I do not own any of the characters or The Hobbit (just the AU storyline and my OC) Those are the work of the esteemed and brilliant John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, and without his genius, this and many other fan fics would not be in existence.
My apologies for taking so long to update- I hope the long chapter was worth it :) Just a reminder to my readers- please don't expect frequent/regular updates until January due to real life craziness-'tis the season for weddings and Christmas and frantically trying to complete sewing projects! O_o Thanks to all!
NOTE- VERY brief mention of torture- no more than The Desolation of Smaug did is all.
Beorn led the dwarves back into his home, the sun rising to the east and casting bright rays of light upon the earth. His expression was grim, and the words Gandalf had spoken to him went through his mind.
That the goblin numbers had been increasing was no surprise to the skin changer. He'd seen more and more signs of the foul vermin across his lands of late, and none that he came across lived to tell the tale. Few of them spoke, but once or twice an orc in fear for his life had divulged that there was an alliance between the orcs of Moria and this Necromancer spoken of in Dol Guldur. But to hear of the slaying of the Great Goblin himself- that greatly worried him, though he was glad the miserable wretch was finally dead.
The goblins will not allow this deed to go unpunished, he thought to himself grimly as he placed several bread loaves over the fire to bake. Providing it is indeed true.
The skin changer's thoughts turned toward his allies to the south as he mixed dried oats into a large pot of boiling water and began to lay out fruits and nuts and cheeses and pour the honey mead and milk. The woodsmen, simple though they were, were quite adept with bows and axes. They could easily withstand small skirmishes with orcs and goblins, and have done so many times before. However, they would not fare well, and neither would he or his animals, should an entire army of goblins emerge from under the tall peaks and invade the valley in their anger.
And to hear that Azog the Defiler was not only in these lands with an orc pack, but also hunting this dwarf king, Oakenshield…word had spread about Azog himself paying homage to the Necromancer, and the pale orc Beorn knew would never do such a thing. Azog believed himself to be a ruler, and though evil, in many ways he was just that- not a hunter, but a commander, and not one to submit to another's will. But him who spoke such words to the skinchanger a few months prior was a trustworthy, albeit superstitious, man, and had never led him astray before in his lifetime. Beorn's eyes suddenly landed on his carven chess set, and the great man frowned.
Like the pieces of a chessboard…
He moved toward the game, settled upon a wooden stump, and picked up one of the eagles- the king. Cradling it in his large hand, his eyes studied the fine lines, the indentations, the delicate curvature of the beak. He had carved this entire set by hand several years prior, and spent countless hours playing against himself, or Radagast on the rare occasion the brown wizard would visit his abode. It was all about strategy, and knowing where each of your opponents were in relation to your own army. His eyes moved toward the board once more, gaze settling on the empty square that belonged to the piece in his hand.
But some of the pieces are still missing.
The skinchanger turned and picked up one of the many crocks of honey mixed with honeycomb from the storeroom off to the side. Pouring some of the sweet liquid in several large bowls on the table, he replaced the stone lid without a word to the dwarves seated quietly at his table and moved toward the back of the cottage.
There were still two more introductions to be made.
XXX
"Thorin?"
Thorin groaned, hazy mind in and out of a fitful slumber. His entire body felt utterly exhausted, and the effects of little sleep over the course of several days weighed heavily on the weary limbs. His wounds pained him still, exacerbated by sitting up all night long.
"Thorin? You need to wake up." The last thing he wanted to do was wake up, to come back to the world and face his distraught nephew.
In truth, he had been up with Fili most of the night, watching over the lad as he slept. The words uttered from the younger's mouth the evening before had cut deeply, deeper than any orc blade ever had.
He killed my brother.
The grief of losing Kili was nearly unbearable for him, and Thorin could only imagine how much worse it was for Fili. The youth, with exception to the loss of his father as a child, had never had much experience with grief, and even then he had been quite young at the time. He had never truly known the deep pain of losing someone he loved dearly, unlike the dwarf king sitting next to his slumbering form.
