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"To love is to burn, to be on fire." —Jane Austen.
~Chapter 29~
Sugar, Oh Honey Honey
"Beorn, wait!" I call out, stepping around Thorin even as he reaches an arm out to keep me back. My heart races as Beorn's steady gaze pierces through me. "I promise everything Gandalf said is true! We really did go through Goblin Town and escaped!"
A tense silence stretches between us. Beorn's voice rumbles, laced with curiosity at my boldness. "And who are you, that I should take your word? Alas...your tale grows even more unbelievable with each new piece of information." His eyes narrow, landing on Gandalf with a scornful look. "A mere 'scuffle' with goblins," he scoffs, "is not the same as escaping the very depths of their tunnels. How could you have possibly escaped the Great Goblin?"
"Because he's dead," my voice is firm, a flicker of disgust threading through my tone. "Gandalf killed the Goblin King while we ran." Good riddance, I think, but keep my lips sealed.
Beorn's demeanor shifts, surprise etching itself across his rugged features. "The Great Goblin is dead?" His axe lowers slightly, though it remains poised, reassessing the old man before him
Nodding and feeling the weight of the moment, I continue,"Yes. And as for your first question, my name is Peyton Silva, and…" I hesitate, struggling to think of a good reason for him to trust the word of a complete stranger like me. "I don't really have a reason for you to believe me. But I know you hate orcs, and currently we're being hunted by Azog. Azog the Defiler." Urgency creeps into my voice, "He's one of the worst orcs to ever exist and he's vowed to wipe out the line of Durin. Like Gandalf said, we're on a quest." I hope Beorn adheres to the belief that 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' or we're cooked...
Beorn's eyes sharpen, narrowing like a predator's and my stomach spasms at the sight. The mention of Azog seems to hit a deep nerve, and a low growl rumbles from his throat. "I am quite familiar with the Pale Orc you speak of. His foul deeds are known to me and my kind."
Now that's interesting. Beorn has a history with Azog?
Intrigued, I lean forward, sensing an opportunity. "Would you like to hear our story? You like stories, don't you?"
In a world without newspapers, radio, or T.V., stories and songs are valuable; they are almost a type of currency in and of themselves. Just as Gandalf's tale won Beorn's favor in the original timeline, perhaps hearing it in this one can do the same.
Hope flares within me that he'll still give us a chance, "Our adventure also includes trolls, rock giants, and giant eagles...And now it includes a shapeshifter!"
Despite his reservations, his interest has slowly grown. He studies my face intently, deep brown eyes searching for any hint of deceit. Relief floods through me when he finally nods. "I will hear your tale. However..." His gaze shifts to the bedraggled group between us. With a swift motion, he throws the axe down into the log next to him with a thunderous crack, causing us all to jump. He fixes us with an intense stare. "I will see for myself if your tale is true."
Beorn strides toward his home, and the dwarves part respectfully, their expressions all a mix of relief and apprehension. He goes inside and the company slowly follow him in like a bunch of ducklings.
Glancing at Thorin, I can't help but give a relieved smile. I'd thought we were done for. His answering look states that we aren't out of the woods with Beorn yet, but he's impressed that I managed to convince him not to send us away. My hand reaches out, gripping Thorin's large forearm for much needed support as I begin to slowly and painfully walk after the group. He quickly obliges once he realizes what I need.
We're the last to reach the very large wooden table in the room Beorn's led us to. Thorin climbs up onto one of the large chairs before turning and offering a hand. His eyes hold mine and tingles shoot up my arm as my hand is enveloped in his once again. He lifts me up to sit beside him while my heart gallops inside my chest.
"Now," Beorn rumbles, his gaze fixed on me. "Before we speak of goblins and orcs, I wish to hear your story. How does a human woman come to travel with thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, and a wizard?"
I huff a smile, and try to joke, "How much time do you have?"
Beorn's lips slightly curve and the tension in the room begins to ease as I weave my story.
1 hour later...
"Very good tale, Miss Silva," Beorn rumbles, a pleased expression flickering across his unusual features as he leans back, assessing me with keen, piercing eyes. "The best I have heard in many a year. If all beggars came to my door with such offerings, they might find me kinder."
I beam up at him, my answering grin unforced as I recognize his similar words from the book. Unlike Gandalf, I don't sugarcoat or use flowery words to hide anything. I simply left out the parts that the company shouldn't know. Because of this, Beorn could sense I was telling the truth.
"A story like that deserves some food." He rises, his massive frame casting a shadow over the room, and walks out a side door, leaving the company abuzz with the promise of food.
My companions turn to me, their faces bright with enthusiasm as their relieved chatter and quiet laughter fill the room. "Well done, Pey!" Kili exclaims, fist bumping me across Thorin's front from where he sits on the other side. "Great story!" Dori chimes in, grinning widely. "Funny how you were almost killed by a cart," Gloin adds with a guaff, while Bombur moans, "I'm starving!"
Dwalin raises an eyebrow at me. "Did you really get drunk after only three glasses of ale, lass?" His voice is gruff, but there's a playful challenge in it. Thorin relaxes in his chair and also regards me with a quirk of his lips and an amused gaze that lingers, as if he too is waiting for the punchline.
Waving them and their comments off, I flush in amusement, "Yeah, yeah. Leave it alone guys."
Just then, Beorn strides back into the room, an enormous wooden jug cradled in his hands—its size nearly matching my own. Two dogs trot closely at his heels, and three ponies follow, their backs laden with trays piled high with food. A flock of sheep ambles in, each bearing dishes and cutlery on their backs. They shuffle up to the table and we take our dishes from them. None of the animals stand like the books had described; but they glide smoothly, their balance incredible as Beorn sets the trays before us.
Pouring milk into the different mugs, he finally turns to Gandalf, who he has largely ignored up until this point (most likely due to his attempts to deceive him). Now, with a newfound openness, Beorn addresses him, "Now...the story of how Radagast's colleague killed the Great Goblin is one I must hear."
Gandalf straightens, donning his friendliest expression in an attempt to amend things between the two of them.
