♞ The Dragonstone (Bofur) #13 – Trust is Earned

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And so we took off, running as fast as we could across the river and through the lands. The orcs were closing in but so, too, was Beorn, whose angry growls were shaking the very trees around us.

“This way! Quickly!” Gandalf ordered.

While the others began to run, Bombur seemed transfixed, unable to move. I was about to run back and grab him when Oin did just that, grabbing onto the dwarf’s long braided beard and tugging him forward.

“Bombur, come on!”

I held my speed until the two had passed me before increasing my speed once more. It was not much longer before the house came into view and I started to realize just how much I had missed the place I called home. It was not much and not very big, but it was warm and full of memories for me. A safe place where no harm had ever come to me.

“Run!!” Gandalf’s voice boomed from the front of the pack and, to my surprise, Bombur got a burst of speed like never before, his thick body easily surpassing the other dwarves. If not for the warmth breath of the bear at my back, I would think it quite comical.

I believed in my heart that Beorn, even if bear form, would not kill me. Harm me, perhaps, and that would leave him feeling a guilt that I did not wish to present to him. While he does not completely lose himself upon shifting to his animal form, he is overtaken by the instincts of said animal and he becomes fiercely protective over his lands. In that form, he is overly cautious and will attack first while worrying about the consequences and questions later. With the orc pack now roaming his lands, I know he must be on edge more than ever.

“Come on, get inside!”

The dwarves shot through the gate and they must have believed if they rammed the front door, it would open, but they believed wrong and Bombur bounced off of it, hitting the ground with a loud thump. They scrambled to open the door, fighting and arguing as they did so.

“Open the door!” Gandalf ordered.

With a curse, I put my hand atop the head of the closest dwarf, which happened to be Thorin, but he did not argue as I leaned over him, my fingers grasping at the rusted metal lock that kept the doors shut. They swung open and the dwarves flooded into the house, scrambling to close the door before the bear could reach us, but Beorn’s speed was unparalleled.

His nose reached through the gap and he roared loudly, trying to force himself further into the home.

“Push!”

I slammed my body against the wood, but he was far too strong for us to match with. Forgive me, Beorn. I reached up as quickly as I could but he snapped at my hand, nearly pulling my fingers between his teeth.

“What are you doing, lass?!” Bofur cried, struggling to keep Fili steady as the he attempted to push the door closed.

I ignored him, reaching forward again. I chose a different angle this time and he was unable to reach my fingers before they settled on his nose. It was his only weakness in such a form and, in my opinion, it was a dirty tactic, but it had to be done. I ran the tip of my index finger from the center of his nose down to the left before back again.

His strength lessoned as he wiggled his nose and flung his head, trying to get me to stop, but I did not relent and soon he pulled back, a mighty sneeze ripping from him. First one, then another, and one more. In that time, we managed to slam the door closed, securing the wooden bar and the metal lock so that he could not get inside.

“What is that?” Ori was breathing heavily, his eyes flickering between Gandalf and I.

“And how did you know to do that?” Dwalin’s eyes narrowed at me.

“That is our host,” Gandalf shot me a look, pausing a moment before continuing. “His name is Beorn… and he’s a skin-changer,” the wizard moved farther into the home and I headed for the fireplace. “Sometimes he’s a huge black bear. Sometimes he’s a great strong man. The bear is unpredictable but the man can be reasoned with. However… he is not over fond of dwarves.”

Now that his sneezing had subsided, the bear let out a growl which slowly began to lesson in volume. Ori, who still stood by the door, turned to us. “He’s leaving.”

“Come away from there,” scolded Dori, who grabbed the younger dwarf and tugged him away from the door. “It’s not natural. None of it. It’s obvious. He’s under some dark spell!”

I scoffed as the fire roared to life within the stone.

“Don’t be a fool,” Gandalf commented as he approached me. “He’s under no enchantment but his own. All right, now, get some sleep. All of you. You’ll be safe here tonight,” he paused beside me, lowering his voice as he did so. “I hope…”

I scoffed again, pulling open the cabinet to look for any left over tea he may have had, but I only found jar upon jar of honey. He had clearly been stocking up since I left. “This was a risky idea, Gandalf. You believe that he will simply accept these dwarves because I am here?”

