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.
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Meril rose to a strong knock on her side door, a bit confused. Lighting a candle, she made her way to the side door.
Who on earth could that be?
She knew the dwarf and young woman were very unlikely to return, given their forced departure several days prior. As her people had not succeeded in locating them that night, the incident was largely forgotten, though many of her kin had kept a close eye out for strangers since.
That must be one of my neighbors, she thought to herself, sleep still heavy in her eyes. Yawning, the old woman rose to answer the door, mindful of the still sleeping child in her bed.
The door opened with a creak, and the woodswoman's eyes widened at the sight of her unusual visitor. Beorn stood high above her, the great man appearing even taller in the early dawn light. His woven vest and brown trousers were quite dusty and littered with the bits of leaves and grass, and he sported a knife in his belt. The blade appeared tiny next to his large frame, and her brow furrowed in confusion.
"Good morning, Meril," he greeted, nodding his head to her. She nodded back, before her gaze landed on the knife. It was obviously far too small to be his, yet it did not belong to her kin, of that she was certain.
"Beorn," she replied, wrapping her shawl tightly around her as she stepped outside. The first rays of dawn were illuminating the mountain ridge to the west in reds and golds, and her breathe froze in the early morning air. The slight hint of woodsmoke was just beginning to permeate the air, and she gestured toward the skinchanger to sit down on the wooden chopping block just outside her door.
"Please, sit," she said, using her own tongue. The skinchanger nodded, easily understanding the primitive language as he had traded with her people for years. The old woman turned behind her to shut the door, and leaned against the wall of the cabin, knowing he would be far too large and heavy for any of her chairs inside the small house.
"Freida is still sleeping, and I do not want to let in a draft," she explained in response to the skinchanger's inquiring gaze. "I am afraid you woke me up, as I had not yet risen for the day."
"My apologies," he replied, nodding his head to her once more. Glancing around, the skinchanger noted that there was no one outside as of yet.
No one will hear our conversation. Good.
"Would you care for some breakfast?" Meril asked, and the large man shook his head.
"I have pressing matters to attend to," he replied. "But I thank you for the offer." Meril nodded, her expression still somewhat baffled.
"Then might I ask why you are here?" she inquired. "You do not usually come down to trade until later in the autumn." Beorn sighed, before reaching down and drawing the small blade from the woven belt at his side.
"I was told that a dwarf and young woman crossed your path," he said, holding up the blade for her to see. "And that this knife belongs to the dwarf." Meril peered at the weapon, before looking back up at him.
"I haven't seen this blade before," she replied thoughtfully. "But..."
The old woman trailed off, glancing around before moving a bit closer to the skinchanger lest her voice carry beyond the two of them.
"A dwarf did come here," she said quietly, mindful of her surroundings though her expression was now thoroughly confused. "Along with a young girl. Why do you ask?" Beorn returned the knife to his belt, before looking back up at her.
"They are now at my house," he replied. The old woman stared at him wide eyed in surprise, before nodding.
"I know they were traveling east," she continued, continually glancing around as she whispered. "They had gotten separated from their companions in the mountains during a goblin attack, and were trying to find them." Beorn nodded.
"And they did," he confirmed. "They are all at my house as we speak, which is why I am here." At Meril's blank expression, he sighed.
"The young dwarf told me that you helped him after he saved Freida from a lynx," the skinchanger explained. "He said that you and the young woman helped to heal his wounds, and sold him a horse because your people were going to arrest them for trespassing on your land without leave." Golden eyes met blue, and Meril nodded.
"Aye," she confirmed matter of factly, causing Beorn's eyes to widen slightly in surprise. "I sold them Deloth so they could escape, as I know my people would not have treated them well had they been caught. I would have given him the horse under the circumstances, but he offered me fair payment and asked me to accept it."
"Why?" Beorn asked, the skinchanger recovering quickly from his surprise. "You have even greater reason than your kinsmen to hate dwarves." He looked at her pointedly, and she sighed.
"Because he saved Freida's life," she replied, respect in her voice. "He was badly hurt- very badly, and sick, and the young woman he was with was also hurt, though less injured than him from what I could tell. But when the lynx charged Freida, he got her into a tree out of its reach while the young woman fended it off with a branch even though he was still bleeding heavily. If they hadn't done so, my Freida would have been mauled to death. I got there just in time to shoot it. And he offered more than a fair price for the horse, despite my offer to give Deloth to them."
Beorn silently mulled over this information as his gaze wandered over the cornfields, just visible in the early morning mist.
So the young one was in fact speaking the truth.
"Why did you ask?" Meril asked, interrupting his thoughts. Beorn turned toward her, sighing.
"I know your disdain for dwarves," he replied. "It is no secret. I simply had to verify that he was speaking the truth. I do not tolerate liars, and never have." Meril nodded in agreement.
"I have never tolerated liars either," she responded. "But yes, they were here, they were hurt, and I sold them the horse." A concerned gaze roamed over Beorn's face.
"Are they in danger?" she asked worriedly, and Beorn shook his head.
"Not from me," he replied, rising to his feet. His gaze moved beyond the woods to the west to linger on the tall peaks. "But there is one more thing I must do. Thank you for your time, Meril, and my apologies for waking you, but I wanted this conversation to be private."
The old woman nodded in understanding. Wizened blue eyes watched as the large man entered the forest without another word and quickly disappeared from sight.
XXX
Kili yawned, eyes opening as the bright sunlight filtered through the many open window holes in the walls of the stone cottage. Smelling the aroma of oats and stewed fruit, the young dwarf slowly rose to his feet, mindful of his healing ribs.
His coughs were quickly lessening in both frequency and intensity, and the young prince was quite relieved. The illness had frightened him considerably, such virulent sickness being extremely rare amongst dwarves.
