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Chapter Sixteen
Wilderland
They used up most of their day making the treacherous climb down the Carrock. Though the Company had only suffered minor injuries from their harrowing journey through the goblin-tunnels and the subsequent orc attack, hunger and fatigue had soon caught up to them, making their descent more a crawl than anything. Alison's skin itched and burned all day from the magical stitching that was busy healing her wounds, but she thought it was better than being concussed or dead, at least.
Dusk had settled when they descended entirely from the Carrock. Before them stretched a craggy plain dotted with patches of grass and clusters of trees, covered by the gray haze of twilight. Thorin led them to a reasonably-sized thicket at the base of the Carrock. The ground was sharp with jutting stones and short, bristly grass, but the trees would provide them some shelter from the elements.
"We'll camp here for the night," Thorin said. He pointed eastward. "We will pass the borders of the Wilderland tomorrow morning, and we will need all the rest we can get.
"Glóin, Bofur, collect some branches for a fire," he continued. "Small ones that can be put out easily. I haven't been this side of the Misty Mountains in many years, and I do not know who or what have made this place their home since then."
The two dwarves nodded and began their task. The rest of them were left to find the softest patches of ground and create makeshift beds out of their clothing and what little remaining supplies they still had. Most of their belongings had been left behind in the cave where the goblins took them, so they had no food, no waterskins, and no bedrolls. All that remained were their weapons and the clothes on their backs.
Alison sat cross-legged on the ground and thought of her backpack. She'd taken it off in the cave and hadn't had time to snatch it up before the goblins came. The sense of homesickness that washed over her next drove a hot iron spike through her chest. That backpack was one of the last things she'd had left of her previous life; a tangible thing that reminded her that she had family and friends waiting for her in another world. And now it was gone, along with all the relics she'd carried in it, like her wallet and phone. Left behind, just like everything else she'd been forced to give up to go on a quest for just a small sliver of a chance to get back home.
She hadn't realized she'd been clutching a shard of stone until it dug into the soft flesh of her palm. The pain startled her, and she opened her hand to see a smear of blood, both on her skin and the gray stone. Immediately, the shallow slice began to itch as her skin knitted itself back together. Further proof that she was no longer just Alison Ashburne. Now, she was Alison Ashburne, the Seventh Hero.
She tossed the stone away from her in disgust.
As night closed in, Alison's stomach began to contract painfully, begging her to feed it. She had barely eaten in days, but with the threat of the goblins behind, her hunger had returned with a vengeance. Thorin had sent Dwalin and Kíli to hunt with Kíli's bow and the scrounged arrows they had managed to save from the goblins before their escape, but the Company, like Alison, had become increasingly subdued as the shadows lengthened and the reminder of their loss of supplies weighed on them.
Bofur and Glóin had managed to start a tame fire in the center of their small space, and the Company sat huddled around it. Alison stayed on the edge of the circle, enjoying her small moment of solitude as the flames cast dancing shadows at her feet and a small breeze played with her hair; a cool gust of summer that held a tinge of something crisper, like autumn, reminding her that time marched ever on while she was in Middle-earth. Although Gandalf had told her it would be like no time had passed in her own world when she returned, the thought still made her curl even more into herself.
Kíli and Dwalin reappeared just as the stars came out. In each dwarf's hand were two or three rabbits each; fairly small, but food nonetheless, though Alison's stomach turned slightly at the prospect of eating wild rabbit. It had been easy to ignore the game in Bombur's stews, but without any other ingredients, there was nothing else to mask what she was really eating. She stayed back as the dwarves mumbled in appreciation of the meat and set about skinning the creatures, while Bifur and Óin fashioned a small spit over the fire using leftover twigs and branches from the pile Bofur and Glóin had collected earlier.
While the dwarves worked away on preparing their dinner, Bilbo wandered over and sat down beside her, adjusting the small sword on his waist so he could sit more comfortably.
"You've been quiet today," he remarked, picking at the layers of dirt that had culminated under his fingernails since they had left Rivendell.
Her mouth quirked. She was too exhausted to smile properly. "Well, we've kind of almost died at least ten times since yesterday. I still haven't quite processed that we're really alive yet."
