Sigrid

Her father had commanded her to barricade themselves in the Great Hall, and while she followed his order, she was terrified of what was happening outside the gate. She listened for any sign that the battle was over, but heard only the clashing of weapons and the screams of the dying. Tilda sat nestled in her lap, she stroked her hair to comfort her as the poor child trembled in fear.

"I should be fighting beside Da. Not hiding in here." Bain grumbled as he kicked a clump of grass.

"You're not hiding, Bain. You're doing as Da ordered. He wants to keep you safe." She did her best to soothe her brother.

"I am not a child, Sigrid! I can fight." He yelled, lashing out at her and catching her by surprise.

"Of course you're not a child. But if something were to happen to Father, you would be all Tilda and I have left. We need you, Bain." She reached for her brother's hand, and pulled him close. "We need each other."

A large thud at the door sent them all dashing for a means to defend themselves; Bain grabbed his sword, Tilda a small rake and she an old metal pot. The gate rattled again, but this time it was accompanied by a voice.

"You can come out now children, the war is over." Bard called to them.

"It's Da! Sigrid, open the door!" Tilda squealed as she leapt up and down.

She and Bain pulled away the stick and tore open the doors. The sun was setting in the sky, and she had to shield her eyes from its glare, but there in the last light of day, stood their father. He dropped to his knees, arms outstretched as they ran to him. They embraced tightly, none willing to let go.

"Da, what has become of the city?" Bain asked.

"There is much rebuilding to be done, but we will get there." Bard said as he ruffled his son's hair.

"Any word from Erebor? Did the dwarves survive the war?" She could scarcely disguise the terror in her voice.

"Nothing yet." He said shaking his head.

They heard a commotion coming from the marketplace, followed by shouting and people scattering.

"My Lord Bard, there is a monstrous beast running through the marketplace!" One of Laketown's residents cried as she ran through the streets.

"Children, get back in the Great Hall!" Bard shouted as he reached for his bow, running towards the chaos.

"Da might need my help." Bain called as he chased after his father.

"Bain!" She called out in vain. "I let him get away once, it's not happening again." She grabbed ahold of Tilda's hand and ran after them.

She heard Alfrid's shrill cries coming from inside, and the sound of something thrashing around. Bard carefully entered the marketplace, and rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the lack of light. "I thought I told you to go into the Great Hall! You shouldn't be here!" He argued to no avail.

A loud and deep grunt echoed through the cavernous hall, followed by another of Alfrid's shrieks. By now, several other men had charged in, weapons drawn as they ran towards the enormous creature.

Bard squinted his eyes and then called out loudly, "Wait! Stop!" He darted towards the beast, shielding it from the villagers. "I said yield!" All stopped moving at his command, and slowly lowered their weapons. "You," he said as he pointed to one of the men. "Go and light a fire in the old smithy shop to keep the women and children warm."

"Yes, my Lord." He replied, dashing from the marketplace.

"You three, go and tend to the wounded. Gather as many able bodies as you can to help." The remaining men departed at his order.

"Sire, the monster! Get out of here, be gone you monster!" Alfrid yelled as he hid behind Bard.

"It's alright! Go now, you're scaring him!" Bard quipped.

"Yeah, you awful thing go away! You're scaring me…I mean the children!" Alfrid stuttered as waved he waved his arms in exaggerated terror.

"Not you! You're scaring him." Bard called, pointing to the hidden creature. "Go now!" Alfrid ran off, mumbling as he left.

She watched as her father lowered his arms, and began to speak softly and slowly to the behemoth hiding in the shadows. "Come now, you're safe, we're not going to hurt you. Remember me? It's alright, you can come out." He held out his hand, and waited.

"Da?" She whispered. "What is it?"

She could scarcely believe what emerged gracefully from his hiding place; King Thranduil's magnificent giant elk. She heard both Bain and Tilda gasp at the sight of him.

"Do not be afraid children. He's probably more afraid of us than we are of him." He smiled as the elk lowered his head, sniffing his hand as he beheld him with his large, deep black eyes. Bard rested his hand against the elk's snout. "Here Sigrid, put your hand out flat and allow him to take in your scent."

She did as her father told her, and gently stroked the great elk's snout, humming to him as she tried to comfort the great beast. Tilda joined her as did eventually Bain.

"You're Erynion, that's your name right?" Bard murmured as he scratched behind the elk's ear, causing him to produce a loud grunt in approval.

"How do you know his name, Da?" She asked as she scratched behind the other ear. The great elk closed his eyes as he enjoyed the attention.

"King Thranduil told me before the battle. Children, this is Erynion, Lord of the Elks. King Thranduil said they have been companions for centuries." Bard smiled at elk who twitched his ears at the mention of his friend.

"He's so beautiful." She said as she touched her cheek to the elk's great snout.