Oin said that Beorn's honey helped save Cira's life, he thought to himself as he pulled on his boots. I have been eating a lot of it on my bread and oats. Perhaps it is helping to heal me as well, along with the peppermint that Cira used to help me breathe.
Dark eyes drifted toward the young woman, still sound asleep from the herbs Oin had given her the night before. He was rather surprised that she hadn't objected to Gloin helping her to the outhouse, but she had still been very weak at the time, and visibly exhausted despite her spell induced rest. The red haired dwarf had gotten some suspicious looks from both Bilbo and Bombur after their return, and had reassured them that he'd simply helped her to the door of the outhouse and back, nothing more.
The difference in both Gloin and Nori's attitude toward the young woman had come as quite a surprise to several of the dwarves, including Kili. The young dwarf knew his cousin well, and the merchant was one of the most distrustful and suspicious dwarves he'd ever seen. If he distrusted someone, it was known and clear to everyone. But once his respect was earned, his cousin would fiercely defend a friend to the death if need be. Nori he knew less well, but had seen nothing but respect in his actions toward her since their arrival, and knew the former thief well enough to know that he wouldn't fake respect toward someone he had great disdain for.
No, the young dwarf was confident that she'd earned their respect, and was glad for it. Dissention in a group was not something Kili enjoyed, and he was glad that it was resolved. He knew that his uncle would never consent to her going up against Smaug, and neither would any of the others, but he was glad to see that she and Bilbo both had been accepted as part of the group.
The young dwarf was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly ran smack into Thorin, who was entering the side door. Jumping back to avoid doing so, the young prince felt his cheeks turn red as his gaze fell to the floor.
"Sorry, Thorin," he murmured, moving aside so that his uncle could pass. A long, thin object loosely wrapped in a thick woolen cloth entered his sight, and Kili looked up at the dwarf king in confusion.
"You will need this," the elder stated, holding it out to him. Kili's brow furrowed in confusion, before receiving the bundle. As the blade within became visible, his eyes widened considerably.
"A-a sword?" he asked dumbly, looking up at his uncle. Thorin's eyebrows shot up as the dwarves seated at the dining table burst into laughter, causing the young dwarf's cheeks to grow even redder in embarrassment.
"If you cannot recognize a sword by now laddie, then I have failed as a teacher," Dwalin lamented, shaking his head ruefully.
"Come on, he's still half asleep," Fili retorted, though his own eyes twinkled with amusement as he winked at his younger brother. The young dwarf sighed as his shoulders slumped, knowing he would never live this down.
"That's not what I meant," he muttered, looking back up at the dwarf king. Thorin just shook his head for a moment as he sighed, before meeting his youngest nephew's gaze. "I meant to ask where this came from. I lost mine in Goblin Town, but this one looks similar."
"I know," Thorin replied. "Beorn allowed us the use of his forge, and had enough ore to craft it, as well as repair any damaged weapons." Kili's eyes widened in shock as he looked back down at the blade.
"That's what you've been working on all night?" he asked, looking back up at his uncle. Thorin nodded.
"Your ribs will not allow for forge work until they are healed," he replied matter-of-factly. "I know it isn't the most elaborate work, but we are pressed for time and it is serviceable at least. You can reforge it after Erebor is reclaimed." The dwarf king turned without another word, leaving a gaping Kili standing in the middle of the floor, completely dumbfounded. Fili moved down to join him, skilled gaze roaming over the blade.
"It should fit your sheath," he remarked, and the younger dwarf nodded.
"Aye, it is the same size as my old one," he responded, gaze once more resting on Thorin. "How long did he take to forge it?" Fili's brow furrowed in thought.
"Two nights and a day, I think," he replied, causing Kili's eyes to widen even further as he stared at his uncle.
The young dwarf had always been in awe of his uncle's skill in the forge. Being royal by birth, both Kili and his brother had been taught from a young age in the art of smithing everything from gold to iron. Usually, smiths would train on one particular facet of their work, either the blade, the hilt, the gemwork if it was a ceremonial blade, the scabbard, and so forth.
But as they needed to know everything there was to know about the entire process, metallurgy and smithing being such an integral part of their culture and their people's livelihood, every member of the royal family was taught every single step in the process to perfection, and if given the time, could complete an entire array of forged items in all shapes and sizes and metals.
But typically forge work was done in groups, rather than individually, in order to increase the speed with which projects were done in order to better serve their customers. And even with a dwarf's skill, blades typically took at least a week to complete, or longer if elaborate.
This sword is very plain, with no markings or any cuts except the furrow, but even such a blade would usually take at least four days, the young dwarf thought to himself in amazement. Thorin must have worked on it nonstop to get it done so quickly.
"Aye, brother," Fili said quietly as he placed a hand on his shoulder. Words were not needed for the young dwarf to know that his brother shared his thoughts. Both dwarves had always admired their uncle's skill in the forge, as did many others, for Thorin's work was known far and wide amongst dwarves and other races alike. The pair were quite aware of the depth of their uncle's famed skill.
Under any other circumstance, such a simple blade would be considered crude and primitive by any self respecting dwarf smith, and meant as a clear and grave insult to the recipient. But each knew without a doubt that this blade, though simple, was made out of their uncle's love for the young dwarf and a desire to keep him safe, and not as a testament to his own skill in the craft. The simplicity was simply a necessity, given their time constraints.
Aye, the young prince thought to himself proudly as he looked at his uncle. He may not show it, but he does love us very much.
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A response to guest reviewer Guest- You are most welcome :)
A response to guest reviewer Kaia- I'm glad you got the laptop issue figured out and found the stories again :) Thanks for the review!
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