With a plate heaped high, my hands shake as I dig into the spread before me. Gandalf's voice rises above the cheerful din as he begins telling his version of how he single-handedly saved the company from certain death.
There's a truth to the statement that EVERYTHING tastes better when you're starving, even stinky tofu from China. But when you taste something that's already delicious while you're starving...it does something to your brain. The sensation, the desperation, and the pleasure imprints itself on your mind so much so that years later you can still remember the emotion of that experience.
Freshly creamed butter from raw milk and clotted cream, together with golden wildflower honey made by giant bees slathered on fresh homemade bread from Middle Earth's non-GMO grain is the most delicious thing...I have ever put inside my mouth...in my entire life. Better than the cherry cheesecake my Grandma Marie used to make for Thanksgiving. Better than Bilbo's top-tier cooking. Better than even the most scrumptious chocolate cake ever consumed.
Honey, butter, and bread. Simply ingredients, really. And sure, I've had freshly baked bread with butter in my world and at Bilbo's house. But add honey from magic bees, and I'm willing to bet that meth, cocaine, and heroine don't hold a candle to this stuff when it comes to a starving woman.
"Better than chocolate, Pey?" Fili asks with an expectant grin as he watches me inhale the gooey sugary goodness.
"What's chocolate?" I joke happily, sucking the glob of honey on my index finger which continuously drips off the warm doughy bread onto my fingers. "I've never heard of such a thing!"
"Well, good!" Bofur laughs, his tone joyous. "We'll have to keep you supplied with plenty o' bread an' honey so you'll never want ta leave!"
I vaguely recall once telling him that I had to leave Middle Earth because there's no chocolate here. "Don't tempt me." I laugh before washing the bread down with some fresh milk Beorn has poured into large mugs for us. I haven't had milk since the Shire! This is absolute heaven.
"So you'd stay in Middle Earth for bread and honey, but not for your old chums here?" Nori chimes in, feigning indignation.
"Yep! Don't forget the clotted cream," A contented sigh of bliss escapes me as I take another bite. Some more drizzled honey spills onto my chin and I wipe it away with my thumb before sucking it off, not willing to let a single drop go to waste.
Ever since leaving Bilbo's house, the only sweetness the company's tasted is the occasional wild berry or pear found along our path. After so many months without sugar...the explosion of sugar is almost too much for my starving brain to handle and I notice a strange sort of buzz inside my brain.
"Well, that was easy," Thorin rumbles, leaning back in the chair, his gaze fixed on me.
I tilt my head in confusion, "What was?"
"Deciding to stay."
His blue eyes lock onto mine, deep and mesmerizing, as a small smile tugs at his lips. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and my heart flutters, caught off guard by the unexpected turn of our banter. I've walked right into that one.
"Hey, I'm a simple soul! All I need is good food, warmth, and puppies to be happy!" I try to keep the jokes going, desperately wanting to steer the conversation away from anything too seriouss. And family, I think to myself but don't mention it.
Am I going to stay?
A small furry black object is suddenly placed into my lap by one of the company which promptly starts to lick my mouth.
"Argh! No! Puppy breath!" I sputter good naturedly as the company chuckle at my effort to gently push the affectionate little pup off of me. The sweet face of the baby Labrador looks up at me and my insides melt like butter, "Awwwww! It's soooo cuuuuute!!"
Thorin's movement at the corner of my catches my attention as he silently excuses himself from the table, and Oin with him. I watch as they walk away from the group to another room. Curiosity washes over me as I briefly wonder what they're talking about. Is Thorin's ok?
"Miss Silva," Beorn suddenly calls my attention back to the table where he and Gandalf are enjoying a brief lull in their conversation. "What is this chocolate you speak of?"
"Call my Peyton." I smile, digging back into my plate of food. "It's actually made from a fruit that grows in warm regions. They roast it until it's brown and dry, then grind it into powder and mix it with milk and sugar. Umm, I actually don't know the whole process, to be honest. But chocolate is always found in some kind of dessert. My favorite has almonds in it." I suck another one of my fingers the honey had dripped onto. This stuff is really messy!
The company starts talking about different desserts and foods and as I listen, my gaze drifts back to the doorway through which Thorin and our company healer disappeared. A gnawing worry twists in my stomach. Is Thorin alright? Are his bites bothering him? My heart quickens, the pulse thudding in my ears, and I take a deep breath, forcing myself to ground in the present.
"Excuse me for a moment," I slide off the chair and make a show of standing and stretching my limbs. "I need to…uh…get some fresh air!"
Beorn nods graciously, and the others barely notice as they dive back into animated debates over the peculiar foods of Arda.
"Do you want someone to come with you?" Fili asks, noticing how difficult it is for me to walk. Fili is a very sensitive soul, I've noticed.
"Nah, I'll be fine. If I need you, I'll hollder!" I slip away, weaving through the rooms around the different animals, scanning for Thorin and Oin. If he's sick, I need to know.
A black shape in my periferals catches my attention and I quickly glance down, "Oh! Uh, hi!" The little black puppy from earlier has followed me, he wags his tiny tail and gives a the most adorable puppy bark. Soooo cuuuute! "Wanna come with?"
He bounds in front of me and looks back, waitingz.
"Okay, let's go!" We both step outside and my pace is extremely slow as I try to hobble in a way that hurts less. Glancing around the yard, I search for any sign of Thorin and Oin in the vicinity.
Yesterday's frantic escape from the wargs and then Beorn had left me no time to appreciate the beauty of his home. It sprawls around me—a collection of multiple rustic buildings rather than one as I had initially thought. All nestled within an enormous thorn hedge. Over a dozen large beehives are placed strategically around the area, with access to the flowery fields beyond. The main house stands proud, but I spot an outhouse, similar to the one in Michel Delving, tucked much farther away from the other structures. Nearby, a chicken coop buzzes with life, the chickens roaming freely, and a pond glimmers in the sunlight with ducks paddling lazily.
