A/N: Hello peeps! OMG I'M SO SORRY for the missing one month. Had some sort of writer's block. The beginning of this chapter was exceptionally hard for me to choke out, but yay I managed (finally)! Also was really busy with schoolwork, as usual Forgive, forgive. As compensation, here's a longer chapter! It's the longest I've written so far, about 4,500 words. Yay.
Thank you for your support! To Kass, QUEENofMYfandoms, claire1663, decadenceofmysoul, wolfstrfak, godess bubbles, Zyenna, FanfirHydra, Friend Of A Fangirl, blamekailey, and LovesDragons, thank you for the reviews :) (Thanks to my beta, too, for making this chapter more awesome, as usual :D)
Disclaimer: The Hobbit is not mine. For this chapter, some descriptions are taken from the book.
Chapter 14
Beorn's house was unique. It was absolutely devoid of partitions, more resembling one gigantic living room. A long and tall oak table stood sturdily in the middle of the hall, surrounded by chairs with seats which reached chin level for a hobbit. At the end of the room, tucked away in a quiet corner, was a simple bed meant for someone of Beorn's size.
"So who are you, little shapeshifter?" Beorn finally asked, sitting down on a bench near the door.
"I'm Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins, hobbit, from the Shire." The answer slipped easily from his tongue.
The bear-man squinted at the hobbit. "That's who you're pretending to be. Who are you, dragon?"
Bilbo plopped his travel bag down on the floor and busied himself with searching for a proper gift for the guest. (How could he have forgotten? He knew he should have packed a little something extra, damn it!)
"Cyadhon."
Looking up, he saw Beorn staring expectantly at him. "Yes? Can I help you with something?"
Beorn made an impatient motion. "Your story. You are to tell me your story," he elaborated.
"Oh." Bilbo stopped his frantic searching for a gift to give his host his fullest attention. "Well…"
"I would ask to put this storytelling on hold, Master Beorn," Gandalf interrupted politely (or as politely as a Gandalf would get). "We're travelling with others and they're waiting for us to give them a signal to enter."
Beorn raised a bushy eyebrow. "Who are they? Why did they not come together with you?"
Gandalf and Bilbo exchanged glances.
"About that... We were unsure as to how you would react towards us," Bilbo admitted.
The shape-shifter scoffed. "Would they not have provided additional protection if you feared being attacked by me? Or," he frowned, misinterpreting Gandalf's awkward coughs, "are they children you sought to protect? I will never hurt children, no matter the race!"
"No, no," Gandalf denied, "it's not that. It's just…" he trailed off and looked at Bilbo meaningfully — obviously expecting the more favoured hobbit to break the bad news to the bear-man. He glared back at the wizard, who only nodded encouragingly. He rolled his eyes but obliged the wizard anyway.
"They're dwarves," Bilbo sighed. "They're dwarves, we know you don't like them, and we're unsure if you'll simply be rid of us all rather than hear us out."
Beorn scowled at the wizard. "Dwarves! Why have you brought dwarves to my doorstep?"
The wizard stared calmly back. "The orcs are upon us, Beorn. We —"
"Orgs are chasing you," Beorn interjected flatly, voice low.
"Yes, Azog the Defiler has been hunting Thorin Oakenshield—"
"The homeless prince, I've heard of him." Beorn straightened. "Tell me, wizard. Why is he, of all the orcs, hunting you?" he asked relentlessly, eyes hard. His tone was fierce, and Bilbo sensed that he was not asking merely out of worry for his safety. Beorn seemed extremely perturbed by the mention of Azog — clenched fists, narrowed eyes, stiff stance. There definitely was some history and bad experiences between them.
"Wait, wait. We'll get to that later, I'm sure. But — You know of Azog? How?" The hobbit questioned.
"Aye, I know of him." Beorn's eyes gained a misty, distant look about them as he gazed at the wall, reliving a past which only he could see. "My people were the first to live in the mountains, before the Orcs came down from the north. The Defiler killed most of my family, but some he enslaved."