The loss of Erebor, and Azanulbizar, had hardened Thorin to the harsh reality of life, and its fragility. And though the young prince next to him had known a hard life in exile, it had not been overshadowed by a deeply set grief. Thorin would never look to the Misty Mountains again without a darkness settling within him, and now, neither would Fili. And Thorin hated himself for that, hated that he could not keep such pain from those he loved. Nor would he ever forget the terrified look in Kili's eyes as he forever faded into darkness, and the screams that haunted every second of his dreams.
Screams- that suddenly ceased.
XXX
A heavy hand suddenly settled on his shoulder, causing Thorin's eyes to fly open in panic.
"Kili, no!" he cried out, gasping in panic as his heart pounded in his aching chest. The dwarf king instinctively reached for his sword as he lunged forward, only for strong arms to hold him back. Blinking in the bright morning light as his hand only made contact with air, Thorin's blurry vision cleared to reveal Dwalin.
"Easy, Thorin," Dwalin said quietly, mindful of the sleeping young prince next to him. "It's only me."
Thorin's breaths slowed slightly as Dwalin released his hold, wincing as the sudden movement had put strain on his wounds and tugged at stitches. The dwarf king glanced around in confusion, relieved to note that his sword was still next to him, albeit leaning up against the stable wall rather than strapped to his back as it usually was.
"I'm sorry I had to wake you," the warrior apologized, sighing. "But…" The warrior trailed off as he glanced over his shoulder.
Thorin followed his gaze, eyes landing on a very, very large man holding a stone crock behind the burly dwarf. The golden eyes, strangely familiar, stared down at him with guarded curiosity. Gandalf's smaller frame stood next to him, the large man easily dwarfing the wizard. The dwarf king tilted his head in respect, quickly realizing who the stranger was.
"You must be Beorn."
XXX
Beorn studied the familiar face before him, instantly recognizing the lineage of Durin in the strong brow and set jaw.
"So you are the one they call Oakenshield," the skinchanger replied after a moment, setting the large stone crock down on the floor next to the stall. Thorin nodded slightly in acknowledgement, the evidence of a long sleepless night in his features though he tried to disguise it. The golden eyes moved toward the younger dwarf, softening ever so slightly at the distraught expression on his sleeping face.
"And this is your nephew?" the large man asked, eyes taking in the mangled, bandaged arm tucked closely against Fili's torso.
"Aye," Thorin responded after a moment, his voice somewhat hesitant as his hand rested protectively on his nephew's shoulder, wary gaze never leaving Beorn. The large man's eyes followed the motion, before looking back at Thorin, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"If you are concerned about his safety, do not fear," Gandalf said, stepping forward slightly toward the dwarf king. "He will be all right." Thorin's gaze moved from the wizard back toward Beorn, lingering for a moment, before he slowly removed his hand from the younger's shoulder.
"Gandalf tells me your company has had a hard time of it with goblins in the mountains," the skinchanger stated as though nothing had happened, and Thorin glanced toward Dwalin.
"Gandalf told him what happened since we got captured by the goblins," the warrior confirmed, nodding at his king and shield brother. "He said he wanted to talk to you as well, but you were still asleep and could not come outside."
"Where are the others?" Thorin asked, and Dwalin's gaze flickered toward the opposite side of the cottage.
"They are getting ready to eat breakfast," the burly dwarf replied. Thorin nodded, before moving his hands to his sides in an attempt to get up. The dwarf king let out a slight gasp as the motion tugged on the warg bite, despite trying to hold it in, and the burly dwarf wasted no time in moving to his side to aid him.
"Leave it," Beorn interjected, causing the two dwarves to look up at him in surprise. "The wizard told me you and your nephew were badly injured by Azog and his orc pack. No need to get up and strain your wounds, as long as you tell me what you are doing in these lands."
Thorin sighed, before glancing at Fili.
"My nephew is far more injured than I," the dwarf king replied, nodding to Dwalin. "I can stand."
