He had never wanted to be a hero.
That was a fact. When other little boys were fighting over who got to be the legendary hero or the great king, Bard had been happy enough to be the loyal sidekick. His brothers had always wanted to hear stories of powerful warriors and wise lords and their adventures; Bard had been happy enough to hear about the Man who caught a magical fish who could grant wishes. As he grew older, it became something of a running gag in town over how practical he was. 'Fisherman Bard,' they used to laugh, 'he dreamed of being a commoner and it came true!'
Bard didn't mind the jokes. He laughed along when he heard them too. It had been his dream to grow up and marry and have a family. He didn't need to be a hero or a king; he was happy enough as a fisherman and a husband and then later a father.
That was part of the reason why he recoiled at Bilbo's suggestion that he would become the Lord of Dale. Not only was he the worst candidate—most fishermen from dirt-poor villages were—but he also had no interest in the job. He didn't like being the center of attention, or the one that everyone turned to in a crisis. He got stuck with that job most of the time, yes, but that hardly meant he liked it. He was happy to be just another face in the crowd; just another nobody going about their daily life.
"You're being a coward again," Mari would probably tell him if she was still alive. Before she became his wife, she had been his best friend; the only girl who had played with the boys no matter how many times her mother scolded her. She had known him better than anyone and would have seen right into the heart of his objections within seconds.
"You're afraid of failing," she would have said while rolling her blue and green eyes at him. "You're afraid of getting someone killed or hurt. You're afraid you won't be able to feed your people or protect them from another dragon. And finally you're afraid you won't be able to live up to Bilbo's words. Isn't that right, darling?"
He would have nodded and shrugged like he always had when faced with her sharp observations. "Right again, my love, like always."
In return, Mari would have flashed her devious grin and tossed her brown braids back in triumph. "Damn straight I am and don't forget it!"
By Eru… he missed her so much. There was not a day that went by that he did not think of his wife in some little way. He saw it every day when he looked at his children—the way Sigrid moved when she cooked; the curve of Bain's smile and his eyes; how Tilda always knew when he was lying—and they always brought her face to mind. But sometimes, when he was stressed or worried or angry, her voice would whisper to him comfort or advice.
"You can't let your fear of failure hold you back from being the Man you are meant to be," Mari would have advised, patting his check. "You have to take a chance and step out of your little world one day."
"But I could get our children hurt," he argued back in his mind because if he was going to fight with the voice in his head then he could at least win the disputes. "I could get everyone hurt or killed if I tried to rebuild Dale."
"Or you could do something great for our children and the people of Lake-town," his wife countered. "Bard, you know that Lake-town is crumbling and things will only grow worse under the influence of the Master. You know that rebuilding Dale is the only way to give them a chance at a future."
He knew that. He knew, even as he denied it so fiercely to Bilbo and the others, that in the end he was going to have to rebuild Dale. Not because it was pre-destined or because he wanted to be some heroic lord, but simply because it was his best chance to save his children from going hungry.
Bard never wanted to be a hero, but being a good father was one dream he didn't mind.
~*~
"It's snowing," Tauriel announced with all the enthusiasm of a Man walking to the gallows.
Bard gave her a slow ovation. "Great observational skills. Anything else you would like to point out to us? Perhaps that the grass is green? Or that Bilbo has no self-preservation?"
"Don't drag me into this," Bilbo said as he dug through his bag for warmer clothes.
"I think we should take shelter. You lot don't take to cold very well," Beorn suggested as he held one hand out to catch the falling snowflakes.
"Don't be stupid. If we couldn't survive the cold, we would have all died out long ago," Tauriel replied, rolling her eyes.
Beorn did not seem convinced. "Sweetheart, you're wearing two layers of clothes at the most. The bunny here is barely pulling together one, and don't even get me started on the puppy with his ripped coat. You're all going to freeze to death in an hour."
"Why do you argue with me?" the Elf asked, glaring at the bear.
"Because you're lovely when you glare at me like that," Beorn replied with a toothy grin.
Tauriel's eyes became two slits of hazel. "Really? Then I wonder what you'll think when I push you into a volcano…"
"As long as you glare at me while doing so, I'm fine with it," the shape-shifter reassured.
"I feel uncomfortable listening to this. Do you feel uncomfortable, Bilbo?" Bard asked as he stared up at the sky.
Bilbo shook his head and continued to dig through his pack. "I'm deaf. I cannot hear any of you."
"Now don't be jealous, puppy," Beorn chided, giving him an exaggerated patronizing look. "Our lady is lovely and we all know it."
