Content warning: This story contains Restricted (R) content, including intense violence, physical abuse, and trauma. This story is written for an adult audience.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, as none of the content is my original work. The characters are created by Stephen King and J.R.R Tolkien. The content belongs to MGM and Screen Gems, as the 2013 film remake of Carrie was directed by Kimberly Pierce and produced by Kevin Misher, and additional production is through MGM, Screen Gems, and Misher films as well as distributed by Sony Pictures.

Refuge

Shelter from the unpredictable, dangerous wilderness provided no assurance to Carrie. She couldn’t blame the foreboding tension that hung in the air like the smell of dirt and hay straws. Cheating death on numerous occasions made her scared and cautious. The life-and-death situation caused her to pay little attention to the nervous murmuring of the company.

The dangers they faced this far made her sympathize with their uneasy tension. She desired answers about the nature of their host. She lifted herself from the wooden floor and focused her attention on Gandalf.

“Gandalf, who or what exactly is our host?” Carrie inquired.

The question silenced the murmurs of the company who swiveled their heads towards Gandalf.

“His name is Beorn, and he’s a skin-changer” Gandalf replied.

A skin-changer? Carrie thought to herself as she unraveled each word’s meaning. She had heard of similar stories in her own world of such kinds of abilities among native Americans. She once came across the subject when she learned of her own powers. At the time, she dismissed it as a hoax that was not tangible like telekinesis. For all Carrie knew, it was simply a myth to make sure children behaved.

She did not know what to believe and waited for Gandalf to collect himself in the silence.

“Sometimes he’s a bear, sometimes he’s a strong man. The bear is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with.” Gandalf explained. He looked at each member of the company in a silent pause, as if considering what else to say. His eyes rested upon Dori with a serious look in his expression.

“However, he is not overfond of dwarves” Gandalf warned.

The statement gave Carrie little reassurance. Her worries grew about the type of individual Beorn was. Skin-changer or not, the idea of Beorn’s dislike toward dwarves caused her to tense up on instinct. The prospect of such prejudice simmered in her mind as the twilight gave way to the pitch-black dark of the night. It remained a consistent, racing thought as she tried to turn her brain off and let sleep overtake her. But nothing eased her trepidation about the news of the shapeshifter, not even the bale hay straws poking at her back.

She tossed and turned as quietly as possible among the echoes of heavy snores reverberating off the stiff, wooden walls. Her eyes drifted towards Thorin, who was lying next to her. A smile crept upon her lips, thankful he at least was getting some relief. The sight of his dormant form allowed a sense of peace and love to overwhelm her soul.

Sleep well, my sweet prince. She dared to slide her body into his arms, attempting not to rouse him. Carrie heard a small groggy noise of surprise while she rested her head upon his chest, and allowed herself to drift off to a peaceful slumber in the warmth of Thorin’s embrace.