He chuckled quietly at her words. The hobbit looked relaxed, almost content by her side, gazing off into space with a slight smile on his impish face, his light brown eyes filled with a twinkle she hadn't noticed before. Despite all that had happened to them since entering the Misty Mountains, he seemed more serene than ever.
"You're different," she stated. Bilbo glanced at her with his eyebrows raised slightly. "I mean, not by a lot, but since yesterday, you just seem more…confident. Sure of yourself."
"Really?" he said. "I don't feel any different. More…grounded, maybe. But that's it. I don't feel any more confident than usual, but certainly more capable, I believe."
Alison nodded thoughtfully. "You certainly proved that. You made it through the goblin-tunnels by yourself, unscathed. I don't think anyone will forget that anytime soon." She nudged his shoulder. "See what a little faith does for you? I told you that you were meant to come on this quest."
Bilbo shrugged modestly, choosing not to say anything as he watched the dwarves for a moment, but Alison had a pretty good guess as to what had changed the hobbit's attitude so quickly. Her eyes strayed to his waistcoat pocket. She debated asking him about the ring, but she could only see it giving rise to more complications for herself if he wondered how she could possibly know of something he was keeping secret. Before she could say anything, though, Bofur announced it was time for dinner and she lost her chance.
Alison and Bilbo approached the fire and sat down between Bombur and Ori. Her mouth watered at the scent of cooked meat, her stomach nearly whining after going for so long without true sustenance. When she was handed her fair share of rabbit meat, she wolfed it down quickly, ignoring the scalding temperature and all qualms about eating the wild creature that she'd had before.
When the Company had finished eating, Thorin stood up. "Get some sleep. We start at first light. Nori, take the first watch. I'll take the second."
There was something hard in his voice that Alison didn't recognize, but her eyes were drooping too much to fully analyze it. She found her patch of ground and passed out as soon as her head hit her arms.
A steady breeze had begun to blow during the night, kicking into a mild wind as dawn neared. The air whispered of autumn's approach—and that of Durin's Day.
Thorin had relieved Nori of his watch some hours before and now sat propped against the trunk of a wide tree while the Company slept on. A few scarce birds tweeted in the branches, their songs sharp and piercing after the near-dead silence of the night preceding them.
The birds' song reminded Thorin of the thrush they had seen yesterday morning as it flew toward the Lonely Mountain. The sight of the mountain had filled him with a feeling he could not put words to—a mixture of relief, unrestrained joy, and sheer terror. Erebor was in their sights; yet despite his overwhelming elation when he'd laid eyes on the mountain again after nearly two hundred years, an old fear had begun to gnaw at him once more, festering in his mind like an infected wound that refused to heal.
It had been sixty years since Smaug was last seen; though Thorin had heard whispers of it in the back of pubs, tales of the dragon's supposed demise, he knew that the wretched snake would not have wasted away so easily. No, the dragon was merely slumbering; biding his time as he slept on the mounds of gold that had drawn his wrath upon Erebor in the first place.
But there was no use in worrying about Smaug at that time. They still had little more than two months to make it to the mountain by Durin's Day; there was still plenty of time to work out a plan around the problem of the dragon. He wouldn't concern himself with the matter right then. Not when another worry ate at him.
Besides the menace of Smaug, another challenge he faced upon entering the Mountain was the threat of the gold-sickness. He had tried to put Lord Elrond's words out of his head, but the reminder of what awaited him at Erebor had flooded back when he had seen the Lonely Mountain silhouetted against the horizon.
"A strain of madness runs in that family. His grandfather lost his mind; his father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?"
The words had been difficult enough to swallow the first time, and they were no less intolerable now than they had been several weeks ago. His hand drifted to his coat pocket and pulled out the key to the secret entrance, turning it so it caught the fading glimmers of starlight. He remembered his vow back in Rivendell and let the words soothe down the frayed ends of his composure, allowing the truth of them to sedate the paralyzing fear of the sickness and Erebor.
A disturbance in the clearing made him put away the key and tighten his grip on Orcrist, but it was only Gandalf stirring from his slumber. The wizard pulled himself off the ground with the aid of his staff and swept on his pointy gray hat with a flourish, all traces of sleep gone from the wizard's tall and wiry frame as he pulled out his pipe and some Old Toby. After lighting it with a flame produced from his fingertip, Gandalf looked around the clearing, his bright blue eyes landing on Thorin. He stood as Gandalf approached, trailing smoke, and tried not to wince at his stiff muscles.
