Thanks again everyone! I am always surprised when I wake up in the morning after posting a new chapter and I see my inbox is full. It's a beautiful thing, really, and somehow feeds my muse.

Chapter Seven: The Wanderer and the Bear-Man

The river carried Airemis a far way, winding mostly south, in the opposite direction she knew Bilbo and the dwarves would be. It began to narrow even further the farther it spread from the mountain, but the waters did not calm in the slightest. In fact, it seemed that the current became stronger, grasping at her clothes with greedy fingers and trying to pull her under.

Exhaustion had begun to settle in her limbs, and her shoulder screamed in pain anytime she moved it. It hadn't been too bad off before she had been taken by the orcs, but after their rough treatment and the jostling ride on wargback, Airemis was sure it was sprained now. She couldn't be certain how much time had passed, hours upon endless hours. Night had turned to day and the sun had slowly risen to a position high in the sky. It was a struggle to keep her head above the water and she looked for anything she could grab hold of to help her break onto the shore. But there was nothing to cling to, no vines or roots or banks of grass to grasp onto. There were only rocks, jutting up from the riverbed at sharp and dangerous angles.

Twice Airemis narrowly avoided slamming her head into the pointed edge of a river rock, and a few times she did feel something cut sharply at her legs or viciously across her back. She tried to fight the current, to swim to one side or another and forcibly pull herself from the water, but it was too strong and her body was too tired and injured and if she wasn't careful she would slip and submerge and she didn't know if she would have the strength to pull herself back up. So she let the current pull her onward, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in her shoulder and her back, and kept her eyes open for anything she could use to get out.

Despite her present predicament, Airemis did not regret her actions. She would have happily given her life to ensure that Bilbo and—surprisingly—Thorin were able to escape. It was worth her dying, she thought, to know that they were safe to continue on the quest, to retake Erebor, and to live out the rest of their days in comfort and happiness. That was her wish for them, for all of the dwarves.

The only problem was that she didn't know for sure whether they were alright. She had pushed Bilbo onto the back of one of the eagles, so she felt safe in assuming that he was unharmed. But Thorin had been injured pretty badly when last she had seen him. His face had been riddled with bruises and cuts, and she knew there was damage beneath his chain mail from the warg's teeth. A knot of worry squirmed in her belly as an image of Thorin lying unconscious on that rock popped into her mind. She had never seen him look so vulnerable, so broken, and it terrified her in a way that she didn't understand.

Airemis didn't know why she was so singularly worried about Thorin. He had been little else than cruel to her, often cutting her nasty looks or degrading her with his words. And yet, she truly did see something in him that was inspiring. He had a regality about him, an aura of purpose and strength and integrity that made her want to see him succeed in his endeavor. The thought of him injured or dead made her feel sick, made her heart clench and her lungs constrict. So much depended on that dwarf—in a way, she depended on him—and Airemis didn't think she could stomach it if something happened to him. Even if he did drive her mad.

The river suddenly dropped about five feet, hitting a small patch of rapids. It wasn't extremely violent, and yet, Airemis was not in the condition to brace herself. She had been too long without rest and her body was slow to obey her mind's commands, so that when she saw the large rock just up ahead and tried to move out of the way, she only managed to avoid the worst of the blow. Her left side still smashed into the rock and her feet slipped on the loose pebbles that made up the riverbed. She dunked under the water for only a second, but it was long enough for the current to snatch her and pull her body into an uncontrollable spin.

Her back slammed into another rock as the current rolled her under the surface of the water, and then it spun her around and headfirst into another rock. Her vision swam in darkness, pain lanced through her skull, and she knew she was fighting a losing battle for consciousness. Soon she would pass out completely, unable to reach the surface of the water, and she would drown. Already her lungs burned for air, her ears rang, and her sight was bursting with ever-growing patches of black.

She couldn't hold it any longer. Her mouth opened, almost involuntarily, and water flooded inside her, choking her, scorching a path deep down into her chest. She gagged, but only more water filled her nose, her mouth. She couldn't pull herself up, couldn't fight the current. She was tired. So tired.

Dimly she was aware of a nearby voice. It was masculine and garbled, as if the person were speaking through thick glass. She couldn't understand it. A strange peace had begun to settle over her now, but the voice kept calling out and she wished they would just shut up already and stop bothering her. Something latched onto her arms, a pressure just above her elbows. There was a rushing sound, and then cold air wrapped around her. Airemis gasped and it was precious air that met her hungry lungs. She choked and sputtered and a hand slapped her roughly on the back, not heeding the large gash that cut across her shoulder blades.

