Drop as the Honeycomb

by Night_Unfurls_Its_Splendour

Summary:

After she and her mother are attacked by Orcs, Hollace, a Woodman's daughter, is rescued from the edge of Mirkwood by Beorn.

Or, how the heck Beorn found a wife.

Chapter 1

It had been a fine morning in the middle of May when Hollace and her mother had set out, leaving behind the homestead near the banks of the Great River which it had taken ten years to establish.

Hollace's family were of the Northern clans, called by most "Woodmen" and were descended in long line from the Edaine of the Elder Days; heroes and friends of Elves. Though they were a humbler and more scattered than the great Horselords of Rohan (who were counted their cousins, if distantly now) they were nonetheless bold and courageous; and in defiance of the foul things that walked Middle Earth, some had travelled from the southern borders of Mirkwood up the vales of Anduin and settled some miles south of the Old Forest Road.

It was a rich and fertile wooded land, and despite the knowledge that they were home to Goblins and Wargs and all manner of other wicked creatures which threatened their livelihoods, Hollace's heart had grown to love living in the wild country in the shadow of the Misty Mountains, whose formidable peaks loomed to the West over the Great River.

Her father had been one of the first to venture into this land. Many had talked of it, but he had been the only one bold enough to actually begin to settle it. Kenward was his name, and he was as good and fine a man as may be found: tall and broad of shoulder, and a bold hunter as well.

But even the greatest and boldest of men may die, and die Kenward did. A bear had attacked his hunting party, and though he slayed the beast before it could reach any other of his comrades, it had slain him in its turn.

Hollace's mother Ethelind (who was as cautious as Kenward was bold) had never wholly taken the frontier life which her husband and daughter and savoured; but she was devoted to him (as he was to her) and would follow wither he led. A year after her husband's death, she now found that she could no longer bear living in the vales of Anduin.

As greatly as Hollace's heart suffered to be torn away from the land she had come to know as home, she felt and shared her mother's grief and burden; it was not an easy life. Winters were hard and there was much work to do to tend their home and sheep and cattle, and it was more work than Hollace and Ethelind could do on their own. Neither she nor her mother were too proud to admit that they were overwhelmed. Eagles—not just any eagles but the great, monstrous big Eagles that swooped down from the very heights of the mountains—had carried off many of their flock in the autumn and Hollace, though she was as mighty a shot with a bow as woman could be, was unable to fend them off without her father to help. It was a hard blow on top of everything else.

And Hollace also knew that one of the greatest reasons her mother had never been keen on the idea of settling in the wild country at the foot of the mountains was fear of attacks of precisely the kind in which her husband had been killed, though it was not her greatest fear that had come true to confirm all her misgivings. She had most feared the evil things that lived in the mountains. But the Wargs and Goblins had been less audacious in recent years than ever they had previously—before their numbers had been decimated in the Great Battle at Erebor nearly two years before. It had cowed them. But with the passing of time she always feared that some would either grow bold enough or desperate enough that even the fabled Great Black Bear which was said to have torn apart the Goblin leader in the battle and was supposed to have a den somewhere very near would not be enough to deter them any longer.

Ethelind had not been born to the Woodmen; originally she hailed from the lake-town of Esgaroth, and it was to Esgaroth that she and her daughter now returned. When the great Dragon, Smaug which had slept dormant under the Lonely Mountain for years upon years had been driven out by the heir of the King Under the Mountain and vented his great wroth upon Esgaroth, Bard, the long descendant of the Lord of Dale slew the wyrm with a shot from his mighty bow; but the Dragon's carcass had plummeted from the air and destroyed what was left of the town on the lake.

Esgaroth had now been rebuilt, and the old city of Dale, which the dragon had destroyed when first it alighted upon the mountain, was nearly rebuilt too. It was said that Bard was now to be made King of Dale. Ethelind, upon learning these tidings had begun to long to return and see her home restored to the glory she had only heard of in her grandmother's tales. She would seek out her cousins and relatives there, and Hollace could not grudge her these desires.