“Beorn trusts you more than any other,” he commented softly. “If he knows that you have placed your faith in them, perhaps he will be more… welcoming.”

“Or more angry,” I mused, giving up my search for tea and settling on a jar of cream that sat upon the counter.

“We will see. You should get some rest, my dear.”

“No. I will keep watch.”

“If you insist,” Gandalf offered me a smile before heading to the opposite side of the house where the animals are kept, the floor covered in hay that would act as a nice, but itchy, bedding for the company.

I settled down across from the door, my back resting against one of the support beams. The longer I sat here, the more homesick I felt. Beorn had been the only constant in my life since the tragedy and, to my surprise, I find myself missing the predictability of a home life. I believe I am starting to understand Bilbo to some degree.

Night soon fell and it wasn’t long before the dwarves were passed out among the hay, their snores filling up the small house. The night outside was quiet, save for the chirping of crickets, no wargs or orcs filling the night with their horrid sounds. Even Beorn’s growls had also ceased.

“You’re not going to sleep?”

I glanced over, finding Bofur leaning up on one arm, a frown on his face. “I am not tired.”

He shifted and for a moment, I thought he was going to lay back down but he stood up, slowly making his way past his kin toward me.

“Ouch!”

“Oops, sorry, Gloin.”

Gloin clutched his hand to his chest, muttering under his breath as he turned his back to the dwarf. Bofur sent me a grin as he moved closer, settling down next to me. He glanced at his kin before lowering his voice.

“You know him, don’t you?”

I shifted, bringing my knee up to rest my arm over. “Yes. Beorn is the man that I mentioned before. He is the one who raised me after my village was raided.”

“Why didn’t you tell us? Or at least me.”

“I did not know Gandalf planned to come here. Not at first,” I glanced at him with a frown. “When it came down to it, it was our only option. I did not intent to tell that he is a skin-changer because it is not mine to tell. Nor Gandalf’s.”

He nodded in understanding, shifting closer so that his shoulder bumped my own. “What was it like? Growing up with a shifter?”

“It was no different from a normal home life, I suppose. He always stayed away when he changed and made sure I knew to keep the doors locked until he had become a man once more. Aside from the times he spent out at night, things were normal here. He is a good parent.”

“But he hates dwarves,” he frowned, leaning his head back against the wood.

“He is not fond of anyone, really. Being a skin-changer makes him a cautious man. Much like my people, others would use him for their own vain glories and battles or they would torture him to ensure that he could not be used against them. His people were tortured and slain. It is no wonder he is distrusting of the world. In that respect, I can understand.”

“Do you trust us?” he questioned softly, turning his soft brown eyes to meet mine.

“At first, no. My own experiences along with being raised by Beorn had taught me to trust no one, especially with my real identity. But… I find it hard to live with the same morals. While I have no great intent to get out and befriend the world, I also do not want to hide from it. I should not have to hide who I am because the world is a cruel place. No, I have decided to embrace my bloodline and not run from those who would threaten it.”

“Like Thorin.”

I nodded. “I may not always agree with your king and he may frustrate me to no end, but I respect him. Although Azog the Defiler wishes to put an end to his bloodline, he still continues to fight. He will not let his line end without a fight, at the very least. Nor will I.”

Bofur smiled, nudging me with his shoulder. “Good! I’m really glad you joined the company.”

“Yes… as am I,” I returned the smile. “To think that I have grown attached to a group of dwarves. I wonder what Beorn will say.”

“He can say whatever he pleases, as long as he lets us live,” he chuckled, holding his hand out to me.

I hummed, slipping mine into his. “I will not let him kill you.”

“I’m holding you to that, lass.”

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“Wake up.”

I felt something nudge my side and I grunted, slowly peeling my eyes open. It was Gandalf, nudging me with the end of his staff. I went to move, only to feel a weight upon my shoulder. Bofur’s head was resting there, his chest slowly rising and falling as he slept.

“What is it?” I questioned sleepily, looking up at the wizard. “Has something happened?”

“The sun is rising,” he announced. “Beorn will soon return.”

“Do you intend to leave before then?”

He hesitated. “I believe we should talk to him first.”

“That is wading through risky waters, my friend,” I mused before shaking Bofur’s shoulder.

