In Beorn´s House
"Our home"
They stood on top of the Carrock, and looked past the dawning sun to catch the first glimpse of Erebor.
Their belief that the worst was behind them mixed with the hope and warmth that they felt, as the goal of their quest lay right before their eyes. Knowing that their goals had to be put into perspective, Bilbo, the thirteen dwarves, and Gandalf soon started to climb down the hundreds of steps leading to the ground. These steps would lead to a flat rock-formation next to the river, where a fleet of mighty stones crossed over to the shore.
On their journey down from the Carrock, it was clear to all the growing pain that Thorin forced himself not to show. In the rear end of the dwarven line, Bilbo carefully climbed down the steps with Thorin, Fíli and Dwalin right behind him.
Bilbo could see the grey wizards hat coming in and out of sight, as he led the company down the mighty rock. Whenever Bilbo stopped to catch his breath, and lean against the cool, steep stonewall, he let his eyes wander from the amazing view up to Thorin. Each time he looked up to Thorin, he felt worry grow in his heart because the dwarven prince grew paler by the minute. He continued to clench his left arm tight to his chest, and tried desperately to get down the steps without releasing a moan of pain.
The other dwarves exchanged worried looks too, and more than once they had tried to offer Thorin a helping hand. He refused them all, pushed away the offered hands and stubbornly made his way downwards.
Noon was nearly upon them when they finally reached the ground. The exhausted dwarves settled down on the green grass around them, and took a chance to catch their breaths and bend their hurting knees.
Fíli helped Thorin down to the ground, and settled his back against the stone. Once seated, Thorin drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. Down the steps he'd had something he could follow. Thorin had set all his thoughts on this aim, and had shut out all other thoughts.
But now, on the ground of the Carrock, he could feel the exhaustion. It felt like all of his strength and will had been torn out of him, and he wasn't even sure if he could stand up again. Then, Thorin heard his heirs voice.
"Gandalf, we have to take a break before we move on. Thorin is hurt. We have to look after his wounds first."
Despite feeling a great sudden sympathy and pride for his nephew, for speaking up for him to the mighty grey wizard, Thorin squeezed his lips and spoke up before Gandalf could answer.
"I'm alright. We can move on."
"But, Thorin, your wounds need tending." Fíli demanded, clearly worried.
"We can do this later. We have to be at Beorn's house before nightfall, and as I remember, it is still quite a distance to walk."
Supported by his uninjured sword-arm, Thorin stood back on his feet and shot Gandalf a demanding glance.
"Show us the way."
They filled their water-bottles at the riverbank, and started their long walk, over the heaths and meadows, northbound. The further north that they wandered, the more flowers and wild clover they found growing all around them.
Thousands of enormous bees hummed around them, and Bilbo, who had always been very fond of plants and gardening, wondered how much honey these bees would produce. Maybe, this thought crossed his mind because he had grown quite hungry after a while. They had lost nearly all of their supplies in Goblin-town, and barely managed to get away from the wargs with their bare lives.
Bilbo shot another glance to Thorin, who stubbornly made his way through the knee-high grass, slightly limping and still clutching his left arm tightly to his chest. A shiver ran over Bilbo as he remembered Azog and his warg, and how they had easily lifted up Thorin's limp body and threw it away like a hated doll.
Fíli and Kíli stayed close to their uncle to help him if needed, but Thorin's gaze gave no question that he would cut them of as soon as they tried to give him unrequested assistance.
"Stubborn dwarves," Bilbo could not refuse to think.
"Why?" he heard Nori asking Gandalf curiously "Why can't we set up a camp, hunt some dinner, and make our way to this Beorn tomorrow when we have all had some sleep and food?"
"Be assured, Master Nori, you don't want to be outside in these lands when darkness falls." the wizard answered in a dark voice. "There are more wild creatures wandering these lands than you can imagine: creatures living nearby, but also coming out of the close woods. And I'm not sure if Master Beorn is not the most dangerous of them. He is a shape-shifter, and the last time I saw him in his bearskin, sitting on top of the Carrock in the moonlight, murmuring to himself "My days will come". I am sure it's not good to meet him on his lands at night, without him knowing of us or our faith."
