The Wondrous Tale of the Bee-wolf by bunn

Outside the long shaggy-thatched hall of Beorn, the winter wind was mourning against a sky grey with clouds that were heavy with the promise of more snow: a grey that was darkening as the short day failed.

A bitter blast followed Beorn into the hall through the great wooden doors, as he threw down the great bundles of hay that he was carrying before the four white ponies that were standing together in the hall.

Bilbo shivered as the wind came dancing into the hall, flinging stinging crystals of ice as it went, and Gandalf hastily got up to help Beorn’s great grey dogs push the door closed, before too much of the snow outside could come piling in.

It was far too cold for travelling in these mountainous northern lands, and so Beorn had invited Bilbo and Gandalf, who had travelled with him from Erebor, to stay until the spring warmed the land back into life.

“Your turn to tell a tale tonight,” Bilbo suggested to their host cheerfully. He had long ago overcome any caution in the company of Beorn.

“My turn,” Beorn said,shaking the last snowflakes from his head and shoulders. He stepped carefully over the assorted sheep and dogs that were warming themselves around the broad fireplace in the centre of the hall, and settled himself in his large, short-legged chair, holding out his great strong hands to the warmth. “What kind of tale would you fancy, for this night Bilbo?”

Bilbo considered, as a slender shaggy grey dog at least as tall as Bilbo was himself leaned heavily against him, offering him a basket filled with the apple-cakes that Bilbo had himself baked in the embers of the fire that morning.

“You’ve told us a good many stories about the land, the rivers, the goblins and the eagles. But you said that the Men of these lands were your people too, didn’t you? What about a tale of heroes for a change?”

Gandalf looked sideways at him, his eyes glittering in the firelight under his bristling eyebrows. “Did you not say, Master Baggins, that you had seen enough of war and heroes to last a lifetime?”

Bilbo wrinkled his nose and thought about it. “I did,” he admitted. “But perhaps the horrors are fading now, at least a bit. I’m sure good old Balin and Dwalin and Nori and Dori and the rest will be telling tales of fallen heroes in the Mountain this winter, and, after all, why not? Now it’s all over, for good or ill. ”

“I will tell you a tale of one of my forebears,” Beorn said, his face very serious. The wind was blowing hollow over the high wooden roof. Gandalf had got out his pipe, and he and Bilbo were both sending smoke rings across the long room, though both of them were running short of pipeweed. “A tale from long ago, when our people lived in the West, near the Sea. It is a dark tale at the beginning, but it brightens in the telling.

“It is a tale of a bear of my people. He was born in the wild mountains, born free to roam and fish and hunt, but when he was only a cub, he turned his skin, as our children do, sometimes, just to get the feel of it, while his mother was away hunting. Paws to fingers, long legs, and the feel of flesh on bare skin: oh, it is very strange, the first time ever you change.”

Bilbo stared at him, fascinated, imagining Beorn’s familiar face transformed the other way, from a Man into a great bear.

“And so it was that Men, a band of hunters from the lowland hills found him: a man-child, quite naked in a bear’s cave. He was too young to fight, only three years old, and too trusting to fear them. And they took him, and they stole him away.”

“Goodness me,” Gandalf exclaimed. “That was a risky thing and no mistake. Whatever did they hope to gain by it?”

Beorn shrugged massively. “No tale tells. They were called Hound and Spear and Grasp. And grasp they did, and took the child away to their King, saying that they had slain the bear that guarded the cave, who must have stolen him as a babe. But the child was too young to speak the Common Tongue, and he only growled at the King of Men. And why should he not?

“The King took him as one of his servants, and ordered him trained, for he could see that he was a hearty child, and Kings always need men to serve them. The King called him Bee-wolf, for that was how they called the bear in those lands.

“But this Bee-wolf would not take up arms, nor would he work as the King’s servants ordered him. And as Men often do, he was treated cruelly, and given many cuffs and little food and less love. They thought him silent and surly and so he was, and he sat ever in the corner of the hall, away from the feasting-benches. But he did not give up.

“Bee-wolf grew taller and broader, and took for himself fruit from the apple-garth and the bread from the kitchens, and as he grew, the King’s servants became afraid, and would let him take what he wished, for nobody was willing to stop him. Yet all this time he remained in the form of a Man, for he had near forgotten his own people, only that he knew to hold on, and not give up.

“And the King’s only daughter looked kindly on him, for she was a lonely child, and Bee-wolf was closest to her age in the royal household. Her mother had run from the cold King with his many spears, and left her daughter all alone.

“Bee-wolf would bring her, in secret, sweet honeycomb that he had taken from the wild bees of the wood, and the sweet fruits of wild strawberries. In return, she would sing for him to dance. For all our people have a great love of dancing, but there was precious little music in the hall of the cold King.”

“Now Bee-wolf was grown strong, though in the years of Men he was still counted as a child. Still he used no tool or weapon, for he could break a bow by bending it, and few were the tools that could withstand his strong hands. He began to swim in the rivers and the great lakes, and at last even in the Sea, and he caught many great fishes there. For he was always as hungry as a young bear in springtime.

“There was a man that was well known for swimming swiftly, and he was called Breaker. The men said of him that though his father had been a man among men, his mother was one of the wild sea-waves, and seldom came to shore.

“This Breaker was a man full-grown, and one day, meeting Bee-wolf beside the sea, he asked if the boy wished for lessons in swimming. And that was kindly meant, for little had Bee-wolf been taught in the court of the cold king.

