Sylven leaned against the window, eyes closed as she listened to the rain. Kili lay still asleep, the whole home heavy with the contented sound of deep slumber. Every once and a while she heard the bleat of a goat or the shuffling hoofs of oxen shifting their weight, but those were sounds she'd known from her home and they brought and unexpected calm to her, tinged with homesickness though it was. The night had grown old only after she'd woken up, but she felt more rested now than she'd felt since she'd left home.

The wargs hadn't come, in flesh of with their noises which had hung about the air since they'd fled that cliff. Sylven suspected the company had their host to thank for the welcome quiet, but the idea of a beast being fearsome enough to quell the pale orc's desire to capture them was a little more difficult to appreciate.

She'd pulled her jacket back on, the house a little cooler at night as the stone chilled, but she had no need for boots or the like. She'd rolled up the legs of her pants which were still slightly damp, and let her hair out so it hung down her back. Kili wanted so badly to bring her peace through some action, but these were the moments that kept her sane; when she knew he was safe, warm, and happy. As she watched, every now and again he'd murmur something to muddled to decipher, a name from his dreams perhaps.

Knowing if she lingered their much longer she'd end up waking him, Sylven crept to the edge of the loft and down the ladder, grimacing as it creaked. A fire was burning low across the hall, so Sylven went to it, thinking she might get her pants to dry at least.

She'd crouched down in front of it before she realized she wasn't alone.

"De house mice are still stirring? You are not a dwarf."

Her hand flinched to her hip, but found only air. Kingslayer was still with her things. She considered leaping up, raising the alarm. But it wasn't an orc voice, nor their devilish cancerous language. This one reminded her all the well of the deep rumbling of a bear.

"No." She breathed, slowly putting her hand to the fire's heat again. "I'm not."

"A human, though not a very large one." Beorn grunted. "Stand if you are able girl, let me see your face."

Not sure entirely what he meant by 'if she were able' Sylven got to her feet, moving so the fire was between her and the voice. She saw him, sitting on a great bed tucked behind a tattered red curtain. He was at least twice her height, though not so big as the trolls. His face was strangely long, his nose more pronounced and his eyes slightly yellow in color – clear even in the relative dark. His brows were so bushy they had tufts going upward, his beard forked from his cheeks and headed the other way in two points. He frowned as he examined her, and indeed she did not feel very large at all.

"You're frightened of me, girl?"

"No."

She blurted the word, and instantly regretted it. Still he didn't seem insulted – rather his frown turned into something less dangerous. Not a smile, exactly, but something in the family of one. "Courage – hmpf yes, humans have plenty of that. It makes you arrogant, though… and stubborn."

"Well, I can honestly say I've never attempted to eat a guest," she said, the insult stirring her apparently human qualities.

Beorn's brows knitted, and he tilted his head. "To be a guest, girl, one must be invited."

Gulping, she nodded. "A fair point. We were brought here by Gandalf the Grey – he said you'd help us."

"Did he now?" Beorn disappeared as he leaned back, stretching his fury limbs.

Sylven shuffled nervously. "You wouldn't throw us to the orcs, would you?"

Her host snorted loudly, and she thought for sure he'd wake the house. But they continued to snore, oblivious.

Ruddy, thick, useless dwarves, she thought as Beorn sat forward, leaning so she saw his whole menacingly large form. "Do you think I'm the type to provide orcs with fodder? Do you think they are my flock, that I tend to their needs? Hmm?"

"You scare them." She said, not sure what would calm his sparking temperature. She couldn't imagine what would become of them if he turned into a bear here inside the house. "I don't think you're like them… but then I don't know what you're like, apart from you wanted to kill us in the day. It's difficult to understand why you would be our friend now."

"What is your name?"

"Sylven Bonemender."

Beorn straightened, and she knew at once the name meant something to him, but didn't have a chance to press him as he spoke. "Well, you must learn that every creature has two sides. Foes can turn to allies, and so friends also to those you would not recognize. Trust, ahck, there is a perilous word. No, Sylven Bonemender, I will not drive you or your friends from my home. Go and rest, and know for tonight the threat is lifted."

Not about to pass up on the chance to escape, she nodded then scampered back the way she'd come, rushing up the ladder and back into bed. Kili stirred, pushing himself up slightly as she woke him. "Sylven, are you alright?"

"Fine." She whispered, but he must have seen her face because he suddenly became much more awake.

"Another dream? Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No, hush, nothing like that." She stroked his cheek as he hovered over, intent and alert. "The skin-changer who lives here is back. He startled me, that's all. He's letting us stay, like Gandalf said he would."

"If he doesn't kill us." Kili said darkly, looking to the ladder. "I should wake Thorin."

She grabbed his shirt, tugging at him. "Don't. He won't harm us, I'm sure of that. He's human now, and not so dangerous or… angry."

"You trust him?"

"I trust Gandalf."

That didn't really seem to satisfy Kili, but he allowed her to pull him back down.

"What were you dreaming about?" She tried to take his mind away from Beorn settling in. "You were talking but I couldn't make any of it out."

Her distraction worked, and he smiled wickedly. "Nothing."

"Me in a beard?" She asked dryly, and he laughed so loud that one of the dwarves below snapped, "Shut up!"

"Well, you were in it…" He dropped off, biting his lip as she nudged him.

"And?"

He cleared his throat. "You weren't in much of anything."

Heat came over her in a flood, and she knew she'd gone bright red.

"Oh." She squeaked, hiding her face against him.

"Sorry." He said, trying to get her to look at him.

"It's fine." She peeked out, resting her chin on his chest sheepishly. "Have these dreams frequently do you?"

"I'm a gentlemen, so of course not." He said primly, but she wasn't entirely sure he was being honest. Still, she wasn't about to press him.

Sitting up, she shrugged, out of her coat and tossed it aside again before she settled back down. He curled around her, and went back to sleep quickly. She knew she wouldn't get anymore that night, but she didn't rise again. Instead she spent her time in the black thinking about the dark haired children from her dreams, the giggling and shrieking as they dashed about the field.

Her mind wandered to her own mother, an always nearly tangible absence for her. And she thought about her father, his resentment for the part Sylven had played in his wife's death. Infancy was no excuse to him for murder.

Could one love children, when love had been snatched away?