Chapter Text
Beorn arrived on the dock as an animal. Fragmented words floated through his head; dock, town, girl. Even after spending several days straight in his wild-state, s omething had driven him to the shores of the Long Lake. He looked out at the stretch of the dock. He snuffed at the air. People. Fire. His nose wrinkled. Refuse. Beorn set a paw on the first plank and it groaned beneath his weight. He huffed, snorting as he backed up. Girl. Town. Go. The mighty black bear shook his ruff and proceeded. The wood below him complained but did not buckle.
Down the dock a ways stood the entrance to the main courtyard of Esgaroth. On it’s outward-facing side, several guards stared in disbelief at the massive bear ambling towards them. Snapping out of their haze, one ran for the warning bell and pulled the rope attached to it. The gong sang through the air, making Beorn’s sensitive ears ring. A low growl escaped him. His heart started pumping faster. The gong sounded again. His animal half stirred, but he bit it down in his throat. If he let the anger take over him, he wouldn’t be able to control himself.
Beorn stopped only a few feet from the entryway. A line of a dozen or so men stood between him and the gate, their pikes pointed right at his wet nose.
They had no chance.
Beorn felt a familiar electric fizz dash up his spine. He muscles tensed then contorted. With a mighty shake that almost sent the men sprawling, Beorn shed his animal-skin and took the form of a man. Grunting, he stood up on two legs, his breath pluming in the cold air. The guards stared at him; or they did for a moment before realizing that the giant man was as bare as the day he was born. All of their eyes went in different directions; anywhere but his stark nakedness.
"Where is your Master?" Beorn boomed. The guards shifted on their feet, still refusing to meet his gaze. Beorn sighed gutturally. "Bring him out, or I'll draw him out myself!"
When none of the men spoke, Beorn's temper snapped. With a snarl, he stomped forward. He pushed right past the humans. Some dove out of the way, other's stood frozen, their pikes shaking like cattails in the wind. Beorn grabbed the handles of the gate; ornamental grips too large for human hands, and pulled. The double doors almost flew off their hinges. Without looking back, he barreled through and entered Esgaroth.
As the gate guards sent for reinforcements, Beorn put some distance between himself and them. Luckily it was late; not many where out. The few who were promptly scattered at the sight of him.
It was a while before Beorn finally noticed he was missing a few layers. He paused to scrounge around the abandoned docks. There was plenty of garbage, but nothing large enough to cover his frame. Then a spot of color caught his eye. It was sticking out of the side a folded tent. Beorn tugged on the corner of fabric and a long stretch of cloth yielded from the fold. This'll do. He felt a bit guilty for taking cloth which clearly was meant to be sold.
Thankfully the tapestry was long, falling well past his knees, but it did nothing to hide the patchwork fresh cuts and scrapes on his bare arms. He tied the two ends of the fabric together at his waist. As he pulled, he winced. It hurt. Everything hurt. His hands, thick-skinned and rough, were bruised. Bear-form was always strange. What damage he took as the animal seemed to double when he became humanoid. He flexed his fingers and found he couldn’t bend them all the way before the pain became too much.
The cuts were bad, but the bludgeoning was far worse. His middle was so tenderized he doubted he could bend to sit. It was a dull and heavy pain, not to mention far more difficult to mend than surface level slices. This would hurt for a while. What bothered him more is that he knew that healing as a man would be slow. But he needed his voice. He caught the sound of faint voices on the air. Seemed that people were overcoming their initial fear. Good. Let them come, he thought. No more time for hiding. Not when—
“Skin-changer!”
Beorn turned at the sound of a somewhat familiar voice. A black-haired man in a long, dun-colored robe jogged out of a narrow alley that let out onto the marketplace. The man stopped on the edge of the shadows, hesitant. Beorn smiled as he recognized him. “Boatman.” He greeted, wondering why the human was suddenly cautious after blurting out loudly.
Bard put a finger to his lips. “What are you doing? You can’t be out in the open.”
Beorn shook his head. “Don’t fret for me, little man. They already know I’m here.”
Bard shuffled a little ways out of the protection of the buildings. As he did, Beorn noticed three more figures behind him.
Darestrum and Clasa hung back in the safety of the alley. Right behind Clasa was a frightened Tilda, who had refused to go with her siblings after her father had promised she could help him. Bard didn’t want to leave with alone with the grisly scene in the house, so he obliged to bring her along. Beorn was friendly enough… he hoped.
