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Part Two of Three – Fire and Water:

Sigrid was woken by a stirring at her side. Her eyes fluttered open. The light coming through the cracks in the shutters was of the pale gray before dawn.

"Didn't mean to wake you, lass," said the dwarf beside her. It was the fatherly one, Bofur. "His fever's broken. All downhill from now."

Sigrid raised herself painfully onto her hands. She realized she was on the floor, at the base of the bed and half-way leaning against the wall. Her neck was aching from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position.

"Goo'," she muttered, as the events of the last night and the days previous came rushing back to her. It was a whirling, confused muddle of shrieking Orcs, elves, dwarves, Da – her father had been arrested. Her father was in prison.

"I'll fix 'im some food." Sigrid stood and tried to get the worst of the kinks out by stretching, tried to get the worst of the memories pushed to a corner of her mind, out of the way. "He'll be needing somethin' to get up his strength."

There was suddenly a deep, resounding rumble from the floor beneath her. Her legs trembled and she lost her balance against the wall. The rumble went on, something that she might have called an earthquake; except she had never felt one before. And then, in the distance, as if from the dimension between dreams and consciousness, a noise that sounded like a roar.

"Wha' was that?" she whispered. Her hands had gone cold, tightened into fists so that her fingernails dug into her palms. She could feel her breath come up her throat as it scraped against flesh.

"Been happening through the night," said Bofur. "Something's stirring at the mountain. I don't know what Thorin's done."

"It is the dragon then?" said Sigrid, surprised at hearing her voice. It sounded so clear, so unconcerned. "I thought Tilda was only frightened – Da – I dinna think…."

"Aye, that's the beast," said Bofur. "Smaug." The name set a shiver running up Sigrid's spine, down her arms and legs and made the hair stand up on the back of her neck, reached her heart and chilled her to the core. She had not heard the name but for only legends, far away fairytales that had set nightmares on her when she was young.

Kili stirred on the bed below them and opened his eyes.

"Easy, lad," said Bofur, turning and laying a hand on the young dwarf's shoulder. "You're alright now. Sit up if you can. Sigrid's gone to fix you something to eat."

"Sigrid?" said Kili as she left, gone to put more wood on the fire. Bain and Tilda were lying on the floor, sleeping and wrapped in blankets. The older dwarf, Oin, was still sleeping with his head atop the table. Fili wasn't in the room.

"Aye, lad. Right smart little lass that's nursed you through most of the night. Daughter o' Bard."

"Where are the elves?" Kili whispered. His voice was hoarse. "She was here…or was it just a dream?"

"She was here alright."

Sigrid didn't know why it mattered so much to him, why he kept asking about the elves, about her. She was gone now. Sigrid had appreciated her help, was glad Kili was healed, but she was gone now and had ceased to matter.

Sigrid stirred the fire, prompting a flame in the grate to set the water boiling again.

"Sigrid?" said Bain's voice beside her, and Sigrid turned to see he'd woken and was sitting up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"More wood for the fire, Bain," she said.

"I should go see Da," said Bain. "Maybe they've let him ou'."

"They havena let him ou'. He'd be here if they had," said Sigrid. "They won' let you in to see him. Ye know how the Master is. Best get me somo' wood."

"Even so, I'd better see what I can do," said Bain.

Just then there was another deep rumble from beneath them. Tilda turned over in her sleep and mumbled something indiscernible.

"Was that the dragon?" said Bain. He sounded frightened, but curiously intrigued. Sigrid shot him a glance to see his face and eyes were alight with a mysterious glow, not quite only from the light creeping onto it from the cracks in the shutters.

"Aye," she said. She looked over her shoulder to Bofur, whom had his back to her, helping Kili sit up in the bed. "Naught to worry about, Bain. Not yet."

Sigrid finished the stew with what meager supplies she had. They were running low. She'd have to send Tilda to the market later. If they hadn't any money she knew where her father kept his extra savings, something he didn't know she was aware of.