"I remember Beorn," Thorin surprisingly spoke up. "As a young dwarf I sometimes travelled through his lands on my hunting trips, but I would never come here after I'd been successful. I think he doesn't like his animals, or any animals, being hunted." He smiled ironically.
With very few breaks, they continued their way all afternoon and climbed the last green hill in the setting sun. Finally, the forest came into view clearly; a wooden house clenched to its skirts. The company stood still for a moment, impressed by the huge woods and the big wooden house. Thorin let out a small sigh and allowed himself to shoot a little, grimly smile up to Gandalf, who stood next to him. Gandalf looked back in return, a clear smile of relief on his tired face.
Shortly after, Thorin knocked on the beautiful carved door himself and it swung open immediately, revealing a huge man, nearly not fitting into the door-frame. His face was barely noticeable under a thick beard and hair, that grew uncombed out of his face and head, and all down his back. Bare chested and bare footed, he stood with alert eyes spiking out of the brown mass of hair. He blinked warily down at the company and their leader.
"What do you want?" Beorn thundered.
The dwarves backed away, but Thorin sent a wry smile up to the impressive state of a man.
"Seems you've grown old, since your memory seems to fade, Master Beorn. Thorin, at your service" he announced the dwarfish greet.
Beorn mustered Thorin from head to toe, his face lighting up with recognition.
"Thorin Oakenshield", he thundered. "What brings you to this godforsaken country!"
With these words he bent down and pulled Thorin into a hearty bear-hug. Thorin, tired and in pain, grimaced but returned the hug, and clenched his teeth to a worn-out smile none of his company could see. He was happy to meet Beorn, although he should have reminded himself of the hearty welcome the Shape-shifter used to give to old friends.
Beorn shoved Thorin an arm-length from him and looked him up and down more thoroughly, taking in his torn clothes, the dried blood on his coat and the fresh cuts and bruises on his friends face.
"You're wounded." he proclaimed. "What happened that a dwarf prince travels so far from his known ways, in the company of thirteen…no twelve dwarves, a wizard… and a halfling?"
His eyes rested on Bilbo for a long second, before they wandered back to Gandalf. He took two steps towards him and pulled him into the same bear-hug. Then, he turned to Thorin again, smiling dryly: "You made your decision, you dare-devilish son of a wolfess!"
He threw an appreciative nod towards Thorin, before he continued. "You're on your quest to take back Erebor."
He sounded all to pleased by this perception, and looked at Thorin and his company with new recognition. Again, he wanted to pull Thorin into a bear-hug, as he realized Thorin's pale and bruised face, and the painful way he held his injured arm.
Beorn squinted his eyes and his face turned worried: "You look like you've been squeezed between hammer and metal. Come in, all of you, and find something to eat. You all look pretty brushed up, I should say. My pantry is full and I am sure it's enough even for thirteen starving dwarves."
He led them into his warm, wide house, and showed them the way to his kitchen where they sat down on a large wooden table.
"Is there a cook in this illustrious company? Ah, I see."
At Beorn's words, Bombur stepped forward and stood full height and width before him.
"Help yourself in the pantry, and prepare something for your starving friends, while I have a word with the leader of your company."
Beorn led Thorin through another door and into a smaller room. He gestured for Thorin to sit down on some sheets and pillows all ready on the floor, in dwarven height.
"Did you know we were coming?" asked Thorin as he saw the beds that seemed clearly set up for guests.
"Gandalf may have sent me a message that you might need a place stay for the night, food … and medical attention," answered Beorn, who had turned to restart the fireplace in the corner.
"I'm fine." Thorin said, right out of something that seemed to be a habit.
"No, you´re not". came Balin's grumbling voice from the door.
With a look to Beorn, not to Thorin, Balin asked for entrance and was followed by Óin, the healer of the group. Óin carried the small remaining pack of medical supplies, that he never left out of sight, into the room.
"Now, we have somebody to finally have a look on you, you stubborn old fool," demanded Balin.
