Bard left the following day, and it worried Sigrid, I could plainly see. The line of her shoulders was no longer firm and strong, but nor was it drooping with fear – instead, it seemed that tension ran throughout her whole frame, as if someone was tightening a rope within her on a tight winch.

Night fell, and he still had not returned. Bofur was showing Tilda how to play his flute, and Kili was watching the happenings with listless fever-glazed eyes. Oin had been sending Sigrid on errands, and I asked to accompany her, but she replied that unless I wanted to do my best to look like Tilda, I should not be seen outside of the house.

She hardly left the window after the supper dishes were done, and when I had at last concocted a decent-enough sounding reassurance, I could not find her.

Tilda said, "She's gone out on the balcony to watch for Da."

And I nodded. That's when I heard the enormous crash, and her screams. Bain leapt to his feet from where he had been shelling walnuts, and barricaded me and Tilda in the kitchen, but I pushed out from behind him. I saw Bofur, his eyes round, go to Kili and tell him to stay put. I made a mad dash for the door as it opened, and was nearly flattened by Sigrid bursting through, and trying to pull it shut behind her. Then I saw the face of her assailant – it was ugly, and pierced in such a way as to proclaim it no creature that should belong in Middle-Earth. I do not know where orcs developed their ideas of aestheticism, but it does not seem to be in fitting with any custom I have ever encountered. One must admit (though Thorin would kill me) that there is a certain beauty, albeit impractical, to elven life, and of course I would not even begin to attempt proper description of the beauty of dwarven culture. Men, even, I had discovered, had their ideals of beauty and aesthetics, whereas before I thought that they cared not for such things, but orcs – nothing further can be said of them other than the fact that they are absolutely hideous.

Sigrid continued to scream, as his strength was greater than hers, and he won the battle for the door, heaving it from its hinges so that more of his kind could trample through. There had to have been nearly a dozen of them, screaming their foul words and brandishing their enormous weapons.

I placed my hopes in the fact that once the warriors among us – namely, myself, Oin, Bofur, and Bain – had been sighted, that they would leave the helpless alone, but there is no honor among their race. I took on the nearest one with all my strength, wishing more than ever that I had my swords, but finding that the various knives in the kitchen did nearly as well. I ended the disfigured miscreant with a few carefully-placed slices, and turned to confront the one that had Tilda cornered – she flung the crockery into his face, and he bellowed in rage.

Distracted, his eyes lit on something across the room, and I realized he had seen Kili, trying in vain to drag himself from the bed. Sigrid was between him and his object, however, and as he wheeled, I saw her tumble headlong across a bench and land beneath the table. I lowered my head and charged the orc, my impetus crashing both of us into the back of the door. I had intentions of grappling with him and perhaps flinging him down the stairs, but his stature was greater than mine and I found myself flung bodily away from him, and landed near the table. I rolled beneath and pulled Tilda with me as more orcs entered through the doorway

Bard's house was in mayhem, as I commanded the girls, "Stay out of sight!" and crawled back out into the melee. Kili was on the floor, trying to get at anything he could use for a weapon, and I shouted to him:

"Kili! Don't –" just as the orcs overturned the table which was shielding the girls. Oin was nearer to them than I, and he leapt between them and the orc, when suddenly there were more cries of pain and death than of terror and battle. An orc thudded to the ground at my feet, and I looked up to see two elves fighting valiantly on our behalf. My loyalties conflicted for a mere moment, and I pulled an elvish blade from the throat of a dead orc and began using it to my best advantage.

Kili was seized by his foot and hauled across the floor before I could reach him, and I shouted curses upon the foul creature who was eliciting the screams of pain from my brother. I could not get to him as the elves seemed to be everywhere at once, but it was fortunate, for I saw out of the tail of my eye Sigrid trying to creep from beneath the table and join in the resistance. Brave girl, but she did not know the dangers of battle, and daughters of men are not trained in the art of weaponry as are the daughters of elves. I, for one, could not fathom wantonly sending a female into danger like that. There were still living orcs covering the floor of her father's house with our blood and theirs, and I leapt for her, bearing her to the floor roughly, and none too soon.

"Get down!" I shouted to her, and her eyes met mine, wild, and reflecting my own fears. The elves shouted something to one another, and with a final blow, the orc before us was slain, and the rest fled the scene like the cowards that they were. Bain rushed to his sisters, and I simply stood where I was, regarding the bargeman's ruined house with a heart full of regret. We had brought nothing but hurt and danger on these good people.

Kili's cries brought me back to the present, and I found myself by his side, looking into his murky, pain-filled gaze. As strange as it seems, it was in that moment that I realized: I found comfort in Sigrid's wide brown eyes because they were so like my brother's. That may seem strange to one reading this, but I had looked into his kindly eyes so many years that I think it I only natural that I should feel a connection to one with a gaze so like one I love.

"Kili –" I began, my own voice loud in my ears. "Kili!"

He made not response, and I cried out for someone to help me. Bofur was at my elbow, and between us, we lifted him to the table as the elves looked on. It took me a moment to realize, but as the elf, obviously skilled in healing, took care of him, I recognized her as one of the guards that had played a part in our capture. Her name is Tauriel, and as ironic as it seems, she is the elf that my brother is now convinced he loves. I maintain is is because of this incident, but what do I know. With her strange magic she healed him, and everything was quiet. So quiet.

It took some time to clean up, and some of it never was quite the same. The holes gaped in the roof that night, and Sigrid was very quiet. How I wished there was something I could say that would help her. Bard did not return. I felt a great sense of failure and I did not know why.