She doled out a steaming portion into a mug and cross the room to Kili. Bofur had left to try to find Fili. She perched herself on the stool before the foot of the bed. Kili reached out for the bowl and she let him take it. Her eyes flickered to his face, making sure not to catch his eye, acutely conscious that he was staring at her.

"You're looking better," she said, clearing her throat in the hope that her words might flow more smoothly. "Fever's all but gone. Few days o' rest an' ye'll be gooda' new."

He didn't answer her. She looked up briefly, saw that he was still looking at her, now smiling slightly, and looked quickly back to her lap.

"Thank you," he said, "for everything. You look young to be such a good nurse."

"I'll be seventeen winters –" she said almost hastily. She caught herself and added. "I'm shor' for my age. Da's always jokin' that I mus' be part dwarf –" she faltered and looked up because she was worried she had spoken out of turn and offended him.

"E's always been in jest, though," she added hastily.

Kili was still smiling. She felt a bit of the knot in her stomach relax.

"Sip tha' slowly," she said, indicating his bowl of stew. "I reckon your stomach's not qui' set yet. Your liable 'o cough it righ' back up."

"I'll be careful," said he, and lifted the spoon to his lips. "Where is your father?"

"E's not got back yet," she said, looking back at her lap because she'd never been quite able to hide the glint in her eye when she lied.

"And your mother?"

Something caught in her throat, but she forced it stubbornly back. "She died when I'as ten." She continued to look at her lap so that she could miss whatever reaction past across Kili's face.

He didn't say anything and she realized her tongue was still running onward, "Tilda was jus' a wee thing, not more than fo' summers. Town got swept with fever. There wasna any medicine and Da sent us away 'cause it was catching. When we go' back Mam was gone. Da go' his work with the shipyard afterward. E's hardly ever home."

"I'm sorry," said Kili's voice, washing over her bowed head. "I lost my father when I was young. He died in a battle."

Sigrid looked up and caught his eye. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to say. Loss was common in Lake-Town. People rarely talked about it. It was always taken for granted that sympathy was scarce – because empathy was all too common.

"The other dwarf, the tall one, the one they've made such a fuss about – e's your uncle?"

"Aye," said Kili, and dropped his gaze, "They're all there now, I suppose." She knew he was talking about the mountain, the dragon. She remembered the far-away, threatening tremor of the earth and is if her thoughts had been swept up in fate another rumble ran through the house, making the porcelain plates rattle on the table.

"They're alrigh'," she said, whispering as if she was only talking to herself, "I'm sure they're alrigh'."

"And the elf? She – I can't shake the feeling that she was just a dream…."

Again he was asking about her, the beautiful she-elf whom had waltzed into Sigrid's home and –

"She's gone with 'er kinsman. Where, I dunno know."

Sigrid left to bring his bowl back into the kitchen. Tilda was tidying scraps of wood from the attack last night, stacking them neatly by the fire to be salvaged or else burned later. She straightened up as Sigrid approached.

"E's handsome isn't he?" she giggled, smothering her voice into Sigrid's skirts, smiling gleefully. "Now that he's na' so flushed with fever."

"Hush now," said Sigrid sharply, lowering her voice. Her cheeks were suddenly burning, as if she'd got her face too close to the fire. "I'll take none o' your impudence. Go help Bain outside." Tilda left, still smiling impishly.

Sigrid uncomfortably shot a look over her shoulder, perhaps to make sure he hadn't heard. He was laughing with the older dwarf – Oin – who had woken from the table and wandered over. She realized she was staring and angrily chided herself, setting about with her work.

Work was good. It kept one's mind off of things, distracted one from the situation, although Sigrid did not know exactly what she was distracting herself from. She felt her lips fall. She suddenly felt pointedly and irrationally unhappy.

There was the sound of scraping boots on the stairs behind her and Sigrid turned to see Bofur and Fili climb up from the dock.

"I can see the mountain down there," said Fili, "Something's happening. The sun won't be up for another hour but there's something red showing across the lake."

"The town is in a muddle," Bofur added. "People are running about. It's early for such a commotion."

