"Sveilrun!" Thorin shouted as an elf guard tackled the skin-changer to the ground and stabbed something into the side of her neck. A different guard stepped forward and grabbed onto the dwarf king to stop him from going to the woman's aid.

Thranduil stumbled back to his feet, raising his head up high and looking down upon the unconscious woman with disgust. Wiping away a sliver of blood on the corner of his mouth, the elf king practically spat at the woman, "Nadorhuan, amin feuya ten' lle." Cowardly dog, you disgust me.

With just the motion of the elf king's hand, more guards appear and lift the skin-changer up to pack her away, "Take them both to the dungeon and chain her to the wall, I don't need the savage beast escaping once again. Place Oakenshield in the same cell as the skin-changer, let him see what kind of a monster he decided to bring along."

As the guards hauled away the two prisoners, Thranduil exclaimed behind them, "Stay here if you will, and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. I am patient. I can wait."

The guards roughly shoved Thorin along, dragging him and the unconscious skin-changer along towards the dungeons where the rest of the dwarves were being kept. The guards dragged Sveilrun into the cell first; two holding up each of her arms while a third shackled her wrists to the side of the cavern cell. Her body slumped down once they let her go, her arms straining upwards because of the shackles attached to her wrists. There was a short length of chain between the cell wall and the shackles, so she could move her arms slightly once she awoke, but not very much. Thorin was shoved into the cell after Sveilrun, the guards locking the cell door behind them, and turned to look out through the bars at the other dwarves.

Balin called from a few cells away, "Did he offer you a deal?"

Thorin called back, "He did. I told him he could go 'Ish kakhfe ai'd dur rugnu!' - him and all his kin!"

Balin closed his eyes in frustration at the dwarf king, "Well . . . that's it, then. A deal was our only hope. What did they do to the lass? Is she alright?"

Thorin turned to see the skin-changer shift in her drowsed state, her eyebrows creasing in pain. Thorin called out the barred doors, "I think she'll be fine, she punched Thranduil in the face."

From the other side of his cell, Fili called out, "She punched the Elf King!?"

"Apparently they've met before," Thorin muttered, and turned back to face the sleeping skin-changer. Many questions floated around his head, but the most prominent one was for what Thranduil had said; 'let him see what kind of a monster he decided to bring along.'

Sveilrun's head spun terribly. She could barely tell which way was up and which was down, but after a few moments of confusion she managed to grasp onto some form of coordination. When she cracked open one of her brown eyes, a bright light met her and she lifted her hand as a shield. Once her eyes adjusted, she found herself staring out across the valley that spread out before the Withered Heath. A thin layer of frost covered the grass and the trees before her, a pleasant chill settling over her skin, and her breaths came out in white puffs of mist. She couldn't find the will to move and instead stared out into the sky that had permanently imbedded itself into her memories, watching the sun settle behind the distant mountain, Erebor. An array of colours danced across the sky as the sun set behind the distant mountain range. A single word thrummed against her chest and brought along a wave of comfort and longing; home.

"Stare any longer and the day will pass," the clear ring of a woman's voice laughed.

The familiar touch of a feminine hand rested atop her head, gently brushing at her strands of dark hair. Sveilrun felt her throat catch as her gaze flew to the woman next to her and found mirroring honey brown eyes looking down at her. The woman standing next to the skin-changer had blonde hair that was tied back in a beautifully fashioned braid, but even with the intricate knots keeping it in place, strands of hair managed to stick out at odd angles. Her face was soft and kind spoken, and her light eyes revealed nothing but the most deepest of affections. Wrapped in her arms was a child, barely months old, with the same soft blond hair. The child was asleep, snuggled comfortably in layers of blanket and hide to keep out the frosted chill, but Sveilrun already knew that if he opened his eyes she would find bright brown orbs staring back at her. Sveilrun suddenly felt very young.

"Mum?" The skin-changer asked tentatively, afraid that if she did any more than everything would crumble and disappear.

"Come along, dear, your father is waiting," the woman spoke, taking the young girl's hand in her own and leading her down one of the stone pathways that zig-zagged across the mountain.

Sveilrun didn't protest, nor speak, instead she reviled in the comfort that such a simple touch could bring her and clasped onto the woman's hand as if it were a lifeline. In that moment there wasn't any war. There wasn't any suffering, or loss. She was still innocent to the hardships of the world and her mother was still by her side. The warmth alone that spread from her hand was enough to bring the emotionless skin-changer to tears. She felt the warm trails slide down her cheeks before she felt the burning sensation in her eyes as her vision blurred. In that moment, everything was fine.

