9 | Back in Middle Earth...

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Boromir | Captain of the White Tower

Location: Halifirien, The White Mountains, Middle Earth, Arda.

Time: September 2980 T.A

The evacuation of the city was a success to an extent. Those who left at the beginning of the plans had arrived at the Gondorian Beacon Post, one of the many that were scattered through the White Mountains to allow warnings across the kingdom. [1][2]

It was a long and tiresome trek, the path through the densely packed forest having hindered carts of those injured or too old to walk, and most had to be carried. But soon as they arrived up at the small station, they immediately began setting a temporary camp for the civilians and soldiers who followed him and the people of Minas Tirith to the West.

Halifirien was not far from the West Road, enough for them to return to their journey the next day – or rather the next several hours once the moon passed over them. [3]

Boromir was exhausted, but he didn't show it to the other as he trudged through the campsite, keeping an eye on soldiers and men to see that they were doing what they were tasked with before nodding up to the guards posted on either side of the tent they erected. There were hardly any luxuries, and he didn't pester of it; he knew how it was like to live in the littlest things and have journeyed throughout Gondor with nothing but a small pack, his sword and a horse.

Though, he could forget the great horn he was bestowed upon.

He went over to the small table, scattered with papers and maps and placed down the horn on top. The clear maps of Gondor and Rohan were shown in the corner of his sight, markers of red ink already showing places that had been lost to Sauron and Mordor and those that have yet to know.

The most recent – and dare he said it – was Minas Tirith.

Now underlined in red.

Taking a heavy sigh, he tightened his jaw before massaging it. There was no point in dwelling too much of it. Of his home and those he left. His mother was gone, accepting the fate she had and would never step into the home she longed for that was by the sea.

Whilst he tried his best to get through the many reports already piling in the side of the table, he noticed a figure enter the tent flaps.

Haedirn, warden of Halifirien, stood across the table as they both greeted each other with a slight bow. The warden questioned him with confusion, "My lord, Boromir, where is your father?"

Boromir placed the parchment down as he answered, "He decided to defend the city." He caught the surprise in Haedirn's face whilst he sighed, "Despite my suggestion in joining us, he decided to stay."

The man's eyebrows furrowed with concern on him as he asked, "Who would then lead us?" Haedirn stated, "Rohan will not answer us after we failed to aid them in the West for years."

All he could do was purse his lips into a thin line. The long years had waned the relationship between the two kingdoms since the defeat of the Dunlanders and then the sudden darkness growing in Isengard. It was not their fault since their focus had been towards the East as well as the South, with more of the Haradrim and the Corsairs of Umbar being sighted in the south. [4][5][6]

Though, when they did send a messenger to inform King Théoden of their impending arrival, he was met by the same soldier who told him that he had been declined, causing him and several of the senior members of the army to worry.

However, Boromir would not give up now. There must have been a reason for the King of Rohan to turn away. He firmly answered Haedirn, "We will do what we can." He continued, "Rohan will understand when they see our numbers. With the sick, injured, women and children: we will be able to persuade an agreement."

Haedirn bowed his head, informing him that he would begin shortly with establishing a patrol for the night.

Once he took his leave, Boromir let out the breath he held throughout the whole time, shoulders slacking before he rubbed his temples.

Just as he was at the end of the report, another familiar face entered the tent. Though this time, he was a little more relieved that it was the healer as well as the royal woodland elf.

Lord Thorongil nodded curtly to him. "Lord Boromir," He spoke, "A group has arrived asking for you. It is Prince Imrahil."

His eyes widened, his chest tightening when those words seeped into his mind causing him to rise from his chair and headed around the table.

Meanwhile, Lord Thorongil and Prince Legolas moved to the side as a similarly tall man in silver armour entered the tent. The crest of the White Tree of Gondor embossed at the centre. [7]

His uncle's eyes met his at that moment, Boromir could not help but twitch his lips to a small smile as they face each other. "Thank you, Lord Thorongil," Boromir thanked him, the latter nodding slightly. He breathed out, "Uncle..."

Prince Imrahil returned the warm gesture, bowing his head before embracing him into a short hug. When they pulled away, his uncle said, "Nephew. I am glad you are well." He then glanced with concern and questioned, "Your mother; Denethor? Faramir?"

