"Da, why are you teaching me this?" Sigrid grumbled, shuffling her feet as she tried to stretch the stiffness in her neck.
Bard didn't answer at first, instead he placed a hand over hers to guide it back to where it had moved from its correct position on the bow. Then he looked sadly down at his oldest daughter, her features and mannerisms so achingly reminiscent of her mother; her tumbles of blonde hair and the way her laugh seemed to burst forth unexpectedly, it used to remind him of a flock of birds taking off from the treetops…"Because my darling, sometimes no matter how hard we try we cannot protect those we love, so instead we teach them how to protect themselves and hope that it makes a difference."
He watched Sigrid's face pinched in thought; still so youthful, not yet past her 10th year and yet her spirit was already so resilient. It had only been a season since his wife had past.
Sigrid seemed to come to an understanding and her brow furrowed in concentrated determination as she fixed her eyes upon the makeshift target set up on the shores of the lake. "Like this Da?" She drew her elbow back, pulling the string taut.
"And now you have to release it." Bard encouraged over her shoulder.
Sigrid let go of the arrow and it sailed towards the target.
―――――‒
Sigrid didn't have a plan when she left her bewildered siblings hidden in the cave, but she did at least have the sense to take Bain's bow and arrow with her. As she trekked towards the tower one thought drove her determinedly forwards; she would not stand back like a coward while others bravely fought danger, she would not do nothing while Fíli and his kin walked into a trap. Now was her turn to be brave.
She crept towards the tower keeping low and peering around the edges of the rocks but saw no sign of life, not even the dwarves. Had they all left? Had she been mistaken?
That was when she heard it; the pulse of deep drums. She felt it reach through the ground and into her bones, but these were not the peaceful earthly rhythms that Fíli had told her about the morning by the lake, these were unnatural and menacing. It could only mean one thing: the orcs had launched their ambush; she was too late.
She would not turn back now, even when her every instinct and the howling wind seemed to beg her to run, she stayed. She would not give up hope that there was something she could do, she had to know. And then a glint of gold caught her eye from the top platform of the tower, a small ray of morning light catching upon metal and finding a path through the rubble to her eyes. Her heart faltered at what it saw. Fíli; captured and dragged out into the platform, Fíli; defenceless and alone amongst the enemy, Fíli; calling to someone that she could not see to go while he dangled above the ledge.
But Sigrid was no defenceless girl facing a knife wielding orc anymore and she would not stand by while the fates conspired to snatch away what she loved. She loaded the arrow and aimed, shifting slightly so that the wind might carry the arrow on its breath towards her target. Fíli's face flashed before hers, blue eyes that had seemed to search her soul and silence her demons, a smile gentle that made her heart sing with joy to see it adorn his lips. She would not let that go. Sigrid let the arrow fly.
He was dead; that was her first thought after he fell out of sight. She had killed him. She hadn't realised how close he was to the edge, she thought the arrow would send the hand the held him backwards, she didn't think it would let go instantly. What had she done?
The sounds of fighting started up in earnest but Sigrid was frozen in her hiding spot. She could hear the sounds of metal clashing violently, the cries of orcs and dwarves piercing the cold air. Sigrid had dropped the bow in horror, she was gasping in the freezing air too fast, her head was spinning. Fíli was dead. She had killed him. No. No. No. No! This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. But what if… no, it was too unlikely, and yet…
Sigrid raced forwards, forgetting the bow on the ground behind the rock as her heart clung to one last hope for Fíli. Could Tilda have been the one to save him?
The next time she was supposed to see him should have been different. She wasn't supposed to fall to her knees besides his still body, and her heart should have filled with joy instead of grief. Sigrid ran her fingers through the golden mane of hair that framed his face. She took his still warm hand in hers holding it to her lips to stifle the violent sobs that were threatening to escape. But then she felt it; a faint beat, a rhythm in the wrist pressed to her mouth. He was alive.
When he woke she was sure he thought her an illusion as he did not yet seem aware of himself. But even as she anxiously watched the haze leave his eyes he still looked at her with disbelief, as if she couldn't be real. She couldn't blame him; she wasn't supposed to be there.
Letting him go again had been as hard to do as the choice to come warn him had been easy, and she knew why she had to; they were both driven by the same love for others. But she hadn't watched him leave because she felt that if she did she would not be able to stop herself from begging him to stay.
