Author's Note: Sorry for the great delay everyone. My laptop decided to die on me, and of course I didn't have my story saved to my thumb drive when it crashed. However, I was able to retrieve it. I could provide other excuses all day, but aren't we all busy? Thank you for taking the time to read this tale.


While Saruman and Radagast helped the elves prepare for an ambush on Dol Guldur, Gandalf left the Council on the pretenses of returning Beorn's horse, which he insisted was of the utmost importance. When he arrived at the homestead, he placed the horse in the stable to rest, though Beorn usually let them run wild. Walking up to the house, he could see through the little window in the door that the fireplace was lit. It was only when he was right upon the door, hand poised to knock, that he noticed Beorn was seated by the fire and chatting with a guest. It was another moment before he identified the stranger as Morine. Despite himself, he watched as the two leaned closer and closer toward each other before convincing himself that he must immediately disrupt them. He knew too well how prideful they both were, and if he knocked after they kissed, they would be wretchedly embarrassed. To save them from what would be an already awkward interruption, he quickly rapped on the door to signal his presence.

Beorn was swift on his feet to answer the door. He scoffed at the bothersome old man who seemed delighted to have unintentionally—or so he thought—destroyed the intimate moment. "What are you doing here at this hour?" he asked grumpily.

It was disconcerting how twinkly Gandalf's eyes were. "I thought I was welcome back at any time," he replied smugly.

"So you are," Beorn grumbled, ever the reluctant host.

"I took the leisure of stabling the horse you lent me," he explained as he stepped past the large man into the hall. "He did wonderfully, by the way. All my thanks to you again."

The man slammed his door shut in response.

"Gandalf," Morine gasped in surprise at the visitor. "Twice in a fortnight. What a pleasure," she intimated with a strange mixture of sincerity and sarcasm.

"And by what unfortunate event did you get dragged back here again?" he asked her curiously as he replaced Beorn's seat on the couch. Morine looked over her shoulder to glance at Beorn before he went into the kitchen, not knowing where to begin. "I'll go first," Gandalf said, sensing that she was not ready to answer. "The White Council has agreed to take action against the Necromancer."

"That is excellent news," Morine said excitedly, waiting for the details.

"Yes. They are currently preparing for the attack," he informed, "And I think we stand a good chance. The ambush is scheduled for a month from today."

"So soon," she breathed as Beorn handed Gandalf a mug of hot cider to warm him up.

Beorn took a seat in his oversized armchair closer to the fire, nursing his fresh tankard of mead. He listened as Gandalf said, "I still need you to hold up your end of the deal."

"A deal I never agreed to," she quickly reminded the old man.

Gandalf did not seem to mind so much. "It is only fair since I took care of your problem."

"Will hopefully take care of," Morine corrected with a stony glare that made him chuckle at her pessimism. "Why do you want me stay away from there so badly?"

"I have my reasons," he said vaguely, pointedly watching the fire to avoid her gaze. Eventually, he prodded, "The dragon."

"I'm not buying it," she said crossly. "The dwarves were already going to take care of it for you before I ever showed up here."

He replied, "True, but they could use the help." She shook her head at his insufficient explanations. With a sigh, he set his mug down beside him. She could see his spirits were sinking and knew she was right that there was more to it than he had told her. "The Necromancer is a much bigger threat than even you know."

Quietly, she said, "I doubt it," though her run-in with the orcs came to mind.

He knew he had no other way to convince his stubborn cohort. Reluctantly, Gandalf grumbled, "It is Sauron." Only the sound of the crackling fire could be heard beneath the weight of that name.

An ominous feeling settled into the room as all three gazed toward the fire in the hearth. "How do you know?" Morine asked.

Taking a sip of cider, he said, "I knew from the moment I stepped foot into Dol Guldur years ago. Any doubt I had absolved when I found Thrain was taken prisoner. You were certainly correct in the breadth of the evil seeping from that place. Sauron is the source. It is unquestionable."

As the two wizards considered the meaning of this threat. Beorn began rubbing his thick beard in thought, brushing the foreboding feeling away. "Sauron. Why does that sound familiar?" his voice rumbled.

Uneasily, Morine explained, "He was the deity responsible for the downfall of Numenor." Beorn squinted as he struggled to recall the legendary island that was wiped off the face of Arda, an ancient tale he had heard as a young boy. She turned to Gandalf and said, "Is that why you wanted me to stay away? This is the very reason we were sent to Middle Earth, to protect it from the same disastrous fate."

"I know that," he said more serenely than he felt. "That is why I need your help with the dragon." Morine rolled her eyes, feeling that he was simply being protective. "There is the great possibility that Sauron could call upon the dragon to assist him in resisting the Council. We cannot afford for that to happen."

She remembered his comment about having all of their beans in the same pot and realized that he meant it for the other side. "You're right, but," she hesitantly conceded, "What can I do to help?"

Gandalf seemed puzzled. "Is it true, then, that you have lost your magic?"

"Not entirely," Morine said, shifting her eyes to a surprisingly stoic Beorn. "I can shape shift."

"Oh?" he said, raising his eyebrows. Morine had expected him to be more critical of her usage of magic.