She blinked the water from her eyes, but her head was still spinning and her vision wouldn't clear. There was a shape next to her. It was very large and she could make out hints of brown and grey, but no exact details. And then her body gave in to the blissful darkness that had been threatening since she hit her head, and Airemis fell unconscious.

It had been necessity that had urged them onward. The danger of the pursuant orc pack was still fresh on everyone's mind and Thorin knew he had to ensure their safety. He couldn't allow another of his company to fall victim to Azog. And so he pushed them on, not allowing them to stop and grieve their recent loss.

Perhaps he seemed cold-hearted, or unaffected, but it would be too much for Thorin to bear to see the pale orc destroy anyone else he cared about. And he did care for the others, each and every one of them. Even the hobbit and the wizard. He felt a deep responsibility for them, and he couldn't abide anything as terrible as Airemis's fate befalling them.

Thorin tried to keep his mind off the girl. He knew the chances of her survival were slim and even if she was alive it was as Dwalin and Balin had said: she would be better off dead. He knew what orcs did to the women they captured, the many ways in which they would break her. They would use her like a plaything, passing her around for sport, and then, when she was too battered to use any longer they would dispose of her, or worse, eat her alive.

It was an image that often plagued his mind, Airemis bloodied and abused, being befouled while the monsters looked on and cheered and called out taunts and insults. Despite trying to think of other things, it seemed his brain could only conjure up such vivid nightmares. He slept little, ate even less, though no one in the company seemed to notice. They rarely said more than what was necessary. There were no jokes around the fire, no songs nor tales. A profound sullenness had descended upon them all.

Fili and Kili would no longer indulge in tricks or pranks. Bofur had ceased his usual teasing. Dwalin's proud shoulders now sagged and his eyes rarely made contact with anyone. Bilbo had reverted into himself, never speaking much and always watching the skies for signs of an eagle bearing some welcome news.

The eagle that Gandalf had sent out had returned to them four days hence, but brought no great news. It had found the ridge upon which they had been rescued empty and when it swept over the mountainside it had found no trace of the orc pack. The creatures had moved on, possibly taking to a cave for cover, and the group had lost what little hope they had been holding on to.

"There is something I must divulge," Gandalf said, breaking Thorin from his musings.

They had been traveling nonstop all day, though no one had voiced any complaint, Thorin figured it wouldn't be any harm to allow for a short break. "What is it?" he asked.

The other dwarves had stopped as well and all gathered around the wizard. Gandalf looked to each of them, his eyes heavy with sadness and resolve. "I have seen you safely over the mountains, but for me, this journey is almost up. I will accompany you a little further, but then I must away on business of my own."

The dwarves all protested at this.

"What? But we thought you would see this through," Dori said, outraged.

"What business could be more important than taking back Erebor?" Nori demanded.

"You're abandoning us?" Kili asked.

"You can't just leave us!" Fili said.

The dwarves were working themselves into an uproar, even Bilbo was voicing his concerns. It became too much for Thorin, who seemed to have less patience than normal in the past few days. "Enough!"

Everyone fell silent and looked to their leader. Thorin went on, "Gandalf is free to come and go as he pleases. This quest is not his responsibility and we have no claim over his time, nor do we have the right to demand answers from him." He turned to the wizard and said, "How much further will you be able to accompany us?"

Gandalf leaned on his staff, giving Thorin an appraising look. Apparently he had not expected the leader of the group to come to his defense like that. "I will see you to a friend's home where we can enjoy rest and replenish our supplies, and from there I will travel with you to the edge of Greenwood—or Mirkwood, as its inhabitants now call it. I will depart from you there. Though I may come to check back in with you at a later time."

Thorin nodded, though this news did not please him. "And who is this friend to whom you are leading us? Another elf?" There was no anger to his words, just curiosity.

"No, he is most certainly not an elf," Gandalf said. "His name is Beorn and he is one of the only people who lives in this area. You will have to be very polite when I introduce you all. I will introduce you to him slowly, in small groups of two at a time, I should think. And you must be careful not to annoy or offend him or who knows what may come of it! He can be terrible when he's angry, though he is a pleasant enough individual when the mood is right. Still, I must warn you that he angers easily."

"And you don't have any more easygoing friends?" Gloin asked.

