"They may not be the best fit," Bard moved amongst the company with hot wine from a fire blackened kettle a while later, once they'd all received blankets or clothes. "But they'll keep you warm."

He handed two glasses to Kili, his eyes lingering momentarily upon the pair before he continued moving amongst the men. Kili made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a sniff, lowering the glass into Sylven's hands as she snickered. "Something the matter, love?"

"Nothing to do with me," Kili kept following Bards movements.

"We should see to your leg," she turned. "I need to properly clean it, and get some Elf's Cloth applied."

"Drink your wine first, you must be freezing," Kili ordered, but she set the wine aside all the same. Bard had brought her box with him in a basket when he and his son had walked to their home, but she went and grabbed it from where it sat by the door, carrying it to the table behind Kili and pushing it open.

There were only two bolts of the strips from the chemise she's worn in Rivendell. The free herbs and plants were ruined, and she pulled them out and dropped the damp tangle of green onto the table with an ache of remorse at the waste. She checked the pots and poltices quickly, and exhailed with relief as she found them still sealed and untailed.

Casting her eyes around the room, she grabbed the first cloth bundle and pressed the end over her palm, beginning to wind it around it hand and up her wrist as the others were distracted with wine and warmth – Thorin, Balin, and Bilbo all stood looking out the window.

"A dwarvish windlance," Thorin said almost to himself.

Sylven tied off her hand and tucked the end under, thinking back to when Kili had done it for her so fondly she missed bits of Bilbo and Balin's words at first. But the room began to quiet, and all attention turned to the white haired dwarf.

"Girion, the lord of the city, rallied his bowmen to fire upon the beast. But a dragon's hide is tough, tougher than the strongest armour. Only a black arrow, fired from a windlance could have pierced the dragon's hide. Few of those arrows were ever made. The store was running low when Girion made his last stand."

Thorin's shoulders moved back, and with a regal and somber face added, "Had the aim of men been true that day… much would have been different."

Bard stepped up with a thoughtful expression. "You speak as though you were there."

"All dwarves know the tale," Thorin said dismissively.

"Then you would know that Girion hit the dragon," Bard's son came to his side. "he loosened a scale under his left wing. One more shot and he would have killed the beast."

Dwalin chuckled unkindly from behind them. "That's a fairy story lad. Nothin more."

"You took our money," Thorin stepped up to Bard. "Where are the weapons?"

Bard didn't seem himself as he stared down upon Thorin.

"Wait here."

They all watched him leave, Sylven rubbing the cloth at her hand as he went back down the damp stairs. Taking her box back to the fire she sat facing Kili, taking a sip of her wine to placate him before beginning to untie the now grey looking cloth. She dropped it down beside her, leaning close as she pushed back the pant leg where it had torn. She couldn't see much in the shadow of the fire, but the wound looked aggravated from stretching and the damp. The veins around it looked bruised, which would have been mortifying if she didn't have the Elf's Cloth. If she had the arrow still she might have been able to tell if a fragment was causing the wound to turn, but that luxury wasn't available this time.

"It looks worse than it feels," Kili promised, observing her mood easily.

"It's going to feel a lot worse in a moment," she said apologetically, picking up her wine cup. "I need to cleanse it."

"It's been through enough clensing," he put a hand over the cut in alarm. "I mean we swam here, and the river -"

"Has plenty that will hamper the healing. Let's see it done," she stroked his hand, sliding her fingers under it and peeling it off. "Deep breath."

Kili grit her teeth as she poured the warm wine, catching as much as she could with the old bandage as Bard entered with a soggy bag strung over his shoulder.

"Good," she whispered. "Very good, Kili, nearly there."

Whatever else, she thought to herself as she opened the container of Elf's Cloth and began dabbing the paste on. The mark is worth this.

She bandaged him speedily as Thorin began to get wrestles, tying it up and helping Kili rise as the others huddled round.

"Slowly, slowly! How does it feel?" she asked apprehensively.

"Much better," Kili squeezed her hand before limping over to his uncle, Sylven trailing behind.

"Tomorrow begins the last days of Autumn," Thorin leaned close to Balin, Fili, and Kili.

"Durin's day falls morn' after next," Balin nodded. "We must reach the mountain before then."

"And if we do not?" Kili looked to his uncle. "If we fail to find the hidden door before that time?"

