As they descend upon the gates of Erebor, their motly crew of elves, dwarves, Men, and a wizard Bard looks down at his hands and fists them shut tight at his side. Even now he can feel the fire and burn within them aching for him to do something. Ever since the elven king of Mirkwood arrived with his forces and the wizard shortly after bard has been on edge.

After the battle had ended he had look at the king, Thranduil Tauriel had called him, and he had known he too had been touched by fire and a dragon's wing. It had only been when he was face to face with the elf had and when he had looked closely it had happened.

When his gaze was drawn to the left side of his face it seemed as if the skin had shifted and faded away to reveal a gaping hole with charded edges and unhealed wounds. Then a moment passed and it faded back to smooth looking skin. But when his eyes met those of the king he knew Thranduil knew he knew. It seemed he was not the only one cursed by a dragon.

Before they had left Thranduil had taken him aside with a smirk with given him and elven blade. It was something that he tried to give back and said all he needed was his bow and his arrows. But the king refused to take it back.

"This was forged by the elves of the First Age. It is known by some as the Globlin cleaver. It came into my possession a short time ago weilded by a false king. You have proven yourself worthy to wield it Bowman. We shall see soon enough if you feats shall grant it some other name."

Bard weaily took it and was about to walk away when the king spoke to him once more this time in a cold and chilling tone, "Have you ever heard the warnings Bowman?"

"Warnings of what King?"

"There is an old northern rhythme that comes to mind. "Beward the dragon with its scales of iron and death. Beware those touched by its blood and fire. For they become kin which is less than kind. It surely were be better if they were dead." And with that Bard walked away as fast as he could to say goodbye to his children before they descended upon the mountain.

Something had happened and was wrong with him. And after this was all over he would find out what it was.

And now here he was with the gates in front of him with the arrogant dwarf yelling down at him telling him that the fate of Laketown and all within it was not his fault. Now he hears the dwarven bastard tell him that if they starve to death and die of exposure it is not his concern. And with those words something snaps in Bard. Something begins to burn in his mind and instead of pushing it down like he has before he slips in his angers and it races through him instead. And it is then he hears it. The voice in his mind. The voice of the dragon he had killed just two days past.

Bowman; it whispers soft and cunning. Do no fight me. I mean you no harm. Instead let me help you. You can sense it cant you. The gold and the jewels that will help keep your people alive and rebuild what you have lost. It is barely within your grasp. Yet the dwarf tries to keep it from you and our kin. He thinks he is safe in his mountain behind these gates. He thinks not to be afraid of us. Come now we will show the King Under The Mountain something to be afraid of.

It is then Bard realizes that all are staring at him and then he feels it. And when he looks down at his hands he sees why they stare. His hands are bruning and glowing and red and hot. He feels it; the instinct to walk towards the gate in front of him. And once he reaches it he feels the anger and the hatred and the guilt that he could not save more; protect his children like he should. It is then the voice speaks once more.

Stone and rock and metal are nothing for our fire. We will show him fear.

Bard raises his fist and it is then the glow instefisies and he puts both of his hands spread against the heavy gates. He hears the laughter of Thorin and the yells of nothing will get through the gates. For they are dwarven made he says. They will not be broken by a mere man.

The fire spreads and the brun intensifies and it is then that Bard yells and it is then that he can see and feel the metal melting beneath his hand. And smoke begins to rise and as his anger and fury build he pushes foreward. Foreward until his hands go right through the gate until his shoulder meets the metal. It is then his hand breaks through and meets air on the other side. Once this happens he withdraws his arms and staggers back almost out of breath and suddenly out of energy. the voice speaks once more.

That is enough for now. We have made our point. You will go back to the camp now and rest. The fire is only a spark, a mere ember. You must rest. And come dawn, we will show Oakenshield what a wildfire of the Kin can truly do.

And as he turns to go back to his forces the voice speaks once more. Look up do you see. We have shown him fear. And now we will show him the price he must pay for denying us what is ours. We will protect what is ours. And all who get in out way will burn.

Sure enough as Bard looks up he sees the dwarves lining the top of the gate above. He sees their eyes and smells their shock. Most of all as he looks up he smells their fear.