Warning: this chapter only contains mentions of Fíli, not actual Fíli-ness. That is why I posted both chapters at the same time! So, dear reader, if you'd like to skip to the next chapter, that's actually quite fine. This was meant to only be a brief tangent in the following chapter but ended up expanding into Bard/Fryg/Freja background. I'm also playing with the prophecy a bit and ultimately the Valar. However! That isn't essential to the main story plot. So! Enjoy the fluff (although it's not very fluffy) or go right along to the FílixKíli brotherly brotime in the next chapter.
Bard never knocked. He let himself in without so much as a greeting and waited for Fryg to acknowledge his presence. She took her sweet time, organizing pointless things and making a big point of not noticing him. They'd played this game before, but it didn't normally last this long. There could only be one reason why he'd be here this early. If it had something to do with the children, he'd already have spoken. No, she knew this was about last night. Rumors traveled fast in Laketown.
"You look as if you're going somewhere," Bard finally broke the silence, commenting on the pack she busied herself preparing. Instead of the Common Speech, he spoke in Dalish, the old language of Dale now mostly forgotten among the younger generation of Laketown. It was one of the Northmen's languages, similar to the Rohirric of the Rohirrim but with a flavor all its own. While it had been Fryg and Freja's first language, Bard had learned it later in life but was fluent by this point. Having the sisters constantly chattering in front of him without understanding a word had been a large motivation to learn quickly. In their adulthood, they'd made a point of speaking it when in private to keep the tradition alive.
"Berry picking," She responded likewise in Dalish.
"Berry picking…what sort? I thought it wasn't the season for any edible ones," He observed lightly.
"The sort with long ears that hop."
"Strange berries, those sort."
"Perhaps but they're easy to carry and easy enough to prepare. Far more filling than other sorts as well."
When the odd conversation ended, a silence fell over them. Long and drawn out, Fryg could bear it no more. "Just say it, Bard," She whispered a near growl at him. Fryg could feel his disproval like the heat of a fire.
"What were you thinking?" He kept his voice low, but that's how she knew he was truly upset.
Fryg shook her head, trying to smooth a strand of hair that had gotten loose. "I wasn't. It was a moment of weakness, lust, desperation – a combination of all three," She spoke forcefully but didn't make eye contact. One hand gently gripped her shoulder while the other tilted up her chin so she couldn't look away.
"Did he hurt you?" The edge of his voice was as sharp as a blade, but it did not nearly frighten her as much as the livid glint in his eyes. Bard was not a violent man, but in that moment, Fryg believed he could become one.
At first, all she could do was shake her head. When she found her voice, it shook, "no, no he didn't hurt me. It wasn't like that at all. We spoke on the dock for most of the night, and I invited him in. I pursued him. He's kind and gentle…and funny…I haven't laughed so much since…you know when…please, believe me, Fíli is…" Fíli was so many things. She didn't want to think about it.
Bard furrowed his brow at her apparent fear and let his hand slip to her free shoulder before pulling her into a brotherly embrace. "I'm sorry, Fryg…didn't meant to frighten you…just these dwarves…and if one of them hurt you…" Bard didn't need to finish the sentence for Fryg to know how it would end. She hugged him back tightly, finding comfort in his presence now rather than being irritated by it.
Ever since the beginning, when their father had taken in the orphaned Bard, the sisters' relationships with their father's ward had been entirely different. Freja and Bard had always adored each other. It had been clear as day. Fryg, however, had disliked her father's attention drawn elsewhere. It had been far worse than the addition of a baby sibling. Bard had been older, demoting Fryg to the position of middle child, and worse, a son that Fryg's mother had never been able to give to their father. The childish jealousy she felt had been overwhelming, but when it subsided, the two might as well have been truly siblings.
"Which one is Fíli?"
"Why does it matter? It was just one night. I won't be seeing him again."
"Oh, it matters to me."
Fryg tried to free herself by wiggling out of the hug, but he only tightened his grip.
"Bard," A warning tone.
"Fryg," A playfully serious tone.
She was trapped. She hated this game too. It hadn't been so difficult to win when he'd been smaller, but that was not the case these days.
"The young blonde one. Handsome. Long nose. Would you like me to describe other things?"
Bard quickly let go to avoid hearing those other descriptions, "the dark young one's taller."
