Work Text:
They say that the resistance needs healers and weavers and sewers as much as it needs warriors.
It sounds nice on paper, but in the midst of a crowd of hulking Beornings, my ability to weave and sew and make some simple herbal medicines seems poor. I can shoot a bow, but am more than ten years out of practice and haven’t a clue if I could hit anything moving.
Still, they would not have agreed to make me one of their kin had I nothing to offer. The Beornings are different than other groups in that they will accept those without blood ties into their folds, but they do not let just anyone wander in.
So I must have something to offer. I may not know what it is, but somewhere within me, perhaps there is a skill or a strength that only Beorn can see.
I’d think that he felt sorry for me, but he’s not the sort to take someone in out of pity, so I suppose there is something worthwhile within me.
Either that, or they are in dire need of someone who can make and mend clothing.
But I am in no place to protest. I have left behind my father’s cruelty and my mother’s grave in order to make a better life for myself. I could do so in many other ways—perhaps easier ones too—but I know in my heart that I belong with the Beornings. They and I share the same values: a love of nature, a respect for other living things, and a preference for foods other than meat.
Then perhaps that is why they took me on: because like calls to like, and in me they recognized a kindred spirit: someone who will support and uplift our leader and his teachings.
And even after years of poor self-esteem, I can recognize that this is something of value.