Gandalf took in the cloudless sky above them and puffed a perfectly round smoke ring out of his mouth.
"A good day to travel," he observed.
"Indeed," Thorin replied. "I could do without the wind, though," he added as a particularly strong gust blew through the clearing, ruffling Thorin's hair and making the leaves on the tree branches rattle with the force of it.
"You've had a difficult few days," the wizard said, and Thorin stiffened. The weight of the knowledge that Azog the Defiler was alive sat heavily on him. In the space of a breath, everything he thought he'd known had all become a lie. "How are you faring?"
Thorin's mouth flattened. "Did you know the Defiler was alive?"
Gandalf rolled his pipe's stem over his lips thoughtfully. "I suspected, but until yesterday, I had no proof." He sighed and smoke billowed out of his mouth. "I fear that this will not be the last time we see the Pale Orc. It is troubling, how he revealed himself, and when he did. There is something I cannot quite understand about it."
"I thought I had seen that abomination for the last time after he fled into Moria," Thorin said, clenching one of his hands into a fist. "And yet that scum still walks this earth, intent on cutting off my head much as he did to my grandfather. And you think you don't understand what is going on?"
Gandalf remained silent, and Thorin sighed, the enormity of their task looming above him like a mountain he could not see the top of.
"What are we doing, Gandalf?" he said. "Sometimes I believe that what we are doing is right; that we will manage to reenter the mountain and take back our homeland, but… There are times where I feel like our quest is impossible, and Smaug will continue to lie within Erebor until he rots out of his skin. I do not know how this will end for us."
"If there is one thing that I know about you, Thorin Oakenshield, it is that you are stubborn and determined until the end," Gandalf said. His voice was solemn, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. "You will not be deterred from your path, and it is this endurance that will lend you the strength you need to complete this quest."
"Even if we do manage to make it to the Mountain by Durin's Day and enter the door, there is still the problem of the Arkenstone." Thorin gazed eastward, clasping his hands behind his back. "I don't know what Smaug will have done with it in the years he has inhabited Erebor. I fear that it is lost somewhere within the halls where it will never be found."
"That is why we have Bilbo, my dear fellow," the wizard replied, smiling slightly. "I believe it was stated very explicitly in the contract that the burglar would be the one to retrieve the King's Jewel. I have the utmost confidence in Bilbo that he can see the task done."
Thorin had nothing to say to that, so he moved on to the next problem.
"I don't suppose you have any friends or allies nearby that owe you a favor and could lend us supplies, do you?" he asked Gandalf halfheartedly.
To his surprise, Gandalf nodded. "There could be someone who may be willing to help us," he said, "but there is no guarantee he will. He's a solitary fellow, and not overly fond of dwarves."
His gaze slid over to Thorin, and he grimaced.
"We'll take our chances," Thorin said. "Come; it's time to begin waking the others."
After sharing a scanty breakfast of leftover rabbit meat and a few berries each that Óin had determined safe to eat, the Company began to scatter the remains of their fire, and Thorin sent a few dwarves on patrol to look for a water source nearby. His mouth was already as dry as sand, and he didn't want to start losing his Company to the effects of dehydration before they found Gandalf's supposed friend.
As the sun came close to breaking over the jagged peaks of the Misty Mountains, Fíli returned from scouting and reported that they had found a stream. The rest followed him out of the thicket and across a short stretch of brittle grass until the sound of trickling water reached Thorin's ears, and they came upon a slow-moving mountain stream.
Most of the dwarves were already by the stream, drinking their fair share of water and splashing their faces to rub off the culminated layers of dirt, sweat, and blood. After Thorin drank his fill, he cupped some water in his hands and splashed his own face, the crisp coldness of it awakening him and wiping away the last strands of fatigue.
His reflection rippled back at him, dark and distorted in the current, like a shadow of himself. He tried not to think of it as a premonition before he pushed himself to his feet and ordered the Company to move on, ever closer to their journey's end.