He mumbled something under his breath, swatting at my hand before he shifted his weight, falling to the ground now that the pillar no longer supported his back. Despite the impact, he simply rolled over and fell back into a deep sleep.

Gandalf rolled his eyes. “Dwarves.”

I chuckled, pulling myself to my feet and stretching out my sore body. “They are interesting creatures, are they not?”

“Yes, quite,” he rolled his eyes again, tone filled with sarcasm before he started to wake up the rest of the company.

I stepped over to the window. “Gandalf?”

But the wizard did not reply, too busy trying to rouse the dwarves who could quite literally sleep through the end of the world without their sleep being disturbed.

“Gandalf,” I called again, louder this time.

He sighed with exasperation before nudging Bombur with his staff once more. The fat dwarf only giggled in his sleep, attempting to bite it. “What is it, Ronan?”

“Beorn is here already,” I told him, motioning toward the window. The wizard shuffled over, peering through the glass. The skin-changer was out in the yard, chopping firewood as the horses ran about, happy that their master had returned home. Even the ducks were sticking close to him.

“Help me wake them,” he ordered, rushing back over to the group. I did as he asked but in a different way than he. I took the bucket of water sitting in the kitchen, sticking my hand into it before flinging the water onto each dwarf’s face. They woke with a start, most of them muttering what I believed to be curses in their native tongue.

It wasn’t long before they noticed the large man outside and the loud thumping of the axe slicing through wood.

“I say we should leg it. Slip out the back way,” Nori suggested.

Dwalin clearly did not like this suggestion, grabbing ahold of the front of his shirt. “I’m not running from anyone. Beast or no.”

“He is no beast,” I scowled at him, feeling offended by his word choice. “And do you need to be reminded that you have not stopped running from the orcs?”

“Why you -”

“There is no point in arguing,” Gandalf snapped. “We cannot pass through the Wilderland without Beorn’s help. We’ll be hunted down before we ever get to the forest.”

It was then that Bilbo, the last to wake, stuck his head between Thorin and Kili, curious as to what was happening.

“Ah, Bilbo. There you are,” Gandalf’s voice had softened considerably. He moved closer to the door, sending me a look. “Now, this will require some delicate handling. We must tread very carefully. The last person to have startled him was torn to shreds. I will go first and, uh, Bilbo? You and Ronan come with me.”

Bilbo looked none to pleased with this, his gaze flickering between the dwarves as he reluctantly stepped forward. “I-Is this a good idea?”

“Yes,” he responded simply. “Now, the rest of you… you just wait here and don’t come out until I give the signal.”

Bofur, who was standing on a chair to get a better look out the window, nodded his head, sending me a worried look. “Right. Wait for the signal.”

“And no sudden moves or loud noises and don’t overcrowd him,” Gandalf continued. “Only come out in pairs,” he nodded, turning to step out the door only to pause and turn back around. “No, actually, Bombur… um, you count as two so you should come out alone.”

I snorted, quickly faking a cough to try and hide my amusement. I caught Fili’s eye who smirked at me, but I could see the worry lingering within his eyes. I offered him a reassuring smile, hoping to put his mind at ease, even if just a bit.

“Remember. Wait for the signal,” Gandalf swept his eyes over the dwarves before turning and stepping out into the morning sun, Bilbo and I close behind.

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“This is going to hurt, lass,” Oin spoke softly, looking into my eyes as he settled down in front of me.

I gave him a short nod, taking a deep breath as he reached forward. Bofur, who sat on my other side, slid his hand into mine, giving me a toothy grin. “Will you tell me about where you live?”

My brow furrowed. “Why would you want to know that?”

Fili snickered from nearby. “I believe he’s trying to distract you, lass.”

“Oh – shit,” I hissed through my teeth when the cold green paste Oin had made was pressed against my wound. I did not think it possible for a wound to burn, throb, and be numb all at the same time. “I live with a man near the Anduin river. He has raised me since I was six.”

Bofur nodded, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand. “Is he a nice man?”

“You would not think so upon meeting him, but yes, he is very kind. Never has he raised his voice to me despite how much trouble I caused him as a child.”

Fili laughed. “You seem the type to be a troublesome kid.”

“Yes, well,” I smiled softly. “Things were not easy for me and I tended to cope in ways that were unhealthy, not only for myself but for those around me.”

