"I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul."
Invictus, William Earnest Henley.
The inside of Beorn's home was lit by dozens of flickering beeswax candles that had dripped onto every surface they rested upon. Almost everything was made of wood, with a few of the walls supported by great stones that were almost the size of Bilbo. There windows set high into the walls, with the remaining afternoon light slanting in at an angle to form rectangular patterns on the stone floor, which was strewn with strands of straw between the woven rugs. Above them were vaulted wooden pillars and beams, all intricately and lovingly carved with both knot-work and animals.
Approaching the table, Lizzy gently ran her hand over a carving of a detailed warthog complete with tusks that stood at one of at the four corners as she looked around her in wonder.
Beorn clapped his hands and from the far end of the hall two beautiful white ponies trotted in, followed by several dogs. He spoke to them in some strange, animal language and they immediately set about around the house: the dogs built up the fire with logs carried in their mouths, which Beorn lit himself with a taper from one of the candles, whereas the ponies nosed around in one of the cupboards until they emerged with a large cloth which they tossed over the table and pulled into position with their teeth before vanishing back down the end of the hall.
One of the long-bodied, grey dogs paused to sniff her curiously as it passed her. She rubbed her hand around its silky ears and it licked her fingers playfully before bounding off to join the others.
The vast man offered his hand to Lizzy, who took it bemusedly, noticing how his huge, hairy-knuckled fingers swallowed her own much smaller ones. She allowed him to lead her around the table, taking a seat on the bench next to his large, carved chair at the head. The Dwarves followed her, with Thorin seating himself opposite her, next to Beorn on the other side of the table and Gandalf taking the second large chair at the foot.
Once they were all seated the ponies returned, leading several sheep carrying trays on their backs. Within minutes there were bowls of honey-roasted vegetables, baskets of fresh, grainy bread and pots of cream and honey covering the table. The company all started to dig in heartily, only to be interrupted by the ponies rolling in two large barrels of mead that were also quickly spread out among tankards on the table, much to the enthusiasm of the Dwarves.
Beorn told tales in his deep, rolling voice as they ate gustily; he told stories of the mountains and the far north that fairly chilled them. Constantly weaving in and out of his tales was the vast forest of Mirkwood. He told frightening accounts of giant, disfigured animals with twisted bodies and hearts that preyed on the woodmen, insects and spiders of epic proportions, and people who had strayed from the paths, some who had lost their minds and some who had never been seen again.
When it came out that Thorin still intended to take them south, to travel via the Old Forest Road, Beorn shook his head. "I would not recommend that route. It is overgrown and has fallen into disrepair, with the road to the east swallowed by marshes. I also hear that it is commonly used by Goblins. I would suggest the Elf-path, a route to the north of here," he said commandingly, clearly expecting his advice to be heeded.
Thorin inclined his head in reply, apparently deep in thought at his words.
The light had dimmed and once their plates were cleared and pipes lit, with smoke winding its way up to the ceiling, the Dwarves started to recount stories in their turn in response to the tales Beorn had told. They were stories of mountains and gold and fabulous jewels, along with great battles between Dwarves and Goblins. Lizzy was fascinated to listen, many of them being stories that they hadn't told her while they were travelling, but Beorn was nodding in his seat, clearly uninterested.
"Do they always tell tales like this? Dull accounts of gold and silver and the like?" the bear-man asked eventually, leaning forward to address her in a hushed voice and a small smile beneath his beard.
Lizzy grinned, an idea suddenly occurring to her. "I know a story you might like, if you're interested."
Beorn raised one of his bushy eyebrows, inviting her to continue.
The night was getting late and Thorin was listening to Gloin's tale of one of their ancestors, the story of Durin the fourth and his battles against the Goblins of the Grey Mountains, when a deep chortle to his right distracted him. Miss Darrow was telling their host a tale of her own in a quiet voice that he seemed to enjoy, laughing every few minutes. Listening in, Thorin caught that it was a story about a young princess who had accidentally turned her mother into a bear.
Within minutes conversation around the table had trailed off and everyone was curiously listening to her talk. She quickly noticed her new audience and faltered, a fetching pink appearing high on her cheeks, but she rallied and continued on, raising her voice so that all could hear.
