__Beorn's Point of Veiw__

A mouse crawled over his arm and he smiled, giving it the rest of the cheese he had been eating. It was evening and most of the animals had settled down for the night, leaving him alone with the seemingly hungry mouse.

Suddenly, something banged against the door. The mouse scurried up his sleeve, hiding from whatever pending danger may be coming. Beorn stood, the legs of his chair scraping across the wood floor. He waited, listening, but nothing stirred. He moved towards the door and peeked out the window. His bushy eyebrows furrowed at the deserted doorstep.

He opened the door and jumped back as a body thudded onto the floor, unmoving. He stared at it for a moment. It looked almost human, but there was something about it aura that made him second guess. Regardless, it wasn't an orc so he bent down, reaching out to push the hair out of the person's face. He studied the pale, ghost-like skin. Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead and several burn marks covered his arms.

He lay on his side and Beorn caught a glimpse of his ears, they were strange, pointed almost like an elf's. Beorn tilted his head. Elves didn't come this way anymore. What was this one doing here?

He tried to shake the elf awake, but he didn't stir. He debated taking him out to the barn for the night but decided against it. He didn't want the strange creature with the horses where he couldn't keep an eye on him.

Instead, he pulled the elf to his feet and dragged him over to the table, laying him out on it. He would care for his wounds and question him when he woke up. He had a hunch he might know who he was, but he didn't want to act before he knew for certain. Besides, if this elf was the same one who had been seen leading orc armies, he deserved to die slowly and painfully.

Beorn continued to study the elf's face. He looked a little like him, but his nose was wrong and the orc leader's face was longer.

Beorn retrieved a bowl of warm water, stirred in some lavender, and soaked a cloth in it. He would treat this elf as an innocent until he knew for sure. Gently he took the cloth and cleaned the elf's wounds. Most weren't serious, though probably painful. The gash on his head was what concerned the shapeshifter the most. It was likely the reason for his lack of consciousness though blood loss likely contributed to that as well.

He bandaged the wound and then let him be. He hoped the elf would wake within a few hours; however, that was unlikely so he settled himself down on the couch and began coaxing the mouse out of his sleeve.

Hours passed and soon the bees began to wake, flying around the house as the sun rose. Beorn yawned and walked over to the elf who had still yet to move.

He tried yet again to shake him awake but to no avail. Then he caught sight of what the elf wore on his hip. A small knife, embedded with the greenwood symbol of many years ago. He unsheathed it and tested its blade. Sharp. The handle was worn, smoother than sandpaper alone could do. No, this elf used it on a regular basis.

He studied the faded symbol. An elf who led orcs wouldn't carry an elvish blade. It would be too risky. This was some other elf. The only question was who.

Beorn shook his head. It didn't matter at the moment. He would simply care for him and find out later. He recleaned the elf's wounds, then gently lifted him off the table, carrying him to the couch and laying his limp body down. When the elf still didn't stir, he turned and headed outside. There were things to do in the meantime.

He came back to check his strange charge every few hours throughout the day, but there was no change. The elf simply laid there, chest rising and falling slowly. It wasn't until late that night, as he was stirring the fire in the fireplace, that he heard the elf groan.

He looked back over his shoulder just as the elf opened his eyes. He started at Beorn for a moment, then quickly pulled himself up and reached for the knife on his hip. His eyes went wide when he found it missing and he turned back to Beorn. "Who--" he started, his voice hoarse, then began to cough. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot when he looked up again. "Who are you? Where am I?"

"My name is Beorn. You collapsed on my doorstep last night. Now, who are you?"

The elf reached a hand up to the bandages around his head and winced. Then he looked up. "My name is Legolas. We--" he stopped and cleared his throat. "The Inn where I was staying collapsed in a fire. I must have stumbled upon your house by accident. I am in your debt, Beorn."

Beorn nodded accepting the elf's, Legolas', answer. He moved to the kitchen where he had left the knife and handed it back to him. Legolas took it, bowing his head gratefully.

"What are you doing so far away from an elven haven, Legolas?" Beorn asked. "I haven't known many elves to wander, especially these days."

"I was traveling to Rivendell when I was attacked."

Beorn hummed in understanding, but couldn't shake the feeling that there was something this elf was trying to hide. He ignored it for the time being. "You are welcome to stay here until you are well."

"Hannon le," Legolas whispered, leaning his head against the back of the couch. He still looked far too pale and he hadn't attempted to move much after he first woke. Beorn turned to the fireplace and heated the water in the kettle, bring it to a boil before placing crushed peppermint leaves into it.

The crisp, cool aroma quickly spread throughout the house and the elf opened his eyes and sat up. Beorn poured a mug of the peppermint tea and handed it to him. Legolas reached out with trembling hands and took it with a smile of thanks. Beorn didn't return it. He still wasn't sure what to make of him. Elves didn't travel much these days.

He gestured to a door to his left. "You may stay in there," he said. "But, I will warn you now, if I find out you hurt one, even the smallest of animals, I will do you worse then the fire. Understood?"

