The Mage of Middle-Earth - CH - 35 (Patreon)

The journey through the Misty Mountains was grueling, far more challenging than any of the company had anticipated. Every step felt heavier, each climb steeper than the last. Though they were inching closer to Erebor with each day, the path tested their endurance and resolve. Thorin, who had always carried the vision of reclaiming his homeland, had never imagined it would demand so much. The weight of his leadership bore down on him as he trudged onward, quietly grateful that the company had yet to lose a single dwarf, though close calls haunted him.

But luck, or perhaps the protection of the Valar, seemed to be with them. Despite the dangers of steep cliffs, treacherous paths, and the ever-present threat of orc attacks, the company had survived intact. Yet, even Valor had its limits, and the group felt the strain with each passing day.

As they pressed on, the faint but unmistakable sound of pursuit grew louder. The orcs were back, their guttural snarls and the clinking of armor echoing across the hills. It was clear they hadn’t given up and were relentlessly tracking the company’s every move. Thorin looked back with a grim expression, noting how close the enemy had drawn.

“We need to pick up the pace,” he murmured, a hint of worry in his voice. He had hoped the distance and the rugged terrain would deter the orcs, but it seemed that was a faint hope. Even with the weight of his own injuries and the exhaustion settling in, he knew they could not afford to linger.

Gandalf, ever watchful, nodded in agreement. “We must find higher ground,” he advised. “The orcs are at an advantage on flat terrain, but the mountains may provide us a place to defend ourselves if it comes to that.”

Despite their weariness, the company moved faster, scrambling over rocks and ascending into narrow mountain paths that snaked upward. Every footfall felt heavier, every breath shorter, but the thought of Erebor’s treasures—and the legacy it promised—pushed them onward.

Sirius remained vigilant, using his heightened senses to detect any sign of their pursuers. He knew they were lucky to have made it this far unscathed, but he didn’t rely on luck alone. With each glance back, he considered the magic he could use, the spells he had prepared just in case. He wouldn’t let any harm come to the company—not while he still had strength.

Hours passed, and finally, they reached a narrow ledge overlooking the land below. They could see the orc pack moving like shadows far beneath them, their numbers undiminished. It was a stark reminder of the dangers that awaited, but here, for a moment, they had an advantage. They were high above their pursuers, with rocky outcroppings shielding them on most sides.

Gandalf gathered the company close, his voice calm but carrying a note of urgency. "There’s a place not far from here," he began, glancing over each of them. "A place where we might find rest and some measure of safety from the orcs. But I must tell you—it’s not a certain refuge. I do not know the host personally, though he is a known friend of Radagast, the Brown."

The dwarves exchanged glances, each wondering what kind of person this unknown host might be. They knew Radagast only by reputation: an eccentric wizard of the wild, more comfortable with beasts than men. If this host was anything like Radagast, they could only imagine what kind of refuge awaited them.

Thorin considered Gandalf’s words, weighing the risk. Sleep had become a rare luxury, and though he kept a brave front, the constant threats and harsh conditions had worn on him. The company needed rest—real rest, where they could lower their guard if only for a night.

“If there’s a chance we’ll be safe, even if only for a short time, I say we take it,” Thorin said at last. His voice carried the determination of a leader who had pushed his limits. "We cannot keep going on like this, weary and hunted. If Radagast trusts him, then I’ll take that trust as enough.”

The company murmured in agreement. They trusted Thorin’s judgment, and despite their own worries about walking into an unknown domain, the promise of even a brief respite overruled their concerns.

Gandalf nodded, though he seemed thoughtful, perhaps aware of the risks in seeking shelter from one they did not know. “Very well. It’s decided. We’ll head there at once and hope our presence will be taken kindly.” With a slight smile to encourage them, he began leading the company down a narrow path, guiding them toward the hidden sanctuary.

They walked for hours under the shadow of the mountains, the terrain becoming wilder and thicker with trees as they ventured deeper. Strange birdcalls echoed from the branches above, and the forest floor was carpeted with wild herbs and thick, tangled roots. Every so often, Gandalf would pause to listen, as if reassuring himself that they were on the right path.

Finally, they emerged into a clearing where a small, unassuming house stood nestled among the trees, half-hidden by vines and foliage. It seemed to blend with the forest itself, as if grown rather than built. Smoke rose gently from the chimney, hinting at a fire within.

Just as they neared the edge of the clearing and prepared to approach the house, Sirius caught a movement in the trees. There, through the shadows, a massive bear lumbered between the trees, its fur dark and wild. It was enormous, at least three times the size of a typical grizzly bear, and its every step seemed to make the ground tremble.

Sirius nudged Gandalf, nodding toward the beast. "Gandalf... there’s a bear, and it’s gigantic. Should we be worried?"

But Gandalf only smiled, his eyes glinting with amusement. "No need for alarm. That’s our host." He raised his voice just enough for the company to hear. "His name is Beorn. He is a skin-changer."

The dwarves murmured uneasily, looking from Gandalf to the bear with equal amounts of awe and fear. Thorin tightened his grip on his weapon, uncertain if this strange creature would welcome them or see them as intruders.

Gandalf continued, his tone calming. "Beorn is both man and bear. He can take the shape of a great beast, just as you see now. But when he becomes a bear, his mind is... different. He thinks and feels as a bear, not as a man, and his instincts rule over his human thoughts."

"So he’s more dangerous this way?" asked Fili, casting a wary glance at the hulking creature.

"Not to us," Gandalf assured them, "as long as we don’t provoke him. But to orcs… they wouldn’t dare come near his land. Orcs are his sworn enemies, and he guards this territory fiercely. In his presence, we’re safer here than almost anywhere else in these woods."

