Thorin and Fili left the main room to go check on Kili and speak in private. Sveilrun remained in her seat in the corner of the room, too tired to yet get up, and thankfully the other dwarves saw this and left her to rest. Under normal circumstances she would feel the need to shift into the great wolf itching at her skin, but she was far too lethargic to move, much less shift. As her gaze was locked on the bright sky outside the small cracked window, the old mantra circled around her thoughts; 'don't let them see you in the daytime, it's too dangerous'. Sveilrun reached forward and shut the window, clasping it shut tightly and flicking the old curtains over the window, blocking some of the light from entering. Even after so many years, being in her human skin during the day unsettled her profoundly. Without the realization her thumb had begun to trace the scars that were littered across her wrists.
Turning her back to the window as best as she could without actually standing, she looked down at the tea in her hand and found it dead cold. Despite its lack of heat she quickly gulped it down, feeling grateful to the hobbit, and was happy to find it helped fight the drowsiness that had seeped into her bones. Knowing it wouldn't last long, she stood from the chair, using the wall to steady herself, and slowly made her way to the room Kili rested in. She tried not to let how tired she was show, and had a very difficult time being discreet, but thankfully none of the dwarves made a fuss. Slipping into the small bedroom, she found Thorin and Fili standing over Kili who sat propped up against the headboard of the bed. Kili still looked sickly; his skin was as white as the sheets he laid on, a sheen of sweat covered his skin, and his eyes were glazed over with exhaustion. The three were in the midst of a hushed conversation, but Sveilrun couldn't find it in herself to care that she was interrupting him.
"You should be asleep," Sveilrun chided the young dwarf prince, but her tone held a softness that it usually did not.
"As should you be," Thorin grumbled, "You can barely stand."
"I wasn't speaking to you, Thorin," Sveilrun muttered coldly as she moved around the bed to sit on a chair next to Kili, lifting up the edge of the blanket to inspect the wound, and explained to the three Durin's, "I merely extracted the poison, Kili still has an arrow wound, although it should heal faster. Compared to me, he is much worse off."
Thorin looked prepared to send her a retort, but Sveilrun interrupted by saying with a hint of venom on her tone, "Bard is coming up the stairs with your precious weapons, I suggest you go get your pick before the other dwarves do."
Kili moved to leave with Thorin and Fili to get a weapon as well, but Sveilrun easily stopped him with a hand on the shoulder, and said with a scolding tone, "Not you, Kili."
"But I'm feeling fine now!" Kili said with a exasperated tone.
Sveilrun reached forward and flicked one of her fingers on the skin near the wound, earning a hiss of pain from the young dwarf, and gave him a skeptical smile, "I highly doubt that."
Sveilrun began the work of changing the dressings on the wound; if it were to get infected, which was still a possibility although a low one, her work would have been for nothing. As her steady hands worked, Kili shifted uncomfortably, a frown set on his features. After a fourth and fifth time, it began to get on the skin-changer's nerves.
"What's wrong now?" Sveilrun asked, her eyes only flicking up briefly to his.
Kili hesitated before saying, "Don't you think you're being a bit harsh?"
"I'm doing this as carefully as possible," Sveilrun defended, her eyebrows creasing together in mild frustration, "It's an arrow wound not a bee sting, did you think it would feel pleasant?"
"No, no, no," Kili quickly tried to correct himself, "No, you're doing great- hurts a lot less with you then with Oin- oh, but don't tell him I said that. I meant with Thorin."
Sveilrun paused, the scrap of cloth she was tying over the wound frozen in her hands, before asking in a tone that suggested to tread lightly, "What about Thorin?"
"It just seems like you're being a bit . . . harsh, on him," Kili said, wincing at his wording of the statement, but continued despite that, "You seemed like you were starting to get along, I mean, even just a bit?"
"I suppose we were, just a bit," Sveilrun admitted, albeit grudgingly, and leaned back in her chair once she was finished cleaning the wound, "I'm not a kind person by nature, Kili, that's something you, Thorin, and the rest of the company should be familiar with."
Kili's brows scrunched together, "I think you're a kind person."