His heart pulsed heavily, the cold shiver down his spine as Boromir sadly answered: "Mother...passed away. Her body rests in Minas Tirith."

As his uncle heard of his sister's departure, all he showed was the welling of tears in his eyes. Imrahil stood frozen, trying to process what was spoken. All Boromir could do was place a hand on top of his shoulder.

He murmured to him, "I am sorry, Uncle."

Imrahil inhaled raggedly, "Your mother was a gentle soul." He croakily said, "She...she does not deserve it."

Shaking his head, Boromir replied: "She doesn't deserve this all." He allowed his hand to fall to his side as he gulped, "But she wanted to save the city."

"And your father? Faramir?"

"He stayed," Boromir responded, a tint of anger that lingered in his voice when his father's name was mentioned. "He would not abandon the city as Sauron's forces broke through the walls. And Faramir had left with several scouts to see if there were any survivors in Ithilien."

At the mention of his little brother, he could only hope that he and the rangers at least survived the outrun of orcs near Ithilien. It might not be another few weeks until they would get word from him – maybe even months.

His uncle assured him, "Then we pray that your father and Faramir is at least alive and coming." Imrahil composed himself and continued, "But I only come here to aid what is left of our people." It was then his eyes wandered to the other two in the room.

Boromir cleared his throat and introduced them, "Lord Thorongil, a senior healer and Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm." Returning to the subject at hand, he asked. "What is your suggestion?"

They headed towards the laid map on the table, with Imrahil standing across the other side whilst Lord Thorongil and Prince Legolas faced each other.

Placing his hand on the southern part of the map of Middle Earth, his uncle began, "The White Mountains are the only obstacle between the Belfalas and us." He spoke, "A suggestion would be moving the women and children and anyone not able to fight either to Dol Amroth or closer Rohan. Preferably using the plains near the West Road." [8][9]

Boromir hummed. They would have to do their best and try and negotiate once they were back on the march.

Lord Thorongil surprisingly piped in, informing them: "Sauron is pushing through Gondor first and then perhaps from the North."

Turning to his left, he asked the healer, "And how do you know this?"

"A raven from Erebor. We have allies up north; Princess Tauriel of Erebor wrote of Easterlings beginning to move across west and has already outrun the area of the Iron Hills," Thorongil explained.

He didn't know much of the northern kingdoms, only that one of the princes of the dwarves married an elf from Prince Legolas' kingdom. And from how the blonde elf nodded across to his right, it implied that there was a close-knitted relationship between them. Since Lord Thorongil did come with Prince Legolas, it was reasonable that they all somehow corresponded to each other.

However, it meant that they might have another line of defence against the Easterlings and those of Rhûn. It would take off some of the weight Gondor had.

Boromir spoke in a grim tone, "We also have the issue of the Haradrim." He explained, "They will be coming from the south. We will need the coasts defended."

His uncle exhaled; eyes focused on Rohan on the map. "Then we have no choice." Imrahil decided, "We must stick to preparing to be with Rohan for the time being."

Turning his gaze to the right, he asked the blonde-haired elf, "And what about the elves?" Boromir plainly said, "Lothlorien is close to Rohan. They should be aiding us."

Perhaps it was a little too blunt, though the prince simply explained himself in return. "I am not of the Galadhrim, Lord Boromir. Though they are having matters with orcs coming from Dol Guldur." His eyes looked away, gesturing to the healer. "But Lord Thorongil and I will be moving northwest to head to Rivendell and perhaps hear from them." [10]

He felt himself furrow his eyebrows, a mixture of confusion and concern at the statement.

"Rivendell? For what reason do you leave us?" Boromir questioned, glancing at each of them.

Lord Thorongil shift in his spot but didn't leave his eyes away from him. He stated carefully, "Lord Elrond seeks a council." He responded, "It has been found."

The anger that rose in his body dissipated, instead, it was disbelief.

So, his father was right. The letter from Rivendell regarding a delegate from each kingdom to discuss the ring was true. And the dreams which Faramir had and spoke of, dismissed by their father's paranoia and continuous hatred of him.

His thoughts were abrupted as his uncle breathed, "You are japing...it was lost in the Gladden Fields."

"And it has been discovered," Lord Thorongil confirmed. "The council will be held in a month. We hope to ride hard once the people of Minas Tirith have settled."