―――――‒
Now she made her way back across the mountain, taking a hidden route that lead away from the frozen river and the sounds of battle. She needed to get back to Tilda and Bain. The strange calmness that had befallen her made her steps feel more effortless than they had before, but after all, had she not just shot an orc and rescued a prince? A small smile played at the corners of her mouth. For the first time in a very long time she felt in control over her fate, as if she had power over the course of her life.
Surely the cave hadn't have been too much further, Sigrid thought as she rounded another corner along the hidden mountain pass. Then she spotted the opening concealed around another bend, at least they had picked a well hidden spot.
For the rest of her life Sigrid would never forget what she saw when she stepped into the cave, it would haunt her relentlessly in moments of sleep and wakefulness, a scar that time would never heal or erase. A sobbing Bain clutched the limp body of Tilda, both of their clothes covered in dark red blood and the body of an orc before them.
She would remember how she ran to them, how Bain told her through sobs that they had been followed and that Tilda had heard a noise and gone looking for Sigrid outside the cave. She would be able to recall clearly how her hands shook as she frantically tore cloth from her dress to stem the flow of blood that gushed from a gaping wound across Tilda's front, and how Tilda's eyes were already closed as if life had already left her.
Sigrid would remember them carrying Tilda back down to Dale while the eagles soared overhead, and she would remember wishing that she could fly as they dripped a trail of blood down the mountainside.
However she would remember very little after they arrived at the foothills of the mountain and laid Tilda down in the first of the healing tents. Sigrid didn't want to let her go, she wanted to hold on to her little sister and protect her like she should have done before. She would be told much later that she had screamed when the healers tried to prize Tilda from her, that the sound of her screams had brought Bard running because he would know the sound of his child's pain from anywhere.
He raced into the tent and at first because Tilda's body was hidden from sight by the healers he looked relived to see Sigrid and Bain safe. But then the healers had shifted and Sigrid watched her father's heart break when he saw Tilda. She watched as he ran forwards to hold Tilda's deathly pale cheeks in his shaking hands, watched him silently relive the death of his beloved wife, but worst of all she had to answer him when he asked what happened.
The words threatened to expose her as she shakily told her Da that they had been found by a scout.
It's all my fault.
She didn't tell her Da where they had been, that they hadn't listened to him and that because of her choices Tilda was dying.
It's all my fault.
Bard did not question her. He looked back to his youngest and rested his forehead against hers, begging the gods to take any strength he had and give it to Tilda.
Sigrid wouldn't let anyone push her aside as she helped them tend to the wound. As if driven by mania she worked with the healers as they cut away at the cloth of Tilda's dress to reveal the angry, gaping gash across her stomach. And although her own stomach turned and her hands shook, Sigrid refused to look at Tilda's face, refused to acknowledge that it was the body of her sister that lay mangled before her because if she could only blocked that part out then she might be useful.
But the healers only shook their heads sorrowfully, turning to Bard tell him that there was little that they could do, there was no way to fully stop the bleeding, that Tilda did not have long left.
That was when she couldn't keep pretending that it was not her sister whose blood soaked her hands and clothes. Sigrid rushed outside the tent and was violently sick.
"Nothing?" She heard her Da's agonised voice ask from inside.
She heard the healer's comforting voice respond. "Such healing is beyond us, I doubt even the elves..." But Sigrid was running before she could hear another word. Of course, the healing power of the elves would save Tilda! She had watched as the fiery haired elf healed Fíli's brother and that had been just as bad if not worse, surely they had the power to overcome this. Why hadn't she thought of it before?
―――――‒
Sigrid stepped over bodies, weaving her way through the dead and the living in search of an elf but for the life of her she could not see one anywhere.
She grabbed the arm of a passer-by, an old man shuffling as he carried cloth from the city to the battlefield. "Where are the elves?" she asked urgently.
"They be gatherin' their kin and leavin' for home Milady." He said kindly.
"But where are they?" Sigrid asked more pressingly.
The old man pointed towards Dale "Last saw em' was at the gates, their King was mighty keen to get goin'."