She was very animated while speaking thus, portraying the different characters with their own unique voices and gesturing a lot with her arms in a way that had them all engaged. It was a tale that they had never heard before, with her never having shared any stories from her world. Ori was scribbling frantically in his journal, trying to capture her every word.
She bought her tale to a close and Beorn clapped his hands once she had finished. "Bravo, my lady," he said with the first proper smile Thorin had seen on the giant man, making her grin in turn. "A fine tale, if I may say so myself."
Their host then looked down the table, noticing the empty plates and full tankards in the hands of the Dwarves seated there, along with Bilbo fast asleep with his head on the table. "Now, if you'll excuse me, good guests, I have business to attend to," he said, and Thorin wondered what could possibly call him from the house so late at night. Beorn stood up and gestured to a small, raised platform to one side of the hall. "You will find the dogs have put beds out for you. Please, continue to enjoy your repast and retire when you're ready." His voice turned serious. "Though I warn you, do not venture outside until the sun is up, at your own peril," he added, and then strode down the hall and out of the door without another word.
There was a brief silence after his departure, during which the company watched Beorn's dogs add more logs to the great fire while the ponies doused the torches on the walls, lowering the light in the room to a bright, flickering umber that licked at the walls. Conversations started again as low murmurs and within minutes various members of the company were leaving the table with their tankards in hand to go and sit around the fire.
Eventually Thorin was the last one left at the table, listening to the slow, ponderous songs that the company had started singing behind him, occasionally interspersed with laughter. Reaching for his pack, which he had pushed under the table with his foot, he rummaged around until he located two pieces of parchment. One was the map of Erebor and the other a map of the Wilderland, specifically Mirkwood. Pulling one of the flickering beeswax candles closer, he bent over the table to scrutinise them both, his eyes darting over the parchment.
Beorn had recommended the Elf-path and he quickly located it, noticing that it went almost directly towards the mountain, convenient and saving them a long northward march. Thorin found himself wondering if that was the path Miss Darrow's story said they would take, if their decision of route had already been made for him in the book she spoke of.
Glancing up, he quickly located her sitting cross-legged by the fire with Ori, a tankard loosely held in one hand, seemingly telling him more stories from her world based on the way he was still eagerly making notes in his journal.
Her earlier words about returning to her own world had caught him off guard. While they were not close, after travelling with her for so long he had grown somewhat accustomed to her presence. It made him ponder why she had agreed to come on this quest at all when there seemed to be no gain in it for her: she seemed to have little interest in the material reward and was not attempting to reclaim a home. The only reason he could see for her coming was her intention to change the outcome of the quest, yet if that was the case she was doing so at great personal risk and discomfort, deliberately placing herself in the path of danger since she knew the trials they would face.
He was torn as to whether this made her brave or extremely foolish.
Forcing his mind away from their advisor, Thorin lost himself in a new train of thought, looking down at the map as he considered the implications and possibilities of the two roads before them. Both were fraught with peril in their own way, but the Old Forest Road was terrain he had covered several times before, whereas he had never traversed the Elf-path. He was not certain if the scale of his Wilderland map was accurate, but the Elf-path looked significantly narrower than the Old Forest Road. Considering that the Men-i-Nagaurim was only wide enough for two ponies or four Dwarves to walk abreast the Elf-path might leave them trailing along with difficulty in single file.
However, the Old Forest Path would have been the logical choice of route when they came down from the High Pass and would be the first place Azog would think to look for them. If they were caught on the road there would be no escape and it would come down to a fight; the Pale Orc had a greater number with him as well as his wargs, making such an encounter unappealing in the extreme. Whereas if they went north with any luck it could be days or even weeks before the Pale Orc picked up their trail again.
There were also the spiders to consider. He had seen evidence of webs in the undergrowth the last time he had travelled on the Old Forest Road, but if his map was accurate in its depiction of the location of the spiders lairs then they would be in far greater danger of an encounter on the Elf-path. While there was a greater risk of Goblins on the southern route, they were a known enemy and probably easier to fight than monstrous spiders.