Bard’s eyes darted around nervously in search of the Master’s men. “What ever happened to secrecy?” He asked.
“The time for secrecy is long gone.” Beorn said, his light smile dropping. “I’ve come to warn you.”
”Warn us?”
”There are orcs headed this way as we speak.”
Clasa audibly gasped. Tilda looked at the dwarf woman worriedly but didn’t make a sound. Bard’s mouth suddenly felt dry. “From where? How close are they?”
But Beorn didn’t launch into his tale. He looked farther into the shadows of the alley, trying to make out Bard’s three companions. “Wait… where is Kamal?”
Clasa’s eyes widened. He knows her?
Beorn noticed the color drain from the Bard’s face. Like a switch, anger boiled up inside him. “You know something…” he growled. “Tell me. Now.”
“She’s at the mountain.” Bard eyed the Lonely Mountain's shadow. “She went with Thorin, the heir of Durin's Folk."
Beorn's eyes blazed. "She WHAT?"
Bard moved to put his finger to his lips again, but the look on Beorn’s face warned him against it. “She left with him the last night of autumn. The Master had us locked HRK!—“ Bard yelped as the skin-changer snatched him off the ground with both hands. The man’s legs kicked wildly, his wiggling useless against the giant’s grip. Beorn wasn’t squeezing him too hard, but even a minute twitch of his fingers could break a rib.
Beorn ignored the sharp pain in the tendons of his hands. “I warned you, boatman.” He grimaced.
“Stop!” Clasa cried, running out of the alley. Darestrum followed. Beorn glared at the dwarves at his feet. “Who are you?” He rumbled.
”We’re with the girl”, Clasa said. “Put him down, you’re going to kill him!”
Beorn was preparing a scathing reply when his seething blue gaze turned on the shivering figure still lingering in the alley. He realized with a start that they were very young. The child looked on in horror as the man in his grip struggled to breathe. “Da!” A quick cry escaped her before she retreated backwards in fear.
Beorn, in a moment of shock, had almost forgotten the man in his hands. Bard’s face was starting to turn purple. He fruitlessly tried to pry away Beorn’s fingers, but his motions were becoming weaker. Beorn unfurled his grip slightly. Immediately Bard gulped down a huge lungful of air. “I’m sorry.” He wheezed as he found his voice.
“You’re a father?” Beorn’s question was pointed at Bard. Bard propped his elbows on the side of Beorn’s hand to alleviate the pressure on his ribs. “Y-yes.” He was trying not to shake. He coughed hoarsely.
Beorn’s gaze returned to the girl. She stared worriedly at her father dangling in midair. Shame washed over the skin-changer. At last, he lowered his hands and released the a man onto the dock. Bard stumbled to his feet, still reeling from the rush of being lifted up into the air by force. He winced as he stood. Ooh, that’s definitely bruised. As soon as his feet touched solid ground, Tilda ran to his side. She rounded his legs, stepping into the gap between his body and his long dun coat. He hissed in pain as she accidentally pressed to his side. “It’s alright.” He lowered himself onto one knee and gave her a quick, tight hug. As he stood again, he smiled at her. “He knows Kamal.”
Tilda tried to look at Beorn, but when she saw him watching her right back she buried his face into her father’s pant leg.
Shaking himself out of his shock, Darestrum stepped forward. “It wasn’t the man’s fault. It’s all of us. I’m the one she was looking for.” His hands clenched at his sides. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Darestrum nodded at Bard. “He’s been good to all of us, Kamal included.”
“None of us wanted her to go.” Clasa added. “We tried to stop her. The Master practically endorsed it.”
As the dwarves spoke, Bard shimmied out from Beorn’s shadow, dragging Tilda along with him. “Tilda, get off my leg.” He whispered.
”No.”
”He won’t hurt me, I promise.”
”No.”
”Alright, then would you at least hold my hand instead?”
Tilda paused. “Ok.” Tilda submitted and took his hand. She could feel his pulse racing under his skin.
Beorn glowered at the ground. “Sending a child on a quest— Bah!” Beorn spun away, expelling an angry burst of disgust. As he turned back, he eyed Bard. “The people… are there soldiers?’