There was a moment of silence as Boromir tried to process it. Looking over to his uncle, who stared at him, he glanced back to the healer and politely spoke, "Please excuse us."

The two nodded, walking out of the tent and left him and his uncle alone.

Boromir looked back to him and said, "Uncle."

"I know that look, Boromir." Imrahil drew out a breath and spoke, "Nephew, you want to go with them."

He inhaled, clenching and relaxing his hands as he gazed over the entrance of the tent.

Boromir confessed, "I cannot abandon our people. But Faramir spoke of his dreams. Of an elven lord seeking council." His eyes went back to Imrahil and quietly said, "If this is right, and it is the true one..."

As he glanced back to the map, he realised he focused on the western side of the Misty Mountains. The words of Rivendell written in ink.

If Faramir was here, he would have tasked him instead to do the deed. He could perhaps send one of the other captains up there along with Lord Thorongil and Prince Legolas, but there was an urge in him to do it himself.

If it was the Ring...maybe...

Gondor would be protected, and they would finally reclaim it against Sauron's forces.

His home could be saved.

His uncle snapped him from his trance as he said warily, "Boromir. I know we are driven because of what happened." Imrahil cautioned, "But I propose you to think thoroughly. Your father might have suggested for you to go for he is our Steward. But our people need a leader."

However, his heart had already made up. Boromir replied, "I will lead them only halfway." He added, "But I will go with the two lords only to represent Gondor. Valar...Faramir should be the one to go. Not me."

Imrahil sent a sad smile and responded, "Your brother is doing what he thinks is right." He reassured him, "He will return and aid us."

They decided to leave the tent, spotting the two who had left waiting for them outside. It was still dark, the stars scattered in the sky whilst several torches lit up the camp.

Boromir approached both the healer and the elf and nodded in confirmation. "My lords, as a representative of Gondor, I will come with you."

The two eyed each other before Lord Thorongil turned to him and questioned, "And what of the people? My lord, you are your father's heir."

"My uncle's advisors will see to keeping them heading west. But as it is dire, I will go to the council," He justified.

Prince Legolas nudged his head to his friend, who nodded silently before he answered him. "Alright." Lord Thorongil informed him, "We plan to leave in two days. Though with the sun gone day and night won't be much of a difference no more."

They all nodded in agreement, whilst his uncle hummed.

Imrahil replied, "Indeed. It is dark times in Middle Earth."

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Obara | Princess of Erebor

Location: The Long Lake, Middle Earth, Arda

The young half-dwarf woman had her hands behind her back, standing perfectly straight and still. Her eyes never left the open yard, calculating and determined, whilst she analysed the movements of their axes and swords. The clashing of metal hitting the other mixed with the rough scratching of leather armour as well as thuds and groans.

The training grounds were busier than ever, with a continuous flow of soldiers entering and exiting. Most were training with their groups whilst others were on their own in the archery practice.

Four decades ago, nobody would have imagined dwarrow, elves and men to work alongside each other. And now: they were practising and training each other as if there had been no animosity since the days of the ancient wars. There was still some hostility between the elves and her kind, but no one was constantly having a dagger upon their neck because of their races.

It was pointless either way; they were not the ones they should be fighting against.

Obara learnt from an early age that the world beyond the walls of her home, Erebor, was perilous and deadly. The land itself could perhaps kill you if you didn't consider provisions of food and drink, or perhaps something to keep you warm from the harsh winds coming from the north. Starvation was a key problem in a kingdom that was under a mountain and was something harder when the sun had suddenly disappeared.

With no sun: the world outside her home was a death trap. Orcs and goblins and trolls increased, and that meant increasing patrols, improving training, and doubling the defences they had between Erebor, Dale and the Elvenking's Halls.

The three kingdoms established a pact a decade ago, to unite their people in defending the outskirts of their kingdoms from the east. And since the Black Gates of Mordor faced them as well as the sea of Rhûn nearby, they were the first line of defence. They had several encampments lining down the river that headed to the Long Lake, south of Dale and to the direction of Mirkwood. The largest was just a few leagues from the lake which she was stationed the most with her group.

She saw the two dwarrow soldiers clash one more time until they tied, their arms slack down as they panted heavy breaths.

