All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, except with Fheon and Elijah. They're mine.

FHEON STOOD AT the bottom of the eyot they had climbed down from just minutes ago, alongside her brother, Thorin, and Gandalf. They waited for Bilbo to return from his scouting mission; by concept, Fheon had been irked that he was the one who had gone on instead of her. She and her brother were supposed to be the scouts, not Bilbo, who was the burglar. But Elijah was far too tall to be able to succeed in a scouting mission. And it was in the best interest of the entire Company that Fheon stay behind with them; her injury and fatigues had not been overlooked by Thorin, or Gandalf.

She leaned against the stony exterior of the eyot, eyes closed as she did her best to use her hearing to discern the distance of the wargs—which was, in that instance, not very far. "They're close," she muttered, opening her eyes to the sight of Elijah shifting on his feet in unease. Then they heard the faint rustling of bushes from the valley they were hidden in, and turned to find Bilbo scampering down the gorge.

"How close is the pack?" Thorin demanded immediately.

"Too close," said Bilbo, only proving Fheon's point further. "A couple of leagues, no more. But that's not the worst of it.

"Have the wargs picked up our scent?" said Dwalin.

"Not yet, but they will. We have another problem."

"Did they see you?" Gandalf rumbled, eyes widening. "They saw you."

Bilbo shook his head, breathless. "No, that's not it."

And then the sides of Gandalf's eyes wrinkled as he smiled. "What did I tell you?" he said. "Quiet as a mouse. Excellent burglar material!"

"Will you listen? Will you just listen?" Bilbo raised his voice slightly. Elijah softly shushed the murmurings of the dwarves and then hastily nodded for the hobbit to continue. "I'm trying to tell you there is something else out there," he said, pointing to the mountains that were currently hiding them from the sight of anything or anyone.

Apprehension settled over the Company as they stared off to the place Bilbo had pointed to, but Gandalf merely regarded Bilbo with a grim expression. "What form did it take?" he said. "Like a bear?"

"Ye—" Bilbo stared at the wizard with furrowed eyebrows. "Ye-yes, but bigger, much bigger."

"You knew about this beast?" Bofur cut in, just as Gandalf was turning around. "I say we double-back."

"And be run down by a pack of orcs?" Thorin dismissed the idea immediately. "We would not survive another attack," he said, looking too pointedly at Fheon. She agreed with his statement with a single nod of her head, but said nothing.

"There is a house," Gandalf said abruptly. "It's not far from here, where we might take refuge."

"Whose house?" Thorin inquired. "Are they friend or foe?"

"Neither," said Gandalf. "He will help us, or… he will kill us."

"What choice do we have?"

And just as Thorin said this, a roar of some large beast echoed down from the mountains, seemingly from the same place where Fheon had heard the warg howls.

Gandalf shoddily answered Thorin's question—"None."—and then they were running down the valley again, dodging from boulder to boulder when there was an open space, and then sticking to the crevices, where they crouched as they walked.

Ever since the first moments of their crossing the borders of Bree, Fheon knew that the shadows were going to be their refuge, and it had never been a pain to stay in the darkness. But that was because she did not have her shoulder injury then. She had to clutch the end of her shoulder blade as they ran, just so her collarbone would not move so much. Up gentle slopes and across straight fields, it did not offer her much discomfort. But in their hurry, having to jump over fences and roots, wade hurriedly through shallow rivers—it was the epitome of agony for Fheon. The urgency of their situation was the only thing keeping her from collapsing, but she was close.

As they were running through a thinly-veiled forest, the familiar thundering roar of the beast that Bilbo had spotted once again echoed down the hillside. "This way! Quickly!" Gandalf shouted. "Run!" The Company thundered past the forest, and once they had broken through the tree-line, Fheon caught sight of a quaint house only a few more feet away. It was surrounded by an evergreen hedge, with oak trees towering over it.

"Run!" Gandalf repeated as they were running across the field towards the house. Fheon panted with each step she took. When she turned her head, she found Bombur running faster than she was—faster than any of them, really—most likely because he had seen the beast.