And so, travelling north, as lightly and quickly as may be, they had set out as soon as the Spring was warm to seek the path through Mirkwood.

The Old Forest Road, nothing more than a Goblin track for many years, was still in disuse, and Ethelind would not be easy until they had passed north of it. They would be taking the Elven path; much the safer road, if harder to find. The prospect of traversing Mirkwood was not so daunting as once it had been, though. In the same year as the Dragon's fall and the battle at Erebor, there were rumors of another battle in which the Elven Queen of Lothlórien had driven out the Necromancer from his southern forest stronghold, but Hollace didn't know how much to believe as fantastic a tale as that.

Whatever the reason, however, it was generally agreed that the Shadow which had long lain upon Mirkwood had somewhat lessened in the following years. It was still an ancient wood, uncanny and full of enchantments, but no longer did the giant spiders tend to wander as far north, nor in such great numbers.

The Elven path was many days journey north, though. They had been walking for two days and were only now coming to the old forest road. Hollace could feel her mother's anxiety growing as they drew near, and as much as she wished to allay those fears with encouraging talk, she found herself gripping her bow ever more tightly as the Sun sank behind the mountains. The creamy white wood of the holly bow--handmade by her father as a gift for her sixteenth birthday--seemed unnaturally pale in the gloom of the mountain shadows.

She heard no sound nor saw any trace of being followed, but neither did she hear any birds or see any small creatures and that always boded ill. Therefore, she wholeheartedly agreed when her mother insisted that they not stop for the night until they had crossed the road and were well north of it.

It was coming within sight now, a pale grey shadow on the ground far ahead, but they did not reach it.

Hollace had looked before and behind and all around them, but she had not seen what crouched in the branches above. Not until one dropped down and seized her mother. Shock and fear seized in Hollace's throat for a moment, but she quickly gathered her wits and was able to shoot the thing. It was a goblin.

Her arrow had struck it in the neck but before she could do anything more, she was seized from behind herself by a strong and irresistible grip around her waist and throat. She was hauled up as she kicked and struggled. Her bow had fallen from her grip but she was able to grab an arrow from the quiver on her belt with her one free arm and she stabbed back at the thing, hoping to pierce its flank. It let out a deafening roar as she twisted the arrowhead in its flesh and, howling, it dropped her. She fell on her hands and knees, scrabbling along the ground to get as far from its reach as she could manage before she got up. She looked wildly around for her mother, who she expected to see in a similar situation, but while the goblin she'd shot was lying in a heap on the ground, her mother was nowhere. Nowhere that Hollace could see, but in the distance there was a scream that made her blood run cold.

At the same moment however, an angry roar sounded behind her and she turned to see the hulking form of the Orc that had seized her. Not one of the small, beaky-nosed goblins of the Misty Mountains, but a great, huge Orc of the sort that had descended out of Gundabad, with long, strong arms and a great thick neck. It was shambling toward her at a terrific pace so that all other thoughts were driven from her but the instinct to run.

And so she ran, heedless of what direction she was going in or anything else. Forward, that was all the mattered. Behind her there was a loud crack and she couldn't have thought why at the time, but the sound made her insides twist. But that was a mere detail in the background and soon forgotten as she heard the crash of the Orc's footfalls behind her. How in the good green earth did such misshapen things move so swiftly? Hollace was a strong runner, and yet she could hear that it was catching up with her. Suddenly there was a horrible pain in her toes and she plummeted forward and fell flat on her belly, tripped by a root. Her teeth cut into her lower lip. She hurt in too many places for her to account for them all, but that didn't matter. She just had to get up and keep going. Yet just as she scrambled to her knees, a powerful grip seized a handful of her thick, curly hair and hoisted her up by it. She cried out but was silenced as the brute slammed her against a tree and knocked the wind out of her.