Gandalf shook his head. "Not in this part of the world. But Beorn is a trusted friend and ally. He is very strong and, if you must know, he is a skin-changer."

"A skin-changer?" Ori looked positively frightened by the aspect.

"Yes," the wizard said. "He changes his skin, just as the term suggests. Sometimes he is a man, and a rather large one at that, and sometimes he is a bear."

"A bear?" Bofur asked. "Of course a bear. Couldn't have been a nice little bunny or kitty, but a bear of all things."

"Airemis would have loved to meet him," Bilbo suddenly said. He was staring off at a point over the wizard's head, his eyes glassy. "She would have thought someone like him grand."

The dwarves quieted at this, all falling back into somberness. Gandalf laid a hand on Bilbo's shoulder and said, "And Beorn would have been equally enchanted by her. As are most who have enjoyed her company. Your cousin always possessed a certain talent for capturing hearts, and she will ever live on within those whom she touched."

Bilbo looked on the verge of breaking down at Gandalf's lament, so Thorin, who couldn't allow for such a thing when his own heart hurt, said, "We have a few hours left before nightfall. I'd like to put more distance between ourselves and the mountains."

Gandalf nodded. "Good idea. We can cover most of the distance between ourselves and Beorn's halls this evening, and then reach him by mid-morning tomorrow."

And so they carried on unstopping until long after the sun had fallen from the sky.

Airemis's head was pounding, her back felt flayed open, her limbs were sore and weak, and her tongue was dry and scratchy like a cat's. She had only been awake for a few moments, but the second she had become lucid her body had quickly reminded her of the beating she had taken from the river.

She peeled her eyes open, blinking blearily and trying to clear her vision. Her headache seemed to culminate right behind her eyes though, and she quickly shut them, unable to suppress a groan. And that's when she heard it: the shuffle of booted feet coming nearer, the swish of heavy fabric and the sloshing of some liquid. She tensed, her muscles screaming from the movement, and snapped her eyes back open, trying to focus on the approaching figure.

"Easy," said a gravely voice. "I mean ye no harm." The figure squatted next to her and slowly Airemis was able to make out the weathered face and grizzled beard of an old man. He leaned next to where she lay upon the ground, and he gently lifted her head with one hand, bringing a crudely made clay cup to her lips with the other. Her enormous thirst overpowered her suspicion, and she drank deeply.

She had expected water, or maybe even honeyed wine, but what hit her tongue was a strong mixture of warm herbs and spices. She coughed, caught off guard, but as she swallowed the liquid she felt an immediate relief. A tingling heat spread through her veins, washing away the stiffness in her limbs and the aches that had settled into her bones, and even the persistent throbbing in her skull began to abate.

"What is that?" she asked, when she had finished the entire cup and the old man had laid her head back down. She looked at him closely, studying his features. He was obviously old, but not decrepit. His body was not gnarled and stooped, but looked to be strong, if not a bit stiff around the joints. His face bore many lines, and his hair was completely grey, but his eyes still shone with sharp intelligence.

"Just a simple tisane," he said, waving her question off. Airemis didn't believe it was just an ordinary medicinal tea, though. The effects were too immediate. There was some sort of healing magic at work here.

"Who are you?" She stared up at him, taking in his worn brown pants and the grey cloak wrapped around his shoulders. She only just noticed that they were in some sort of hut with a fire burning in the middle of the small, round room. The walls were made from thick wooden sticks and lots of mud, and there was no ceiling, just a slope of yet more sticks and a large open hole at the top to let out the fire smoke, she thought. She was lying bundled in a pile of animal furs, and all around the walls hung weapons and snares, and a few dead foxes and rabbits.

"My name is Dagget."

"Dagget," she repeated. "And is this your home?"

"I don't keep just one home," Dagget said, "but many. I'm a wanderer. I don't set down roots. I go where I please, and I do as I please."

Airemis nodded in understanding. That was how she had lived her life since her father had died. "Sounds lonely," she said, more an observation than a question.

Dagget huffed, "I like being alone. I find the company of others to be bothersome."

"Is that why you're here? So far from any towns or settlements? To be alone?" Airemis knew she was annoying him with her questions, but something about the old man intrigued her. Her eyes kept roaming over to the weapons: swords and a couple bows and several quivers of arrows. There was even a spear propped against the wall of the hut. They were expertly made, she could tell, crafted by skilled hands. Probably Elven make, if the long vine-like etchings on the scabbards and shafts were any indication. Similar to the sword her mother had bequeathed to her, which was now lost to the orcs. A pang of loss hit her as she remembered her sword being stripped of her. That was one of the few mementos she had left of her mother. It had been a fine blade, and the weapons in Dagget's hut were just as nice. These were not the weapons of an aimless wanderer.

