Beorn watched the strange woman and the hobbit walk back to the house in the waving, golden grass that was nearly taller than Bilbo. The two looked surprisingly chummy, and it seemed they had spent the day in each other's company. He scratched his scruffy chin and went inside, pondering what it meant, if anything at all.
Supper that evening was even more extravagant, if such a word could apply to the roughhewn setting, than it was the night before since Beorn knew they were staying another night. Though he did not enjoy having guests, he went out of his way to take good care of any he had. "Sixteen guests!" he thought as he observed the many faces around the table and wondered why he was so unlucky. He was looking forward to having his quiet house back to normal.
Morine was sitting next to Bilbo, and they were talking to each other. Now and then, a dwarf would jump into the conversation. Of his guests, the hobbit had seemed the least likely to befriend the suspicious woman, but perhaps he was more naïve than Beorn had believed. He shook his head and drank deeply of his mead, haphazardly splashing some in his beard.
On his left, Gandalf chuckled at him. "What's so funny?" Beorn grumpily asked the wizard, slamming his tankard on the table and turning a few heads. When his pride was at stake, his temper often flared. He was in his own house, and he would not tolerate being made fun of.
"What a wonderful meal," Gandalf said jovially, deflecting the subject and stuffing his face with more food to avoid the wrath of the host.
Beorn huffed and searched for the bottom of his tankard. He noticed Bombur a few seats on his right begin chugging his mead as well, and they raced to finish their drinks, though Beorn's mug dwarfed the dwarf's mug. After a couple more rounds, others had joined the drinking contest, and before long, everyone but Gandalf and Thorin were downing the alcohol as fast as they could, though none could give the host good competition. His large frame could hold much more than even the most experienced of dwarves, and several of them had passed out now and were snoring with their heads down on the table. He guffawed and set his tankard down when it became clear to the party that he was the winner. The few dwarves that had not passed out began to sing a silly song instead.
Morine eyed a friendlier seeming Beorn from the far end of the table. Alcohol agreed with him, and he handled it as well as she did, though only six mugs had she polished off. She could not help but think that the man was rather moody. One moment, he was brooding and irritable, the next he was jovial and fun. His unchecked stares at her had not gone unnoticed either. His dark brown eyes were unnerving, and only talking with the nearest tablemate could take her mind from their stare.
She shuffled uncomfortably in her seat now while she talked to Dori about their recent escape from the goblins' caverns. "…And we were seated around a campfire discussing whether to go back in for Bilbo or not, when suddenly, he appeared right before our eyes! Borin was rather upset that he had managed to slip by his guard unnoticed, and Thorin was right ticked that Borin had not been paying enough attention," Dori said, cheeks ruddy red from the drinking contest.
Morine figured that must be what Bilbo meant by having his fun, and they both laughed. He continued, "So we headed off down the mountainside because we knew that the goblins would be chasing us once the sun went down, what with us killing their chieftain and all, and we slid down a big pile of rocks. That's how I got this gash, see?" Dori lifted his pants leg and set his hairy little leg upon the table to show off his healing scar. "It caused a huge rockslide, and there was a loud commotion. We hid behind the trees to avoid the boulders. Then the goblins started coming after us, and we ran through the forest until we got to a huge clearing."
At this point, his animated story had grabbed the attention of the other dwarves, who occasionally attempted to butt in and retell it better, but Dori would have no one stealing his limelight as Morine listened intently. "Wolves started howling around us in all directions, and we had nowhere to else to go but up. We scampered up the trees as fast as we could, with poor Bilbo barely making it up in time, and fifty wolves showed up in the clearing. Then more and more and more until there were hundreds. They were not wolves, but evil Wargs."
Morine growled at the mention of the creatures she had encountered only a few times, though she knew they were the source of many troubles in this area. "They were having an important meeting that night, and they set guards at the bottom of our trees so that we could not escape," Dori described as she shook her head.
"How did you escape?" she asked him.
"Gandalf used that magic of his," he said, not knowing how to explain it. "He set pinecones on fire and threw them at the wolves. He even hit the chief smack in the nose." The table exploded in laughter. "They ran around lighting each other on fire and some ran away altogether. But the guards had not left us, and they piled wood around the trunks, letting the ones on fire run by and light them."
She gasped. "How did you escape?" she asked again, green eyes wide in wonderment.
"The Lord of the Eagles saw what was happening, and he swooped down and picked up Gandalf with his huge talons," he said, making large arm motions. "Then other eagles came by and picked us up one by one, and we barely escaped before the fire got us. Poor Bilbo was hanging by my legs the whole flight back up to the mountains. We stayed with the eagles for the night and ate some warm meat—"
"For the first time in three days, mind you," interjected Bilbo with the pertinent information as he wagged his finger.
"The next morning they flew us as far as they could and dropped us off atop a huge rock, almost a hill really, in the middle of a river," he said.
"The Carrock," Beorn barked.
Looking slightly flustered by the host's correction, Dori finished, "And then we followed Gandalf here."
