A/N: Before I get messages saying that I'm following the movie incorrectly, I'd just like to state that I'm going to be changing parts of the plot to at least somewhat follow the books. In this case, they're spending around a week in Dale, and Legolas and Tauriel aren't making an appearance. Sorry if there's any confusion!
Review or message me if you have any thoughts or feedback!
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Bard, Sveilrun, and Bard's son, Bain, travelled quickly down the many docks that made up Laketown. The company of dwarves and hobbit are nowhere to be seen, setting the skin-changer on edge. If they were to get into trouble she'd be too far off to help. Sveilrun was aware of the many spies of the town's master watching them, as Bain had warned, and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. They walked up a rickety flight of stairs, bundles of food and other supplies in hand, and entered Bard's old house. Bain opened the door to let Sveilrun in, and she was given a moment to take in the home. It was not bad in size, considering the state of the town, and it looked to be kept fairly clean. A young girl stood in the next room and stared at the strange woman with wide, curious eyes. An elder girl stood in the kitchen and gave Sveilrun a confused glance, but when their father entered the home, the thought of the new woman was lost on them.
"Da!" the youngest daughter called happily, and ran into her father's arms, "Where have you been?"
"Father!" the eldest does similarly as her younger sister and ran to hug her father, "There you are. I was worried."
Bard returned their affections both before handing the eldest his bag, "Here's something to eat. Bain, get them in."
"Da, who's this woman?" the youngest girl asked their father as Bain made his way down a set of stairs into the lower floor of the house. Bard doesn't have time to answer properly as the skin-changer followed the young boy down the steps. She recognized most would consider it rude to leave in the middle of an introduction, but she couldn't find it in herself to care as her main concern was for the dwarves. Unadmittedly, most of her concern was for Thorin, but she tried to ignore that.
The lower part of the house was open to the water, but one corner was blocked from view, and in that corner was a wooden toilet. Sveilrun felt a surge of disgust to have her suspicions of where their waste went confirmed, but what happened next brought a new happiness that smothered all disgust. Bain knocked on the wall near the toilet, and almost instantly Dwalin's head raised from the toilet.
"If you speak of this to anyone, I'll rip your arms off," the tattooed dwarf growled at the young boy.
A long grin is spread on Sveilrun's face, and she teased the dwarf as he pulled himself from the toilet, "I can't decide which I prefer; seeing you covered in fish slime or watching you climb from a toilet."
"Wipe that smirk off your face, Ida," Dwalin retorted, before stalking up the stairs into Bard's house.
Once the tattooed dwarf left, Sveilrun pat young Bain's shoulder and told him, "I can help them, go see if your father needs anything."
Bain simply nodded before clambering back up the stairs. Sveilrun turned to help the next up, Bilbo, by grabbing onto the cloth of his jacket and hauling him up quite easily and setting him down on the floor. She directed the small hobbit towards the stairs before turning to the next dwarf and pulling him up. Lifting the hobbit was much easier than any of the dwarves and Sveilrun had a harder time supporting their weight, especially with an injured shoulder, but she knew the young lad would have an even harder time. Luckily most of the dwarves were able to pull themselves most of the way. Kili's head popped up through the toilet, and instead of the cheerfulness that he usually greeted the skin-changer with, his face was twisted in a pained scowl. Sveilrun didn't hesitate to grab the dwarf underneath his arms and haul him up with a pained grunt, her shoulder screaming in protest. Once the dwarf was up and on the floor, she brushed his messy dark bangs away from his paled skin to examine his pain stricken face.
"You look even iller than before," Sveilrun said with concern, her eyebrows pinched together.
"I'll be fine," Kili muttered.
Sveilrun's lips pressed together in clear disbelief, but she simply commanded, "Go upstairs, I'll look at the wound when I come up."
"Seriously, I'm f-"
"Don't lie to me, Kili," Sveilrun interrupted before the dwarf could finish his sentence, making his gaze drop in shame, and she briefly ran her hand over the top of his head in a show of affection, "I'll be up in a minute."