The air is rich with the scent of honeysuckle, and I can't get enough. I take in deep, satisfying breaths, savoring the crispness before releasing it in a contented sigh. While nothing can rival the beauty of Rivendell, Beorn's home is a wonder of its own. It's an animal sanctuary!
Bunnies dart through the underbrush as I walk along. Mice scurry by, and squirrels leap playfully between branches. Dogs and cats lounge lazily in the sun, while various birds chirp cheerfully above. Cows graze peacefully, and sheep dot the landscape beyond the hedge like fluffy clouds. Foxes play in the field, darting around the calm sheep as if playing tag. There's even a baby deer! I can't help but slowly come over to its tiny quivering frame to give it gentle pats, cooing, "Where's your mama, little Bambi?" i
Eventually, I have to continue my exploration. To my surprise and delight, the baby deer begins to follow me, alongside the black puppy! In this moment, I feel like Snow White, surrounded by a band of dwarves and a multitude of animal friends. Dunno where Bilbo and Gandalf fit in in the story, but it's uncanny.
Peeking into the largest building, an enormous hall greets me, dominated by a large empty fireplace at its center. A meetinghouse of sorts? Dust hangs in the air, making the place feel like an ancient tomb of forgotten gatherings. I imagine laughter and stories shared here long ago. What happened to Beorn's family? Did he ever have one?
Just beyond, a stable echoes with the soft nicker of where Beorn's beautiful horses must live. I bypass the stables and the last building to explore seems to be just a traditional barn, its loft brimming with hay. On the base floor, a mother hen pecks at the ground, her fluffy yellow chicks cheeping eagerly in response to her clucks. The innocent scene enchants me for a moment before I close the barn door and continue my search.
At last, feeling a mix of weariness and frustration at not finding Thorin or Oin, I sit down on the grass at the edge of the field. My legs are sore and need a break. I know I'm going to regret sitting down because it'll be extremely difficult to get back up. But the Misty Mountains look so pretty from this side of the mountain, lush and green with trees.
Another deep breath in my lungs until they feel ready to pop, and then I let it out with a bone deep sigh. This has been the most intense few days of my entire life. I feel as if I've aged ten years and lost five lbs at the same time. I lay down on my back, forcing my muscles to relax, feeling grateful that there are three checkpoints of safety along our journey. Four if you include the Mirkwood elves since we'll all get to chill safely in the dungeons, relatively speaking. The fawn comes over to me and sniffs my face with her adorable nose. Her eyes are so huge, like big inky pools. She then unexpectedly settles down next to my head and I seriously argue with myself on the merits of taking her with me on the quest or not.
The sky is full of fluffy clouds and the wind blows the heat away and and I close my eyes in utter relief. I wish we could just stay here! I've almost forgotten what it feels like to just relax. Even now, part of me won't allow me to relax completely. Have we caught up to the timeline? There's no title to doddle.
The wind picks up, carrying a refreshing breeze that sweeps through the grass and I begin to drift off, allowing the wind to carry my anxious thoughts away.
... I wish I had some tanning oil.
"You look quite happy here."
I startle with a gasp, looking around with wide eyes at none other than Beorn watching me with an enigmatic smile on his strange face. His eyebrows are so weird!
I sit up, suddenly self conscious, "Oh! Uh, yes! I am. Your...your home is very beautiful! When I was younger, I always wanted to be a veterinarian."
"What's a veterinarian?" He asks with a slight tilt of his head.
"Oh! It's, um, a doctor, but just for animals."
His eyes seem to light up. "That is a desire after my own heart." He slowly kneels down next to me on the grass, as if afraid of moving too quickly to starte me. Even sitting down, he towers above me like a giant. "I created this place as a sanctuary for all peaceful creatures."
He reaches a large hand out and gently pets the baby deer that's curled up at my side, "This little fellow's mother was killed by hunters and I've brought him here. He seems to have taken a kindling to you."
I look down at the little baby, my heart swelling with compassion, "Aww, poor baby!" He's more like Bambi than I had originally thought!
A question comes to my mind, much like it had when I was talking with Lord Elrond and I feel compelled to speak up and ask it. I glance up at Beorn, "So, if you don't mind me asking…. why don't you eat meat like a normal bear does? Like all predators do? I've seen a couple of foxes and badgers here, and you have plenty of dogs and cats."
"None of my animals eat meat," Beorn replies, his tone firm and resolute.
That's so strange. Bears, cats, dogs, foxes, badgers—vegetarians? I know it's like that in the book but seeing it before my eyes feels so unnatural. "That's... fascinating," I manage, unsure of what else to say.
"Tell me, Miss Silva," he says, an eyebrow arched, "would you eat a human?"
I grimace at him in horror, "Uh, no? Never!"
"Well, I can change into an animal," Beorn explains, his voice steady. "So I cannot, in good conscience, eat one."
That makes a certain kind of sense, I suppose. "But what about protein?" I ask, recalling my health classes. "You need protein for a balanced diet."
Beorn tilts his head. "What is this 'protein'?"
Oh yeah, science stuff. "Umm, basically it's a type of energy our bodies use that's found in meat. It's important for good health."
"Does a horse need protein? Does an ox? Seems to me that protein is not as essential as you think."
I frown, pondering his words. He's right. How do horses get their protein anyway? I wish I had the internet to look it up. I feel so clueless without Google at my fingertips.
"Ok….but...meat tastes good." I shrug helplessly. I bite my lips, worried I've offended him.
"So, you would eat a human if they tasted good?" Beorn chuckles, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he nudges the conversation back to his original question.
"No… but...you're a bear! And bears...well..." I decide to not continue that train of thought so as not to offend him and say, "I mean, it's not like you're eating another bear. You know?"
"Ah, so you would eat a hobbit if they tasted good," he counters, giving me a sidelong glance. "What of a dwarf? You are neither of those."
I feel my cheeks warm. "Well... no." I cough, conceding, "Ok, I see your point."
Beorn's expression grows serious. "These animals are unique to me, just as your humans, dwarves, hobbits, and elves are to you. I know them, their hopes and dreams, their fears. To eat them would be akin to consuming a friend, and that notion is abhorrent to me."