Then the dark forest swirled sickeningly as she was spun around to face her attacker and (when her vision came back into focus) she got a better look at him than she ever wanted of such a thing. The horrible face with its livid eyes was full of fury, lips pulled back baring rows of pointed yellow fangs under a snubbed, snout-like nose. Strands of filthy black hair fell in strings down over his face.

Hollace closed her eyes tightly and all hope began to drain out of her as the Orc put his huge, squamous hand around her throat and began to squeeze. Slowly. She didn't even bother lifting her hands to try and pry off the long, thick fingers.

That was when she realized that her arms were still free, and what was more, she remembered something that she was astonished she hadn't thought of earlier. She felt surreptitiously at her side and found that... yes! Her knife was still in its sheath at her belt. All Woodmen—be they father, daughter, mother or son—carried a knife on their belt for daily use whether for hunting, cooking, utility or protection. Actually, as Hollace would later observe, it was extremely fortunate that she had forgotten her knife until this very moment: if she had used it earlier, then it surely would have been knocked from her hand or lost when she fell and then she truly would have been in dire straits.

Just as this hope came to her, however, she opened her eyes and realized that trying to use her knife would be no use, for the Orc's reach was so great that, with his arm fully extended as he held her against the tree trunk, she would never be able to reach him.

But luck was with Hollace that night, for the Orc drew close as he slowly choked her, flexing his awful grip painfully around her throat, gloating over his prize. He put his face close to hers as she struggled, making a show of sniffing her sweat, and then, to her utter horror, he opened his mouth and swiped his hot, slimy tongue over her face, licking the blood that was pouring from her lower lip.

Foul as all this was to endure, Hollace was deeply grateful, for had he not done this at that very moment then she would have completely lost her strength. But revulsion kept her alert and as the beast seemed to growl in appreciation at the taste of her blood—an awful sound that made her shudder—she gathered all her strength and lifted her left arm around the orc’s neck, as if to hold herself closer to him. A look of confusion (but not displeasure) passed over his dreadful features, and he soon snarled with enthusiasm and licked her face again; she even thought his grip on her neck loosened slightly. Then she plunged her knife up into his belly, keeping her firm hold on his neck so that he could not easily escape her range before she landed another blow.

She did not pause or wait before she thrust the knife in again and again and again. Short, quick thrusts to the abdomen, her father had always told her, should she ever find herself in such a situation: hard to block and impossible to survive. She stabbed, and kept stabbing until her hand was covered in his foul, sticky black blood. His hand fell from her throat and he fell to his knees and keeled over with a stunned expression that Hollace couldn't fully appreciate at the moment. In the distance there was a great roar, like that of a bear, so mighty that it made the leaves of the trees all around quiver. She was gasping in breaths, her throat terribly sore as she, too, fell to her knees. She felt cold from head to toe and was shaking. Everything around her was swirling and fading and she collapsed next to the Orc carcass as all went black.

When she was next aware of anything it was very dim, but she heard a rustling as of a huge form moving through the woods near her, and then there was a loud snuffling like an animal, and she remembered the bear roaring in the distance and was afraid. 