Oin brought more of the green paste onto his fingers, slathering it across the wound. I winced, squeezing the dwarf’s hand tightly, prompting him to pat my hand with his free one.

“What kind of trouble did you get into?”

I glanced at Bofur before to Fili and Kili, who had scooted closer to hear the answer. “Well, the thing I did the most was mess with the Mirkwood elves. I would often see them patrolling their borders when I would take walks down the river. Most of them ignored me, some were kind enough to speak with me, while there were a few that did not enjoy my presence. There was one elf in particular that never missed an opportunity to insult me, not that I did not fire back at him, as well. He threatened to hurt me on multiple occasions.”

“Did he?” Kili wondered softly.

“He never acted on his threats. Maybe they were just words meant to instill fear in me or perhaps he never acted on them because I never crossed the border into his lands. Either way, they remained idle threats. Not that I did not make my own threats, though I doubt an elf felt any fear being threatened by a small child that could not see past her anger,” I chuckled at the memory, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against the stone. “He would always make the strangest faces when he got annoyed and he was quite expressive. In a way, he fueled me to keep coming back and arguing with him.”

“Maybe he enjoyed it,” suggested Kili, glancing at his brother who shrugged in response.

“Why would someone enjoy arguing with a child?” Fili countered with a quirked brow.

“Well, he is an elf,” Gloin glanced at us over his shoulder before returning to the pot of stew that he was stirring. “Hurry up and finish chopping the onions, Bombur.”

“I’m almost done, hold your horses!”

“How was that harmful, though?” Kili wondered, tilting his head to the side. “You said you did stuff that caused harm, but that seems pretty harmless.”

“Normally, perhaps, but the man that raised me is…” I paused, biting on my lip thoughtfully. I did not want to let them know that Beorn is a skin-changer, not because I did not trust them, but because it is simply not my tale to tell. He is the last known skin-changer in our world and the more people that know that, the more danger he is put in. Not that he needs protection from me, but we tend to protect those that we love, even if they do not need it.

“He’s what?” Kili pushed, leaning forward.

“He is not fond of others and prefers a solitary life,” I glanced at Gandalf who was watching me intently, most likely wondering what I would say. “He avoids the eyes of others and by antagonizing the elves of Mirkwood, I put his way of life at risk. Even then… he never got angry at me. He would simply tell me not to mess with them and forget about it.”

“And did you?” asked Fili. “Leave them alone, I mean.”

“Hm, not for a while. I believe I had just turned sixteen the last time I crossed paths with them. I had been walking down the river as always when I came across two elves pacing the border of their lands. They seemed agitated so, of course, I had to bother them. These elves, however, were not so nice. Even though I had not crossed their borders, they attacked me. I ran like the fires of Mordor were upon my heels and dodged most of their arrows, but one lodged into the back of my knee. I still have the scar it left behind.”

“Can I see it?” Kili’s eyes had widened and appeared to have a childish glint of curiosity within them.

I chuckled. “It is nothing special. Once you have seen one scar, you have seen them all.”

He pouted. “I guess so.”

“There, all done, lass,” Oin lightly patted my arm and I blinked in surprise, looking down at the bandages that had been wrapped around the wound.

“You work quick, master dwarf. I did not even notice that you were done applying the paste.”

Kili laughed. “You can thank us later!”

Bofur rolled his eyes, an amused smile on his lips. “Hey, I’m the one that started it.”

“Thank you, Bofur,” I offered him a smile, which he returned with one of his own.

Kili and Fili exchanged a knowing look before grinning, but they said nothing.

“Thank you, Oin,” I smiled at the older dwarf before pulling my hand from Bofur’s and standing up, approaching Gandalf who sat upon a rock at the edge of our camp, smoking thoughtfully from his pipe.

“Can we talk?” I questioned softly, leaning against the tree in front of him.

“But of course, my dear Ronan,” he smiled kindly. “What’s on your mind?”

“Back in Rivendell, that she-elf, Galadriel, she spoke to me within my mind.”

“Yes, she does that quite often. What did she say?”

I shifted from one foot to the other. “She told me that I need to find something.”

“Oh?” he raised a brow, eyes shining curiously.