"That's not what matters," She fixed her hair once more and huffed. Some things never change, least of all maturity levels between siblings. "Let's talk about you now. You put on quite a show yesterday."
"You of all people should take the prophecy seriously…" His joking mood deteriorated in less than a moment, and he took a seat at one of her kitchen chairs. "Those dwarves are going to be the end of us all. They'll wake the dragon, Fryg. There will be no gold. Those people are fools."
"Those people, our friends, are desperate, Bard. Can you blame them?"
"Yes, beyond just the idiocy of waking Smaug, they should know better than to trust a dwarf. Do you really think Thorin Oakenshield means to keep his promise? If, and that is a big if, they manage to kill Smaug, do you really think they'll share their gold with us?"
Fryg put her hands on her hips in defiance of his accusation, "I think we should not judge them so quickly."
There were quite a few things Bard wanted to say to that statement, but he knew better. Freja had been the even-tempered one of the sisters. Fryg had not inherited that trait and, although little, her fists always seemed to meet their mark with stinging accuracy. He'd learned that well enough growing up.
"I can't lose anyone else, Fryg. I can't. I don't care about the gold. I care about what happens if they wake the dragon. What will happen to the town? To my children? To you? All will be lost…"
"When, Bard, it's not if. It's when," She whispered softly with all the solemnity of a tomb.
He stared at her then, the fear that clutched at his heart showed in his eyes. "When…" It was the only word he managed to murmur. This was it then. This was the end. "…what can we do? The others won't leave. They won't believe us until it's too late."
She smiled sadly at Bard, even in this dark moment he thought of their fellow townspeople. Although she'd never had those feelings for him, she knew why Freja had felt them. "We prepare. You, by spending the day with your children, and me by taking care of a few things here and there."
"Berry picking."
"Yes, berry picking, but first, have you eaten anything yet?" She switched the subject as if they'd previously been talking about the weather and not the impending destruction of their home.
Slightly taken aback by the sudden flow of conversation, Bard took a few moments to answer. "No, I had left before eating and was going to go back when I heard about you and Fíli."
"Ah, well, I'm sure it's turned into something even more exciting by now."
"I'd imagine. If Fulla's sunk her teeth into it, you've probably slept with at least half of them."
"At the same time or one by one?" Fryg asked over her shoulder while assembling a modest breakfast for the two of them.
Bard took the small plate she offered him, "I guess that'll depend on who you ask by the afternoon."
Fryg took a seat opposite him and shook her head with a sigh, "I'm terribly sorry for causing such a scandal."
"No you're not," He said through a mouthful of smoked fish and bread.
She made a face of revulsion, "chew and swallow before speaking, Bard, really now, that's disgusting."
In response, he only chewed more open mouthed, "better?" A piece of bread fell out, and he did actually look slightly grossed out by his own behavior at that point.
"And you think the dwarves are uncivilized."
"Did you eat a meal with this Fíli?"
"No, but I'm sure he chews with his mouth closed and doesn't speak with it full."
"Perhaps that's why they keep their beards so long, for storing leftovers."
"That's just rude. Give them a chance, Bard."
"What for? You said yourself the dragon will wake."
"I did, but I did not say it would live."
"And then they'll keep their gold and nothing will change for us. We've already been over this."
"I think they'll keep their promise."
"Because one of their company appears to have some redeeming qualities you somehow think this will impact Thorin's decision."
"Fíli is Thorin's nephew so I should think so. Perhaps the uncle is not so different from the nephew."
Bard arched a brow at Fryg in disbelief. "You were intimate with Thorin's nephew." It wasn't a question, just a reaffirmation of the facts. "You had relations with Dwarf nobility." He looked like he might just laugh. It had been so long, Fryg would not mind if it were at her expense. However, that didn't keep her from responding tartly.
"I don't see why that's funny."
"It's not funny, just…if you had to sleep with one, I suppose you might as well sleep with the would be King's nephew."
"And heir."
"So the would be Prince."
"It is a little ridiculous I suppose…"
"A little."
"That's not why, so you know."
"I know, Fryg, but perhaps Fíli will hold his uncle to his word for your sake if not for the town's sake."
"We'll see. I do not think Fíli will be doing anything for my sake, however. We parted with little affection."
"On your account or his?"
"Mine. I am not so foolish to think anything long lasting could come of last night."
