Chapter 10: The Children of Men

The orcs were on the move when Tauriel, Legolas and Beorn caught up to them. Legolas and Tauriel, at home in the forest, moved silently over twigs and leaves, but Beorn, Bear of the Plains, went barreling through the forest undergrowth and made such a racket that flocks of birds spiraled out of the treetops in his wake.

"'Woss that?" she heard an orc's voice from far off.

She silently cursed Beorn. So much for a surprise. She would've liked to know how well armed the orcs were at least before springing an attack, but thanks to their furry companion, that ship had sailed.

"I didn't hear nuthin'," said another orc.

"We're being followed!" said the first orc. "Wailey, the great bear's come for us!"

"Load o' rubbish. I saw the bear die on the battlefield with me very eyes," said the other orc, but his voice was uncertain, "Riddled with arrows 'e was! Bear's long dead."

But just then, Beorn set any doubt of his survival to rest as he sprang from the bushes and clamped his jaw around the throat of the nearest orc. The orcs hissed and screamed and cawed. Several fled, but many descended upon Beorn with raised swords, knives, and spears.

Legolas and Tauriel were on them in a second. Legolas skittered up a tree trunk and dropped down from a branch onto Beorn's shoulders, firing arrows from out of the reach of the orcs as Beorn continued to tear through the horde, clawing here and biting there.

There was one very impressive moment when Beorn ripped a goblin clean in half between jaw and claws.

Tauriel danced around Beorn and slashed the throat of an orc just before he planted a spear into the bear's side. She ducked under the swing of a sword, and kicked her leg in a wide sweeping motion through the knees of the orc, knocking him to the ground. His crude sword went clattering. She plunged her dagger into his heart.

Another orc was almost upon her, but he dropped to the forest floor as one of Legolas's arrows appeared in his skull, bridging his temples.

It was an easy fight. These were, after all, not the hulking Gundabad orcs she had faced on Ravenhill, but the lesser goblins, smaller in stature and poorly trained in combat.

Tauriel dispatched four of the foul creatures. She saw a little one crawling away through the bushes. She lunged forward and grabbed its ankle, dragging it out. Her daggers were at the ready, but surprise stayed her hand.

This was no orc.

Sigrid trotted alongside her siblings as they followed their father, Bard, down the winding streets of Dale to the bottom of the city.

"I thought the Elvenking was going to kill you there, for a moment!" said Bain.

"Well, lucky for me he didn't," said Bard. "But he may change his mind."

He caught the horrified look in Tilda's eye and added, "I'm not serious, little one. Well, hopefully not. But still, all the more reason to hand over the Arkenstone quick and make it a moot point."

"I don't understand," said Sigrid as they wheeled around a corner, who still felt oddly enchanted by the stone. Her fingers itched to hold it. The things she might do for such a prize... "Why didn't the Elvenking just take it by force?"

Bard glanced behind him, as if he was expecting to see the King Thranduil flying down the street after him with his twin swords drawn. But the street behind him was empty except for a few Lake-men. Bard shrugged.

They reached the northern gate at last. Men, dwarves, and even a few elves milled about.

"The elves are long-lived," he said, turning to face them. "It's said they consider us men-folk as children. It's not in their heart to harm us, though fools they may think us sometimes."

Then he looked to Bain warmly and placed a hand on the shoulder of his only son.

"But some days would've been a great deal darker had it not been for the will of a child. And many would have called that child foolhardy at the time," he said to Bain.

Bain looked proud; it was he, after all, who had against all warning charged into the inferno of Lake-town to help Bard aim that fateful Black Arrow.

Bard clapped his son on the shoulder and embraced his daughters.

"I'll be back before the day's end," he said. "Until then, hold down the fort for me."

And with that, Bard mounted a gray steed and departed for the gates of Erebor to deliver the Arkenstone. Sigrid watched him go. Tilda shivered against her arm.

"Come on," she said to the little girl. "Let's get you warmed up by a fire. And maybe we can scrounge up an extra shawl."

But the lure of the Arkenstone lingered in her mind and she confided to her brother, "I have a sour feeling about all this."

"Don't you trust Da?" asked Bain.

"I know our father would die for us, and I trust him more than anyone," said Sigrid. She shivered as an icy gale from the north engulfed them. She held Tilda's little hand tighter and leaned against her brother. "But I fear the winter."

Beorn barreled off into the woods to chase down the fleeing orcs, but Legolas came to her side.

Beneath Tauriel's hands, bound and gagged, lay a small child of men, dressed in tattered skins and wool. A young boy. He looked up at them with frightened eyes. Tauriel and Legolas exchanged a dark look. Orcs were known to take prisoners, to enslave, to torture, or simply to eat. This child would have met a gruesome fate at their hands.

"It's all right now," said Tauriel kindly to the child. "The orcs are gone."