”No. You already spooked the best of our guards. It’s mostly families.”
Beorn’s frown deepened. His eyes settled momentarily on the child gripping Bard’s hand. “Children?”
Bard nodded.
Beorn shook his head in disgust. ”What gain does the Master have in all of this?”
”I don’t think even he knows. All he’s certain of is that if Thorin succeeds, dwarven gold will return.” Bard gathered his breath, his ribs still sore to the touch. “Beorn, we have the same goal; we need to evacuate Laketown.” He pointed towards Erebor. “If Thorin and his company enter the mountain, they will awaken the dragon that lies within. I have no doubt his fury may turn on us. Please— help me get these people to safety, and we will find Kamal.”
Beorn’s blue eyes glowed under his heavy brow. “Alright, Boatman. What would you have me do?”
Bard gnawed the inside of his cheek. “I have an idea… it’s not a promise, but it may work.”
”Speak.”
Bard put his hand on his chest. “Let me be your voice. You can be the… body. Don’t hurt anyone, just give them a light scare to convince them. Trust me, when they see me standing with you and not torn to shreds, they may be more inclined to listen. I already have friends among the people… I sent my eldest children to spread the word. Now we only have one more to convince.”
Beorn was quiet. He pondered over it before nodding. “You are the most diplomatic fisherman I’ve ever met.” He said, almost sounding impressed.
”Am I?” Bard grinned weakly. “Well… that’s a compliment, I suppose.”
“But how do we gather the people?” Clasa asked.
Then, as if by divine chance, there was a harsh shout. They turned to the alleyway to meet the guards, sobered by fear and regrouped, advancing on them with pikes. Bard looked up at Beorn. “Remember, we stick together. And let me do the talking.” Beorn grunted in response. Darestrum and Clasa moved close to each other. Bard squeezed Tilda’s hand reassuringly.
The captain of the guard stormed forward. He glared at Bard. “I should’ve known you had something to do with this.” He spit, this referring to Beorn. Beorn’s eyes shone with a nocturnal glow as he looked down his nose at the men. Bard moved a step ahead of him. “You have your prize, Braga. Take us before the Master.”
”Master’s busy.” Braga said. “You’re going right back from where you came from. And your sending your creature back to the mainland.”
Beorn’s upper lip curled in disdain. Bard gestured at the giant. “You can tell him that yourself. He’s perfectly capable of understanding you.”
”Hm.” Beorn hummed affirmatively. “That I am. Would you like to repeat yourself, little man?
Braga swallowed nervously. “Y-you’re trespassing.”
”I didn’t see a sign.”
”We have a gate.”
”Oh? Is that what that was.” Beorn crossed his arms and chortled gruffly. “Could’ve fooled me. Now…” He moved closer and the guards shuffled back. Beorn loomed over them. “Now, like a said before… bring the Master out before I do it myself.”
The Master and he posse were enjoying celebration drinks. Gold would soon be in there pockets. And if the Company of Thorin Oakenshield ended up roasted alive, at the very least the Master could enjoy having his least-favorite citizen behind bars. He and Bard had always butt heads. The Master didn’t like the boat-man’s quips nor his pull with the other townspeople. Although it had been a few generations since the dragon arrived, he had not forgotten that Bard was of noble blood; the line of Girion, the last Lord of Dale. It haunted him. Lines of Lords and Kings were not easily broken. Though nearly 200 years had passed and most had forgotten the man’s noble heritage, the Master did not. It was a threat to his claim to power not to be treated lightly.
So imagine his surprise and dismay when the grand doors of his hall swung open and an enormous beast of a man stepped through. The Master nearly choked on the whole chicken he was digging into with his hands. Alfrid, always present, jumped up with a napkin at the ready. The Master waved him away, coughing and spluttering. “Wh-what’s? Who the blazes are you?!”
Beorn almost knocked his head on one of the lit chandeliers. He scoffed at the gluttons before him. “You’re the Master?” He looked behind him. “I expected more.” He said. Four more people stood in the doorway; two dwarves, Bard’s youngest daughter, and the bloody boatman himself. Bard walked up to the giant’s side. Smug as ever, Bard put his hands on his hips and looked up at the giant. “Sorry to disappoint you.” He replied. “He is rather underwhelming.”