The young dwarf prince nodded before limping up the stairs into Bard's home. Sveilrun turned to help the next dwarf up, and continued this pattern until there was only one left, Thorin. By then the skin-changer was exhausted and incredibly sore; despite their size, the dwarves weren't exactly light, especially Bombur, and the wound across her shoulder was not helping. Thorin pulled himself into the house without the woman's assistance at seeing how lethargic she looked.
"How is your shoulder?" He asked, grabbing the skin-changer's sleeve before she could walk up the stairs.
"Just sore," Sveilrun replied coldly, brushing his hand away, "It will pass."
Thorin looked as if he wished to speak, especially when she brushed away from him, but decided against it and kept his mouth shut. The two of them made their way upstairs and found the rest of the company waiting with fresh clothing a few sizes too big for them and blankets wrapped around their shoulders. Some were still in the other room changing into their new clothing, while others were wrapped in blankets and placing their wet gear in front of a crackling fire. Bard's youngest daughter weaved in between the dwarves with a stack of blankets in her arms, handing them out to whomever didn't have one already.
Noticing the two, Bard handed Thorin a faded red shirt and told the dwarf, "It may not be the best fit, but it'll keep you warm."
Thorin grunted his thanks before going off to change. The eldest daughter of Bard found Sveilrun and held out a worn blue dress for the woman, "It may be a bit big for you, but it should fair better than what you have."
Sveilrun took the dress thankfully, having already noticed the poor shambles her layers of tunics were in. She followed the young woman, who she learned was named Sigrid from a brief introduction, to one of the bedrooms in the house to change in privacy. It didn't take long for the skin-changer to rid herself of the old shirts and slip on the blue dress over her pants. Being shorter than Sigrid, the dress was indeed slightly loose on her form, but it was much better than the tattered remains of her layered tunics. Sveilrun wrapped her harness back around her waist once the dress was on, wearing it similarly as a belt with the two saddlebags hanging from her hips.
Being the first time in what felt like months that the skin-changer was able to change in a room, and not in the darkness of the woods where one of the dwarves could easily cross her path, she allowed herself a moment to enjoy the privacy it gave her. A looking glass sat on an old dresser and she picked it up with tentative hands, and wasn't surprised with what she found. Her hair was a terrible mess. The wavy, dark brown hair was frizzy and knotted horribly, with strands stuck up in random places. Groaning in frustration, her brown eyes wandered until they landed on a hairbrush. Taking it, she roughly teared through the knots littering her hair until she managed to get her dark hair relatively smooth once again. Picking up one of her more ruined tunics, the skin changer ripped off a thin piece and used it to tie back her hair in a rough braid. Albeit she was never skilled at braiding her hair, so many strands stuck out where they shouldn't, but it kept her hair from her face so the skin-changer didn't care.
The sudden memory of her promise to look at Kili's leg broke the woman from her moment of peace, and she quickly left the bedroom to search for the dwarf prince. It didn't take long to find him, leaning against the wall in the corner, looking like he was trying his best to look fine and failing horribly. Grabbing one of the chairs around Bard's dining table, Sveilrun carried it to the dwarf and set it down before him, pointing at it expectantly.
Kili sighed and tried to argue, "I'm fine- truly," but stopped at the harsh glare coming from the skin-changer.
Complying, he slumped down into the wooden chair, hissing from his quick movement. Sveilrun knelt down next to the chair and moved the tear in the dwarfs pants to get a better look at the arrow wound. An ooze, that was much too dark to be blood, dripped from the wound and smeared across the dwarf's pants. Dark splotching bruises surrounded the injury, and his veins around the wound began to turn black.
"This is far worse than a normal arrow wound, Kili!" Sveilrun hissed at the dwarf, making him look away in embarrassment, unintentionally calling everyone else's attention, "This should have been treated at the river, and you know it!"
Standing to her feet, the skin-changer immediately sought out Bard and commanded, "Kili is going to need a bed or something comfortable to lie on. Along with that I need hot water, whatever rags you can find, and I need to see what collection of herbs you have."