But suddenly she felt as though she was being lifted by strong hands; not cruel ones, like the Orc's, but firm and quite gentle. And then, rather than the chill, damp grass, her cheek was pressed against something coarse, but wonderfully warm and dry. After that, what was left of her waking mind ceased to worry, and sleep took her.

~~~

 

Notes:

This chapter is very short for me, but I hope it was exciting and not too full of exposition. Very excited to introduce our favorite skin-changer in the next chapter.

The title for this fic is inspired by Song of Songs 4:11
"Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue..."
I'm terrible at choosing titles, but as soon as I had to think of one for this fic, all I could think of was all the honey references in Song of Songs, which seemed appropriate for Beorn, given how much he loves his honey ;)

A note on the names.
In keeping with Tolkien's naming conventions, I chose Old English names. Hollace means "by the holly trees". There's not too much significance in it, I just thought it was a, super cute name.
"Kenward" means "Bold Guardian" while "Ethelind" means "Noble Snake". (Snakes were associated with widsom and I thought that suited Ethelind's more cautious nature).

Chapter 2

Summary:

Hollace awakens after her ordeal and meets her host.

When Hollace wakened, she was laying in a very comfortable bed. She hadn’t much opportunity to appreciate this though, as her body ached from head to foot. Indeed, her right foot—her toes and ankle in particular—hurt most of all. She swallowed and that hurt too. Trying to recall what had happened to cause this, she opened her eyes and found herself looking into the rafters of a high, sloped wooden ceiling far above. The question of why she hurt so much was now driven from her mind by a new mystery: where was she? She tried to sit up, her aching muscles groaning in protest, when she saw a sight that made her feel certain she was either dreaming or delirious (though she did not think that she should be in so much pain in either case): a large sheep with fleece of the purest white she had ever seen was standing near her bedside. On its back was a wooden tray bearing a bowl of broth and an earthenware mug which, astonishingly did not spill a single drop of their contents as the animal, with practiced ease, maneuvered its burden onto a table next to the bed.

She lay there blinking at the sheep while it stood and blinked once or twice at her in turn. Then it turned right around and, bleating loudly, trotted off round a corner.

Hollace stared up at the ceiling, utterly unsure of what to make of this singular phenomenon, and trying to bring her mind to bear upon the issue of why she felt as though she had been crushed under a troll’s foot. But before she was at it very long she heard heavy footsteps approaching. Then she began to remember: the crash of footfalls behind her, of the Orc chasing her, tripping on the root—that explained the pain in her toes and ankle—its foul, slimy tongue on her face and the leering gaze of the abomination just before she had killed it.

The heavy footsteps came louder and now Hollace sat up, not heeding the complaining aches of her body as she did so. She was tensed, bracing in the bed against the headboard when the largest man she had ever seen rounded the same corner where the sheep had disappeared.

Her eyes were wide with wonder and fear at the sight of him. He was certainly no orc, though that was little comfort for he was seven feet tall if he was an inch. He wore a brown woollen tunic tied about the waist with a knotted rope which left his arms and legs bare. Both were bound with rippling muscles. His hair was a shaggy mane of coal black that hung down to his shoulders; much of his face was obscured by a magnificent beard—just as black—and his eyes were shaded by thick, dark brows.

He came no nearer when he saw how defensive was her position, but stood at the end of the bed, looking down at her with an appraising glance. 'She's pale still,' he thought to himself. 'But lively for certain. Her eyes are bright. That's good.' But his gaze lingered bitterly on the bruises that stained her neck. “You needn’t be afraid, I’m no threat to you,” he said aloud in a deep, rolling voice like the rumble of distant thunder.

Hollace relaxed only a little. In her gut she felt that he was being truthful, but her rational, practical mind was too well exercised to trust something so insubstantial as intuition in such a situation.

A silent moment passed and he huffed out a small sigh, almost a regretful sound. “You’ve every right to be on your guard, after the night you had, but you’re in no danger here, Lass." He spoke gruffly, but did not sound unkind. "Might put you more at ease to have this back.” He tossed a knife in a leather sheath which landed on the bed well within her reach. It was her own. She picked it up and drew it halfway, remembering the last thing she’d done with it. “I cleaned off the orc-filth and sharpened it for you,” he said. "It's a good blade, that. Well kept.”

She looked from the blade to the man’s face, trying to read it through the bushy beard and brows, but he was too tall and standing too far from her to discern much more than she already had. She hesitated to speak, and had a hard time making her voice work in any case. “Who-“ her voice broke and she coughed, wincing as her throat spasmed painfully. 

“There’s water in that mug there,” the man said, nodding to the tray. “Doubtless you need some; you’ve been asleep for nigh twelve hours straight through.”

She reached for the cup, glancing at it only briefly, reluctant to let her sight leave the giant stranger. She took a sip and then three more, for though it still hurt to swallow, the water was sweet and cool on her tongue. Then, after clearing her throat, her next attempt to speak was more successful, though her voice was a ragged croak. “Who are you?” she asked. “Where am I? And where—” the tingling chill of dread washed through her as she remembered the most important thing. How was it not the first thing that had come to her mind? “Where is my mother?”

"As to your first," he said slowly, "I am Beorn. As to your second, this is my house." But coming to her third question, he paused. His bushy brows furrowed and his forehead creased in an expression of deep sympathy.