The good weather held as they wended their way through Wilderland, which Alison was immensely grateful for. They'd been traveling for four days already, and she could only hope that the weather—and their luck—held out. There had been no sign of any orcs or wargs, either, but she knew they hadn't seen the last of them.
After the Carrock, she'd kept mostly to herself again, content to follow and not talk. It gave her time and space to think, though often, her thoughts strayed to a particular dwarf prince who walked in front of her.
She and Kíli had barely spoken since the Carrock. He was always off hunting, she was always busy tending to the camp, and their watches were never together. She didn't even know what she would say to him, anyway.
"So, I might like you a little bit more than friends, but let's not make it weird, okay? Especially because you kissed me and it's already a little weird."
So, perhaps she was avoiding him. But what else could she do? She just had to stay away from him and rip out whatever little crush she had developed for him root and stem. And then burn those roots with fire. And then bury them so deep she would never be able to find them again.
No crushing on dwarf princes, she thought vehemently. Even if they are ruggedly handsome and witty and flirtatious and kind. Ugh, no, shut up, brain. No—feelings—allowed.
She kept this mantra going for three more days, until it had officially been a week since the eagles had rescued them, and they arrived on the edge of a vast swath of land that eventually morphed into a sprawl of forest. They made camp that night in a small grove protected by brambles and bushes that boasted bright purple berries. The Misty Mountains were nothing more than distant peaks, and Alison couldn't be happier. She hoped she never had to see them again.
She rested against the base of a tree after helping build the fire while the dwarves sat scattered around her, talking and sharing the few pipes and little tobacco that had survived their skirmish in the tunnels. She was fine being alone, watching the stars come out one-by-one until someone lightly kicked her shoe.
She brought her gaze back to Middle-earth and saw another sight as pleasant as the evening sky as Kíli looked down his long nose at her, his bow in hand.
When her eyes flicked to the bow, he gave it a little shake. "Help me hunt?"
She gave him and the darkening land a skeptical look. "You know I can't see in the dark as well as you, right? And I have no idea how to hunt."
"Which is why you should learn." He held out his hand to her. "Come; I'll teach you."
She sighed and let him haul her to her feet. Even with her swords still on her back, he acted as if she weighed nothing more than a paperclip. She glanced around their camp. "Is anyone else coming?"
"Just us," he said. He raised a dark eyebrow at her surprised look. "Unless you'd like a bigger audience?"
She grimaced. "No, thanks. I'm sure it'll be embarrassing enough with just you watching me."
He grinned as he led the way into the trees. "You'll do fine. Just try not to scare off the prey."
"You're one to talk." She pointed to his large, heavy boots. "You're like Bigfoot."
He ignored her jibe. "Keep your steps light and avoid anything that might trip you up or make a lot of noise. Eyes moving, ears open."
"Right." She nodded. "I can do that."
The firelight from their camp and the noises of the Company soon faded away until it was only the two of them, the stars, and the woods. Alison kept up as best she could, but she still winced anytime a twig snapped, or a rock dislodged under her foot. Kíli pressed on, an arrow fitted to his bowstring, and it was all she could do to keep his broad back in sight as the shadows grew deeper around them.
She nearly missed his signal to halt in the near-darkness, but she stopped, her eyes and ears straining. He sank into a crouch, his gaze fixed on a patch of rustling undergrowth several yards ahead of them. She remained rooted to the spot, not wanting to disturb anything as he slowly lifted his bow and drew the string back.
The bow creaked, and the undergrowth stilled. After several tense moments, the rustling began again, and Kíli held his shot for a few seconds more before releasing it. The arrow disappeared into the brush, and there was a soft thud that made her wince.
Kíli went to the undergrowth and felt around before lifting a dead jackrabbit by the scruff of its neck. The arrow had gone clean through its eye. Despite knowing that it was needed for their survival, she still felt a twinge of sadness as he strung the animal to his belt.
"Here," he said, passing her the bloodied arrow. "Hold on to this until we get back to camp and I can clean it up for re-use." She held the shaft gingerly, the point facing down. "Let's see what else we can find before the moon rises."
It took almost an hour, but Kíli managed to snag two more rabbits and a squirrel. He'd taught her tips as the night wore on, and she did her best to remember them, reciting them to herself over and over again to commit them to memory. They barely spoke during their hunt, but as they returned to camp, he cleared his throat.