"Are you sure that's necess-" Bard began to question the woman, but she interrupted him before he could even finish the thought.
"I have been alive longer than this miserable town has existed, and if it weren't for me half the population wouldn't be alive to see it," the skin-changer snapped, her brown eyes shifting to a luminous yellow as the wolf surfaced, and she stepped forward to stare the tall man down, "Do not challenge what I am and am not sure of, because I can assure you it will not end well. Now, Kili is suffering from a poison and will need a bed, hot water, rags, and I need to see whatever supply of herbs you have."
Bard took a brief step back at the skin-changers sudden burst of anger and nodded his head compliantly. Turning back to the dwarf, the skin-changer held out an arm to help support his weight and led him towards a bedroom that Bard indicated to. As Sveilrun helped Kili settle onto the bed, he asked with a strained voice, "Was it really necessary to snap at him?"
"No," The skin-changer replied honestly, all signs of anger completely gone, "But people tend to move faster when I raise my voice."
Deciding that Kili's placement was adequate, Sveilrun nodded to herself before exiting the room in search of the other supplies. She found Sigrid boiling water over the fire and Bard in the kitchen pulling out every store of herbs he could find, even the cooking ones. Sveilrun picked up the nearest jar to examine the herb and said in dismay, "You already ground your herbs? I can't tell them apart like this."
"I can tell you the names," Bard offered.
"The common names mean nothing to me, all of my knowledge of medicines is in my language - and being the last of two that can speak the language - there's no way to translate," Sveilrun replied, her eyebrows pinching together in alarm.
A sudden idea came to the skin-changer. She looked up from the herbs to find an array of dwarves watching her, all of them wearing various expressions of concern or curiosity, it only took her a moment to find the dwarf she was looking for.
"Thorin, come here," She requested.
Thorin didn't hesitate to break through the group of dwarves and stand next to the skin-changer, watching her with a similar curiosity as the others. Without a moment for second thought, the skin-changer discreetly took the hand of the dwarf king in her own under the table. Almost instantly a range of scents filled her nostrils. If she cannot tell the herbs apart by sight she will have to by smell. Pleased with the new sense, she hastily began picking up the different jars of crushed herbs and lifting them to her nose. Learning the ways of herbs as a child proved useful now as a storage of knowledge came back to her; in her younger days she had learned everything there was about herbs from their scent, before she lost her sense she named them all to remember what qualities they held. Sveilrun was able to begin arranging the selection of herbs accordingly, naming them underneath her breath in a language that to others sounded like a series of growled murmurs. She felt lucky for once that no one spoke her language, as the names she had given the various plants as a child were rather embarrassing, such as 'tail tuffs', 'red-rain', and 'lying berries'. She couldn't remember how she came up with any of the names- 'lying berries' weren't even berries, and they certainly couldn't lie. But despite that she was able to remember the effects of each plant and what happened when they are mixed.
Without breaking her hand from Thorin's, Sveilrun grabbed a wooden bowl and began mixing different amounts from each herb that she needed, making various adjustments and calculations in her head. She had to treat a similar wound on Beorn and on Ronan, Beorn after they had escaped the orc prison, and Ronan after the first orc attack on the village, but both men were much bigger than Kili and needed a stronger mixture than he would.
"I thought you could only use your sense of smell if you had found your intended one?" Thorin questioned knowingly, watching the skin-changer as she worked, his hand clasping onto hers as tightly as hers held his.
"Now is not the time, Thorin," Sveilrun muttered silently, not looking up as she continued to work, but her ears flushed red with embarrassment, "I am more concerned for your nephew than for my renewed sense."
Sigrid brought over a large metal pot filled with hot water, a cloth wrapped around it so it wouldn't burn the young woman's hands. Taking the hot water from Bard's daughter, Sveilrun carefully poured a small amount of the hot liquid into the bowl full of mixed herbs and began to mix everything into a warm, mushy paste. Once she completed the mixture, she hastily dropped Thorin's hand, and carried the hot water and wooden bowl into the room Kili rested in. Setting her supplies onto a side table, she rolled up her sleeves and mentally prepared for what was to come next. It wouldn't be pretty.