~~~~~

Beorn had been following the scent trail of the three filthy beasts already when he heard the women's screams. Filled with fresh rage at the sound, he had charged off in their direction. What women could be doing so far from any village at that hour he could not guess, but it mattered little to him. Goblin filth daring to come down out of their maggot-holes in the mountains so near to his land was enough to anger him deeply, but that they were now preying on women piqued him to fury.

He found the one with the older woman first, but to his great sorrow and rage it was apparent that she was already dead, slung over the goblin's shoulder with her head at an unnatural angle, her arms dangling as the vermin ran as quickly as it could on its crooked legs. Not quick enough to escape the giant black bear's furious claws though, even after it had dropped the dead weight of the woman's body.

He followed that one's trail back south and west to the edge of the Mirkwood and found the second Goblin already slain by an arrow through its neck. A traveling pack lay abandoned on the ground, and near it a bow of pure white wood that had been snapped in two. Black orc blood despoiled the grass in a noxious pool near this, and a dripping trail of the same disappeared into the tree line. Orc stench mingled together with the cleaner scent of the human it had pursued as Beorn took off, following the trail with all haste, though he had little hope of finding this victim alive.

Before the Battle, the goblins had raided villages for slaves for their subterranean cities; but now, when they came out of hiding (however rarely they were bold enough to do that) it was for flesh, and they had neither the nerve nor the numbers to sport with their food much.

When he arrived at the end of the trail, however, the scene he was met with was not at all what he had been expecting. He did fear the worst for this one as well, for she lay prone and still upon the ground, but beside her lay the third in the attacking group; and this was no mere goblin, but a large orc. Its belly was a ruin of stab wounds, all inflicted by the woman herself to judge by the black blood which stained her hand and the knife which she still clutched. Beorn knew the Woodmen were well-armed and valiant—and the women no less than the men it seemed. It would have taken no small measure of fortitude to withstand a beast of that size, and to keep up the attack until the thing was dead.

Taking his Man's shape, he knelt beside her body and then saw that it rose and fell, as with breath. Quickly he put two fingers to her neck and found it warm with a strong pulse flowing beneath the smooth skin. Gently, he turned her onto her back and saw that she was quite a young woman, sturdily built and comely. The other woman must have been her mother, for they looked much alike, save that the mother's hair had been straight and the girl's was a mane of waves and curls, tied back away from her face. Her neck was badly bruised where the scum must have choked her, but as he examined the rest of her he found no other obvious injuries but a sprained ankle. She was alive, well, and to all evidence, now completely alone.

