Chapter Text
They were alive.
That was all Thorin could think. They had survived the Mountains and the Goblins and Azog and as beaten and bruised as they were, they were still standing. And Erebor was in sight.
He had been saved by the hobbit. Now that was a shock. He felt terrible for his cruel treatment of Bilbo, and more than a little embarrassed by everything that had happened. A dwarf thinking that a small form equaled little strength? He should have known better. All there was to do now was try to make up for his actions.
But as they descended the Carrock, Gandalf told them of a friend he knew lived nearby that could help them—if they did exactly what Gandalf said. Which meant only going two at a time every five minutes to the man’s cabin. At first they assumed Gandalf’s friend was simply a Man living alone.
Then they saw the field of bees.
Bees the size of dogs.
When they questioned the wizard and were told that their host was actually a skin-changer, well, the reaction was mixed. Some were fascinated, some were scared, some said racist things by accident.
So Gandalf took Bilbo and went on ahead to clear the path. Bilbo, however worried he was by the idea of staying with someone who could eat him, welcomed the idea of rest. When he saw the enormous cabin on a hill surrounded by lush grass and blooming flowers, he forgot everything else. When they approached the door, Gandalf gave a hard knock. He had faced down Azog on the cliff. How much worse could a skin-changer be?
As if to answer the question, when the man opened the door, the first thing Bilbo noticed was just how tall he was. While not a giant, he was much bigger than most Big People, and Bilbo could have walked between his legs without hitting anything. He had huge muscles and as much hair as any of the dwarves, though his beard was clipped similar to Thorin’s. He stared down at Gandalf with a glare at first, but his look quickly softened.
“Gandalf! What are you doing here?” the man said, opening his arms wide. His teeth were bright white and his eyes a stormy gray. He wore a sleeveless black tunic with soft gray trousers.
“Beorn! Good to see you,” Gandalf said, and Bilbo could tell the wizard was trying to act much more cheerful than usual. “I was just passing through and wondered if you would be so kind as to share some lunch with us. For a story of course.”
The man, Beorn, snorted with a smirk.
“You always have a story to tell, wizard. But what do you mean ‘us’? I see only one of you.”
And that was when Bilbo thought it best to step out from behind Gandalf’s gray robes, not that he had been hiding or anything. Beorn’s eyebrows rose at his appearance.
“A hobbit? It has been a long while since I last saw a hobbit. I hear you all have large stomachs,” Beorn said, a slight smile across his face as he looked down at Bilbo. The hobbit blushed. “But you are welcome. Come have a seat.”
They entered the home, and like the man, the first thing Bilbo noticed was the size. Everything was enormous. The table and the seats and the tankards and plates were all three times the size of a hobbit version. The fireplace was taller than he was! Not only was the size a shock, but the decor! Almost everything was wooden and carved, into the shapes of bears and flowers and animals and all things natural. It was like a hobbit hole gone feral.
But Bilbo followed Gandalf’s lead and sat at the table, which unfortunately came up to his eyes, despite the tall bench which he actually had to climb up. It was all rather embarrassing. The dwarves would be red before the night’s end. After he sat down, Beorn gave a long whistle. It sounded like a call.
And just a moment later, two sheep waddled into the dining hall, carrying bread and butter and cream and ale in to them. Bilbo stared, but took the food hungrily. He hadn’t eaten since before the thunder battle. He heard the man chuckle, but happily ignored him for favor of food.
“So Gandalf, what brings you here? What adventure are you on now?” the man asked as he petted his sheep gently.
“Ah, well—“
“Father, the bees are going mad out there. Do have any idea what—“ a feminine voice broke off just as Bilbo spun to see the source. Standing behind them in a doorway to another hall was a young woman, who looked just as surprised as he did.
Had she said father?
Oh.
Beorn had a daughter.
Granted, it was rather obvious from looking at the pair. She was taller than any human woman, and probably looked down on most elves. She had long, straight, black hair down to her waist, and while she was nowhere near as bulky as her father, Bilbo could see the curves of strong muscle beneath the arms of her white blouse. She wore a fitted black vest over that and a long black skirt to her feet. Unlike her father she had bright green eyes, which were now wearing a very suspicious look.
“Ah, yes love, that would be our guests here. You remember Gandalf the Gray, don’t you?” Beorn asked his daughter. Her eyebrows jumped slightly.
“The wizard with the fireworks?” she asked. Gandalf huffed but Bilbo and her father shared a laugh.
“Yes. And this is his friend—ah, well what is your name, lad?”
Despite his annoyance about being called ‘lad’ when he was already approaching middle-age, Bilbo stood up and gave both a polite bow.
“Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire, at your service.”
Her head tilted to the side.
“A hobbit?” she asked with mild surprise. Bilbo nodded as he sat back down. “Fascinating. I am Beora, daughter of Beorn, at your service as well,” she said, moving towards the table, “I’ve heard only kind things about your race, Master Baggins, but what is a kindly child of the West doing this far into the Wild?” She sat down next to him with a gentle smile. It was refreshing for Bilbo to see. After months of hardship and violence, from the trolls to orcs to goblins to even Thorin himself, it had been some time since the hobbit had seen true kindness. It was a welcomed sight.