But then it ended.

The first sensation that greeted Sveilrun in her return to consciousness was a biting pain in both of her wrists and stiff muscles in her arms. She groaned in frustration, willing herself back to sleep if only to see her dream world for just a moment. When the crushing realization that she wouldn't be able to find sweet unconsciousness once again hit her, she forced open her eyes and found the gaze of Thorin Oakenshield watching her. Now she jolted awake, her head coming up quickly and her arms moving forward. Her arms screamed in protest from her jerky movements and she felt herself being restrained back by something. She pushed herself up on shaky legs, using the wall behind her for support, and found her arms chained and shackled to the very wall that provided her stability.

"No," Sveilrun murmured, yanking on one of the shackles, and finding it secured tightly to the wall, "No, no, no."

Sveilrun yanked on it again, harder than last time, and felt the already scarred skin of her wrists begin to wear. The skin-changer's heart began to beat violently against her ribcage. Panic seeped into her veins as she tried again and again to rip herself free from her restraints. Her breaths came out in uneven pants as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room, and a sweeping dizziness took her over. The small cell spun around her, and suddenly just standing up seemed like an impossible task.

"What's wrong with you?" Sveilrun could faintly hear someone ask her, but any hope of response was lost on her.

The world around her spun and distorted horribly; one moment she would be standing in a cave cell, and the next she would be in wolf form in an Orc prison. The orc prison that filled her gaze was dark and cold, as if the sun itself had abandoned that section of the land, and a whole new brand of fear spread through the woman. Even her wolf eyes that let her see in almost any darkness couldn't see through this. She could only make out the shadows of bodies moving around her, hunched over and distorted. And then she would feel pain. Horrible, agonizing pain that felt like it would never end. The kind of pain that brought on cries and pleads from even the strongest and proudest of men, and it wasn't only her screams that rang through her ears, it was the dying pleads of her kin. And when the darkness cleared the pale orc stood above her. A scream ripped itself from her throat and she threw herself against her restraints until her bones creaked in protest and she could feel warm blood drip from her wrists.

Thorin was not prepared for the bloodcurdling shriek that fell from Sveilrun's lips. The woman pulled against her shackles violently, her breaths coming out in hiccuped huffs, and he could see a hint of crimson drip from underneath the metal shackles. Rushing forward, he grabbed onto the sides of her face and brought her head up to look at her. The skin-changers eyes were unfocused and looked right through him. He felt a newfound fear rise in his chest for the safety of the woman; he didn't know what to do, he didn't know how to help her. He could distantly hear the shouts of the worried company, asking what was happening and if Sveilrun was alright, but he didn't know how to respond.

Suddenly, the skin-changer's eyes flashed to a blinding pale yellow. All movement stopped as her unfocused pupils began to expand, smothering out the pale yellow until her entire eye was consumed by an inky darkness.

And then with no warning, the woman lunged at the dwarf king, forcing him to back away. Sveilrun's lips pulled back in an animalistic and wordless snarl to show off pointed, inhuman teeth that spoke of her ferocity. If her fights against her shackles seemed violent before, than she was completely berserk now. She threw herself forward over and over again, not because she wanted free, but because there was lone prey trapped before her. She lost all sense of her mind as the wolf took over completely, and fought to kill any and everything in sight. Sveilrun felt as if she were watching what was happening from far away, and had no control over herself as she watched the monstrous woman fight to slaughter the dwarf king. The enraged beast turned its attention to her right arm; she wrapped her hand around the chain that connected her shackle to the cell wall and pulled. She pulled until her face began to turn red and her muscles practically screamed in protest, but soon a large crack split through the stone of the cell. Moments after the crack appeared the chain split apart and one hand was freed, but Thorin noticed that the wrist and arm that had been freed were now horribly bruised and a large purple welt was already forming. A satisfied, yet still animalistic, grin spread across the skin-changer's lips as she turned to her next arm. Alarmed, Thorin shouted with a booming voice that could be heard even from the cell furthest from theirs, "Sveilrun, what do you think you're doing!? You're going to rip your damned arms off!"