Bard grimaced and shook his head. "I'm not jealous, thanks. I prefer Women who don't have the chest of a twelve-year-old boy."
Bilbo finally paused to stare at his friend. "Why are you looking at her chest, Bard?"
"Because when I first met her, I didn't know if she was male or female," the fisherman admitted without a hint of shame.
Tauriel suddenly became very still and silent. Beorn—because animals were good at sensing danger—took a step away from her and moved so that Bard was between them. "Are you calling me a Man?"
Bard—because he was clearly a fool—shook his head. "No. I'm just saying that you Elves all look very delicate to me—put your bow down! It's not an insult!"
"It is a common problem with Elves," Bilbo pointed out as he finally gave up on his quest for warmer clothing. "It can also happen with Dwarves if the females are wearing armor or thick clothing."
"You know, somehow, none of that statement made me feel better," Tauriel growled though she did lower her bow even as she continued to glare holes through Bard's head
He rolled his eyes and stood up and swung his pack on. "It wasn't supposed to. Can we go now? We are wasting valuable time standing here."
"What's the rush? It's not like Mordor is going anywhere," Beorn commented, scratching at his lightly furred stomach.
"No, but I would like to get some miles past us in case the snow becomes too heavy," he explained as he began to walk off without waiting for his comrades.
"He's right; let's move on," Tauriel ordered as she straightened her shoulders like a general preparing to lead an army to war. She followed after the Hobbit while behind her Bard pushed Beorn ahead of him, and used him as a shield against the Elf maiden.
"How long do you think it will take to get to Mordor?" he asked the Elf while ignoring the two cowards behind them.
The archer shrugged her slender shoulders. "I don't know. Depending on how the weather goes and our supplies, it may take at least a month until we reach the south end of Mirkwood."
The Hobbit felt his heart sink. He knew that it would take a good while before they reached Mordor, but hearing it confirmed just made his spirits dampen. He didn't want to spend so much time lingering and doubting himself while the ring taunted him in the back of his mind. He just wanted to get the whole quest over with and learn if he was going to live or not.
"I don't know how Frodo handled it all," he said quietly as he stuffed his hands into his pockets in an attempt to keep them warm.
Tauriel blinked and glanced at him before turning her eyes back to the front. "Frodo… He was the one who originally destroyed the ring, yes?"
"Yes," he confirmed with a nod. "He's my cousin by blood, but I always thought of him as a nephew and then later my son. He was also the only one brave and strong enough to carry the ring to Mordor."
Tauriel clucked her tongue and nodded. "I see. You are doing this for him aren't you? Why? Do you fear he will not be able to handle it in this lifetime?"
He shook his head and unintentionally created a song of bells with his braids. "No. Frodo could do it again. No matter what I change or don't change in this lifetime, Frodo will always have the strength it takes to face Sauron and the ring. It is simply who he is and nothing will ever change that."
"Then why endure this mission instead of waiting for him to do it?" the Elf wondered quietly.
"Because this quest will break him," he replied simply. "It will break his spirit and he will never completely heal. I can't… I cannot let that happen again. I cannot let this stupid ring break my boy's spirit again."
Tauriel turned to look at him again with ancient eyes that knew far too much. "If that quest broke his spirit, then what do you think it will do to you?"
He shrugged one shoulder and gave her a brittle smile. "I don't know. I am not as strong as him so perhaps I will shatter in the end."
"And you don't mind that? Is this Hobbit truly worth the risk?" the archer asked with one brow arched.
—Frodo giggles and ducks behind the rose bush. After a moment he peeks out over the top; his blue eyes bright and dancing with glee. One look into those eyes makes his heart melt and his mood lift up in seconds. For the first time since he returned from Erebor, he feels truly happy again and it is all thanks to the little boy playing in his garden—
Bilbo nodded and looked back to the road before him. "Yes. Frodo will always be worth it."
~*~
They walked until the snow forced them to stop and rest. They huddled together with a small fire between them until the snow stopped and they could continue on. Though cold and tried, they trudged on until darkness forced them to seek shelter once again. However some luck was on their side, as Tauriel and Beorn were able to find a small enclave under the drooping trees of Mirkwood to rest in. They made camp there for the night as the snow began to fall around them once more.
