping the lines of power that would help it be stronger. Thirán let himself fall into a rhythm and even his initial puzzle over Kíli's flame left his mind in favour of simply concentrating on the work.
Thórálfr had occasionally teased him that when he got working hard he could totally miss a horde of orcs if they appeared on the doorstep. Usually Thirán had responded that given the working conditions in Moria, that had happened enough in the past that had learned how to ignore them.
If people had come into the forge while they worked, Thirán had not noticed, with the only person who remained partly in his awareness being Kíli, as he drew on the sense of his nephew to shape the enchantment so they would not fight the further work when a sword was handed from one smith to the other.
He knew, in the back of his mind, that he was tiring, that the patterns were getting harder to weave in place, but the rush of warm strength reviving him and giving him the strength carry on... There had been only a couple of times he had felt that before, back before Azanulbizar, working alongside Thorin. It brought out an immediate response in him of gratefulness and affection that he did not try to stop from passing along the link.
Kíli
There was a wave of warmth, of affection coming through the link, that Kíli almost lost focus. Had he not shared such a closeness with Elennárë and Boromir at times, he would have faltered for the simple reason of having missed that closeness, that warmth of another flame for too long. Still he had to blink rapidly to prevent any tears from forming in his eyes. He was almost grateful that this was the last blade. When it was done and in the water barrel, he laid the hammer aside, and looked at Thirán.
In the light of the fires, it would have been so easy to mistake him for Thorin. But he was not, Kíli knew that, and yet... he somehow knew him. Though he could not tell from when or where. "Who are you?" he asked, softly.
Thirán
The question caught Thirán a little by surprise, though he knew it would have come eventually. For all that the similarity in looks was obvious, that Kíli would wish to hear it put into words was understandable.
"I am one of the Lost, those who were taken at Azanulbizar. We found our own freedom when the majority of orcs left to wage war..." He grimaced at the thought that the battle was one Kíli fought in. "I had family before I was taken, a brother, a sister, though I did not know it until after my escape I know my brother-in-law fell in that battle. I know you bear his name, Son of Dári."
He moved over to where his and Anvari's packs sat, digging in Anvari's for the small dagger, bringing it over to Kíli. "Anvari got this from a trader he met in Bree, after an Elf thought it dishonourable. He saw the crafter's sigil and brought it back for me to see. The Raven of Durin with the marker of the Stormchild. I thought everyone had fallen at Erebor, so to find this, I had to come and see."
Kíli
Stormchild... more than all the careful words, did that one word breach into Kíli's memories, bringing back the memory of a small dwarfling and his Uncle... and Uncle who would sing songs for him and who had carved him a wooden wolf from a log. An Uncle who had gone... gone that day, when all the others had gone and the day that only an older Kíli could name: Azanulbizar. His heart seemed to stand still, as pain and disbelief warred with each other, and the painful realization what had happened to his Uncle became real for him.
He barely saw the blade Thirán showed him, for his sight blurred. "Uncle Frérin?" Kíli's voice was rough, when he dared to speak the name that had been but a memory for so long.
Thirán
While his first instinct is to deny the name, he holds it back, knowing it is more important to give Kíli the confirmation he needs. Holding out his hands to invite Kíli closer, Thirán speaks in a gentle voice. "I am he, though I do not use that name. I would hope you can accept me, after all this time. I know I needed to know whether it was really you, to know if I still had one of my family left."
Kíli
"Accept you?" for a moment Kíli's expression is pure shock, then he realizes that while he indicated indirectly that he too was shamed, his keeping of his birth name, might lend itself to the contrary. "You are my Uncle, my family and always will be." he said fiercely. "by the laws of those who live north, I too would be of the Lost Ones... and even if I were not, I would never turn my back on family." He reached for Frérin's shoulders to draw him into a fierce embrace.
Thirán
The embrace is something that makes Thirán's heart jump, feeling the solid feeling of Kíli's form. He wraps his arms around the younger dwarf and holds him just as tightly, relief crashing through him so fiercely it brings a prickle of tears to his eyes. "I heard about Erebor, what news reached Eriador as my people were passing through said you fell as well. I am glad that it is wrong though."
Kíli
"Thorin and Fíli... fell, they never were meant to be parted long." Kíli replies softly, still not letting go of Frérin. "adding my death to that story, was probably the easiest way for Dáin." He pulls back to look at Frérin, still feeling like this was somehow a dream. "but all that is in the past. You are here now, you are alive..." he had to say it again, he needed to say it out loud. "and you have a son." Anvari had come over to them and Kíli drew him too into a hug.
Thirán
"Yes, my dearest son." Thirán murmured, a streak of fatherly pride in his voice. "Sired by Thórálfr, one of my comrades also taken at Azanulbizar, perhaps the most dedicated defender of our little village." He absently brushed some of Anvari's loose hair back before settling an arm around him.