"Into a panther," Beorn's baritone finally chimed into the conversation.

With a smile, Gandalf said, "Interesting. And why a panther?"

"I don't know," Morine snapped defensively. No one had cared before. "I learned how to do it and that was the form I found myself in."

Enjoying his hot cider, Gandalf thought to himself how appropriate it was. She was observant, temperamental, and protective—much like Beorn, in fact. Sipping slowly, he wondered if that was what had brought the two closer: Beorn learning that he was not the only shape shifter in Middle Earth. He imagined that he had gotten quite lonely over the years, though loneliness was certainly not enough cause for the prideful man to take interest in a woman. He was certain his—dare he say it?—friend was not dependent in nature. As a constant wanderer, he understood the allure of companionship. "How did you know about it?" he asked Beorn, curious as to how he discovered something about Morine that even he did not know.

Beorn was unaware that the wizard had asked Morine to stay away from Dol Guldur, and so he began, "A few days ago I was patrolling the land between here and the villages in the south. When I was near the edge of the forest, several dozen orcs—heavily armored—ambushed me." Gandalf listened intently to the report, wishing for a moment that the straight-forward host held the same flair for storytelling as he did. "I downed several of them before I saw a panther was attacking them from behind." He jerked a thumb toward Morine.

"Orcs?" Gandalf asked, looking at Morine. "From Dol Guldur, no doubt?"

Sinking into the couch like a scolded child, Morine confirmed, "Yes. They were troops sent from Dol Guldur." Turning to Beorn, she continued, "That I would have eliminated sooner, had I known where they were destined."

Beorn grumbled, "They were armored, woman. Where did you think they were going?" His temper was beginning to flare at the memory of the threat to his friends and their families in small, nearly helpless villages.

Morine felt her cheeks burn. "I have never seen orcs like that before," she said intensely. "And for your information, they are often sent out deep into the forest to patrol and expand their territory. All I did was observe their movements."

Gandalf's eyes blazed at her, but he did not reprimand her for watching the fortress. "What made these orcs different from the usual ones?" he asked.

"They were armored," Beorn reiterated, irritating her.

"They were also much larger and stronger than the usual type. There is something different about this kind," she said. "I cannot explain what it is, but they were much smarter as well."

Gandalf asked what she hoped he would not. "How were they smarter?"

With a defeated sigh, Morine carefully pulled her shirt off her shoulder to reveal the deep arrow wound as Gandalf ran a gentle finger over the ugly scar, concern etched deeply in his old face. "It is healing nicely," he offered, noticing how uncomfortable she felt with the vulnerable display.

"I ran straight into a trap they set," she finally answered. Beorn nodded his head, remembering how he found her lying on the forest floor. "I have never seen so many orcs work together to accomplish a goal without tearing each apart. They were working as a unit."

"Hmmmm," Gandalf thought aloud. "This is grave news. I will have to tell the Council about this new development so they can plan accordingly. Tackling Sauron will be difficult enough without his prepared soldiers to get in the way. Since you can shape shift, is there any other way you can use your magic?" he tried to assess.

"Well," she said, eying Beorn carefully, "there is one other way." Both men perked up in curiosity as she prepared her body and mind to control her whimsical magic. "It's not much," she tried to excuse already, but Gandalf would not let her back out. He had to know her potential.

"It took years to refine my firecraft," he pointed out to her. "Practice makes perfect, as they say."

"I haven't been practicing," she grumbled. Nevertheless, she placed her hands together and closed her eyes. When they finally felt hot and tingly, she slowly pulled her palms an inch apart, revealing white-blue kinetic energy that danced from finger to finger and shot across the space between her palms as she spread them farther and farther apart. Slowly opening her eyes, she gasped at the brightness. The entire hall seemed illuminated, as the energy was much more concentrated that she usually produced. Beorn's and Gandalf's enamored faces were drawn to the orb of light like moths.

"Lightning," Gandalf breathed, clearly impressed. She had grown the ball to the same size she had shown Bilbo, carefully keeping it under control, which was no easy task. Finally, she began to relax her fingers and let it slowly fizzle out, energy still crackling in the air where the orb had been, threatening to make her spine tingle. "Splendid!" Gandalf declared with a grin. "I knew you were capable."

Morine's body slumped into the couch in exhaustion, feeling the sweat beading on her recently washed body. Catching her breath, she said, "I have not practiced." She was glad to see that Beorn's warm brown eyes did not greet her with fear but acceptance.

"That is a not a problem," Gandalf decided. "We have two weeks to practice and refine your craft."

"Two weeks?" she repeated, staring at him in disbelief. She had possessed her magic for ages without mastering it, and yet he expected her to master it so quickly.

"Yes, of course," he said matter-of-factly. " If the attack on Dol Guldur is set for within a month from now, and it takes you two weeks to get to the Lonely Mountain, then that gives us two weeks to train you." Morine was gaping at the grey-clad crazy man. She was drained from a few minutes of making a small orb and could not stomach the thought of doing much grander things with such a capricious element. Chuckling at her look of disbelief, he demanded, "We shall begin tomorrow morning."