Thorin drew in a breath, but felt he could not bear the fight. He gave in and began removing his dirty furs. He even let Balin help remove his coat and armour, and as they finally got rid of the torn tunic, they could take a look at the damage that the wargs teeth had done.
Beorn's eyes widened in disbelief. "You were not walking in this state and with a dislocated shoulder all the way from he Carrock to my house?"
Thorin's chest and left side were black and blue with bruises, and blood had dried over the deep and small cuts, and the grazings, on his body. His ribs seemed to be heavily bruised, if not broken.
Thorin gave a little half shrug and finally let Balin and Beorn help him lower himself to the sheets.
"We had to be here before nightfall." he said simply.
A heavy tiredness took over him, and it soon felt like all of his strength, willpower, and his fight with words had left his body.
"I'm really curious what adventures you already went through, Thorin Oakenshield," Beorn said with a friendly voice. "But first, let us tend your wounds and relieve you from some of the pain."
Óin had carefully scanned the bruised areas and the dislocated shoulder. He gave a little reassuring nod to Thorin, who had closed his eyes. Then, Óin waved Balin and Beorn over to the fireplace.
"We have to set his shoulder, and quick. Then, we clean and bandage the other wounds. Beorn, do you have a clean cloth, warm water, and some brandy?"
Beorn nodded and left.
"Balin," Óin turned to the older warrior."we need somebody to hold him down while I set his shoulder. Go and get Dwalin for this."
Balin and Óin exchanged looks and turned towards Thorin's sickbed, and found he had opened his eyes again. Balin quickly nodded reassuringly towards his king, then followed Beorn out of the room.
"My ears are quite well, Óin," said Thorin dryly. "If you have to set the shoulder, do it quick. I have been in battle and know what's coming. Just do it."
Óin rummaged in his leftover pack, and drew out a small package of herbs. After smelling it, he revealed a smile and took the bottle of Brandy that Beorn handed him. He poured a good mug full of it, and after adding a teaspoon of herbs he thoroughly mixed it.
Then he handed the mug to Thorin, who suspiciously eyed it.
"Drink this, before we start."
"What is it?" asked Thorin, smelling the liquid.
"What do you think? Brandy with some herbs, as you just saw. Helps you to relax."
Thorin frowned, but decided to trust Óin's healing abilities, as he always had. He put the mug to his lips, and tasted the awful mixture. But once he had started drinking, Óin took a firm hold of the cup and forced Thorin to empty it in one big swallow.
Thorin coughed and immediately felt waves of dizziness fall over him. He wasn't used to drinking strong liquids, and he never liked the taste. Thorin managed to ask himself it the sudden dizziness was caused by the Brandy, or the herbs.
He felt the mixture burning hot in his veins, and was hit with the unavoidable desire to close his heavy eyes. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dwalin enter the room and receive quickly whispered orders from Óin. Then, Thorin felt his upper body moved and positioned upright. His injured arm was lifted, and this was followed by a loud crack and a scream.
For a brief moment, Thorin wondered where this scream came from but then soon realized that it came from his own mouth. Heat radiated from his burning shoulder, sweat broke out on his forehead, and darkness claimed Thorin Oakenshield. He accepted it gratefully.
Dwalin, Balin and Beorn entered the kitchen together and found the other dwarves, and Bilbo, inside. They were sitting and standing around, not knowing what to do with themselves. They had all stopped straight in their movements at the sound of screams. Fíli and Kíli had jumped to their feet in order to rush to their Uncle's side, only to be held back by Bofur and Glóin.
"My brother knows what he's doing." Glóin reassured the young heirs of Durin.
Bofur smiled and shoved some plates into their arms to keep them occupied, while they all waited impatiently for news from their king.
Bombur had managed to fill the large wooden table with bread, butter, cheese and honey, but none of the dwarves felt hungry enough to touch any of the food yet. Sixteen worried eyes settled upon Balin, Dwalin and Beorn, as they entered.
"Is Thorin going to be alright?" asked Ori.
Fíli and Kíli frowned.
"He's sleeping now." Balin answered. "Óin had to set his shoulder, and is looking after his other wounds now. He says the worst is over."
"I hope so" added Dwalin, who looked very pale. "I hope".
