Star-Crossed

Chapter 29

Honeysuckle. That was the first thing she noticed, the sweet scent of honeysuckle. Ever so slowly, Beuren opened her eyes. As her senses began to pull together, she noticed the slight heaviness of a blanket over her torso and legs. It was made from the softest wool she’d ever felt. Her head was pounding, despite the soft lighting and silence around her. Must be dehydrated she thought to herself.

As silently as possible, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She let her toes test just how cool the wood floors below her were, just like you would with water. Laughing inwardly at herself she slid out of the bed. Her attire was, well, not what she’d expected. She wore a very loose long sleeve cotton shirt, it was longer in the front and back, but exposed her hips on either side. Silently she stared down at herself; she hoped there was no one there to see her.

Noiselessly she padded to the door. Beuren placed her hand gently on the door knob, turned it, then peered out. She didn’t see anyone. Reluctantly, she started down the hall, her footsteps undetectable. With a deep breath she took her last step, she now stood in the middle of a dining hall. To the left Beuren saw a barn like attachment to the house. There, Beleg stood, head bowed, ears pricked forward.

A grin spread from ear to ear at the sight of her faithful friend. Beuren ran forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, tangling her hands in his mane. He tugged at her hair, causing her to giggle. She moved and leaned into his side, draping one arm over his back, the other resting on his strong shoulder.

“Sprinter, I’ve called him.” A thundering voice startled her. She turned and looked back towards the dining hall. “For I know not his name.” A man stood, if you could call him a man.

He stood easily seven feet tall, perhaps taller. His skin was well tanned from the sun. The man was quite husky, in a way that would easily be intimidating. Grey eyes watched her carefully, taking in every detail. His bare chest was scarred, as well as his arms and shoulders. A manacle cuffed his left wrist, no chain was linked to it however. His hair was light brown, not a streak of grey. The man before her looked wild, untamed, but for some odd reason, she felt comforted by this, and she knew not why.

“Sprinter would suit him,” She said slowly, turning her gaze to the horse. “He has a quick gait.” The last part came out as more of a whisper. “Beleg, it means ‘mighty’ in the tongue of the elves.” Beuren said, suddenly mindful of how far the shirt had ridden up.

“Beleg.” The man repeated, the horses ears twitched in his direction. “How are you fairing?”

“Alright.” She said, stroking the horses side. “How did I get here?”

“You were outside, a band of orcs had cornered you.” The memory slowly came back to her.

“That’s right. But, but, there was… a-a-a bear.” She stuttered, looking at the man. He lowered his eyes.

“Forgive me; it was not my intention to startle you.”

“You, you mean you’re the th-“

“Bear? Yes. I am Beorn, the last skin-changer in Middle Earth.” Her eyes grew. With a small nod she looked again at her horses shoulder.

“Beuren, my name is Beuren.” She said in reply, glancing back at him then at Beleg.

“Ah, yes, I should have known. Gandalf told me you’d be coming, but he said you wouldn’t be alone.” Her eyes closed, stomach knotting tight enough to make her concerned. With a great sigh she held her composure.

“My father. He uh…” She paused. “Trolls. Two trolls. They killed him.” Beuren took a deep breath then turned again to Beorn. He stepped closer.

“My condolences.” He spoke. “In the dresser, there are some clothes you might find fitting.” He said, turning and strolling from the room. She turned as well, looking where he once stood. Then trotting back down the hall she entered the room she had occupied earlier. After dressing, she sat down on the edge of the bed to strap on her boots. The faces of the tolls raced through her mind, her father crushed under the stone.

Beuren squeezed her eyes closed. She leaned forward and put her face in her hands, pushing her palms into her closed eyes till she got a headache. The images disappeared and she opened her eyes. With a shaky sigh she stood.

“Something haunts you.” Beorn said, startling her a bit. She turned and looked up at him.

“Many things haunt me. But I can still go about my business.” She looked in the mirror. “Speaking of which,” She said, noticing how utterly uneven her hair had been cut. “I should probably fix that.” She smirked. The skin-changer gave a small chuckle before handing her a pair of scissors. Beuren nodded, and followed him outside. She evened out her hair while Beorn was chopping wood behind her.

Beuren couldn’t help but notice how strong her host was. She’d seen dwarves swing heavy battle hammers and had seen how well built the miners were, but she’d never seen anything like him. With one swing he could split a log, and she could tell he wasn’t swinging his hardest. I’d hate to come across him in battle Beuren thought.

That evening they sat together at the table in the dining hall. She felt childlike sitting at the enormous table. At one point she had actually brought her knees beneath her so she could see him over the table. They laughed at shared stories, talked about random things from the songbirds that had sung all day to Beleg.

“So tell me, Beuren, who is he?” She knitted her brow and cocked her head.

“What do you mean?”

“The man that gave you that ring around your neck.” She blinked, raising her hand to the chain. Her fingers delicately ran across the silver chain, ending at the ring. It was a simple ring, a silver setting with a large opal in the middle, on either side of it were two diamonds. She smiled, twisting the ring around the chain.

“We were going to marry.” Beuren’s smile faded. “But tragedy struck, I sort of went half mad and we got in a fight, he banished me and I left for Rivendell.” She said.

“Do you miss him?” Beorn asked, taking a drink from a great wooden tankard.

“Every day.” She said. Her eyes flicked up to him.

“Beuren!” A voice boomed outside. “Beorn!” The door swung open. Gandalf stood. “Where in Middle Earth have you been?! I was expecting you in Rohan three days ago!”

“Gandalf! Oh, I’m so sorry. I-I…”

“They were attacked.” Beorn started. “Trolls got to them before they could get over the mountains.” He glanced at Beuren.

“My father didn’t make it. After getting away a pack of orcs picked up my scent. Beleg and I barely got away, thanks to Beorn we made it.

“When did this happen?”

“Yesterday.”

“Three weeks ago.” Beorn corrected.

“I was asleep for three weeks?!” Once Beorn caught her up on what she’d obviously missed, Gandalf had pieced everything else together. He sat beside her.

“Are you ok lass?” She nodded, tightening her jaw. Gandalf patted her knee and smiled down at her.

The pair of them stayed for two more days before setting out. Beuren insisted on finishing their trip to Rohan, but Gandalf told her it was not necessary. He’d helped them with what they needed and had left them all in good health. With that concluded, Beuren set off back to Rivendell.