Turning to the pale dwarf who watched the skin-changer with openly concerned eyes, she leaned over and told him honestly, "The process of cancelling the poison's effects isn't going to be easy nor pleasant for you, and it's going to be rather painful. It would be much faster if it were being treated with Elvish medicine, but as it is I'll have to use a different, longer method, which quite frankly is going to hurt more than a hot-poker to the eye."
Kili released a shuddered sigh before nodding his head in understanding, his hands clutching onto the material covering the bed. Sveilrun's features briefly pinched in sympathy for what was to come, but quickly returned to cold indifference. It would do no one good to get emotional.
Taking some of the herbal mixture onto her fingers, she hastily spread the paste over his wound before it could cool down, making the dwarf groan loudly in obvious pain, and quickly looked up to speak to the many dwarves watching from the doorway in concern, "Someone's going to have to hold him down."
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The skin-changer sat in the corner of Bard's home, her body curled into a chair, as she rested her head against the wall. She sat next to a small open window and the slight breeze that came through felt marvelous on her overheated skin. Her muscles were no longer in pain, in fact she could barely feel anything. Sveilrun knew she wouldn't be able to stand from the chair even if a hoard of orcs came through the roof, she was far too tired. Weights on her eyelids forced them shut, but she couldn't find the relief of sleep. The only feeling she did have besides the sapping of all her energy, was a deep throbbing pain in her thigh speaking of the magic she had used.
Sveilrun was successful in healing Kili's wound, but the type of magic she was forced to use was old and had been untouched by her for hundreds of years. It took much more out of her than she remembered it having had before. The premise of skin-changer healing was transferring energy from one person to another, to let them sap off of the wolf's healing abilities, but it left the healer without the ability to heal themselves for days or weeks, and often left them with the feeling of whatever injury they had healed. It was not something Sveilrun would have used without the absolute need to.
The dwarves were settled around Bard's home away from the skin-changer, wanting to give her some space, but would let their eyes roam to her periodically. The ordeal with Kili had not gone well; the dwarf prince had kicked and thrashed against their holds, screaming all the while as the skin-changer healed him. Just as frightening as Kili's suffering; as the woman spoke in a language none understood, Sveilrun slowly began to turn sickly pale, her voice wavering until the growls of her language became whimpers, and a sheen of sweat formed on her brow. The moment she finished, she forced herself to leave the room, almost stumbling to the floor more than once, and collapsed into the chair in the corner. Kili was still resting in the bed he had been healed in, the wound on his thigh stitching itself together with the energy borrowed from the skin-changer.
None of the dwarves dared approach Sveilrun, knowing from the way her eyes occasionally flickered that she was not asleep, and wouldn't like to be approached. It was Thorin who eventually brought himself to silently move to the woman's side. Of course, she heard his footsteps and easily guessed who it was, but didn't acknowledge his presence. She faintly felt a weight drape over her form, most likely a blanket or cloak, and heard the scraping of a chair being moved to sit next to her.
"You're not supposed to do that," she heard herself murmur, the words coming out as a soft whisper, but she didn't feel the words leave her mouth, "Not supposed to touch."
"You can hit me for it later," she vaguely heard a deep voice reply, and a slight weight rested on her arm. She only barely heard his reply as sleep finally overpowered insomnia and she drifted into the dark recesses of slumber.
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"Veili!" the sudden thundering of footsteps was followed by the woman being swept off her feet and into the air. Sveilrun released a silent squeak of surprise at suddenly being lifted into the air, and looked down to see the happiest blue eyes staring back at her.
"Favian! Put me down!" Sveilrun yelled, but her angry tone was ruined when she began laughing at his antics. Like her mother, the young skin-changer was never able to stay angry at her brothers for more than a few minutes.