"Are you sure?" Dwalin asked quietly, concern in his gaze. Thorin nodded, and the burly dwarf eased him up, keeping a strong hold on his arm until he was steady on his feet. The dwarf swayed for a moment, before regaining his steadiness, and nodded to Beorn.
"I will speak with you," he replied, "But only out of earshot of my kinsman. He is badly injured, and needs rest."
"Tell the one who is your healer that honey will help his wounds," the skinchanger replied, gesturing toward the crock. "We can speak over breakfast. The wizard told an intriguing tale, but it was far from complete. I at least wish to know why Azog the Defiler is hunting you, and my bread is done baking."
Thorin nodded, and with one last concerned glance at his slumbering nephew, followed the skinchanger toward the dining room, hoping against hope that the help they so desperately needed would be given.
XXX
Bilbo sat at the enormous dining table, watching silently as Beorn poured milk mixed with honey mead in giant wooden mugs, or rather, what he'd consider flagons, judging by their great size.
The company was completely silent as they ate the hearty fare, a far cry from their boisterousness back in Bag End. The hobbit supposed that it was partly the sheer height of their host, and the knowledge that he could easily turn into a giant bear that could tear them to shreds should they startle him that caused the dwarves to be on their best behavior. It was nice, albeit a bit odd at this point, to finally have a peaceful, quiet meal much like he'd had back home before the quest.
Bilbo reached over and grabbed another freshly baked slice of bread, dipping it in the honey dripping off the honeycomb on his plate before bringing it to his mouth. The giant bees may have startled him that morning, but he was more than grateful for what they were able to produce.
The hobbit supposed that he had come to take such things, like freshly baked bread or newly harvested honey, for granted…but after having been on the road for months with cram and dried meat and whatever they could shoot or gather, he finally understood what the dwarves had endured for countless years. As the sweetness of the honey permeated his mouth, complemented perfectly by warm, aromatic bread, the hobbit decided that he would never take such luxury for granted ever again.
Spotting movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned to see Beorn coming back to the table, Gandalf, Dwalin, and an exhausted Thorin in tow. The dwarf king's face had regained much of its former color since he sustained his injuries a week prior, however the dark circles beneath his eyes and the redness within them spoke volumes about the long days with little sleep.
A few of the dwarves had already downed their milk and honey mead, and Beorn grabbed the giant flagon and began to refill their cups, before looking toward Thorin.
"You have not yet answered my question," the great man stated. "Why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?"
"You know of Azog?" Thorin asked quietly, before glancing up at him. "How? Other than what my companions told you, that is." Beorn sighed.
"My people were the first to live in the mountains, before the orcs came down from Gundabad," he replied. "The Defiler killed most of my family, and some he enslaved. Caging skinchangers and torturing them seemed to amuse him."
The hobbit heard a slight jingle of chain against metal, and found his gaze drawn to Beorn's wrist. His eyes widened at the view of the broken shackle, before he looked down at the table in front of him.
Caging…and torturing? I've heard orcs are evil, but I had no idea just how evil they truly were.
"We do not know why Azog has crawled from his miserable hole," Gandalf spoke up, bringing the hobbit out of his musings. Bilbo glanced around the table, startled at the dark looks sent Gandalf's way by some of their company. The wizard paid them no mind, eyes focused on the large man as he sat down on an ornately carved wooden chair.
"…but he seems to have resumed his hunt to wipe out the line of Durin," the wizard continued, shoulders sagging slightly. "I fear he has given us a great deal of trouble already." Beorn's expression remained grim as he turned toward Thorin.
"And why are you heading east?" the skinchanger asked, golden eyes firmly on the dwarf king. "It's been a very long time since dwarves have ventured into Wilderland to trade, and when they do cross the mountains, it is usually through the Gap of Rohan, many leagues south of here."
Thorin glanced toward Balin, eyes meeting, before both gazes turned toward the wizard, and Thorin sighed.
"We need to reach Erebor before the last days of autumn," he replied, turning toward the skinchanger. "Specifically, before Durin's Day falls." Beorn's eyes roamed over his face for a moment, before realization dawned in his features, and he nodded.
