16

One Hundred & Fifteen Years Later

Time had passed since the battle of Moria. As promised, Thorin and Dis led their people through the first winter and continued to do so with the hundred more that passed. Slowly, their people rebuilt their lives from the struggle of losing their own kin. To many, it had felt like the desolation of Smaug all over again, for their families were barely surviving and starving due to the sudden lack of breadwinners amongst them. The wounds the battle left never healed. Everyone had lost someone, and everyone had been affected in some way. Still, as the dwarves had been taught since the dragon's demise, they were fighters. They had no choice but to prevail, and that they did.

Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin spent less time in the pub and more time working, whether it was in the guard, the finances, or the family. Dis raised her sons without a father, and though they could hardly remember a time when Beldan was alive, it still left it's mark on the boys. Instead, due to his heavy involvement in their lives, Thorin became the paternal figure within the household. Kili had always looked up to him, and Fili learned to do the same. The warrior he once aspired to be had fallen. Now, Fili recognized his destiny to be King, and with Thorin's guidance, he slowly began to mold himself into the role. Thorin himself still had a hard time believing that he was King, for a small part of him still felt that his father was alive. He and his sister reached an agreement, after heavy persuasion on Dis' part. No matter how small, any sign of Thrain would be investigated to determine it's truth. Talia, however, was surely lost; much to Dis' dissatisfaction, Thorin would not agree to entertain any rumors of her whatsoever. Any mention of her risked Thorin's wrath, though it was short and he was always apologetic after.

Still, Thorin wore the ring, and he refused to part with his bead. Every now and then, Fili or Kili would catch their uncle absentmindedly running his thumb over the clasp's pattern, or twisting the ring where it lay on his finger. He would always be outside, standing on the balcony, in these moments, and his eyes never left the stars, the same stars that had warmed his skin when he had first kissed Talia. He still kept rue in healthy stock, for after Talia had healed the wound on his hand, he had taken to educating himself on it's properties with Oin's help. She may have been dead to him, but he still refused to part with her. Any dwarf could tell that Thorin had lost his One, and that he would never take another.

Thorin had hardened with age, but he still had hope. It wasn't for Talia, but for his nephews, his father, his home. He knew that soon, the day would come where he would reclaim Erebor from Smaug. Azog was dead, and he had defended his lineage. He was itching to take back what was rightfully his from the beast: his home. Either way, his hope still burned deep within him, and he led his people with strength and wisdom due to this hope.

And the day he hoped for his was almost upon him.

The dwarf walked with his head low and hood down, trudging through the mud and rain on the streets of Bree. After a long and weary day, he was eager for the comforts of the inn around the corner. Stepping inside the Prancing Pony, his exhaustion had gotten the better of him; he hadn't even noticed he had been followed.

He sat alone at a table in the center of the pub, closest to the fire. He welcomed it's warmth, which was much needed after the cold of the rain, and did the same to the food that he had ordered, thanking the waitress who brought it to him. It was only after he had taken his first bite that he noticed his two shadows, each sitting on either side of the pub and eyeing him directly. The alarm in the dwarf's eyes quickly shifted to annoyance as he tilted his head, reaching for his sword and preparing for a nasty fight.

"There you are! Mind if I join you?" A man sat down before him, donning grey robes that matched the color of his hat. His beard was nearly as long as the staff he held at his side, and his eyes still twinkled through the wrinkles surrounding them. "I'll have the same." He said, catching the arm of the waitress. Thorin watched as the lurkers stood up suddenly, shoving each other out of the door as fast as they could. Something about his guest was intimidating enough to prevent a fight.

"I should introduce myself." He began, and upon hearing his voice, the recognition clicked. "My name is Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey."

"I know who you are." Thorin said gruffly, relaxing his grip off his sword and returning to his meal. Though he had never met him, he knew he was a trustworthy figure. His father had spoken with him before the war for Moria, and he recalled Talia's mention of him back in Erebor. It was many years ago, but it was nearly impossible to forget a wizard.

"Well, now. This is a fine chance!" The wizard said, nodding his thanks as his food was set down before him. "What brings Thorin Oakenshield to Bree?"

Thorin knew he could be truthful. "I received word that my father had been seen wandering the wilds near Dunland. I went looking." He had stayed true to his promise with Dis; it was the first sighting of their father in decades. "I found no sign of him."

"Thorin, it's been a long time since anything but rumor was heard of Thrain."

"He still lives. I am sure of it." Thorin rebuked. If he had found no body that day, then he had to honor his sister's wishes and believe in Thrain.

"If you entertain thoughts of your father, then why do you not do the same for your wife?"

Thorin's gaze locked on Gandalf's. The wizard saw such pain in the dwarf's eyes, and he almost regretted asking the question. But, in order for him to succeed in this meeting, he had to remind Thorin of what he fought for and why he did so. He needed Thorin to remember Talia in order to remember the desire to reclaim his home. He feared that Thorin would not do it if he believed Gandalf only wanted him to do it for himself.

