A.N: Umm, thanks for the encouragement, I really like what I've been doing. Don't be surprised at how long the subsequent chapters will take. This could end up being very short or so long that it could constitute an epic by itself.
Most of this will have extensive changes to Hobbit and thus Lord of the Rings canon. However, given that there is canonically a sixty-year gap between the stories, my character is likely unable to live long enough to see it. Or will she?
Review please, as they mean love and constructive criticism.
Jade Celandine, out!
Chapter 2: Back to War
The Battle of the Five Armies was unlike any experience of war the witch had ever seen. Strictly magical battles involved a certain distance between combatants – long- and mid-range was a given wizard's specialty as that was where their thrown spells had the most effectiveness. Dueling protocols always had combatants at a minimum of twenty feet away from each other, and even during the most heated of battles a werewolf was guaranteed a kill if he could get within fifteen of a wizard.
The orc, dwarrow, and elven armies, however, only had the options of horrifically long-range, with bow and arrow or ballistae, and short-range, with swords and axes slugging it out. War was dirtier than Kyra remembered.
Both she and Beorn had, via giant eagle, quite literally dropped in on the orc army in bear form, using their claws, teeth, and their devastating bulk to at times mow down the flowing army of flesh around them. Unlike the monstrosity of a black bear who had the ability to shrug off nothing less than sixteen clubs, swords, and arrows in a row, the former spy's polar bear sported the armor specifically crafted by goblins from her homeworld to morph from her dragonhide battle robes. There was something intimidating about a white bear running you down in armor plated with Celtic knots in black and bright red that gave the one wearing it a sense of visceral satisfaction.
She didn't bother shifting into human form until after the bulk of forces had descended into protracted battle and it was too confusing to figure out with colorblind eyes who was what. Her return to two-legged form was announced with a ringing laugh and the snap of a razorwhip. One whose interlocking hooks were lined with nundu blood.
That beautiful piece of personal weaponry had taken exactly 13 high-profile blackmail portfolios, 7 hits, an embezzlement charge, and two straight hours of whining to the Unspeakables running the ancient weapons armory. Nothing in the two worlds stood a chance at parting the witch from her second-favorite weapon after the first or fifth time she strangled a Death Eater bloody.
It still probably saved her life that the thing only had to nick in order for the poison to take effect against the orcs; she was a witch, not a warrior! She did her best fighting away from the body odors. When she could, Kyra also tried to cast minor jinxes and curses to trip them up. Though after the first time an elf perked up and looked around suspiciously after a casting in their vicinity she decided that they really could take care of themselves and focused on helping the dwarrows and their mounted goats.
And that one, frankly disturbing war hog.
The Elven King's elk seemed to be doing well, if appropriately leery of the wargs. The fact that she recognized some muzzles and went at them more viciously than others was irrespective to saving an innocent furry creature.
Damned Hufflepuff tendencies. Not Hagrid's CoMC class, never that!
Gandalf was nearer up the ruins of Dale than most, throwing around impressive magic bolts and looking worriedly for something or someone. The bellowing of combatants and animals did nothing to hinder her sense of smell, however, kept enhanced in her two-legged form as it was, so when she caught a scent without a discernible body to accompany it, she followed.
It entered Dale, heading straight for the sounds of fighting. The witch sighed, reminded of another unprepared martyr-hero from a long time ago, then gently sent a stunner at where her nose told her it was and stowed the invisible body somewhere relatively safe and sheltered. The difficulty of that task should not be overstated.
The site of battle was a somewhat clean street, filled only with small debris and semi-regular footing. There, she spotted four dwarves – one wounded, the other three fighting to protect him from the albino, one-handed orc and entourage, though the latter was being dispatched with admirable efficiency. While she still had cover, Kyra began to cast and kept constant motion until the orcs were totally befuddled and unable to notice the cautious herding and occasional stings with her poisonous whip – at least until quite a number fell over the edge of the cliff. Convenient, that was.
The albino was cannier than that, however, and he had a scarred relative looking out for him. The both of them deftly avoided her swings – how that was supposed to work despite being mostly invisible was not something she had time to delve into – as they single-mindedly went for the impressively grizzled dwarf and a pair of what looked to be younger relatives; twins, despite the disparity in coloring and features.
Gods and Spirits damn the intelligent ones, she decided, then transformed back into her armored bear-shape. Without her focus and concentration to maintain it, not to mention the surge of magic when she shifted into her animagus form, the mild Notice-Me-Not ward stitched into her robes deactivated.
The witch no longer needed it; she was busy swinging her heavy paws at armor pieces and any buckle in range, hoping to loosen or cut them enough that she wouldn't risk getting gutted if she got any closer. Being in bear form made it difficult, but not impossible to avoid sword- and mace-strikes, and Kyra kept a careful eye of her surroundings to ensure that the defenders weren't in the line of fire.