"He is, isn't he?" Her father's gaze seemed far away, and she wondered if he was referring to Erynion or to Thranduil.

"Oh no Da! He's hurt!" Tilda cried, pointing to an arrow still embedded in his body, her eyes brimmed with tears.

Bard dropped to his knees to examine the injury; his face contorted in a worried expression. "Sigrid. Tilda. Go find me some clean water and something I can use to stop the bleeding. Bain, let me have your knife please. Go girls, be quick!"

They ran through the city and located what their father required. Sigrid brought two lanterns as well as some of the leafy greens rationed to her family. They returned with as much speed as they could muster. Their father had found a large tapestry for Erynion to lie down upon.

"Da! Is he going to be alright?" Tilda wept as she put her arms around Erynion's great neck, burying her face into his course fur.

"Ay, love. But this will probably hurt him. I'm sorry my friend, this might sting, but I need to remove it if we're to get you home." Bard loving stroked the elk's side. "Tilda, please step back." He took Bain's knife and inserted into the elk's skin, just below the wound and tried to pry the tip of the arrow out. Erynion let out a soft whimper, causing tears to fill her own eyes. "Shhh, I'm almost done. I know, this hurts. You'll feel much better once I get this cursed arrow out. There! Got it!" He cheered as he tossed the arrow to the ground. He reached for the strip of fabric and soaking it in the water, pressed it against the wound.

"Are you still hurt?" Tilda cooed as she threw her arms around the elk once more. Erynion nuzzled her back to let her know that he appreciated her kindness. "Please can we keep him, Da?" Tilda begged.

"We cannot keep such a majestic creature, my sweet girl. Besides, if he keep him from King Thranduil, he will get lonely." Bard hoisted Tilda into his arms and pulled her close to his chest.

"I think he' scary." She said meekly.

"Erynion?" Bard joked with the little girl.

"No! He's lovely! King Thranduil is scary!" Tilda whispered as she clung tighter to her father.

"Oh my love, he's not scary! How can you say such things?" Bard laughed deeply at her remark.

"Yes he is, Da! He's so tall and mean looking. He acts so serious and he dresses so fancy." Tilda chirped as she jumped down from her father. She paraded around, standing up extra straight and frowning severely.

"He does not look like that! Do you think he looks like that, Erynion?" Bard, still chuckling, turned to the elk for support.

"Well, he does look so stern and serious." Bain said as he tugged at jacket sleeve.

"And he does dress so fancy. You cannot deny that, Da." She giggled as she pretended to be the elven king: sweeping about the room in grand fashion.

"That's just because you don't know him well enough yet. You know what I see? I see a mighty king; someone who values the lives of his subjects. He is serious because he has probably seen many terrible things in his years. He is tall, my love, because all elves are tall. He dresses quite fancy because he is a king, and kings are supposed to dress regal." Bard sighed as he patted Tilda's head.

"Will you dress like that now that you're king, Da?" The little girl asked sweetly.

"I am not a king. But no, I will not dress quite so… impressively." Bard smiled as he reached over and touched Erynion's chest.

"Da, you should take him back to King Thranduil." She said finally, unwilling to say goodbye to the spectacular elk.

"I know. Bain, take your sisters back to the Great Hall and find something to eat. Get some rest my darlings. Say goodbye now, let's take you home." Bard gently urged Erynion back on his hooves and he took ahold of the reins. Bard hoisted Tilda onto his shoulders as the little girl gave the elk a kiss goodbye. Erynion, not to be outdone, sniffed at her hair. She giggled and hugged his giant snout before being place back on the ground. "I shouldn't be too long, but do not wait up for me." He urged.

"Do not hurry back, Da. We will be just fine." She grinned. As her father turned to leave, she could have sworn she caught him blushing.

Thranduil

He made his way down from the ruins on the hill, back into the confines of his private encampment. The events of the day had left him shaking and utterly spent. He dismissed his guards as he needed to be alone with his thoughts, his memories and his grief. He tried to pour himself a glass of wine, but seeing his own hands, bloodstained and battered, caused him to fumble with the glass and spill the contents over the table.

Images of the dead exploded violently in his mind; flashes of corpse after corpse staring up at him with their dead eyes caused him to lose his balance and fall upon the ground. He could no longer fight back the flood of emotions that had built up inside of him for years, and for the first time in an age, he allowed himself to truly feel. Tears burned his eyes as they streamed down, mixing with the blood still splattered across his cheeks.

He had mocked her, insulted her and cast her out. Now she was gone. Her words echoed through his mind "There is no love in you." How could she say such things? She could never have known that he had felt the same warm glow burning inside of him once before; that he had contemplated making the same decision she had made as the one he loved lay dead at his feet. But she could not have known the depth of his pain. How could any of them have known? There was too much love in him, and for that, he suffered greatly.