The Master sprung from his seat, sending crumbs and bits of food everywhere. Dogs happily jumped on the scraps dislodged from his lap. "Bard!!" The Master came bounding out from around the dining table, his robes flowing behind him, napkin still tucked into his collar. Alfrid, no surprise, was right on his heels. The Master’s face was as red as his hair. “What’s the meaning of this? You have some gall showing your face.” He skidded to a stop, realizing he now stood a little too close to Bard’s very large companion. “You’re supposed to be behind bars.”
Bard ignored his confused rambling. His sable long-coat was slick with frost that had gathered on it outside. “We must evacuate the town immediately.” He said sternly.
The Master was opening his mouth to retort when one of his guests suddenly stood. It was an older man with thinning grey hair and a deep scar running across his jaw.“You’re the beast.” The old man gasped, staring at Beorn fearfully. “You’re the one who attacked the merchants we sent to the Hills.”
The dining hall erupted. Some ran from the table, cowering against the far wall. There were screams and shouts. “Would you shut up!” Darestrum snapped. “We’re trying to save your sorry skins!” None of the humans listened.
“SILENCE” Beorn bellowed. The boom of his voice shook the rafters. A few people fell back into their seats, stunned. Beorn shout still rung in their ears as he spoke. “I am no beast. I am Beorn. And I have come to warn you.” His gaze zeroed in on the Master. “My home lies west of Mirkwood. I came to these shores to repay a debt. But I have seen evil gathering in the South; Orcs, Several hoards under the same banner. I don’t know their plan, but trust me, they are too close for comfort.” Beorn gestured outside. “They’ve camped along the South-Western edge of Mirkwood. Usually they’re not so stupid to show themselves in large numbers. But something has emboldened them.”
Beorn nodded to the old man who’d spoken before. “The beast you speak of stands with them.”
Then Beorn’s eyes fell on Bard. He gave an expectant eyebrow lift. Bard stepped forward. “Don’t you see? We’re in danger from the South, and in danger from the North. If we don’t leave now, we’re doomed.”
Nervous whispers filled the air as the Master’s guests struggled with the news. The Master hated what he saw; the heir of Girion passing orders as if he had any right to do so. To everyone’s surprise, the Master burst out in ugly laughter. “You think you can walk into my halls and tell me what to do just because you brought your animal with you?”
Bard immediately felt the energy around Beorn darken.
The Master went on; “You’re a wild thing, skin-changer, but that is all you are; wild.” His eyes traveled down to the conspicuous metal cuff on Beorn’s arm. “Although they did try to beat the wild out of you, didn’t they?”
Bard’s blood ran cold. Beorn stared hollowly at the floor.
“I’ve heard the tales; you’re one of the last of your kind, aren’t you?” The Master wagged a chicken-greased finger at the giant. “The white orc… how could one creature decimate an entire people? I suppose you’re not as tough as they say—“
The Master choked on his own words as Beorn suddenly lunged at him. No one had time to react. Beorn gathered up the front of the Master’s robe in one fist and lifted him sky high. Bard winced. He knew all to well what must be going through the Master’s head. Alfrid looked up in horror as Beorn held the Lord of Laketown at arm’s length.
Beorn’s wolfish his face contorted with rage. The Master whimpered pathetically. “You- You’re a pacifist. Y-y-you don’t consume living beings… I-I know this!”
Beorn clicked his teeth in irritation. “Aye, I won’t take a bite out of ya’.” He drew the Master slightly closer. “But didn’t say I was a pacifist.”
With that, like a shot put thrower, Beorn drew his arm back and launched the Master at full speed back towards the long stained glass window behind his chair. The window exploded outward, the ear-splitting crash followed by the sound of something heavy smacking the water. Alfrid shrieked and bolted towards the exit, disappearing into the night.
Beorn turned back to the hall. “Anyone else?”
No response.
”No? Good. Now get up; we’re leaving.”
The small party watched as the newly recruited guards running to wake up sleeping families. Bard felt a moment of guilt; It’s all so sudden… no one deserves to be pulled from their homes in the dead of night, not like this. But what choice did they have?
“Dare and I need to get find my soldiers” Clasa interrupted Bard’s train of thought. “And my brother is… incapacitated. We’ll take care of our people… you find your family.” Clasa held out her arm. Bard reached out to shake hands and they awkwardly collided limbs. Clasa grabbed his forearm, indicating the Dwarven goodbye. “Oh,” Bard realized. He squeezed her arm. “Good luck. I’ll see you in Dale.”