His fists clenched, rattling the remnants of the manacles on his wrists. The skin around the area was chafed and scarred, as though he had tried numerous times to tug it out yet failed miserably, and the metal was rusty yet still unyielding. Bilbo wondered what special sort of metal it was, to be able to withstand the shapeshifter's immense strength.
"Not for work, you understand, but for sport. Caging skin-changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him." He exhaled tiredly. "There used to be many of us. Now, there is only one."
Sorrow and grief filled his eyes, his face contorted into a slight grimace.
Gandalf looked away.
The huge man turned his attention towards Bilbo. "And what possesses you to travel with these dwarves when there are dangerous foes pursuing them, Cousin? Did they coerce you into this?"
"I joined them on a quest out of my own free will, and they treat me well, Beorn," Bilbo replied, crossing his arms defensively, unimpressed with his demanding and authoritative tone.
"I don't remember dwarves to be so accepting towards others. Especially towards dragons. Have times really changed so much that dwarves and dragons are working together now?" he rumbled, intrigued. Bilbo laughed scornfully and shook his head.
"Actually," he clarified, "they don't know they're travelling with, uh, a dragon. I…may have withheld that bit of information from them?"
Beorn stared at him in bewilderment. "You..." He gave a short bark of laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. "You are a very bold and sly dragon, Bilbo."
"Hobbit, as of now I'm a hobbit." He shifted uncomfortably.
"I do not know whether to applaud you for your bravery, or to cuff you about the head for your recklessness," Beorn mused, half serious. Bilbo eyed the huge, muscular hands which could probably crush his head effortlessly.
"Honestly? I would prefer the former."
Beorn snorted. "Signal your travelling companions, little rabbit. I shall listen your story first before deciding if your company can stay the night."
No one paid any attention to Bilbo's muttered "I'm not a rabbit!"
Gandalf whistled, and within five minutes the first two has arrived: Thorin and Balin.
The dwarven prince entered the lodge cautiously, eyes instantly marking possible exits and seeking the potential host. Balin wore a benign smile, the perfect epitome of a wise advisor with no prior battle skills (how very deceptive). Immediately, they approached Beorn - who still towered over them, even while seated - and bowed. Bilbo gasped in the background, whispering "What great respect! The high and mighty prince, bowing? I am so shocked!", inciting a sharp hiss of "quiet!" and a painful jab of Gandalf's staff on his foot. Thorin, who had somewhat gotten used to Bilbo's shit by now, did not even bother glancing at his direction.
"Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror. At at your service."
The shapeshifter leaned forwards in interest. "So you are the one they call Oakenshield. Tell me, why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?"
Thorin's brows lifted. "You know of Azog? How?"
These happened to be the exact words Bilbo had uttered, much to the amusement of Gandalf — and Beorn, if the twitch at the side of his mouth was any indication.
"He enslaved and killed my family," Beorn said plainly, obviously unbothered about explaining his entire story again. Thorin glanced at the remains of the manacles around Beorn's wrist and wisely held his tongue.
"Then that makes the two of us, Master Beorn. Azog killed my father, my grandfather, and ravaged my entire kingdom, burning our city to the ground and rendering us homeless for decades." Thorin inclined his head politely. Slowly, Beorn returned the gesture. The anxiety Bilbo was not even aware he felt ebbed like a receding tide, leaving him with a profound relief. The two had met each other, and survived! In fact, they seemed to be on almost cordial terms. This was most certainly a cause of celebration.
"Is this the extent of your travelling companions?" Beorn inquired, raising an eyebrow. "I was expecting more."
"No," Bilbo admitted, "but they'll be coming soon." He stared pointedly at Gandalf.
Gandalf huffed and whistled again.
While waiting for the rest of the Company to slowly make their way to the lodge, Bilbo occupied Beorn with tales of their adventure thus far (ensuring to carefully omit some certain details which would be sure to incite inconvenient questions from the dwarves). Gandalf seemed fond of interjecting and sharing his version of the story, and together they wove a tale worthy of a historian's book… Nevermind that they exaggerated certain parts; stories always require some dramatic flair, after all.