I nod slowly, understanding dawning. "That makes sense; you can't eat your friends. Thank you for explaining. I wish I could speak to animals, too." The puppy playfully licks my arm, begging for attention, and I find myself petting his head.
Beorn smiles kindly as he watches the interaction. "You can speak with them, Miss Peyton. In your own way. The more time you spend with an animal, the clearer their language becomes to you. It takes time and patience."
He rises, and I look up at him, towering like one of the great statues of Argonath. "I must be off," he says. "I will return in a few hours after scouting the perimeter."
A few hours? Doesn't he mean a few days? I feel a stab of apprehension, "Are you...not going to go back to the mountain to verify our story, then?" In the book he goes all the way to the Misty Mountains which takes a couple of days and hears our tale from the animals of the forest for himself. So impressed is he that he gives the company food to get through Mirkwood. If he's not impressed, then we may not get food. And we NEED that food to survive.
A sudden jolt of pure fear runs through me, as it always does whenever I think too much about it. We're almost to Mirkwood!!!!! Don't think about it, Pey! Breathe!
Beorn's strange eyes study me for a moment, before turning toward the forest, a shadow crossing his features. He shakes his head slowly, "I dare not travel so far. There are orcs within these woods, are there not? If the Pale Orc is indeed near then it is not safe to leave you all in my home unaccompanied. Surely, he only stays away due to my presence."
Good point.
I hesitate, biting my lip as I slowly ask, "Can't you just—like—kill Azog in your bear form? I mean, that would just solve a LOT of problems, honestly."
In an instant, Beorn's stoic expression softens, amusement flickering in his gaze. This spark of warmth makes him appear more human, despite his REALLY long eyebrows, and a half-smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "You believe me thus capable, do you? I am flattered."
Under his gaze, I fidget, trying to laugh off the weight of the suggestion. "Well, I mean, a large bear against an orc hardly seems too big of a challenge." But guilt washes over me, heavy and suffocating. Encouraging Beorn to fight my battle feels selfish.
My cowardice churns in my stomach but, I mean, c'mon! I already faced Azog! And the result was that he disarmed me with a single swipe and then yanked my arm from its socket! Forgive me if I'm still slightly scarred from the experience. And yeah, I know Ballin said that defeat first starts in the mind, but if I can't beat Thorin in training, then I can't hope to defeat Azog in battle. Pure and simple.
"Peyton."
Both Beorn and I turn at my name being called. My eyebrows shoot up in surprise to see Oin watching us, his gaze stern and piercing. Gloin lingers a few steps behind him, his expression mirroring Oin's concern. "May I speak with you a moment, lass?"
"Uh, yes! Of course!" I had been looking for him and Thorin, and it's peculiar that now he's wanting to speak with me. "Um. Thank you for the conversation, Beorn." I say to the giant as I attempt to stand. Pain flares through my legs, and I wince unable to push myself up. I knew I would regret sitting here!
Beorn reaches down, offering an enormous hand. I take it gratefully and his grip effortlessly pulls me up with his massive strength.
"I thank you as well," he rumbles, a smile gracing his lips. He strides into the forest, leaving without shoes, a pack, or any extra gear. I can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment; I had hoped to see him transform into a bear, which would have been super cool!
I turn to Oin and Gloin, "Ok guys, what's-"
"Where has Beorn gone?" Gandalf's sudden appearance startles us all, and we turn to see suspicion etched into the lines of his weathered face.
"Uh," I blink, "he went to scout the perimeter." I point in the direction Beorn disappeared and give a hesitant smile. "But don't worry though. He said he'll be back in an hour or two."
"I shall follow him. No telling what he might be up to." Gandalf's grey eyes flash with determination as he strides off, urgency in his steps.
"Woah, woah, woah! Gandalf, wait!" I call after him, panic rising in my chest. "There's no need to follow him! And what about the wargs?!" I just told him what Beorn is doing—there's no need to stalk our host.
I watch the back of his grey robes disappear into the treeline. He followed after Beorn in the original timeline, but Azog wasn't a factor then. I hope he'll be ok.
Everything is so...mixed up! I turn back to Oin and Gloin with a sigh. "Ok, so...what's going on?" I ask them. Apprehension prickles at the back of my mind at Oin and Gloin's serious expressions.
I notice that Thorin isn't with them.
Oin steps closer and puts a comforting hand on my shoulder, perhaps noticing how tense I am. "I can't hear ya very well since the goblins damaged my earpiece, but I have Gloin here to translate for me. I want to know if you know of any techniques from your world to stave off infection."
My eyes sharpen on his face, the conversation now very serious. "Who's infected?" I ask bluntly, dread pooling in my gut.
Oin's gaze flicks to Gloin, who discreetly makes hand signals. "Thorin," Oin replies, worry etched into his features. "He doesn't want me to alert the company. He's hidden it well, but I'm concerned. I don't have my medic bag with an herbal powder meant for this sort of wound."
I knew it. Something's just seemed off about Thorin for this past day and a half. His expression's been more sober and blank than normal, and I realize it's because he's been trying to hide his pain from everyone. My mind races, searching for solutions. "Has he washed out his wounds with soap and water? Sometimes the lye in soap can do the trick…" I suggest, trying to recall natural ways of getting rid of infection.
"Aye, I sent him to the river just now to wash up," Oin confirms after Gloin translates.
"Okay…" I nod, realizing why I couldn't find them earlier. I contemplate whether there's any way I could make some penicillin from mold? I'm studying to be a nurse though, not a biochemist. "Doesn't Beorn have any medicinal plants on hand to help?"
"You were gone when I came back looking for you, so I asked him." Oin said once Gloin translates, "He's drying the King's Foil, but it won't be ready for another couple of weeks."
My heart sinks. No hospitals, no antibiotics, and no elves nearby to use healing magic. This is not good.
"Can I look at Beorn's plants? The stuff that he has on hand?" I ask, hoping there might be something we're overlooking. My mom had a passion for herbs growing up, experimenting with all sorts of remedies.