"I brought you with me tonight because I also intended on speaking to you," he said. Alison searched the shadows for a moment before finding the gleam of his dark eyes. He met her gaze briefly before facing forward again. "I wanted to apologize for my behavior in the goblin-tunnels." He cleared his throat again, and Alison knew he was referring to their kiss. She was glad it was dark because her face had suddenly started blazing. "There were many other things I could have done to keep you conscious, and I regret not using one of those things. I'm sorry if I caused you any distress or discomfort."
"Don't worry about it," she said quickly. "I'm glad you did it—er, to keep me awake, that is." She grinned faintly. "And I'm sorry for almost dying on you."
She could hear the smirk in his voice as he said, "Just try not to make a habit of it, aye?"
They reached the trees bordering their camp. Before she walked ahead, Kíli held her back with a hand on her arm.
The fire offered her light, and his face glowed bronze as he faced her. His eyes were pools of black, and he suddenly looked like a warrior prince straight from the pages of a fairytale—which, he quite was, literally.
"I meant my words in Rivendell," he said lowly, so the others in the camp could not hear. "I will protect you. And once this quest is over, I will see you back to your own home."
Her breath caught in her throat. If he only knew that she had silently promised him those same things…
"I know," was all she could say around the hot coals burning in her chest. "I…I'll do my best to protect you, too. To protect everyone."
He quirked his lips. "Then you can start by not doubting yourself so much."
"What?"
"You're a warrior. A Hero." He pointed to a spot on her chest, right where her heart was. "Maybe you should start believing in it some."
He gave her a small smile before walking into the camp with their catch. She pressed a hand to the spot where he'd pointed and felt her heart beating erratically under her palm.
Root and stem, she reminded herself firmly.
She followed Kíli into the camp and spotted Gandalf sitting outside of the circle of dwarves and Bilbo, smoking his pipe and humming quietly to himself as the dwarves set upon skinning and cleaning Kíli's catches. While the rest of the Company was preoccupied, she squared her shoulders and approached the wizard.
"We need to talk," she said in a low voice when she reached him.
He glanced up at her in surprise at her sudden appearance, but when he took in her frown and straight spine, he nodded slowly. "Yes, I imagine we do."
She sat on the ground in front of him, keeping her back to the Company. He waited patiently while she collected her thoughts. Questions upon questions had been plaguing her ever since arriving in Middle-earth, but the last few weeks especially had compounded them all into a heavy iron ball weighing in her gut and mind. She'd been waiting for an opportunity to speak to him alone ever since the Carrock, but now that she had it, she hadn't a clue where to begin.
She ended up blurting out the first thing that fell from her brain to her tongue. "The book."
He continued to wait while her mouth worked. "Just— How? I mean, how is it possible that you know about it? How does it even exist?"
Gandalf's lips curled in a smile. "Well, someone had to have written it."
She gave him a deadpan look, and his smile widened. She shook her head. "You're pretty annoying for a wizard, you know that?"
He chuckled. "To be entirely honest, Miss Ashburne, I do not know myself how the book exists in your world." He shrugged, chewing on his pipe stem thoughtfully. "The best I can figure is that the author somehow crossed the veil and stumbled into this world, or the other way around. But its existence is as much a mystery to you as it is to me."
She sighed, figuring the answer would have been something like that. "Yet you still know about it. And the Valar, too." When he didn't contradict her, she went on. "If that's the case…then why am I here? And forget about that damn Oath for a second," she said, holding up a hand when he made to speak. "If you and the Valar already know about the book, about the ending, then why can't you all change it yourselves? Why do they need me?"
"There is no answer I can give without mentioning the Oath that would satisfy you," he said, and she was shocked to hear the note of sympathy in his voice. "The Valar can watch the world, perhaps gently nudge it in the right direction at times, but they cannot bend it to their will." A wisp of smoke slithered from his lips and was instantly lost in the tendrils of his gray hair. "I know not what Eleon swore to the Valar before he crossed the veil, but whatever it was, it granted the Ashburne Line an ability the Valar themselves do not have." He gave her a significant look. "The power to directly change the destiny of the world."