There was no question as to what was to be done now. He gathered the unconscious girl in his arms and began to carry her back to his home.

~~~~~

She was stammering now, clutching the bed linens in anxious hands.

"She...I remember I shot the-the one that attacked her, but then I... one grabbed me from behind, and I stabbed him and he dropped me... but then... I didn't see Mother anywhere..." she felt dread tightening her throat, which only made the discomfort worse. "Did she get away?" 

But in her heart, Hollace knew that her mother would never have fled while she, her daughter, was still in peril, and dread flooded her stomach as she saw the expression on the giant's face.

"No, Lass. There was a third one," he said, his voice soft but shaking with sorrow and anger. "I came across them before I found you, but I was too late to help her. I'm sorry."

All of Hollace's insides seemed to shrink and shrivel to nothing. She wrapped her arms around her middle and bent forward, all of her breath rushing out as the unimaginable settled in her mind. She remembered the feeling from when the men had brought her father's body back; but at that time, she and her mother had clung to each other and now... now there was no one left to cling to.

She glanced up at the huge man, Beorn, and a strange composure settled on her suddenly. "You're saying my mother is dead?" she rasped.

His eyes, dark and sad, looked into hers and he said simply, "Yes. I'm very sorry."

Hollace nodded numbly.

"If it's any comfort to you," he added, "I killed the thing that did it."

It was not precisely a comfort, but the hollow shrunken feeling of her grief momentarily subsided, replaced with a swell of rage and then of satisfaction as she imagined this huge man ending the monster that had killed her mother. She thought he must have been a terrible sight for the goblin to behold if the lingering fury lurking in his face was anything to judge by.

"Where is she?" she asked.

"She's here, you needn't worry about that," he replied gently, though his manner seemed a bit stiff, as if he was not used to such sensitive speech, though he plainly felt deeply for her grief.

"I want to see her," she said, fending off the half-formed yet vivid images of what her mother might look like in death that began to assail her mind. The sooner she saw the truth the better, she thought.

"Aye, of course," the man nodded solemnly. "First, though, I'd like to have another look at this ankle, before you move. If you'll allow."

Hollace blinked. News of her mother's death had driven the pain in her ankle far from her mind, but now that he mentioned it, it throbbed. She nodded silently and sat still as he knelt beside the bed and lifted the covers.

Carefully he unwound the bandage that he must have applied himself when he brought her here and lifted her injured leg. Despite his massive size and correspondingly large hands, he had a remarkably delicate and gentle touch, and his hands were pleasantly warm as he examined the bruising and swelling. The heat was comforting. Very intently, he asked her to try moving her ankle slightly, and though it was painful to do so, he nodded in approval as he observed. Then he re-wound the linen and stood to tower over her again. "I'm going to go... make things ready for you. I won't be long." Then he whistled sharply and called, "Truefast!"

A huge grey dog came trotting around the corner and sat at Beorn's feet. Then Beorn made some peculiar sounds which, though Hollace could not make anything of them, nonetheless were apparently some kind of language. He seemed to be instructing the dog, for it barked twice in response and then walked over and sat itself, alert and attentive, near to the bedside.

Beorn then turned back to Hollace and said in normal, human speech, "Truefast will keep you company while I'm gone. Anything you might need, he'll see to it."

Truefast barked again as if to affirm this and Beorn smiled at the dog as he went around the corner, leaving Hollace alone with her new companion.

She made an effort to stave off the dark thoughts of her mother's fate now by taking in as many details of her surroundings as possible. The bed she was in must have been Beorn's own, for it was huge—much larger than any bed she had seen in her life. It looked to be made of oak, plain, but skilfully crafted. The table on which the tray had been set was also made of oak—red oak to judge by the colour and grain—and was in much the same fashion, simply and beautifully made, with crossed legs. Looking ahead she could see what looked like a large main hall and a raised platform against the wall on which many spare tables and benches were stored. The light of a fire set great shadows of what must have been many large pillars quivering in the midst of its red glow.

When she had exhausted her examination of her surroundings, she turned her thoughts to her host. The name of Beorn was not unfamiliar to her, for he was known to a few of the Woodmen; a great woodsman and the enemy of all Orcs. This was a comfort, for the burdens on her mind were heavy. Her heart hurt, her whole body hurt and she would be grateful not to have need of worrying over her safety, especially when she knew she could not walk, let alone run.

Suddenly an image of her mother's terrified face as the goblin had borne down upon her burst through into Hollace's thoughts and smote her, and she curled up on her side, closing her eyes as tightly as she could and gasping for breath.