Legolas nodded, reaching towards a mouse on the table and letting it craw into his unsteady hand. He gave a smile and looked up at Beorn. "I wouldn't dream of it. Thank you."

Beorn watched him for a moment before reaching forward and taking the tiny animal out of his grasp. Legolas let him have it and leaned back, placing both hands on the mug as Beorn turned away and walked out.

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Beorn swung the ax down, wood splinters exploded as the block of wood split in half. He picked up another piece and repeated the prosses. It was hard to find things to do these days as the elf slowly recovered. He didn't trust him enough to leave him at the house while he went out, but the elf wasn't quite well enough to leave yet either. He swung his ax again, listening to the satisfying crack of the log.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the elf sitting on the front porch steps. One of the goats had taken a liking to him and stood beside him, nudging the elf's face with his nose. Legolas laughed and set aside the bowl of stew he had been eating, reaching over to scratch behind the goat's ear. The goat bleeped happily and Beorn smiled as he turned back to the task at hand.

Moments later, a tint of smoke murked the air and Beorn straightened. The goat bleeped again, but it wasn't out of joy. She turned and ran towards the barn, away from where the breeze that carried the dangerous scent.

Legolas stood and walked over to him, brow furrowed. "Something's burning," he said. "What's in that direction?"

Beorn set his ax down. "A village. And Orcs, more than likely."

"Orcs? Out of the forest?"

Beorn looked at him. How isolated had he been? "Orcs have wiped out nearly half the population. They are everywhere, not just in your forest."

Legolas didn't seem to know how to respond to that so Beorn left him, heading for the house. It wouldn't be the first time he had to fight an Orc pack. He went to the chest beside the door, pulling out a sword. Legolas had followed him and he handed the weapon to him. "You're coming with me. I don't want you here alone. Do you fight?"

Legolas took the sword, dropping its tip immediately, his stance that of a soldier. "Yes," he said. "I prefer a bow, but I am just as capable with a sword."

Beorn nodded and headed out. Normally he would shift now, but he decided to wait. The elf didn't know what he was and he would like to try to keep it that way if possible. He led the way, the elf following close behind.

The village was several miles out and by the time they got there, orcs had overtaken most of it. A building collapsed as flames ate it whole but the screams were drowned out amidst the orcs battle cries.

"You take this side," Beorn said, gesturing towards the west. "I will take them from the other."

But Legolas shook his head. "We ought to take them together. We--" he stopped, his brow furrowed. "Where are your weapons?"

"I don't need them," he answered and moved off, leaving the dumbfounded elf to fend for himself. The moment he was out of sight, he pulled off his shirt and legging and let himself go, trading skin for fur and a mouth for a snout. He let out a growl, letting energy sweep through him. It had so long since he had been able to take this form.

Orcs fled at the sight of him, but he chased them down, digging his claws into their oily flesh. They cried out as he swept them away, flinging them against the side of a burning building. He growled again, long and deep as the orcs retreated. He caught sight of Legolas as the elf cut their enemy down, one after another. This elf hadn't been lying. He was a warrior and a good one at that.

Legolas looked up."Look out!"

Beorn turned just as an orc, the leader by the red paint that covered his face, dared to aim an arrow at Beorn's head.

Beorn charged at him and dug his claws into his throat, killing him instantly, but the orc has already pulled the trigger.

Agony pierced Beorn's shoulder and he raised up on his hind legs, roaring in pain. The arrow burned, poisoned most likely, but it wasn't mortal. He pounced on the next closest Orc, taking out his rage on it. He chased the others down, letting their black blood coat the ash sprinkled earth until there was only bodies and flame.

His vision red, he scouted the area for more but their battle cries had gone silent. His heart hammered in his chest and heard his own breathing over the ringing in his ears, fast and shallow. He ran away from the battlefield and back to where he had originally transformed, seeking cover to shrink back into human form.

He cried out as he felt himself shrink, the energy leaving him. The fur twisted under a layer of skin. His snout pulled itself into his skull. He stumbled to the ground as the bones in his legs shifted, twisting back into human form. He cried out in pain, waiting for the transformation to stop. When it did, he lay there panting, eyes squeezed shut.

His body slowly adjusted to the new form and the pain level lowered in all but his shoulder. He looked to see the tear in his flesh, still oozing blood. The transformation had pried the arrow out, but it was still likely to become infected. He stood, looking around for it and instead spotted his clothes.

He pulled on his leggings but didn't bother with the shirt, it would be too painful. He continued to look for the offending arrow. He would need to know the type of poison to know how to treat it, though it was likely the same thing they always used.

Half an hour or so passed with no luck. He had pressed this shirt to the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but it was now soaked and he wondered how much more blood he could lose before he started to feel it affects.