There was another tremor that ran through the house. Dust shook from the rafters.

"I think it best you pack some things, Sigrid," said Bofur. "In case there's need for a quick getaway. Best to keep your brother and sister close, as well."

Sigrid felt cold. The sick feeling that had been wavering in her stomach ever since that last night grew more poignant. She began bustling about the kitchen, gathering what things they had that might be easy to carry. She flung the shutters open to see Bain and Tilda puttering about on the street.

She called to them to come back into the house and turned back to the dwarves, who were speaking in low voice.

"Do you think Kili's up to be moved?" said Fili to Bofur.

"I'm alright," said Kili from the bed. He looked alert but not wholly alright.

"That's what you kept saying the last time," said Fili.

Kili frowned but Sigrid felt her mouth open, heard her voice spill off her tongue, "His wound is like new. It might open again if e's on his feet too soon –" He'd lost too much blood, was weak from the fever, needed to regain his strength – there were so many reasons, rational but meaningless reasons that pointed to why he could not be moved. But none addressed what might happen if he had to be, if the dragon came, if the town was attacked, if it was the question between flight and death.

Bain and Tilda had come in and listened as the dwarves continued to talk.

"We have to get Da," said Bain loudly and unexpectedly, cutting across Fili. "He's stuck in prison – we canna leave him. E's our only hope."

Before anyone had a chance to reply, before Sigrid had a chance to register what had happened, there was a sound from the air outside unlike anything she had ever heard before. The nearest thing it reminded her of was the onrushing of a thunderstorm, the wave of rain that often times raced across the lake, except tenfold in volume.

She froze. Everything within her, her breath, the beating of her heart, the pounding of blood in her ears, all stopped. Dimly she realized one of the dwarves, perhaps Bofur, was shouting something. Dimly she heard the keen of trumpets, warning bells, pounding footsteps in the town outside the door that had all gone off at once, a terrorizing tumult of noise, of panic.

"He'll be on us in a moment – quick, now, before it's too late –"

Sigrid felt hands on her back, pushing her toward the door. Her hand flew out of its own accord and rapped itself around Tilda's wrist.

"Our things –" Tilda screeched.

"No time!" said Bofur, and to Bain, who'd rushed to the stair, "No, not that way. It faces the mountain – that's the way he'll be coming!"

Everything was happening too quickly, too soon. It was too unexpected. Sigrid couldn't think. And then above them, sounding so close, so terrifyingly near there was an earth-shattering, heart-stopping roar. It was a sound of pure, raging, white hot wrath, horrifying yet awe-inspiring. It pounded against her eardrums, reverberated against the walls of her skull and the shack, shaking the boards, rattling the china –

"Run!" yelled one of the dwarves, and the hand on her back pushed her forward. Her feet tripped out of the door. She felt something wrapped in her hand, which she squeezed as tightly as she could and dragged after her, barely recognizing that it was Tilda's arm.

They stumbled into the street, which was nearly unrecognizable for the throng of rushing, screaming, panicking people. Sigrid hadn't thought Lake-Town had held so many people. Their cries echoed through the air, utter chaos was before them. For the onrush of confused colors, flying bodies, whipping hair, Sigrid could not see where she was running.

A hand was still on her back, pushing her through the crowd. She didn't know where she was going. All she could think, all she could see, smell, and breathe was the screaming in her head that spelled He's coming. He's coming. He's coming. Her heart beat with it. Her feet flew to its rhythm.

"The black arrow!"

"Bain!" Sigrid shrieked, seeing her brother suddenly dart away from her into the rushing crowd. She felt him leave as if he had been physically torn from her arms.

She skidded to follow him but something blocked her way. "I'll get him! Keep going!" it was one of the dwarves, Bofur from the flash of dark hair she caught sight of as he too disappeared within the crowd.

Sigrid's heart was beating in her throat. The hand that had been resting between her shoulder blades was gone. Her back felt cold. She realized that it must have been Bofur. She wished he hadn't left, wished he still had his hand on her. It had been comforting, something leading her, something that reminded her of a father –

Oin forced himself to the front. She followed his tangle of silver hair that ran down his back, heart fluttering in relief to have something to follow.