We walk to the main house, entering the kitchen where jars of herbs line the shelves, and bundles of plants hang upside down from the rafters, drying in the warm air. I scan the collection—dandelion, sage, dill, parsley, thyme, tarragon, chamomile…
Nothing stands out. If only Beorn had oregano or garlic; that might have worked. Cayenne Pepper would have definitely done the trick, although it would have burned like hell. I'm pretty sure it doesn't grow here in the cold regions though.
Worry churns inside. Where's Gandalf when you need him? Oh yeah. He disappears.
As I glance over to where Bofur is sharing a joke with Bifur, Fili, and Kili at the table, my gaze catches on a golden jar of honey glowing like liquid gold in the sunlight. Suddenly, it hits me, a revelation so clear it feels like a slap to the face.
"Honey!" I breathe, astonished. "Honey is a natural antibiotic and antifungal remedy!"
If it was a snake, I'd have been bitten a hundred times already. In my mouth.
Oin turns his gaze to the honey, brow furrowing in disbelief. "Honey? Are you sure?"
"Yes! The ancient Egyptians supposedly used it for healing! Oh, uh, they're an ancient civilization from thousands of years ago in my world. But, anyway, sprinkle some salt on it, and it should work on wounds!"
In theory. I've never seen it done before, and my mom never tried it on us.
Gloin strides over, snatching the jar of honey off the table and bringing it back. "Here."
I hold the pot of honey, looking at it pensively. How is it done? Does it just get applied onto the wound directly?
"Well? Go and put it on Thorin! He's by the river," Gloin urges at me, his tone insistent at me just standing there.
"Uh, Me?" I blink, suddenly uncertain. "I...well, I mean..." I turn to Oin, "You're the medic of the company. Shouldn't you be the one to do it?"
"Aye, but this is a remedy from your world, which is therefore your expertise." Oin nods respectfully as he hands me a roll of clean cloth used for bandaging. "You are a sort of medic in this company as well, after all."
I glance down at the honey jar and bandages in my hands, then nod, anxiety gnawing at me. "Okay. Uh, I need some salt, though."
Gloin retrieves coarse salt, and I grind it into a powder using a mortar and pestle before sprinkling it into the honey, stirring it all together. How much should I use? I try not to overthink it, hoping for the best as I add some very large pinches. The salt should help dry out the wound.
I wonder how I'm going to apply the honey since I've never done it before. Do I just slab it onto his warg bite like an icing on a cake? Do I try and shove it inside the bite?
As I turn to head toward the river, a sudden realization makes me spin back around. "Wait, are you sure I should be the one to do this?" I ask, eyes wide. "What if he's naked?"
Gloin huffs a chuckle. "Then close your eyes and come back here."
"What did she say?" Oin asks, but Gloin waves him off in amusement, eyes sparkling as he watches me.
"Why waste that time? Why don't one of you just go over and—"
"Come along, Peyton, we don't have all day!" Gloin nudges me toward the door. "This is your remedy from your world. You put it on. Oin will change the bandages tomorrow and we'll see if it even works. Honestly, the thought of putting honey on some bloody wounds seems like a waste of good food to me. Or are you unsure it'll work?" He levels a look at me, obviously wondering if I'm BS-ing them.
"No, I do know it has antibiotic properties. And it's better than nothing," I insist. He has a point though. I'm the one who knows how to do this more than them. "Oh, alright." With a grumble, I march in the direction they indicated, muttering to myself about how 'modest' all the dwarves had pretended to be. I don't want to walk in on Thorin like this! What if he gets embarrassed and sends me away? That's what I would do!
I get closer to the river and push through the branches, not being quiet in the slightest as I stomp to make my presence known. I don't want to invade Thorin's privacy, especially knowing that he likes me and I like him back. This is a recipe for disaster!
Finally, I break through the foliage and glance up, only to freeze in place. There he is: Thorin in the river. Shirtless.
My muscles lock as if paralyzed by an electric jolt, my eyes widening in shock. This was exactly what I was trying NOT to see!
Instinctively, I turn away, but the damage is done. The sight of Thorin's bare torso is seared into my mind, as vivid as a brand. I've never seen someone so aesthetically pleasing outside of workout videos or magazine covers. My resolve crumbles as I find myself glancing back over my shoulder, unable to suppress the urge to look again. There are some tattoos covering one of his burly arms in intricate patterns and another on his other shoulder. Symbols and ink.
And that's when I notice the blood. All over his chest.
All thoughts of modesty vanish as my instincts as a nurse-in-training kick in. I've seen naked men before during my time as a CNA so this is no big deal! Right? I mean, at least his lower half is covered. I can handle this. "Thorin! Are you alright?!" I call out, unable to hold in my concern...
His head snaps up from where he's standing waist deep in the water, startled. He usually has good hearing, but the rushing water may have hidden my steps. I press forward to the edge of the river, worry flooding my chest as I approach him. There are also some dark bruises in a pattern where the teeth bit but didn't puncture but I spot two wounds in particular, one of them must have punctured his lung. Warg teeth are enormous. Two large wounds mar his skin, gaping holes left by the warg's teeth. They're red and inflamed, and I can only imagine the pain he must be feeling.
His intense blue eyes lock onto mine, and a familiar blush creeps across my cheeks. But before I can feel too bad for catching him off guard, he sizes me up and then goes back to scrubbing at the bleeding wounds on his chest with a rag.
"Merely tending to these wounds," he says, his voice deep. I can tell he's slightly embarrassed, but he does a good job of hiding it with his kingly nonchalance.
I can't help but watch as he scrubs at the puncture marks, his enormous arm muscles bulging and flexing with each movement. Dark hair dusts his forearms, and I can't seem to tear my eyes away from the chest hair that frames his upper torso. The lines of his body are breathtakingly defined, unhindered by the thick clothing he usually wears. The tattoos are a mix of symbols and letters, Khuzdul, I'm almost positive. I wonder what sorts of words Thorin would choose to have imprinted on his body?
Before I know it, my gaze drifts lower, following the ladder of abdominal muscles down to where his bare skin is abruptly stopped by his trousers.
