A small girl, no older than seven, with wavy dark brown hair and bright, honey brown eyes stared up at her father as he chopped firewood. Her arms were loaded with the small bits of kindling as she waited for him to finish chopping the last of the logs. Her father was a very large man; he was well over nine feet tall and had broad enough shoulders to fill any doorway. His dark bangs hung down in his face despite having tied his hair back, having a similar wavy curl as his daughter, and sometimes shielded his dark blue eyes. At first glance, most would find him to have an intimidating demeanor, but the small girl never felt any sort of fear of the man and held all the respect in the world for him. As he finished with the last of the firewood, he left his large old axe stuck in the chopping block before picking up an armful of the wood. The father and daughter began their venture down a dirt path and back towards their home with enough firewood to keep a flame burning all night.
"Papa, can I ask you a question?" the small girl asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen.
"Of course," the man replied, his voice deep and gravely to match his appearance.
"How did you meet mum?" the light brown eyes of the girl were alight with curiosity, making a deep rumbling chuckle roll through the man's chest.
"Why do you wonder such things, Sveilrun?" the man asked as a response.
"One of the other kids in the village were talking about how their parents met at one of the festivals," the girl responded, "Did you meet mum at a festival too?"
"No," the man practically laughed, but it sounded more like a rough rumbling, "Your mother had never gone to a festival before we met."
As they were speaking they came along an old log that had fallen across the path months before. The tall man easily stepped over it before reaching back and grabbing onto the scruff of the girl's shirt, lifting her over the log and placing her back on the ground on the other side. They continued down the path, Sveilrun staring up at her father with the same unyielding curiosity as the man took a moment to collect his thought.
"We met when I was just a young lad," He began the story, "I found her walking a trail just outside a man village. I knew that I would marry her one day, from the moment I saw her. She was not so convinced, at first."
"How did you know you'd marry her?" Sveilrun asked, thinking it ludicrous to make such an immediate decision, "You wouldn't have known her!"
"You'll understand when you're older," the man replied, "When you find the one intended for you, it's the greatest feeling you'll ever experience."
"Will it happen soon?" she asked again, her face twisted in an unsure frown.
"No, you have many years before you need to think of such things," he immediately replied, shifting all of his logs into one arm so he could pick up the small girl with the other and lift her onto his shoulder. She laughed and tried not to drop the kindling in her arms while remaining seated on his shoulder.
"For now you need to stay with your mum and I," He spoke, "Think you can handle that?"
Sveilrun nodded, her messy hair bobbing with her movement. Her father chuckled and placed a whiskery kiss upon the girl's cheek before setting her back on the ground and brushing his hand over her head, "What would we ever do without you, pup?"
When Sveilrun next woke, her head was filled with a sleep ridden drowsiness that was only fueled by the darkness of the elven cell and the great warmth that surrounded her. She was faintly aware of the snores of all of the dwarves in the cells surrounding hers, and of a single snore very close by, but the sound that had brought irritation before didn't bother her in her groggy state. If anything they just lured her into an even deeper sleep and she was more than willing to comply. But a sound even louder than the snores was a rhythmic 'thump-thump' that was more soothing than anything else. Another thing that she was only barely aware of in her daze was a weight settled over her waist and a glorious scent filling her nostrils. The scent smelled mostly of earth; of trees and grass and stone, but also held a metallic edge that distincted it from all other smells. Something at the back of her mind knew what it came from, and was flashing a hundred warning signs, but at that moment she couldn't care less. Instead of waking herself up to inspect where these new senses were coming from, she pushed her face further into the warmth that engulfed her and breathed the scent in deeper. Soon she was losing herself to sleep once again.
When Thorin woke he could feel the deep, slow breaths leaving the woman wrapped in his arms. He immediately became aware of his surroundings, and had to stop the jolt of surprise at finding Sveilrun's face nestled into his chest. Her dark brown hair tickled against his chin and nose when he breathed in and out, his nostrils being filled with the unique scent that could only belong to the skin-changer. She smelt like a combination of pine trees and autumn fallen leaves, and he found himself not wanting to pull away from her. His arms wrapped securely around her waist and he found himself subconsciously pulling her closer. He had thought her to be rather thin before because of the way her cloak hung off her, but even through their clothing he could feel the muscles in her back and shoulders that contrasted what he had once thought. It was only now that they were so close he could see things he couldn't before; the faded freckles that scattered across her nose and cheeks and barely showed against her sunkissed skin, a thin scar that just faintly showed on her brow and down her cheek, and the slight twitch in her nose as she slept. Even in her subconscious state her nose twitched slightly, reminding him of when animals scented the air. It was all of these small details that suddenly made the woman seem real.