“But Bee-wolf had grown proud as well as strong, and he laughed at Breaker, and taunted him, and leaped into the sea before him.

“Then they strove in the water side by side, and though Breaker was a strong man and well-accustomed to the Sea, he could not swim more swiftly than Bee-wolf. For five days they swam, and then the great waves came up and washed Breaker away, and cast him back up on the long sandy shores where the green waves roll in, singing of the Western Seas. And he was cold and bruised and salt. He told the men who found him on the shore that Bee-wolf had been taken by the Sea, and that Breaker could not save him, for all his skill at swimming.”

“Dear me!” Bilbo observed. “This is a terribly cold wet adventure that poor Bee-wolf is having.” He held out both his hands to the roaring fire, feeling all the more warm and cosy.

“Few adventures are comfortable,” Beorn replied, with a grin that showed just the tip of a white tooth. “The waves lifted Bee-wolf and he swam on, seeking the shore. But there was no land beneath his feet.

“Then the terrible Nixes came, with their long tusks, full of anger. Bee-wolf was sore put to it to wrestle with their slippery wet bodies among the wild and writhing waves, under skies purple and blue with storm clouds, rising and falling with the great green waves. But he did not give up. He dealt the Nixes great blows, and at last when he had killed many, they fled from him out of the heart of the Great Sea, and he swam after them, grim and angry, until at last he found himself on a dark shore in the distant North, and all around him on the beach were the great bodies of the Nixes that he had slain.

“A long walk it was, home to the court of the King. But he knew no other home.”

Here Beorn paused to take a long swig from his flagon.

“Poor Bee-wolf,” Bilbo exclaimed, and Gandalf puffed out a stuttering series of smoke-rings that went dancing merrily around the fireplace.

“You’re a kind-hearted little thing, Bilbo,” Beorn said, meditatively, after considering the fire for a moment. “But I don’t know that Bee-wolf himself was too sorry for himself, for he was a hero, you see.”

“I’ve known the odd hero to be sorry for himself,” Gandalf put in. He puffed out a smoke ring that, unlike the rest, was a clear greenish-blue. “More than the odd one, come to think of it.”

Beorn wagged his mighty head thoughtfully. “Well, if Bee-wolf was, then the tale doesn’t mention it. But I think it didn’t occur to him. I don’t think anyone had ever caused him to think gently of himself, unless, perhaps, it was the king’s daughter.

“At any rate, he had not long been back at court when the word came along the coast that a king of the southern lands had built himself a great hall, and it was called the Hall of Gold, because the roof shone golden in the sunlight.

“But also it was called the Hall of the Cold Hearth, for no-one dared stay in that place after the sun had set, and the fireplace was left cold. For every night a creature of the night would come, and anyone living that was found in the hall, he would tear limb from limb, and devour.

“Now, Bee-wolf heard this, and thought to himself that to defeat the monster would be a deed for a hero, and that to bear a hero’s name and be honoured by men would be a fine thing. So he asked leave to go to the Golden Hall, and the king agreed.

“And the king’s daughter came to him in secret, and she gave to Bee-wolf a warm red woollen hood that she had made.

“And the next day, she came to him and gave him a fine leather belt that she had made, worked with a pattern of bees.

“And on the last day before he left, she came to him in secret and she gave to him her name, to take with him for luck. And that was a great matter in those days, when women did not give their names so freely as they do in these lesser times.

“So Bee-wolf took the hood, and the belt, and the name, and he set off to the Land of the Golden Hall.

“It was a long journey and on the way, he met one who was called Handshoe, for the great leather gloves he wore, made from dragon-skin by the Dwarves of the mountains, which gave him the power to overcome any enemy.

“With him, there was another, who was called Ashwood, and men said that his mother had been an ash tree of the forest, and he bore a long spear, and he was very tall, and his hair was as green as ash leaves in the springtime.

“Now these two were great heroes whose names are remembered in many songs out of the south. They had heard that there was a great deed to be done in the Land of the Golden Hall, and little willing were they to share the renown they hoped to win. For they were proud heroes, with necks as stiff as fir trees, and eyes as proud as a cock on a dunghill.

“But Bee-wolf said to them that he was willing to take the third place, and let them try the adventure first, and indeed, he was used to taking last place at the king’s court, so that was not new to him. So the three heroes went on, with Handshoe in front, in his great scaly gloves, then tall Ashwood, and last of all, Bee-wolf, who was the least tall of the three but had the broadest shoulders.

“And when they came to the King of the Golden Hall, Handshoe went up first to the King, and he offered to slay the ettin that night, if he was paid in gold, and no help would he take from any man.

“And so that night Handshoe slept alone in the Golden Hall.

“But when morning came, his great dragonskin gloves lay on the floor of the hall, spattered with the hero’s blood, but there was no sign of Handshoe at all.

“Then spoke Ashwood, and he said that he would slay the ettin that night, if the King would promise to give him a reward in gold and Handshoe’s great gloves, and if Bee-wolf would sleep near the hall and come if he called for aid. And Bee-wolf agreed to that.

“But when the next morning came, the great dragonskin gloves lay on the floor of the hall, and Ashwood lay there, split end to end, like a sapling that had been torn in two from the topmost branch to the root.

“And Bee-wolf took the two halves of Ashwood and spread them with honey and joined them with his own belt that his King’s daughter had given him, and put him in the care of an old nurse who had looked after the king of the Golden Hall as a little boy, until he should grow back together.