The tall man that had grabbed her had dark brown hair that fell from a messy pony tail, and shining blue eyes that were filled with joy. Having inherited their father's tall stature, unlike their mother's short height which Sveilrun had, her brother easily towered over her and lifted her as easily as he would a rag doll. Holding his older sister in a crushing hug, he spun her around and proclaimed loudly, "I found her, Veili! I found her!"
"Nice to see you too, brother. You've been gone for four festivals and this is the greeting I get?" Sveilrun managed to ask with the limited air she had in his strong grasp.
Just then the unmistakable features of Ronan rounded the corner of the path at a sprint. Upon seeing his two siblings he stumbled to a sudden stop, which almost ended with a face full of dirt, and let out a frustrated huff.
"I told you not to run off!" the middle of the three siblings yelled at the youngest, his hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath.
"I told you not to take so long," Favian retorted, sticking out his tongue childishly at the blond man.
Ronan scowled at his younger brother before stealing the woman from his arms to give her a hug. Ronan was even larger than Favian, although both of them were not quite the size of their father yet who stood at almost ten feet tall, and if he had not been careful with his older sister he easily would have smothered her.
"It's good to see you again, Veili," Ronan murmured before setting her back on her feet, "I only wish that you could have come with us."
"Someone had to stay and watch father," Sveilrun replied, her tone suggesting not to touch the topic any further than that, before turning back to Favian, "Now, who did you find?"
"Her! My intended one!" Favian responded, his smile so big it looked almost painful, "She lives in the village north of here!"
"That poor girl is going to be stuck with him for an eternity," Ronan quipped, earning a glare from Favian and a muffled laugh from Sveilrun.
"You're just jealous that my intended one actually lives nearby," Favian retorted, "You have to travel for over a week just to see Faynor."
Ronan glared at Favian and made the slightest movement with his head towards Sveilrun, a clear signal to stop talking. Sveilrun rolled her eyes at her two younger brothers, "I'm fine without you two stepping on eggshells around me."
"We just don't want to upset you, Veili," Ronan replied, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort.
"I'll find my intended one when I'm supposed to," Sveilrun waved off their concern, but couldn't help but feel the stab of loneliness in her chest, "Now come back to the cottage and you can tell me about your travels."
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When Sveilrun awoke next, it was not to the feeling of restfulness that sleep was supposed to bring. The deep throbbing of a migraine split through her skull like an axe, making her feel very much like Bifur, and the lethargy that clung to her muscles left her more tired than before she had slept. A sharp pain creaked through her neck when she moved to sit up, followed by a rolling nausea in her gut, and she quickly regretted her uncomfortable sleeping arrangements. A muffled groan escaped her lips as she slumped forward, planting her face in her open palms, and praying to whoever would listen to not get sick.
"Are you alright?" A deep voice, which she easily recognized as Thorin's, asked silently.
"I'd be lying if I said yes," the skin-changed groaned, and finally opened her eyes to look up at the dwarf king.
It was still daylight, the sun shining through the window which lay ajar above her. Thorin stood next to the skin-changer, leaning against the wall in front of the window and blocking any sunlight from hitting her, likely on purpose to give her a longer rest.
"Kili?" Sveilrun asked, leaning back in the chair and folding her arms across her chest, as if to try and hold onto some composure, "How is he? How long was I asleep?"
"He's still resting, as you should be," Thorin replied, raising a single brow at her expectantly, "You only slept a few hours."
Sveilrun simply waved him off, huffing silently to herself.
"Kili's wound has almost completely healed. According to Oin, if you had not done what you had, Kili would have died." Thorin explained, a small smile pulling at the edge of his lips as he watched the woman closely, "The line of Durin owes you much."
"You helped me when I was unable to stitch my own wound, and could have easily bled out," Sveilrun grumbled, "Consider us even."
Thorin nodded compliantly, realizing the skin-changers difficulties with looking weak in any way. He already knew that even if he hadn't helped her by the river, she still would have put herself through healing Kili, even with the obvious drawbacks she was suffering from. She was fond of the two dwarf princes, even if she rarely showed it. He kept his blue eyes fixed on the woman as he thought of everything that had happened, but her gaze was caught by something else past the dwarf's shoulder.
