The dawn was coming and the dwarves were leaving. Bilbo heaved, ho'ed and hummed as this was yet another departure from comfort for him. More than that, he did not like leaving Asta here alone. She was awake and wandering the halls when he found her and they sat watching the night dim, all the while wishing for a smoke. Little was said, although, there was not much that needed to be said. It was not their first goodbye. Asta's eyes stared off into futures that Bilbo could not see. He wondered if, since having her power taken, she missed it at all.
"Will you be alright?" She coughed out at him.
"Will you?" he responded in kind. She only sighed. "I'll get on. I have some laughter in me yet." He smiled so slightly that one could have missed it.
She giggled, leaning on the edge of the railing for stability, "As do I."
He sighed, then patting his worn knees he rocked himself to his feet, "I suppose we should head down to them, shouldn't we?"
They went, with noticeable pain down the stairs and when they had arrived, everyone had already assembled. Thorin turned to her, fortitude in his gaze, and subtle teasing in his low voice, "I expect to see you soon."
"I expect that you will. Don't get into any trouble I can't see you out of." She extended her arm to him.
Thorin looked down at it, pale and shaking slightly. It still took a lot of energy for her to raise her arms, and would be for a while. They both knew it would be weeks before they saw Asta again. He grunted, smirked and grasped her upper arm. He stepped aside to allow his nephew access to her but as he did he looked up to see Galadriel and Celeborn standing at the stair top. The Queen glanced at him, nodded then turned her attention elsewhere. He went and stood by Gandalf, who was clutching at his staff, smelling the air.
Asta gave Kili every arrow she had left in her quiver and he held out his hand to her. She grabbed his upper arm as she had done Thorin's but when Kili held on for an almost uncomfortable amount of time she looked up. He was staring straight at her, head slightly lowered, eyes unmoving. He slowly let her arm go, trailing his along it until he reached her hand, in which he slipped something small into it. He bowed slightly and turned away.
Ori came to her and he looked at his feet. "I know it hasn't been long but I think you should have this." He thrust his hand out to her, and she took the small object from him. It was a tubular metal hair ornament. Carefully engraved with knots and leaves, it was delicate and yet strong. It didn't weigh much at all and felt light in her fingers. She looked to him, knowing that this was probably one of their family rings. She hugged him tight to her, her joy and her gratitude beating out all pain in her chest and back. He gripped at her robe tunic and then they turned and left.
Asta watched them go, Bilbo trailing behind, taking final glances at the palace and at Asta. Before he fully disappeared into the forest he turned and on tiptoes waved as big and as wide as he could, and Asta waved with what little arm movement she was capable of. She turned away, forgetting that Kili had slipped her something. She looked into her hand to find a polished arrowhead with dwarvish lettering engraved in it. The arrowhead was attached to a leather strap and inscribed: 'Put Swords to Those That Disagree.' She scoffed, and then wrapped it around her neck. She would. She would.
The sun set and rose and with every day that it did the elves were ashamed to wake to Asta training before them. Every morning she would rise and begin walking, lifting weights and getting her body to its previous form. The new muscle tightened, ripped, burned and she felt pain that was incomprehensible, yet the weight of the arrowhead beating on her chest and the braid that held the hair ornament's gentle movements kept her moving. When she wasn't training physically, Galadriel taught her about the forest and how to control their outcries. Over her stay she learned to focus on a single voice and how to interact with them all through physical connection to one.
Every night after dining with the King and Queen she would wander to the clearing where the hand printed tree stood, waiting for her mother to appear. Asta imagined a life at Erebor, with a shop, her friends and family coming by and even politely bowing her head to Lord Balin in a busy corridor. Her mother never came.
It took her two full weeks to be able to hold her swords again. The hilts were a familiar weight but now she found it hard to wield them. More than most things, this discouraged her. So from that point she trained through meals and would continue after her nightly visit to the glade.
One night while staring at the stars she thought of Bilbo. He had changed so much since her time in the Shire, and again since she joined them on their journey. Yet she did not know if he was able to accomplish the task he had agreed to. Bilbo's courage grew everyday and still, a dragon, if there was one, was an immense task. A fear grew in her then, one she had not known in such a long time, but she threw it back to the depths of consciousness. She had to trust in Bilbo, as did they all.
Asta made friends here, friends who knew of Rivendell, who knew of Endras and Lord Elrond. She could share stories with some, get news with others and when she finally could fight, she had some sparring partners. Galadriel and Celeborn watched on like faithful guardians, mindful of her movements and success.
The day came that she stood before the King and Queen, thanking them for all their help. It had been three weeks since the dwarves had departed and it was time to catch up.
"You are always welcome here, even if we are not." Celeborn looked down at her smiling the slightest of smiles, and yet so full of warmth. "Now go, to those who are ahead. Make haste, Durin's day is fast approaching."
Galadriel took Asta's head in her hands; her soft, warm hands and kissed her forehead. "Go, Child of the Mountains. Be free to choose your path."