“But Bee-wolf himself asked the King of the Golden Hall if, in return for freeing his hall from an ettin, he would give Bee-wolf a treasure of cheese and cream and golden honey to feast upon.

“Now, this King had a smith who he liked very well, and the smith’s name was Unfriend. I expect you know Unfriend. He comes into many stories.”

Beorn looked expectantly at Bilbo, who had to humbly confess that he had never heard of Unfriend before. Beorn frowned, and shook his head.

“I shall have to tell you more tales of Unfriend, then, before the snows subside and the roads are open once more. But in this story, he is only the King’s smith.

“Unfriend said to the King: if Handshoe and Ashwood and many other heroes could not slay the creature, what chance is there that this man can do so? You’d do better to build a new hall somewhere else, where the monster will not come. Besides, the steward says we’re short of honey.

“Bee-wolf shook his head, and he asked Unfriend: if this ettin comes into the Hall of the King, where is safe from him? You might build another hall, and it would be no safer than this one.

“And the King listened to this, and he agreed that Bee-wolf should have his chance.”

“So, Bee-wolf looked around at the servants of the King of the Golden Hall, and he found three that were thin and quiet and sitting in the corner away from the benches. He asked them gravely if they would aid him in his task. And they said that they would, if Bee-wolf would share his feast with them.

“These three servants were called Half-a-pint, Clod, and Chicken Feet. Bee-wolf set Clod and Chicken Feet to wait, one either side of the great doors, and Half-a-pint, who was very small, he set on a long shelf that ran below the roof-tree. Bee-wolf himself lay down before the main door to the hall to sleep.

Now that night was cold and long, and outside the Golden Hall, men shivered in huts and stables and under hedges as a bitter wind blew. But in the Golden Hall, the air was still and not too cold, and Bee-wolf snored, and Clod snored, and Chicken Feet snored.

“But little Half-a-pint did not dare to sleep in case he might fall off the shelf, and he watched with eyes wide and fearful, as the door creaked quietly open and a shadow deeper than the shadows of the night slipped in.

“Then Half-a-pint remembered the promise of the feast ahead, and he cried out, as loud as he could: Bee-wolf! Bee-wolf, wake up!”

Beorn said this in a very sudden and loud booming voice, causing Bilbo, who had been beginning to doze a little in the firelight, to fall entirely off his stool onto the straw-strewn floor, where he was picked up and brushed off by Gandalf.

“Dear me!” Bilbo said, once he had regained his composure. “I don’t think I would be as good at acting the look-out as Half-a-pint was. I must have been half-dreaming, and I almost felt I saw the door open, over there, and black fingers reaching in to grab me. I couldn’t say a word. I was more pleased than I can say when you shouted and I fell off my stool!”

Gandalf laughed. “You need not fear anything worse than a passing nightmare after too much cheese, Bilbo,” he said reassuringly. “There are very few goblins left around here after the Battle of Five Armies. So the Eagles report.”

“You know that I am cautious, yet even I agree with them,” Beorn nodded, and refilled his great flagon with mead from the jug. “And though ghosts and shadows walk the nights they keep to themselves.”

“And ettins?” Bilbo enquired.

Beorn laughed. “I’ve never seen one. I think those might only be for stories.”

Gandalf puffed on his pipe. “I’ve never seen one, I admit. Still, who knows what remnants of the Dark Years still wander the houseless hills. I doubt they’d want to tackle Beorn.”

“They’d know the tales of my forebears, no doubt,” Beorn agreed, and laughed for a while rumbling to himself, as the fire crackled, and one of the tall hairy dogs rolled on its back and leaned lovingly against his boot.

“Go on with the story!” Bilbo urged him.

“Ah yes! So the shadow came creeping into the Golden Hall in the darkest darkness of the night, and a small cold wind came with it, until Half-a-pint cried out his warning.

Then Bee-wolf and Chicken-feet woke up in a hurry. Bee-wolf leapt to his feet, and Chicken-feet grabbed at the long legs of the monster, and tried to trip him up.

“But the monster kicked Chicken-feet away into the corner of the hall, and he knocked Half-a-pint from his shelf.

“Then Bee-wolf was on him, and they grappled together mightily, rolling here and there across the hall, breaking the benches as each sought to overcome the other. Ah, it was a fine fight, that one! The ettin lifted Bee-wolf and tried to break him, but Bee-wolf held on, and he did not give up. And the ettin threw Bee-wolf against the walls, but Bee-wolf did not give up.

“And all the while, Chicken-feet and Half-a-pint were leaning on one another, and holding out their hands, and shouting advice (which Bee-wolf paid no attention to, for he had more sense than to listen to either of them).

“Then Clod woke up, and he screamed at the top of his voice — like this: Eeeeeeeeeeeeee! And he rushed up and bit the ettin on the ankle.

“Now, Clod was not very strong, and the ettin brushed him away as if he was nothing at all. He almost was.

“But Bee-wolf saw it, and he grabbed the ettin by the hand, and bit and twisted the monster’s arm until it broke clear in two. And the ettin ran away out of the hall and away down the hill, leaving a trail of blood, and one arm behind it, with five long steel claws to it, still clasped in Bee-wolf’s hand.”

“Now, when the morning came, the King of the Golden Hall returned to his place, and found the arm mounted above the door, and Bee-wolf, Chicken-feet, Half-a-pint and Clod sitting beside a roaring fire admiring it.

