mithril

XXVI.

— XXVI —

The gurgle of the river is calming and quiet. The rapids are slower here, just after the rushing flow of the Cadoc. I stand before the cairn in silence. Observing. We splashed through this shallow water to the shore opposite Beorn's house not an hour prior at his prompting. Thirty years have passed since the creation of my mother's tomb and now, but the stones are still white and untouched by the weather. Cared for through the long winters by the large man that stands behind me.

Ellidor was the same age I am now when she fell to the deadly bolt of the Orcs. Three decades of life and many great deeds in-between. The life of a warrior, a fighter. Someone filled with care and kindness. I could only hope to be half the woman she was. I step forward, pressing my hand against the pale stone.

"This is a fitting place for Ellidor to rest," Elrond speaks. He knew her, just as he knew her siblings and parents. His face is solemn with respect, but the expression is guarded. He watches me carefully, as do my friends. The rest of the company is silent behind Beorn and I. They stand on the snow-covered shore, allowing Beorn and I to pass words.

"Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for ensuring she rested well." I step towards the skin-changer, looking up at him with a genuine smile in my eyes. He doesn't move away as my hands reach up to close around his. Yet he doesn't look at me, either. Telling the story of her passing had brought emotions to his face. Painful memories that were obviously hard to recall. Perhaps my face reminded him of her.

Beorn had cared for my mother. Quite deeply, despite the short time they knew each other. I was no fool. I could read the mournful note in his voice as he spoke her name. The endless sadness as he told me about carrying her to this new home, where she would always be close. I recognized it because I had felt that distress once, when I feared for the one I loved. When I thought him to be lost to me. Both by blood and by greed.

"You bear her sword well," he tells me. His eyes are still glued to a spot over my head. My face too painful a memory to bear with my pale hair and similar features, no doubt. I understand that. I don't blame him for his stiffness. "Safe travels, Dúnedan. Will you be passing through these lands again?"

I glance back at Tilda and Bofur. I smile slightly at my two companions that will return with me.

"Yes, I believe we will. Look for us when the summer arrives, for I wish to return to Erebor before winter falls again."

The great bear-man watches us with a hooded gaze as we move to our lithe horses. The company rises into the saddles easily, something I note with a bit of nostalgia as I remember Bilbo's previous lack of skill when it came to riding the hooved beasts at the beginning of this great journey. The horses are calm and peaceful in the presence of Beorn, as all animals are. He stands like a statue as we turn the horses away. I glance back only once and find his long arm lifted in a silent farewell.

Angolain feels different now.

Īsonbruchen, Beorn had called it. He had translated it for me.

Iron Breaker. Bane of Chains. Destroyer of Bonds.

I had offered to leave my blade with him as an offering. As an apology for the loss of the woman he cared for. Beorn had gently rejected my offer, curling his hand around mine and pressing my fingers into the pommel of the sword. He pushed it into my chest, eyes flashing with something I could not read.

He would not be the one to take my blade from me, especially after it had served me so well. It was mine now, truly. Mine to pass to who I saw fit.

Elrond urges his horse next to mine with a single word. I glance at him, finding his face kind and filled with understanding. He knows just why I hold solemness on my lips and in my drawn brow. Beorn's voice is still echoing in my head, relaying the events of the past. It felt like catching a glimpse of an impossibly private story I never should have pushed to see. One like my own, in a way. Better left buried in the past than dredged up again.