Bilbo found himself huddled between Tauriel and Bard as Beorn took the first watch. The shape-shifter had volunteered as the cold had the least effect on him; a strange perk that not even Beorn could explain. While Tauriel and Bard immediately went to sleep after a small dinner, Bilbo could not drift off so easily. His body was tired and sore but his mind kept running in circles; thinking and worrying over their quest and the fate of his friends back at Erebor. Mostly though he found himself missing his Dwarves. He had spent nearly a year in their constant company, and to have them so far away for so long left him feeling unstable and lost. It ate at him so much that he found himself voicing his feelings to the only other person still awake.
"Beorn?" he called softly in order not to wake the other two boxing him in.
The shape-shifter looked up at him and blinked. "Hmm?"
"I miss Thorin and the others," Bilbo admitted quietly.
"Of course you do," Beorn scoffed. "They're your family."
He certainly couldn't deny that. "Yes, they are. Do you have any family?"
Beorn shrugged and scratched at his beard. "It depends on what you define as family. If it is by blood then I must say no. There was a time where others like myself roamed this world, but they died long, long ago. I have a Mother but we share no blood between us. But if you speak of bonds, then I will say that my animals are my family. They are the only ones I share my love with."
"Do you ever want more? Like a wife or children?"
"Sometimes… Sometimes I wonder what it would be like," the bear admitted, his voice growing softer as his face relaxed. "In my time I have watched many love stories unfold; some happy, some tragic, and some a lie. In the beginning, I never understood any of it and I never wanted to because it seemed so foolish to risk so much for something so fragile. But as I grew older, I realized that the love between two people is something like a marvel."
Bilbo could think of many words to describe his feelings for Thorin, but 'marvel' was certainly not one of them. "A marvel?"
"Mm-hmm. I have seen Men go to war over their ladies and Women scheme and kill for their lords. I once knew an Elf who loved a beautiful maiden but never spoke of it because she knew this maiden would never look at her the same way. Instead, she silently endured a broken heart while helping this maiden save her lord, and even stood at their wedding. It was only after she knew the maiden was safe and happy that she allowed herself to fade."
Beorn glanced up and gave him a small smile that made his tanned face softer and younger. "And then there's you. You, who fought spiders and Orcs and a dragon just to save the one you love. A thousand years could pass by and I would still be amazed at the power and influence that love can hold over the heart."
The Hobbit stared at the shape-shifter before him. In all his years he had never given his feelings much thought; they existed and tormented him at times, and made him delirious at others. It never occurred to him what it would be like if he did not have them, or even a chance to experience emotions. Hearing Beorn speak of it—as something rare and beautiful and so very precious—made him suddenly so very grateful for the chances he had to love and grieve and simply feel.
But it didn't seem fair that Beorn wouldn't get the chance to experience such feelings. Not when he knew what the shape-shifter was meant to hold one day.
"Beorn?" he called quietly.
"Hmm?"
"In my last lifetime, you had a son."
Beorn stared at him. "What?"
"You heard me. You had a son," Bilbo repeated as the corner of his lips twitched up into a smile. "I do not know if he was your blood child or who his mother was, but I know that he existed and you loved him dearly. I know it is not the love that you wanted to experience, but the love for your child can still be an amazing feeling. It can still drive a Man to war and a Woman to lie and steal. It is the love I hold for Frodo, my child, that drives me to destroy this ring."
Beorn blinked slowly; his expression torn between shock and hope. Finally it settled on the later, and his massive shoulders eased up slightly. "A son? Huh. I never thought… well. I suppose I should start working on my father jokes. That should be fun."
"It is fun to torment them," he admitted because the best times with Frodo had been when he was teasing the boy. Frodo never got offended and could always give back what was given. It was one of the reasons why he got along so well with Gandalf.
Beorn smiled widely and Bilbo found himself smiling back. The shape-shifter was not handsome by any standard, but when he smiled, his face lit up like the sun lit up the land at dawn. The Hobbit didn't think he had ever seen a more mesmerizing smile in his life.
"Thank you for sharing that with me, Bilbo," the bear said, his smile never faltering. "It gives me something to look forward to in the future. That's rare for me."
He shrugged lightly; trying his best not to move too much and wake his other companions. "You deserve to know that the love you are so fascinated by will come to you one day. It is only fair."
"Then we best get rid of this ring so our boys can grow up safe and happy," Beorn advised as his eyes hardened even as his smile stayed on.
—Frodo never smiles anymore. His boy still fakes it but he learned long ago how to spot Frodo's true smile in his eyes. His nephew goes through the gestures of smiling and living, but there is no life in him. Frodo is broken inside in a way that he cannot fix no matter how hard he tries—
Bilbo nodded and closed his eyes. "Yes. We will."