“Then the King of the Golden Hall declared that there should be a great feast. A feast of cheese and cream and golden honey, and all four heroes ate their fill that night, and drank well on mead.

“And that night, the King and all his servants slept in the Golden Hall, and Bee-wolf, Chicken-feet, Clod, and little Half-a-pint had a place of honour among them.”

Beorn stopped speaking for a while, looking into the white-gold heart of the fireplace, and stirred the embers with the fire-iron. “And that makes for a good enough place to stop for the night, I reckon.”

Gandalf, who had heard the whole tale in several different versions many times down the years, smiled. “A fine tale for a winter’s night — and I think I agree that is a good place to stop for now, with thanks to our host.”

“Thank you very much, Beorn,” Bilbo agreed. “Is there more to the story? You said that there was more about Unfriend, earlier.”

“There is more to the tale,” Beorn agreed, as he got up and stretched to his full, remarkable height. “A good deal more about Bee-wolf too, if you’d like to hear it.”

“We would,” Bilbo agreed. “And we should have time, surely. The winter doesn’t seem to be getting any warmer.”

“It will get colder than this,” Beorn agreed, “And many dark days yet lie between us and the thaw.”

Chapter End Notes

The character Unferth or Hunferð is called Unpeace in Sellic Spell, and Tolkien's idea is that he may have been a popular character, someone that storytellers would put into their tales as a familiar character with a known tendency to be mocking and unhelpful.

Bee-wolf, of course, is another name for the bear, though Beorn's relationship with his amazing giant bees seems to be notably un-wolf-like.

Version 1 of this chapter referred to Grinder as an ogre, when *clearly* he should be an ettin! And I've also changed a line to make it clear that Bee-wolf was taken from his mother's cave, not from both parents.

I wrote this for the Hidden Paths minor Tolkien works event - though it took me much longer than I had somehow anticipated, mostly because I added a fair bit of fairy-tale elaboration to the story.

FOREBEARS. *cackles*

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The next morning did not so much dawn, as gradually lighten to a paler bluish-grey. Outside the house of Beorn the wind cried across a landscape that was leached of all colour: black, grey and white.

“Is it like this every winter, here?” Bilbo had poked his nose outside the door briefly, when Beorn went out, and retreated swiftly to the fireside.

“Most winters,” Gandalf told him. “It gets considerably colder, East of the Mountains, than it generally does in the Shire. Apart from in the Fell Winter, of course.”

“I was just thinking of the Fell Winter,” Bilbo grumbled, shivering at the very thought. “Frost nipping your nose, not to mention your toes, wolves coming over the Brandywine. I don’t envy Beorn his winter weather. I suppose at least he knows to expect it, so he can get his stores laid in. That was the great trouble with the Fell Winter, you know. It just went on and on, and nobody knew when it would end, or if it ever would. The Horn-call of Buckland sounding out desperately in the night... did I ever tell you about the wolf-watch? ”

“You may have mentioned it once or twice.”

“A terrible time. Terrible.” Bilbo stretched his curly toes, remembering the feeling of snow and hunger. “I expect you remember as well as I do.”

“I remember,” Gandalf said. “I remember the sledge your mother built to carry food all the way down to Hobbiton. She was a most remarkable woman, Belladonna Took.”

“She was indeed.” Bilbo wrinkled his nose, and looked up and sideways at Gandalf, who was attempting to clean his pipe with a straw. “I’m sorry I good-morning-ed you, that day when you came looking for someone to join your adventure. I should have remembered the help you brought us in those days. Mother would never have done that.”

“Tush!” Gandalf exclaimed. “No matter! A difficult time in many ways, the Fell Winter. My friends and I were glad that we could help.” He looked at his pipe and sighed. “I don’t know why I’m making such an effort to clean this. I only have one more smoke left in my pouch.”

Bilbo gave him a look of amusement. “Too late, Gandalf! I finished mine last night. If you’d spoken sooner, I might have spared you some, as Mother would wish me to, no doubt.”

Gandalf smiled. “Ah well. It has ended up being a good thing for us all that you didn’t let the Fell Winter squash you entirely out of the way of being an adventurous Took, Bilbo.”

“I suppose it was. One way or another, the dragon fell, the Mountain was restored, and Dale will be renewed. The loss of my position as a proper respectable Baggins who never did anything remarkable is a small price to pay for all that.”

“I’m inclined to think your mother would be be rather proud of you, Bilbo.”

“Perhaps she would, at that. I don’t think Father would... unless he thought it was the kind of thing that Mother approved of, of course! But I’m rather looking forward to getting back to being just a Baggins at Bag End again.”

Gandalf considered him with a gleam in his eye under his bristling eyebrows. “You don’t think the Shire might feel a little small now? Now that you’ve seen a little of what the world holds outside?”

“I can always entertain visitors,” Bilbo said, very firmly indeed. “I’ve had quite enough of adventures!”

******

Beorn was absent for much of the short winter morning, and when he returned it was with a heavy sack full of half-frozen carrots and parsnips,which were received with delight by Beorn’s ponies.

Once everyone had eaten, and the fire had been stirred up to fill the hall with a red light, Bilbo asked Beorn if he would continue the tale of the Bee-wolf.

Beorn shook his shaggy head. “Whatever shall we do with you, Mr Baggins? You have done nothing all day, while I dug up roots, and now you ask your host to labor on your behalf after the sun has set!”