Coincidentally, there was an open entrance through the hedge. Gandalf coaxed them into it and the dwarves immediately ran for the door. Bombur, seeming to think it was unlocked, sprinted straight into it and was knocked onto his back. The dwarves kicked and banged at the door, but it would not budge. Fheon saw the latch at the top and yelled at her brother, "Elijah, the bolt!" His incoherent shout from behind her was his only reply. She turned her head and found him aiming at a large, black monster—the beast Bilbo had spoken of. And yet Gandalf yelled at him not to shoot, and he did not, but instead pushed past the dwarves and reached up to unlock the bolt.

The dwarves spilled through the door, Fheon running the extra mile in order to reach them in time. Thorin, Dwalin, Fili and Kili pushed at the doors immediately to close them. Just then, a dark snout appeared from behind the doors, keeping them from closing. Just the snout was larger than Bombur's entire self. The beast roared. Bilbo unsheathed his sword with shaky hands. All the dwarves were pushing now, but it was Elijah ramming his shoulder straight into the wood that did the trick. The two wooden flaps met and the dwarves dropped the bar back into place, locking it.

They shared a groan of relief, and then Ori turned around and asked, "What is that?"

"That is our host," said Gandalf.

Fheon wrinkled her nose and swatted a large bee away from her nose, still panting. "Say that again?" she said.

The smile on the wizard's face was impish. "His name is Beorn, and he is a skin-changer," he said. "Sometimes, he's a huge, black bear. Sometimes, he's a great, strong man. The bear is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with. However, he is not overly fond of dwarves."

As Fheon settled herself down on a hay bale, shedding her cloak, Ori looked through a crack in the door with wide eyes. "He's leaving," he said to the Company.

Dori pulled him away and sternly told him, "Come away from there. It's not natural—none of it. It's obvious. He's under some dark spell."

"Don't be a fool. He's under no enchantment but his own," said Gandalf. "Alright, now, get some sleep. All of you. You'll be safe here tonight." He muttered something to himself afterwards, but it was too low for Fheon to hear.

She got to removing her cloak, and then unclasping her belt, with one hand. It was arduous work, and even though she was not even using her injured arm, it still throbbed painfully. Her brother was with Dori, Bombur, Bifur and Ori as they tried to salvage any kind of leftover food from their packs. There were a few non-spoilable vegetables they had smuggled out of Rivendell, and three or four slices of bread. Ori had unknowingly placed a rooster leg in his pack, and they had to throw it away because its stench was rolling around the house, and Thorin knew that Beorn would not approve of it when he returned. Ultimately, the Company ended up munching on loaves of bread to at least tame their stomachs. No one dared to invade the house's pantry in fear of Beorn's anger, for Gandalf had already stated that the man was not very fond of dwarves—but one time, Thorin had to keep Dwalin from breaking down the doors to the pantry himself.

Eventually the light outside faded into the night and they were left with moonlight to leave the house illuminated. As the rest of the Company began to settle down, exhausted from a whole day of running, Elijah remained sitting by a chess board on the table, playing with the mice that were scuttling about the chess pieces. Fheon watched him from her place on the wooden bench by the door, eyes narrowed into slits so she was practically staring through her fatigue.

"Instead of occupying yourself with the rodents," she drowsily murmured, "how about you finally teach Bilbo how to use a sword?"

He straightened up at that, and because the house was quiet by then, everyone had heard, including said hobbit. Bilbo's head snapped to Elijah; he had wide eyes, seeming from both surprise and excitement. He waved his hand negatively, saying, "No, no, I've quite gotten the hang of it, actually—"

"No, you haven't," Elijah interrupted, strolling giddily towards him. "You swing your sword around hoping to hurt something, and perhaps even block an attack or two. Trust me, it's easier once you actually know what you're doing."

Bilbo shook his head. "Y-you should really get some sleep. We had an exhausting day, a-and—"

"If you're not tired then I'm not tired," said Elijah, grinning slyly. "Come on, it won't even take an hour. I'll let you sleep immediately afterwards."