A rush of heat floods through me like fire and a tingle ignites in my stomach. This is quickly followed by shame that washes over me. I shouldn't be ogling him like this! I wouldn't want someone to violate MY privacy while I'm shirtless, would I?
I resolve to look away, but a final glance up at his face causes a flash of panic to course through me as I see him watching me watch him. CRAP.
"I'm sorry," I stammer, turning away, my voice contrite. "I was just...checking to see what damage the warg had done." My heart races with worry that he might be angry with me.
"Ah. So that's why you were staring."
The tone in his voice surprises me, and I peek at him, bewildered. Sure enough, his lips are slightly quirked up as he returns to scrubbing. I stare in shock before looking away again, a blush creeping up my cheeks.
Is he…teasing me?
"I wasn't staring." I deny petulantly, my face as red as a tomato. "I was just... assessing the wounds to determine how bad it was!"
"Of course. I should have expected a healer to be so curious."
His words are normal, but I can HEAR the satisfied smirk on his face and my blush deepens. "You're such a confusing dwarf," I mutter to myself, glancing up at the leafy branches overhead, secretly wishing I could either leave or return to my shameless ogling. It's not every day you see someone as strikingly fit as he is. Is it because he's a dwarf or is it because he's constantly fighting for his life? Must be the latter since Bombur is a dwarf. Then again, Bombur is more in-shape than I am, generally speaking.
"And you are quite the confusing human. I think we suit one another."
This time I do turn and stare at him in utter shock. He is flirting! With his shirt off?!
You think you know Thorin Oakenshield. But, then again, he didn't show any embarrassment while he argued with me in his underwear after the trolls either.
I look away again, desperately searching for something to say so there's not any moments of silence between us. "Uhh, it's good that you're scrubbing at your wounds! Making them bleed will help with the pus and infection."
There's a pause, and then; "Oin worries too much," Thorin mutters, a slight irritation at Oin's 'mothering' lacing his voice as he scrubs more furiously at his bleeding wounds. Another glance shows me that the white lather is turning a very reddish pink from all the blood.
"Well, he has a valid concern. He asked me to come help you so I, um, I brought you some honey." I hold it out, the jar glimmering in the sunlight, keeping my eyes resolutely averted. "It's antibiotic, meaning it will help heal the infection."
"What?" He sounds astonished. Another quick look in his direction confirms that he's staring at the jar in my hand with eyes a little wider than usual.
"Honey has healing properties!" I quickly explain, hoping he doesn't think I'm stupid for suggesting it. I hold up the honey for inspection. "Something to do with bee saliva, I think? It's a remedy from an ancient culture in my world."
He blinks, but then shakes his head, his tone dripping with skepticism. "That sounds like an old wives' tale. I have never heard of honey healing wounds such as these."
"Well, it will. So come out of the water, and let me put some on you!" I insist, getting frustrated and shaking the honey pot in my hand at him slightly. I haven't got all day to stand here trying to not stare at his very defined body.
A pregnant pause stretches between us, and I hold my breath, waiting for a response.
"You truly wish to apply honey to my wounds?" he finally asks, his tone taking on a peculiar quality.
Curse you Oin and Gloin for making me do this!
"Salt and honey," I clarify, blushing furiously. I try to sound annoyed by the whole thing. "It might sting a little with the salt in it, but it should help your body heal the infection."
I really hope the Egyptians knew what they were doing. Otherwise, I'm making a complete fool of myself. What if this really is just an old wives' tale?
Then I'll be rubbing honey onto Thorin's body for no good reason.
Silence envelops us, besides the sound of water rushing past, and I hold my breath, waiting for his inevitable dismissal. Finally, I hear splashing as he approaches, water sloshing around him. Panic rises in my chest.
Okay, Peyton. Act professional.
I force my face into a firm, expressionless mask, turning to him as he steps out of the water, droplets cascading down his body, the water forming small rivers down his chest and into his trousers, darkened by the liquid.
"Okay. Go sit on that rock right there," I command, trying to sound bossy to mask the breathlessness in my voice.
He watches me for a moment before he complies, turning his back to me and walking over to the rock. My breath catches when I see the identical marks marring his back where the warg's teeth had struck. His long hair is covering most of his back, however, so I can't see if there's anymore
"Okay!" I say again, trying to adopt a cheerful, nurse-like tone like I would with any patient. "I'll start with the wounds on your back. Please move your hair to the side." That should give me enough time to calm my racing heart before tending to the front ones.
I wait for him to pull his wet mermaid-like hair to the side, the dark ringlets and tangles more pronounced after being dipped in moisture, revealing yet another tattoo. This one is of a Raven, it's wings outstretched. It's beautiful. My lips curl into a frown however as I see a third puncture wound that had been hiding behind his hair in the Raven's left wing. Ouch.
Three holes on his back and two on his front. I gently touch around the wound, testing its heat. Thorin's skin, however, is already several degrees warmer than a normal human's in the first place. A rush of warmth tingles beneath my fingertips, a connection that goes beyond mere healer and patient. I immediately pull back when I notice the slight shiver that rolls through his muscles.
To ease the tension that is suddenly in the air, I decide to talk. "So, in normal humans, our temperatures rise when we have an infected wound like this. Unfortunately, I can't tell since your body temperature is naturally higher than what I'm used to. But it's good that you naturally run hot because wounds like these would have killed a normal human by now."
And this dwarf ran and sweat for five hours yesterday! That's probably why it's so inflamed in the first place. If he'd been able to rest, would his body have been able to heal on its own?
I dip my fingers into the salted honey, taking a deep breath, and then I rub it into the first inflamed bite mark. This time, he remains still.
It's a bit of a messy process, honestly. The honey melts slightly from his temperature, turning it from its naturally viscous quality into more of a liquid. One particular golden trail slowly makes its way down the smooth skin of his back. A sudden unbidden image of me licking the long trail along his back comes to me out of literally nowhere.
I close my eyes and swallow.
What is wrong with me? Focus Peyton!!
I take one of the clean cloth bandages that Oin gave me and tear a section off, simply pressing it onto the wound. It easily sticks to his skin. I breathe out a grounding sigh.