"You're also suffering from an arrow wound, and yet wanted to argue with me on getting to pick out a big, pointy, and probably useless, weapon to carry around," the woman retorted.
"You've been helping us all the way here," Kili pointed out, "I would consider that kind."
"Because I'm going to be paid," Sveilrun responded, "Kindness is easily bought."
"Well what about when you killed that deer so we wouldn't run out of food?" Kili asks after taking a moment to think.
"If the company starves, I starve. That deer was partially for me."
"Fair enough," Kili muttered before saying in a triumphant tone, "But you also told Ori that he had nice drawings. That was kind, and there was nothing you could have gained for yourself."
Sveilrun's gaze narrowed on the young dwarf prince, but eventually she gave up on the argument and slumped back in the chair, letting her eyes droop into a tired frown, and muttered, "Cheeky brat."
"Don't act like you don't love us," Kili grinned, but let his head rest back as well, still feeling just as lethargic as Sveilrun.
Sveilrun hummed compliantly, but muttered, "Like hatred, love is a complex emotion I extend to very few. Consider yourself exceedingly unlucky if you make either list."
Kili rolled his eyes, well, as well as he could since they were only half open with exhaustion, "You care."
Sveilrun felt the weights clinging to her eyes become even heavier as she faintly murmured in reply, "I suppose."
If Kili replied she didn't catch it. The aggressive pull of slumber quickly became too much to resist any longer, and before she could comprehend or stop what was happening, she fell into a deep sleep and wouldn't awaken for many hours. Kili was surprised when Sveilrun's eyes shut completely and the deep breaths of sleep overtook her. Strands of dark brown hair hung in front of her face, which rested more peacefully than Kili had ever seen before, and left her looking younger than even himself. Even her hands, which she usually held with a slight clench were resting open and relaxed in her lap. Now that the skin-changer slept without the usual airs of intimidation that she normally clung to like a safety net, she looked fragile in the dwarf prince's eyes. The bones in her wrists and the joints along her fingers seemed more prominent than usual, giving them a thin delicate appearance, and the scars that covered both wrists seemed even lighter against her skin like beacons of the suffering she had faced at some point.
Kili already felt rather fond of the skin-changer and knew that she felt the same way for him and the company, even if she rarely showed it, so the sight of Sveilrun's rundown appearance sent a twist of guilt in his chest. She wouldn't be so exhausted if he hadn't been injured. Deciding that the woman needed the rest more than himself, and would most likely prefer to sleep in solitude, he stood with shaky legs from the bed, placed a blanket around Sveilrun's shoulders, and left the room to find the others.
Bard stood around his kitchen table, the weapons he had to offer splayed on the table, and a group of dwarves showing their displeasure at what he had to show. He knew they wouldn't be happy with the weapons, but there was no way for him to access any proper swords or axes, so what was he to do?
"We paid you for weapons!" A dwarf with red hair stated angrily, "Iron-forged swords and axes!"
"It's a joke!" Another exclaimed and threw the weapon in his hands back onto the table, urging the other dwarves to follow suit and toss their weapons down in frustration.
"You won't find better outside the city armory," Bard tried to explain, "All iron-forged weapons are held there under lock and key."
The dwarves all shared dark looks with one another. One of the dwarves, an elder one with white hair, said to the leader, "Thorin, why not take what's been offered and go? I've made do with less; so have you. I say we leave now."
The name of the leader startled the bargeman, he had heard that name before, but he couldn't quite remember where. All he knew was that it set a feeling of unease in his gut.
"You're not going anywhere," Bard declared, which in turn made all of the dwarves immediately turn on him.
"What did you say!?" The bald dwarf covered in tattoos demanded.
"There's spies watching this house and probably every dock and wharf in the town," Bard explained, which quickly made the dwarves calm down in understanding, "You must wait till nightfall."
The dwarves grumbled beneath their breaths in obvious distaste, but made no more outward remarks of disapproval. Needing a moment to himself, Bard exit his home to stand out on the front steps. The name 'Thorin' seemed so familiar and the bargeman could feel the answer on the tip of his tongue. Muttering the name to himself a few times, trying his best to recall where he heard the name, it suddenly clicks. Hearing the creak of the door opening and the silent call of his son, he rushes over to Bain and commands in a hushed tone, "Don't let them leave."
