mithril

XXIV.

— thirty two years ago —

Beorn roars as the whip cracks against his back. He whirls, his massive maw snapping in rage at the culprit. His chains pull tight, keeping his teeth from tearing into the evil little Orc. The whip is driving him back into the confinement of the cave. He doesn't want to go back into that dark pit. It's no better than the death and bloodshed he's just left. He snarls, reaching forward with his claws. His swipe falls short. The Orc cackles and hits at him again. Pain mixes with the bear's anger as the Orc finishes clipping his chains back in place and finally turns away, leaving him to lick his wounds in the imprisonment of the chains. The cavern goes dark as the stone door slides shut behind the Orc.

The bear whimpers as his shape changes. A moment later, he is a man curled against the cold stone floor. He pushes up slowly, groaning at the deep, broken bruises across his back. His chains shift as he moves to test out the injuries.

"I can fix those for you."

Beorn reacts to the voice instantly, whirling and reeling away. His chains clank against the ground as he cowers, arms raised in fear. He's expecting another blow. More pain. More torment. It will hurt more in this form.

"Easy, friend. Easy."

The voice isn't that of a cruel Orc. Beorn blinks rapidly as a torch sputters to light in the cave. It lifts into the air, illuminating its owner. At first, all the skin-changer sees is a dark shadow. A mottled and confusing shape that flickers against the rock wall beyond. As he watches, a hand rises and pushes a deep hood away.

Pale hair and a kind face greets him in the torchlight. The woman's soft features are set into a frown of concern, her dark eyes swimming with worry. She moves slowly, propping the torch against the rock wall. Beorn flinches back as she starts to move towards him. The woman pauses, her mouth dropping in compassion. Instead of inching forward again, she sinks to the floor. Both her hands are empty, placed on top of her thighs in a show of safety. She holds nothing. No weapons. Nothing to hurt him.

"My name is Ellidor. I can help get you out."

"Why?"

"Because you don't belong in chains. No one does."

"You work for them," Beorn accuses.

"Come, now," she scolds lightly. "Why would you suggest something like that? Let me strike those chains from your arms, friend, and we will flee from this miserable place."

"Why you here?"

"I was following an Orc pack. They led me here."

"Get others. Then me." Beorn grumbles, turning his back towards her. He listens. Waiting for the roars of his kin. The silence is heavy and filled with sadness. His head drops.

"There are no others."

He'd already known that. At first, the sounds of the other skin-changers had been all around. Each one stuck in caves just like this one. His brothers, nephews, cousins. His own blood. They'd been forced to fight each other until, one by one, they died to his claws.

Alone. He was alone. Beorn's hands are shaking as he looks down. Stained red. So much red. He draws his arms over his head, curling into himself. He wants to sob. Wants to wail for the loss of his kin and pass from the world himself. He was a monster. A killer. How could he inflict such terror on his own people?

"Look at me," the woman whispers. "Hope is not lost. If you give up now, you will never get out of here alive. Bring me your chains."

Beorn weighs his options for a long while. Finally, he slides towards her. What else is there to lose? He watches Ellidor take the torch from the wall. She holds it to the rusted iron that keeps him bound within these rock walls. As soon as the metal glows red, she draws out a long, pale blade from beneath her cloak. Before he can shy away from the weapon, she slices through the hot metal. Five times she does this, a quick slash for each of the chains on his limbs and for the collar around his neck.