A Better Place - The Hobbit Fanfiction

Alternate Entry Six - Beorn's Hospitality

It was soon decided that we would stay the winter with Beorn. He offered us room in his spacious home, and since the food was so plentiful and the hearth so warm we all agreed it would be far more pleasant to remain here than to trudge through the snow, especially once we reached the mountains. Bilbo was yearning for his own hearth, I could see, but as he and I were the least suited to winter travel, particularly if the snow fell too deep, he too agreed it was best.

“I do firmly believe it is far better that we stayed here instead of carrying on,” he said one morning, sitting on a stool to look out a window into Beorn’s back garden, a large mug of something hot clasped between both hands.

I was still bleary from sleep so I rubbed at my eyes and climbed the rungs on the back of his stool, my hands on his shoulders, so I could see what had prompted his whole-hearted dedication to our stay.

There was snow outside halfway up to the window ledge. I cried out in delight and surprise, so excitedly that Blibo flinched, clutching his mug tighter as though to prevent from dropping it.

I threw myself off the stool and skidded back into the room we’d laid our pallets out inside, grabbing one of my packs by the bottom and summarily upending it on my blanket.

“Mabyn?” Gloin grumbled from where he slept on my left. Bofur was on my right, and Bilbo slept on his right. Dwalin wasn’t in his bedroll on Gloin’s left but he often got up earlier than the rest of us. “What’re you on about?”

“There’s snow outside!” I hissed to him, bouncing in place as I scratched through my belongings until I found those meant for the thick of winter.

“It’s winter, Mabyn,” Bofur mumbled sleepily. “Snow is supposed to happen.”

“I’ve never seen so much snow before!” I gleefully returned, jamming my feet into my boots, arms into my coat and hands into my mittens. Feet pounding on the wooden floors I scrambled back to the door Bilbo was seated beside. Beorn had placed small step-stools at the doorjamb of every door in his home, on either side, so Bilbo and I could more easily reach the handles. I yanked the door open, hopped off the stool, hopped on the stool outside and yanked it shut again.

Roused by my gaiety Bofur and Gloin had decided to come see what all my fuss and sparkle was about. Grumbling about the chill the door I’d opened had left behind, they came to stand on their toes at the windowsill beside Bilbo, watching as I sprinted through waist-deep sloughs of snow outside. Bofur shook his head at me, and Gloin looked at Bofur. “Think you can handle all that energy, Bofur? My offer still stands.”

Bofur, knowing full well Gloin was smirking behind his beard, didn’t even deign to look at him. “Absolutely not. You can’t have her.”

Gloin snorted. “Let me know if you ever need a hand. Or a hostler.”

“Shove him for me, Bilbo, there’s a good lad.”

“I am not getting involved in this,” Bilbo calmly stated, blowing into his mug.

“Coward,” muttered Bofur, while Gloin laughed.

Outside, I was busy kicking my way through the waist-high mounds of snow, which sparkled around me and in the air like glitter. I couldn’t help laughing and making sound effects as the snow flew up in waves and then twinkled silently back down. I even started humming Christmas songs to myself.

Christmas. I stopped mid-swing, foot still in the air before me. It would be Christmas soon. I ought to ask the others, they would know what day it was. This would be the best Christmas I’d ever had simply because of the company I was keeping and the quantity of snow. I wondered how I’d make decorations though. I was sure Beorn had some scraps of something I could Chrismafy, somewhere. I was resourceful.