"Again!" She called out to them.

The one with the dark hair complained, "But we have been on this for two hours already—"

He clamped his shut when she sent narrowed eyes to them.

With a bold and stern voice, she said: "The enemy will not stop just because you are tired! They will continue to fight until their demise unless you wish to be the one at the end of their weapons!" The other dwarrow around her had stopped to listen, a mix of awe, annoyance, and stoicism before she ordered them, "Let us continue!"

They continued their drills, the moonlight shining underneath them as the flames from torches gave an orange glow in the open yard. She then swapped with one of the dwarrow, nodding to the captain before excusing herself to head over to one of the meeting halls across the site.

She knew others looked at her, whispered about her whilst she walked through tents and homes up towards the hall. She did not need any reminder that she was different let alone a woman leading the role of what should be a male's role.

Half-dwarf or half-woman or not, she was the heir to the throne of her people, and she would not be lowered by individuals who thought of her less.

When she arrived, the guards allowed her to enter where she found an elderly man sitting on a chair at the end of the empty hall. There were greying strands already forming in his once brown and curly hair, his beard growing wispy and grey already as he bowed his head towards her, "Princess Obara." He called to her, "Dearest niece."

She stopped just several feet away, bowing her head curtly before replying with a similar small smile on her lips. Despite having close familial ties, their meeting now was not, of means, something of a family visit.

Obara replied, "Uncle Bain," She continued, "I thank you for accepting my meeting. I know you must be busy with all the preparations for the council."

Her uncle nodded, "Yes. Though we are not the only council being summoned." Uncle Bain explained to her, "I heard Lord Elrond has asked a representative. I had one of my advisors come along with your uncle and aunt. Hopefully, there will be some news about a certain...weapon."

She knew what he had meant. It was perhaps the trinket her father and great-uncles told her off, and due to their line of succession: she was sworn to secrecy until the time was right. A certain sorceress and Lady of Rivendell would return and would know of its future.

However, things must have changed. Her father had tasked already several to go despite no notice. They could only hope things were alright for the time being.

"I assure you, both my uncle and aunt-in-law will deliver them safely. A dear friend of our family has joined as well so it will not go to a fault." Obara changed the subject, adjusting her stance. "I had asked to meet with you to discuss evacuations. If things do go rather down, as heir to Erebor: I will allow the people of Dale to be sheltered within the mountain. My father entrusted with me to inform you this before both Lord Thorin Stonehelm and King Thranduil arrive."

"Does he not trust to reveal it when the council happens?" Her uncle asked with a frown.

There was a part of her wanting to glare back but she refrained, keeping her voice calm as she replied, "...He will not have a say. He has tasked me instead to represent him."

Uncle Bain looked at her and hummed, "I see." He spoke, "That's rather bold of him."

Obara's eyes widened before she gritted her teeth.

"Excuse me?" She asked, trying not to slip her anger out.

Thankfully, Uncle Bain noticed what he had said and panicked. He simply said, "No offence to you, Obara." He hesitated slightly, but it took him another few seconds until he inhaled and explained, "I know my sister has raised you well. And I trust that she and your father's advice has allowed you to become a rather strong leader."

All those praises and words she knew how he truly felt of her. Though, it wasn't surprising for Obara. But hearing it from him, her uncle out of all people: she assumed he would be more supportive of her right of being the heir. Considering she was the daughter of Sigrid, the eldest daughter to King Bard of Dale. The woman who had fully tied both Dale and Erebor after The Battle of Unity along with her uncle, Kili, who married the elf Tauriel of the Woodland Realm.

However, it would seem it wasn't enough for certain people that someone like her would take the role of a leader.

"I see." Obara thinned her lips before nodding her head, taking her leave. "Well, I will not bore you any further. Good day, Uncle."

Uncle Bain dismissed her, to which she swiftly exited the hall and found herself waiting to escape back to the dwarrow side of the camp. Though as she clenched her fists and kept her façade calm, she found herself facing a younger version of her uncle in front of her at the doors of the building.

Her cousin, a man grown, gazed down to her before greeting her – gesturing for them to walk away through the path. She suspected that Brand had come down to the lake along with his father, therefore leaving their Aunt Tilda in place to run Dale. She had nothing against him; in fact, she didn't know him much other than he was a good man and was respected by the people as well as the elves. The dwarrow...not so much. Secretly, they preferred Aunt Tilda and her children, but they were quite young to take any place of authority of rule.