Thorin felt her shift slightly, and when he looked down he found bright yellow eyes staring up at him. Her pupils dilated before sharpening to small specks, tinged with what he thought to be surprise.
"Morning," he drawled, a slight smirk on his face at seeing her disturbed features, and feeling the need to tease and bug her.
Unbeknown to him, the yellow shine and wide eyes was not a look of surprise on Sveilrun's face, but an expression of fear. Fear because the first thing that assaulted her senses was something that smelled so pleasing that she could practically feel herself being drawn to the scent, and in the next moment she saw Thorin. She saw his dark blue tunic barely an inch from her face and his bright blue eyes watching her. Those two things shouldn't mix. She could feel the weight of one of his arms draped over her waist, and the fur from his jacket brushing against her cheek. Sveilrun could barely hear what came from his mouth before she shoved him away, making him roll off the bedroll and onto the stone floor.
Thorin grumbled and wiped some dirt from off his tunic as he stood up, "What was that fo-"
"Don't touch me again," Sveilrun snarled at him, her eyes staying a bright yellow, and she stood to her feet but kept her body pressed against the stone wall.
Thorin was a little taken back by her immediate fury. He had expected her not to be happy, but such a violent reaction was a little disappointing. His face darkened slightly and his jaw locked as he muttered, "I can't help what I do in my sleep, and from how comfortable you looked - neither can you."
Sveilrun's face heated up with embarrassment and she growled again but with slightly less wrath than she held before, "Shut up! Just leave me alone!"
"That may be a bit difficult," Thorin retaliated, "If you hadn't noticed, we're stuck together. Is my presence that displeasing?"
"Just," Sveilrun nearly stuttered trying to find the right words. Her brain was overloaded with thoughts and concerns that were making it difficult to maintain her argument, "Just, stop. Don't touch me like that again."
Sveilrun could practically feel the sun come over the horizon as the terrible discomforts from the day before returned full-force. Pinpricks streamed up and down her arms and legs and her bones began to ache terribly. That, along with the hurricane of emotions tearing a path through her, left her having a difficult time remaining straight faced, and eventually her control slipped. Thorin just barely caught it; the slight crease in her brow, the clench in her jaw, and the way she held herself to the stonewall.
"Are you scared?" Thorin asked hesitantly, blue eyes narrowing on the woman.
"What?" Sveilrun snapped, but didn't meet his gaze, "Of course not!"
The dwarf king stepped closer to the woman, "Like I said before, you're strong but you're a terrible liar."
He took another hesitant step forward and watched her hand go forward just an inch and she muttered darkly, "That's close enough."
The dwarf's scent still filled her nostrils and she was finding it extremely difficult to think straight, it scared her how fantastic his presence had felt wrapped around her. But along with the excitement came panic; she should only be able to smell her intended one, she should only be able to feel that way for her intended one. The very thought of what this might mean terrified her. Could Thorin possibly be her mate? She knew that it wasn't just skin-changers that would be mated together, her parents were a testament for that, but he couldn't possibly be the one. He was stubborn and pigheaded, and he thought as lowly of her and she did of him. She refused to believe that he was her intended, but if he was, he would feel just as drawn to her as she was feeling to him.
"What is it you fear?" Thorin asked, his eyes evaluating.
"I fear nothing," Sveilrun snarled, taking a deep breath to try and calm herself, "Do not mistaken my surprise for such a lowly emotion."
"Everyone has a fear whether or not they're willing to admit it," Thorin chuckled dryly and took another small step forward that didn't go unnoticed.
"If you think I'm going to confide my thoughts and emotions with you than you're horribly mistaken," Sveilrun hissed, venom practically dripping from every word, as her goal to push him away so far was proving to be difficult. If what she suspected was true, than she needed to instil hatred between them, "I am here to help you reclaim your mountain so I may claim mine back as well. I am not here to make friends or anything else of the sort. Pull something that that again and I will insure you will need to be dragged back to your precious mountain."
Thorin's gaze hardened, and for a moment he looked as if he would retaliate, but eventually he simply gave a jerky nod and turned away from her. Sveilrun's shoulders relaxed somewhat and she slumped down onto the ground, her back resting in the corner of the cell. She pulled her knees up to her chest and concentrated on everything but the dwarf king. She could thankfully hear all of the dwarves still sleeping, their snores filling the silence. It'd be much worse if there was twelve witnesses for the skin-changer and dwarf king's words.
