Beorn was less than pleased at the unexpected arrangement. It was now a few weeks ago that he had returned the house to its usual state before the company, and he had thoroughly enjoyed having his place to himself again. Having to take care of Morine because he did not really have a choice was somewhat burdensome. The one person he had wanted to never see again was back in his house and using his bed. He had slept on the couch for the several nights that he took care of her, but now that the antidote had taken affect, he was gladly claiming his bedroom back. While Gandalf and Morine made their plans, he gathered the extra blankets that she had kicked to the foot of the bed and set them in his armchair for them to use. The horses instinctively set up a cot for the extra guest, as they had when the dwarves were visiting.
Laying in his bed that night, he was disturbed by Morine's smell that lingered in his sheets from her feverish sweating. It reminded him of sandalwood. He thought of the kiss they had nearly shared but an hour ago, and he found himself aggravated. He cursed Gandalf for interrupting them, and he cursed Morine for arousing him. Falling asleep was proving much more difficult than usual as he wondered about the softness of her lips while breathing in her scent.
It was nearly afternoon when he awoke the next day. His sleep schedule was wrecked from two late nights—one of searching for moon lilies in Mirkwood and another of fireside chatting. He usually went to sleep with the sun and woke before it. He also usually slept quite heavily and woke refreshed, but it was not the case today. Cold coffee and a mostly empty bowl of berries sat on the table in the dining hall, as his guests had clearly helped themselves in his absence to whatever they could find. Running his fingers through his thick black hair, he wondered how things were changing between he and Morine as he recalled her catching him cooking. In his dreams he had kissed her a thousand ways, but this morning, he dreaded her presence and kicked himself for such intimate thoughts. He went about his usual business around the lands that morning, pointedly ignoring her as she trained with Gandalf.
The two were practicing in the same valley that she had revealed her powers to Bilbo. Summoning the element was easy enough, but controlling it was the issue. Lightning was fickle, but so was the fire that Gandalf had learned to command.
"The first step will be summoning your element with as little effort as possible," the gray wizard said. "And the best way to do that is repetition."
Morine knew she would be exhausted that night. It would take immense effort to turn her lightning into a weapon. They spent hours after their makeshift breakfast focusing on summoning faster and better. By the time they called it a day and headed in for supper, she could focus on the orb without initially closing her eyes and keeping her palms together. A small step, but she and Gandalf were happy with the progress; she could manifest the lightning by simply staring into the space between her palms now. It was taking longer than her usual way, but it would be safer to use in the presence of a dragon, when closing her eyes for even a second could cost her life.
At supper, Morine and Beorn were careful to ignore each other and converse politely for the sake of Gandalf and for the hope that he could not feel how the tension between them had changed since the last time they were together. Once her head hit the couch pillow late that evening, Morine was thrust into a heavy sleep—the best she had gotten while under Beorn's roof.
For a fortnight, the two spent the long, late summer days training in the heat. The lightning she could produce was gaining potency. She could eventually create defined bolts by grasping the white-hot heat in her hands and shooting them like spears. An alternate manifestation that Gandalf had suggested was a lightning whip. Shaping the energy and concentrating it into such a defined form had proved the most difficult part, but to call upon the element had become as easy as thinking about it. They were both satisfied and impressed with how quickly her skills were progressing, though she paid for it mentally and physically.
One morning at breakfast, Gandalf said unexpectedly, "I am leaving this afternoon."
Beorn grunted into his milk, but Morine looked surprised. "So soon?" she asked. "I thought the assault was not for another fortnight?"
"As it is," he agreed.
Morine shook her head at his persistent ambiguity and finished her meal. The wizards had bonded in the last two weeks, and she had come to know his ways well. He was surely up to something, but she decided not to pry. With an empty plate, she strode outside to their usual training spot. The routine, though taxing, was a comfort.
Gandalf quietly watched her go through the motions for a few hours. Suddenly, a fireball flew past her head and slammed into the ground a few yards in front of her. Luckily, the area had already been scorched and leveled from the training. Morine turned a scowling face to the mischievous man behind her. "You could have warned me," she growled.
His blue eyes twinkled annoyingly. "Are you not training for a battle?" he teased. "You must be ready for an attack at any time." The finer points of combat had been skipped in favor of developing her raw powers, but he chose this final time to test her inherent skills. He hoped that centuries of living in the threat-filled forest had strengthened her and sharpened her reflexes.
In response, she thrust a lightning bolt toward his head, which he dodged as it crackled over his shoulder and thundered into the dirt behind him, making him chuckle. "Bring it, old man," Morine challenged him.
"You are just as old as I am," he reminded her.
Beorn was hidden in the brush and could hear the exchange from where he was seated. "How old is she?" he wondered not for the first time. She looked decades younger than Gandalf, though he was not sure how old either of them were.