“Ah, but one so mighty as yourself is surely not exhausted by digging up a mere sack of carrots?” Bilbo asked, rather daringly. He reckoned he had the measure of Beorn by now. “I will cheerfully tell you more tales of the small doings of my parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents, and remoter cousins to the ninth degree this winter, but just now, I am much intrigued by your tale of the Bee-wolf and would dearly love to hear more of it. I am sure Gandalf would, too.”

Gandalf nodded, puffing gently on the very last pipeful of weed that either he or Bilbo was likely to see before the spring. “Don’t leave us with only half the story, Beorn!”

“Oh well then!” Beorn huffed, trying not to show that he was pleased to have an enthusiastic audience. “Where had we got to?”

“Bee-wolf and Chicken-feet, Half-a-pint and Clod slew the ettin that came to the Golden Hall to eat anyone he found inside it,” Bilbo told him, helpfully.

“Now, that is not how the tale goes,” Beorn replied. “I said that the ettin, whose name was Grinder, came to the hall, and that Bee-wolf wrestled him, with the help of his friends, and tore off one of Grinder’s arms. But Grinder wasn’t slain. You don’t slay an ettin so easily as that. He ran off into the night.

“And indeed, that is just what Unfriend said to the King of the Golden Hall. Unfriend looked at the great gnarled arm with its long black claws, and he said: I wonder: Is Grinder dead, or only wounded?

“Now, at the time, everyone was far too busy celebrating to pay over-much attention to Unfriend, but the next day, Unfriend looked at Grinder’s arm, and he looked at the trail of black blood that led out of the hall and away over the hill, and he said: I wonder: Is Grinder dead, or only wounded?

“This thought began to trouble the King as he sat in his hall with the roof of gold. He began to wonder if Grinder might return to take back his arm, or send some friend or kinsman to take his revenge. And he looked less warmly on Bee-wolf, and on the third day the king himself said to Bee-wolf: I wonder: Is Grinder dead, or only wounded?

“Bee-wolf was of no mind to leave his task half-finished, and also, the feast was over, so he offered to follow the trail to where-ever Grinder had gone, and find out if he was dead. Now, it was Unfriend who had pointed out the trail in the first place, and the land of the Golden Hall was not land that Bee-wolf knew well. So Bee-wolf asked the King if he would send Unfriend with him to be his guide. And since the king asked him, Unfriend could not refuse.

“So Bee-wolf and Unfriend set out. Unfriend led the way up through the hills and woods and dales into the roots of the mountains, where Unfriend had often come seeking iron and gems, and Bee-wolf followed him, half a step behind all the way.

“At last they found their way to a long dark lake under the shadow of the mountain-side: the kind of lake that is near as cold as ice, and deep as the sky is high, and into the pool poured a loud waterfall white with snowmelt. There they found a Nixe, lingering on the cliff beside the pool.

“Unfriend asked the Nixe: have you seen the ettin, Grinder, that came to my lord’s hall and gorged himself upon living men? And the Nixe said: Perhaps.

“Then Unfriend asked the Nixe: Is Grinder dead, or only wounded?

“And the Nixe asked: Who speaks of my kinsman, Grinder?

“Then Bee-wolf stepped forward, and he said: I do. For Grinder has eaten the flesh of men as they slept, and Grinder has driven men forth from the golden hall that they built to sleep safe from the terrors of the night.

“And the Nixe looked strangely upon Bee-wolf, and said: is this not all that Men have done to us, Brown One? For Men came and drove us from the shores into the wild hills and the untame mountain-roots. They have taken our skins, and devoured our kin.

“At that, Bee-wolf was silent.

“Then Unfriend laughed bitterly and he cried out: So speaks a wicked monster of the wild!

“But Bee-wolf said: Grinder killed while men were sleeping, and he drove them from their home, yet had no good use for it. Grinder did more than hunt to live, and so it is that I must know if he is dead.

“Grinder is my kinsman, and I will defend him! the Nixe said,and it put on a water-form like a horned and hairless bull, and called like a great horn blowing then leaped into the lake. All around them, other Nixes raised their heads from the black water.

“Then Unfriend would have fled, thinking there were too many, but Bee-wolf laughed, saying: Many foes can give a man only one death. And though this cliff be ten fathoms tall, I have seen taller.”

"Unfriend thought Bee-wolf was over-proud. Still, he took a rope and tied it to a tree, throwing it down to the lake. And he promised to wait and draw Bee-wolf up from the water when he called.

"So Bee-wolf dived from the cliff, and he vanished into the cold blackness, and all Unfriend saw of him was his feet, disappearing under the water.

“Now, for a while Unfriend waited, as he had promised Bee-wolf he would do. But the Nixes watched him with fierce eyes.

“And in a while and a while, as the sun was falling, a great bloom of blood rose into the dark surface of the lake, and the Nixes were swimming swift and savage among it. Unfriend thought that Bee-wolf was surely dead. He would have fled, save that the Nixes were watching him, and he thought that surely they would scale the rope and devour him as soon as he turned away.

“So he unfastened the rope and threw it into the lake, and he fled as fast as his legs would carry him, over the mountain-roots and the green hills, and he came back to the Golden Hall just as the last of the light in the western sky was fading, and he said to the King: Bee-wolf has fallen.

“Then Chicken-feet, Half-a-pint and Clod, those three who had fought beside Bee-wolf against Grinder in the hall, called out in grief and disbelief, and swore that they would find Bee-wolf dead or alive, and bring him safely home, if that could be done.