A shadow past over their heads, something dark and looming, impenetrable. People around them erupted into screams, dropped to their knees and cowered. Orange light sprouted on the buildings around them, heat pounded against Sigrid's bare flesh. A shower of rock and wood pelted the ground around them.

Tilda screamed. Sigrid swung her about so that Tilda ran in front of her, pushing her sister from the back and throwing an arm around her shoulder to protect her from flying debris.

From the confusion it was hard to discern where she was. Sigrid barely recognized that they were running with the crowd toward the shipyards. Voices were calling from the shadows, "Woman and children! Woman and children first!"

"Take your sister and go!"

"Ney! Ney! I willna leave him! Where's Bain? I willna leave without him!" Sigrid was screaming at the top of her lungs, thinking manically of being heard over the shouts of the villagers, the clatter as building collapsed, and the roar of flames.

"Guards! Take arms! To the parapets! Take arms!"

Flames erupted on the house next to them, the shadow loomed above them. There were screams, pounding footsteps, the pounding of her heart. Sigrid could not think. She could not see. People were climbing into the boats through the fog. Sigrid caught a glimpse of something monstrous, clawed, and armored in gleaming red and gold, and then there was no boat where there was before, just shattered wood, a tumult of spattering water and ice, a body bobbing up to the surface….

"The other way! Run the other way!" Oin pushed her from behind, into the rushing crowd that was just beginning to realize that the dragon was cutting them off. It could fly. It was faster than them. It seemed to be everywhere at once. It had caught them unaware. They were all – all of them were going to die –

"Go! To your father's house! Take your boat! Float out to the shore. Keep in cover of darkness." Oin's voice crashed into her ears without comprehension. Bain. Bain. She had to get to Bain.

"Kili, go with them," said Fili, who'd been behind them all the time, supporting his brother on his shoulder. "Oin and I will fight –"

"I won't run," said Kili. "Let me fight –"

"No! Protect them. See they get safely off!"

The moment wavered. Sigrid watched as brother's eye met brother's eye and suddenly they were moving again. Kili was limping before her. She was following, holding Tilda to her side.

They wove their way back through the crowd, ducking as chunks of houses came pelting at them from the darkness, coughing and eyes streaming from the smoke.

"Watch out!" Kili was suddenly on top of her, all three of them on the ground. She didn't know if he had fallen on her to protect her or if his leg had collapsed. She caught a glimpse of red on white from the bandage wrapped around his thigh.

They were back on their feet, stumbling across the broken roads. More fire, more crashes, more roars, the air was thick with the smell of ash, and something else, like wet, rusting metal. Sigrid felt her stomach wrench as she put a name to it: blood.

They reached her street, her house, but it did not look like her house. The roof had caved in, it was black from fire: a splintered, unrecognizable skeleton. Beams of wood creaked. People were scattered on the ground, moaning and thrashing in pain.

Then they were on the dock. A portion of the floor above them had fallen through. It was oddly dark and stifled beneath the house, the crashes and fire seemed not quite so near. They clambered over the wreckage. Kili lifted Tilda over a fallen beam and put her in the boat, which was strangely and miraculously intact.

He reached out a hand to help Sigrid in after her sister. "Bain – we have to wait..." Sigrid's voice flew from her lips, barely audible amongst the din above them.

"Your brother will be fine. Go while you still have a chance, while the dragon's distracted –"

"I canna leave him –"

"He'll be alright," and Kili was dragging her into the boat, but somehow his grasp felt so gentle, so reassuring, so truthful, and sure, and firm. "Save your sister."

He began untying the boat from its moorings, unlooping the knots with flicks of his fingers.

"You're coming with us," said Sigrid's lips again. "Your brother –"

"Told me to see you safely off, not to come with you."

"Your leg –"

"Is well enough. I have to fight."