The hobbit followed with strings of stutters and denials, but Fheon knew that her brother would win in the end, even though she was not particularly listening in anymore. Her eyelids had dropped like sandbags falling from the roof of a sixty-foot height. Just as she was starting to fall asleep, she felt something poking her shoulder. She cracked one eye open to find Thorin staring down at her with a steely gaze.

She frowned unhappily, mumbling, "What?"

"You are yet to tell us the story of you and your brother," he growled in reply. "Do not think I have forgotten, nor will I."

"Thorin, I'm tired," she said. "Can't this wait another time?"

"Tomorrow."

"Fine. Yes."

"My patience runs thin with this topic, Fheon. Swear it."

He narrowed his eyes, and she sighed. "I don't know why this means so much to you," she grumbled. "But yes, I swear. Tomorrow night, after we've left from here, when there is no campfire to hear my words."

The King Under the Mountain was quiet for a long moment, just watching, looking like he was… reluctant. Fheon stared at him through narrowed eyes, vision blurred because of her fatigue. "This quest has gone on for almost a year now," he suddenly blurted out. "You and your brother have helped us, protected us, when we were most in need. You have my thanks."

I thought we'd had this conversation already, Fheon mused to herself, recalling his words to her when the giant eagles first dropped them off on the eyot just yesterday morning. "I suppose in return for your thanks, you want our explanation?" she asked softly, to which he bobbed his head. "Agreed."

"Tomorrow night," he said.

She nodded, already closing her eyes again as the sound of Bilbo and Elijah bickering slowly lulled her back into her sleepy state. "Tomorrow night."

When Fheon opened her eyes, it was to the sight of Bilbo shaking her—not her brother. "Good morning," said the hobbit, before gesturing over his shoulder. "Elijah told me to come get you. Breakfast is ready."

"Breakfast…?" Her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion as her thoughts started cooperating once more. "Beorn… Beorn has returned, then?"

"Yes."

"Alright," she said. "You go on ahead. Tell them I'll catch up."

Bilbo nodded vigorously before scurrying away, through the doorway that literally went straight into the kitchen. Into the large gap, Fheon could see the dwarves sitting around a table, stuffing themselves with food. She saw her brother sitting by Fili and Kili, chattering and laughing. There had not been a morning like this since a long time ago, Fheon knew, and so she silently relished the sight as she pulled herself onto her feet. When she leant down to pick her belt off the floor, she groaned softly as the pain in her shoulder returned. It was yet to get better; neither bruising nor the swelling had faded. But perhaps that was because not even a month had passed. Biting the inside of her cheek, she clasped her belt around her waist and then walked into the kitchen.

Beorn was a tall, muscular man—towering even over Gandalf. He had a large body covered in dirt, but his face looked more animal than man. Fheon supposed that it was caused only by his lineage, and that it was average for them. She decided not to judge, but she could not help but to notice the fetters on his wrists. Pondering deeply, she sat herself onto one of the empty chairs between Bilbo and Bifur. The bowl and mug in front of her—as well as the other dwarves—were sure to satisfy her in only one serving.

"Help yourself," said Beorn in a voice that sounded like rumbling thunder, yet he seemed kind enough. Just as Gandalf had said, the man could be reasoned with. She nodded at him politely before pouring the contents of her mug into the bowl filled with some sort of muesli. When she took a bite, she found that the milk in the mug was goat's milk, and that it went quite well with the kind of muesli Beorn harvested. Dropping her spoon and reaching forward, she took a leg part of the large turkey on the table, enjoying the hearty meal as Beorn spoke.

"So you are the one they call Oakenshield," he said. "Tell me: why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?"

Thorin's gaze seemed far away, even when he looked to the skin-changer. "You know of Azog?" he inquired. "How?"

"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." The fetters on his wrists made sense, then. "Not for work, you understand, but for sport. Caging skin-changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him." He did not even sound very angry or bitter. His tone was blank, collected, just like how Fheon made herself out to be most of the time. But there was an underlying sadness in his voice that she could understand.