“So they took up lanterns and went out of the hall. And now,” Beorn said, getting to his feet “I must do the same, for it will be a cold night, and we need more fuel for the fire.”

“Oh no!” Bilbo exclaimed. As a story-teller himself, he had a very clear idea how an audience should respond to a sudden break in the tale while the hero was unaccounted for. “Are you really going out without even telling us if Bee-wolf is alive or not?”

Beorn beamed at him, uncharacteristically cheerful as his grey shaggy dogs frisked around him like puppies. “I am indeed, Mr Baggins.”

“Well!” Gandalf said, “I hope you will hurry back, Beorn — if, that is, you would not like us to help with your task. We are, after all, your guests, and most grateful for your generous hospitality.”

This seemed to please Beorn even more. He looked the old wizard with his staff up and down, and put a hand down to estimate the height of Bilbo’s head. “Little bunny here would blow away in the wind by the time he was two steps from the door, I reckon, and...” he looked thoughtfully at Gandalf, and after a moment, tapped him gently on the brim of his pointed hat.

“It seems to me that you, Gandalf, have had enough of labouring through the wild winds of winter. You have been somewhat busy of late — and the lands about my house will be pleasingly free of goblins for a good many years after the Battle of Five Armies. That’s worth more to me than a little firewood.”

“I have been busy indeed. And I see a good deal more work ahead, too. I shall take your hospitality with thanks, and stay by the fire, for once.” Gandalf leant forward so the firelight played across his old face, holding out his hands to the fire so that it almost looked to Bilbo as though there was a ring on his finger; a ring with a stone made of flickering embers. But of course, there was nothing of the kind: only the wrinkled fingers of a tired old wizard.

Beorn did not stay long out in the breathless cold of evening, and when he came back, he stamped his feet enthusiastically to shed the snow, and then came straight back to the fire, where Bilbo had managed to produce what he thought was a very fine cheese-pie. The dogs were surprisingly good at baking bread, but it was, as Bilbo said, very pleasant for them all to have a change.

Beorn soon took up his tale again. “Now, as Bee-wolf dived deep in the lake among the Nixes and they came to nip and tear at him, the change came over him. His skin became thick as bear-hide, his teeth were knives, and his body strong and swift. The Nixes pulled at him, and he tumbled and struggled with them, and he lost his breath, but they could not hurt him, so they pulled him up to the foot of the waterfall and left him for their mistress to deal with.

“Behind the falls was a cavern, and there Bee-wolf turned upon the Nixes with a great roar, and sent them hurrying back to their lake.

“There in the cavern behind the falls was a mighty woman, tall and strong, with the teeth and ears of a great wolf, and her grey hair grew down her back. Ancient she was, and long had she dwelt in the shadows, strong in spells. And she said: Grinder is my son. Why do you seek him?

“Bee-wolf answered: Grinder is an eater of men, a power of greed that walks on two legs. I must know that he is dead.”

“Then she took hold of him and wrestled with him. Now, a bear is stronger than a wolf, you understand, and heavier, too, but Bee-wolf was a young bear in those days, and also he was unused to being a bear at all. And Grinder’s dam was filled with wiry strength, and she was fiercely skilled. As she grappled him, spell-craft was in her grip.

“Twice she threw Bee-wolf down grappling swiftly and shifting balance till he fell.

“Twice he stood again, and she snarled and dodged his flashing claws.

“The third time her teeth tore at his neck, but he caught her with his great arms and barely did she escape his hold.

“Then they rested for a moment, catching their breath with wary eyes in the ever-moving light that came through the curtain of the waterfall.

“Then Grinder’s dam said: My son is wounded to the death, and you come into my house to slay me too! Is there no limit to my grief? And she howled, and her voice was full of tears.

“Now Bee-wolf was troubled at heart. For Grinder had killed and eaten many men, and driven them from their homes, but of Grinder’s mother, he knew nothing.

“And the words that the Nixe had said came back to him, that Men had come and killed his kin. Bee-wolf looked upon his bear-form and he did not know himself.

“So he said: If Grinder is wounded to the death, then my task is done. If you do not steal men from the Golden Hall to feed upon, then I have no quarrel with you.

“Now, Grinder’s mother was old and strong. She had done many evil things in her day, and Unfriend could have listed all of them and a few more out of old tales, no doubt. But she was wise in her wickedness, and she knew herself outmatched.

“Therefore, she stifled her growls, and swore that she and her children would never again come to the Golden Hall, nor steal men away to eat.

“She brought Bee-wolf to the still form of Grinder where he lay beside the waterfall. Grinder’s eyes still glared, but he lay still, with a great wound where his arm had been, and as Bee-wolf reached out his claws, Grinder moved for the last time, and his blood ran red into the lake.

“All around Grinder were the remains of men that he had slain, and treasures that he had taken. Cups and helms and swords lay there, mired with slime from the lake and Grinder’s blood, and Bee-wolf left most of them there, for they belonged to no man living.

“He took only a hilt, from a sword long perished, and the hilt was gold and set with the red enamel figures of bears, and he said to the mother of Grinder: this alone will I take for the King of the Golden Hall, as weregild for the men your son devoured.

“And her eyes flashed green and greedy, for that had been the sword of a great man in Ages long gone and forgotten, but she said nothing.

