My son, one day you will understand this. You will laugh as I once did, you will make fun of it as I did often, and then one day, likely when you least expect it, it will happen to you and before you know it, you will be doing all the silly things that you thought only happened in legends long ago. I felt like such a fool then, and I feel like such a fool even now. So much was going on, and it seemed that my only thoughts were for Sigrid. It was not as if the things that were occurring were dull or of little importance; on the contrary, they were of monumental proportions, and still – my thoughts would wander, my eyes would mist, and there I was, thinking of the daughter of Bard.
We encamped on the edge of the lake there, in a patch of mud and pebbles scarcely worth walking across. Some two hundred of us were there, and that was all. It seems a great number in writing, but it is astonishing how quickly the eye can pass over two hundred souls and still be found looking for those that were now lost beneath the charred wreckage on the lake, sending up reverential wisps of smoke.
We worked quickly, reuniting families, sending crews of men back to the ruins of Laketown to salvage anything that we could, building shelters and starting fires. Kili and I worked side by side in silence to bury the body of a young one who died of his injuries mere hours after we reached the shore.
Sigrid tended to my face with gentle care, cleansing the soot and grime from the scathed flesh with material torn from her sleeves. Everyone's clothing was in scorched patches and shredded rags, and we passed about anything we could share; a jacket removed and given to cover a shivering child, an apron torn to bandage a wound, a petticoat slashed and sewn into an ill-fitting shirt. I was seated upon a large rock a little ways from the others, and Sigrid set a bowl of water warmed by the fire next to me, the tiny swishing sounds of her cloth in the water, and the louder lap of the lake on the shore at our backs the only sounds as she worked.
I felt as if I should say something, anything to ease the quiet, but could think of nothing. At last – through no inadvertence of hers, for the flesh was simply raw and tender – a hiss of pain was drawn from me, though I had not flinched so far at her ministrations. Her brows drew together.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, turning away and cleansing the cloth in the water, before leaning close again, and gently placing a hand on the front of my cheek to turn my head back toward her. My eyes met hers at the gesture, but her gaze was on my hurt, and I cursed myself for imagining something where there was nothing.
"It is no matter," I replied, my voice catching, so I cleared it, and tried again. "It will heal better this way."
"Aye," she replied, and at last held the cloth to my temple, squeezing it ever so slightly so that the now-cooled water wept down my face in tiny cooling rivulets, trickling across the burned skin with a painful sort of relief.
"That's good, lass," I mumbled, letting my eyes drift closed in spite of myself. "I don't suppose it needs bandaged after all."
"Keep it clean," she admonished. "And tell me if it troubles you."
And she gathered her things and hurried away. I may have been imagining, but it seemed to me that her face had grown pink being so close to mine, and this was the cause of her leaving so hastily. But I could not be sure. My own face was throbbing with heat which was difficult to distinguish from my burns.
That night I could not sleep. The cries of the children, the talk of the men around the fire, the unknown sounds of the forest nearby and the tide of the lake on the other side all combined in a symphony of unfamiliar noises. That in itself is not generally enough to keep me awake, for Kili could testify that I sleep like a rock, but my thoughts were running riot, a mixture of the scenes of diabolical conflagration we'd just come through, and among it all, Sigrid. Nothing particular about her, just Sigrid. I wanted to be with her, beside her. It was pathetic. Mahal, I can feel the initial pain again even now, stabbing through the new hurt of knowing that we will not be together again until I join her in the halls of her fathers. Love is like loss, loss is like love, my son. They are really the same thing at different points in time.
I got up, and my steps led me down toward the waterfront. Aule must have heard the noise made by my beating heart and become sick of the racket, and decided to give me just what I desired, for I swear, I had no intentions of trying to see her at that precise moment. My heart was in a tumult and my mind in much worse shape, and she was likely not in the mood to have to deal with the inane ramblings of a foreigner who simply happened to be in her town when it was decimated.