Great! Only four more to go! I can do this!
"I would not have thought honey a sufficient remedy for such a thing." I hear Thorin comment, attempting conversation since I kind of lost my voice. He turns his head slightly to glance at me over his shoulder, his tone wry. "Are you sure this won't merely make me a more delectable treat for the wargs?"
"Ha ha. Very funny." I laugh at his joke, setting aside the bandage. "Besides, you're already a delectable treat."
Pey-TON!
My heart is suddenly in my throat at what I just said. "I mean, for a warg! Of course," I attempt to cover my blunder. "They'll eat just about anything. You know?"
Our eyes meet, and the look in Thorin's gaze heats me up from head to toe. The air crackles with unspoken words, with emotions that threaten to spill over and shatter the fragile barrier between us. His eyes mirror my own inner turmoil. Crap.
Crap, crap, crappity, crap! I duck my head, giving the wound my full attention.
"Peyton..." His deep voice rumbles, and I already know what he wishes to discuss.
"No. Not right now, Thorin." I interrupt firmly, dipping my two fingers into the honey and applying it to the next wound with a little more force than necessary. I attempt to pack a little of it inside the weeping hole than the last one. It mixes a little with the blood and gets watery. I have to apply a bigger glop. At least this will act as a sealant, almost. Preventing air and moisture from getting in.
Thorin is quiet, but I notice the tension that is suddenly set in his shoulders. I can somehow sense that I've hurt his feelings with my abrupt dismissal. His silent question hangs in the air.
"Not while your shirt is off." I mumble in an attempt to vaguely explain why now is not a good time. I'm such a possum! I tear another strip of fabric off the bandage and apply it to the second wound.
There's a pause, and then a small huff escapes him, causing his back muscles to briefly twitch while my fingers glide over his wound. He's laughing.
"Is my lack of attire so offensive to you?" he teases, glancing over his shoulder, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.
Embarrassed, I can't help my answering smile, and roll my eyes. At both him and myself. "No, but I'm trying to be a good medic here. Can't talk about...about (relationships?) future POSSIBILITIES while my patient is half undressed!"
Thorin nods, playing along, "I see. But you can stare at your patient while half undressed, I understand?"
I gape at his audacity before gasping, "You!" I lightly smack his shoulder, frantic laughter escaping me. "I was looking at your wounds, Thorin Oakenshield!!"
"Of course." He acquiesces amiably, easier than I thought he would. I let out a quiet, relieved breath. But then, "I'm sure it is quite standard for all your...patients."
I can't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up before I can hold it back. His attempt at teasing is endearing, a burst of lightheartedness that lifts the very air around us. This playful banter makes a giddy warmth spread through me, and I feel almost delightfully silly. I find myself drifting back to a question that had once weighed on me: What kind of man would Thorin be if he weren't burdened by the weight of a kingdom? If the trauma of his past didn't cling to him?
For a fleeting moment, I catch a glimpse of that man—this teasing, carefree version of Thorin, a man who temporarily is unshackled from worry. In this instant, it feels like it's just the two of us, lost in our own little world.
Kili and Fili's voices echo in my mind, their playful banter from that day on the mountain cutting through the haze of memory. "You see, Peyton? You distract him from his grief! You make him happy!"
Their words resonate, bringing a warmth to my heart. I think of how they've teased me about my effect on their uncle, their laughter mingling with the chill of the mountain air. It all feels so distant now, yet in this moment, their insight rings true. I see the flicker of joy in his eyes, and it stirs something deep within me—a sense of purpose in bringing a little light to his darkness. That feeling of rightness.
"So, what do your tattoos mean?" I try to redirect the conversation, continuing my work.
I wait, allowing him time to decide what to tell me.
"An apology," he finally murmurs. "And a promise."
He lefts up the heavily tatooed arm and points at the different symbols, "The Khuzdul runes on my forearms are the names of those I have lost in my life. My mother, Frerin, and my grandfather. As well as a few of my childhood friends."
It's very like him to carry his family with him, etched onto his body like this.
"
I apply honey from Beorn's bees to the third wound, my hands linger, touching him longer than necessary. The muscles of his back are...actually quite beautiful. The symmetry of the muscles and the obvious strength they possess are something to be admired. It's a testament to his character, his drive and will. Add the exotic touch of the dark ink of his tattoos and it's like looking at a rare piece of art.
The electricity that was zinging between our hands yesterday morning before the wargs is back in full force, more powerful than ever. An ache begins to stir within me as I focus on his warm muscles, the inner working of fibers rippling imperceptibly beneath my touch as I apply honey to the final hole. My face is up close to the wound to make sure I can see clearly what I'm doing.
There are now lots of different drips of honey, all trailing down his back. I contemplate what might happen if I were to open Pandora's box a little further. I snap myself out of my wayward thoughts and do my best to wipe away the drips with a clean wet rag.
"Ok, your back is done." My voice sounds slightly breathless in my ears. "Now for your chest."
The most challenging part.
"I will do it." Thorin's voice is firm, and he extends his hand for the honey jar, avoiding my gaze. His sudden embarrassment is palpable, a stark contrast to the teasing we shared just moments ago. If I didn't know him better, I'd say he's nervous.
"Oh! Um, sure?" I blink hesitantly, handing it to him. While a small part of me is relieved (standing before him at his front while wiping honey on his beautiful muscular chest might actually be the straw that breaks the camel's back); the greater part of me is worried that I've completely overstepped my bounds. "Um, would you like me to leave?"
There is a pause, and then when Thorin responds, I'm shocked that his low voice sounds closer to a growl. "That would be best."
Is he mad at me?!
"I'll just... leave you to it then." I turn to head back to Beorn's house, a sense of dejection and disappointment settling in my chest like a dying flower losing it's petals. I can't deny the impossible pull I feel towards him, but I wonder why he could be suddenly embarrassed when it was him teasing me just moments earlier.
"Peyton"
I glance back, surprised to see him turned slightly towards me from where he sits, his upper body facing me while his lower half remains turned away.