"Your home," he stated, eyes turning east. "You have heard the rumors." His gaze moved back towards the dwarf king. "Rumors that the dragon has not been seen for a very long time."
Thorin nodded, and Beorn shook his head.
"It is not wise to believe that a dragon would willingly leave his hoard, especially one so large as what I have heard," he said. "I have heard the rumors recently as well- from a few orcs who dared to enter my lands. So Azog is trying to keep you from the mountain?"
"We are not certain, but it would appear that way," Gandalf interjected. "At the very least, he is determined to end the line of Durin, and to seek revenge on Thorin after he cut off his arm. I doubt he will stop hunting him until he has accomplished this task."
"But if what you say is true," Beorn continued, gaze moving toward the other end of the cottage. "Then Azog's hunt will continue even after he is dead. The line does not end with Thorin." Gandalf sighed, and shook his head.
"No it does not," he confirmed. Bilbo's eyes widened, and he looked over at Thorin, noticing the deep concern flickering behind the blue orbs as the dwarf king tensed.
"B-but Thorin doesn't have a son," Bilbo replied in confusion, gaze moving between Beorn and the dwarf king. He may not know much about kingships and lineage, such things unneeded in the Shire, but he did know that sons succeeded their fathers on the throne. "How would the line continue without him?"
An awkward silence fell on the table as the other members of the company focused intensely on the food in front of them, and the hobbit worried that he had spoken out of turn.
"I-I apologize," he stammered, focusing on the remaining bread and honey on his own plate. "I just thought…." Bilbo trailed off, sighing. After a moment, Balin patting Bilbo's arm, smiling sadly.
"Thorin does not need a son to continue the line, laddie," he replied quietly, gaze following Beorn's. "Fili is his nephew, the son of his sister, and….he's the heir to the throne." The hobbit's eyes widened considerably.
"But, if he's of the line of Durin as well, that means…" he trailed off, swallowing heavily as he looked at Thorin. The dwarf king nodded, sighing as he spoke the words everyone else at the table were thinking.
"That Azog must never learn of his kinship to me."
XXX
Cirashala's arm ached badly as she scrubbed the filthy wooden floor. Her scrub brush was brown with dirt, as was her water, and she had refilled it twice already.
What I wouldn't give to be able to switch arms right now!
Pausing as she wiped a damp tendril of hair out of her eye, the young woman took a breath and surveyed her work. It certainly wasn't perfect, but the floor looked a lot better than it had before. She was certainly glad that the room was a very small one! Groaning as she stood up, she leaned her shoulder up against the wall, relieved that it was finally done.
Now I can move Kili in here, and maybe his fever will finally go down, she thought to herself, hoping that the rearrangement would work.
The wounds on her back greatly protested her movements, and a slight whimper escaped her lips. The effects of staying up most of the night before were evident in her very bones as exhaustion crept up on her. Drawing her eyebrows together as she yawned, a loud knock suddenly echoed through the small cabin.
All sleep left her as the scrub brush in her hand clattered to the floor. Breaths coming quickly, the young woman cautiously peered around the corner as Meril went to open the front door. A familiar voice sounded, and the young woman's eyes widened considerably in fear.
The man from the cornfield- what is he doing here?!
The young woman trembled as she recalled his piercing gaze roaming over her, pale blue eyes lingering a bit too long on her exposed lower legs. She didn't know anything about the culture of the woodsmen, the secluded people hardly being referenced in Tolkien's work at all, but the little she'd gathered from Meril indicated that Kili's presence at least would most certainly not be welcome in this village.
And if they believe me a dwarf too….then I would be unwelcome as well.
As her heart pounded within her, and her body visibly trembled, the young woman suddenly found herself wondering if this was what it had been like for the dwarves ever since they lost the mountain.
The voices raised in intensity, sounding more and more like an argument, and the young woman's gaze fixed on the sleeping young dwarf before the fire, just visible through the gap in the doorway.
Eru, please don't let that man see him….