"Aye," he said. "I came this way to enjoy time to myself. There are few who enter these parts, and even fewer who make a home this far north of Rohan. So, imagine my surprise as I'm out fishing and I see what appears to be a young boy, all alone in the wilderness, and drowning not ten feet from where I'm standing, scaring off all the fish, too!"

"I'm not a boy," Airemis said. "And I'm not a child, despite my size."

"I know that now," Dagget said. And then, when she shot him a funny look, he went on, "I had to rip off your wet clothes, lest ye freeze. And ye had some nasty cuts that needed bandaging."

Airemis's eyes widened at this and she quickly lifted the furs that covered her and took a peek beneath. Sure enough, she was completely naked except for a few gauzy wrappings around her ribs and on her thighs. She pulled the furs back down and felt her face flame. She shot the old man a wary gaze.

"No need to worry for your virtue. Taking advantage of an unconscious girl has never been an interest of mine," he said. "Besides, ye have nothing to offer that would tempt me, little one. I like my women—when I am in a mood to entertain a woman, that is—to have some meat on their bones. Ye are entirely too skinny to be appealing."

The words should have been offensive, and yet Airemis felt herself relaxing, feeling more at ease and decidedly less embarrassed.

Dagget turned away from her then and dug around in the embers of the fire with a pair of metal tongs. He pulled a small pot from the fire and brought it up to his nose, close enough to singe his whiskers, and took a deep sniff of the contents.

"That should do it," he mumbled to himself, and then he turned back to her. "Turn over. I need to change your bandages."

She flipped onto her stomach without complaint, though her ribs did ache in protest. It seemed she had bruised those as well. Dagget set the little pot down on the ground near her head and pulled the furs off of her back, being careful to allow her as much decency as possible. He carefully removed the bandages from her back, but the fabric stuck to her wound and Airemis hissed in pain as it finally tore free.

"Sorry lass, I know that is unpleasant," Dagget said. "I gathered some nice herbs, Linseed flax mainly, and it should set ye to rights soon enough." He dipped a swath of cloth into the pot on the ground. "This may burn a bit," he said and began to apply it to the gash on her back.

It did burn, but not in an entirely unwelcome way. Airemis knew she was right in assuming the old man was using healing magic. She could feel the poultice as it made contact with the wound, the sizzle of dying infection. The pain ebbed away and an itchy sensation flared across her skin. She would have reached back to scratch at it, except the old man began to bind it, calling for her lift up enough that he could wind the clean bandage under her ribs as well.

"Alright," he said, when finished. "Anywhere else that hurts?"

"My shoulder," Airemis admitted. "I think I've sprained it."

"This should help with that, too." Dagget scooped up some more of the poultice and had her indicate which shoulder needed tending. He massaged the gritty spread into her skin and Airmeis couldn't stop the sigh of relief that flew past her lips. The old man just chuckled.

Airemis watched him as he wrapped another length of bandage around her arm and then started gathering up his medical supplies. "How is it a Dunedain ranger came to know so much of the healing arts?"

Dagget paused, his face a mask of shock. "How did you know that I was a ranger?"

"Your weapons," she said. "And you wear simple, yet sturdy garb. The sort of clothes that can weather most terrain and will not wear out easily. And your easy acceptance of a life of solitude. These things in combination led me to the realization that I was in the presence of a Westernesse man."

Dagget held up his hands in surrender. "So you know my secret. I am as you say, though I have not performed the duties of a ranger for many years now."

"And your healing magic? Did you learn that from the elves?"

"No," he said. "My mother was a hedge-witch. She taught me what she knew." He eyed her beadily, in the way that someone who was unaccustomed to being questioned might do if trying to deflect attention from themselves. "But the real question is what be ye? Not an elf, not fully. And certainly not a dwarf."

"I am half-elf," Airemis said, "and half-hobbit."

Dagget didn't seem too surprised by this. "I like hobbits. Quiet folk. Don't go poking about in other's business too much. Which begs another question, what is a half-elf, half-hobbit doing out in the wilderness all by her lonesome?"

"I wasn't alone," she said. "I had been traveling with a company of thirteen dwarves, one wizard and another hobbit."