“So Bee-wolf took the treasure for himself, and he left Grinder’s mother behind to mourn her son, leaping through the fall into the lake.

“When he came to the surface of the lake, he found the rope he had hoped to climb floating, and no sign anywhere of Unfriend. Around him the Nixes began to swim close and nip at him, but no harm could they do him, so thick was his fur, and nor could the cold water harm him. He swam down the lake, along the cliff. By now the sun had set and the moon shone round and bright in the dark water. The Nixes called to him, telling him that he must drown, for he was not made as they were for a land of moon and stone and deep water.

“He paid no heed to them, and swam on, and on, until at last he came to a place where the cliff dipped low to the water, where the Nixes were used to climbing out onto the bank, and there he climbed up into the moonlight, with the gold sword hilt still held to his chest.

“Bee-wolf did not know the mountain-roots, nor yet the wild hills. This was not his own country, and he did not have the way of it. That was why he had asked Unfriend to come with him as a guide. So he wandered in the dark, cold and chill and uncertain, and as he wandered, he lost his thick fur and his claws and teeth, until, when he saw the light of the lantern held aloft by Chicken-feet, he was chill and bare as a man-child, holding nothing but the old sword-hilt.

“But Half-a-Pint took off his hood, and gave it to Bee-wolf, and Clod gave up his cloak, and Chicken-feet his woollen vest, and they went along quite cheerfully, all the long road back to the Golden Hall.

“And when they came to the Hall, Bee-wolf went in and there was the King taking supper. Unfriend was there, and he was speaking loudly of the blood he had seen in the lake, and how Bee-wolf must be long dead.

“Nay! Cried Chicken-feet, as he came into the hall. See! Bee-wolf lives, and he has triumphed over your enemy, O King!

“And Bee-wolf said: Grinder is dead, not only wounded. I saw him die. His blood ran into the lake. He will eat no more men of the Golden Hall. I took from his treasure this sword-hilt, as token he is dead.

“Now Unfriend stared, and spluttered, and protested, speaking of the Nixes in the lake.

“There are many dangers in the roots of the mountains, Bee-wolf told him. Those Nixes are not the greatest peril I have seen.

“The great Bee-wolf would have been in less peril if Unfriend had not deserted him, Chicken-feet said, and there was not a man there, not even the King himself, who could deny it.

“The King stood up, and he looked at the hilt that Bee-wolf laid before him in awe, for it was an ancient thing. Then the King gave his judgement:”

At this point, Beorn got up and began to declaim loudly, as if he were a king speaking to his whole court, if the court had been made up mostly of dogs, ponies and sleepy bees.

“Bee-wolf is a fighter unmatched in my Golden Hall, and he has freed us from the ettin. He warns us of great dangers, of which our good servant Unfriend also has spoken. None of my people shall go again across the wild hills to the mountain-roots, but shall dwell here beside my hall, in freedom and in peace.

“And in token of Bee-wolf’s great deed, Unfriend shall make a sword for this hilt such as was sung of in days of yore. For Unfriend is as great a smith as Bee-wolf is a fighter.

"Then the King laughed, saying that Unfriend was not made to face the perils of the mountain-root. Unfriend was bitter angry at this, but he could not deny it.”

Beorn sat heavily back down in his low chair and took a drink from his cup, before he went on.

“So Unfriend took iron from the forge, and he wrought it long with his bitterness and his anger at his humiliation before all the people in the Golden Hall, until it became a great dark sword. Unfriend fixed it to the golden hilt that was worked with a pattern of bears, but once it was done, it was as if serpents were twining around it.

“And he took it to the King in his Golden Hall, saying angrily: here is the mighty sword I have made for Bee-wolf as you commanded, lord.

Bilbo knew better, of course, than to interrupt the tale-teller, but he could see where the story was going. He had heard tales of cursed swords made in anger before. So he silently made a face at Gandalf, as we do, when we know the tale will turn dark, but can’t stop listening.

Gandalf winked at him.

“So, the King stood before the hall before the evening meal, and he called upon Bee-wolf, who had just come in with Chicken-feet, Half-a-Pint and Clod beside him.

“And he said to Bee-wolf: here is the fine sword that Unfriend has made to fit the hilt you took from Grinder’s hoard. Will you take it, and bear it to defend my Golden Hall, as my thane? For I would do you honour.

“Bee-wolf looked upon the sword, and he saw the sharp edges, swift to cut and kill, and the darkness that flickered along the blade.

“Bee-wolf shook his head, and he said: Never have I borne blade, save the weapons of my body, and I have no mind to do so now. Indeed, I came in just now to say farewell, for Chicken-feet here has a mind to walk in the oaken-woods this summer, and Half-a-pint has a mind to try new beer, and Clod is coming with us.

“Now this made Unfriend even angrier. But there was nothing at all he could do. The King of the Golden Hall took the great sword and hung it on the wall, where it made a very pretty picture, I’m sure. The King said he was sorry to lose Bee-wolf, and said many times that he was welcome to return at any time.

“And Bee-wolf and his three friends went off out of the Golden Hall, down the paved road, beyond the trimmed fields and the neat coppice-woods, until they came to the place where the mountains lifted blue on the horizon, and the trees lifted up their long grey arms to hold the stars high above. And then Bee-wolf took up his bear-form, and Chicken-feet took off his boots, and walked proudly on his claws. Clod shook himself until he looked more like a badger than a Man, and Half-a-Pint walked on in the middle of them happily enough.