"Sure he's gonna be alright," thundered Beorn. "He's Thorin Oakenshield. Do you have so little faith in the king who called you to your arms?"
At this all dwarves went into loud protest, for they would follow Thorin to the end of all things.
"Good." smiled Beorn. "So don't sit here like some picture of misery. Eat and drink. Thorin can't go to Erebor with a troupe of starving miserables."
The first Thorin felt when he woke was warmth. A comforting warmth from a fireplace and cosy blankets, although it was a bit too hot in his opinion. His bedroom in the Ered Luin? It couldn't be. There were no familiar sounds around him, no crying from young Fíli and Kíli, or his sister rummaging around the house. No, just some deep sleepy breaths.
And although the warmth was so welcoming and he desperately wanted to slip back to sleep, he forced his eyes open to find an unfamiliar ceiling over him. This was not his house in the Ered Luin, not the ceiling of Bilbo Baggins Hobbit-hole in the Shire, or the dark sky he was all too used to find in his fretful sleeps. His eyes spotted a carved wooden bear-head in the corner.
Where was he?
Thorin moved his sword-arm to search for Orcrist, out of reflex, but couldn't find it in its usual place beside him, ready to grab. He tried to move his upper body, so he could search the area around him, and immediately regretted it as pain shot through his left shoulder and side.
He let out a moan and fell back on to the pillows. A movement at his right brought Balin's worried but smiling face into sight.
"Stay down, Thorin. Everything is alright."
"Balin." Thorin groaned, "The company. Is everybody…"
"Everybody is fine, Thorin. Just a little brushed up," ensured Balin, helping Thorin into seated position.
Thorin leant his back against a wooden pillar, so that he could have a look over the unfamiliar room, and at the dwarves of his company who all slept peacefully by his sickbed. Next to him were Fíli, Kíli, Dwalin and Óin. A little further away Bifur, Bofur, Bombur and Glóin rested. Beside them. Ori, Dori and Nori slept. Even Bilbo was there, all curled up under a huge blanket, snoring peacefully.
Thorin took a deep breath, relieved to see everybody save and sound. His right hand hovered up to his chest, where Óin had bandaged his injured arm tightly to the body to prevent it from moving and hurting too much.
The bandages around his bare chest showed stings of yellow and red, where the ointment and blood had soaked through, but his wounds didn't appear to bleed any more.
Thorin bit his lips and swallowed hard, suddenly remembering the nerve wracking crack when Óin had set his bones back into place. How much time has passed since then?
Balin poured something out of a jug into a mug and handed it to Thorin. "You should drink something. Óin said you may get a fever."
And yes, as their hands touched shortly around the mug, Thorin could feel the coolness of Balin's hands which meant that he himself was burning up. He took the mug thankfully, but paused before he lifted it to his lips.
"Some more of Óin's herbs?" he asked frowning.
Balin smiled "No, just cool tea. Sage. Helps with the fever."
Thorin took some long sips, he had not realised how thirsty he was, and handed the cup thankfully back to Balin.
"What time is it?"
"Second watch," Balin answered. "Still a few hours till dawn. You should go back to sleep."
"You're keeping watch?" Thorin asked surprised slipping down to rest his head against the cozy pillows again.
"This is a friendly house, Balin. You can easily go and get some sleep, too," he added, as he settled himself back under his blanket.
Balin just smiled fatherly, pulled the blanket a little tighter over Thorin and continued to keep watch over his king.
Dawn was over already as the dwarves, one after the other, moved slowly and stretched their hurting limps. Dwalin, on third watch, opened his eyes. He must have closed them just for a minute, right as the sun began to linger through one of the windows. Damn, how long did he fall asleep? His eyes shot to Thorin's bedroll.
"Where is Thorin?" he thundered.
All dwarves shot up, most of them being right on their feet, grabbing their arms.
"Thorin, Thorin!" they shouted.
"I'm here, you fools!" Thorin's deep voice came from outside the house.
And there he was, sitting on a bench, letting the morning sun shine into his still bruised face. They all exhaled loudly, smiling at their king, before they returned to Beorn's house to get dressed for breakfast.