Once arrived, the dwarves would bow, introduce themselves to a suitably distracted Beorn, and settle down next to Bilbo to join in the storytelling. The shapeshifter would just wave at them and demand Bilbo to continue the story, ever the perfect audience — laughing at the right parts and being very responsive.
The hobbit was very proud of himself, truth to be told. He managed to maintain Beorn's relaxed mood despite the growing number of dwarves sharing his lodge with him and his (entertaining) recount had even coaxed a rare smile out of Thorin. Mentally, Bilbo gave himself a pat on the back.
By time they drew near the end of their tale the sun had fallen behind the peaks of the mountain and the shadows were long in Beorn's garden.
When Gandalf at last finished recounting their final few eventful days, Beorn sat back with a satisfied smile. "Your tale has been entertaining, and I thank you," he rumbled. "It is by far the best I have heard for in a long while. You may be making it up, but it is a good tale nonetheless. You may rest for tonight while I verify your tale."
Bilbo gave Beorn a scandalised look. "Make it up? I would never! Every moment was true!"
The skin-changer smiled, amused. "Even the part where you…what was it…cut down hundreds of orcs with scarcely an injury, when the whole battlefield was on fire, the flickering flames the colour of the sunset, with the entire battlefield stained red by the blood of your foes; and you flew off victorious to the sunset on the backs of your allies, the Great Eagles as the defeated orcs screamed in frustration behind you?"
"… Fine, maybe I exaggerated it — a little."
The dwarves guffawed. Beorn's eyes crinkled.
"All of you must be hungry; I shall prepare dinner."
At the mention of food, the dwarves gave a hearty cheer and made their way to the dining table.
Bilbo encountered some difficulty clambering up onto the infuriatingly tall bench. The dwarves hoisted each other up with a simple boost and haul. The Prince, as expected, required no assistance. Thorin simply gripped the sides of the bench and effortlessly pulled himself up in one smooth movement, all the while still maintaining his composure and looking graceful and stately - how that was possible, Bilbo did not know. He never had possessed much grace. (No, he was not envious, not at all; whatever had given that idea?)
At any rate, the point was that everyone else barely had any problem overcoming the slight vertical challenge. The way they worked with each other was like a well-oiled machine, fast and efficient.
Then there was Bilbo.
Bofur kindly extended his hand towards the hobbit, ready to haul him up as well. However, Bilbo shook his head stubbornly, glaring at the bench. Thrice he had attempted to climb up, even using his bag pack as a booster, and thrice he had failed. Yet he still refused to accept Bofur's help. His pridewas in the way.
"I will not be defeated by this...this wooden horror," he fumed, rejecting the offer once more. The dwarves watched on with badly veiled amusement.
"Bilbo, stop actin' like such a stubborn git and let me help, willya?" Bofur asked finally. Bilbo merely scowled in response, bearing an unfortunate resemblance to a cross bunny. The Company snickered. He glanced up and was met with Thorin's unnerving, piercing stare. A small smirk played at the edges of the prince's lips as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. He quirked an eyebrow up, a silent challenge of "Well? What are you waiting for?".
The hobbit shot him an unamused look before giving full attention to his latest adversary. Taking in a deep breath, he leapt, using the momentum of the jump to push himself forward. Instead of landing neatly on his seat only his torso connected painfully with the hard wood beneath him, with his legs dangling in the air. A loud thud could be heard from the impact. His eyes widened and the dwarves winced.
Ouch.
For a moment, Bilbo thought that he had succeeded. A triumphant smile grazed his face, which then promptly became a look of horror when he felt himself slowly sliding down the chair. Immediately his hands grasped for something to cling onto, feet scrambling for a foothold, but gravity was working against him and the well-polished wood was utterly and traitorously smooth. He closed his eyes and groaned. Slowly, painfully and squeakily, he slid down from his pathetic position and into a heap on the floor.
Raucous laughter met his ears. It was not a friendly acquaintance.