"Thank you." His voice is thick with unspoken emotion as he gazes up at me sincerely. So, he's not mad?
"Don't mention it." I smile feeling slightly warmer once more, "Just no getting chomped on by wargs again, kay?"
The smile he gives causes the crows feet around his eyes to show, and the ache inside me comes back full force. "As you wish, my Lady."
He turns away again, not noticing my eyes widen in surprise as he tends to his chest wounds out of my sight.
Thorin doesn't know about The Princess Bride, and I firmly tell myself not to read too deeply into it. Yet, the resemblance is striking, too vivid to simply brush aside. Just like Wesley said 'As you wish' to Buttercup, could Thorin, in his own way, be telling me that he loves me?
I turn and trudge back to Beorn's house, my legs feeling stiff and the ache within me persistent, leaving my heart, mind, and body in a whirl. It's going to be difficult to face Thorin now that I know what lies beneath his clothes. A mischievous part of me wishes my cellphone were working; then I could have captured a picture to cherish forever.
On my way to the house, I spot Bilbo sitting alone on a log, gazing out at Beorn's field. Grateful for the distraction, I approach him with a smile. He must be daydreaming because he startles a little, not hearing my approach. He quickly pulls his hand out of his pocket.
"Hi Bilbo! Whatcha doin'?" I mimic Fineas and Ferb, knowing he won't get the reference.
"Nothing." He answers immediately, and I notice that his response is a little too quck. He forces a hesitant smile, and tries to shrug, "Just...pondering, is all."
I smirk at him, knowing exactly what was going on and reveling in the knowledge, "About what?"
Bilbo glances at me and then away, "Oh, just...the journey. And all of that." He glances back at me, his tone suddenly reprimanding. "I AM still upset that you didn't tell me about the ring, while you told Thorin."
I can tell he's trying to distract me from what's in his pocket, and it works. Bilbo's voice is tinged with lingering hurt which causes me to sigh and look away with remorse. I gaze over the fields and large beehives that Beorn has cultivated. It must have taken him years to get his home just the way he wanted it.
"Remember how you were upset in the cave? Thinking that I had lied to you about being the main character?" I try to reason with him.
Bilbo shifts a little and gives a slight nod, "Yes...I do." He tries to maintain his annoyance, but it falters.
"Well, if I had told you that, as the main character, you would get separated from the group, go deeper into the Goblin Tunnels than anyone else, meet a crazy Gollum creature, and win a round of riddles with him, all so you could get his ring..." I shrug, shooting him a glance, "I have a feeling it wouldn't have gone over very well."
Bilbo's eyes widen, and to my surprise, he starts laughing after a moment.
"I would have said 'No thank you.' and then walked out of that cave without looking back." He laughs heartily, even wiping a tear away.
I grin and laugh as well. That's fair. Most people would react the same way. I'm just glad to see him in brighter spirits than last time we talked.
The bright flowered field stretches before us, bees darting to and fro. It's like an exotic version of the Shire, the air filled with the sweet scent of flowers and pollen. Though the scenery is different, it feels like the times we'd sit on the wooden bench in his yard, the view green and inviting, the air fresh, and the sky blue. Such a peaceful time, I think to myself with a stab of longing. It's remarkable to look back and see how much our lives have changed since those days.
"I was terrified, you know?" Bilbo suddenly murmurs to me, breaking my reverie. I turn to glance at him questioningly and he continues, "Down there...It was so dark. I've never experienced such utter blackness. The only light I had was from Sting." He swallows, blinking as if trying to dispel the memories. "And that...Gollum creature- You knew I would meet him?" He turns to me for confirmation, though he already knows the answer. My nod is no surprise to him. He just feels the need to talk it through. "I've never been so afraid before. Even the trolls, while absolutely terrifying, were nothing compared to the... the ice...I felt throughout my entire body, stumbling around in the darkness, hearing his horrible breathing around me...it was absolutely horrifying." He pauses, his eyes looking haunted and suddenly sad, "That foul creature living down there all alone...
I nod, also saddened by Smeagol's story. He was once a carefree hobbit, just like Bilbo.
Until the ring.
"Can I see it?" I ask him on impulse, feeling very curious. I want to see what the big deal is and if it'll even affect me. What is it that makes everyone so crazy about it?
A horrible feeling immediately comes over me, almost like a foreboding warning. That's not a good idea; the ring is evil!
I push it aside, positive I can handle it. I'm from another world, after all! It'll be cool to study the sensation and I'm sure I can handle it since I already know what it is. The uneasy feeling persists however.
He looks at me wide-eyed, "You…" he leans in closer, as if it's some grand secret. Which, I guess, it kind of is. "You want to see it!?"
I give him a deadpan look, "No, Bilbo. I want to eat it." I roll my eyes and laugh, "YES, I want to see it! It's a big part of the future, after all."
He hesitates, "Well, I…I didn't think a simple ring would have much effect on the future…"
What is the big deal? Why doesn't he want to show me?
"Really?" I deadpan at him, "You don't see how a ring that we sacrificed everything for to go through the Goblin Tunnels and that makes you invisible would influence the company's future whatsoever?!"
Bilbo pauses for a heavy moment but eventually gives in, as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a fist. He unfurls his fingers, and suddenly...there it lay, a golden ring, shimmering in the sun.
End of Chapter
Review for more! :D
This and the next chapter were a bit difficult to edit. I kept going back and forth about the order I wanted things to occur, and I finally settled with this.
Any guesses about what's going to happen with Peyton and the ring? Hmmm? HMMMM???
Review for more! :D
Whoo! And that scene by the river! Talk about a wild ride, huh? I know plenty of stories that have featured Thorin half-naked by the river, and I wouldn't typically go that route because I want the story to be unique. However, it felt like a necessary inclusion since Peyton is a nurse in training! And I bet no one else has thought to use honey in their version of this scene, right? ;)
I really want to get this story posted completely before the end of the year!! (I can dream, I alright?) I only have 25 more chapters after this before the story is done!! 54 chapters in total. Love ya guys!!!