Long hours passed as he poured over the maps, taking them deep into the middle of the night. Behind him the company were still singing around the fire that was gradually burning down, oblivious to his inner turmoil. Beneath the deep, resonant noise of their familiar songs Thorin fancied that he heard the hooting of owls outside in the darkness and a soft whisper like the wind in the branches stirring in the rafters above him. Looking around once more, he noticed that Miss Darrow had moved from her position by the fire and was on her knees in one corner, trying unsuccessfully to coax a litter of kittens from their basket with a small bowl of cream.
Apparently sensing his gaze on her, she glanced up and met his eyes. Scooping her tankard up from where it rested on the floor, she clambered to her feet and padded towards him. He noticed that she had removed her boots at some point in the evening and her feet were bare once more, silent on the stone floor "What are you still doing over here?" she asked in a soft voice so as not to disturb the rest of the group.
"Just thinking," he replied with deliberate vagueness, moving one hand to cover the map of the Wilderland.
She lowered herself down into the seat beside him with a small, sideways smile. "And what are you thinking about?"
Thorin scrutinised her, the red of the flames catching in her loose, golden-brown hair as she studied him in return with her head tilted to one side. He found himself remembering what she had said about Beorn being suspicious of them and even the food that they would be served here. The level of accuracy her knowledge had unnerved him sometimes.
"You knew the type of food we would eat," he replied, voicing his thought in response to her question. "Bread, cream and honey, you said."
"So?" she questioned, shrugging her shoulders ever so slightly.
He lent towards her over the table, holding her gaze. "Tell me everything, everything that you know about our quest," he ordered quietly.
She didn't respond instantly, looking at him with her wide, ash grey eyes, and in the silence that followed his question he heard the company singing a familiar song in their deep, resonant voices.
"The wind was on the withered heath,
but in the forest stirred no leaf:
there shadows lay by night and day,
and dark things silent crept beneath."
"I … I can't," she replied eventually, looking troubled, much like she had in Rivendell when he had first discovered her strange knowledge. "You know I can't. It would be dangerous for you to know things."
He had half expected this answer, but still knew that she might possibly reveal more if he prompted further. "Beorn recommended the Elf-path," he said, removing his hand from the map and tilting it to show her, their heads close together to share the light of the single candle. The fire had died down to flickering embers, the rest of the company silhouetted against the pool of light by the hearth while the two of them spoke softly in the shadows. "Is that the road we take?"
She nodded cautiously and slowly, her eyes trailing over the map.
Thorin rubbed one hand over his beard, studying the map once more. "Mirkwood is perilous, especially if the Men-i-Nagurim has become impassable and infested with Goblins. And I have not travelled the Elf-path before," he mused aloud, tapping his fingers on the parchment.
"Shh," she said suddenly, holding up one hand to forestall him speaking further, her eyes on the floor. Looking downwards to follow her gaze, he saw that one of the kittens she had been trying to befriend had followed her to the table and was curiously investigating her feet, batting at the fraying hem of her trousers. It was tiny, with a black body, large blue eyes and tufty white paws. Thorin was ignored as she slowly lowered a hand for the little cat to sniff her fingers, letting it know it could trust her. When it butted its head against her hand, demanding to be stroked, she scooped it up and rubbed its soft fur against her cheek as the little kitten purred contentedly in her hands.
It was strange seeing her this relaxed, Thorin realised, studying her as she pulled sympathetic faces at the little cat. Even in Rivendell she had been tense but here, away from the cares of travelling on the road, a soft smile playing around her mouth and remains of the firelight dancing in her hair, she appeared much more serene.
He looked back down to the map.
"What hazards can we expect on the Elf-path, Miss Darrow?" he asked firmly, tracing the line of the path with a finger and tapping the Lonely Mountain.
"Lizzy," she reminded him, scratching the cat down its back as it arched into her hand. Looking away from the kitten, she gazed pensively at him with her head tilted to the side once more, probably internally debating how much of her knowledge to reveal. "Have you ever heard of Sods Law?"
He felt his brow furrowing in confusion at her words.
"It's an expression from my world," she elaborated, reading his misunderstanding. "It basically means that if anything can go wrong, then it will go wrong."
He stilled, thinking of all the dangers Mirkwood presented along with her words. "Spiders?" he hazarded as a guess, having already taken note of the proximity of the drawn webs to the Elf-path.
She hummed non-committally, nuzzling the kitten once more.
"Elves?" he guessed further, knowing that the path would bring them right alongside the Elven-Kings halls in the forest caves.
