A Tale of Time

Chapter 5: Honey Cakes

Chapter 5: Honey Cakes

Beorn has employed her help in the kitchen for the afternoon as the rest of the Dwarves continue doing odd jobs around the property. Cooking has never been her strength, but the recipe is easy enough to follow and it is rather relaxing. Apparently Beornings were known for their remarkable honey-cakes, a sweet cake that Gailien has only ever had the pleasure of tasting a few times and is eager to see if Beorn's claim is true.

As Beorn reaches past her as she swirls a wooden spoon around a large metal bowl, she cannot help but stare at his wrist which is cuffed in a shackle, the remanent of the chains dangling. Beorn has informed them already of the history of his people, his knowledge of Azog.

"I am not the only one to wear the shackles of my past," he says. Gailien's mouth opens partially, feeling slightly embarrassed for being caught staring. "Though you keep yours hidden by your clothes."

"I have never been held prisoner," she counters, her tone seeping with confusion. Her wrists and ankles are bare for she has indeed never been taken prisoner before. Beorn only gives her a knowing look.

"I do not mean the same type. But they both bind us to a time that we would rather forget." He takes the bowl from her hands, pouring its contents into another. "Yet it is that exact same path that defines who we are today."

Gailien's now free hand slowly rises to her back, feeling the jagged skin even through her blouse (her jacket left by her bedroll). Lately, her thought process has been challenged and rather than combating that challenge, Gailien is beginning to embrace it. No easy feat, but one that she knows is needed.

"You do not remove yours even though you have the choice. The Dwarves could take it off within a day. Why?" she questions, feeling braver than normal. Though they could not be any more different in appearance, Beorn and Gailien share a similar nature which has drawn them to each other.

Beorn does not take any offence to the question, which she is grateful for. "Because it is a reminder of what I fought for. Who I fought for," he emphasises. Gailien looks at his shackles once more. For years she cried, wanting nothing more than to be rid of her scars, to be normal and as tall as the other Elves yet Beorn stands here, letting his shackles hang from his wrists as a reminder by choice.

"I haven't been fighting for anybody though," she says quietly.

Beorn leans down, barely even reaching her height. "I wouldn't be so sure of that, small one. You can fight for yourself. And you wouldn't be travelling with the Dwarves for so long if you did not consider them as worthy of your loyalty."

Dwalin's cry of outrage echoes through the house, followed by Balin and Thorin arguing about something trivial. Gailien smiles, knowing that Beorn is right.

"Come now," he says, standing back up. "We have honey-cakes to make."

And honey-cakes they made. A mountain of them, enough to feed an army of Dwarves and Hobbits for days. Gailien isn't sure if Beorn just doesn't know how much to feed the Dwarves, but he expresses his enjoyment at baking which he has not done in many years and Gailien doesn't have the heart to express her feeble concerns.

Gailien snacks on the growing pile as the bake and by the time that Beorn is satisfied with the number of yellow cakes, her own stomach is sick, but she does admit that his are far better than any she has had before.

With the sun beginning the set, the Dwarves retire for the day and Bombur makes the usual stew, but they are gifted with fresh bread which soaks the stew nicely. The Dwarves all sit at the large table, chatting amiably about their day to any who will listen.