Brand was the only one close to her physical and mental age, tall and with mousy brown hair. And just like their family, showed emotions too easily. "Obara." He spoke to her solemnly as they walked next to each other, "I apologise. My father is old and weary and...yeah." [11]

They stopped at some point in the middle of a bustling yard, and she turned to look up to him and replied, "I know." Obara stared up to him as she plainly said, "Not of that but what you are trying to say. You do not need to make excuses."

There was an awkward silence.

"Is Aunt Sigrid well?" Brand asked, trying to change the subject.

Despite not wanting to talk, she followed anyways and nodded. "She is. Strong for her age as well." Her eyes averted.

From the corner of her eyes, she spotted the familiar figure marching towards them from the side. She knew who it was the moment Brand's body stiffened. There was also a voice who called out his name, and he quickly glanced in the direction and noticed some of his men ushering him to discuss something.

'So much for attempting to have a better relationship,' She grumbled in her head. Giving a forced smile, Obara spoke, "I am sure you are busy with work. Do not worry of it, cousin."

Brand's eyes turned back to her before he placed a stifled smile on his face. "Well, let me know if you need help, Obara." Once the figure reached them, he bowed his head to them and said stiffly, "Lord Dwalin."

The elder dwarf grunted, nodding his chin at her cousin before Brand could hurry away – pulled by his soldiers out from their periphery.

Turning to him, Obara glared and said, "You did not have to scare him, Dwalin."

The older dwarf gruffly grunted before gesturing his arm to follow her down the path towards the dwarven side of the camp. Several healers and women greeted her whilst some of the older dwarrow soldiers nodded towards their captain. The men and elves simply ignored them, though nodded curtly at her if they caught her gaze.

"I will until I stop breathing around all of these men and tree shaggers," Dwalin grimaced in Khuzdul.

Several passing dwarrow snickered whilst a dwarrowdam scoffed in shock.

She flashed him a warning look as she slowly spoke, "Uncle." Obara frowned, "Uncle Kili won't like that."

He gave a sly grin towards her, causing her to sigh in exasperation. "Your aunt and uncle aren't here, Bara." They stopped abruptly to where there was a campfire, several people surrounding them as the scent of venison and rabbit being cooked.

One quick sniff, her stomach was rumbling already.

Somehow, Dwalin noticed and advised, "Aye, you need to eat."

He wasn't wrong. She couldn't remember the last time she had properly eaten. Hunting and food provisions have been quite sparse and rationing in the camps were starting. Not only that, her position as the correspondent outside Erebor, she had too much work to do. She brushed him off and said, "Later." Obara reasoned, "I need to assign patrols and then just take a break."

In a way she was telling the truth, she needed to head to her tent and get through the reports as well as assign new patrols for the following weeks. Though admittedly, she just needed to get out of here and find somewhere to relieve her stress.

Just as she was about to excuse herself, she was stopped by a large hand grasping her arm.

Obara glanced down before staring back up to Dwalin, who warned her: "It's dark, Obara. More orcs are being sighted."

She wanted to argue back, to tell him that she was technically a grown woman due to her mixed blood, but there would not be any point. Dwalin was a dwarf who wasn't easily swayed and overly protective of her, considering she was the youngest Durin and the only one. Not to mention he had changed immensely since the battle.

After his brother's death, Dwalin had become harsher and colder – strict and yet protective of the royal family. It what made him a fierce warrior and a good companion alongside her. But sometimes she felt as if she was being coddled, and she didn't mind it. She appreciated the gesture.

Obara could only do much of assurance. She creased her eyebrows as she countered him, "Dwalin. It's just outside the camp. Father is not going to just appear and skin you alive."

"Aye, but your mother and grandmother will," He snorted causing her to crack up slightly.

He was not wrong on that account. Grandmother Dis' temper should not be trifled with.

Finally, Dwalin conceded with a groan carefully removed his hand away. He said strictly, "Fine. But only an hour."

With a nod, Obara thanked him silently and began her way towards her tent to do what she said.

Once she arrived at the hidden alcove outside the walled camp, all the anger and frustration that welled up inside her escaped.

