Lord of the Rings: Warriors

"Boom! Boom!" The heavy thundering of hooves echoed as a battalion bearing the banner of the Zaltarion Dragon approached the vicinity of Carrock.

"Stay alert and watch the surroundings! We don't know if there are Orcs in the area!" Lance called out, seated firmly atop his warhorse, his eyes fixed on the towering silhouette of Carrock ahead.

Clang! The heavy cavalry unsheathed their weapons in unison. The glint of sharp knightly swords and the deadly sheen of polished lances reflected a chilling cold light.

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! 

Three feathered arrows shot out in succession, embedding themselves firmly in the ground ahead of Lance and his troops. 

The sudden appearance of the arrows brought the advancing party to an abrupt halt.

"Stay sharp! It's probably not Orcs!" Lance's cautious voice, though serious, carried a trace of relief.

"Why do you say that?" Jessiava asked in confusion.

"If it were Orcs, those arrows would be lodged in your forehead or your throat, not the ground," Lance replied, shaking his head.

"People of this land! I wish to speak with you! We mean no harm!" Lance spotted several boats floating on the river in the distance.

Quickly sheathing his weapon, he rode forward alone, his hands raised to show he was unarmed.

"Who are you?" A man wielding a staff and clad in a deep green robe emerged from the bushes.

"We are men from the North, from Rhovanion, and we serve the Kingdom of Zaltarion. We are on an urgent journey south to Gondor," Lance stated, eyeing the man with a sharp gaze. 

He immediately recognized him as one of the Druidic people.

"Zaltarion Kingdom? Never heard of it," the Druid replied, visibly puzzled.

"It's a newly founded human kingdom, nestled at the foot of the Lonely Mountain," Lance explained succinctly.

"Hmm… very well. You may come with me to meet our leader. But your troops must remain here," the Druid said, his tone cautious and firm.

"Understood. I appreciate your guidance," Lance placed a hand over his chest in a gesture of gratitude.

"Beorn?" Lance's eyes widened in surprise. 

The man before him was unmistakable — the legendary skin-changer Druid who had played a pivotal role in the Battle of the Five Armies. 

(Due to the intervention of Rynar and others, Beorn's role in that battle was far smaller than in the original timeline.) 

While Lance hadn't witnessed Beorn's rampage in person, Lady Aivy's recording crystal had captured vivid images of Beorn transforming into a massive bear, tearing through enemy ranks like a living meat grinder.

"You know me?" Beorn asked in astonishment. 

It had been a long time since he'd left his homestead, save for the Battle of the Five Armies — and that had only been at the wizard's invitation and in the interest of self-preservation.

"I saw your heroic display during the Battle of the Five Armies! Your bear form was a whirlwind of fury and strength, a true force of nature!" Lance didn't hold back his praise.

"Uh…" 

Beorn, a straightforward and humble man, wasn't used to being flattered. But Lance's words had clearly struck a chord. Beorn scratched his head, his face a mix of embarrassment and pride.

"Come now, it wasn't all that great…" he muttered, waving his hand dismissively. But it was obvious that Lance's words had filled him with joy. 

He even started to believe he was stronger than he'd thought.

In truth, as one of the few Beast Druids of Middle-earth, Beorn was an unmatched presence on the battlefield. 

With the ability to transform into a bear, an eagle, or a wolf, he was a master of both ranged and melee combat. 

His natural magic allowed him to summon shields of pure energy, making him a terror for both soldiers and knights alike. 

His mere presence on a battlefield was enough to strike fear into even the most hardened of warriors.

"Anyway, what brings you here?" Beorn asked, steering the conversation back to the present.

"We're headed south to Gondor, and we wish to rent some of your boats," Lance replied, glancing at the vessels bobbing gently on the river.

"Hmm, boats you say? Well, I suppose that can be arranged… for a fee," Beorn said, rubbing his chin.

"Of course. Here is the rental payment." Without hesitation, Lance pulled a small pouch of gold coins from his coat and handed it over.

Clink, clink! Beorn weighed the pouch in his hand, nodding with satisfaction. It was more than enough. 

With this gold, his kin could stock up on supplies they rarely had the chance to obtain. 

Unlike Rynar and his companions, who could amass wealth with nowhere to spend it, Beorn's community was in regular contact with nearby human settlements.

"Bring your soldiers in for some rest. It's not luxurious, but it's safe. No beasts from the Dark Forces dare to cause trouble here," Beorn thumped his chest proudly.

Lance twitched his lips, suppressing a grin. Indeed, only the most foolish of creatures would think to attack a band of Druids. 

After all, these nature-wielding warriors could strike from afar or engage in brutal close combat, and their transformations made them more beast than man. No one wanted that trouble.

"Wow! This place is so rustic!" Jessiava exclaimed, gazing around with wide eyes. The Druid encampment was like stepping into a pastoral dream. 

The air was fresh, nature thrived in every corner, and the absence of industrialized structures was a stark contrast to the usual human settlements. 

It was as if nature itself had cradled the village in its embrace.

"These Druids are weird…" Jessiava muttered, clearly unimpressed. His experience with Druids wasn't positive. Goblins had dealt with Druids for generations, often to unfavorable results.

"Dwarf?" Beorn's gaze locked onto Jessiava. His expression darkened. 

Druids and Dwarves were natural enemies. Druids revered nature, while Dwarves, known for their mining and smithing, were often seen as destroyers of the natural world.

"Ugh, just as I feared," Jessiava sighed, rubbing his face in frustration. He dismounted his horse and pulled back his hood, revealing his sharp ears and greenish skin.

"Hey, you blind or what? Do I look like one of those stubby muscle-headed Dwarves to you? Look at me — green skin, pointy ears! 

I'm a Goblin, not a Dwarf!" Jessiava stomped his foot, clearly annoyed. Goblins and Dwarves weren't on the best of terms either.

"…Ah." Beorn squinted at Jessiava, taking a second look. Upon realizing his mistake, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"Got any food? I'm starving!" Jessiava's stomach growled audibly. His earlier bravado melted away in an instant as he glanced around, sniffing for the scent of food.

"Uh, I just baked some biscuits. Want one?" Beorn offered, visibly relieved that the misunderstanding had passed.

"Absolutely! I hear Druid cooking is something special," Jessiava replied, nudging Lance excitedly.

Because the Druids had lived along the river valleys for generations, they'd perfected agriculture and animal husbandry. 

Their baking and cooking techniques had been honed over centuries. They could even create magical food with unique effects. 

For travelers lucky enough to taste it, it was an experience to remember.

"By the way, you got any of that cheese-jerky? I heard from my ancestors it was delicious beyond words," Jessiava asked, clearly eager to sample this legendary treat.

"Of course!" Beorn's grin widened. The warmth of hospitality was something Druids valued deeply. To receive the appreciation of outsiders was a source of pride.

With that, the group settled into the rustic camp, the smell of baked goods wafting through the air. For a moment, they could forget the dangers of their journey.

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