Bilbo spat out a few colourful curses and, in a fit of frustration, leapt up and hit the bench. The wood was unfortunately much harder than he thought and he yelped and stumbled back, nursing his reddened hand. It did nothing but fuel the howling guffaws. Thorin covered his face with one hand, his entire frame shaking; Bofur was cackling; even Gandalf, that useless sodding wizard, took his pipe out of his mouth in order to properly chuckle at his expense. Balin managed an amused smile, though his expression still looked a tad too forced.
Fine, Bilbo huffed inwardly, fine. Let them laugh. With injured dignity, he plopped into the floor cross-legged and folded his arms, staring accusingly at Thorin. Eventually, the laughter died out.
"C'mon, lad," Bofur tried again with an easy smile, "Don't sulk so, we were only jesting." Once more, his friend extended his hand.
With a resigned sigh, Bilbo gripped Bofur's hand and finally allowed himself to be hauled unceremoniously onto his chair. The bench creaked, Bofur cursed a fair few times, and he had a sneaking suspicion that his body would have a few more bruises by the end of dinner…but finally he was up on that dratted bench.
Panting slightly, he glowered down at the table, daring any of them to laugh again. They wisely kept their silence.
It was at that moment that Beorn strode in and took his seat at the head of the table. Thorin flanked his left, while Gandalf sat on his right. Beorn clapped his hands, and in trotted some snow-white sheep led by a large coal-black ram. They bore on their broad backs trays with bowls and platters and knives and wooden spoons and plates of food, which Beorn then took and laid it on the table. It consisted of honey - loads of honey, actually - and bread, and some meat, which seemed to be venison.
The dwarves gawked at the unusual sight.
"Well? What are you waiting for?" Beorn asked, unperturbed. Shaking themselves out of their shock, they dug in.
The food cleared, their stomach happily stuffed, the Company readied themselves for the night. Beorn was kind enough to provide them with several quilt blankets (not fur) which were old but comfortable and warm. Without the matter of the orcs hanging over their heads, without the same mistrust against their host that the dwarves had against the elves, it was the best sleep most of them had for a long time.
Bilbo woke in the middle of the night. The fire had sunk to a few mutely glinting embers; the dwarves and Gandalf were fast asleep, judging by their heavy breathing. The room was not entirely dark, gifted with splashes of soft white from the crescent moon peering in the windows.
A bass growl sounded outside, followed by the scuffling of a large animal at the door. Bilbo wondered if that was Beorn. If he truly took the form of a massive bear. Briefly weighing his curiosity against his exhaustion, he decided that it was not worth the effort tonight and rolled over, allowing the tendrils of drowsiness to lull him back into the embrace of sleep.
It was full morning when he awoke. Bofur was standing over him, an unapologetic grin on his face as he roughly shook Bilbo by his shoulders. Bilbo groaned. "I have half a mind to maim you seriously right now, Bofur."
Bofur grinned good-naturedly. "Nah, that'd take too much effort for you. Get up, lazybones, or there'll be no breakfast left for you."
Bilbo perked up at the mention of food. "Breakfast? Where's food? I want food!"
"Mostly inside us, but there's more on the table," Gloin rumbled as he went past. Bilbo eagerly made his way to the table, where most of the dwarves and Gandalf were already seated with Beorn. The massive skin-changer poured milk into Fili's cup for him.
"So, the little rabbit has finally deemed it fit to join us," he said when he saw Bilbo. Bilbo bristled.
"I'm not a rabbit, Beorn!"
Fili whispered something to his brother, and they burst into laughter. Bilbo rolled his eyes at their antics and allowed Dori to heft him up. Beorn turned to a characteristically brooding Thorin, his expression becoming serious. "It was a good story, that of yours. I like it still better now that I am sure it is true." He remained silent for a moment. "You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn?"
"Before Durin's Day, yes," Gandalf chipped in as he buttered his toast. Beorn shook his head.
"You are running out of time."
"Which is why we must go through Mirkwood."
The shapeshifter leant his elbows on the table, eyebrows furrowed together. "A darkness lies upon that forest. Fell things creep beneath those trees. There is an alliance between the Orcs of Moria and the Necromancer in Dol Guldur; I would not venture there except in great need."