She shoved her cloak off along with her satchel and placed it on the floor. Next, she tied back her blonde hair with the braided parts of her hair before unsheathing her sword by her hip.

The edge of the forest easily hid the camp, though this special spot allowed her to see the rest of Long Lake. Beyond the distance on the Western part were the remnants of Esgaroth, the burnt and charred bits of the foundations of the town only visible under the brightness of the moon.

With enough light, she focused on the tree she had begun hacking with her sword, already marked with dozens of scrapes and bruises from her blade every time she came here to calm herself down.

Sometimes she wished she was more like her other relatives, who were more open to themselves and able to express what they felt like. But she, Obara learnt the hard way in realising she couldn't show her true feelings in public. Lords and ladies and advisors: they all expected her to act like she was in control. That she showed no feelings other than a statue. Why did everyone else was allowed and not her?

Again, it was all because she was heir.

Even her anger, something she got from her father, was hard to hold and took years to get control of. Some people approved of it, impressed that a woman could show such control to her emotions. And then there were people who thought she was heartless, with no emotion at all. There wasn't a balance.

Once she finally tired out, she stopped and brought her breath back before sitting down and placed her sword next to her.

Just in time, her stomach rumbled whilst she rummaged her satchel to grab some salted bits of meat and began nibbling through it.

She continued to look out at the peaceful lake, seeing the silhouette looming over her.

A voice called out in a teasing tone, "Sneaking out and lying, Obara? I would not assort you to such activities."

For once in her entire day, she relaxed her body and let out a truthful smile, glancing up to find a pair of grey eyes that reflected the moonlight. His lithe body too light to hear his feet as he approached her, bow and swords at his back.

Obara looked ahead of him into the forest before returning her gaze to him. She asked, "And what of your activities," A sly grin rested on her lips as she continued, "Should you not be patrolling, captain?"

Feren of the Woodland Realm, captain of the guard, walked over to her and sat down beside her sword. He removed his weapons afterwards, placing his bow down whilst he kept the swords at their sheath.

His song-like voice replied, "I am sure they will endure for an hour." Feren glanced to her and gave another sad smile, "In such matters of the darkening, such light at these times is precious. And I shan't be apart from a dear friend like you."

Obara felt her chest tighten as she responded quietly, "Thank you, Feren. It means a lot to me." She paused for a moment, looking away to turn her eyes to the landscape. "I understand it isn't proper, but you are perhaps the only one who does not coddle or doubt my presence. Even my kin do not believe I am capable of ruling."

There was no doubt from her statement when she said it. In her short life, she had made acquaintances with plenty of people, dwarrow, men and elves and the one hobbit, and they have always judged her in a way that she was either too much of something or not enough of the other. But Feren, the elf who she had encountered only recently during their patrols and mission, was someone who understood what it was like to feel undermined of positions.

The elven man never doubted her or disrespected her. When an elf once spoke behind her back that she was hardly worthy of being a warrior, Feren had warned his soldier and ordered him to apologise. Not because she was the Princess of Erebor, but she was their ally.

They had begun an odd and unlikely friendship ever since, working together in public but having a friendship behind closed doors.

The woodland elf merely chided her and spoke, "Do not listen to them, Obara. They are perhaps, and sadly so, only comparing you to others who they think are suited to the role." Feren inhaled, "I know it on first-hand since Princess Tauriel had to overcome a lot of obstacles in getting to the place I now hold."

She smiled slightly, remembering her courageous and kind aunt. Obara had always respected her aunt highly. How open and free she was and fiercely loved to protect their people. If Dwalin hadn't been captain of the guard, Tauriel would've easily gotten the position.

She asked him, "How long does it normally take for your kind to become captain of the guard?"

Feren joked, "Too long." When he noticed her peering, he clarified, "I am rather young for my kind, slightly older than Princess Tauriel but it was not a surprise that she took the spot. Around three hundred years I supposed."

"How did my aunt get the position? Surely other older elves were angered that she received the position." She wondered, her hands untying her hair and letting it down. She learnt that elves hardly moved much, always poised. Unlike her years of practice of etiquette: and yet she looked like she was still slouching.