He had seen war before and had known the agony of loss, and he had hoped to spare his only son from the pain of watching a loved one die. He wanted to shield Legolas from the bitter sting of death and eternal torment of grief. In trying to protect his son, he only managed to alienate; to push him away when all he wanted was to hold him close and keep him safe. Perhaps if he had told him about his mother, but the words never came as his ache for her was still too great. That he could not speak her name, even after so many years, for fear that the sadness would overtake him; claiming his life as it almost had once before. There was so much regret in him now. So much he wished he could change, so much he would undo if only he could go back. "What is done cannot be undone. I wish you were here, my love. I need your courage, your strength. I have none left to give. I have nothing left." He prayed silently.

Perhaps he was meant to die alone, as Tauriel had said to him in spite. Alone and humbled, as he was in this moment. He had fought it before; willed himself back from the brink of despair for one reason only, and now that reason was riding North in search of a ranger. "I may never look upon my son again." He thought as his limbs began to feel strangely cold and he began to tremble. He looked upon his bloodstained hands again and whimpered softly as he felt the life beginning to drain out of him. He no longer had a reason to stay, there was nothing holding him to the realm of the living any longer. Perhaps it was time to be at peace.

"My Lord Thranduil. I found Erynion! The poor creature was loose in the city. He suffered a wound from an arrow, but he seems sprightly enough." Bard's voice called as he approached the tent. "He's with one of your commanders now. You should have seen Alfrid's face when he looked up to see your elk running through the…My Lord Thranduil!" The bowman cried as he looked upon the disheveled Elven King lying pale and bloodied upon the floor.

"Are you hurt? Guards!" Bard began to shout as he raced to him, scooping him up from the floor and setting him into a chair.

"Please, do not call them. I do not want anyone to see me this way." His own voice was frail and weak.

"My Lord, are you injured?" Bard asked desperately as he scanned the king's armor for damage.

He shook his head gently. "I am not injured."

"The prince?" Bard whispered, his voice filled with fear.

"Legolas has decided to leave Mirkwood, to leave me." He said as he choked back a sob. "So much death. So many lives lost." He could not stop the tears as they slipped from his eyes.

"Come my Lord, let me help you out of this armor." Bard said as he began pulling off the ornate metal garments one by one, placing them carefully upon the ground. "Let's get you cleaned up now." He poured some water into an empty bowl. Bard searched the tent for a cloth, and when he was unable to locate anything suitable, he tore a piece from his own shirt and soaked it in the water. "Let me see." He muttered as he gently wiped the cloth across the King's face; cleaning the blood and tears away.

He winced in pain as Bard dabbed at the right side of his face. "My Lord, have I hurt you?" Bard asked softly, withdrawing his hand.

"You've not hurt me. The pain is from an ancient wound." He murmured, slightly ashamed of his gruesome injury.

"I don't see any wound, My Lord. I see nothing but your perfect face." The bowman teased.

"I haven't the heart to show it to you." He looked down once more at his hands and trembled slightly at their appearance.

"That's nothing a little water and some scrubbing can't fix." Bard smiled as he took Thranduil's hands and placed them in the water.

His heart beat quickened at the touch of Bard's rough hands upon his own; while they were callused from years of labor, his fingers were gentle and careful as they glided over his own as he cleaned away the blood; delicately rubbing each of his fingers. It had been hundreds of years since anyone had touched him, much less in such an intimate manner. He lifted his head and watched Bard as he scrubbed, marveling in the man's tenderness and compassion. He studied the creases as they appeared next to his eyes whenever he smiled and the way his brow furrowed as he picked away at the dried blood.

"See? Much better, right my Lord?" Bard's eyes danced in the soft glow of the candlelight; his face alive with wonder as he admired the long fingers that were cupped within in his own.

He nodded. Why would this man care so much for his wellbeing? He was nothing like the other sons of men he had encountered throughout the ages. He felt strangely relaxed and at ease with him; he had a way of keeping him intrigued despite being a mortal. "Bard, please call me Thranduil. You are a ruler in your own right now. A King of Dale."

"I'm no king." He sighed as he released Thranduil's hands. "I don't know the first thing about ruling or rebuilding a city. I'm afraid I'd lead these people, these good people, into ruin." Bard dropped his head as he spoke.

"You are a natural ruler. You rallied them together after the loss of your home. You found them shelter and security. You tried to conference with the dwarves to keep peace and save lives. You led them in battle, you led them to victory." He lifted his shoulders as he spoke, feeling his own strength returning to him. "Not to mention, you killed a dragon."

"I think perhaps you greatly exaggerate my exploits, Thranduil." A grin filled Bard's face, creating those lovely little creases once more.

"I assure you, I am not. Besides, if you do not rule, then who will? I thought we were allies in this?" He tilted his head as he made his point.