Sigrid did not stop to thank him. She raced through Dale, pushing through people, jumping over bodies and debris. But just as the gates were nearly in sight she tripped, her leg caught at something and she fell hard onto her hands and knees. Bitterly fighting back sobs she tore away at what remained of the underskirt that had caught on the armour of an dead orc, but in that moment she spare the dress or the orc a though, all she could think was that these things stood between her sister and life. As she picked herself up again and continued on Sigrid thought of everything that had lead up to this moment as she stumbled through the ruins of ruins amongst the bodies of elves, men, and orcs, searching for the one hope that could save her sister.
It was all her fault.
All she had done was try to be brave and in the process Tilda had…
If only Tilda would be allowed to live Sigrid she would take it all back, everything, if only it meant there was a chance she would give it all up.
She rounded a corner, breath coming in ragged gasps and saw the elves, some armed and others bearing stretchers, preparing to leave through the gates as their king and his son lead the way.
Sigrid raced forwards to stand between the King and the gates of Dale. "Stop, you cannot leave!" Sigrid addressed the Elvenking, taking in the flecks of black blood that spattered his silver armour.
The Elvenking ignored her, making to step around her but Sigrid stepped with him. "Stand aside child." The Elvenking dismissed, thought his son paused looking concerned.
"Not unless you help us." Sigrid said determinedly. "My sister she's…she's dying and the elves are the only hope she has."
Thranduil considered the girl standing before him; Bard's daughter. Her dress was torn and smeared with blood, her eyes crazed and dirty tear stains ran down her face; an image of war and suffering. "I cannot help you child." He said simply, turning away.
He heard her cry of frustration from behind his back. "But we need you help! You have powers beyond that of our healers, I've seen it!"
"What you have seen is the elves ability to heal themselves, we cannot-"
"I saw Tauriel heal Kíli, he was dying from that arrow but she saved him!"
Thranduil rounded back on her, this time he was irate. "What you saw was the effects of a Morgul shaft; Tauriel's healed the poison not the wound itself and I cannot spare any of our healers when my own people also suffer greatly."
"That's not good enough!" She cried out. "Surely anything you can do it will be better than doing nothing, than letting her die!"
Legolas looked from his father to the girl.
"That would not be letting her die, that would merely be not interfering with the course of her life." The elf seemed to regain his composure, drawing himself up to his fullest height and regarding the girl sternly. "It does not do well to interfere with the fate, not when it has already been decided. That is the way of the world." He turned away and moved past her out of the gates, this time she didn't try to stop him.
"Please." He heard her broken whisper. "Please I will do anything if your healers will just come and look at her, anything."
Thranduil knew that sound. It was the breaking of a spirit, pleading as if words would somehow bring back a hope that had died. He knew that sound only too well. He kept his eyes on his assembling people; to look at her would be to succumb to the agony that he had supressed for so long. So Thranduil didn't see Sigrid's wild eyes cast around and he didn't see them land on a fallen bow. But he heard the string draw and he whipped around, expecting to be facing the desperate girl at the other end of the arrow point himself, but instead she had drawn the bow and pointed it directly at Legolas.
Instantly every elf around them was on alert, drawing their swords and pointing their arrows at the girl, waiting for her to move.
Sigrid wasn't scared anymore; she didn't feel as if she had anything to lose. She didn't take her eyes off of the king's son, Legolas she thought she had heard Tauriel say. He looked at her sadly, not afraid that she would shoot because they both knew that as soon as her fingers moved she would be killed. Legolas looked at Sigrid and saw for the first time all that was wrong with the world; it wasn't in the vile evil of the orcs but it the dead hope in the young girl's eyes.
Thranduil's own eyes softened as he stepped between the point of the arrow and his son. "I don't think you want to do that child." He said pityingly, holding up a hand to tell his guards not to fire.
Sigrid stood her ground, the point of her arrow now aimed at the king but still she did not tremble. "You would intervene to save the life of your son but you would not intervene to save the life of my sister?" she asked him sadly.
Suddenly he seemed to grow older; there was an anguish in his eyes and a weariness to his face that neither Sigrid nor Legolas had ever seen before. Thranduil held out a placating hand. "I know how you feel. I know that right now the pain is too real to contemplate, too real to endure. I cannot lie and tell you that it will be tempered by the passing of time, some hurts run too deep. The rest of the world will move on while you feel as if your world has been ripped away." He stepped further forward until the arrow point brushed against the silver plated armour over his heart. "There is nothing I or the healers can do to save her, that is the curse of mortals. Go now and be with her in her final moments, death does not so often grant us that luxury. Go and tell your sister that you love her and tell her not to be afraid. That is all you can do." That was all he wished he could have done for his love.