Bilbo felt a sudden weight in his pocket. Reaching for the oddity, his fingers met the smooth surface of the ring. The ring. He had almost forgotten about it. It vibrated beneath his fingers, hissing softly to his mind. Unconsciously he caressed the ring between his fingers. He needed to tell Gandalf about this…soon.
He was jolted from his pondering when Ori's swinging feet accidentally kicked his.
"These land are crawling with Orcs. Their numbers are growing, and you are on foot. You will never reach the forest alive," Beorn was saying. Thorin looked worried, his expression solemn. "I don't like dwarves. They're greedy and blind, blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own. They hold onto grudges and prejudice, and greatly wrong those who wish to help them." Beorn's eyes found Bilbo. The corners of his eyes crinkled sadly, and the shapeshifter's ancient gaze became immensely tired.
Beorn diverted his attention back to a frowning Thorin. "But Orcs I hate more, and I would not turn away a cousin in need." The dwarves were murmuring among themselves — cousin? Bilbo's lips tugged up into a wry smile. Beorn looked to him and smiled.
"You should stay for another three days. The journey ahead is more strenuous than you are prepared for, both in mind and body. You are not yet ready." Beorn gently picked up a mouse which had been scampering across the table. "Tell me, what do you need?"
Bilbo excused himself when Thorin and Beorn began to sort out the more mundane issues, such as distribution of firewood and preservation of resources. He wound his way leisurely through the garden, marvelling at the wide variety of plants and flowers that blossomed under Beorn's care, the sweet scent of flowers drifting through the air. Huge bees bumbled about in lazy circles, not a threat to anything unless provoked. The symphony of crickets and insects blended harmoniously with the light rusting of the trees. Horses were milling about, and dogs romped cheerily. Bilbo curled his toes into the soil and sighed, bliss washing over him as he savoured this precious moment of peace.
Which had to be ruined, of course, by screams and peals of laughter from the Company's two resident pranksters. Bilbo raised an unimpressed eyebrow as he saw Fili and Kili running about in the meadow next the the garden, a hyperactive young pup chasing them, its tail wagging furiously. The rest of the Company had stayed a safe distance away from the disastrous pair and were spending some time relaxing as well. Ori sat among the wild grasses, perusing a book on his lap. Some decided to wrestle for sport, while the rest were simply snoozed beneath the sun's warmth. Thorin would surely disapprove, but at that moment he was busy. So who cared? Certainly not Bilbo.
The hobbit approached the noisiest duo, who were much too busy entertaining the dog to pay him any attention.
The dog was a retriever with silky saffron-coloured fur. His tongue lolled out of his mouth as he panted, racing after the two dwarrows and scampering in circles around them. It barely reached Kili's knees. The pup pounced onto Fili, knocking him down, and promptly proceeded to lick his face with a vigour. Laughing, the young dwarf shoved the dog off. "No, bad Foo Foo! Down, Foo Foo!"
"Foo Foo?" Bilbo could not help but exclaim in disbelief. "Dear Yavanna, Fili, did you just name that dog 'Foo Foo'?"
"It was Kili's idea!" the older brother instantly answered, much to the consternation of a spluttering Kili.
"We decided it together! His full name is 'Foo Foo Cuddlypoops', but for short we call him 'Foo Foo'!"
"Whatever on Yavanna's sweet Middle Earth possessed you to name the dog that?"
"It's a good name!"
Bilbo snorted in disbelief. "Are you even allowed to go around naming animals that aren't yours, Kili?"
"it is no matter," Beorn replied as he sat next to Bilbo, "I had yet to name this dog." Bilbo started; for one so large, the skin-changer certainly could move quietly. Behind him trailed Thorin, who was giving the rest of the Company the evil eye. Immediately they leapt up and began pretending that they had been training, though even a half-blind orc could see that they had just been fooling around like children in the spring. Thorin shook his head at them.
"Why haven't you?"
"He responded to none of the names I had give him, yet chose to answer to 'Foo Foo'." Beorn observed the trio romping about in the grass, a contemplative expression on his face. "'Foo Foo' he is, then."