“The dragonstone. The problem is that I have never heard of such a thing. I do not know how or where to begin.”

“The dragonstone,” he repeated, furrowing his brow in thought. “It has been a long time since anyone has mentioned that.”

“So you do know of it, then?” I wondered, stepping closer and glancing toward the dwarves. They were preoccupied fighting about the stew’s ingredients.

“Oh yes. No one knows for sure where the ring came from or even how to use its power. If my memory serves me, lord Elrond once had possession of it before it passing it on to your clan.”

“If my clan was possession of the ring, then,” I frowned at the ground. “It was most likely lost during one of the orc raids.”

“Or taken,” he offered.

I sighed, falling back against the tree. “How am I to find it, then? The way she spoke made it appear as if it were quite important that I do so.”

Gandalf hummed thoughtfully, taking a puff of his pipe before exhaling a ring of smoke. “Perhaps the solution is as simple as sitting back and waiting.”

“You really think that will work? That the ring will just… come to me?”

“Well, it’s certainly not likely but it is possible.”

“Maybe I should have asked Elrond, after all.”

“That would have been wise.”

“Ronan!” Bofur called, waving his hand in the air. “The stew is done!”

“Be right there!” I called back.

“For now,” Gandalf smiled. “I wouldn’t worry too much. Focus on what’s in front of you.”

“I will do my best.”

“I know you will, my dear Ronan.”

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I peered over the rocks, eyes narrowed at the pack of wargs and the orcs that rode them. Beside me, Bilbo did the same and when Azog paused to scan the landscape, I tugged the hobbit down by the back of his shirt. The last thing we needed was to be spotted by the defiler and his band of idiots. After a moment of pause, he kicked his warg and continued on, none the wiser to our location.

“R-Ronan,” Bilbo whispered harshly, tugging on my shirt. I raised a brow at the fear within his voice and then I heard it, the faint growling of a creature neither orc nor warg. Bilbo pointed to the left and I leaned backward, eyes growing wide.

A large bear sat not but a few feet away, watching the orcs as they fled. I knew the moment I laid eyes upon it that it was no mere bear, it was the man that had taken me in and raised me. It was Beorn. I realized now what Gandalf intended to do, but surely that would not work out in our favor. Beorn is about as fond of dwarves as dwarves are fond of elves.

Grabbing my hand, the hobbit quickly began to climb down from our perch, tugging me along behind him. I followed without a word, glancing over my shoulder, but the large bear was gone, its roar filling the night air and prompting the hobbit to run as fast as his little legs would carry him, back to where the dwarves and Gandalf were waiting.

“How close is the pack?” demanded Thorin when we got close to them.

“Too close,” Bilbo whispered, his grip tightening upon my hand. “A couple of leagues, no more. But that’s not the worst of it.”

“Have the wargs picked up our scent?” Dwalin questioned.

“Not yet, but they will do. We have another problem.”

“Did they see you?” Gandalf glanced between us and I shook my head, prompting him to raise a brow in question. “They saw you.”

“No, that’s not it.”

Gandalf nodded with pride. “What did I tell you? Quiet as a mouse. Excellent burglar material.”

The dwarves began to agree, talking loudly amongst themselves. This only further agitated Bilbo. “Will you listen? Will you just… listen?” They finally quieted down, turning their attention to him. “I’m trying to tell you there is something else out there.”

“What form did it take?” inquired Gandalf, his eyes moving to meet my own. “Like a bear?”

My lips twitched up only slightly as I nodded. His eyes widened a fraction in recognition. I suppose it was not his plan after all, but something told me it was now.

“Yes… yes, but bigger. Much bigger.”

Bofur looked between Gandalf and I, his eyes flickering down to Bilbo’s hand still clutching my own and a frown found its way onto his face. “You two knew about this beast?”

“He is no beast,” I scowled at him.

“No beast?” Bilbo sputtered in disbelief. “Did you not see the same thing I did?”

I offered no reply, ignoring the hurt look that Bofur was sending my way.

“I say we double back,” Bofur commented.

“And be run down by a pack of orcs?” Thorin questioned.

“There is a house…” began the wizard. “It’s not far from me, where we might take refuge.”

“Whose house?” questioned Thorin, suspicion clear as day within his dark eyes. “Are they friend or foe?”