And that was all it took. Within second the darkness cleared from Sveilrun's eyes and the woman slumped down onto the floor. Her breaths turned to hungry gulps as if she had run to the Shire and back, and the darkness that had consumed her eyes disappeared until they were back to light brown. Her free hand clenched at her chest as she took a moment to collect herself; she had only ever lost control of herself like that twice in all of her years of living, and she felt an incredible amount of shame for losing herself like that - especially in front of Thorin. Unbeknown to the skin-changer, Thorin was not disgusted or angry to see such a display as she might think, instead he just felt concern. He remembered what she had said about her scars, that wolves can't stand to be imprisoned, and was more than anything concerned that the woman may hurt herself more than she already had. Without afterthought, Thorin approached the woman who sat practically huddled in the corner, her left arm still raised because of the shackle locking her to the wall. She didn't meet his eyes, and kept her flickering gaze trained on the floor in front of her, her free hand absently brushing against the saddlebag on her side as if to bring herself comfort.

"Have you calmed down?" Thorin asked with a much quieter voice than the one he used before, so that no one outside of the cell may hear.

Sveilrun nodded her head, keeping her gaze lowered in embarrassment, and clutched her free but injured hand closer to her chest. Thorin sighed before dropping onto the floor of the cell next to her, "You may be strong enough to pull a chain from solid rock, but you're a terrible liar."

Sveilrun's head whipped to look over at the dwarf king, her eyebrows pressed together in confusion and slight frustration. Wordlessly, Thorin held out his hand expectantly. With great hesitance, only sped along by the dwarf's pointed stare, she tentatively put her injured hand in his. He examined the bruises and cuts along her wrist and forearm, his blue eyes narrowing on the self-inflicted damage. Pulling a spare piece of worn cloth from his pocket, he carefully pushed the shackle slightly further up her forearm so he could properly see the injury, and tied the cloth around the bruised and cut area.

"How often does that happen?" Thorin asked the skin-changer with a voice that could be mistaken as sounding absent-minded, but Sveilrun could see his eyes evaluating her every move.

Sveilrun lifted her chin in whatever pride she could find after the previous display, "Rarely."

The dwarf king merely raised a single brow in question, and the skin-changer elaborated, "Twice, ever. That one was . . . minor in comparison to the last."

"That was minor?" Thorin couldn't help the slight scoff in his tone, "I thought you were going to rip off your hand trying to escape."

Sveilrun didn't know how to respond to that. The last time it had happened was over five centuries ago, and when she was done there was nothing within a ten mile radius that was still alive. The fact that she hadn't killed, or at least attacked the dwarf king left her grateful, but very confused. The long ancestral line of the wolf skin-changer's prided themselves in being the ones with the clearest minds in animal form- even reaching the point of being able to have conversations unlike the bear skin-changers. Unfortunately on the rare occasion that they managed to lose complete control of their temper they turned volatile, and would kill and destroy anything within sight. It was a rare moment when a skin-changer who had lost control could be reasoned with or stopped. Usually they could only ever be calmed by those they were closest to. Sveilrun almost scoffed at the idea of ever being close to the dwarf king; emotionally or otherwise.

Finally she managed to respond, "They can be much worse. It's not a trait I take any delight in having."

Sveilrun pulled her hand away from his, briefly looking over the cloth wrapped securely around her wrist, before standing up on still shaky legs. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her still trapped hand around the chain and gave it a testing tug. It was set into the solid rock, and didn't look as if it would budge any time soon, but then again, so did the other one. She gave another tug, harder this time, but again it didn't give and she could already feel the shackle begin to wear down on her scarred wrist.

"What are you doing now?" Thorin grumbled, standing to his feet as well, "You nearly broke something getting the other hand free, and you want to do it again?"

Sveilrun scoffed, "I'm not giving Thranduil or any other elf the pleasure of seeing me in this wretched state. I'd rather risk a limb or two."

The skin-changer pulled again, this time digging her heels into the corner to use her weight as leverage, and she could faintly hear the shifting creaks through the metal and stone. She stopped, huffing angrily and stretched her trapped arm slightly against the discomfort.

"Thranduil," Thorin said as a sudden thought occurred to him, "He said you escaped once before."

"That I did," Sveilrun replied absentmindedly, barely listening as she tried to think of an easier way to free herself.

"How?" Thorin asked impatiently.

"A guard walked too close to my cell," Sveilrun replied, "They won't make the same mistake this time."

"You pickpocketed the guard?"

"I snapped his neck," The skin-changer murmured, once again not paying attention as she used both arms to pull heartedly against the chains before pausing again to catch her breath, "then I pickpocketed him."

"No wonder Thranduil ordered you to be chained," Thorin grumbled.

Thorin watched as Sveilrun gave a loud groan of frustration as she pulled at the chain, before stopping and taking a moment to collect herself.

"You're not going to be able to get that off," Thorin told the aggravated skin-changer.

