Book 2: Hanging On [Thorin Oakenshield]

Chapter 3

They were given food to fill their empty bellies and plenty of water to quench their thirst. The Dwarves didn't even care that it was not their normal drink from how parched their throats were. Gandalf spoke of their quest, but very little on specific details, elaborating on parts. But he told their host their destination and the time they were up against.

"So you are the one they call Oakenshield," Beorn finally spoke through the long silence.

Even if the Skin-changer finally welcomed them into his home none were too comfortable. His eyes shifted towards the prince leaning against a timber away from the table, carrying a pitcher to fill their lacking mugs.

"Tell me, why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?"

"You know of Azog?" Thorin asked. This truly surprised him. "How?"

"My people were the first to live in the mountains. Before the Orcs came down from the North. The Defiler killed most of my family. But some he enslaved."

A few of their eyes flickered towards the shackle still clasped around a wrist as he filled another mug. As if a reminder to never forget his past or those that tormented him.

"Not for work, you understand, but for sport. Caging Skin-changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him."

It was then they realized that the scars coating his visible skin were not from being in the Wild or roaming as a bear. It came from far worse treatment.

"There are others like you?" Bilbo asked.

"Once there were many."

"And now?"

"Now there is only one." Once more the silence turned uncomfortable, the Hobbit feeling terrible for asking. "You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn."

"Before Durin's Day falls," Gandalf agreed.

"You are running out of time."

"Which is why we must go through Mirkwood."

His brows furrowed in disagreement. "A darkness lies upon that forest. Fell things creep beneath those trees. I would not venture there except in great need."

"We will take the Elven Road," the Wizard pressed. "That path is still safe."

Poppy's eyes drifted to Thorin, who seemed none too pleased to hear of what their path would be. He wished to stay as far away from the Elves in this realm as possible. Especially their king.

"'Safe'?" Beorn questioned. "The Wood Elves of Mirkwood are not like their kin. They're less wise and more dangerous." Finally the Dwarves agreed with him on something. "But it matters not."

The prince's attention snapped towards their host, who just voiced protest towards Gandalf's idea. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"These lands are crawling with Orcs. Their numbers are growing and you are on foot. You will never reach the forest alive."

Setting down the pitcher, Beorn stalked forward with a hard expression.

"I don't like Dwarves. They are greedy and blind."

He watched as Dwalin brushed away a white house mouse that crawled onto his arm before taking it in his own hand in a delicate matter.

"Blind to the lives they deem lesser than their own. Even I can see how different you are from Hobbits."

Some of their eyes shifted towards Poppy, whose hair was being used as a nest at the moment for some mice that took an interest in the curls. And she allowed it without fuss. Many found it amusing, and Gandalf struggled not to laugh at the sight. But now was not the time as a silence fell over the table.

"But Orcs I hate more," Beorn reasoned. "What do you need?"