"My father is missing." Thorin said, his voice becoming more hardened with the thought of her. "My wife is dead."

"I know her mother died in dragon fire. I know she watched, and I know she carried Theresa's charm around her neck until she was last seen."

"Until she died." Thorin corrected. It seemed that he and Gandalf had their history mixed up; while Gandalf insisted that Thrain was dead and Talia was alive, Thorin knew the opposite to be true. Still, he could not allow Gandalf to irk him further if he was to gain anything useful out of their conversation. "My father came to see you before he went missing. What did you say to him?" He asked, changing the subject.

"I urged him to march upon Erebor, to rally the seven armies of the Dwarves, to destroy the dragon, and take back the Lonely Mountain." The wizard asserted. "And I would say the same to you. Take back your homeland."

Thorin looked up from his ale. "This is no chance meeting, is it, Gandalf?"

Gandalf allowed a moment's hesitation before pursing his lips and stating his answer. "No. It is not. The Lonely Mountain troubles me, Thorin. That dragon has sat there long enough. Sooner or later, darker minds will turn towards Erebor." Thorin knew his words to be true, for he had thought them himself. "I ran into some unsavory characters whilst traveling on the Greenway. They mistook me for a vagabond."

In his youth, Thorin would've snorted. "I imagine they regretted that."

"One of them was carrying a message." Gandalf reached into his small satchel and produced a piece of tattered cloth. It had large, sinister characters sprawled across it in a language Thorin did not know. "It is Black Speech. A promise of payment."

"For what?"

"Your head."

Thorin's eyes shot up, his blue hues piercing Gandalf's lighter orbs.

"Someone wants you dead. Thorin, you can wait no longer." Gandalf leaned in. "You are the heir to the Throne of Durin. Unite the armies of the Dwarves. Together, you have the might and power to retake Erebor. Summon a meeting of the seven Dwarf families. Demand they stand by their oath."

"The seven armies swore that oath to the one who wields the King's Jewel. The Arkenstone." Thorin challenged. He remembered how the stone fell in the depths of Thror's treasure hoard on that fateful day, slipping right from his fumbling hands. "It is the only thing that will unite them, and in case you have forgotten, that jewel was stolen by Smaug."

"What if I were to help you reclaim it?"

"How? The Arkenstone lies half a world away, buried beneath the feet of a fire-breathing dragon."

"Yes, it does," Gandalf began. "Which is why we're going to need a burglar."

...

Over a century had passed, and Rue's screams still pained Beorn to an extreme fault. Every day, they summoned her to the room of devices just above the dungeon to get answers out of her. Every single day, for one hundred and fifteen years, this pattern had continued. Rue would wail as they caused her excruciating pain in every way possible. They tore at her skin and bone with metal, stone, wood, and even bare fists, if Azog was particularly irritable. She was never left unwounded, for when her old cuts and bruises healed, they were replaced with an injury even worse than the last. She was scarred more than a fair share of ten experienced warriors, both physically and emotionally. Yet, no matter how much torture she endured, Rue had not remembered more in the past century than she had upon first arriving in the dungeons.

Beorn had grown quite fond of her, which he knew was probably a mistake, and he hated seeing her in such pain. Her torture was his own, in a way, for he hurt when he heard or saw her hurting. The worst was when, on rare occasion, her blood would seep through the cracks in the stone into the dungeons below, staining the floors that Beorn sat on. Or when Rue screamed, like she did today, in such a guttural and broken way that Beorn wasn't even sure it was a wail of the living.

Still, when she was not in Azog's grip or unconscious in her cell, the pair passed the time merrily. They chatted of life before their captivity. Of course, it was mostly Beorn doing the talking, for Rue had no recollection of her past, but neither of them minded. He talked of his village of Skin-Changers and how they had lived in their times of prosperity. He told her stories of his older brothers roughhousing with him outside, and recalled how his mother had healed his injuries every time afterwards. He remembered how his father had cooked them the most excellent stew on his fifteenth birthday, and was sure to tell Rue about it whenever they complained of the lack of substance of their own diets. Yes, it was difficult for the Skin-Changer to tell her at first, but with Rue, he learned how to separate the pain of his family's passing from the joys of their lives. But today, he felt, would be different. Based on the detail laced within Rue's screams, he knew she would be in no state to handle conversation.

The screams stopped. Beorn sighed, closing his eyes and praying to the gods for his friend. Any minute now, the Orc would be dragging her down the halls of Dol Guldur, bringing her small, unconscious frame back to the cell. It was so practiced it was routine.

Then, the unexpected happened.

Beorn heard the sound of a body hitting the ground above him, the sound of armor smacking stone sounding down the stairs and to his cell. He stood immediately, his eyes scanning the entrance of the dungeons as he listened. Another THUMP sounded from the chambers in which Rue was being held. Now, Beorn's worry increased tenfold. This was not normal. This was not routine.