Feren answered, "She is a natural-born leader. A balance of kindness and stability one needed when fending the borders of our realm." He continued, a fond quirking on his lips. "No one doubted her, and no one batted an eye. Even without her friendship with Prince Legolas, it was inevitable that she could gain the position at some point in her life."

"But then my father and his people happened." Obara bluntly put and stared to the lake. "We took her away from you."

When she turned to look at him, Feren's jaw clicked before he responded, "Some do say it like that. It has been too short for us and there has been a lot of changes." He looked at her and said, "Though without your people and Princess Tauriel marrying Prince Kili, we won't be sitting here. Protecting the good from the darkness of Mordor."

Obara wished sometimes more people thought of it like that. The story of her and aunt and uncle had always been something to be spoken about. Sometimes romanticised and some being perhaps a sort of tragedy to them. To those who disliked it (mainly the dwarrow unfortunately), they felt sorry for Kili because he had found his One to be an elf and not a dwarrowdam. The youngest Durin to be fated to love another race.

It was already a scandal when her great-uncle Thorin married the hobbit: Bilbo Baggins and crowned them as his equal King. The two had ruled for two decades until Thorin abdicated and his heir, Fili, would take the throne.

However, Fili had found his one from the race of men. Her mother specifically.

To their surprise, they were able to conceive one child – her. The next few years took a toll on her mother's health, and after the fifth or sixth miscarriage: her mother refused to try again and decided for her to be the heir of Erebor.

By the end of it all, the line of Durin all rested upon the shoulders of one heir. Without that, they wouldn't have all of these allies, therefore no preparation for what was to come.

And with the sun somehow gone, the older elves saying it was some sort of prophecy of the end of the world, all seemed that it would be dark times ahead.

Obara admitted with a saddened tone, "This will not last though." She took a breath, swallowing the last bit of her food down. "One day we will be fighting. And I do not know if my father will let me join his side."

He assured her, "A father will always protect his children." Feren paused before he said, "But I will not argue with you. You have the temper of both parents and I know not to cross the line of Durin."

She chuckled at that, looking back up as she asked him, "You will be by my side when it does happen, will you not?"

The elf merely smiled, eye glimmering as he honestly responded, "For as long as you let me, mellon nin." [12]

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[1] - Warning Beacons of Gondor: They are the torches that are lit up when Gondor asks for aid from Rohan. This was part of the agreement when Cirion granted Rohan (formerly Calenardhon) to Eorl's people.
[2] - The White Mountains: a chain of mountains running from East to West and make up most of Gondor.
[3] - Halifirien: The nearest beacon outpost to Rohan.
[4] - Dunlanders: People of Dunland situated east of the North-South Road and north of Isengard. They ally with Sauron during the war and help with the battles between Isen and Rohan.
[5] - Haradrim: Or Southrons, were proud and warlike people of the Harad and the ancient enemies of Gondor who allied with Sauron during the War of the Ring.
[6] - Corsairs of Umbar: Sea-raiders and pirates of the Haven of Umbar. They sided with Sauron during the War of the Ring.
[7] - Prince Imrahil: The 22nd Prince of Dol Amroth in the books and movies and aided during the War of the Ring, he was related to Boromir and Faramir through their mother Finduilas.
[8] - Belfalas: A region south of Gondor which includes the mouth of the River Anduin and the city of Dol Amroth.
[9] - The West Road: Known as the Great West Road, connected Edoras to Minas Tirith.
[10] - Galadhrim: The people of Lothlorien known to be of Silvan origin.
[11] - Brand of Dale: In the books, he was the current King of Dale and led to defend the northern parts of Middle Earth against the Easterlings and forces of Sauron.
[12] - So Obara is one of the newer character's I've made up. Hers is clearly just to know what's going on in the Northeastern part of Middle Earth, which will hold a key part to when the war gets worse. Her themes of being the only heir out of all the Durinsons is going to be a key part but I can't exactly say more without spoiling her story.

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A/N: It's been so long but I just trying to get through exams. But since I'm back on the semester timetable I've been able to get through the growing pile of updates I have to do.

This was a sort of filler chapter, introducing Boromir's involvement with the story as well as my OC: Obara who is the only child of Fili and Sigrid. She's going to pop back up once in a while just to get you guys informed on what's going on in the North East. Eventually, in future stories, more about the characters in this part of the world would show up.

Edited: 07/02/2022