Sigrid could hear the muffled voice of her father from behind the large dining room doors. In the year since she had been gone, the household had gone through very few changes. The window coverings were sparse, the furniture even sparser; only things that were considered necessary - of which there were very few (in the sitting room in which she was standing, for example, there were a few chairs of mismatched shapes and sizes, along with a small side table that could only a cup or two and a small vase of colourful wildflowers that someone must have recently picked) - furnished the rooms.
Her home was in stark contrast to the streets of Dale. Sigrid couldn't help but stare in surprise at the people crowding the shops that lined the streets as she'd walked through the market. Although the snow had just melted only days earlier, lovers walked hand in hand down shadowed pathways, while children chased after one another, the sounds of their laughter filing the evening air. A tired-looking mother holding on tightly to her wiggling, impatient child was winding through the maze of bodies, while a shopkeeper to Sigrid's left turned her sign from "open" to "closed" while shooing a family of five out of her store. The vibrancy that she saw now had not existed before she left; there was little evidence that a mere three years earlier, the city had seen a fierce battle following a two hundred year period of abandonment.
Sigrid and Tauriel had both decided days earlier that it would be best for Tauriel to return to Mirkwood immediately following the journey to Dale; Sigrid wasn't certain of the reception that she was likely to receive by her family, and Tauriel was required to return to her post as Captain of the Guard as quickly as possible. They parted just outside of the city, when the sun was beginning to set; purples, pinks, and oranges had just begun painting themselves across the cloudless sky.
"Your belongings will be delivered tomorrow morning," Tauriel stated as she reached out to try to flatten Sigrid's windswept hair. "And don't forget to write as soon as you're able."
"Of course," Sigrid said half-heartedly, avoiding her friend's eyes. Goodbyes were always difficult. "Have a safe ride back." She turned to the horse she had ridden from Mirkwood and patted his mane. Having grown up on a lake, Sigrid had little experience with horses and was still surprised at the coarseness of their fur; she always expected them to be so much softer than they were.
"Of course", Tauriel echoed. She gathered Sigrid into her arms the best she could while still holding onto the white mare standing beside her, pressing her cheek into Sigrid's hair. Prior to letting go Tauriel whispered something that Sigrid wasn't quite able to hear, but before Sigrid could ask for clarification Tauriel was out of reach and on her mare. The moment had passed.
Sigrid reached up and handed Tauriel the reins of the horse she'd ridden from Mirkwood, eyes searching for signs of encouragement. "You'll be fine".
Sigrid laughed sarcastically. "I'm glad one of us thinks so."
One last smile of support, and Tauriel and the two horses were gone, leaving Sigrid standing alone at the gates to Dale. She looked beyond the gates to see the familiar cobblestone streets she last saw a year earlier, and, without hesitation (for if she hesitated, Sigrid feared that she turn around and run right back to the Woodland Realm), passed through to join the evening crowd on the other side.
Sigrid would periodically draw her scarf - the one the she had worn on the day of their escape from the dragon - more tightly around her shoulders. It wasn't so much to keep out the chill of the early spring, but to keep in the courage that she feared would leave her if she gave it the opportunity.
While the walk wasn't long, it seemed like in no time at all Sigrid arrived at the newly-forged iron gates that separated the king from his daughter. Although she knew - logically - that her father was king and that he needed protection, she hadn't expected to see the big, black bars that stood so forebodingly in her way. Standing in front of the gates, arms crossed with her jaw clenched in frustration, Sigrid scanned them and the surrounding walls for a way in; she had no key and there were no guards, leaving her stuck on the outside of her own home
"Oi - you girl! Standin' in front o' the kings gates like that. Scamper off, will you?" A booming voice called from behind her.
Sigrid turned quickly, surprised, and found herself nearly face to face – or, more accurately, face to chest – with a bear of a man who looked ready to carry her away from the gates if necessary.
She stuttered, attempting to explain that she was, in fact, the Princess and wanted to get into her house, but before even one word left her mouth, the man took another step toward her and lowered his voice. "You need to be a' headin' off now, girl."
Arms still crossed, Sigrid looked carefully at the man in front of her. Bearded and tall, it was nearly like someone had taken a dwarf and stretched it out until it was six feet tall. He was dressed in a blue tunic, a sword on one hip and keys on the other. His eyes bore threateningly into hers.
"Might you be a guard?" Sigrid asked politely while uncrossing her arms and putting on the noblest airs she could muster.
"Nnn," he muttered noncommittally. At his first glance, she'd simply been another commoner, loitering around the King's gates waiting to catch sight of Bard or his children; her hair was knotted and wild, her clothes obviously those of a traveller – with no proper dress she looked like a wandering she-elf, all leather and green and wind-burnt. But then, to his surprise, her demeanor had changed. She was no longer a child of the forest, but a lady of Dale that he recognized from a portrait in the King's study. "Lady Sigrid?"
She smiled and curtsied. "Indeed. I'd like to see my father, if you please."
"O' course," the guard said, bowing low. He hoped the bow covered the blush that spread across his face at not recognizing the princess. He'd seen her in person only once, the day she left for Mirkwood the previous year, but he'd seen her portrait nearly every day since then. "Stig, at your service, m'lady."