They had taken battle stances about ten yards apart and began hurtling lightning and fire at each other with dazzling speed. Beorn's head tossed side to side, tracking each attack. Heat built in the atmosphere, raising the humidity as electricity charged the particles. The hairs on his arms began to stand on end, and he backed away from the dangerous fight. Morine was looking singed in places, and Gandalf jerked when she managed to land a bolt on him, but they seemed to be nearly equally matched.
After an hour of intense sparring, the two sweat-soaked wizards called it quits. They stood breathless in the ring of charred earth, and Beorn was grateful that they had not set the dry brush on fire. The spring had brought paltry rains across the mountains, and the conditions were nearly drought-like. Gandalf was keeled over, huffing and puffing, bones aching.
"Are you sure you have to leave tonight?" Morine asked him as she stretched.
"Oh, yes. I do not have much say in the matter," he replied. "Although I could certainly use a good washing beforehand, if you don't mind, Beorn."
The tall man emerged from the thick grass and into the clearing, wearing a scowl. "And I suppose you'll be wanting to borrow my horse again?" he said, rather agitated at the guest who was very near to wearing out his welcome.
He shook his head. "No, I will not be requiring his services, as there is no danger of being late." Gandalf headed back to the house for his much desired bath, and Beorn and Morine followed him inside without a word.
While the wizard washed up, Morine began packing a small bag with rations for the trip to the Lonely Mountain as Beorn loomed observantly in the kitchen. "I leave tomorrow," she announced, noticing his fleeting expression—a cross between pain and sadness—that she could not recognize. As she packed, she thought of the sweet little hobbit Bilbo and wondered how the company's journey was going.
She followed Gandalf outside when he was ready to say goodbye. It was late afternoon, and the sun washed everything a deep gold. "Thank you for all you have done," she said with a firm handshake. "I wish I could go with you."
"I know," he said, patting her shoulder. "Trust that you leave your home in good hands, Morinehtar."
Nodding solemnly, she wished she could sufficiently express her gratitude—for the training and for eradicating the evil of Dol Guldur. Unexpectedly, he gave her another reason. Seemingly from thin air, he produced a quiver of black leather richly embroidered with silver thread, but despite its beauty, the arrows themselves were more stunning: they were entirely made of sterling silver, from tip to shaft to nock. Only the fletching was black feathers rather than silver. Despite her sensibilities, Morine's eyes watered as she inspected the generous gift and could think of nothing to say as her throat clenched.
Gandalf grinned at her speechlessness. "I thought you would find it useful in the near future. Silver is the most conductive metal, and you will find it even easier and faster to concentrate the lightning within the arrow," he explained. "Of course, it has been alloyed with copper to make it stronger."
"Thank you," Morine's voice rasped.
"You are quite welcome, though they would be rather useless without this," Gandalf said as he handed her a large bow of elegantly carved ebony. He chuckled at the younger wizard who had her hands full. Eying Beorn, he advised, "I would not practice using them here. This place is like a tinderbox." Beorn grunted in agreement and crossed his arms impatiently. "Well, it is high time I take my leave. Beorn," he said, nodding to the host, "My thanks, again." Beorn grumbled irritably in return, wanting the bothersome man to leave him be already. Clapping Morine on the shoulder, he said, "Goodbye my friend. Until we meet again." His eyes twinkled, knowing that he would reunite with her much sooner than she would expect.
The woman set her gifts on the ground to wrap one arm around him in a quick, stiff hug. "Thank you," she reiterated. "And may the Valar favor you."
"And may they favor you," he echoed. "Slaying a dragon is no easy task." With a lingering smile, he headed southward , unknowingly taking the very same path that Beorn had carried Morine back from battle.
Solemnly returning to the house, Morine lay her new weaponry next to her packed bag. She jumped at the sudden feel of Beorn's warm hand on her shoulder. "Come. I have something to share with you," he said solemnly.
She followed him out the veranda and onward. Past the stables, she watched in awe as he suddenly shifted into the form of a huge black bear. It was certainly the same bear that she had seen in battle, but she was amazed nonetheless. He shifted effortlessly, as though he changed forms often. She wondered how she looked when she herself transformed and marveled at his boldness. The act of shifting was a private one to her, and observing his own transformation was surprisingly intimate.
Beorn had begun walking westward into the quickly setting sun when he stopped to wait for her. Turning his head to look at her, she understood that this was not what he wanted to share, but he intended for her to follow.
Despite her inhibitions, she shifted into her panther form, feeling a wave of relief. She found her humanoid state, though her original one, was rather limiting. The familiar feel of grass between her paw pads and her sharpened feline senses were comforting. Heart thumping, she followed the bear into the brush to an unknown destination.