Hurrying down the steps and onto the docks that make up Laketown, Bard ran through the town in search of something. A shop. He reached his destination quickly and runs up into the front of the shop.
"Hello, Bard," the storekeeper greeted politely, "What're you after?"
Bard quickly moved to a table covered in worn clothes and tapestries and began rifling through them, "There was a tapestry, an old one; where's it gone?"
"What tapestry you talking about?" the storekeeper asked.
"This one," Bard answered and lifted a long roll of musty cloth from a pile, quickly placing it on one of the tables under the light of an oil lamp. Unrolling it, he found a long family tree of the Line of Durin sewn into the fabric, the name 'Thorin' displayed as clear as day.
Not far away he overheard the voice of a townswoman, "There were dwarves, I tell you. Appeared out of nowhere. Full beards, fierce eyes; I've never seen the like."
Another voice of a man asked, "What are dwarves doing in these parts?"
"It's the prophecy," A third voice answered surely.
"Prophecy?" the man asked.
"The prophecy of Durin's folk," the third voice answered again.
Bard looked over the tapestry a second, third, and fourth time, hoping his eyes are deceiving him, but found the same names there for him to read.
"The old tales will come true," he overheard a man say.
"Vast halls of treasure!" a woman proclaimed.
"Can it really be true?" a different woman asked excitedly, "Has the lord of silver fountains returned?"
The phrase the woman said jolts Bard's memory, the words of an old prophecy that was known to everyone in the town, and he recites to himself;
"The King beneath the mountains,
The King of carven stone,
The lord of silver fountains
Shall come into his own!
His crown shall be upholden,
His harp shall be restrung,
With one of heart so golden
The songs of yore re-sung
The woods shall wave on mountains
And grass beneath the sun;
His wealth shall flow in fountains
The wolf of old will run.
The streams shall run in gladness,
The lakes shall shine and burn,
All sorrow fail and sadness
At the Mountain-king's return!"
Bard recited the prophecy to himself over and over again until his breath caught on a single line. "The wolf of old will run." A wolf? The memory of a woman's vivid yellow eyes glaring daggers at him, snapped him back to reality. Dropping the tapestry, Bard took off down the docks, already knowing every path by heart until he reached his next destination. Set near the Master's home was a small wooden statue that had grown dark and chipped with years of wear, but the subject of the statue was still clear to see. A large wooden wolf sat with its head raised high in pride. Attached to the statue was a wooden plaque with writing carved in that the bargeman had read and reread since he was a child;
"In honor of the wolf who saved our children, mothers, and fathers in the burning of Dale,
It never troubles the wolf how many the sheep may be."
Something that always caught Bard's eye when he passed the statue as a child, and the craftsman was fortunate enough not to forget, was the patches of scars among the wolf's front paws. He had always thought it was supposed to represent the burns suffered in the burning of Dale, but now he was not so sure. His memories flickered back to the woman once again, more specifically the scars that covered her wrists. He had noticed them on the barge, but was polite enough not to ask or stare. The words she had growled at him earlier came to mind, "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." But there was no possible way the short woman could be the great wolf, was there?
The last question that came to mind was something he had asked earlier that still went unanswered, "what's a skin-changer?"
.
Kili knew Sveilrun wouldn't be happy when she woke up. Actually he was quite certain she would be furious. Considering how protective she had gotten when the dwarf prince had merely wanted to get out of the bed, she wouldn't be pleased to discover that he had left Bard's home entirely. Even worse, left the house to break into the city armoury. With the rest of the company. Which meant she was left alone sleeping in the bargeman's house. The skin-changer wouldn't be pleased in the least. Although in Kili's defence, when he went to awaken the woman all he could think of was the wolf warning him not to awaken her unless someone were dying, or there was food prepared, and technically neither of those had happened. Besides, once they got what they wanted, the company would return to retrieve her, and she might not ever need to awake with them gone. Although she would still be cross with them.
The rest of the company, although reluctant, decided it best to leave Sveilrun, as she might try and stop them. Plus the woman could be downright terrifying in the morning, as many of them had the pleasure of witnessing, and none felt inclined to disturb her slumber.