"So, I get the same answer I've been getting all along," she grumbled. "Great. Thanks." She suddenly eyed him sharply. "If the Valar can't do anything, then can you? You know the book yourself. You brought me here with magic. You should be able to do this task as much as me."
He was already shaking his head before she was finished. "My power in this world is limited in much the same way as the Valar's. I am their servant firstly before I am a wizard. I am thereby bound to the same rules."
She threw up her hands. "Shouldn't you still be able to help change the ending to the story, though? And what about the other books? Don't you know them, too?"
He blinked owlishly at her. "What other books?"
She dropped her hands, staring at him in disbelief. "There are more books about Middle-earth than just The Hobbit." He stared at her. She stared back. "The Lord of the Rings? You've seriously never heard of them? You've visited my world, read The Hobbit, and you didn't ever think to check if there were other books?"
"Well, have you read them?" he asked, and if she wasn't mistaken, he sounded miffed.
She glanced away. "Not exactly."
He heaved a great sigh, and it made her feel as if she had just disappointed a favorite teacher of hers. She folded her arms across her chest and stared at the brown grass under her feet.
"I'm sorry, Miss Ashburne," he said quietly, and she looked up. His pipe had died, and his blue eyes were solemn and sad in the night shadows. "Truly, I am. You never asked for this burden, and I can't help but feel responsible for being the one to thrust it upon you so unfairly."
She kept her eyes down. "It's not your fault, Gandalf. You weren't the one who chose me. You just did what was asked of you." She expelled a deep sigh and rubbed a hand over her face. "I don't blame you for getting me into this. I don't blame you for anything at all. I just…" She waved her hand, fighting back the sudden tears that sprung to her eyes. "If I have to do this, I don't want to fail. I-I want to save them. All of them."
She gestured over her shoulder, where the Company roared with laughter over some joke, the smells of blood and guts slowly being overtaken by wood smoke and roasting meat. Their laughter sent a needle of pain through her heart, pricking at its edges until it felt like it was bleeding down her insides, filling them with hot fear and bitter determination.
Gandalf reached out and placed a warm, weathered hand over her own. His fingers were leathery and nimble, and she found herself clutching at them and willing some of their strength to flow into her own.
"I know, Miss Ashburne," he said. "I feel the same. I will always help you to the best of my ability, for whatever an old man's word is worth." He squeezed her hand. "You are not alone."
She flinched back violently when Bofur's voice suddenly rang out behind her. "Oi! What're you two whisperin' about? Come get some meat!"
Alison opened her mouth to retort something back when a howl echoed through the night, quickly followed by a chorus of baying and snarling that froze her bones into ice.
Gandalf was on his feet in an instant. "Up, all of you! Our hunters are not far behind!"
Alison scrambled to stand as the dwarves launched into action. Bofur slapped a rabbit quarter out of Bombur's hand with a harsh "Leave it!" as the others gathered what little belongings they had left and stamped out the fire. She looked at Gandalf. "Azog's pack?"
The wizard nodded, grim. "Undoubtedly." He gathered up his staff and shouted to the company. "Now! Hurry! Run!"
There was no need to be told twice. They were already sprinting away into the night, led by Gandalf, their hunters in pursuit.
Alison felt like she was stuck in a recurring nightmare, an endless dream she always fell into where she was constantly running for her life, pursued by some new nasty creature every time. But as much as she wished it was, she knew it was not a dream; her heaving lungs, burning legs, and potent fear were enough to tell her that.
They had run steadily onwards through the night, not once pausing for a break, and Alison was becoming increasingly grateful for whatever Hero strength or endurance she had been endowed with, or else she would have collapsed hours ago.
They had not dared to stop; even when the air behind them grew still from lack of warg howls, they kept running, for always a few seconds later they would hear the trampling footfalls behind them once more and the renewed snarls and knew they were not in the clear just yet.
The sun was climbing higher in the clear sky, shedding light on the wildly gorgeous flatlands around them, but Alison had no time to stop and appreciate its untamable beauty; the orc pack wasn't letting up on their hunt, and it was all she could do to stay focused on Fíli's back in front of her and concentrate on not tripping over her feet and face-planting.