The point of the arrow shook as violent sobs began to overthrow Sigrid's body. Thrandril genly removed the bow and arrow from her shaking hands and in the absence of something to hold onto Sigrid found herself clinging to the cold armour of Elvenking.
Thranduil escorted Sigrid back to the healing tent on the outskirts of Dale. He did look over the tiny body of the girl who still clung to life but as he had suspected by the amount of blood on her sister's dress, there was nothing to be done and he left them to their grief.
―――――‒
There were moments when Tilda seemed to come to consciousness, moments when her eyes opened and she smiled sleepily up at the faces of those she loved. The healers assured them that she was not in pain anymore, that her passing would be peaceful.
The day crept on but nothing changed, Tilda breathed on in peaceful slumber and Bard, Sigrid, and Bain did not leave her side. While Bain cried silent tears and Bard did everything he could to be strong for his baby girl, Sigrid shut it all out, blocked out everything except Tilda. She wiped Tilda's brow and held her hand, occasionally adjusting her bandages and administering a healing paste; doing all she could to fight off Tilda's last breath. Thranduil had been right; the world seemed to carry on outside their tent but none of it mattered. Nothing mattered except Tilda.
When the lights had begun to fade outside the tent and lamps had to be brought in Sigrid shrugged off the beckoning of sleep even when Da gently told her that he would wake her if anything changed; her own selfish desires would never keep her from her sister again.
It wasn't until much later in the night that Tilda stirred and awoke, looking around to see her Da uncomfortably dozing in a chair and Bain also sleeping, sitting on the floor with his back resting against his Da's legs. Only Sigrid was still awake.
On seeing Tilda's eyes open Sigrid squeezed her hand to let her know that she was there and Tilda turned her head to look at her sister, weakly tightening her fingers around Sigrid's hand.
"Sigrid, am I dying?" Tilda asked quietly.
Tears filled Sigrid's eyes, she couldn't lie to her. Some might have thought it would be a kindness but Sigrid didn't want the last thing she said to Tilda to be a lie and so she spoke the words that shattered her heart. "Yes Tilda."
Tilda nodded in sleepy thoughtfulness, as if the idea was intriguing. "I thought so, but I don't remember why."
"It was my fault." Sigrid choked. "I left you and you went looking for me. I should have been there."
Tilda squeezed her hand. "You have always been protecting me, always. But I think now, now I will get to protect you."
Sigrid squeezed her hand even tighter. "I'm so sorry Tilda." She whispered.
"There is nothing to be sorry for Sigrid, nothing at all."
Sigrid very gently climbed up onto the cot, careful not jostle her in the slightest and lifted Tilda's head so that it rested in her lap, just as she had done many times when Tilda needed comfort from a night terror. Sigrid gently traced patterns across Tilda's forehead, rubbing away all care and worry from her pale skin and Tilda closed her eyes again.
"Will it hurt?" Tilda asked softly, her eyes still closed.
Sigrid stopped drawing, feeling her hands shaking too much to continue. "No my darling it won't hurt at all, I think it will be just like falling asleep."
"But I'll be all alone."
"You will never be alone my love. Mam will be there waiting for you."
Tilda let out a sigh. "What was she like Sigrid?"
Sigrid thought for a moment, looking back through the haze of the years to the memory of her mother. "She was a lot like you are; she liked to make Da laugh and she never listened to his advice. Do you know that she used to hold me like I'm holding you now? She would tell me stories about the world beyond Laketown, about the elves and the dwarves and the great Kings of the south. Maybe one day we could go travel there and-" Sigrid's voice faltered.
"I would like that." Tilda whispered, her voice growing tired.
Tears dripped down Sigrid's face and fell into her sister's golden blond waves. "Don't go." She whispered. "Don't leave me."
"I promise to wait for you Sigrid. No matter how long it takes I will wait."
"I promise I will never forget you, not ever."
"Not even when you are one hundred?" Tilda asked her voice slower now.
"Not even then." Sigrid sobbed.
Tilda smiled again, her eyes still closed. "I think I can wait that long."
And then somewhere in the night her spirit left her body and her family was left alone with nothing but the pressing dark quiet of the night.
―――――‒