After a moment's silence, the name slipped from Beorn's mouth before he could stop it. "Rue?"

"Right here." She appeared in the entrance of the dungeons, leaning against the stone. She held a bloodstained Orcen blade with one hand and clutched her side with the other. Then, in between her panting, she moved her hand to reveal a set of keys. A ghost of a smile formed on her lips as Beorn watched in shock. "We're getting out of here."

"Did you plan this?" Beorn whispered as Rue worked on unlocking his cell, though he already knew the answer. The metal clicked when the key met it's opening. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it would've put you in more danger than we already are." She said, moving aside to allow him through. He stepped outside of his cell for the first time in many moons; the Orcs had lost their taste for Shape-Shifters years ago. "And if I was to fail, only I would've been punished for it. Let's go."

After abandoning the keys, Rue led him up and above the dungeons, surveying the surroundings of Dol Guldur. "I've mapped the whole area out," She reassured him, "We'll be fine. But in order for my plan to work, I'll need you to shift."

Her words were only met with a look of weariness and doubt. "I have not done so in years, Rue."

"Yes, but I know the strength of the bear runs through your veins, despite the magic in these halls." She encouraged him. Her green eyes reflected something Beorn had not yet seen in her. Determination. "I've unlocked your chains. The curses that bound you to your human form no longer have their hold on you. Do it, Beorn."

He stared at her, latching onto every ounce of confidence in Rue before making his decision. "You will not be able to keep up on foot." He knelt in front of her, flattening his back and bowing his head. "Get on my back."

The second Rue heeded his instructions, he had already begun to change. Her body felt every sensation of his shift as his human muscles grew enlarged and bulky. Her fingers felt the fur sprout from his skin, and she gripped on tightly. Though he hadn't told her this, she knew that if she fell off, there was no telling if she would be distinguishable from any Orc in their path. She was just as likely to be killed as they were.

Once his shift was complete, they were off. The pair bounded through the halls, roaring and screaming in their newfound victory. Beorn broke through doors and crushed Orc bone between his teeth, throwing the bodies away and snapping his jaws in success. As they ran, Rue wielded the Orc blade and sliced through Orc after Orc, the motion being both unrecognizable and familiar to her. Finally, they rushed out of the fortress and to the forest below, embracing the feeling of the wind on their bodies.

"NO!" Azog bellowed, throwing both hands on the stone railway as he watched his two captives escape. He stood at the highest tower within the fortress, surveying their movement through the forest. "BOLG!" His son straightened behind him, walking towards Azog and heeding instruction. "Run them down!"

Beorn and Rue ran faster than ever before, leaping over rock and tree as they pursued their freedom through the forest. They both knew it was only a matter of time before they were caught, and sure enough, an Orcen horn sounded behind them, followed by the howls of the Wargs. As much as Rue wished to kill every last one of their filth, she only held one blade. She and Beorn would have to outrun them.

The pair broke the forest line and raced across the plains before them, hearing the Wargs barking behind them. Beorn roared loudly into the night, quickening his pace even more than Rue thought possible. As they rushed across the plains, they searched for shelter, yet there was nothing in sight. All they could do was keep running until they could find a miracle.

And find a miracle they did.

The Eagles swooped down and grabbed the Wargs in their talons, hurling them across the landscape and killing them when they hit the ground. Some pulled the very skin off the beasts with their beaks, while others pierced their hides with their talons as they cried. Rue turned her head on Beorn's back, her eyes widening in shock at the scene behind them. What surprised her more was when Beorn made a sudden stop, throwing Rue off his back and sending her rolling on the plains around them.

One of the Eagles, presumably their leader, stood before them. The bird was easily the height of the tallest building in Dale. Then, it extended a wing, giving both Rue and Beorn a glance at it's rider. The robed figure descended from the beast, hopping on the grass and rushing over to the two of them. Rue spared a glance at Beorn, who had shifted back to his human shape. Then, the bearded man knelt beside them, his brown, pointed hat ruffling in the wind as his staff supported him.

"Good heavens! Are you two alright? Middle Earth had presumed you both deceased! Though, with a pack of Wargs following you in such a manner, it is of great surprise to me that you are not."

"Radagast." Beorn breathed upon recognition, bringing himself to stand. "Radagast the Brown."

"Yes, that is I. Greetings to you both." The wizard bowed his head quickly, helping Rue up with one hand and supporting her waist with the other. "Come quickly, now. I have a place in the Mirkwood, a place where Azog will not pursue you."

The pair exchanged a glance, walking to Radagast and following him into the forest. They went back in the direction they had come, yet, they had no fear; they had a wizard in their company, and the depths of Mirkwood were vast. They had faced Azog's wrath and lived to see another day. After centuries spent in captivity, they were finally free. And so the friends trekked on, ready to welcome the comforts of Radagast's hospitality and protection.