Sveilrun looked down at her hands; one was still in shackles and the other was covered by a makeshift bandage. She tugged on the cloth wrapped around her wrist and found terrible bruises all along her knuckles and wrist. And where it was not bruised there were scrapes and small gashes from rubbing against the metal of the shackles. Her attention focused to the hand still locked in a shackle as she wondered if she could get it free. She could break this one was well, but she'd rather not have two injured hands at the same time. Plus she may be able to find an easier way. The shackle was slightly loose on her wrist and she may be able to slide it off if she tugged hard enough. Getting a good grip on the shackle, she began to pull. She tried to make her hand as small as possible to make it easier to slide off, but it didn't help, and the shackle wouldn't come free. She huffed in annoyance, but stopped trying and put her hand by her side.
Thorin and Sveilrun sat in silence until the dwarves eventually awoken and breakfast was brought to them by the guards. The guard who delivered Thorin and Sveilrun's meals looked taken aback that the skin-changer had managed to escape her bindings, but didn't look enthusiastic at the thought of trying to get her chained again. Especially when she looked at the elf with gleaming yellow eyes and a slight curl to her lip. He made fast work of handing over their food before scurrying along to find something better, and probably safer, to do.
By midday, Sveilrun's body was nearly shaking from repressing her wolf form. Going for a few hours could be dealt with, a day would be discomforting, but two days in a row was near torture. The problem was not only that Thorin was in the cell with her, it was the shackle around her wrist as well. The shackle was much too small, and transforming with it on could cause much more damage than it would solve. She was half relieved it was on to make sure she wasn't tempted to shift in front of the dwarf. Shifting was not a pretty sight to behold, and it was considered a incredibly private manner that at most was seen by close family or mates. Seeing as she refused to believe Thorin would ever be either of the two, she would also have to refuse herself the gratification that would come with shifting. But as noon slowly passed, the skin-changer's extreme discomforts did not go unnoticed. Thorin had been aware for awhile now that Sveilrun was having an exceedingly difficult time and couldn't figure out why. She sat in the corner with her knees drawn up protectively; every few moments she would rub the back of her neck or her arms as if she had sore muscles, and a slight sheen of sweat began to form on her brow. Her eyebrows were pinched together, which he at first thought was leftover anger from earlier, but could now see was pain.
"What's wrong with you?" The dwarf king asked.
"Nothing," Sveilrun ground out, "I'm fine."
"No, you're not," Thorin argued and stepped toward the skin-changer, making her jump slightly. He ignored her reaction and knelt in front of her, taking her injured hand in his and looking it over. Deciding it couldn't be her hand, which had already healed to just a few blotching bruises, that was causing her this level of pain, he reached forward and pressed the back up his hand to her forehead.
Sveilrun batted away his hand with a silent growl, but not before Thorin could feel the fever burning through her skin. He grumbled angrily at her stubbornness before muttering under his breath so that the other dwarves may not hear, "Something is most definitely wrong, Sveilrun. Your forehead is burning hotter than a forge, and I may not be a master in medicines but even I know that means something is wrong."
Her gaze flickered to his for a moment in surprise; although he had said her name before, that was the first time she had actually heard it. Before that it was always just 'wolf', and she stuck to calling him 'dwarf' in return. This sudden realization startled the skin-changer.
"What is wrong?" Thorin replied, speaking the words with a slow, deep tone. The level of concern he was showing made the woman's heart pound painfully fast with both fear and a level of excitement she tried to reign in.
Sveilrun sighed, knowing that the dwarf king would not stop until she answered him. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she replied with a hoarse voice, "I haven't shifted since yesterday. It's just making me a bit . . . sick."
Sveilrun felt that that explanation had been downplayed dramatically, and from the expression on Thorin's face, so did he.
"Then shift," Thorin commanded.
"I can't," Sveilrun hissed out, embarrassment flaring at her cheeks and making her ears turn red.
"Why not?" Thorin asked, his eyebrows scrunching together.
Sveilrun merely raised her shackled wrist as a response. The thought of having to explain skin-changer beliefs about shifting and the privacy of it all seemed far too embarrassing, so she would use the shackle instead - which really was a concern. Thorin took her shackled hand and looked over the metal band around her wrist. His blue eyes narrowed for a moment as he thought.
"Could it be pulled off?" He asked, but made no move to actually pull the shackle in fear of harming the woman more.
"I already tried, it's too small." Sveilrun replied, and tried to pull her hand away from the dwarf's but couldn't because of his firm grasp. Thorin shot her a look that spoke not to move, and continued to study the shackle. His thumb briefly ran over the keyhole and the crack through the metal where it would part.
"Perhaps it could be picked open?" he suggested, "It is old, and not of the best make."
"You got all of that from staring at it?" Sveilrun muttered skeptically, but at Thorin's sharp glance, muttered more to herself, "Right. Dwarf and metal. Dumb question."
"Do you have anything small, thin, and won't break easily?" Thorin asked, glancing at the skin-changers bag that laid by her side.