"You care for him."
"I won't deny it. Strange and sudden as it may be, yes, I do care for him."
"Life is strange and sudden sometimes."
"So it is."
"Will you be there to see them off?"
"No…" She cleared her throat of the emotions that had caused a lump, "I have no wish to watch him sail off to that monster's lair."
He nodded his head in silent understanding. There was something bothering him; however, Bard did not know how to bring it up. Still, there never would be a good time to ask such a thing. "Fryg…if you know that they will wake Smaug...how did you not know about…about that day…about Freja?"
His question was inevitable. She'd known it would come one day, but he could have picked a better time to ask. Her emotions were raw, but not answering was not an option. He had the right to know. Bard had been so patient with them – never asking questions about their secrets. "I don't get to choose. I only know what I know, and it feels at both so little and so much…" Fryg explained softly, using similar words her mother had when she and Freja had been children.
"How do you know?"
"I have always known, just as my mother and aunt always knew, and their mothers and their aunts knew and the prophetess, who you so kindly reminded me of earlier, knew…and just as Freja knew…" She did not include his daughters. They would bear the burden of their kin as well, but she did not want to trouble Bard further. He was aware, of course, but that did not mean they had to discuss it openly. Her answer was not entirely the truth, but it was close enough for now.
"Do you think she knew about…"
"I try not to…but…perhaps…sometimes I think she knew…she'd acted so strange that morning…" Fryg furrowed her brow, drifting back in her memories to that day. In hindsight, Freja had been acting so odd. She'd made Fryg promise to look after her family if anything had ever happened to her. It hadn't made much sense at the time, but Freja had seemed so bothered. Maybe it had only been coincidence, or maybe it hadn't, but there was no way to know now.
"Why would she…"
"That is the one thing we never know - the why for anything. It is better not to linger on those questions, hard as that may be."
He stared at his hands resting on the table as if the answers to all his questions might appear on them any moment. "It is impossible not to linger."
"I know," She reached out across the table to interlock their fingers in a loose embrace of their hands. The action unintentionally made her think of Fíli's strong hands, the way they'd felt against hers. The price she'd pay to hold them again, to simply feel them against her skin or tangled in her hair as they had been not so long ago. Now, those hands were preparing to go to war against an impossible foe. Those hands would be clinging to weapons when they should be put to better use. Those hands might burn within the mountain. A visible shudder went through her body at those unwanted thoughts, and a sharp inhale resulted from the forceful silencing of a sudden rise in her throat that threatened to turn into a sob.
"Are you alright?"
Fryg barked a short laugh that had traces of the suppressed sob. She felt Bard's hands tighten around hers. Who would have thought such a simple question could have such an outcome? Fryg had not thought so at the beginning of the previous night. At first, words were lost to her, so Fryg could only shake her head. "No…no, I'm not alright. I'm scared, Bard. I'm so scared and all we can do is wait."
His face softened at the revelation of her fear. "I'm scared too, Fryg, but we'll be okay. Even if we lose the town, we, this family, will be okay. I made a mistake for which I can never forgive myself, but I will not make another of that nature. I promise I'll keep us safe."
"Her death wasn't your fault."
"It wasn't yours either."
This was not the first time those words had been spoken to the other, and it would not be the last, but it was never believed by either party.
"Do you still have the arrow?"
"Yes."
"Good."
She could not bring herself to speak of the other causes of her fear. Bard probably had a notion, but spared her the discomfort of confronting her. It would not be so hard for him to guess that Fryg feared for Fíli's safety as well as her feelings for him. They startled her in their intensity and impossible nature.
It was Bard's turn to shift the conversation as he picked up their plates and moved them to the modest kitchen's washbasin. "When will you be back from berry picking?"
"When I need to be," She responded, still lounging on her chair for a moment before joining him at the kitchen window.
"So cryptic."
"Unwise is the man who questions the Grey-Eyed women of Long Lake."
"That's not a real proverb."
"It should be."
He shook his head but didn't comment on her proverb. "It's time I go."
"I agree," She spoke with a hint of a jest. He feigned a look of hurt, but it lasted only a moment. Before leaving, Bard pulled her into a tight hug then swept out the door to spend time with his beloved children as he'd been told to do. After all, the newly founded saying did say it would be unwise to question the Grey-Eyed Women of Long Lake.
