mithril

VI.

— VI —

Morning comes far too swiftly. I stretch in the pink glow of the dawn, yawning as I feel my recovered muscles arch in glorious relief. Thorin is already awake, his solid form visible in the kitchen area. I rise, feeling the braid that lays against my head tentatively. It's fully intact, not a stray strand present.

The Dwarf is looking out the window, Gandalf at his side. Around me, the other Dwarves are starting to rise, roused by the sound of an axe rising and falling just as I was. Bilbo is last to join us in peering out the window, his eyes landing on first Thorin and then me. His gaze is knowing as he steps to my side. I frown slightly, nudging him in a silent question. The Hobbit doesn't speak, merely looking to Gandalf as the wizard starts.

"Ah, Bilbo." The Dwarves are starting to argue about how to escape this house, but Gandalf gestures at me and the Halfling without acknowledging their words. "Now this will require some delicate handling. We must tread very carefully. The last person to have startled him was torn to shreds," he pauses, looking a bit worried. The Dwarves stare up at him, silenced. "I will go first...Bilbo and Léra. You will come with me."

"I-is this a good idea?" Bilbo asks the wizard with a quavering voice as he follows us to the doorway.

"Yes," Gandalf answers. "Now, the rest of you just wait here. He isn't overly fond of Dwarves."

I peer out the door around Gandalf as he provides instructions to the Dwarves, apprehension worming through my stomach.

Tug tug.

I glance back. An icy stare is digging into me. Something dark and silent resides in Thorin's eyes. A warning. A memory of the night before. I can still feel his fingers against my skin. A ghost of the dark hours that made both of us reckless. I dip my chin imperceptibly.

Gandalf's hand moves to my shoulder, gently tugging me out the door with him. I watch the wizard carefully as he shakily smooths his hair down and clears his throat.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were nervous, Mithrandir," I accuse him. Gandalf looks down at me quickly.

"Nervous? What nonsense."

"He's definitely nervous," Bilbo whispers to me. I have to agree with the Hobbit, for the wizard is watching the figure with a greater care than I have seen him take yet. I turn my attention to that man now. He is well above Gandalf's height and covered in bristly black hair.

"Good morning," Gandalf says. The man ignores him, swinging his axe in another powerful blow. He splinters a large piece of wood, sending splinters flying. Gandalf repeats his greeting.

The man turns, the giant axe dropping to the ground. He leans on it, glaring at the wizard and I. I look to Bilbo, who is all but hiding behind Gandalf in the folds of his robe. Sighing slightly, I turn back to the man.

So. A skin-changer. This race of Man is one I haven't met yet, and also one Elrond did not inform me of in my studies. The giant man has startlingly yellow eyes that flash with a deep, deep intelligence. His bare chest is impossibly broad and well-muscled, rippling as he moves. His features are wide and flat, rather animal-like.

Now, that's not really a surprise, is it?

Gandalf is talking, but the man is simply glaring.

"What do you want?" He asks gruffly, voice slightly accented. Gandalf responds, but Beorn's attention is caught on Bilbo as the wizard shifts. And then me as I cross my arms. "Who are these...little fellows?"

"Well, this would be Mr. Baggins, from the Shire. And Léra, from the North." Beorn's eyes flash with that intelligence again as they move to me. His gaze is bright with interest. I have to wonder why Gandalf introduced me so. Not Léra Celebdraug of Imladris. Not Léra, Dúnedan of the North. Just Léra, from the North. And his choice of words has caught the skin-changer's attention, obviously.