Meanwhile, Elijah straightened up in his seat. "There are others like you?" he asked.

"Once, there were many."

"And now?" Bilbo added curiously.

"Now, there is only one."

A stunned silence fell over the Company as the words sunk in. Even then, Beorn's expression was only casual. "You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn," he said, looking at Gandalf now.

"Before Durin's Day falls, yes," said the wizard.

"You are running out of time."

"Which is why we must go through Mirkwood."

Fheon regarded Gandalf, frowning deeply at his words. If they were to go through Mirkwood, she and Elijah would prove to be of no help as scouts there. From the stories she had heard, it was going to be impossible for them to even focus on getting one foot in front of the other once they had inhaled the air there.

"A darkness lies upon that forest," said Beorn. "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." As far as Fheon knew, necromancers were not to be trifled with. Nibbling on a piece of cheddar cheese, she noticed Thorin step off from his seat.

"We will take the Elven road," Gandalf reassured. "That path is still safe."

"Safe?" A hint of impatience crept into the skin-changers words, now. "The Wood Elves of Mirkwood are not like their kin. They're less wise and more dangerous. But it matters not."

At this, Thorin turned around. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"These lands are crawling with orcs," Beorn explained. "Their numbers are growing, and you are on foot with an injured scout." Though she did not enjoy his mentioning of her shoulder, Fheon kept her peace. "You will never reach the forest alive." Beorn stood up, then, and suddenly she felt very intimidated by his presence. "I don't like dwarves. They're greedy and blind. Blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own." He picked up a white mouse Nori had pushed off his sleeve, regarding it with strangely compassionate eyes.

With the creature still in hand, he walked to Thorin until he was in front of him. Thorin looked up at Beorn with a steady gaze, no doubt hiding his anxiety beneath a calm demeanor. And he was right to, for, after a while, Beorn said, "But orcs I hate more," looking up from the mouse to meet the Dwarf King's eyes. "What do you need?"

"Ponies," Thorin said immediately. "Food, supplies—"

"Anesthetics," Elijah suddenly interjected, looking from the skin-changer to Fheon. "For my sister's injury."

"The ponies, I can offer," said Beorn, regarding Elijah with an unreadable expression. "As I can with supplies for your venture. However, I do not have painkillers. But I may have herbs that could help." He looked to Fheon. "You, come with me. The rest, stay here while I get the things you will need." He stood up and walked out of the kitchen immediately. Fheon walked after him, but made sure to throw her brother an exasperated look when she passed by him. He merely shrugged with an impish look on his face.

When they were out of earshot, Beorn said, "What is your injury?"

"My shoulder," Fheon replied quietly, and then seeing the expectant look on his face, undid the top laces of her over-shirt and then pulled the collar down, along with her tunic, revealing the reddish-purple lump just by her collarbone.

He turned around and started walking again. "How did you gain such an injury?" he asked.

"An orc struck me with a mace."

She followed him out the back of the house, where the plot was filled with herbs and flowers. There were a few rodent traps here and there, but none that Fheon could notice at first glance. Her attention was caught by the familiar chamomile flower at one corner. Yet Beorn did not go there, but to a large bush dotted with purple and pink flowers. "This is called Echinacea," he said, but then, seeing Fheon's perturbed expression, added, "You may call it the coneflower. It will help with your resistance and strength." He grabbed a small brown pouch from the windowsill and pulled off a handful of the flower's stems, placing the bunch into the pouch along with the leaves and petals.

"This will last for a week," he said, handing her the pouch. "You can eat the leaves and petals raw or mix it into water. Either way, it will make you stronger."

Fheon accepted the pouch gratefully, about to thank him when he turned and made for another bush; however, this one did not have flowers growing out of it. They were merely spring-green leaves. "These are lemon balm," said Beorn, tugging three handfuls of the leaves into his palm and then placing them into a separate pouch. "It will help relieve the pain. Rub it into a powder, spit, and then apply them onto anything that hurts."

"Like chamomile," she mused aloud, and a smile might have graced his face for a second.