“I was just wondering that myself. Gandalf?” Beorn questioned.
Gandalf began his tale easily, and Bilbo had the sneaking suspicion that the wizard had planned this too well. As he continued, the hobbit noticed how he used vague terms like ‘we’ and ‘us’ instead of thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, and a wizard.
It was only when Gandalf said “And then the four of us—“ that Beorn broke him off.
“Four? Gandalf, unless you are hiding more hobbits in your robes then there are only two of you.”
And just like magic, there was a knock at the door. Beorn and his daughter spun at the sound, and when it opened to reveal Thorin and Balin, Gandalf smiled.
“As I said, the four of us.”
Beorn nodded with a cocked eyebrow, but let the dwarves sit down and bid the wizard to continue. Beora was much more suspicious, eyeing the Thorin’s fur coat and Balin’s leather gloves.
Gandalf took up the story again, but five minutes later said, “So we six went—“
And Beorn questioned the wizard’s mathematical skills, and there was another knock at the door. This time it was Dwalin and Ori. Beorn gave a confused look, but seemed to forget the newcomers as Gandalf restarted his tale. Beora was even more befuddled, as the large pelt atop Dwalin’s shoulders made her skin crawl, but Ori was so tiny and soft looking, from his knitted, well, everything, to his downy hair. He reminded her of a kitten, and she wondered what he was doing with a warrior like Dwalin.
But the pattern remained. Gandalf told their adventure so far, every few minutes adding two more dwarves to their numbers, and when Beorn broke his silence to ask, two more would appear at the door, until the three Ur men all came at once, as Bombur hated being last.
The skin-changers were astounded. Beora could feel the hairs on the back of her neck sticking up, her nerves screaming to throw them out.
Except Bilbo, because she had never seen a hobbit in real life, and they seemed rather cute. Like bunnies.
Oh and Ori could stay. She wanted to compare knitting patterns. And he was just so sweet and shy.
But the others.
She wanted them out.
They stunk of blood and sweat and her sensitive nose was throbbing. They were armed to the teeth and most had pelts or leathers that made her claws itch to come out. There were two—the youngest ones next to Ori, she guessed—that seemed to wear nothing but! The blond had a thick pelt on his chest as a collar to his leather coat, which also had fur trim on the hems. The brunette had an even longer leather coat, again with fur trim. She tried to keep her attentions to Gandalf or the food or the hobbit—but that was a little difficult when the young pair kept staring at her when they thought she couldn’t see them.
What was Beorn doing? Was he going to wait for the wizard to finish and then eat the dwarves? Was he going to kick them out after? Why were they allowed in here?!
“—And then we killed the Goblin King.”
Beorn and Beora snapped to attention.
“What?!” they nearly shouted in unison. Bilbo was sure he saw the slightest twitch of Gandalf’s mouth towards a smile, but it was gone in an instant, back to his sad, violent story.
“Well, as I said, the dwarves were captured by the goblins but we were able to escape their clutches. We had to cut our way out through a great many to do so, however, including the Goblin King.”
“Yeah!” Kili exclaimed, “I blocked their arrows with a ladder and then we used to it to push a dozen off the cliff!”
“And you should have heard how they squealed at Uncle’s sword,” Fili added, “I didn’t know it was called the Goblin Cleaver. They did though.”
Beorn and Beora shared a look.
This certainly changed things.
The man gave a large, toothy grin.
“Well, any goblin and orc killers are welcome here. Nasty bastards, that lot. Excellent work.” He turned to Gandalf. “Eat your fill, rest your bones. Stay as long as you need.”
“Thank you,” Thorin said strongly. He meant it. This was some of the first kindness they’d seen since Rivendell, and even that came with tension. The skin-changer appeared much more their speed, from his burliness to his hair. Much better than those skinny, bare elves.
“Do you think we’ll have time to go hunting tonight?” Kili asked suddenly.
The pair rounded on him, the father with clear agitation, the daughter with blatant fury.
“No,” Beorn said coldy, “And you will not hunt in my territory at all. If you must, go beyond my borders and do it there, but there will be no killing in my land, not unless it’s of orcs or goblins.”
Beora wanted to add dwarves to that list, but held her tongue. If her father allowed them to stay, so would she. They had killed a large number of goblins, so they weren’t all bad. Beorn left the room not long after, Beora following. She had no desire to be in the presence of them any longer than need be. Let them rest in peace.
She spent most of the day in her room, reading quietly. It was not until her father brought her dinner that her ire returned.
“You could go spend time with them,” he offered. “They’re quite a merry gathering, once you get used to them. Excellent singers.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Come now, dear,” he said, “You can’t judge them on first impressions. They come from a very different culture.”
“So do the orcs,” she protested. Beorn sighed.
“Yes, so do the orcs. But dwarves aren’t ones to murder for glee. They are actually more defensive than conquering. They protect their young ones fiercely, live in caves—at least until they were driven out—and hate orcs and goblins with a passion. Remind you of anyone?”
Beora snorted.
“I’ll spend time with them when they no longer smell of mutilated animals.”