I sent Gandalf a look, crossing my arms over my chest, silently communicating that this was a bad idea. Beorn would not be pleased to see such a large company of dwarves within his home. Even if Gandalf and I were there, I cannot guarantee how the man will react.

Gandalf seemed to mull over the options within his mind for a moment. “Neither. He will help us or… he will kill us.”

I sighed heavily, running a hand through my short hair. As badly as I wanted to see Beorn again, I was not sure these circumstances would be the ideal way to meet up with him once more. If I am put into a position where I must choose the man that had become my family or those that I had sworn to protect… I cannot even think of such a thing, but I know who I will choose.

“What choice do we have?” Thorin finally stated, his gaze sliding across his men.

An ungodly howl rang throughout the night, quite close and very angry.

Gandalf shook his head. “None.”

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♞ The Dragonstone (Bofur) #14 – The Skin-Changer

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As we approached Beorn, I felt a bundle of nerves settling in the pit of my stomach, but not for the reasons one might expect. It had been so long since I first left here to join Gandalf on his journey. It felt as if ages had passed by and it was the first time I had ever left his home. We have not had much time to rest, to sit and think and feel, but now I am starting to realize just how much I have missed my home, how much I have missed this man. It felt as if a group of butterflies had made their way into my belly and I briefly wondered if I had swallowed one of the bees in my sleep.

Gandalf pushed back his hair, taking a deep breath as we got closer. Bilbo was practically clinging to the wizard’s robe, much like a scared child meeting someone new for the first time. I, too, hung back a bit, using Gandalf’s taller frame to hide my own.

When Gandalf cleared his throat, Bilbo looked up at him and frowned. “You’re nervous.”

“Hm?” his gaze snapped back up when the axe came down on the wood. “Nervous? What nonsense,” but he could not hide the tension within his shoulders. At least not from me who was walking behind him. He cleared his throat again, sounding more cheery than he ever had in all my years of knowing him. “Good morning.”

But Beorn did not hear, or perhaps he simply did not care, and continued to chop wood.

“Good morning!” the wizard tried again, a bit louder this time.

Beorn finally paused, but did not turn, his deep voice making me smile. “What do you want?”

“Well, simply to thank you for your hospitality,” the wizard smiled but it faltered when Beorn turned around, the chain on his wrist clinking as he brought the end of the axe down into the dirt, the handle held within his hands. “You may have noticed that we took refuge in your lodgings here last night.”

Upon moving to the side, Bilbo became visible, causing the man to tense up. “Who is this little fellow?”

“Oh,” Gandalf motioned toward the hobbit with his hand. “This would be Mr. Baggins, from the Shire.”

Beorn readjusted his grip on the axe, brown eyes set on the hobbit. “He’s not a dwarf, is he?”

I chuckled, finally stepping around the wizard. “No, he is no dwarf. He is a hobbit.”

Beorn’s eyes snapped to me, widening as he took a step closer. “Ronan…”

“Much time has passed since I left for my journey. You appear to be doing well.”

He dropped the axe to the ground, rushing forward and nearly giving poor Bilbo heart failure as the hobbit jumped back behind the wizard. His large body barreled into my own, knocking the wind from my lungs as his thick arms wound around my body, lifting me off of the ground. I could hear a commotion inside the house, followed by Bofur’s voice trying to calm them. If Beorn heard them, he did not comment.

“I have missed you,” I wheezed. “But I cannot breathe.”

He released me instantly, gently setting me back onto my feet. “You’ve returned from your journey.”

“Not quite,” I patted his arm. “My journey has brought us back into the area, but I am afraid it is far from over.”

“And we’ve had a bad time of it,” interjected Gandalf. “From goblins in the mountains.”

“What did you go near goblins for? Stupid thing to do.”

I snorted.

“You are absolutely right,” Gandalf raised his hand a bit, using it to help make his point. “No, it was terrible.”

Footsteps behind us made the wizard’s face go pale as they first pair of dwarves exited the house, causing Beorn to go into defense mode, brandishing the axe in front of him.

For all of his talk, Dwalin looked quite meek as he stopped outside the door, his voice polite as he introduced himself and the old dwarf beside him. “Dwalin, and Balin.”

“And I – I must confess that, uh, several of our group are, in fact… dwarves,” Gandalf cleared his throat.