“And so they went away, and after a while found new adventures, of which there were many. But that is the end of this one.” Beorn beamed and sat back in his seat, pleased with a tale well told.

“Well, that was a bit of an eye-opener at the end, and no mistake!” Bilbo exclaimed. “I was sure Bee-wolf was going to take the sword and get himself killed with it in some grim and Mannish way. Still, it was a very sensible choice, I must say. I think he did quite the right thing.”

“The natural choice of the Baggins?” Gandalf suggested, and there was a light of quiet laughter about him.

“Perhaps it is, and what’s wrong with that?”

“Not very Baggins to go off wandering the world: I think that is your mother in you, Bilbo,” Gandalf said. “Bilbo’s mother was a most remarkable hobbit, Beorn. But something that both Hobbits and those descended from the great Bears of the past share, it seems, is their desire to turn back with determination to food, comfort and rest.”

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed. “Adventures have a way of scooping you up and carrying you along and that’s all very well in its way but I’m really very glad it’s all over with. But that was a jolly good tale for a cold night after the fall of the Dragon, Beorn. I wish I’d made some notes of it now.”

“I think you might find it would not be the same tale if you wrote it down,” Gandalf said. “Some tales are different according to the place, and the time as well as the storyteller — not to mention the listeners. I think this might be one of them.”

“I was surprised that Bee-wolf didn’t marry the king’s daughter at the end,” Bilbo told Beorn. “A bit of a change from the usual fairy-tale ending, that.”

Beorn laughed uproariously. “ An ending for your people, not for mine, Bilbo Baggins!” he said once he had caught his breath. “Not all peoples arrange themselves in the manner of Men and Hobbits. My people are not great folk for making marriages.”

“So how do your folk make children?” Bilbo enquired, fascinated, before it occurred to him that this might be a somewhat delicate question. Gandalf shot him a most amused glance, and Bilbo went rather pink and thought to himself that he had been away from the society of decent hobbits for far too long.

“Oh well, children? That’s quite a different matter!” Beorn, thankfully, seemed entirely matter-of-fact and unoffended. “Bee-wolf had a good number of those. One or two of them might even have been with the King’s daughter, after she became a great Ruling Queen. That is how he is numbered among my ancestors. But I’m sure she had many lovers. She was a Queen, after all.”

“Really?” Bilbo exclaimed, somewhat taken aback. He himself had never got around to marrying, what with one thing and another.

But then, he thought, considering his current location and company, he was hardly the most respectable of Hobbits any more. And was there anything wrong with that? No, there was not, whatever the Sackville-Bagginses would say about it.

“Well,” he said. “There are a lot of ways of doing things that I never thought of before, and many wonders in the wide world.

"Perhaps we could have a tale from you tomorrow, Gandalf. You must have all sorts of stories from your adventures through the years. Why, I remember my mother telling me how you went all the way to the City of the old Kings once, through the land of the Horse-Kings. That must be a fine tale: surely they aren’t really Kings who are horses? Though now I’ve heard Beorn’s tale, I can’t help wondering.

“And then, there was another time, Beorn, when Gandalf told my mother all about Dorwinion, which I’ve only really heard of as a name on the distant edges of old stories. I remember I asked old Balin about Dorwinion at one point and he said the Dwarves knew very little about the place either, but that Gandalf was the man to ask, if anyone. Now I come to think of it, I’ve always wanted to ask Gandalf about that elf out of distant history that he mentions sometimes, so admiringly. Fëanor, was that the name? ”

“I might be able to dredge up the odd story,” Gandalf admitted, “If I ever manage to get a word in edgeways between fables that you think I might have told Belladonna, Bilbo.”

“This woman, Belladonna, Bilbo’s mother,” Beorn said. “You both speak of her often: she seems a person of importance. Let's have a tale about her, next.”

Chapter End Notes

I've long wondered about how Beorn who in the Hobbit lives alone in a house with a bunch of ponies managed to turn into the entire people of the Beornings mentioned in Lord of the Rings. But I looked up how bears organise themselves for this fic, and discovered that bears don't pair for life and female bears raise their cubs alone. Cubs in a single litter can all have different fathers.

So, now it all makes sense! Beorn probably has cubs all over the place with various Ursas and Ursulas, all ready to grow up into Beornings to guard the roads and make excellent honey-cakes.

In the first version of this story that I published, I referred to Grinder / Grendel as an ogre, but having checked the etymology, he shouldn't be: he should be an ettin / jotun -> an eater, devourer of men.

Tolkien decided in Sellic Spell to take out the part of the legend where Grinder's mother is also an ettin who comes to the Golden Hall to avenge her son. But I thought that left her killing by Bee-wolf feeling oddly brutal and unnecessary. After all, if she's not actually a risk to the Hall itself, only a horror of the distant cave, killing her just for her treasure doesn't seem very heroic (which might be Tolkien's point of course). Anyway, I decided my Bee-wolf would just wrestle her but leave her alive.

The Sources

Though Sellic Spell, to read, is more obviously a retelling of Beowulf, according to the History of the Hobbit, it also calls on material from the more-obscure Hrólfs saga kraka. I haven't read that, but the element that comes from Hrólfs saga kraka seems to be the idea of the hero found in the den of a bear, which I've obviously leaned further on to turn Bee-wolf / Beowulf into a bear skinchanger. Thanks to various people from Dreamwidth and the Silmarillion Writer's Guild discord for helping me work track this information down!

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