She tried her best not to settle into an attack pattern. Her heavy form might be protected from getting cut open by her armor, but getting predictable could easily leave her with a crushed skull or fatal internal bleeding. In addition, her form left her bereft of her usual versatility, sacrificed for height, strength, and reach.
With a roar, she triumphantly scored a deep gash into the Pale One's face, blinding him. The witch lunged at the other combatant, leaving those behind her to let loose a cry of their own and hack the orc to pieces.
The orc attempted to swing at her exposed neck, but by then she had shifted back, and using his imbalance, Kyra took out the kukri knife at her hip and stabbed him in the knee. Once his neck was in reach, the witch slapped her whip around it, and flipping to his back and wrapping the other end in her hand, simultaneously strangled and poisoned him.
In the distance, Beorn roared his victory.
|0o00o0|
Staring at the deep slashes in her dragonhide glove, Kyra hissed and began to work it off in measured, careful strokes. The nundu blood in the gashes made this the fifth pair she'd had to discard. Luckily, Ironbelly gloves were widely available for potioneers and dragon tamers, and she had stored extras.
Maybe they could get some use out of the dragon supposedly in the lake, the witch thought, once they found a way to get the corpse out.
She sat on a log with her fellow bear-shifter outside the medical tents, having sustained relatively minor and/or easily shrugged off injuries. Beorn simply flared his nose around all the blood and death and looked impatient to be home. His neighbor pointedly met his eyes and snorted, attention returning to the glove slowly slipping out of its skintight relationship with the rest of her armor. Once it was free, she inspected her palm for even the slightest of red bruises, and finding all to her satisfaction, began to work off the other to see if the former could still be salvaged with cuttings from the hem.
For whatever reason, they were currently parked outside the royal tent, where healers of varying races scurried back and forth on their way to caring for the patients inside. Such was the constant stream of entrances and exits that the tent flap seemed in a perpetual state of flapping in either direction. The former spy was sorely tempted to spell it silent.
Gandalf the Grey was with them, as was the little creature she had Stunned on her way to the orcs. She could see a strip of blonde or grey every now and again through the entryway as they moved about.
Soon the healers began to move out more often than they came in, carrying bloodied rags and basins to be emptied. The last to go was a dwarf healer with two grey braids out of his beard curling upwards in a somewhat haphazard state. Wordlessly, he beckoned them inside as he saw himself out.
The inside wasn't particularly decorative aside from bedsheets of better quality than they could otherwise spare, but there were generous scatterings of braziers to provide warmth and the beds were a step up from the cots the other wounded were likely dealing with. Three of the dwarves she saved were surrounding the grizzled one, as was the blondie – really, she ought to remind herself to ask after his race – who looked at the witch curiously with a hint of relief.
She could well imagine the contrast: a tall, hairy, grumpy shape-shifter who closely resembled his massive black form next to a comparatively smaller, more normally proportioned young woman wearing that looked like snakeskin from head to toe. Except no snakeskin ever had scales resembling sheafs of shale laid on top of each other.
"Your Majesty," the wizard addressed the bedridden dwarf, "I hereby announce: Beorn of the Carrock and Kyra of the Blue Mountains. Miss Kyra, Mister Beorn, I hereby announce you to His Majesty King Thorin Oakenshield of Erebor." Politely, both skin-changers bowed their heads.
"I have asked you here," Thorin croaked, "to thank you for the aid you have rendered me and mine against the orcs. Without you especially, Miss Kyra, the line of Durin may have been lost; for Azog was strong and skilled."
Kyra nodded. "He was also determined to exterminate the royal family, I hear; it was my distinct pleasure to have had a hand – shall we say," she muttered to the snickering pair of twins, "in the death of such a one." Both bears had a distinctly feral sheen to their eyes remembering the carnage they caused as they dispatched of misshapen, abominable creatures. "Besides, my neighbor and I both appreciate what you've done with the Great Goblin."
The dwarven king laughed, though it subsided to hacking a short time later. "You're quite welcome," he replied dryly.
At this point, the Grey wizard moved to put the conversation back on the right track. "If the both of you can stay for at least a few more weeks, His Majesty will be acknowledging the contributions of many people during the battle. You will both be undoubtedly called upon."