As they released each other, Clasa faced Beorn. “Thanks for helping my girl.”
Beorn smiled tenderly. “Of course.“
Then Clasa grinned, chuckling under her breath. “That was satisfying, watching you chuck someone out a window. Wish I could do that to a few arseholes in my life.” Beorn laughed. “I’ll see you on the shore.”
Clasa’s smile broadened for a split second. Then she and Darestrum proceeded to make their way towards the Laundry-house.
Tom, who they’d forgotten was there, shyly raised his hand. Bard and Beorn looked at him. “Tom?” Bard asked.
”Um, I didn’t know if you need me for, I dunno, anything else...” Tom was antsy. He was clearly itching to get out of Lake-town as fast as he could. Bard sighed. “Go get your parents, lad.”
Tom sighed with relief and scampered off.
Sigrid ran out of the house as Bard and Beorn approached. “Da, I can’t find Bain.”
Bard’s heart dropped. “You’re positive you don’t know where he went?”
Sigrid trotted off the steps, shaking her head. “He ran out the house. Da, I’m sorry…” But Bard cut her off. “Don’t— I’ll find him.” He grabbed her shoulder. “Stay with Tilda; I’ll catch up with you.”
“No, Da!” Tilda pulled on his arm. “You promised I can come help!”
”You are helping,” Bard replied, taking her shoulder as well. “The best thing you can do for me is to help Sigrid. Can you do that?”
Tilda nodded. Beorn watched the scene solemnly. ”What does your third look like?” He asked Bard.
”Me… well, in the face.” Bard looked up at Beorn. The skin-changer could see the panic in the man’s eyes. Bard continued. “He’s got short hair, and he’s in a fur-lined coat. His name is Bain.”
Beorn made a sound of confirmation. In truth he had trouble telling the little people apart from up above, but the man could clearly use some comfort. “I’ll keep an eye out.” He offered.
Just then a short, stocky silhouette appeared in the light of the open door. “Is that… oh.” Bofur hovered over the first step as he caught sight of the giant. “I, uh, hello.” He cleared his throat and called down to Bard. “Kili’s breathing a bit more steadily but… it’s not looking good.”
Bard cursed in his head. How are we going to transport a dwarf on death’s door? He looked up at Beorn. “We may need to ask another favor of you…”
…
The dwarves carried Kili’s limp body down the steps as carefully as they could. They approached the giant cautiously, making way so Beorn could reach down and take the dwarf in his arms. “Poor fella.” He muttered, looking down at the tiny creature’s pallid face. The dwarves craned their necks to keep an eye on their brother as Beorn gathered him up and held him close to his chest.
Bard’s mind was elsewhere. He stared at his girls loading the final few essential items in their packs. Please, please be safe. He prayed. He approached them without a word. Sigrid made a surprised sound as he kissed her on the forehead. Tilda grabbed his coat. “Are you going to follow us?”
Bard cupped her cheek. “Yes. Yes, I’ll be right behind you, I promise.” He looked at them one last time, drinking in their features. They look so much like their mother. “Take care of each other. Stay with Beorn and the dwarves.”
Sigrid nodded, her neck straining as she choked down her rising nerves. Tilda was watery-eyed. “Be fast, Da.”
Bard kissed his girls on their heads one more time and turned away. There was so much more he needed to say, but so little time. He swam into the slow-moving crowd of evacuees and out of sight.
Sigrid took Tilda’s hand. “Be brave.” She said in a hushed voice, half to her sister, half to herself.
As the odd party walked away from the boat-man’s home, two silent figures stared at them from the cover of a high roof. Legolas leaned forward, his sleek hair slipping over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed. “I do not see Oakenshield.” He whispered.
Tauriel remained rigid beside him. Her lips were drawn tight. Her eyes trailed the frail body of the barely-bearded dwarf. The dwarf with the rune stone. At this rate he won’t survive, She thought. She looked out over the stretch of Laketown, watching as people still rubbing the sleep out of their eyes filed out of their homes with what few belongings they could carry.
Legolas looked at her, waiting for a reply. Tauriel exhaled slowly through her nose. “Come.” She said, and they slunk back into the shadows.