Sigrid struggled to come up with a valid argument, something that would force him without a question to climb into the boat after them. She didn't stop to wonder why it mattered so much, thinking only that she was afraid, so horribly afraid and clueless, and did not want to be alone in a boat with Tilda, in the middle of the lake where the dragon might come on them at any moment, rising from the darkness –

"Make for shore. Don't run because he'll see you. Hide in the trees."

No, don't leave. But she couldn't speak, couldn't make her voice come up her throat.

"Stay safe," said Kili, and he met her eyes so she couldn't see his hand that he'd put on the side of the boat. He shoved them off. The boat went spinning backward in the water.

"No –" her voice was caught behind the rent in her throat. Kili stared after her as the boat drifted farther out, and then he'd turned and hobbled away, disappearing into the shadows and smoke that had crept there from the street.

Sigrid stared for a moment, trying to catch another glimpse of him, but the screams and noises of destruction brought her painfully back to herself. She fumbled for the oars, struggled to set them, mumbled vaguely to Tilda to keep quiet, it was alright. She dug an oar blade into the water and struggled to move the boat toward shore.

The town before them glowed in firelight, was hazy and indistinct from the smoke. Slowly, as they drifted farther and farther away, the dragon took shape above it. It's great, webbed wings held it unsteadily in the air. Its tail whipped against the ground, claws flashed, teeth glinted in the light of the flames pouring from its jaws.

Tilda whimpered, wrapping her fingers into Sigrid's skirts. The water was tumultuous, rocking the boat. It was hard to control the steering. Every time Sigrid dipped the oar into the lake it made the water splash in white droplets, tinged red from the glare of the burning town.

They were spinning aimlessly out of control. Water lapped over the sides and into the boat. Tears of fear cramped in Sigrid's throat. The dragon reared over the village, spewing fire, spewing death.

"Sigrid, Da –"

In the light of fire Sigrid saw as people jumped into the water from the docks and shoved boats into the water. A great fluttering wind made the water rise up over the sides of the boat. Sigrid and Tilda pitched to the side. Orange, yellow tipped flames spurted from above them.

Sigrid did the only thing she could think of. She rolled with the tilting boat, threw her arms over Tilda's body and threw the both of them into the roiling water. Cold submerged her. She kicked her feet, propelling her and her sister downward. Reeds whipped at her arms and legs. Even beneath the water, the world was aglow with orange.

The light was suddenly extinguished. Sigrid's lungs screamed for air. Tilda struggled in her arms. Her skirts and cloak weighed her down, sodden with the frigid water. She kicked again. her calf seized in a cramp. Her head broke surface. There was a splash and a shuddering gasp for air next to her that meant Tilda, too, had emerged.

The dragon had left. Their boat was a smoking skeleton of splintered timber. The dragon was flying back towards the town, rearing to rip its claws into the parapets, where hazy shadows were standing and throwing spears, shooting arrows which bounced off the beast's gilded scales.

Sigrid struggled to keep her head above the water. Tilda splashed by her side. Her dress weighed her down. Her feet dragged in reeds and mud. They'd somehow drifted towards the shore. She grabbed hold of Tilda and pulled her further inland, shivering violently as her skin left the water and met the frigid air.

The dragon tore at the town with its claws. It roared, the sound renting the air. Tilda screamed and threw her hands over her ears. Sigrid felt what breath she had left catch in her throat.

The dragon reared, wings flapping in the smoke filled sky. Suddenly it jerked, Sigrid thought perhaps it was going to bodily throw itself atop the village. Its tail convulsed. It curved in on itself. It shrieked so that the branches of the trees above them trembled. And then it unfolded, went limp, fell….

The dragon, against the sky in which the sun was rising in the east and bled red above the mountains and trees below it, against the red and orange that bleached out even the writhing flames of the village, the dragon fell.

It hit the surface of the water with an almighty splash. Water enclosed its convulsing limbs. Its wings flapped. Water boiled, bubbled, launched into the air. Steam billowed and hissed and filled the sky. Waves rippled across the surface of the lake, lapping against Sigrid's chest and throwing Tilda backward into the water.