Suddenly, there was a startled yelp from behind them, and then there were many fearful yowls and cries from the orcs and wargs as another, stronger roar rose above those that dumped terror straight into her veins. She heard the scattering of undergrowth and more fearful baying as the wargs and orcs broke rank, and with a stab of horror, she realized that there must be another creature—something even more monstrous than Azog's pack, if the orcs were fleeing—behind them.
Her heart in her throat, Alison pushed on, the dwarves and Bilbo right behind her as Gandalf led them across the plains without faltering.
She spotted something in the distance, then, across the long plain—a long, low house, hidden behind giant spires of a wooden gate made of tree trunks and surrounded by bell-shaped beehives. Memory lit within her brain, and she could have sobbed in relief before there was a bone-vibrating roar, and a brown warg bearing an orc leaped directly into their path.
"Scatter!" Thorin shouted, unsheathing his sword, Orcrist, as the blue blade glittered in the sun.
"Get to the house!" Gandalf bellowed as the warg snarled and charged. "Run!"
The Company followed Thorin's order and scattered, fanning out as the lone warg and orc bore down on them. The house was only a few hundred yards away, but Alison feared that not all of them would make it as the warg lunged for Thorin and Dwalin.
Another roar shook the air, and then there was a splintering crack of trees that rappelled like gunshots from behind them. The warg and its rider paused, and Alison glanced back over her shoulder just as a huge, towering mass of something crashed out of the sparse woodlands they had just passed through.
The beast was distinctly a bear, except that it was humongous, at least the size of her house back home, rippling with muscles under coarse black hair and its mouth gaping in a fear-inducing snarl; and even from where she was, Alison could see the gleaming fangs, its canines at least the length of her swords alone.
The creature bellowed again as it rushed out of the trees towards them, and Alison could only stare in shock, suddenly hit with the realization that this thing was after them, and was possibly going to tear them to pieces in about ten seconds as it bounded closer to the gates.
"Alison, what are you doing?" Fíli barked, grabbing her wrist and pulling her towards the house forcefully. "Get inside, come on!"
With difficulty, Alison tore her eyes away from the beast and sprinted after Fíli as they raced to the open gate of the house, which seemed made for the likes of a giant as it towered above them. A shadow passed over them then, and Alison instinctively braced for the fangs that were surely about to tear into her, the claws that would disembowel her in seconds, and she only prayed that it would be quick—
The bear leaped clear over the Company in one bound, and her eyes shot open just as its maw latched onto the orc's head. The orc didn't even have time to scream before the bear ripped its head off in one bite, black blood spraying the air and landing on the grass like macabre rainfall. The bear flattened the warg under one powerful paw, and the warg yelped as its bones crunched under the weight, the sound of splintering bone almost as terrible and loud as its screams.
The Company had frozen in shock and terror, but as the great bear tore into the warg with tooth and claw, Gandalf roared at them. "Get inside! Get to the house, now!"
They practically flew the last hundred yards until they reached a door the same height and breadth of a mountain troll.
Gandalf threw his hand up and slid the door's bolt back, his fingers scrabbling on the wood as he managed to get the door unlocked. "Everyone inside!" he ordered. "Get in, now!"
The Company piled through the huge door, and when the last of them were inside, they threw their weight into it and bolted it back. They braced themselves against the door, waiting for the inevitable assault of the bear once it was done with the warg, but it never came.
Nori peered through a crack in the door with his keen eyes and gasped. "The bear is running the other way! We've given it the slip!"
"What was that thing?" Ori panted, clutching at his chest.
"That," said Gandalf simply, "is our host." The dwarves stared at him in shock and disbelief. "His name is Beorn, and he is a skin-changer. Sometimes he is a huge black bear"—he nodded his head at the door— "and sometimes he is a great strong Man. This is his house."
"And you are all trespassers," said a voice from the shadows.
Before Alison could even react, she was grabbed from behind, and a sword was thrust under her chin. Cold iron kissed her neck, and she shivered in fear.
"Drop your weapons," said the man holding her, "or she dies."
I changed up Beorn's intro a little bit to better match his book counterpart. I never really understood why he went after the Company when the orcs were right there, so I tried to reflect that a bit better. I hope it works.
And if you've read this story before, y'all know who just showed up ;)
Please review! It helps me immensely to know what you are or aren't enjoying about this fic. I appreciate the feedback!
Until next time!