"I will try to choose wisely, thank you." Asta stated before she mounted the pony they had given her. She looked back one last time and smiled at all the faces that saw her off, then with a quick motion she galloped into the forest, leaving light and friends behind as it fell away. It seemed to be her fate, to leave the things she cared about behind, and yet, the world was ahead, and her new companions as well.
She only carried with her the necessities, a sack of food and water each, her new bow and quiver on her back, blades on her hips. Galadriel had outfitted her with new clothes, a new linen shirt that was dark as night, a woolen over tunic and a new brown leather coat. She continued to wear pants and to her dismay these were a bit tighter than she would have liked and yet the wind didn't snap at the fabric on her legs anymore. She looked more dwarvish than she ever had, and was grateful for the gifts; they were both warm and useful.
Within a few days she found the company's tracks along with orc and warg. She filled her water sac one last time before she rode to full speed and all night. As the pony's breath grew short and Asta began to find it difficult to keep her eyes open, they passed through to an open clearing garnished with patches of flowers of all colours and kinds, albeit very organized as if they had been planted. It wasn't long before Asta noticed the bees, bees that were larger than your thumb and richly coloured. If one had been so inclined they might even compare their yellow stripes to fiery gold. Asta and her pony trotted on, noticing the tracks leading towards a gathering of oaks and a high wooden gate. Outside that gate stood a man.
At least it seemed like a man. As Asta drew closer he only appeared bigger and bigger. He was the largest man she had ever seen and her heart began to beat at such a pace that she almost thought to turn back. Since her crippling last encounter with Gondorians she hadn't had much contact. She would avoid towns and sleep in forests and trees when she travelled and she would eat what the forest could provide.
His features became clearer as the distance between them got shorter. He was very large and covered in hair. He boasted a beard that the dwarves would be proud of and a mane that no man could hold a candle to. He wore a wool tunic that amazingly, touched his knees. His hands were massive and as he rested them on his crossed arms he continued to look more and more uninviting.
The wind swept up from behind her as if to urge her forward and as it did so it carried a name, "Beorn…" and with that name many visions also entered Asta. The man looked about as the forest spoke his name, puzzled.
"You speak the language of the forest, Child?"
"I am no child." She croaked, "Are you the skin changer the forest gives me visions of?"
"You are all children to me. Yes, I am Beorn. Who gave you the power to speak to nature?" he finished with.
"The Elven Queen and Lady of Light, Galadriel. It is punishment for crimes as a seer."
"A dwarf seer who can speak to the forest. The wizard did not mention that. Although he has a habit of keeping things until the end."
She drew close to him now; his hair was black and eyes a deep, drowning brown, everything about him, smelt, felt, looked like the forest. "I am only partially dwarvish. Did Gandalf and my company pass through here?" There were so many tracks that it was hard to determine here, but she could not find Orc or Warg.
"Yes, but come, your pony is tired." He turned his gargantuan body slowly and walked up a path to the house.
She followed and she untensed her shoulders to which she did not remember tightening. She set the pony to rest in the stable before joining Beorn in his cottage.
"How long ago did my friends leave this place?"
"Your friends can't count." Beorn gruffed, "That wizard has almost spent his years; he kept missing numbers and more and more of you would pop up. There won't be anymore," and as he said this, setting a hot cup of tea on the table he leaned in. His face was the size of Asta's abdomen. "Will there?"
She found her words with great difficulty, "No. It's only myself."
"Good. I don't much care for dwarves, but I care less for the orcs that trail your friends. They left one week and one half ago, into Mirkwood. The wizard did not follow them into the forest."
She pondered a bit, "Very well, if you will allow it, I shall spend the night and be off at dawn."
"If not for anything other than your pony's health, you may stay."
Beorn did not say much but offered all that he could. She ate his food and sat by his fire all the while silent. She had ample time to admire his home. It was a cottage, a very large cottage. Straw was strewn all along the wooden floors, and a single set of steps consisting of only two led to the kitchen and dining room. Below those stairs animals rested, munched and bayed. The support beams were intricately carved in delicate design that Asta could not decipher. The same carvings were above the arched windows but the legs of the tables were shaped like bears, heads above the table. It was a beautiful blend of stone, wood and spirit. The chair Asta sat in was considerably bigger than she was, and yet surprisingly comfortable.
"You must live in the forest, you are at peace with it." He broke her thought abruptly.
"Y-yes." She wheezed as she attempted to swallow her tea. "You are the only one here?"
Beorn's eyes cast downwards and his voice got low and gruff, "I am the last of my kind. Once there were many of us and then Azog the Defiler and his orcs came from down the mountain." His eyes no longer were fixed on the floor but rather on the fire, it reflecting and flickering an unnatural light into his irises.
"Azog will get his. Either Thorin or I will see to that."
"I hope that happens for you. I kill orcs plenty and still they find a way to make the hair on my neck stand."
"I also live alone, but closer to the eastern edge of the forest. Your carvings are well done, and your table is something I am jealous of."
They carried a very short conversation about carving and woodworking before silence settled on the cottage again. That night she slept next to oxen and on a stack of straw thinking of her friends and how quickly she was catching up.