"Is that . . ." Sveilrun's brown eyes squinted and she gestured towards the window behind Thorin, "A Dwarvish Windlance?"
Thorin turned to peer out the window, his eyes easily finding the great metal weapon that resembled a crossbow with four long arms. Both Sveilrun and Thorin paused in mild shock, having not expected to see such a weapon in Laketown.
The sudden squeak of Bilbo's voice announcing loudly, "Sveilrun! How are you feeling?" broke Sveilrun's gaze from the Windance. Looking down at the Hobbit, who wore clothes far too big that hung from his frame and held two mugs that looked large in his small hands, she couldn't help the small smile that tugged on her lips.
"As well as can be expected," the woman replied.
"Here, have some of this," Bilbo offered and handed her a cup of steaming tea, "Should help wake you up a bit."
"Thank you, Master Baggins," Sveilrun said gratefully, and took the cup into her hands, already comforted by the warmth it spread through her fingers.
Taking a sip from his own tea, Bilbo looked over at Thorin, who still stood staring out the window, and commented, "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"He has," Balin said, stepping forward next to Sveilrun to look out the window as well, "The last time we saw such a weapon, a city was on fire. It was the day the dragon came."
Memories of the burning city of Dale brought upon a somber mood to the skin-changer, and she let the cup of tea rest in her lap untouched. Her memories of the event had dimmed over the years, but she could still remember the terrible screams, the roaring fires that scorched the wolf's dark fur, and the great thundering flaps of the dragon's wings. She had helped many of the people of Dale escape the burning city, but not everyone could be saved and her powers only extended so far.
"The day that Smaug destroyed Dale," Balin began to tell the tale, "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 armor. Only a black arrow, fired from a wind-lance, could have pierced the dragon's hide, and few of those arrows were ever made. His store was running low when Girion made his last stand."
"Had the aim of Men been true that day, much would have been different," Thorin grumbled angrily.
Sveilrun's eyes narrowed on Thorin, feeling displeased with his tone. She already knew that Thorin would have been in Erebor during the dragon's attack, dealing with their own problems, and wouldn't have been as close to the attack on Dale as she had been.
"It is not as easy as you think to shoot a flying dragon, Thorin," Sveilrun muttered with an angry tone, earning confused glances from the dwarves listening.
"You both speak as if you were there," Bard observed, approaching the small group.
"All dwarves know the tale," Thorin explained, folding his arms across his chest.
"I," Sveilrun announced, "was actually there, and didn't hear about it from a story."
"Why were you in Dale?" Thorin asked.
Sveilrun cleared her throat awkwardly and admitted, "I had some kin in Dale I was looking for."
"How? I thought all of the skin-changers had been killed?" Bilbo questioned.
"What's a skin-changer?" Bard questioned, but everyone ignored him.
"The kin I had in Dale weren't skin-changers, my mother was from the race of men," Sveilrun's sudden reveal of ancestry was met with a surprised silence, "Were all of you foolish enough to think I am a full-blooded skin-changer? You all saw how tall Beorn is."
"I just assumed the wolf skin-changers were shorter than the bears," Balin admitted.
"My father was over nine feet tall," Sveilrun stated, earning wide eyes of surprises from the dwarves, but didn't want to delve further into the topic than that. Luckily Bain interrupted any further questions on her ancestry.
"If you were there then you would know that Girion hit the dragon. He loosened a scale under the left wing. One more shot and he would have killed the beast," the young lad exclaimed surely.
"That's a fairy story, lad," Dwalin chuckled, earning a muffled indignified huff of disagreement from Sveilrun, which went ignored, "Nothing more."
Impatience quickly overtook Thorin, they were gaining nothing by standing around and arguing about the past. Striding up to Bard he said, "You took our money. Where are the weapons?"
The grim-faced man paused, his gaze evaluating for a moment, for replying, "Wait here."