The next morning we wake early, eating a cold breakfast of leftover mutton and rabbit in the cold morning air. After saying our farewells to the Lord of the Eagles and promising to repay him if we can, we mount our eagles and lift off the ledge.
I take a deep breath, marveling at the view. Mist clings to the hollows and valleys of the mountains. The sun is peeking above the edge of the eastern horizon, painting the world below in stripes of gold. The forest in the distance ripples, and though it stretches beyond the horizon, I imagine that the wind comes down from the Lonely Mountain, down the river and down the lake, to whip about my face. My thoughts are interrupted when my eagle decides to speak.
"You like flying?" my eagle asks. "Aye it's beautiful up here," I reply. "Today is a fair morning indeed. Nothing is finer than flying," the eagle says. He then proceeds to talk about the merits of flying as opposed to other modes of transportation, such as walking or riding a horse. I want to ask him his thoughts on boats, but I'm not sure how much experience he has with them, so I just agree that flying really is the best. After a while, the eagles start circling down to the earth, towards a huge rock piercing up, a river on all sides.
The eagles circle closer, and one by one, they set the company members down. "Farewell," they say, "wherever you fare, till your eyries receive you at the journey's end!" "May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks," Gandalf replies. With that, the eagles rise into the air and set off to their homes.
We make our way over to huge steps cut into the side of the rock, beginning to carefully climb down, not wanting to tumble off into thin air. Some of the steps are as tall as I am. I've never had a fear of heights, but Middle Earth is making me rethink that.
When we finally reach the bottom, we find a cave at the foot of the steps and pause here to discuss what to do next. Fili and Gandalf are quick to remind us that we have no food, money, bedding, or even an idea of where we are.
Gandalf says we may be close to the house of Beorn, a skin-changer who may or may not help us, depending on his mood when we arrive. If we can find him, we can ask for supplies and shelter, perhaps even transport to Mirkwood, and then carry on from there.
I don't hold much hope that Beorn will help us. I know this is the company's path in the book, but circumstances are different now. We have nothing to offer him. We don't have Thorin or Bilbo, and we probably have a pack of goblins on our trail. If anything, our arrival will be an inconvenience.
We ford the river in a shallow, pebbly area, and I desperately wish that I could take a bath, but Fili says that it would be better to get to Beorn's house as soon as possible, so we don't lose the light. At this I grumble and say it's barely noon, so how could we lose the light in the mid-afternoon? He shoots me a dirty look, but can't hide the curl of his lip. I think Fili's just worried about the risk of being out in the Wilderland after dark, which is understandable. I don't believe for a second that Beorn is the oddest creature wandering about.
After walking in the hot sun for hours, huge patches of flowers begin to spring up everywhere, bees lazily floating around. There's lots of clover, and I see some that look like daisies and wild carrot. Others I don't recognize at all. The bees are at least as big as my palm. These I stay well away from, though I doubt they will sting me. After another thirty minutes or so of walking, we come to a wall of oak trees that look to be very old, behind which lies a thick thorn hedge that looks impossible to get over or through.
As we draw closer, Gandalf says, "This is the house of Beorn. He is not overly fond of visitors, even less so of dwarves. You should wait here. Come in pairs of two about five minutes apart, and only come when I give the signal. Bombur can come on his own as he is the biggest. Come Aspen, let us meet our host."
We walk under a high wooden gate. Through the trees, through the hedge, and out into wide, open fields. Further in I notice a cluster of buildings, some looking like barns, and a long, low building thatched with straw and grass. Bees are buzzing everywhere, filling the air with a droning sound.
Soon we reach a courtyard, surrounded on three sides by what must be the house. In the middle is a huge man leaning on a large axe, taller than Gandalf and covered with thick black hair. My skin prickles, and I almost take a step back. This must be Beorn. I crane my head back to peer at his face. Hard and suspicious, but not unkind, I decide. There's a fair chance that he'll help us.
"Who are you and what do you want?" Beorn barks at us, scratching at his bare chest with dirty nails. "I am Gandalf, and this is my companion Miss Aspen Brooks," Gandalf says with a slight bow, which I copy. Beorn peers at us and says, "Now I know who you say you are, but I still do not know what you want." "We have lost our luggage and nearly lost our way, and are rather in need of help. We have had a rather hard time with goblins in the mountains."