The dwarves made quick work breaking into the armoury. They piled up atop one another and climbed through a window. It wasn't easy for Kili with an injured leg hindering his movements, but he managed to get in with a few other dwarves. Thorin began to pile swords, axes, and maces in his younger nephew's arms. Kili's arms strained to support the weight of the weapons, and his leg burned and ached terrible, making him question why he thought it a good idea to join them.
Piling another weapon into Kili's grasp, and noticing the sickly appearance of the young dwarf, Thorin asked, "You all right?"
"I can manage," Kili replied, but doubt circled around him, making him unsure, "Let's just get out of here, before Sveilrun notices we're gone."
Thorin's expression blanched for a moment before he nodded and gave Kili yet another sword. Kili felt both his arms and legs burn with the effort of staying upright, his exhaustion still evident. Wanting to put down the weapons as soon as possible, he makes his was towards the stairs, but a sudden painful twinge in his leg makes him buckle, and before he can catch himself he tumbles down the stairs. The weapons all fall from his grasp and clang together terribly, making all of the dwarves freeze. A cry from the nearby guardsmen is quickly followed by the thumping of their footsteps, and before Kili can right himself a guard is keeping him down with a dagger rested on his throat. Kili faintly caught Thorin's gaze, the guilt on the young dwarf's face quite apparent, but his main thought was;
'Sveilrun is going to be furious.'
None of the dwarves managed to escape the town guards grasp, and they were forced along the docks until the reached a house that looked much more luxurious than all the others: the Master's mansion. Naturally the dwarves fought against the guardsmen, demanding to be released, but the guards had weapons and numbers while the dwarves did not. Townsfolk exited their homes as the group passed, alarmed by the noise and curious to what was going on. As the large crowd reached the mansion, a greasy, black haired man poked his head out the door before quickly going back inside to fetch his master.
"Get off of me!" Dwalin growled as the dwarves were pushed into a ring of the townsfolk.
It only took a second for the black haired man to rouse his master, and a large, and quite unattractive, man stormed out of the mansion, still putting on his jacket, "What is the meaning of this?"
"We caught 'em stealing weapons, sire," One of the guardsmen answered.
"Ah. Enemies of the state, then," the Master drawled.
"This is a bunch of mercenaries if ever there was, sire," the nasty little black haired man sneered.
A deafening roar of a howl brought a disturbed silence among the crowd. Up atop one of the many rooftops was a giant black shadow, that would have gone unnoticed if not for the gleaming yellow eyes that shined against the townspeople's torchlight. The crowd instantly backed away from the building with the creature on it, gasps and shrieks of surprise sounding, wanting to put distance between themselves and the beast. The moment they backed away the creature leapt down, landing with a loud 'thump', and slowly stalked forward with a growl rolling through its chest. The crowd was in a shocked silence, as if all the air had been sucked from their lungs. A ginormous, dark brown wolf is what emerged from the shadows. The townspeople, and most of the guards, put as much distance between themselves and the great beast. But two of the more courageous, or highly ignorant, guards pointed the tips of their long spears at the wolf. The wolf's lips pulled back to flash long white teeth, and a deep growl rolled through its throat, stopping in its tracks. When one of the guards were foolish enough to try and jab at the wolf with his spear, the wolf easily snatched the spear between its jaws, snapping the wooden handle into splinters. Any courage the guards may have had quickly fled them, and like the rest of the crowd they retreated from the wolf's reach. The snarl remained on the wolf's face, its head lowered so its bared fangs would be at eye level of all it passed, as it stalked towards the dwarves. It was only the dwarves that noticed the wolf carried a slight limp in its back leg, and its head was not held low in intimidation but because it was so tired. For a moment the crowd thought the wolf was going to slaughter everyone there, but the moment the wolf had entered the ring of dwarves it turned to the Master of Laketown.
Facing the black haired man who stood next to the Master, who started pale-faced at the beast and sputtered commands at the guards, the wolf's yellow eyes narrowed before it demanded in a deep, thundering voice that unnerved all who heard it and brought complete silence to crowd, "Hold your tongue!"
Kili's suspicions were correct, Sveilrun wasn't pleased in the least.