Bilbo paused, then shrugged. "It's still an awful name."
Beorn laughed out loud.
"Still, he seems to be quite taken with the dwarves."
"That is so," Beorn agreed. "He is smaller than the other dogs — a runt among his brood, one might even say. I was afraid that he would feel lonely. He apparently prefers playing with dwarves." The hobbit nodded. They watched as Kili and Fili bade farewell to 'Foo Foo' and joined the Company, where Thorin was apparently lecturing the Company about making wise use of their time.
"How long have it been since you stretched those wings of yours, Cousin?"
Bilbo cocked his head and thought. "About two years? Maybe longer." He rubbed his shoulder sheepishly. "They're, ah, probably not in their best condition right now."
Beorn stared at him incredulously. "How are you expecting to fight against another dragon if you've not been maintaining your wings, much less practicing?"
The hobbit winced. "Uh, I was quite possibly planning to kill Smaug without revealing myself."
The shapeshifter gave him a deadpan look. Bilbo threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine! I'll train, I'll train. How I'm going to do that with the dwarves so near, I haven't a clue."
"Why do you think I asked your dwarves to stay for three more days, Bilbo? You have those nights to train at least."
Bilbo raised a brow at the skin-changer, who was smiling quite proudly. He chuckled wryly despite himself. "Oh, who's the sly one now, Beorn?"
The dwarves had worked out some sort of schedule, where they trained for two hours and then took an hour's break. Bilbo had decided to sit out of training, claiming that he had more important things to do, such as learning about the different varieties of flower species. The Company waved him away; yet old Balin's eyes followed him sharply as he pretended to be wandering towards the garden. Once out of sight, he changed his direction and sought out Gandalf instead. The wizard was sitting on a bench near the beehives, eyes closed as he lazily blew rings of smoke into the air. Bilbo sat down next to him and fidgeted.
"Is something bothering you, Bilbo?" The wizard asked without bothering to open his eyes.
"No. No, well, yes. No. I mean—"
"What is the matter with you today, Bilbo?" the wizard opened one eye to squint at him quizzically. "Speak properly, boy!"
Bilbo tucked his hands under his arms. "I mean to say, yes, there's something I need to talk to you about. It's important — very important."
The wizard straightened. "Is it the same issue that was on your mind while Azog was behind us?"
"Yes," Bilbo replied quietly. "I couldn't discuss it in front of the dwarves. But now, now might be the best chance we have." Gandalf motioned for Bilbo to continue. "In the cave, when the goblins were chasing us, I met a… creature." Bilbo took in a deep breath. "I met Golllum."
The wizard's eyes widened, but he held his silence.
"From him, I took something… precious. A golden ring that gleamed even in the dark, that Gollum crooned over and swore to kill me to retrieve it back." Hands trembling, Bilbo tugged the ring from his pocket. It gleamed eerily; the surroundings quietened, as if holding their breath in its presence. Even the drone of the bumblebees muted.
"The ring spoke to me. It promised power — immense power, greater than you can ever have imagined — and vengeance. It felt wrong, Gandalf. Corrupted, dark, poisonous — it felt like what had twisted in the minds of those tainted dragons."
He passed the ring to Gandalf, who hissed when he touched it. The wizard's face was grave and weary as he held the small thing up and scrutinised it. "This ring is indeed powerful. It is soaked with dark magic; its very essence is sinister." Gandalf placed the ring on the bench and pointed at it. Foreign words fell from his mouth, words of power and ancient magic.
The ring burst into flames and rattled violently, before cursive inscriptions which were most certainly not visible before appeared on the glowing gold:
One ring to rule them all,
One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them.
Bilbo gasped. He sagged against the bench. "Then that means…"
"Truly. This is the One Ring, forged in Mount Doom and the key to Sauron's rise."
End of Chapter 14.
Yayyyyyy. Any similarities of names to the ones in Avatar: the Last Airbender is entirely coincidental. Yep, definitely.
Once again, sorry for the terribly late update :P
Reviews are appreciated! Thank you~
-littlesparrowkeet