"Then this quest has been for nothing," Fili replied.

Bard entered with a bundle hanging from his shoulder, water cascading off it as he crossed over and dropped it onto the table with a metallic clatter. The dwarves surged towards the sound, but as Bard pulled back the leather discontented grumbling broke out amongst them as they found before them a pile of wet cobbled together, well…

Sylven tried to come up with a word for what she was looking at as a few of the men picked some up, but to call them weapons was just insulting. Her fingers slipped through air, and she looked down to the absent space of Kingslayer.

A gift from his kinsmen Thranduil had not felt compelled to return.

She missed it gravely now.

"What is this?" Thorin shook what looked like a massive fishing hook mounted upon a broom handle.

"Pike hook," Bard explained. "Made from an old harpoon."

"And this?" Kili lifted a large squat hammer.

"A crowbill, we call it," Bard looked to the piece. "Fashioned from a smithy's hammer. It's heavy in hand, I grant, but in defense of your life, these will serve you better than none."

"We paid you for weapons," Gloin said indignantly. "Iron forged swords and axes!"

"It's a joke!" Bofur tossed down the nail ridden club he'd been holding, and the others followed suit as their noises grew louder.

Sensing the imminent danger of revolution Bard spoke over them, "You wont find better outside the city armoury! All iron forged weapons are held there under lock and key."

"Thorin," Balin noticed Thorin and Dwalin swapping conspiratorial nods. Sylven watched Bard's eyes clasp onto them, and the man paled. "Why not take what's on offer and go? I've made do with less, so have you. I say we leave now."

Bard covered back up his tools. "You're not going anywhere."

"What did you say," Dwalin could scare believe the nerve.

"There are spies watching this house, and probably every dock and wharf in the town," Bard spoke fast and firm. "You must wait till nightfall."

Sylven sat upon one of the broad windowsills of Bard's Kitchen, Dining hall, and sitting area as the roiled up dwarves sat in discontent waiting for the sun to sink in the sky. Kili was asleep on the proper window seat where there were some cushions, the crowbill resting on the floor by his head. She wanted to join him, but now that she was amongst people again she found herself hesitant to tread the boarders of modesty and behaviour, or at least to plunge off the edge of those boarders.

"Are you alright?"

She blinked at Bard as he stood with a piece of bread and some meats on a wooden plate, examining her with a frown. It was the second time she'd been asked that in as many days, and that was discounting Kili's concern upon the barge.

"Is that for me?" she jerked her chin towards the plate.

"Yes," he carried the food to her and she took it appreciatively, lifting the bread and stealing a deep breath of the luxurious smell of human food.

She felt an ache, but it was from neither of her wounds. "Thank you."

He waved the thanks away, resting on the sill with her as she began to nibble on the soft center of the loaf, the rest of which was being demolished by the dwarves gnashing their teeth restlessly.

"Forgive me," he began. "But I must ask…"

"They saved my life," she saved him the question, thinking of the fear she'd felt before she and the sons of Durin had crossed paths. At the time she'd never been so hopeless and afraid, as if trolls were the worst of all evils.

At the time, for all she knew of the world they were.

"I'd been taken captive, and they risked their lives to help me."

"Taken captive by elves you mean?"

"Trolls," she took some enjoyment from the repulsion is his expression. "They attacked my camp as we traveled the Greenway. The elves, well… they came later."

"And you mean to continue to travel with Thorin and his men to the, Iron Hills?" Bard seemed to pick his words with a smugglers care.

"Yes," Sylven lowered the bread all but untouched. Despite herself, she found herself needing the savour the treasure. "I couldn't part with them, one day out in the wilds without me and they'd all grow sick and growly as dogs."

"Your shoulder, it should be cleaned," Bard seemed unsatisfied, but made no point to pursue whatever he was looking for. "You need warm water."

"Hot is better," she rubbed the muscles around the injury experimentally, following the aches.

"Course, Bain?" Bard reached out, stopping his son who was skirting around the dwarves. "Go fetch some water and put it on the fire till its steaming, and tell your sisters to get a few strips of linen. Oh, and tell Sigrid to help Sylven how she can, understand?"

"Yes, da," he darted away, and Bard smiled fondly.