His only reply was a smile that made his heart sink.
"Thranduil has no love for me," he said with a heavy sigh. "If we do encounter Elves then they will try to hinder us." Yet if they encountered Goblins on the Men-i-Nagurim they would try to kill them.
"Try being the operative word there," she responded lightly.
Thorin narrowed his eyes at her. "So we do encounter them," he deduced. Her expression took on an air of studied innocence, she was determined not to reveal everything she knew, only giving him irksome hints and glimpses. He shook his head. "Your face is easy to read, how long will we be imprisoned for?" he asked resignedly.
She looked somewhat annoyed – probably because he was guessing rightly, he assumed. "What makes you think we will be imprisoned?"
One eyebrow quirked ever so slightly. "I know Thranduil of old, he would not look upon our quest with favour and would do all he could to stop us," he said in a tight voice. His hand clenched into a fist, remembering the last time he had seen the Elf-king well over a century ago, looking down from the safety of a high ridge as Erebor burned beneath him.
"We will escape easily enough, Elves are not the brightest of creatures despite all of their wisdom and grace," she said, still sounding disgruntled that he had managed to draw so much from her. "I've told you, we'll reach the mountain just fine, that's all you need to know at the moment."
"The idea of walking straight into the hands of Elves and spiders does not sit well with me," he said honestly. It was something of an understatement in fact, since he was liking this route they must apparently take less and less.
"At least you now have some idea what to expect," she countered logically, favouring him with a small smile. "For instance, I know that we come dangerously close to running out of food and water, so now we know to ration our provisions carefully." The kitten started squirming in her hands and she put it down on the floor, where it scampered away back to its family. "You'd be doing it blind if I wasn't here," she finished, straightening up.
Thorin stilled. If she wasn't here … he mused slowly. But she was here and her very purpose was to change things. From their conversation on the Carrock he had realised that she was only going to change certain events, ones that apparently occurred towards the end of their quest, citing that anything else would have a ripple-effect. Yet he had also noticed that she was not confident in her ability to save his nephews, the one thing she was apparently determined to prevent and that worried him. He did not like that everything was mapped out in a path leading towards this unsatisfactory end, one that she was not confident she could change
Perhaps a ripple-effect was just what they needed.
"Go get some sleep," he ordered suddenly, preoccupied as he gazed down at the map detailing the two roads through Mirkwood once more. If they were to take a different road than the Elf-path then the risk would be substantial, not just for the journey, but for the whole outcome of the quest – they would be doing it blind, as she said.
He knew that he would become King if he followed her story and advice, meaning that there was indeed a way that Smaug could be killed and Erebor reclaimed, even if she had yet to share it with him. But even if they did change everything she knew, she must still have the knowledge of how they defeated the dragon and perhaps that part of her story could still be replicated.
He drummed his fingers on the table. He had always been sure of his path in life, but now the road was unclear.
Which was more likely to save his nephews while still working to reclaim the mountain, changing everything or attempting to change one thing?
Miss Darrow had raised her eyebrows at his rather abrupt dismissal and got to her feet with very deliberate movements. "Well, good night to you too," she said pointedly, a bite of sarcasm in her voice to show her mild displeasure at his sharp manner.
Thorin ignored her as she sashayed away back towards where the company was still gathered around the dying fire, taking a seat on the floor beside Fili and Kili. His nephews smiled at her and within minutes she was casually sitting braced against Fili with her bare feet in Kili's lap as she listened to their singing with a small smile.
Two roads, two possible routes before them. One that had known perils that they would encounter and yet would emerge from alive, and one that was possibly less perilous yet had no guarantee of success. One that would continue to follow Miss Darrow's story to it's unsatisfactory end and one that would change everything. The path that Beorn, Gandalf and his advisor wanted him to take coming into conflict with his original plan. The known element or the risk of greater danger.
The words of the company's song drifted over towards him in the darkness.
"The wind came down from mountains cold,
and like a tide it roared and rolled;
the branches groaned, the forest moaned,
and leaves were laid upon the mould."
And then, gazing down at the map of the Wilderland, a new idea came to him.
The title of this entire fic actually comes from the songs the Dwarves sing in this chapter. Bonus points to anyone who can guess Thorin's idea.
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