"You want to make a bet?" Sveilrun challenged, glaring at the dwarf over her shoulder.

"Fine," Thorin agreed, folding his arms, "What are the stakes?"

"If I manage to get free than I get the bedroll, and you have to sleep on the stone," Sveilrun instantly replied, already knowing what she wanted.

Thorin paused for only a second before agreeing; she only managed to get the first one free because of her sudden loss of control, this time won't be so easy.

"Back up to the opposite corner," She ordered before turning back to the trapped hand.

Thorin did as she said, only able to take a few steps before his shoulder bumped the opposite wall, but still asked, "What are you doing?"

Sveilrun didn't answer, and instead closed her eyes and took a few slow breaths. When she opened her eyes again she looked at her trapped hand, as if evaluating it, before taking another deep breath. Thorin understood why she told him to back up when she pulled back her arm and shoulder as far back as she could before letting her fist fly into the wall. There was a sickening crunch and snap, followed by a sharp cry as the skin-changer broke her own hand. Sveilrun hissed in a gulp of air, tears pricking at her eyes as her broken hand throbbed painfully, but with the broken and fractured bones she was able to slip her hand through the shackle and to freedom.

"What in Durin's name is wrong with you!?" Thorin's voice bellowed through the small cell.

"Hand's free," Sveilrun grimaced, her breath coming out in quick pants against the pain, and held onto her broken hand, "Besides, next part hurts more."

"Next p-?"

Another stomach-rolling crunch filled the cell, being heard even by the other company members, followed by a string of muffled curses and blasphemies. Sveilrun had forcefully set the broken bones back into place. She leaned against the wall as she looked over her injured hand; dark splotches of purple were already spreading across her skin and it was beginning to swell along the knuckles. She hissed more curses underneath her breath, ripping a piece of cloth from her cloak to wrap around her hand. She had extreme difficulties wrapping her injury with only one hand, but Thorin quickly stepped in and took the cloth from her. He tied it the cloth on with a jerking tug, making the skin-changer hiss under her breath, and shook his head at her stupidity.

"That was beyond reckless," Thorin growled out angrily.

"Perhaps," Sveilrun nodded, "but I'm not longer chained, and I get the bedroll. Besides, it will heal."

"Because you're an expert on broken bones?" Thorin asked sarcastically, not hiding his distaste in the woman's act.

"Yes," the wolf-woman replied without a moment's hesitation, "I have been injured many times, I know what I can and cannot heal."

Thorin looked up, briefly shocked at her answer, but had no time to respond as Kili's voice filled the dungeon's cavern, "What's going on!?"

Dwalin's voice followed, "If either of you are dead you're going to be sorry!"

The skin-changer and dwarf king answered at the same time;

"Everything's fine!"

"She broke her hand!"

Sveilrun glared at Thorin, "You didn't need to tell them, I'm fine."

"You screamed loud enough to wake the dead," Thorin retorted, "It didn't exactly sound 'fine'."

Sveilrun narrowed her eyes at the dwarf king, "As would you if your hand was broken."

"You broke your own hand!" Thorin shouted, "For a bedroll!"

"You questioned whether or not I could free myself and I proved you wrong!" Sveilrun retaliated, her voice rising to his volume, "And I'm not sharing a bedroll with a big brute like you!"

Faintly the two could hear Balin from another cell exclaim, "They've been together for all of twenty minutes and they're already at eachother's throats."

"Veili's already managed to hurt herself," Sveilrun could hear Kili snicker from the cell next to her's.

A weight settled in the skin-changer's stomach, any argument she had against Thorin dying, and for a moment she had to fight against the bile rising in her throat. A string of memories tied to that name threatened to spill over the forefront of her mind, and somehow that caused the skin-changer more pain than any broken bone. Thorin stopped his argument as well when he saw the blood completely drain from the woman's face, and stared at her perplexed.

"Veili?" a voice that sounded like Bofur asked, confused by the name.

"Her name is hard to say. Besides, Veili sounds much better," Kili reasoned, which earned a few muffled agreements.

Wordlessly, Sveilrun moved to the bedroll and flopped down, turning her back to the dwarf, "I'm tired of arguing. Try and be quiet, I'm a light sleeper."

Thorin didn't respond, the argument already lost on him, and stared at the skin-changers back. He was confused by her sudden change in demeanor, she didn't seem like the type to give up in the middle of an argument- even a childish one. Something about the name bothered her, and he had the sudden need to know what. There were many things he did not know about Sveilrun, and he had a sudden need to learn it all but he didn't know why.