“Do you call two, ‘several’?” questioned Beorn, still holding his axe protectively.

Gandalf sent me a look but I simply shrugged, trying to hide the fact that this was beyond amusing to me. “Well, uh, now that you put it that way…” he stumbled over his words, trying to find the right ones. “Yes, there could be more than two…”

“Go, go.”

“Wait, that’s us!” Gloin and Oin came rushing out, bowing to the man.

“Oh, and here are some more of our, uhh… happy troop,” Gandalf smiled, holding his arm out toward them.

“And do you call six a ‘troop’?” Beorn demanded, causing the wizard to laugh nervously. “What are you, a traveling circus?”

Two more. “Dori and Ori at your service.”

“I don’t want your service.”

“Absolutely understandable,” Gandalf held his hand out as if to placate him and Fili and Kili stepped out of the house next, their gazes fixed on me with worry. “Oh! Fili and Kili, I’d quite forgotten. Yes…” the rest of the dwarves came rushing out, not in pairs, and most certainly not in a collected manner. “Oh, yes, and Nori, Bofur, Bifur… and Bombur.”

“Is that it?” Beorn questioned, his eyes not leaving the line of dwarves. “Are there any more?”

The small king was the last to step out of the house, leaning against the entryway. A flicker of recognition passed through his brown eyes before he turned them to me.

“These are your companions, Ronan?”

“They are,” I responded, ignoring the hostile look from Gandalf. “Though they are dwarves, they are good ones. I can vouch for them, if that means anything.”

He paused for a moment, sweeping his gaze across the line of dwarves. “I trust your judgement,” he set the axe down beside the wooden stump before approaching the house. The dwarves stumbled back to make room, aside from Thorin who stood his ground, his head held high.

Gandalf heaved an exasperated sigh as he looked at me. “You couldn’t have done that sooner?”

“I must admit, Gandalf, that it is quite amusing to see you so flustered. Never before have I witnessed such.”

“And never will you again, child,” the man huffed, swatting me in the back with the end of his staff before stalking over to the house. I chuckled and the rest of us followed him inside.

I glanced at the dwarves as they stood awkwardly in the entryway. “Come, take a seat.”

They hesitated, looking to their king for guidance. Bofur is the only one who did as I said, smiling brightly as he took a seat. The others shared weary looks before Fili, followed by Kili, took a seat, the rest slowly following. I grabbed mugs for each of them, setting them on the table as Beorn gathered up fruits and nuts into a large bowl for them.

“Tell me, Ronan. What is this journey of yours about?” Beorn questioned, glancing at me as he set the bowl down.

“It is not mine,” I responded, nodding toward the king. “This journey belongs to him, Thorin Oakenshield. I am simply along for protection.”

He paused before picking up the large pitcher, filling up the cups with milk. “So you are the one they call Oakenshield. Tell me… why is Azog the defiler hunting you?”

Thorin’s eyes met mine and I shrugged. “You know of Azog? How?”

“My people were the first to live in the mountains… before the orcs came down from the north. The Defiler killed most of my family. But some he enslaved. Not for work, you understand… but for sport. Caging skin-changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him.”

I scowled, hands clenched into fists that slammed down onto the table, startling Kili. “Why did you not tell me of this? Why did you never mention his name to me?”

“Because,” his eyes met mine, softening the slightest bit. “I know you better than you know yourself. You would have gone after him and you would have died.”

“You are right about that, I would most definitely have gone after him,” I stated, sending him a challenging look. “But I would not have died.” To think that the orc that had caused Beorn so much pain and suffering had been in front of me this whole time.

Bilbo shifted in his seat. “There are others like you?”

“Once there were many,” he answered softly.

“And now?”

For the first time, I feel quite annoyed by his endless curiosity.

“Now, there is only one,” he paused. “You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn.”

“Before Durin’s day falls,” Gandalf clarified. “Yes.”

“You are running out of time.”

“Which is why we must go through Mirkwood.”

“A darkness lies upon that forest,” Beorn warned. “Fell things creep beneath those trees. I would not venture there, except in great need.”

“We will take the elven road,” Gandalf announced. “That path is still safe.”

At the mention of elves, Thorin pushed away from the pillar and began to pace.