Gandalf gathered the group in a tight circle, his voice a low whisper. "Now listen closely," he said, "we can't approach Beorn's home all at once. He’s not fond of strangers, and seeing so many of us at once will only set him on edge. When the bear is far enough away, we’ll make a run for it. Stay together, move quickly, and don’t look back."

The dwarves nodded, exchanging uneasy glances but trusting Gandalf’s lead. They waited, hidden behind the trees, watching as the bear lumbered off, sniffing at the air and distracted by something deeper in the woods. Gandalf watched carefully, his eyes sharp.

"Now!" he whispered.

With a burst of energy, the dwarves, along with Sirius, sprinted toward the house, their footsteps barely making a sound in the forest grass. They covered ground quickly, the large wooden house growing nearer. But halfway there, a sudden rustling sound broke out behind them.

Beorn, in his towering bear form, had noticed them. He turned, his gaze narrowing as he spotted the company on his land. With a roar that shook the trees, he charged, his enormous form crashing through the underbrush with alarming speed.

"Faster!" Gandalf urged, his voice firm as they sprinted toward the house.

One by one, the dwarves stumbled through the door, their breaths quick and hearts racing. Sirius was the last to slip inside, and just as the massive bear barreled toward them, they managed to pull the heavy door shut, pressing their weight against it.

Outside, Beorn huffed and pawed at the ground, his sharp claws scraping the wooden planks. The company huddled inside, breathing hard and wide-eyed, as the sounds of the bear faded slowly, and all that remained was silence.

They exchanged glances of relief and disbelief, letting out a collective sigh. Gandalf smiled slightly, his gaze resting on the door. "Well," he said calmly, "that was closer than I’d have liked. But I believe we’ve made it safely."

Inside Beorn’s house, the company finally found a sense of peace they hadn’t felt in days. The heavy wooden walls insulated them from the outside world, and for the first time since leaving the Rivendell, they could rest without the constant fear of an orc ambush. Through the narrow windows, they occasionally glimpsed the hulking shadow of Beorn as he roamed his territory, now in his massive wolf form. He was relentless, patrolling the land with fierce determination and a watchful eye.

From time to time, they heard distant roars and the panicked cries of orcs who had wandered too close. The sound of Beorn’s heavy paws tearing through the undergrowth echoed in the night, a reminder of the powerful ally who guarded them. Any unfortunate orc caught lingering near his borders was met with swift retribution, and the company watched in awe as Beorn’s swift strikes sent orcs fleeing in all directions.

Knowing they were safe under his watchful protection, the dwarves settled in and allowed themselves to rest. Thorin, his injuries still fresh, leaned back against a sturdy wooden beam, grateful for the rare reprieve. Even Sirius, ever watchful, found himself relaxing, watching the stars through the small window as Beorn’s vigilant patrols kept danger at bay.

Gandalf, observing the restful calm that had finally settled over the group, nodded in quiet satisfaction. “Tonight, at least, we can sleep soundly,” he murmured, glancing out the window to see Beorn’s silhouette moving with lethal grace through the darkened forest.

The dwarves, famished from their long journey, eyed the shelves of Beorn's kitchen, where hefty loaves of bread, wheels of cheese, and jars of honey gleamed invitingly. Their stomachs growled audibly, but Gandalf quickly stepped in, raising a hand to stop them.

“Touch nothing,” Gandalf said in a low, stern voice. “Beorn is a generous host, but he values respect and has little patience for those who take without asking. If we empty his stores without permission, it could end very badly for us all.”

The dwarves exchanged glances, reluctantly pulling back their hands from the food. They had been able to feast on Sirius's supplies back in his Hobbit Hole, practically clearing out his entire pantry in one sitting. Sirius himself gave a small, wry smile, remembering how they had happily devoured almost every scrap he had.

“I’d rather not see another host’s fury,” he muttered to Gandalf, who nodded knowingly.

“Indeed,” Gandalf replied. “Beorn’s hospitality is rare, and we’d do well to show restraint. He has his own way of living, and it’s best we respect it if we’re to stay here peacefully.”

With that, the company turned their attention away from the tempting spread, each of them silently hoping that Beorn might share a meal with them in the morning. For now, they were just grateful to be safe and sheltered for the night.

While the dwarves snored softly around him, Sirius found himself too intrigued to rest. Beorn’s house was like no other place he had seen—simple, rustic, and yet somehow brimming with an untamed magic. His curiosity got the better of him, and he began to quietly explore, moving through the rooms with a light step so as not to disturb the others.

In one corner, he found a sturdy bed made from thick logs and covered in coarse blankets, which was clearly Beorn’s. The faint smell of earth and pine lingered around it, mingling with a wild scent that could only belong to the skin-changer himself. Remembering his own history with shapeshifting, Sirius couldn’t help but think of Remus, his friend who struggled with his transformation each full moon. Beorn, however, seemed to live at peace with his ability, a harmonious balance between man and beast.

As he studied the bed, Sirius carefully plucked a few hairs left behind by Beorn, tucking them into a small pouch. If he could study them later, perhaps he could learn something new about the nature of skin-changing, or even draw some knowledge that might have helped Remus.

Wandering further, he noticed objects that hinted at Beorn’s life: weapons crafted with remarkable skill, dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, and animal skins draped across the walls. It all painted a picture of a powerful, solitary figure, one who was more connected to nature and the wild than to any society or town.

Satisfied with his discoveries, Sirius returned to his place by the fire, carefully storing his small collection of Beorn’s hair in his bag. As he lay down to rest, he felt a strange comfort in this wild place, and a glimmer of understanding for Beorn’s way of life.