"Ay, we are." The bowman winked before bursting into a laugh. The sound of Bard's laughter pleased him as much as any elven song. "Come now, you should eat and then rest. You're altogether too pale, even for you elven kind." He poured them each a full glass of wine and Bard set about trying to find something remotely edible.

He found it rather amusing that Bard was so careful and attentive to him. Despite his own tremendous strength, he felt like a child as the man tenderly wrapped one of his silken robes around him.

"Are you well? I feared for you when I first walked in here. You looked as if…well, as if.." Bard's voice stuttered slightly and his eyes grew wide over the recollection.

"So much elven blood has been shed today. So much death. I have been to war before, many times before. I have spent centuries trying to escape the pain of what I have lost. My wife, she died at The Battle of Gundabad. I held her in my arms as she…" He said quietly. "I wanted to join her. I felt my life leaving me, and I almost let go. But I could not. I could not leave our son."

"I am so sorry, truly I am. My wife passed giving birth to Tilda. After she died, I could hardly summon the strength to keep going. I had to carry on, my children needed me. I was all they had left."

He nodded silently, watching the flood of memory wash upon Bard's face. "I should have told Legolas about her. I should have shared with him my memories. I could not. It hurt too much." Tears filled his eyes once more.

"Of course there is pain, but there is also joy. Memory can be its own joy as we share them with our children. Telling them about their mother has brought me so much comfort, and helped to ease my own feeling of loss." Bard was smiling again.

"If I had told him more about his mother, perhaps he would not have left." He sighed.

"Thranduil, how old is Legolas? He cannot stay a child forever. He needs to find his own path, make his own decisions. Just because he is no longer in Mirkwood, that does not mean he no longer loves you. He will return to you, you'll see." Bard took ahold of his hand once more, and gave it a tight squeeze.

"When you came upon me tonight, I thought perhaps it was my time to depart this world. I was ready." He said sadly.

"And now?" Bard's eyes, full of worry, bore into his own as he spoke.

"You bring me peace. For that, I am eternally grateful. I see now that I have much left to tend to. I must help you rebuild your city and you must council me on the affairs of men." He allowed himself a rare smile as he spoke.

"You will help rebuild Dale? Why?" Bard was taken aback by his words, genuinely surprised by his offer.

"Because we are allies. Because you are my friend. Thank you, for taking such good care of me tonight. I do not think I would be here now had you not come to me." He kept his eyes locked with Bard's as he confessed. His hand, still cupped in Bard's, spread his fingers between the bowman's as he held them tightly before releasing them.

"You cannot leave me now. I cannot do this without you. Besides, my children are quite enamored with Erynion, and they would be devastated if they could never see him again." There it was again, that wonderful smile that filled his heart with happiness.

"We cannot disappoint the children, can we?" He said as he gracefully bowed his head.

"No. No we cannot." Bard grinned again, before his tone turned serious. "Shall we ride for Erebor in the morning? See what has become of The King Under the Mountain?"

"Thorin is alive. His nephew, the black haired one, had died. As did Tauriel." His voice filled once more with reverence.

"It grieves me to hear. There was so much love between them." Bard uttered as he shook his head.

"Yes," he whispered. "Their love was real."

"What of Fili then? Thorin's other nephew, the one with golden hair?" He detected a slight panic in the bowman's tone as he asked about the dwarf.

"He mourns his brother. We will give the dwarves two days to honor the dead, then at sunrise on the third day, we ride for Erebor."

"Agreed." Bard said, swallowing a large gulp of the sweet wine. "Shall I pour you another?"

"My Lord Thranduil! And Bard, it is good to see you well!" Bilbo had managed to sneak into the tent, and nearly caused Bard to spill his glass with surprise.

"Mr. Baggins! What brings you out at this late hour? Come to retrieve The Arkenstone have you? Tell Thorin that if he wants it back, he needs to make good on his promise." Bard said curtly.

"It is not that. King Thranduil, your presence is requested in Erebor immediately." The Halfling quipped.

"Thorin sent you to summon me into that underground dungeon? Whatever for?" He asked curiously, unsure of the reason behind this intrusion.

"Please, it is about Kili and Lady Tauriel." Bilbo said as he fussed with the pocket on his jacket.

"Just tell me, I haven't the time for games." He could feel himself growing impatient with the small thief who once bested his guards.

"My Lord, they are alive." The hobbit called loudly.

"Alive? How?" He set down his wine glass, and stood up quickly.

"I do not know. Gandalf has requested you come to Erebor straight away." Bilbo began to head towards the door, pressing the kings to follow.

"You are to go alone into the mountain?" Bard asked, gripping his arm nervously.

"Not alone. You will be riding with me. Come now, King of Dale, we depart right now." He dressed himself in one of his more simple gowns and departed for Erebor.