“‘Safe’? The wood elves of Mirkwood are not like their kin. They’re less wise and more dangerous.”

“They also cannot handle the insults of a child,” I commented dryly, earning a snicker from Kili.

“But it matters not,” Beorn finished, causing the king to turn his attention back to him.

“What do you mean?”

“These lands are crawling with orcs. Their numbers are growing. And you are on foot. You will never reach the forest alive.”

“That is why we need your help,” I implored him. “You are the only one we can depend upon.”

He was quiet for a moment before he stood, eyes sweeping the table. “I don’t like dwarves. They’re greedy… and blind.”

A mouse jumped onto Bofur’s arm and he pushed it off without much thought.

Beorn leaned down, gently picking the creature up into his hand. “Blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own,” he held the creature in his hand as he came to a stop in front of the king, gently running his thumb across the mouse’s head. “But orcs, I hate more. What do you need?”

“Horses,” I answered. “We need horses to travel.”

“Ponies,” Thorin corrected.

“Right, ponies for them and a horse for me and Gandalf.”

“And food,” Bombur whispered loudly, waving his hand toward me. “Don’t forget the food, lass!”

I rolled my eyes. “And food, if you can spare it.”

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Beorn stood off to the side, watching as the dwarves climbed atop their new horses. Gandalf stood to his right while I had settled on his left. “You will leave my ponies before you enter the forest.”

“You have my word,” Gandalf responded. A bird suddenly took off from the trees, cawing loudly. “We’re being watched.”

“Yes,” Beorn growled, eyes scanning the trees. “The orcs will not give up. They will hunt the dwarves until they see them destroyed.”

“Why now? What has made the Defiler crawl from his hole?”

“There is an alliance between the orcs of Moria and the sorcerer in Dol Guldur.”

“Are you sure of this?”

“Packs have been seen gathering there. Each day, more and more come.”

Distance howls filled the air.

“What do you know of this sorcerer? The one they call the necromancer.”

“I know he is not what he seems. Fell things are drawn to his power. Azog pays homage to him.”

“Gandalf,” called Thorin. “Time is wasting.”

The wizard started toward them but Beorn spoke up once more, giving him pause. “There is more. Not long past, word spread… the dead had been seen walking near the High Fells of Rhudaur.”

“The dead?”

“Is it true? Are there tombs in those mountains?”

My eyes widened and I remembered the haunting words that the she-elf, Galadriel, had spoken to us back in Rivendell.

‘When Angmar fell, the men of the north took his body and all that he possessed and sealed it within the High Fells of Rhudaur. Deep within the rock, they buried him, in a tomb so dark it would never come to light.’

“Yes,” Gandalf answered, a troubled look upon his face. “Yes, there are tombs up there.”

Beorn looked around him before settling his gaze back on the wizard. “I remember a time… when a great evil ruled these lands. One powerful enough to raise the dead.”

“You do not mean…?” I questioned, brow furrowed as I looked between them.

He nodded. “If that enemy has returned to Middle-Earth, I would have you tell me.”

“Saruman the White says it’s not possible.”

“He is a fool of an old man,” I scoffed, folding my arms across my chest. “He would rather wait for the world to be in ruin before admitting it.”

Gandalf sent me a stern look. “The enemy was destroyed and will never return.”

“And what does Gandalf the Grey say?”

He hesitated, shaking his head, but before he could answer the same bird from before circled above our heads, cawing loudly.

“Go now. While you have the light,” Beorn was interrupted by a howl in the distance. “Your hunters are not far behind.”

“Be careful,” I commented softly, my fingers grasping at his wrist.

He turned to me, taking my hands in his and bringing them to his chest. “I will never be a slave again. You’re walking into the throes of danger.”

“I know, but I must.”

“You care for them. Those dwarves.”

“I do… very much.”

“Then keep them safe,” he pressed his lips to my forehead. “But not at the cost of your own life.”

“I love you,” I whispered, feeling a heavy weight settling down upon my heart. Goodbyes really are the worst.

“I love you too. Now go.”

I nodded, quickly rushing toward the awaiting company and climbing atop my horse. I could not bring myself to look back at him, as badly as I wanted it, because I knew if I did so, I would not be able to bring myself to leave him again and I have a job to finish.

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