Then, with her dagger, she cut his bonds and eased the gag from his mouth. But he did not lie still after that. The moment he was free, he crawled forward across the ground. Before Tauriel could seize him, the little boy closed his grimy hand around a discarded orcish knife, made for the nearest dead orc. He plunged the knife repeatedly into the corpse's belly. His eyes were wild.

He was out of his mind. Tauriel knew it all too well. Capture by orcs could have that effect on people. She'd seen it before.

Legolas knelt down and closed his arms around the boy, gently forcing the blade from his hand. Tauriel caught it under her foot and quietly slid it away from the child's reach. The prince of Mirkwood pulled the boy's body closer to his own, and restrained his arms. The boy struggled, but after a moment, he calmed down and leaned against the elf, seemingly out of exhaustion. His face was still wild and distant.

"You are free now, little one," Legolas told the boy firmly. "You will not fall back into their hands."

But the boy did not speak. He did not ask who they were or where they would take him.

Legolas was still curled protectively around the boy, restraining him from any more wild movements and whispering to him in a soothing way when Beorn returned. The bear's mouth was dripping with black goblin blood and his muzzle bore a few red slashes, but he seemed relatively unharmed and in good spirits.

Beorn looked at the boy.

"What's this?" he growled. "A bit fair for a goblin."

The boy didn't seem to register that a giant talking bear had just entered the clearing. Most sane people would have. Instead, he stared blankly ahead with dull eyes.

"A child of men taken prisoner by orcs," said Tauriel darkly. "He was with the pack, bound and gagged."

"A child of Dale?" asked Beorn. He bristled in anger.

"I don't know that he is," said Tauriel quietly. "His voice has been frightened out of him. He's not dressed like the Lake-men, though. But I suppose we shall bring him to Dale all the same. Are all the orcs dead?"

"Daughter of the southern forest, didn't I tell you I am very good at killing orcs?" said the bear. She raised an eyebrow. Beorn condeded. "But I think one or two got away from me." He looked at the boy. "There may be more like him," he said. "More prisoners."

"You're right," said Tauriel. "There may be. But let's take care of this one for now."

It was a cloudy day and the sun was low. Orcs were weak and sluggish under the summer sun, but they thrived in the winter, moving freely during the short, dim days. For this reason, winters could be particularly bad in the northern lands. A few snowflakes began to trail down from the sky.

"He must be frozen half to death."

They crossed the lands with ears alert. The boy would not or could not walk, so Legolas lifted him up onto Beorn's back and held him upright as they continued on their way. Tauriel walked alongside Beorn, every so often exchanging words with the bear. She found herself coming to quite like the gruff creature. He was straightforward, she'd give him that.

After some time, they came across the orc's old camp from where the smoke had come. An ashy fire pit lay in the center of a small clearing. Warm coals still let off a bit of smoke. And around it were scattered-

"Bones," said Legolas with a furrowed brow. "The bones of men."

Tauriel drew in a breath. There were many bones, charred and gnawed. Tauriel spied a skull as well, kicked away between the roots of a great tree.

They stood in solemn silence for a moment, until Legolas realized the boy was shaking.

"He passed through here before," said Legolas darkly. "These may have been his people. We should move on from this evil place."

Tauriel couldn't agree more. She shuddered, and dark memories from faraway glades, now darkened, flickered in her mind.

They did not see any more orcs that day, but by the time the low winter sun was setting, they caught the trail of a second pack heading north.

"Let's wait until morning before we run them down," said Tauriel. Legolas nodded in agreement. Even in winter, orcs were at their weakest in the daylight. The snow clouds dispersed, opening for a deep violet sky sprinkled with the early stars of twilight; it promised to be a clear day tomorrow.

They did not build a fire that night for fear of attracting the pack. Instead, they made camp atop an open hill and sheltered from the wind behind a huge boulder. Legolas took first watch, standing unflinching in the wind atop the rock, bow at his side.

Beorn remained a bear through the night, for he could stay much warmer in his furry hide, and Tauriel lay the small boy against the bear's side, wrapping him several times over in her cloak. She hoped he would be warm enough that way.

They had brought with them only a small pack with provisions enough for a few days. Tauriel offered the boy first nuts, then dried berries, then strips of salted meat. He accepted none of them, but he shivered.

"You know you'll be a lot warmer if you eat," she chided. But the boy did not respond. "Well, I'll leave this here in case you change your mind." She lay the food within his reach and leaned back against Beorn, also glad for his warmth.

We ought to get that child back to Dale, and soon, she thought. He's wounded in his mind and he cannot be healed in the wild.

It was a clear night and starlight rained down upon them. It seemed strange to her that here on this hill in the northern lands, long turned wild, she had a better view of the jeweled night sky than she had seen in all the years living in Thranduil's fair halls. Miserable times; but a beautiful sight.

"You're a good fighter," said Beorn. Tauriel smiled.

"I worked hard to become so," she said. "You're something of a force of nature yourself, Beorn the Skinchanger."

"Gwaihir the great eagle once told me that," he said, but it was with some sadness, and for a long moment, the bear seemed to draw back into himself. "If I could ask... Why did the dwarf king kiss you?"

