#beorns

The color had caused more stir than the length,  though it was getting longer now,  brushing your shoulders and you began fashioning bindings to keep it at your nape, still too short to braid. Your true hair color was showing through now as well, the mid-toned brown looking almost muddy against the fading colors.  On more than one occasion, you'd been overheard contemplating borrowing a knife from Fili to just hack it all off. Not that he would have let you. Honestly, the Dwarves were fascinated,  Thorin finding himself watching when you came back from bathing in nearby streams, silently lamenting the way the blue was leaving.

With an Orc pack on your trail,  you moved swiftly,  each night of camp spent in tension,  watch taken in pairs through the hours.  The day you sent Bilbo to scout felt almost surreal, huddled within the group for warmth as you awaited his return. What you wouldn't give for even just a hunter’s hood as fall began to descend around you.  You mentally traced the legs of the journey in your head, the Shire, and Bag End, which you'd unfortunately not had the privilege of seeing,  the trolls, Rivendell, the goblins and the carrock. Next was Beorn's, any day now you'd wager,  and then Mirkwood, Lake Town, and the Mountain.

You looked up when Bilbo reappeared,  the flurry of voices making you shake your head.  Today. Adrenalin was going to be your only friend as you ran, hoping to outrun the Bear. It was different,  the dead spring across yards of open field. There was no brief respite to dig a blade into an enemy, your destination so far before you. Long distance running like this had never been your strong suit. You'd always been fast,  but more predisposed for short bursts,  and your steps slowed, a stitch in your side, in your chest, breathing through gritted teeth as you pushed.

Not like this.  

Your body was the last to slam into the mass of bodies as the door opened, jerked inside and out of the way roughly, though you could give no complaint. Resisting the urge to double over and gasp, you raised your arms above your head, focusing on deep, slow breaths. The sounds of the bear outside faded as Gandalf explained where you were,  and you finally lowered your arms with a sigh. Safety, for the time being, felt like a luxury you didn't quite deserve.

The dwarves moved around you in the barn,  finding places to sleep for the night as well as a space to start on dinner,  and you moved through the space quietly,  gently stroking the muzzle of a creature that headbutted your shoulder,  not glancing to identify it.  So much had passed,  with so much still ahead,  and it felt almost overwhelming.  

“Y/N,” a voice at your back pulled you from your thoughts and you turned,  smiling at Bilbo. “Dinner’s ready.”

Nodding, you followed him back to the others, settling between Kili and Ori, taking the bowl offered to you. Conversation flowed around you,  and you lost yourself in it,  content to listen until Fili glanced around his brother,  “What about you,  Y/N? Do you have any tales?”

You glanced around the circle,  thinking of the stories you could tell,  a wealth of knowledge and legends drifting through your thoughts,  “Several, though they're not really mine.  We have books upon books of tales,  past, present,  future,  fantasies and realities.” Nodding to yourself,  you hunched some,  “Some tales feature the same hero, but the details vary. Like Robin Hood.”

“And who's he,  lass?”

“A thief,” your eyes cut to Nori and you smile,  “Some say he was a common man,  loyal to crown and country,  others, the son of a benevolent Lord, who lost his lands and title, but in all tales,  he's loyal to his rightful king.  Unfortunately,  when his King goes on a Crusade, leaving his brother to rule in his stead,  things start to go wrong.”

You paused,  shaking your head some,  “King Richard was a just man,  while his brother,  Prince John, was greedy.  The prince raised the taxes during his brother's absence,  leaving the people to nearly starve. Robin saw this,  and could not idly stand by,  and began to rob the tax collectors,  returning the money to those who needed it.  He was considered a hero to the people of the land, and gained support as well as forming a group of like-minded individuals to aid him. He was a renowned archer and swordsman.

In some tales, a trap is set in the form of a tournament, Prince John knowing Robin would not give up a chance to not only show his skills, but to win the hand of his lady love, Maid Marian. Every step Robin takes in any regard is followed as well as possible by the Sheriff of Nottingham, loyal to Prince John.  Many legends don't have an end,  but some end with King Richard returning,  pardoning Robin, and Robin and Marian marrying.”

You settle back some, shrugging, “I'm afraid I'm not much of a storyteller, however.”