"These gates weren't here when I left. When were they installed?" Sigrid asked, not entirely concerned with the installation but wishing to make conversation while Stig opened them.
"Mmm, right after you left, m'lady. Some little bastards snuck into the 'ouse on a dare. Caught 'em red handed goin' down to the kitchen. Captain o' the guard decided to install 'em the next day," Stig explained, letting Sigrid into the grounds. Before closing the heavy gates behind her, he held out his large, callused hand for her to take. "Yer da will be right pleased that you're back, m'lady."
She took his hand in hers and shook it. "Thank you for your help, master Stig. I hope to see you soon."
With a nod of his giant, hairy head, Stig locked the gates and walked toward the market, soon out of sight in the dusk that surrounded them.
Sigrid seemed to float from the yard to the door to the sitting room to the dining room door. Somehow she had moved from there to here, but if interrogated, she would never have been able to tell you how. With the sun nearly set, the darkness of the sitting room began to engulf her, making the light emanating from underneath the door seem inviting. Sigrid moved her hand to the doorknob, not knowing whether or not she was prepared for what lay on the other side. Tilda laughed as cutlery scraped at the plates.
Taking a deep breath, Sigrid pushed the door open and stepped into the light of the dining room. The talking stopped. Cutlery fell. Sigrid looked up at her family, a shy smile on her face. Her father, brother, and sister looked at her, mouths agape, absolutely silent.
"Sigrid!" Bane cheered in surprise.
Before she could even register the mood of the room, Bard stood in front of her. Without hesitation he drew Sigrid tightly into his arms.
"Da!"
A few moments passed and Bard stepped back, a toothy grin plastered on his face. "Why didn't you tell us you were coming home?"
Sigrid's smile faltered as she replied. "I… I wanted it to be a surprise." While it wasn't entirely a lie, although the more truthful response would've been something to the effect of "I didn't know if I would actually come back and I didn't want to make a promise I might break".
"Well come sit down! I'll go get you a plate from the kitchen." Bard turned swiftly and jogged toward a door on the other end of the room. He left, leaving the room heavy with silence. Sigrid avoided looking at her siblings as she took her seat across from Tilda.
"How are you doing, Sigrid?" Bain asked. She looked to her left, where her brother sat looking genuinely curious. Well, that meant that two out of three members of her family weren't upset with her. She still didn't dare look at Tilda.
"I'm doing well, thanks," Sigrid replied, playing nervously with the hem of her tunic. "So much has changed in Dale! The walk here from the gates was so different –"
"Of course it was," Tilda interrupted, venom dripping from her voice. "You were gone for a year. Did you expect everything to be the same upon your return?"
Sigrid looked down, ashamed. Her eyes darted to Bain on her left, her father's empty chair to her right, a random painting of a pot of sunflowers behind Tilda. Finally, her hazel eyes met those of her sister. "No, of course not, I –"
Tilda pushed her plate away. "I'm done my dinner. Bain, tell Da I've gone to bed." Shestood up aggressively from the table, knocking over her chair while doing so. The hatred in Tilda's eyes was difficult to ignore. "Tell him I have a headache and I'm not to be bothered."
Sigrid followed her sister's movement as she stomped around the table to the door. Tilda looked back once in disgust but quickly turned her head as she opened the door. It slammed as she left the room.
Sigrid felt as though the air had been sucked out of her lungs. She'd expected Tilda to be upset, but it hurt so much more than she'd imagined. Bain tried to catch her eye and offer a supportive smile, but Sigrid's eyes were locked on the chair where he sister had, twenty seconds earlier, resided.
Bard re-entered the room, plate and glass of water in hand, to only two of his children, an empty chair lying on the grown, and an awkward, stony silence. He stood behind his eldest daughter and placed the glass and plate full of food in front of her. Before returning to his own seat, he squeezed her shoulders in support.
Clearing her throat of the lump that had settled there, Sigrid broke the silence. "Da, Tilda said that she was off to her room for the night."
"Yeah," Bain added, "she has a headache."
Bard knew of Tilda's anger toward her sister and was, unfortunately, not surprised at her reaction. He nodded.
The room was silent once again, save for the sounds of eating. Sigrid picked up her fork and took a mouthful of the food on her plate; she nearly died. The food in the Woodland Realm had never been bad, but it was never what she wanted. It always left something to be desired. This is what she'd wanted. Bread. Fish. Carrots. Eaten around a table with her family. Her family.
"So Sigrid," Bain asked after deciding the silence had gone on long enough. "How was living with the elves? Was it as awful as I think it would be?"
Having just taken a drink of water, Sigrid snorted, nearly choking before being able to swallow. The look on her face must've been funny, because – after taking one look at his sister – Bain's laughter echoed throughout the room. Sigrid joined in, not quite knowing what she was laughing at, simply basking in the presence of the family she'd missed so much.
The laughter reverberated out of the dining room and down the halls, reaching Tilda's room a mere few milliseconds later. She sat on the bench beside her window and stared at the mountain in the distance. Tears welled up in her eyes at the sound of the laughter, and she hastily tried to brush them away with the back of her hands.
Her sister was back, but all she wanted to do now was leave.