Tauriel wrapped her fingers tightly around her bow, taken aback. The day had been full enough to keep her from dwelling on the morning, but the scene came flooding back to her now. Kili's face, earnest, handsome... and the row of dwarves behind him. And the dead waiting at the gate. And her, a simple woodland elf, caught in the middle of something that could easily become a riot... or a lynching...

"Why does anyone ever kiss anyone else, Beorn?" she shot back stiffly.

"For gold?" said Beorn with a mighty shrug. Tauriel snorted. "But I didn't see a coin change hands, so I think that was not the case."

"No," she answered. "It certainly was not."

"If you love him back," said Beorn, stretching out and yawning. "Why not make him yours?"

"We'll be up all night if I start naming reasons," said Tauriel ruefully. She had turned them over and over in her mind the last few days. If Kili hadn't understood them before, she suspected he must be under a deluge of realization now. "It's... difficult."

"It always seems that way," said Beorn. "But when it's too late, you'll curse that you ever thought it difficult."

Tauriel prodded him with a look.

"I have long been friends with the great eagles," began Beorn. "But it wasn't always so. No, I used to shake my fist at Gwaihir, the eagle lord, when he flew over my keep, and he was no friend to me either."

"Why not?"

Tauriel didn't know bears could sigh mournfully, but she did now.

"There was a woman I loved... long ago. Lifetimes ago, it seems. When she was a woman, she was fair as summer. Golden-haired and always clad in soft browns and with wildflowers worn as a crown, she would walk the meadows with me."

"When she was a woman?" Tauriel asked. It was strange, she reflected, to picture gruff, big Beorn ever having loved someone.

"She was also an eagle sometimes, as I am sometimes a bear. When she wore her wings, she would go flying for days with Gwaihir's flock. I would see them diving over the mountains from my dwelling and circling high up in the sky. It made me sad. She loved to fly, but when she took to the skies, I could not follow."

Tauriel felt the corners of her mouth twitch.

"You were jealous of Gwaihir?"

Beorn simply grunted.

"She always came back to me," he continued. "And gladly I welcomed her, and she welcomed me. But when I asked her to be my wife, she laughed and said 'no, Beorn. Though I love you, I cannot be your wife, for if I bore your children, I would have to keep two feet on the ground and would shrivel away from sadness for want of the skies!'"

"And you never married her."

"I might have one day," said Beorn, and his voice grew angry. "But she was struck by the arrow of a goblin in the Misty Mountains one autumn flying with Gwaihir."

Tauriel was suddenly compelled to lay a hand on his great shoulder.

"Gwaihir knew of my sorrow, and he brought her home to me. Slain, she became once again a woman, and I buried her beneath a great oak tree. Whatever ill will was held between me and the eagle lord was gone, for we were joined in our grief. He has been my friend ever since, and I built for his people a great Carrock of hewn stone on the borders of my land so that we may always meet in safety."

Tauriel reflected on this sad tale for quite a while.

"Well, Kili and I have a lot more between us than a few hundred feet of air," she said, pointedly.

"Do you? At least you both have two legs and walk upon the earth. That ought to make it the easiest thing in the world."

They were interrupted by Legolas, who leaped down from the rock. "Ready yourselves," he said. "Something approaches in the shadows."

Tauriel was on her feet in an instant with an arrow notched. She sauntered to Legolas's side and peered into the line of trees that broke just before the hilltop.

"Whatever it is," whispered Legolas. "There's only one of them."

Tauriel lifted her bow.

"Orc, beast, fiend or foe," called Legolas, aiming his bow. "Show yourself now and we need not harm you!"

A small figure burst out onto the starlit hilltop.

Legolas lowered his bow, for he saw it was another child of men, only a few years older than their young charge.

But the boy, wild-eyed, muddy, and covered with leaves, wielded an orcish spear and brandished it at the elves.

"Oy!" shouted the boy, drawing his face into a threatening scowl. "Just gimme back my brother. And no one gets hurt."

A note about Beorn's friendship with Gwaihir the giant eagle: In Tolkien's literature, Beorn built the steps into the eagle's Carrock overlooking his lands, and he was friends with the great bird. This was beautifully extrapolated on in the film with Beorn arriving to the battle with his airborne comrades. This was my take on how Beorn and Gwaihir may have come to be friends. Yes, I did just write a love triangle story involving Gwaihir and Beorn, of all people, but it felt really right for the moment, and in my mind, recalls some of my favorite folklore stories.

I freakin' love writing Bard and his family. Sigrid is turning out to have a more interesting arc than I originally planned for her.

Thranduil allowing Bard to walk away with the Arkenstone was a wee bit inspired by Elrond allowing Isildur to walk away with the One Ring. Sometimes, elves let men walk away with powerful objects and do foolish things. (Or things they think are foolish.) It's canon!

We'll be back with Kili next chapter. I promise.