Kíli
Kíli can see so much affection in that gesture, so much warmth. But he also remembers that it is soon the time that Elennárë will return from her afternoon training. And still, he cannot tear his eyes away from his Uncle and his cousin, it seems like a dream, a miracle that this happened. "I want to ask you so much..." he said, "to hear your story... but we have yet to settle you into some decent quarters."
Anvari looked at him. "You mentioned a warm and dry attic in this building," he said pointing up to the high stone roof. "We are not choosy when it comes to our camp."
Kíli smiled, that sounds so much like family. "I am not living alone here, Anvari." he replied. "The sister of a dear friend has her quarters here, because this is one of the safest places inside the fortress and she is... a little shy when it comes to strangers. But I could wait for her to return and introduce you."
Thirán
Though he knew the numbers of women in the race of Men were higher on average, the simple fact that Kíli was giving protection to his friend's sister was something Thirán appreciated on principal. Girl children were to be valued, and amongst the Lost the most guarded children were the daughters, even more-so than in normal dwarven communities, as the Lost knew that females who were captured by orcs were abused even more than males. There had been only two women living in their number when they escaped Moria, one of whom was a newly captured slave and the other a very tough, masculine warrior woman.
"I am sure we can work out how to share while respecting her privacy and wellbeing." Thirán said, his words carrying an underlying meaning for his son, that Anvari would do his best to follow his lead as well.
Elennárë
Elennárë walked towards the forge, blunted practice sword still in hand, absently working through a couple of moves she had faltered in and had to be corrected. She felt she was starting to truly get the flow of movements, beginning to see how some of Elenaria's memories truly functioned. Mind preoccupied, she did spot the company but did not look closely as she set her staff and the practice sword in the storage rack.
It came as a bit of a surprise when she did look closely at the two - both dwarves and moreover so very familiar in face that it startled her. The elder could have easily been mistaken for Thorin, while the younger reminded her sharply of a forge in another life. "My apologies, I do not mean to interrupt..."She looked towards Kíli, questioningly.
Kíli
Turning around Kíli saw Elennárë, like so often she seemed exhausted after a long day between the healers and her training with her 'father' Baranor. "I am glad you came back early, Elennárë," he said with a small smile. "for I have learned something amazing today..." He was not quite sure how to say it all. "Thirán, Anvari, if I may... this is Elennárë, sister to Boromir of Gondor and a dear friend and sister of the heart to me. Elennárë, this is..." for a moment he stumbled and then made a decision. "this is my Uncle Frérin, whom I believed lost in Azanulbizar and his son, Anvari."
Anvari
Anvari bowed politely to the Lady who had entered. He had met his share of Menfolk women during the trade missions at home but none like her. Not just that she had the countenance of a Grand Lady... she had an aura of light. She could have passed for a Queen of old easily, and that she was very beautiful only served to underline that impression. Too stunned to speak he simply left it at a bow.
Thirán
There was something about this woman that was almost like Thirán was only seeing a small part of her. Besides the undeniable truth that she was a beautiful, regal lady in looks and the way she moved, even dressed as she was in breeches and a jerkin that reminded him of Birna's usual mode of dress, his arcane sense also picked up an aura that while bright in it's immediate presence... somehow there was more to her? She had to be shielding, but not heavily if he could tell she was shielding herself. Relaxed or willing to be open in Kíli's company, or something that was both. As it was, he followed Anvari's bow with one of his own. "I am honoured, Lady Elennárë, to make your acquaintance." He spoke politely.
Elennárë
Frérin was a name she knew, and it made the resemblance to Kíli make a lot of sense. Kíli's uncle and his cousin, both family, unexpected as they may be. "As Kíli has honoured me with his trust and allowed me to know some of his personal past, I will say I am glad to find that he has some living members of his family left, and that you coming is very welcome." It was polite and somewhat formulaic, but Elennárë meant it sincerely, even as she tried not to blush under the gaze of the younger dwarf's open admiration.
Anvari
His father's words helped Anvari to find a bit of his balance again, even though he still could stop looking at her. "It is indeed a great honor to meet you, Lady Elennárë." Kíli had said she was the sister of Boromir of Gondor, which meant she was of very high birth indeed.
Kíli
Kíli smiled noticing his cousin's slight blush and the way he looked at Elennárë. He approached her, to gently grasp her hand. "Frérin and Anvari arrived today, Baranor assigned them to aiding me in the forge. We had just begun to discuss things like quarters, before you came." He explained. With their arcane senses they might pick something up on her, which might be an issue. There was also the fact that he did not want Elennárë to lose the ability to speak openly of her sister in the skies and her Other.