Both skin-changers shrugged. They could care less about the delay if it meant they could leave immediately afterwards.
|0o00o0|
In the end, Kyra pitched her tent near where the eagles roosted and was often sighted pestering the more patient individuals with questions and tentative probing about how their lives and societies worked. She was quick to make a friend, and such was the camaraderie that sprung up between them that this Great Eagle deigned to give her a long, dark feather when it was time that they left. From then on, the hedgewitch often visited the lowest levels of the Eyrie where they lived, and they would talk and while away the time together as though they had known each other for centuries. Beorn's honey would gain a new enthusiastic consumer base, and it became rare that she should ever have run out of game, she had but to take a few jars with her on her next visit.
When the announcement went out that it was time, the former spy presented herself in style: a creamy pewter robe in a cut similar to the Vietnamese ao dai, with cheerful yellow daffodils embroidered along the aprons. Her hair was placed in a tight ponytail with an elaborate celtic knot holding it in firm, and she wore no makeup nor jewelry save a pair of golden strips dangling from her earlobes.
Again, there was a noted contrast to her significantly scruffier, hide-clad neighbor as they presented themselves with a brief bow. The throne room looked pristine, angular, every gem inlay polished as if brand new. King Thorin looked particularly better than the last time she'd seen him, sitting strong and elegant on a throne with a gem insert that seemed to glow with a strange light. Looking at it made charms in her earrings burn, so she tried to ignore the shimmer.
The speech was fairly standard, a majestic pontification of thanks and rewards promised to newly declared "friends of the Dwarven nation." From the looks on visible faces around her, that was uncommon enough to be a big deal.
Gandalf was given perpetual friendship and access through the gates of Erebor so long as Thorin's blood ruled the mountain; very nice. The blondie, who was apparently a Hobbit called Bilbo Baggins, was accorded an exact fourteenth of the treasuries as well as an honor guard to see him safely home to the West. The Elven King Thranduil – though it was obviously cringe-worthy for both parties to consider interacting with each other amicably – was awarded white, almost unnaturally sparkling diamonds set into a noblewoman's elaborate necklace. Bard the Bowman, a human with age in his temples and a whip-cord body, was promised the aid of masons to settle him and the remnants of Laketown's residents in Dale, which was already undergoing rebuilding and repairs as soon as it could have been reasonably dispatched.
Kyra and Beorn were given free reign of the countryside within the aboveground territories of the dwarrow to roam as bears. Surprisingly, the hedgewitch was also given Gandalf's level of access into the mountain in either form, though it was not extended to the larger shape-shifter, likely because the king knew him enough to know the male cared nothing whatsoever for dwarves, still.
|0o00o0|
Beorn elected to accompany the "Little bunny," as he called Mr. Baggins, and Gandalf on their way home near the end of autumn. By the time the caravan had set out – with much doe-eyed looks between the very unsubtle Hobbit and Dwarf King – the former spy had already gotten home on her own and quickly set out to correct the damage her gardens sustained after a month and a half's worth of neglect.
The days and evenings were very busy: from sunup to sundown, the hedgewitch was buried amongst her gardens harvesting and weeding, pruning and tending. Sundown meant that she was inside with the day's harvest, preserving them in varied ways mundane and magical for the winter ahead. Those products that tasted best fresh, like honey, were jarred and placed in a dug-out box lined with cooling charms. Everything else was canned, pickled, or smoked and Merlin-knew what else as they were kept and stuffed into the cellar or on the kitchen shelves. Now that she knew where the Lonely Mountain was, the former spy could Apparate to either the markets of Dale or Erebor for spices; perhaps Erebor, as dwarrow had a passion for hot peppers.
As their feast dishes had been more than happy to prove.
She cheerfully greeted her neighbor and his guests as they braved the steep trail to her spacious little estate, laying out a picnic cloth that was barely big enough for everyone and filling it with what fare she had that was still fresh or warm.
"You'll have to forgive me for not having anything more substantial out," Kyra commented, pointedly ignoring her dirt-streaked shirt and pants as she carefully redid her messy bun. "Unlike Beorn, I've no truck with large, intelligent animals to help with the yardwork." She also ignored the man-bear's wide-toothed grin as he dug into a pheasant-stuffed breadroll.
"Oh, no, no. It's not a problem at all," Mr. Baggins replied officiously, looking as though he was enjoying his meal. "The food is very good." The Grey wizard nodded in agreement.
Pride bloomed in the hedgewitch's chest. "Good."
Her guests spent only the one day, unfortunately, as the little Hobbit was eager to move on towards home. They did, however, make sure to promise to write each other, Kyra showing Bilbo the clockwork owl that she'd enchanted to work in the same way as its living counterpart. Then, they bid each other farewell.
It was with fondness that she went back to work.
A.N: (Pants and flops onto the bed in weariness)
Omigawd, you do NOT want to know exactly how long I spent writing and rewriting everything about this long-ass battle scene. Please review, especially about that part as I worked hard on it. I hope all you readers liked it.