But there she was, sitting by the water's edge, splashing her feet in the cool froth of the surf.
"What are you doing out here?" I asked in a quiet voice, wary of startling her. She looked up. "The others have all gone to bed or stay around the fires."
A visible shudder seemed to run through her, and I realized what I'd said.
"Fires..." Her voice was light, barely reaching me on the thin scrap of nighttime wind. "No, I don't think I want to stay around the fires."
The pebbles crunched beneath my boots as I squatted, leaning my back against the log upon which Sigrid was seated. The water lapped up around her ankles, seared a dark color in the night, and I winced in sympathy.
"Has Oin had a look at that?"
She seemed to be trying to hide her feet under her ragged skirt which was now too short to do service. But she shook her head.
"You ought to show him. He could put some stuff on it so that it won't scar."
"It likely will anyway," she said quietly, and her sadness reached me there. Dear lass. I longed to enfold her in an embrace and promise her that everything will be alright now, that the worst is over. Mahal.
"Do you think that things will ever be the same again?" Her voice came to my ears as I pulled my pipe from my pocket, filled it, and lit it, inhaling a deep breath of the night air and fragrant smoke and feeling my twitching nerves relax in spite of myself.
I shook my head. "Time only will tell. The people of Laketown march on. All that is lost is wood and chaff."
A sob choked her voice. "That's not all. People I know have died. Everything that was familiar to me is gone." She sniffed, seeming ashamed of her tears.
I could bear it no longer, and set aside my pipe, turning to face her.
"You ought not to despair, lass. It is alright to show your sorrow. You have enough strength for all your family."
"I don't feel it right now," she managed.
"It doesn't matter. I know the truth, and would not turn away from you at a time like this. Tell me if there is anything I can do."
She shook her head, and I had to accept that.
"If anything comes up –"
"Thank you," she whispered, fingering her burns once again. I bent to try and have a look, but she shied away.
"Let me see."
"It's alright, really," she murmured. "It hardly hurts."
"A valiant lie," I supplied. "Let me see."
"Don't – touch it..." she faltered.
"Nay." I grunted and knelt beside her, examining the wounds. Her skin was the lightest of browns, the color of wood that has been planed and exposed to the light of the sun for mere hours, but her ankles were wrapped in angry blisters and open burns. I shook my head, but saw she had turned her face away and didn't seem to want to pursue the topic further.
The night was growing cold, so I simply finished my pipe and removed my coat, draping it about her.
"Make sure and return soon," I told her, "or your father will worry."
And I beat my retreat into the night, resisting the very strong urge to look back one more time and see her seated there, alone.
Bard's voice called to me from the nearest fire.
"Fili? Is everything alright?"
"Aye, it is," I told him, pocketing my pipe, and rubbing my hands near the warmth. "Just talking with Sigrid, is all."
"Sigrid?" He turned, and saw her there by the lakeshore.
"I think she wanted some time alone, so I left her," I said, and Bard simply nodded, his head drooping low. His hands were heavily bandaged, as he had sustained severe burns there, and could do no work with the other men. It is quite the phenomenon that everyone else would still go to him for instruction, advice, and directions. They trust him, they want to follow him, even though he cannot do anything. I think it is because they know that he would if he could.
"Will you be staying?" Bard asked me at length. "Winter is coming. We should not keep you here."
"You need all the hands that you can for the labor," I retorted. "Camping here for the winter will be no easy task."
"You will not reach your mountain before the snows if you linger here," Bard said, his eyes steady. "We will make do. We have before."
"Not to this extent," I murmured. "I cannot speak for the others, but I – "
"Go," he told me. "Return when the weather is warm and help us build properly."
I still hesitated. "Thorin would not expect our return if he knew what had happened."
"Nonsense, that is why he will worry. We will be fine."
In the end, I was somehow persuaded, and talked to Oin, Bofur, and Kili about it the next day. And so we made our return to Erebor, and reached it just as the first snows were settling upon the mountains.