"A strange company," Dagget said. "How did you get separated from them?"

"We were attacked by an orc pack. I was captured but managed to get away."

"Not unscathed, though," he said, but he didn't pry. "So where are your friends?"

Airemis thought for a moment. Gandalf had told her of the path the company was to take to the Lonely Mountain. First to Beorn's, then through Greenwood. She didn't think she would be able to catch up to them at the bear-man's home, so she said, "Greenwood Forest. At least, they should be on the way there now."

Dagget scoffed. "Greenwood? No one calls it that anymore. It's known as Mirkwood these days. Terrible place to be."

"That's where I have to go," she said determinedly.

"Then that's where I'll help you get to," he said and rose from the ground. He turned his back to her and began digging through a pile of cloth on the other side of the hut.

"Really?" Airemis asked, her voice filled with uninhibited appreciation and joy. She sat up, clutching the furs to her chest.

"Course," Dagget mumbled. "I want my peace and quiet back! I'll take you to the forest, but no further than that. You'll be on your own from there."

"Thank you so much!"

"Don't go thanking me yet, lass. Ye may regret my help later." He tossed a bundle of clothes at her. "Get dressed. We'll have a nice dinner, and in the morning we'll make for the forest."

Airemis waited until he left the hut to put the clothes on. They weren't hers, but they obviously weren't Dagget's either. There was a pair of sturdy brown trousers and a masculine linen shirt, but they were far too small to fit the old man. And they were old. Not worn, but not in keeping with the current fashions. She wondered why he would have a child's clothes, and a horrible thought struck her: perhaps there was a very good reason for Dagget wanting to live in solitude. Perhaps there were other motivations behind his saving her from the river, especially when he had thought she was a young boy drowning in the water.

Airemis ran her fingers over the shirt that she was sure had once belonged to Dagget's own son and she wondered what it must cost the old man to part with it.

It seemed like an age before they finally made it to Beorn's halls. First they passed through his fragrant bee-pastures, and all marveled at the especially large and lovely bees with such richly colored bodies they shone like gold in the sunlight and hummed in such a way that was nearly musical.

The company walked through great fields of flowers until they came onto a copse of trees and the wizard called them all to a halt. "Wait here until I whistle for you, and then come only in groups of two. Let about five minutes between each pair before you come along, mind. Bombur is the fattest and can count as two himself. He will come last and alone. Come now, Bilbo, the smallest shall accompany the largest!"

And so Bilbo went with Gandalf through the trees and down a path toward a high wooden gate. Thorin watched them go with an air of boredom, though inside he felt restless. If not for the fact that they were out of supplies, he would have rather continued on their journey than take a respite. This quest, his mission to take back his home, was the only thing keeping his mind from dwelling on dark thoughts. He wanted the distraction of hardship and danger, of high adventure to keep the horrors he had seen and lived through from driving him to madness as it had his father.

After a time he heard a whistle riding on the wind and without much thought he called Dori to accompany him. They took the path that the wizard and the hobbit had just taken and it led them passed bountiful gardens and several low, wooden buildings. Some of them appeared to be sheds, some stalls and barns, and one that must have been the house, for that was where they found Gandalf and Bilbo and a rather enormous fellow.

The man was far taller than Gandalf, and many times wider. He had a full black beard and thick brows, and was monstrously built. Even in his human skin, Thorin thought, he rather resembled a bear.

"And who are they?" Beorn said gruffly, nodding his head toward Thorin and Dori. "I thought you said you had a few companions. This makes three, and I am not very fond of dwarves."

Thorin would normally have prickled at someone speaking to or about him in this manner, but he understood the need to keep the bear-man placated. "I am Thorin, son of Thrain. And this is Dori," he said, indicating the dwarf next to him.

Dori bobbed his head and said, "At your service."

"I need not any service you could provide," Beorn said. "Though I suspect you need my services. And if you are Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, I believe, and you lot are enemies of goblins and not out to make trouble in my lands—what are you doing here, by the way?"

"They are on the way to visit the land of their ancestors, and it is by grave misfortune that we have come to your lands at all," Gandalf said. "They were waylaid by goblins in the High Pass, as I was about to tell you—"

"So tell me," Beorn said. He was not a very polite man, Thorin noticed immediately, though Gandalf humored him and went on with the tale of their flight through goblin town.

Beorn interrupted again, however, when it became obvious that several of the key characters from Gandalf's tale were missing. "And where is the rest of your company? Killed, eaten, gone home?"