XXX
Meril was quite surprised to see Breglin on her doorstep- he was usually the type to sleep in until noon before starting his day. The tall, unkempt, filthy man glared at her, and the old woman stood up to her full height, looking almost eye to eye with him as they argued in the tongue of their people.
"I said, no, you may not enter my house," Meril argued for the fourth time, glaring right back at him. "I am sure you have chores to attend to, and since you are awake early for a change, perhaps you'd like to get a decent start on them for once."
"I know what I saw, woman," Breglin argued back, his volume rising as his face turned red. "You have a dwarf woman in there, and that scum is not welcome in our town! Don't you remember what the Chieftain declared after those tight fisted bastard rats killed your own grandfather?!" The old woman's eyes narrowed.
"If you think that I have forgotten that, you are a fool!" she growled, her voice low. "Do you honestly think that I have the memory of a drunkard? My face may be old, but my mind is far sharper than any tool in this town, especially yours!"
Breglin sputtered in indignation, fists clenching at his sides. He had a right to enjoy his home brew, and he had always crossed paths with Meril's opposition to what she referred to as his "drunken laziness and tomfoolery". He did not like being called a fool, especially coming from a mere woman no less! But dwarves in her home? He would not tolerate such a thing- the worthless double crossing spawn of pigs deserved no less than to be thrown in a manure pile!
"You mark my words," he spat, fist colliding against the doorframe. "I WILL be back, and when I am, those thrice damned spawn of runts had better be gone! Rats-the whole lot of 'em! I will not allow our village to be filled with such filthy creatures, and neither will the Chieftain!"
The furious man turned and strode away at a brisk pace, fists still clenched at his sides. Meril stared at his retreating back, her jaw firm and eyes blazing, before she shut the door with a slam.
"Gramma, why is mister Breglin so mad?" Freida asked her from her corner, the child wide eyed as her dolly and blanket lay on the ground before her, the toys long forgotten. "Is he gonna tell the Chieftain that miss Cira and mister Gisli are here?"
Meril's eyes softened at the child, before her gaze moved toward the trembling young woman who hesitantly stepped out of Gelin's room, fear in the blue orbs as she looked at the elder.
"Don't worry, Freida," she said, smiling slightly, though the smile did not reach her eyes. "I'm sure they won't mind after what our guests did for you."
The child smiled and went back to playing, and Meril strode over to the frightened young woman. Drawing her inside the doorway to Gelin's room, she leaned in close to her ear.
"It's best you both stay in here and stay out of sight," the old woman whispered, her voice resigned. Cirashala nodded, drawing her arms about herself. The old woman sighed, placing a hand gently on her shoulder as she frowned.
"It would probably be safer for you both if you left tonight," she whispered. "I am sorry, but Breglin is right- dwarves are not permitted in our village." Cirashala's worried gaze moved swiftly toward the injured young dwarf.
"But he's hurt," she whispered, shaking her head. "I-I don't know if he's ready to travel yet. He's still feverish, and his wounds- they aren't even close to being healed." Meril sighed, following her gaze before looking pointedly at the young woman.
"Child, do not underestimate Breglin. He may be a drunkard, lazy, and stupid, but he likes to babble, and he can be very mean and full of hate, especially when it comes to dwarves." Cirashala swallowed heavily, her face noticeably paling.
"I'm sorry, young Cira, but by nightfall….the entire village is going to know you are here."
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Virtual brownies to anyone who can tell me why the dwarves gave Gandalf dark looks when he mentions Azog crawling out of his *miserable hole* :D
A response to guest reviewer theLord'ssparrow: Thanks! It's more that I'm hosting Christmas because my sister in law is getting married December 12th. I am trying to make a quilt for the wedding, but it's looking like I'm going to run out of time unless I really get busy on it! :( Also have to sew winter clothes, and have been ill. Yeah- he's not going to be nice ;)
A response to guest reviewer Amanda: Thanks! What did you like about it?
A response to guest reviewer Kaia: thanks :D
Thanks to all who review, favorite, and follow- I've passed 300 followers! Woohoo! :D :D :D