Sigrid couldn't think. Her voice was gone. Her breath was gone. Everything was gone. She waited for the dragon to emerge again, to shake water from its wings and launch itself back at the village. The village continued to burn. The sun continued to rise, breaking the cloud cover and bathing them in golden light that reduced the dragon's flames to lesser candles. Steam and smoke disappeared among the clouds. The air stilled. The dragon did not emerge.

"Sigrid," Tilda's voice came to her as if far away, in the waking of a dream. "What about Da? Bain –"

Sigrid felt her whole being wrench. No. Bain. She grabbed Tilda's hand and slogged through the muck toward shore.

"Hurry," she said, her voice a hiss because she could barely get the words up her throat. "Hurry, Tilda."

Her feet found the crumbling ground and she pulled herself out of the water, using tree roots as handholds. She hauled Tilda up after her, and began pelting through the trees, lashing out at branches, forcing her way back toward the town on shore.

There wasn't any way she could get to the town from this shore o the lake. When she'd got as close as she could by land she muttered to Tilda to stay there. She grabbed her sister's shoulders in both her hands, met her eyes, whispered that everything was alright now, and told her to stay there until someone came to get her.

Sigrid's heart ached to leave her sister, but she needed haste. She needed to find Bain quickly, couldn't have Tilda there slowing her down, there in case – in case Sigrid couldn't find Bain, or she did find him but he was –

Sigrid fell back into the water. The cold was penetrating. Her skirts dragged against her flow. She struggled back toward the town, kicking and stroking as her father had taught her so long ago, worlds away, at a place where Mam still smiled, still laughed….

She grabbed hold of some fallen beams, hauling herself back onto the docks. It was unrecognizable. Everything was unfamiliar, breathing not of home, but of destruction and death. There were no graveyards in Lake-Town. The buried their dead in the water. Sigrid had never been to a graveyard, but she imagined that this – this destruction, this layer of smoke and death, must be what one would feel like.

She scrabbled up a partially destroyed staircase and onto the streets above. Buildings lay in ruins. Smoke rose in swirls from piles of scattered ash that had once been houses. People were struggling up from the piles of wreckage. People were sobbing: wailing of mothers and wives and frightened children echoed in the air.

Sigrid ran through the streets, dodging fallen beams, bricks, and bodies. She didn't know where Bain might be. She didn't know what she was looking for, except that it was something, anything that might lead her to her brother.

"Sigrid!" the shout went almost unheard. It did not matter. It might only be a familiar face, a neighbor or merchant who knew her father. It did not matter. Nothing mattered but getting to Bain.

"Wait, lass," some form of recognition forced its way into her mind and she turned. It was one of the dwarves. Bofur – Sigrid remembered he'd followed Bain, had promised to bring him back, keep him safe.

"Bain –" she faltered, words rushing from her lips quicker than her tongue could keep up. "Where is he? Where've you left him? I have to find him –"

"I lost him, lass. He'd disappeared before I could catch him." Bofur looked concerned. Warm light shined from his eyes. He outstretched a hand and put it on her arm.

Sigrid couldn't breathe. He'd promised to find him, to look after him, to bring him back. "Where'd ye last see him?"

"He could be anywhere. I'm sure he's alright. Where's your sister?"

"I have to find him –"

"Bofur! Where've you been?" said a gruff voice and the Oin ambled in. "Lads are right over there."

"Sigrid, come along. Your brother's alright. You'll see."

Sigrid's heart pounded with a sense of immediateness, of agitation, screaming, keening to find Bain. Somehow her legs were following Bofur.

"Bofur, there you are," said another voice, and Fili appeared.

Something cut Sigrid like a knife as she recalled that Kili, too, had disappeared in the attack. It occurred to her that perhaps Fili didn't know, that he thought Kili had gone with she and Tilda.

"Your brother, Kili –" she started to say. Incongruently she realized that it was the first time she had ever said his name, any of the dwarves' names aloud.