"Goblins?" Beorn raises his bushy eyebrows. "What dealings did you have with goblins?" "We were not meant to have dealings with them at all. They surprised us at night in a pass which we had to cross. It's a long tale." "Then you should come inside and tell all of it." Beorn turns to go inside, but before he can open the door, a voice calls, "Gandalf!" Spinning around, I see Fili and Kili jogging up the path, stopping before me. "What are you doing?" I hiss, but my question is drowned out by Beorn.
"Who are these dwarves? What are they doing here?" "These are some of my traveling companions. Allow me to introduce Fili and Kili, heirs of Thorin Oakenshield." At this Fili and Kili sketch hasty bows, and say, "At your service." Fili straightens back up and says to Gandalf, "Dwalin spotted orcs or goblins coming from the northwest. Should we let the others in?"
"Others? Orcs?" Beorn says with a deep frown on his face. "It is not yet dark. What business did you have with orcs or goblins that made them so angry they would chase you in daylight?" "I'm afraid I don't know, yet I feel that the others should come in," Gandalf replies.
Beorn thinks for a moment, probably about the number of "others" that will soon be invading his house. "I will let them in, but I want the full story when I return," Beorn growls.
He strides towards the gate, and I hurry to follow. He passes the stunned dwarves, before breaking into a jog across his fields. The rest of the company hurries in as a roar sounds across the plain. A blur of black speeds away in the distance, sending a shiver down my spine. My stitches pull as I stand on tiptoes to pull fast the lock, just barely managing.
I make my way back to the company, cautiously eyeing several dogs as tall as my shoulder. They eye me back just as warily.
Gandalf opens the door to the hall, and we step in to a large room, with carved columns thick as trees supporting the roof. A kitchen and eating area are to our right, and a hallway in the back wall leads further into the house. The company settles in, claiming spots in corners piled with hay. I set my meager belongings down along a wall, and head back out to look for a creek or place to bathe while the others explore inside.
I find one a ways behind the house, hidden by some trees, and strip off my boots and coat, wading in the freezing water fully clothed. In the waning sunlight, I wash my clothes free of filth and blood as best I can.
I've just removed my bandages and bindings when I hear Kili call my name. "Aspen? Where are you?" I duck down to my shoulders with my back turned to him. "Go away! I'm taking a bath!" "My apologies!" The sound of his footsteps fade away.
As glad as I am to be left alone, my heart sinks. The Kili that I met in Bag End would have made some innuendo or even tried to sneak a peek at my body. The Kili that I know now sounds beaten and weary.
We are a grim company.
Kili is the only dwarf I've seen smile since Thorin fell, and that was only because he made me laugh. Both he and Fili seemed younger than me when we first set out, and now they've aged, carrying too many burdens.
My heart aches for them, not knowing how ease their burden, or even if I should. When Ori told me Longbeard dwarves live to about 300 years, I did the math and found Kili to be about 22 and Fili about 23, if you calculate their ages into human years. Too young by far to be responsible for the fate of an entire race.
I finish up my bath, pulling on my damp clothes and wringing water out of my hair. Shivering, I hurry back into the house, joining the company in front of a burning fire. Pipe smoke wreaths around several heads, and I breathe in the comforting, now familiar scent.
The memory of Thorin offering me his pipe pops into my head. I made the mistake of accepting it. What I would give to go back to that time, to the time I had my family photos and a more certain future. But I must make my own future now.
From the kitchen comes a clatter of pans, and I turn my head to see a group of sheep and dogs carrying trays out on their backs and trotting to the large table on the opposite side of the hall. Subdued, we make our way over and eat our meal with much less dancing and food-fighting than we did in Rivendell.
Afterwards, the company breaks into smaller groups, some returning to the fire to comb their heads and beards, others going to the back of the house or to their sleeping spots. Fili and Kili are sitting at the table still, muttering to each other. Gandalf goes outside, presumably waiting for Beorn to appear. Oin checks my wounds, reapplying the salve and changing the bandages. Quietly, he tells me about the healing properties of each herb, and how they work together to strengthen the overall effect of the salve. Once Oin and I finish, I go outside as well, hopping up on the bench and swinging my legs.