Fíli, Kíli, Balin and Bilbo stayed behind.
"Do you feel better, uncle?" asked Kíli.
"I'm alright, boy." Thorin said, giving a little smile to his youngest heir.
He still looked tired, but much better.
"What are you doing outside?" Balin asked.
"Can't a dwarf enjoy dawn in front of a friendly house?" Thorin asked back.
The truth was that he couldn't stand lying on his injured shoulder, feeling all strapped down with the bandages over his chest. So, he got up as quietly as he possibly could and tried not disturb his exhausted fellowship.
Thorin happily found some freshly boiled tea in the big hall, and his pipe in his coat, which he had slung over his unmovable arm.
"But Fíli, help me lightning this pipe, will you?" he asked one of his nephews. "This bloody arm of mine is still not usable." as if he had been bearing this burden for quite some time.
Thorin wasn't a very patient dwarf.
Fíli lit the pipe and handed it back to Thorin, who thanked him and took a deep drag.
"You both look hungry," he proclaimed to Fíli and Kíli, as they kept on eyeing him worriedly. "Why don't you go and find some breakfast?"
Realizing that Thorin wanted to speak with Balin in private, they left them sitting side by side on the bench. Friends and warriors, in a rare quiet moment. Bilbo had taken a few steps towards the woods to not disturb the family, when he heard Thorin speak again.
"They are good boys. They are going to be good heirs for the kingdom once we have reclaimed Erebor."
He turned and saw that Thorin had closed his eyes, looking tired, and old. His dark hair seemed to have some more grey strands, and his face looked pale, worn-out and emaciated.
"Why do you say that?" Balin asked. "This warg didn't kill you, nor did Azog. You will be King under the mountain for a long time."
But Thorin waved Bilbo over with his free hand.
"Master Baggins, I have thanked you yesterday, and I thank you again. I could easily have fallen in battle. If not for you, Bilbo, I would not sit here. I owe you my life."
Before Bilbo could answer, Thorin turned to Balin.
"Balin, Bilbo, you must promise me something. If I cannot finish this quest, if something takes my life or my mind, you must stay with Fíli and Kíli, and get them all the help they need to become good Kings. Durin's line shall not be broken. Promise me."
"You are still feverish, Thorin. I will not allow you to think of that. You need to rest, and we can talk about this later."
"Promise me," Thorin insisted, laying his hand on Balin's shoulder and looking from him to Bilbo. "You must do everything that is necessary to keep the kingdom alive."
Balin could feel the heat radiating through Thorin's body. He locked eyes with him and said "I promise."
Thorin fixed the burglar with his ice-blue eyes.
Bilbo swallowed, before answering. "I promise."
They led Thorin back to his sickbed, where he sunk on to his sheets and was fell asleep in seconds. He did not wake once, till the sun set again. Bilbo, Balin, Kíli and Fíli kept watch over him, and took turns changing the cool cloth on his hot forehead.
Óin tended the cuts and bruises on his chest, Thorin did not stir. But finally in the late afternoon-light his breathing became deeper and easier, the pain struck wrinkles around his eyes mended, and he seemed now to be really peacefully asleep.
In the last daylight, Óin was just lightning some candles for better sight and checking Thorin's temperature. Óin rested a cool hand against his forehead, before Thorin shifted and slowly opened his eyes.
"Good to see you awake again, my king," said Óin.
"How long was I out?" Thorin asked.
"The whole day. You where fighting a high fever, but it's over now. It's turning dark outside. You must be hungry."
And yes, Thorin felt the hunger grow. The familiar feeling in his stomach completely settled him back into reality, away from the bad dreams he had all day. Óin helped him to sit up, readjusting the sling around his arm, and handing Thorin a cup.
"Just cool water" Óin smiled, reacting to Thorin's suspicious look. "How do you feel?"
Thorin took a sip from the mug before saying: "Better, thanks."
"I will go and tell the others, so that they leave you something from dinner."
Óin got up and left Thorin deep in his thoughts, which were of the conversation he'd had with Bilbo and Balin that morning. Or had that also just been another dream?
The End