“The hobbit doesn’t smell like mutilated animals,” he said, “More like honey. And dirt. Reminds me of a bunny.”
She chuckled, “Me too. Fine. I’ll talk to the hobbit.”
He smiled, and walked with his daughter back to their guests, who had made the largest living room into their camp. Bedrolls and extra blankets and pillows were strewn across the floor, the few chairs pushed to the edge where some sat and played music. Beorn left to join Gandalf on the porch, and Beora tentatively took a seat on the floor between Bilbo and Ori who rested in chairs far too big for them. Even with the height of the chairs, she still met their eye-level.
Beora knew how most folk were a bit shocked by her size, and couldn’t imagine what it was like for someone so small. She gave Bilbo and Ori a cautious smile and glanced back at the fire, unsure of what to say.
“Excuse me, Ms. Beora?” Bilbo asked quietly.
“Yes, Master Baggins?”
“Do you have any needles and thread? I tore my clothes in the caves and lost my supplies,” he said sheepishly. She nodded and left to get some. The dwarves watched her leave.
“Do you trust them?” Dwalin asked quietly, to no one in particular. The dwarves looked around at each other.
“Gandalf trusts them,” Bilbo said, “And he hasn’t led us astray yet.”
Thorin nodded, “Either way, it is not as if we have a choice. We need rest and their hospitality is all we have.” The Company gave a few grunts of agreement.
“She’s pretty cute though,” Kili added. The dwarves spun to him. “What? Yeah, she’s a bit tall, but she’s certainly sweet enough.”
“And if she heard you say that she might just rip your head off,” Fili said. Kili punched him.
“Oi, don’t act like you weren’t staring at her either!” He punched his brother again and the two were wrestling in moments on the ground.
Which is when Beora returned.
She had heard many tales from many sources about the violence of dwarves. They were supposedly fierce warriors, but often warred with each other, battling with swords and axes and hammers, bringing down gruesome death on anyone who stood before them.
Now, seeing two young brothers attempt to strangle each other, she thought those tales had some truth to them.
She steps around them without a word and takes her place again between the smallest members of the Company. Ori is scribing again, trying to catch up on everything that has occurred. Beora had grabbed her knitting needles during her leave, wanting to talk of stitches, but the lad seemed to be in his own world. So she began her own little project with soft gray yarn and her needles that were longer than Bilbo’s sword. Bilbo started patching his waistcoat, and after a few minutes of awkward silence, Bofur picked up a tune.
It was a merry melody and soon a number of the dwarves joined in, and eventually even she was smiling and stitching to the beat. But as all songs it ended, and Bofur tried to think of another.
“Ms. Beora!” he called, giving up, “Do you have any songs you could sing us? I’m always looking for new ones.” The dwarves turned to her, and she flushed from the attention. She thought back to her younger days, searching for a tune.
“Well, my father would certainly know more than me, but there is one I remember my mother loved to sing.” Her sad smile made the dwarves share a knowing look. Best stay away from the topic of mothers then.
“What happened to her?” Kili blurted, and more than just Thorin put his head in his hands. This is how they died.
But she didn’t get angry. Her sad smile only became softer and she glanced at him.
“Orcs,” she answered quietly.
It was a solemn moment of silence as no one spoke. Kili felt plenty guilty, but they had all lost people. If anyone could empathize with her, it was the Line of Durin.
But suddenly, she began to sing.
“I once met a warg from the mountains
Who had the biggest claws in the land.
But even at his scariest
I found him hilarious
Because he fit in the palm of my hand.”
Her voice was sweet and smooth, and her smiled picked up as the song continued. Bofur picked up the tune with his flute, and the other dwarves with instruments joined in too.
“I knew a troll from up north
Who reeked like death from all parts.
Despite his stink
I was always quite pink
Because he couldn’t stand my farts.”
None of them could keep a straight face, and Beora was struggling to not laugh. Even Ori had been freed from his trance and was clapping along.
“There was a nazgul I knew
Who always ate nasty things.
But he was alright
When I cooked him that night.
I developed a taste for fried wings.”
Her voice was strong and fast now, sadness long gone. A few of the dwarves stood, dancing around like fools with their tankards. They needed a fun evening, and they finally had one. And Bilbo enjoyed this much better than the last, now that it was not his home being sieged.
“A bunny strayed too far from his hole
Looking for some good leaf,
But his attackers died
And so nearly did I
For he had enormous teeth!”
She clapped Bilbo on the back and laughed, the dancing dwarves fell to the floor in high spirits, and the pain of earlier was forgotten.
Outside on the front porch, Gandalf and Beorn smiled to one another.
“Sounds like they are getting along,” the wizard smirked, taking another draw from his pipe.
“Aye, I’m glad she has some company. But if those young’uns go near her your company will be down a few members.”
“I’m aware. I’ll make sure to mention it,” Gandalf replied. He paused for a moment before he continued. “Have you thought about…repopulation?”
Beorn leveled him with a stern look.
“There are only two of us left, wizard. And our homeland is full of goblins. There is nothing left to repopulate. I’ll let Beora make her own romantic decisions. But none of them are going to be for the sake of our race.”
Gandalf nodded, and nothing more was said on the matter.