"He's alright," said Fili. "Boneheaded fool. Came barging back to fight after I'd told him –" Fili's voice rumbled on. They continued to weave through the fallen debris. They found Kili propped up against partially collapsed chimney, stretching his wounded leg out in front of him and covered in soot, but otherwise unharmed.

Kili smiled as they approached. Sigrid felt a bit of the tension in her chest dissolve and unwillingly her lips curved upward as if in reply.

"Where did you all – Sigrid!" his face fell as if her appearance had startled a memory. "What are you doing here? Where's your sister?"

"She's alrigh'. Have ye seen Bain?"

"Where's your sister, lass?" Bofur insisted gently.

"She's on the North shore, just out of town!" said Sigrid, feeling the words leap out of her mouth impatiently. "She's waiting for someone to come for her –"

"I'll go," said Bofur.

Sigrid's voice stammered to a stop as she almost said no, not you, not when you've lost Bain. Not when you promised to bring him back, too…. But the dwarf was already walking back through the wreckage, back the way they'd come.

She swallowed, trying to ease her thumping heart, trying to think of some sort of plan.

"It was hard to tell. It might have been your brother I saw – he was with your father if that was he," Fili was saying.

Sigrid's heart stammered. "Where'as he?"

"Somewhere over that way," it was a casual wave of the hand to the right. "I'm all turned around. Have you heard what they've been saying? Bard the bowman shot him down with a black arrow – your father! Better than that Girion. One arrow he only had. Straight into the beast – where are you going?"

Sigrid had dashed away, her footfalls matching the clap of her heart, thinking of black arrows and the windlass, near the Master's courts. She passed other rushing figures, whom tended the wounded or the dead. She almost tripped on a pile of rubble but caught herself, scraping her palms against the splintered wood beneath her feet.

The crowd was getting thicker. She noticed most of them had on tattered remains of armor or guard uniforms. Most of them were covered in ash and blood, nursing injuries and huddled in groups. None of them paid her any mind.

She tripped up a flight of stairs, weakened and blackened with fire. A step gave out and her foot fell through. She pitched forward but tore her leg out of the splintered wood. She stumbled the rest of the way up and onto the top of a parapet.

There was the windlass. There was her father, kneeling on the ground, bending over a still, lifeless body –

"Bain!" It was her brother. Sigrid felt her cry wrenched from her throat and she rushed forward, seeing in a blur as her father turned to face her, wakened by her voice.

"Sigrid – where's Tilda?"

Sigrid didn't answer. She fell to her knees at her brother's body. His face was deathly pale. A trickle of blood ran down his chin from his lip, looking an unnatural bright red in the glinting sunlight. What have you done? What have you done? No, Bain – Not Bain –

"Sigrid, he's a pulse –"

"Get away from him!" she was not aware she was speaking, not aware of her father's voice. Her hands fumbled to his chest, pressed where his heart would be, waited for a beat –

"He isna dead –"

Quiet! She needed quiet! Silence to hear his heartbeat, to hear the breath seep from between his lips.

"Le' go of me!" she shrieked as her father's hand touched her shoulder. "Why's he here? Why dinna you send him away?"

"Sigrid, he isna dead," said her father's voice again. And finally she felt it, a thumping beneath her palm, beneath Bain's chest. Her shoulders relaxed, tension spilled away as if blood from a wound. Her eyes blurred with a sudden onrush of tears, which did not make sense because Bain was alright. He was not dead. There was a heartbeat beneath her hand. He was not dead.

"Sigrid, come away. Where's Tilda?"

"He needs a healer," she said. "His heartbeat isna steady. He – he needs help…."

"Sigrid, where's Tilda? Where've you left her?"

"He needs help. How 'as he hurt?"

"Sigrid!" her father's face was suddenly in her own, his hands pressed on her shoulders to make her face him. "Where's Tilda? Answer me!"

Sigrid stared into her father's eyes, bloodshot from fatigue and glowing with suppressed emotion.

She swallowed, finding it almost hurt. "She's with the dwarves. She – she's alrigh'."

"Get some men to help me with Bain. Go on now."

"Yes, Da."

To be concluded.