mithril

XXIV.

"It's night now, so the guards will be sparse. Start making noise. They will come and see why you're not behaving normally. Once they open the door, you run."

The skin-changer catches her hand before she turns. The the Iron Breaker is still held tightly in her fist, but she lowers the sword as he looks deep into her eyes.

"Why you help me?"

"I will not see someone so noble die like this. My fellow Northman, I will return you to your homelands if it's the last thing I do. I swear it to you. The Dúnedan always keep their promises."

"Thank you."

Ellidor's fingers wrap around his in a gentle grasp. He flinches back slightly as she leans forward, but the soft kiss she presses to his forehead makes him relax. It's the caring touch of a mother, so kind that it brings him peace in this hell. It was something he needed desperately in this moment. It gave him strength, flooding his limbs with a warm energy.

"Now rise, Man of the North. Make these Orcs regret ever daring to chain you down," she whispers. He meets her dark eyes. There is fire burning there. Raw power and the intense will of a warrior.

Beorn stands, his body quivering and exploding into fur as he shifts. His limbs are at long last free of the heavy chains. Finally. He tests his strength, stretching and rolling his joints for a moment. A deep snarl rises in his throat, his lips pulling back to reveal his massive teeth. The bear tilts his giant maw back and roars.

He roars for his people. He roars for the pain, the torture. He roars for every drop of skin-changer blood shed in these caves. It's the desperate noise of a man who has nothing left to lose.

Ellidor is springing forward as the rock rolls open. Her sword flashes in the torchlight as she strikes the first few Orcs down. Beorn is at her back, giant paw swiping out from behind her and impaling several vile creatures on his claws. The Orcs scream as the bear they have been poking at for weeks finally unleashes his full rage from the confines of the small cave.

Beorn is skinny. His fur hands from his emaciated body like a badly hung rug. He hasn't slept properly in a very long time. His throat burns for water. Yet he drives forward with the sorrowful snarl of a prisoner being set free at last. This will not be the place he dies. He will enact his revenge with tooth and claw.

The Orcs quickly learn that it's easier to stand back and fire on the two warriors with bows. Beorn forgoes attempting to kill as many as he can as the arrows start to embed in his shoulders and flank. Ellidor twists as he groans from the force of the shafts smarting against his fur. She gestures with the sword at the winding cave away from the Orc pack, swinging black blood droplets against her face in her desperation. Beorn follows her through the curving pathway away from that cursed place, whirling occasionally to snap at the Orcs on their tail.

Eventually, he feels the blast of fresh, cold mountain air as they near the entrance. New energy floods his body with fire. He thunders past Ellidor in his desperation to reach the open night.

They break from the cave in a sudden bound. Beorn pauses for a moment, his wide eyes taking in the rolling green of the foothills. A stretching forest for as far as he can see. The night is dark, but the stars shine down on them kindly, like friends. Ellidor urges him to move again as the angry shrieks of the Orcs start to grow closer to the mouth of the cave. Together, the two plunge down the hill into the darkness of the trees.

"They won't follow us into the trees. This place is of Old, and they fear it," Ellidor pants as the tall mountain disappears through the thick canopy. Beorn grunts in reply, not yet willing to expose his vulnerable form to the open air yet. They walk a great distance more before Ellidor motions to a small clearing.

"Rest here. Will you allow me to heal you?" Her fingers stretch towards him, but Beorn growls deeply. She frowns as he backs away from her.

The skin-changer ignores the bristle of arrows in his hide. His distrust wins as he regards this woman. She saved him from the cave, but what if she had other motives behind the kind act? Beorn has never been a trusting type. That still holds true.

"You will not survive long in the Wild wounded like that," she tells him softly. Beorn moves away without response. The bear pushes his shoulder against the rough trunk of a tree. He growls deeply as the arrows break off against the ridged bark. Ellidor winces at the crack of the wooden shafts and his sound of pain. "Now why would you do something like that?" The blonde woman asks accusingly. She crosses her arms, watching him through hooded eyes. There's annoyance in that gaze, but also that overwhelming care that she showed him in the cave. "Fine. Be stubborn. Will you at least eat if I go hunt?" That question is what makes Beorn finally shift down.

"No meat," he spits as he stumbles against the ground in his human form. Ellidor steps forward again, but his glare stops her. Only for a moment, however. The woman pulls her cloak free from her shoulders and offers it to him. Beorn accepts the covering gratefully, wrapping it around himself.

"Fine. No meat. What do you eat?"

"Honey."

"It's winter, mellon-nin. I fear the bees may not be so freely available to find their honey."

"They bring to me if I ask," he answers in a clipped tone, gesturing to himself. The skin-changer's teeth are gritted in pain. He eyes the woman, weighing his options. "Heal me," he finally spits. The reluctance to relent makes him jumpy as she steps forward. He studies her outfit that the lack of the cloak has revealed as a distraction. She wears a black tunic and leather jerkin, the same dark leather creating bracers on her forearms and the small pack that rests easily against her shoulders. Her pants and boots are dark as well. As if she tries to blend into the darkness, a friend of the shadows.

Ellidor sinks to her knees next to him. She gently shifts the cloak away from his shoulder as she studies the wounds caused by the arrowheads. Her eyebrows draw together in concern. Beorn starts to flinch as she lifts an elegant hand to his skin.

"Îdh, mellon, îdh," she whispers. He recognizes the tongue of the Elves more clearly now in his focus of pain. He frowns as her fingers pass over the broken arrow shafts. She murmurs similar lilting words until each splinter of wood comes free. He sinks in relief as the pain lessens, the sensation only growing when she returns to each wound and speaks over them until the pain disappears. His skin itches and pulls tight with the words, but it's infinitely more preferable over the aching throb of the wounds. The energy she gives him flows through his tired limbs, bringing warmth and comfort to his worried mind. It's a feeling he hasn't encountered in a very, very long time. The feeling of being safe. At least, for now.

The blonde woman sits back, stumbling slightly. Her eyes are dazed, unfocused as she sinks to the ground. The skill required to work over the wounds has obviously taken its toll on her. Beorn pulls the thick cloak tight around his naked body, appreciation relaxing his limbs.

"Where you learn Elf skill?" He asks. The words come out crueler than he meant them too. He amends them quickly. "Thank you, friend." Westron is not his native language, and the last word is foreign in his mouth. He tests it out experimentally. Ellidor nods slightly, her expression still far-off.

"My brother taught me. He, and our father before him, grew up in Rivendell. The Elves there teach my people a great many things like this."

"Good thing," Beorn grunts.

"Rest your body and soul, mellon," she tells him faintly. "Tomorrow we start for the High Pass."

"My name Beorn," he offers. Her smile is light, but warm. He doesn't move away from the soft touch of her fingers against his arm.

"Goodnight, Beorn."