As she lay there, her insides shrinking again, she felt something warm and furry against her hand and opened her eyes to see that Truefast was nuzzling his head there whining softly with a look of kind sadness in his oddly intelligent brown eyes. She lifted a shaking hand to stroke the dog's fur and he huffed gently, resting his chin on the edge of the bed. Gradually, her hand fell into the rhythm of the big dog's breathing and the motion soothed her mind.

Ere long she heard the door open and Beorn's returning footsteps. He appeared around the corner once more, carrying propped on his shoulder a pair of crutches. She sat up as he approached, groaning softly with the effort as her muscles ached.

Beorn presented the sticks to her saying, "I thought you might prefer to go on your own feet."

She looked up and could now see that his eyes were a deep, warm brown, sparkling softly beneath his brows as he looked kindly down at her.

"Thank you," she said hoarsely, barely making any sound at all as she accepted the sticks. Each was wrapped at the top and on the hand-holds with what looked like wool batting bound with linen. She could see they were hastily made, but the work was by no means shoddy. She had no reservations as she put her weight on them and made to stand. She was focused on her task, but was not unaware of Beorn's huge form close by, stooping as she rose, as if prepared to steady her, should it be needed. Once she had gained her feet he guided her out to the main hall where she saw the great fire, whose tell-tale glow she had seen from her bed, blazing in the hearth in the centre of the hall. She did not examine the room further, but still guided by her host followed him out of the huge front door and into a large courtyard.

Early morning light filled the lawn ahead, though the courtyard itself was still draped in cool shadow. She followed Beorn around the corner of the eastern wing of the house where the sun was just beginning to warm the grass. The earthy scent of the forest was fresh in the morning air, mingled with the fragrance of spring flowers wafting from somewhere nearby.

Beorn stood aside and Hollace's stomach clenched. There, upon a bier of piled oak logs lay the still figure of her mother swathed in a shroud of snow white linen. Her head was uncovered (save for the strip of linen tied round her face and under her chin), her long dark hair spread beneath her, neat and smooth.

As Hollace approached, she caught the scent of bittersweet herbs that had been bound under her shroud and it brought tears to her eyes.

"I've taken proper care of her, best as I could," Beorn said quietly.

It was hard to look at the pale face, the bloodless lips, and the vestiges of the terror of her final moments which nothing could completely erase; but Hollace's heart swelled with gratitude for this man, this complete stranger, who had done his utmost to restore her mother's dignity to her in death. She looked up at Beorn and wanted to thank him, but a sob choked her and she could not form the words. Her head bowed again and she looked back at her mother. Never again would Ethelind look upon the Long Lake, nor would she ever see the newly restored glory of her homeland which she had so loved, and Hollace could not help but feel that it was all her fault. She had failed to protect her mother, and she was stricken with anguish at the thought so that she let her crutches fall away and collapsed to her knees, doubled over, weeping bitterly. Her ankle throbbed and her throat ached but she paid them no heed, insensible of nearly everything but the grief and guilt which wracked her.

Beorn’s heart, moved deeply at seeing the valiant young woman’s strength give way under her sorrow, compelled him to comfort her by whatever means he may.

Hollace suddenly felt spot of heat bloom at her shoulder: the hand of a massive arm which spanned her back. She leaned into its owner without reservation, sobbing uncontrollably as her head sagged against him.

How long they remained there kneeling in the grass, she did not know. She cried continuously, wailing and weeping until her voice died and her head throbbed. After a long while the arm around her shoulders tightened, and another was under her knees and she was lifted up, even as she had been in the forest the night before. Beorn was carrying her. They passed back into the cool courtyard and into the warm, fire-lit hall, and he laid her back down in the soft bed, pulling the covers over her. Still she continued to weep, though now her sobs had turned to whimpers. She opened her eyes and saw Beorn's massive form turning to leave her and a sudden panic animated her. Her hand shot out and grasped the hem of his tunic.

Beorn turned and found the girl's bloodshot eyes pleading with him. Pity flooding his heart, he took her hand that clutched his tunic and, folding it in his own huge paw, sat upon the edge of the bed; and he neither released her hand nor left her side until her hitching sobs evened into the heavy, deep breath of sleep.

~~~

Notes:

'Truefast' is derived from "Treowfast" (pronounced the same), and Old English word for "faithful".

Ethelind's head is tied around the chin with a strip of fabric to keep her jaw closed. Nowadays, morticians wire the jaw shut.