"Yes." He walked towards two thinner bushes, plucked a handful of its stems and then placed them into a third pouch, saying, "Parsley and rosemary."

Fheon took the pouch from him and looked down at the herbs uncertainly. She asked, "What are these for?"

"Bad breath," said the skin-changer. "Make sure to hand some to the dwarves. They reek of rabbit stew." Slowly, a smile spread onto her face and she immediately popped one of the stems into her mouth before pocketing the three pouches. "And you will need a brace for that shoulder," he added.

"I don't suppose you have one?"

Just by the doorway, he stopped and looked at her over his shoulder. "I do," he said, before grabbing something from off the counter and then turning to hand it to her. "This will keep your shoulder from moving around too much." Fheon looked at the contraption peculiarly, not knowing what it was supposed to do. Though it was obvious that it was meant to be slipped onto her arm for support, she did not know where the other parts went. So Beorn took it back and started pointing at the portions, speaking like she was a child. She tried not to mind.

"You slip this onto your arm, all the way up to the shoulder." He pointed to a hollow bit of thick, stretchable but firm material. "This goes tightly over your neck, down across your chest, around your waist—twice, and then back up again. You lock it in place with this." He took the garter that was connected to one end of the brace, practically shoved it in front of her face, before locking it in place with one of the clasps on the brace.

"Where did you find this?" Fheon inquired, following him deeper into the house.

"I made it." He returned the contraption onto her hands, saying, "You will need help to put it on. Go ask that brother of yours. The dwarves shouldn't be too happy that I've kept them waiting."

Frowning, she watched as he walked away from her and then poked her head into the doorway of the kitchen. All eyes went to her, and she impatiently nodded for Elijah to come over.

"What is it?" he said.

"I need your help with something," she replied quietly. As soon as she heard the legs of his chair drag across the floor, she turned around and walked to a room. When Elijah followed her in, she closed the door and stood by it, for it had no lock. She just hoped Beorn would not mind if they used the area for a while. Unclasping her belt and removing her over-shirt, she sensed her brother staring at her in confusion and looked up, explaining, "Beorn gave me a brace for my shoulder. I need your help to put it on."

When she slipped her tunic over her head, Elijah's eyes widened and he looked away immediately. Fheon rolled her eyes and said, "Oh please, I'm not nude yet." Slowly, he turned around again and took in the sight of her torso being covered in only a chest wrapping—with reluctant eyes, of course. She regarded him wearily. "Come on, let's get this over with."

After applying the lemon balm Beorn had given her, she relayed the skin-changers instructions to Elijah, and to the best of their extent, they were able to put on the shoulder brace successfully. It was meant to be tight, Fheon reminded herself, and she knew that she would get used to the feeling eventually. Feeling slightly excited about the ordeal, she moved her arm around. The brace kept her shoulder from moving with her arm, and so she was still not offered full control, but now she could move her left arm with slightly reduced pain. She took note to be careful, and to make it a habit not to move her shoulder around so much, but was satisfied with the brace.

"Better?" said Elijah, and Fheon nodded. She slipped her tunic back on, thankful that it was slightly loose even though her over-shirt was not as forgiving. She clasped her belt into place and then exited the room with her brother.

When they reentered the kitchen, the entire Company was out of their seats. Half the dwarves had gained new packs—no doubt from Beorn—which looked to be full. The table had been cleared of food; Fheon was not sure whether the dwarves packed the leftovers or ate them. To her right, she noticed Beorn walking out to the front of the house, with the reins of two almost-identical ponies in hand. Bilbo and the dwarves followed him, taking the reins of random ponies and walking them out. Thorin was the last to leave. He met Fheon's and Elijah's gazes and then said, "Take horses for yourselves. There will be no need for scouting today."

Elijah nodded, and Fheon breathed a sigh of relief. She would not be running. Although, she was uncertain whether horse-riding would be any different for her shoulder, knowing the jarring effects of a horse's trotting. As she and her brother walked out of the house with horse reins in hand, she sincerely hoped that Beorn's brace would make a difference.

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