Sylven felt her own joy fading, and she began fussing with her bandages again. "It must be hard, raising children without a partner. I am... I can't imagine your loss."

"It is hard," Bard cleared his throat, and she saw him shift from the corner of her eye. "But I am lucky. My children have always been good to me. Do you have any of your own?"

"Me?" she croaked. "No, no none. I'd like – I mean I… but it's a dangerous world to bring little ones into. I don't think it's what lies before me."

"The world is dangerous," Bard agreed. "But it has always been that. We cannot let danger alone decide our fate, or we'd all just stay locked in our homes forever wouldn't we? You seem like a good person, Sylven. I hope you find whatever your searching for."

He left her as the elder daughter Sigrid approached, little Tilda bouncing at her heels with the medical box swaying in her arms. As she moved, Sylven saw the comb flashing from the top of Bard's youngest's braid.

"Da said you needed help?"

The three of them went into the girl's room, and together they pulled off Sylven's coat with care, and then peeled off the shoulder of her shirt slipping her arm out the neck as Tilda went to fetch the boiling water. Sigrid sat on her bed as Sylven examined the cut as best she could in the reflection of the girl's window.

"Where did you learn to heal people?" Sigrid peeked about the jars in the open box.

"I was trained by a woman on the estate where I was a ward," Sylven went over, picking up the blessed paste and opening it up again.

"Can anyone learn to do it?" Tilda came in with a precariously swaying bowl of water, and cloth on her shoulder.

"If they really want to," Sylven relieved the girl of the bowl, setting it down on the floor and sitting down in front of it, dipping the cloth in and wincing a her palm prickled. She squeezed out most of the water the washed the front of the bite as well as she could while the girls watched. He held out the cloth to Sigrid. "Can you get the back?"

Sigrid knelt behind her, accepting the cloth.

Sylven waited, but the girl didn't move.

"It's alright, you won't hurt me I promise. Just clean off any blood you see."

Sigrid made a faint whimper, then began dabbing tentatively. Sylven forced herself not rush the girl, waiting with all the patience of a saint as Sigrid took well over ten minutes. Half way through, Sylven began putting the white paste on the front of the cut to keep herself preoccupied.

"D-done I think."

"Excellent, now just rub some of this onto a clean cloth and then cover the open area-"

"What is that?" Sigrid demanded shakily.

"It's just a cream to keep the cut closed," Sylven looked to Tilda. "It's called Elf's Cloth."

The little girl's eyes sparkled with wonder. "Actually, Tilda, would you like to?"

"Okay!" The girl leapt forward, nabbing a piece of linen from the small collection sitting on Sigrid's bed and hurrying back. "Oh! That looks like it really hurt!"

"It's not so bad," Sylven lied. "Listen, you don't have to -"

"No it's okay!" Tilda grabbed the paste quickly and dug her cloth into it, then began patting it onto the back as he sister retreated back to the bed. "Do elves use this?"

"I don't know," Sylven admitted. "I suppose they must. It grows in their forests."

"It's a plant?"

"It's made from a plant. You dry it and then crush it to powder and mix it with a few other things to make it look like that."

"What things?"

Sylven found herself laughing. "Honey, sometimes, or clay if it's pour quality. Usually herbs to reduce swelling, and some to stop bleeding."

"Ugh," Sigrid wrinkled her nose, but Tilda continued to investigate as she worked, and she was eager to help Sylven tie the bandage round her shoulder and chest to keep it in place, and offered up several of her own dresses now that Sylven's shirt was beyond repair before Sigrid pointed out their dresses wouldn't fit Sylven.

"If there's a spare shirt, I'll take that," Sylven assured them as she sat on Tilda's bed while the girl hunted through her medicine chest.

"What's -"

"Tilda," Sigrid said, clearly annoyed. "Da told us to let her sleep after, remember?"

"You can have my bed!" Tilda gasped.

"Really, she won't fit!" Sigrid shook her head. "You can have mine."

Sylven watched the girls go, arguing with one another as they did, then went over to repack her chest that Tilda had well and completely torn to bits. Once it was reassembled she set it by the foot of the bed Stripping her shirt off completely and slipping into the bed. The sheets were pilled, but they were clean and smelled of something floral. The pillow was soft, that was all Sylven remembered as she set her head down. Darkness devoured her, and at first she was grateful for it.