Across the way, Gandalf studies me and lets out a series of smoke rings. "Tell me Aspen, what has happened in the past few days? I have only heard bits and pieces of it."
"It's not a fun tale to tell. And there's not much to it. Bilbo decided to stay in Rivendell—Elrond offered him a place there. And now I can't blame him. After we left, Thorin kept pushing us as much as possible in the mountains. Even when it was snowing or pouring rain and thundering, we kept walking," my voice breaks a little, remembering how scared we all were, walking through those conditions.
"One night we got caught in a thunder battle between stone giants. Bofur saw them up ahead, and then the path we were walking on split in two. It's only then that we realized we were actually walking on a stone giant."
Gandalf's frown deepens, but says nothing so I continue. "The giant started moving around, and at first we all thought we were going to die. We managed to get off, but there was a late tremor, a really strong one. Thorin was standing near the edge, and when the tremor happened, he lost his balance." I close my eyes, fighting back new tears, reliving the scene in my mind.
His eyes flash with terror as he desperately grabs at air, falling, falling back until he can no longer be seen. I imagine his body lying on the rocks below, twisted and broken, the light gone out of his deep blue eyes as he stares vacantly at the stormy sky above. A strangled sob escapes my lips, and I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to compose myself.
"I watched as fell over the side of the mountain. It was the worst thing I've ever seen." I sniff as tears trickle down my cheeks, and Gandalf pulls out a handkerchief and offers it to me. I accept, and breathe.
Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Again.
"Eventually we found a cave that we thought was safe, but to be honest, we probably didn't check it as much as we should have. We were all too upset over Thorin. For a few hours everything was alright, but then the floor opened up beneath us, and we fell through the tunnels and were captured by the goblins. You know the rest."
Gandalf sags where he sits, his eyes sad and incredibly old. "Then we must mourn for his passing, as much as we can now. Yet at the same time we must look to the living. Fili is still young, and will need the wise council of many dwarrow to aid him once he is crowned King Under the Mountain. Assuming he will even accept the crown, of course."
"I believe he will. He mentioned something about being King Under the Mountain the night of Thorin's death," I say. "Let us hope so, for if not the whole fate of Middle Earth will be changed. Kili will not take the throne, as young and unprepared as he is. And though Dain Ironfoot is a noble dwarf and would rule the Kingdom of Erebor well, merely claiming the throne for his own could incite a war among the dwarves. Some would support the two boys, while others would support Dain."
"The fate of Middle Earth is already changed. Thorin wasn't supposed to die. And Bilbo wasn't supposed to stay in Rivendell. He was supposed to come with us."
Gandalf nods, clearly deep in thought. "And what good would Bilbo do should he rejoin the quest?" I raise an eyebrow, wondering what he's up to. No doubt something mischievous and wizardy.
"For starters, I'd feel a lot better about my job, so he'd help my sanity. He'd save the quest from failing on multiple occasions. And I believe he would do a lot of good at the mountain, among other places." Gandalf nods. I want to ask what he's planning, but I don't. I don't want to get my hopes up for nothing. I think instead of everyone I've lost.
Thorin, Bilbo, my family.
"I'm stuck here," I blurt. Gandalf frowns at me, and I clarify, "I can't go home. Elrond said people like me have been here before, but none have been able to go home. We stay, and we die here."
Gandalf opens his mouth to speak, but at that moment we hear a shout. Jumping off the bench, I watch as Beorn, in the form of a man and naked as the day he was born, walks towards us, cradling something carefully in his arms. Squinting, I take in the limp form, the mass of long black hair, and the bloodied rags.
Realization hits.
"Thorin!" I scream, running towards the two. I meet Beorn halfway, hardly believing what I'm seeing. "Thorin?" "Let me take him inside," Beorn insists. We pass the mass of shocked dwarves in the courtyard, entering what I presume to be Beorn's room, the entire company crowding behind us.
Beorn sets him on the bed and we watch anxiously as Oin bends over his chest, listening for a heartbeat and checking for breath. "He's alive," he whispers, eyes wide in disbelief.