Elennárë
"I..." Elennárë found herself looking between the two, then back to Kíli. "I do not want to keep family from being close, so I will say right here and now that I have some personal secrets that I have grown to trust Kíli with, ones relating to arcane abilities I possess, and a few shared experiences since I have got to know him." She was not ready to open up to people she did not really know, not this soon at least, but Frérin and Anvari were Kíli's kin, so she could offer some word that could be the first step letting them know to expect something a little beyond simply a sister to the Lord Captain. Maybe she would eventually come to know them well enough to speak of more, but that would take time.
Thirán
That this lady was willing to speak of having arcane ability straight off was something Thirán felt she was doing them an honour in telling them. Her spirit presence had already told him she had power, so he could not help but wonder if part of her association with Kíli was to learn how to control and use it. There was definitely more to this than she willing to say for now, but it was up to her what she wished to reveal.
"I am sure we can work out how to live around each other. I can already see you and Kíli are good friends so I do not wish to interfere in that."
Anvari
There was something in her words, the way she spoke of her secrets that made Anvari feel like she had reason to fear them. Maybe not reason for fear, but no reason to trust them. Why should she? They were practically two strangers who came into her life, disrupting it. He approached her and bowed again slightly. "We would not want to disrupt your home, or your safety, my Lady." he said earnestly. "Neither of us would pry into your secrets but maybe... maybe it would be best if we had our quarters elsewhere? At least until you know us better, or feel a bit safer around us both." There had to be other places, a cellar or so, that they could use. They were dwarves they could live practically everywhere where stone was.
Elennárë
Elennárë found herself studying the younger dwarf closely, his earnest concern for her coming across as endearing and rather sweet. Offering him a gentle smile she shook her head. "If anything, I feel like I am getting in the way here. You are Kíli's family, family I know he believed to all be dead and gone. If anything, I would see of Boromir or Papa - Baranor - could find another place for me than get in the way of you getting to know each other."
Anvari
"No!" Anvari's reply was impulsive and a bit louder than it should have been, be forced himself to speak calmly as he went on. "No, my Lady. Please. Pushing you to not live here would be wrong. It is... it would be wrong, and it would make Kíli lose something he had here." To come between a family someone had found, just because one was a blood-relative, meant devaluing what the other had found, and was rude bordering on cruel. And Anvari did not like the idea of Lady Elennárë moving elsewhere, where he might not see her again.
He looked around. "This forge is built on ruins, it must have a cellar of sorts." he went on, looking to Kíli.
The older blacksmith arched an eyebrow at him. "It does, But as It is only accessible over a crumbly stairwell, I never did much with it. It's a dark crumbly hole down there."
Anvari snorted. "We are dwarves, we live in dark crumbly holes. If we moved down there we would not be so close to intrude on Lady Elennárë and your regular life up here but close enough for you to easily come to see us, when you want." And given how hot the forge was, the cellar would be warm, and they could light a magic fire down there too make it comfortable.
Kíli looked to Frérin. "He is your son..." he said with the hint of a smile. "though I could just as easily ask Baranor which of the old builder's quarters over by the wall are not in use in the moment and secure a place for you there."
Thirán
Thirán had watched the exchanged between Anvari and Elennárë with a quiet amusement. Both of them ready to stand aside for the other, both seeing the other's claim on Kíli, though the factor that really caught him was his son's immediate fascination with the lady.
As Kíli asked his opinion he could not hold back the creeping grin. "I would like to see what condition this cellar is before I totally rule against it. Even a cellar, if it touches the bedrock has a small sense of the Deep Stone in it and I would feel more comfortable with that, even if it is only a small whisper."
Kíli
"Then i better show you." Kíli replied. "It touches the bedrock of the river cliffs, though if it has an echo of the Stone... I do not know." His own sense for the was too weak, and with the years it had further dimmed. "But Thorin... he said something like that back when we were working here." The latter was spoken softly, as Kíli squatted down in a corner, touching the grey floor who was aglow with lines a moment later and revealed a dwarven trapdoor that led down into the cellars below.
Thirán
Thirán followed Kíli down the stairs into the cellar, thinking over that little tidbit Kíli had revealed. Thorin had comes here at some point, Kíli with him. Maybe he would ask about that later. For now though he looked around the dark space. "I can feel the Deep Stone," he stated, as he knelt to touch the stone that felt the strongest. "The mountains are not that far from here, I feel the echos of the White Mountains and the Mountains of Shadow." He stood again, glad to know he could feel it here, the reassuring hum that kept him from totally losing spirit all through the years in Moria. "It might need a bit of cleaning, but I think I would prefer this over quarters on the surface."
Kíli
Kíli watched Frérin as he knelt on the stone, with the absolute sense of a true dwarf, feeling an echo that Kíli could not perceive. He smiled at him. "I will help you with cleaning this place out and with making it habitable." He said firmly. The very thought of them staying so close made a warm spark rise inside him. Of course he had noticed that Frérin had spoken of a partner and a settlement up North, things that Kíli wants to ask about. But right now matters of living must take precedence.