Beorn glanced angrily at Gandalf, who had obviously taken the company straight here on the assumption that they would be given refuge without any prior notice. He felt like a fool, and his temper flared, but the wizard simply smiled behind his twinkling eyes, and Beorn calmed down, knowing that turning them away was impossible now. If he were honest with himself, he would admit that he had been enjoying their company, if only for two nights. He would make sure that the mischievous wizard would leave with his troop and that blasted woman first thing in the morning.
The evening died down much as the one before it had: Beorn slipped away outside without a word, and the dwarves and hobbit slinked off to bed one-by-one until Gandalf and Morine sat at the same table as the night before.
"We leave bright and early," the wizard said. "Beorn wishes you would leave in the morning as well, if not sooner."
She quirked an eyebrow. The large man had seemed hospitable enough despite his stares. "You're leaving as well?" she asked him.
"Yes," he answered slowly. "I had planned to leave them here, as I have a meeting with the White Council soon, but I believe I may escort them to the edge of Mirkwood. Beorn has been kind enough to lend us a horse and many ponies to get us to the trail entrance."
"That's nice of him," she huffed, crossing her arms, making Gandalf think that the dislike was mutual between the two of them.
Softly, he asked, "Have you been practicing your magic?"
"Why?" she snapped, narrowing her eyes.
He chuckled and said, "Oh no reason. I have been practicing my own to make fireworks, as you heard from Dori earlier."
After a pause, she said, "Not exactly." He waited patiently for her elaboration, though she would never tell him that she used it to shift into a panther's form while in the forest. "I did show Bilbo what I could manage today, but I've gotten rather rusty. He showed me something as well." She glanced around the hall and listened, but decided, "Come with me."
She led Gandalf to the veranda and over to the farthest side from the door. When he was settled into a lone wooden chair and paying attention, she continued. "Dori told me the story about Bilbo appearing out of nowhere when you had escaped from the goblins." Gandalf nodded his head and leaned closer, since she was nearly whispering. "He showed me how he did it. Did you know he found a ring?" His eyes widened, and he shook his head. "When he puts the ring on his finger, it makes him disappear. What kind of ring could do that?"
Being Istari, the two were familiar with all kinds of magic, but Morinehtar had never encountered something of that nature. Gandalf stared intently at the moonlit foliage around them, and Morine waited patiently for his answer. "I do not know," he said slowly, "Though I would not put it past a silly elf to make such a trinket. I doubt it is dwarven. They take their work too seriously."
"What if it is something more sinister?" Morine whispered.
"Hmmm." He entertained the thought for a few seconds because shaking his head. "I rather doubt that as well. But as per your request, I will bring up Dol Guldur and the Necromancer to the attention of the White Council, though I already have once before."
Morine looked troubled by this. "If they already know about it, then why haven't they done anything?" she asked sternly.
"The Necromancer poses a greater threat than perhaps you realize," he warned. "Promise me that you will not try to take the situation into your own hands."
"Heh. Yeah right," she retorted. The stubborn woman was not the type to take orders from anyone, much less the grey wizard.
"I am serious, Morinehtar," he pleaded stonily. "We were sent here to help, not to put our lives at risk. Let the White Council do what it will."
Her nostrils flared in anger. "And let Mirkwood be destroyed by the darkness?" she said too loudly. More quietly, she explained, "I have made my home there for the last Age, as has Radagast. If you let this evil continue to spread, all of Middle Earth could eventually be threatened, and is this not what our mission was?"
He stroked his beard, giving her time to cool down. Then he proposed, "I tell you what. Why don't we take care of each other's problems? I will take care of the Necromancer for you, if the White Council will concede to help, and you can assist the company in their quest. They could certainly use your help getting through the forest." His eyes twinkled, knowing that she would prove more useful than she knew, should she agree.
"Forget it," she said, still angry. "Slaying dragons and adventuring with dwarves is not to my taste."
"And a hobbit," he pointed out, making her sneer. "You came to me for help, and this is my only current solution."
Morine grumbled unhappily, not knowing what else they could do. "I can barely use my magic anymore, and I do not know northern Mirkwood like I do the south. I would be marginally useless," she tried to convince herself more than him.
"Very well then. Suit yourself, you stubborn old coot," he said, riling her temper again. "But keep your nose out of Dol Guldur for the time being. If you have truly lost your magic as you claim, then you would only get in our way, and if the White Council will join me in fighting off the Necromancer, then Radagast will surely assist us, and we do not want all of our beans in the same pot."
"I'll throw you in a pot," she threatened as he laughed.
"What have you to say?" he asked, wanting a simple yes.
"I say you're crazy."
He smiled and stroked his beard. "Maybe. Maybe."
"Why does Beorn want me to leave so badly?" she suddenly asked.
Gandalf quickly answered, "Because he doesn't like you."
She huffed, "Well, I don't like him either." Morine stormed toward the door to sleep in the house she knew she was not welcome in, and Gandalf marveled that she and Beorn could not be more alike.
"Promise me," he said as her foot hit the threshold, making her stop. "Promise me that you will stay away from Dol Guldur. Romen would have my head if anything happened to you."
"Don't you worry about what Romen thinks. I stopped caring long ago," Morine said bitterly, leaving the old man to his thoughts on the moon-splashed veranda.