Sveilrun paused for a moment, her eyebrows scrunching together, before nodding solemnly. Unclasping her bag, she reached in and pulled out her old kalimba. The metal tines across the wooden box fit the description; they were small, thin, and because they were made of metal they wouldn't break easily. Carefully, as to not cause any further damage to the instrument, Sveilrun pried off one of the tines on the end and handed it to the dwarf king. It made her upset to have to ruin her instrument, but right now freedom was looking more important than a musical tune. Thorin took it from her, deeming it suitable, and set to the task of unlocking the shackle. He worked for many minutes, concentrating on not breaking the thin piece of metal and leaving it stuck in the shackle. Eventually there was a satisfying 'click' and the shackle came undone. Thorin pulled it from her wrist and chucked it across the cell, making it clang loudly against the floor. Sveilrun rubbed her sore wrist thankfully, but the next problem still lingered at the back of her mind; Thorin was still in the cell with her.
"Thank you," Sveilrun murmured, not meeting his eyes as she continued to sooth the worn skin.
A small smile twitched on Thorin's features, but he quickly smothered it and handed back the metal tine, "Well, go ahead and do your- whatever you called it. Before you kill yourself, preferably."
Sveilrun's face heated with embarrassment. If he turned around and didn't look than it might be fine, but the thought of shifting with him there still made the skin-changer uncomfortable.
"I- I can't," she finally managed to say, cursing herself for stuttering.
"What's wrong now?" Thorin asked with a exhausted tone.
Sveilrun took a deep breath, the pain under her skin and between her bones was almost becoming too much to handle and her pride was slowly slipping away and being taken over by self-preservation. Finally she responded, "I can't because you are in here."
"Why is that a problem?" Thorin questioned, folding his arms across his chest.
"Because I will be completely naked until I'm done!" Sveilrun hissed so that the other dwarves may not hear.
Thorin's eyes widened slightly and he averted his gaze to the floor of the cell. Clearing his throat he responded, "Than I will avert my eyes."
"Are you sure you can stay turned away for as long as I may take?" Sveilrun questioned seriously, but kept her eyes on her hands, "It is something private, and it is not pleasant to watch."
Thorin nearly rolled his eyes at the skin-changer, but stopped himself, "I am sure I can manage to stay turned away."
"Even if you hear every bone in my body break?" Sveilrun asked again, "You could barely handle a broken hand."
Thorin's eyes widened, he had not thought the process would be as gruesome as she described. Eventually he gave a jerky nod and replied, "Of course."
Turning away from the woman, he moved to stand in front of the cell door incase any of the other dwarves were to look over or an elf guard walk past. He could faintly hear the sound of cloth slipping from skin before landing on the floor in a silent 'thump', and had to remind himself not to turn around. What he heard next was much less pleasant. It started with a single ear splitting crack that nearly made him whirl around in surprise. He only stopped himself because of his promise. That single crack was quickly followed by many more; loud cracks, and snaps that filled the cell, along with the occasional whimper of pain from the woman. He could faintly hear the other dwarves asking what the noise was, but he remained silent and kept his eyes fixed on the wall across the cell. In what felt like hours, but was merely minutes later, everything fell silent. The moment of silence was filled only by Thorin's rapid heartbeat as he waited for some signal that she was alright and he could turn around.
Something cold and damp brushed against his forearm, startling the dwarf king, and made him jump slightly before looking down. A large wolf nose was nudging against his arm, and bright yellow eyes were watching him questioningly. Sveilrun's wolf form was too tall for the elven cell; her hackles brushed against the roof, and she was forced to lower head until she was nearly looking the dwarf king in the eye. All of Sveilrun's senses heightened with her transformation, and now Thorin's scent surrounded her even more than before. Luckily in his form she could hide behind the wolf's firmly placed control and passive facial expressions.
"I apologize for the inconvenience," the wolf's voice rumbled through the cell, "This form takes up a bit more space than I thought it would."
Thorin merely nodded in responce and watched as Sveilrun tried backing up. The task proved difficult as she couldn't turn her head completely to see where her legs were, and she ended up banging her rump into the back of the cell. Growling in frustration, she tried to turn to press more against the side wall and give Thorin more space, but when her legs began to tangle she threw her head up and cracked it against the ceiling of the cell. The wolf huffed angrily while trying to right itself out, but in such a cramped space it was exceedingly difficult. Eventually she managed to get herself into the corner across form the bedroll and slumped onto the floor. Thorin could faintly hear her grumbling about 'pointy eared dandelions' not knowing how to make big enough cells.
Thorin opened his mouth to speak, wanting to ask the skin-changer if shifting had helped with her condition, but stopped. The giant wolf's eyes were already closed, and her side rose and fell with the deep lulling breaths of sleep. She was more exhausted than she would have been willing to admit.