He took one last scan of the area and headed back into the village, keeping to the shadows as the survivors scurried about, trying to put out fires and care for the injured. He found the elf among them, carrying buckets of water in an attempt to stop the last fire. No red blood coated him, but he swayed slightly as he walked. Beorn walked up beside him as he dumped the water on the flames.

"We must leave," he said. "They will not take kindly to us when they find out what you are."

Legolas turned to him. His attention immediately falling on the wound. "You're hurt."

Beorn nodded. "I have suffered worse. We have to go before they discover who you are."

But Legolas shook his head. "We came to help them. You should go back, you can't do much with that wound, but I can't leave with the fires the way they are." He lowered his voice. "Not again."

Beorn, seeing he wasn't going to get anywhere with the elf, nodded and headed out. He feared what they might do to him if they found out, but there was little he could do about it short of dragging the elf back. He glanced to the medal around his wrist. He knew first hand how cruel people of any race could be towards someone who wasn't like them.

Night fell slowly. Beorn sat before the fire and cleaned and bandaged the wound. The hoped the poison was the same as what Orcs normally used as that was the only way he knew how to treat it.

Hours passed before the door slowly creaked open. Beorn looked up as Legolas leaned back against the door. His skin color had faded by a few shades and his hand shook as he pushed his hair away from his face. He didn't say anything and instead walked right past him and to his room, shutting the door behind him. Beorn wondered if he was injured but didn't believe questioning him would be wise. The elf could become testy quite quickly when asked about his health.

He let the matter go, settling into the couch as a cat curled up beside him. He laid his hand on the cat's head, slowly stroking it as he closed his eyes.

Years passed and still, the elf wasn't restored to full health. Every time they fought, Legolas would have the same reaction when he got back to the house as he had the first night. After the first year, Beorn questioned him about it, but Legolas dodged the question, blaming it on him being tired.

Finally, several years later, after he had to save Legolas from a single oncoming orc, Beorn had had enough. "You didn't see him coming, how? A man would have been able to see him."

Legolas shifted uncomfortably, refusing to lift his eyes from his nearly untouched plate. "It was a simple mistake," he said it as if he was speaking to an army commander, not to a man who had saved his life. "It won't happen again." then he changed the subject. "How are the horses? I saw Grimwyn running again, but couldn't get a good look at her."

"She will be fine," he answered shortly. "Unlike you."

Legolas sighed. "I am fine, as I told you. I don't remember asking you to look out for my health."

"I think the way you showed up on my doorstep was asking enough." He paused, thinking back to that night. "You were on your way to Imladris from Mirkwood, why?"

"Don't see how that is any of your business."

Beorn leaned forward. "I trust you with my life every time we go out. Yesterday showed you might not be as well as you think. That, I believe, makes it my business. But you are an elf, immune to the sicknesses that plague mortals. Something is deeply wrong, is it not?"

Legolas bit the inside of his cheek. Then he sighed, his shoulder slumping. "I was bitten by spiders. Darkness..." he trailed off as if he was ashamed to admit the weakness. "Darkness latched itself onto my fea, tainting it. I am not as strong as I should be, and I might not ever be again."

Beorn sat back as he let the tale set in. It explained how he didn't recognize him to be an elf the moment he laid eyes on him, and the seemingly constant illness, and the reason he had been traveling to the elven haven. He leaned forward again, resting his arms on the table. "Why do you stay? I have heard the tales of the healing powers of Lord Elrond. Why do you not seek help?"

The elf still refused to look up. "If I were to go, he might not be able to help me, and if he cannot, I will be forced to either sail or work in the court of the king's council or something of the like, neither of which I could stomach. I need to fight. I need to help my own people as well as the others. It was what I was born to do. The Valar granted me life to keep the darkness at bay and if I can't do that, what good am I?"

Beorn didn't answer and Legolas pushed his plate away, standing an making towards the door.

"What of your family?" Beorn asked. He knew the pain this elf's father felt right now. His thoughts wandered to his own son, Beranald, and pain squeezed his chest. He was killed years ago, but the pain never seemed to diminish. Having the strange elf around took away some of the loneliness he realized, but at times like tonight, it reminded him of his own family.

Legolas' voice brought him out of his grievous thoughts. "I have sent word home that I am alive. That is all they need to know for now."

"It is a cruel thing to do to those you claim to love," Beorn said, crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair.

Legolas turned around. "I have to fight! You of all people should understand trying to protect your family! If I go, they will not let me back out. I will be trapped. A warrior banned from his weapons, a soldier without a sword. Defenseless. Weak." Beorn watched in growing sorrow as something broke in the elf's eyes. "I can't risk that..." his words trailed and he headed for the front door, grabbing his bow off the wall. Beorn let him go and the door clicked shut.

The cabin suddenly felt empty again and the cat that had been sitting next to him jumped down. He let out a sigh as tears pricked his eyes. He understood how the elf felt to some extent. It was the reason he himself fought every chance he got. Loneliness set in in his chest as he looked around the empty cabin. He hung his head and did the only thing he knew to do when he felt this way, he walked out and traided skin for fur.