Bilbo gulped loudly at this and the bear-man turned his sharp gaze upon the hobbit. Gandalf cleared his throat. "Most of our party is well and simply awaiting my call before they come. We did not want to bother you with too many guests, especially if you were busy."

"Call them all forth," Beorn said impatiently. "We shall have a nice gathering. Though I take it you have lost some of your companions?"

"Just one," Gandalf said and let out another whistle to call the dwarves on. Thorin had to turn away as Beorn questioned the wizard further.

"What happened to him? The one you lost?"

"She was taken by the orc pack that attacked us on the cliff outside the mountain."

Beorn looked surprised and angry. "You let a woman into your company? And then you let her be abducted—probably killed or worse—by orcs? Shameful! A disgrace!"

"Circumstances being what they were, there was no way to save her," Gandalf said sadly.

"She should not have accompanied you in the first place," Beorn said. "What idiot allowed her to come along? They should assume full responsibility for her fate."

"I take responsibility," Thorin said. He met the bear-man's hard gaze. "It is my fault, and mine alone. Her blood will forever stain my hands."

Beorn looked upon him for a moment, contemplating. "I want to hear the rest of the tale before I pass judgment. I don't like the idea of allowing a woman to fall victim to such a fate, but I will hear you out and determine at the end whether I wish to lend you aid."

"That is more than fair," Thorin relented.

And so, two by two (except Bombur, who came alone and last) the rest of the dwarves arrived and Gandalf finished the long, sad tale. He gave Beorn explicit details about the arrival of the eagles (Beorn had an affinity with animals and was particularly interested in that part of the story.)

Beorn also enjoyed the parts of the story in which Gandalf spoke of defeating the goblins, especially how the wizard had killed the goblin king, and several times he had cheered out loud. The bear man had growled low in his throat, a terrifying sound, when the wizard got to the part about being treed by the wargs and the pale orc taunting them.

It was when Gandalf reached the part about Airemis being taken hostage by the orcs, however, that Beorn grew taciturn. He wanted to hear about this girl who had accompanied them, who had helped to fight the goblins off, but no one had much heart to talk about her.

"I have not heard of many warrior women," Beorn said, after the tale was finished. "There are some amongst the elves, and when my people still roamed the mountains, before the orcs decimated us, we had a few within our kin. Still, a rarity. I think it would an affront to her memory, this girl, if I were to turn you away without offering help. Too bad all beggars do not tell such grand tales! You might be having me on, of course, but such a story deserves a good meal at least. Let us eat!"

Beorn ushered them all impatiently on into his home and called upon the many animals that resided within, horses and dogs and sheep, and they followed his commands to make ready the table and to bring out the food. The dwarves and Bilbo all watched in apt fascination, never having seen such intelligent creatures before.

They dined on rich honeycombs and sweet cream, on fresh baked bread and cheeses that were so soft they could be spread with a spoon on a cold roll. The dogs, who could stand upright on their hind legs and carry trays and all other manner of items with their forepaws, served them large pints of ale. All the while Beorn spoke to them of the wild lands, but most importantly of the dark forest, Mirkwood, and all the dangers that the woods presented.

The dwarves did not take his words lightly, for the forest was less than a day's ride from Beorn's halls, and they would soon be venturing in there themselves. It was the most direct route to Erebor, and time was of the essence.

Beorn invited them to sleep in his hall but warned them not to venture outside before dawn, and then he slipped outside and did not return that night. The dwarves all made beds upon the floor, enjoying the warmth of the fires in the great hearth and the contentment of full bellies. Soon the hall was filled with much snoring, but Thorin found little sleep that night. All he could think about was the disdain in the bear-man's eyes as Gandalf had spoken about Airemis's fate. It was a reflection of the disgust that Thorin felt with himself. He would ever be reminded of his failure. If only he had been strong enough to slay the pale orc, or wise enough not to challenge him. Things could have been so different.

When he did finally start to drift off, hours later, Thorin could have sworn he heard a voice in his ear whispering, "Even if you leave me behind, I will follow."

I love Beorn, he is one of my favorite characters because he is so rough around the edges, but he's also very honorable. I hoped I portrayed him true to character. Next chapter will be onward into Greenwood-Mirkwood-and finally our heroes' paths will cross again!

I'm making Thorin suffer a bit, but I hate when I read stories and everyone thinks that someone has died and they're just like, "Oh well, carry on."