We have been wandering on the shore, helping other survivors for the better part of the night and in the early morning. The dwarves were highly attentive to the children that needed soothing, yet not even as half as much towards the adults that eyed them with badly masked hostility. Somehow throughout most of the time I managed to keep both Sigrid and Tilda occupied with other stuff, so that they wouldn't think about their still missing father and brother, yet the more they stopped to rest and catch their breath, the woeful their faces got. Eventually I find myself carrying Tilda in my arms as slumber starts to take over her small form and she barely manages to walk in a straight line; not that Sigrid's constant tugging helped her keep up with our pace. Now with the young one in my hands and Tauriel, as she's the tallest, leading the way ahead and away from the crowd, I once again tug at the connection I have with my ice soldier, only to get a rather dull response, an indication that the command to return's being received and he's here somewhere, but as if hidden under a cloak of some sorts. 'What's wrong, dammit!?' I mentally fume and dart my eyes around, trying to spot him towering above the crowd.
"We aren't going to see Da again, are we?" a meek voice startles me and I look down at Tilda's sad eyes.
My jaw clenches for a split second before a small, reassuring smile pulls at my lips and I gently caress her hair.
"Don't say such things, little dove. Your old man is here somewhere along with your brother." patting her on the head I once again look around, barely stopping myself from tripping over a woman that's sitting on the ground, trying to squeeze the water out of her soaked clothes.
"There they are!" suddenly exclaims Tauriel and quickly darts forward, making way so that we can pass.
Upon hearing the elven woman's words both girls turn their heads towards the general direction she pointed at, in hopes of spotting their father. And there he is, still soaking wet and with a worried expression on his face as he moves between the small groups of people in a frantic pace, most probably asking if someone has seen his daughters.
"Da! DA!" both girls cry out.
Putting Tilda down, she runs directly into her father's awaiting arms, squeezing him tightly and burring her small face in the crook of his neck. Sigrid clutches at his hand and places her forehead on his shoulder in sign of gratitude and happiness for his successful return. The happiness that appears on the bowman's face has me smiling wide, a warm feeling settling deep in me by the achievement of the smallest of task – to make sure the family stays whole. Above his children's heads, Bard's eyes search around until they stop on me and the emotion in them makes my breath get stuck in my throat; in his green pools I see an immense amount of gratitude and warmth that make me blush slightly – no one has ever looked at me as if he wants to hug the life out of me. Nevertheless I nod his way and look around for my group.
Giving the family some privacy I turn to the dwarves that are once again returning to the shore. Trailing behind them I help with pushing the boat back into the water and setting their stuff in it. While myself, Fili and Bofur try to get the old craft to stay still and not sway dangerously, Kili walks away with Tauriel. Glancing at them over my shoulder, I can't help the smirk that tugs at the corners of my mouth at the obvious air of adoration and attraction that surrounds them. Even for a blind man it will be clear that they are in love; deeply infatuated with the other, despite the difference in kin… and height.
A pang in my chest appears as I watch this rather unusual exchange of words of kindness. The love that sways in the air around them, the concern for the other and the badly masked unwillingness to part make a sad sigh skip past my lips. Being the one to distance myself from the outer world after the disastrous event of Dale's fall, I forgot what it was like to feel attraction towards someone else. Now, as I watch an elf and a dwarf fondly squeezing their hands for a brief second, I can't help but feel a little bit jealous. Deep down, I never liked the self-imposed solitude of my forest; not after I had to change my title and residence after the catastrophe so long ago that chased me away from the lands of men and elves. Probably that's the reason why now I yearn to be caressed the way only lovers can; with utter amour. 'No one would touch the ice. It's cold and distant.' I remind myself what a man once told me upon realising that I was drastically different from any other women he had ever courted. With a sad shake of my head I turn my back to the love-birds and resume my work with the boat.
"Isis, I believe this belongs to you." Bofur suddenly speaks and after rummaging through his pockets, pulls out my flute. "Bilbo gave it to me before he left with the others. Said to call you once I get the chance."
Smiling at the dwarf I take the instrument in my hand and look at it for a second before returning it to Bofur.
"Something tells me you'll need my aid soon, Master Bofur, so keep it in close reach and don't hesitate to use it, does the need call for my assistance."
The startled expression and the exchanged looks with Fili make a small laugh skip past my lips before I arch an eyebrow their way.
"You ain't coming?" Fili's disapproval is evident in the way his eyebrows furrow and the sadness that appears in his crystal clear blue eyes.
"I'm afraid not, Master Fili. Your journey to reclaim your home is over and so is the need of my presence. You no longer need my protection, or my magic, so I'll offer my services to the people of Laketown, as they seem to be in need of all the help they can get."
After thinking through what I said, and finding it a good enough excuse, the blond man nods his head.
"Know you shall be missed dearly. By all of us." the reminder of Throin's burning gaze startles me for a second, before I mask a smile on my face.
"And I shall forever remember our shared adventure, as wild and dangerous as it was." without further ado I step to the side and allow the newly appeared Kili to get into the boat.
The youngest seems rather haggard and crestfallen as the ginger-haired beauty departs hurriedly with Legolas, who seems to be popping out of thin air whenever he wishes, on the back of a white horse.
"Your paths will cross again, Master Kili, I can bet on it." the sudden need to cheer him up seems to have caught both of us off-guard, but he says nothing.
Only when I begin to push the boat further into the water does the young prince notice my things being absent amongst theirs.
"Are you not coming?"
"Unfortunately I have no place amongst the halls of Erebor." with a sad smile and another push, the boat moves away, with three rather sad looking dwarves in it.
"Cheer up! You are going back home!" I shout and give them my brightest smile, barely containing my voice from breaking.
The trio cheers loudly before grabbing the paddles and rowing away. For a few more seconds I stay in the cold water and look after them, until someone shouts my name. Turning around, I notice Sigrid, hand in hand with Tilda, waiting for me on the shore. Soon Bard and Bain come as well, making the family full.
"Will they be fine?" Bain's the first to speak as he eyes the disappearing boat.
"I'm most certain they'll reach the Mountain in one piece." smiling and giving the horizon one last glance, I look at Bard.
Despite still drenched in cold water and most probably tired, the bowman seems filled with energy and determination.
"Are you heading towards Dale?" my voice has returned to its usual neutral state.
"Aye. Will you be accompanying us?" despite his tone not faltering, I can see the anticipation in his eyes.
"As long as I can be of any service, I shall." the mildness seems to be returning quickly and taking over the ever present nonchalance in me, making me look more approachable.
This unexpected change, despite not being unwelcome, is rather strange, as for as long as I can remember my demeanour of coldness and inaccessibility has kept everyone away – few were those who knew who and what I was and dared come near. Now, with the surfacing of these rather defrosting emotions, I can't help but feel out of my element.
So when Bard smiles at me encouragingly, I try as hard as possible not to be awkward and simply nod.
"Let us take our leave then. The way to Dale will be long."
With natural flare Bard leads the people to their new home, not bothered by their constant whining or the small rest stops the group has to make in order for the slower ones to catch up. Composed and easy to approach, it's normal that the people entrusted him with the responsibility to be their new leader; he listens to what they have to say, offers his opinion and most of all – knows his place. Despite being in charge now, he not even once benefits in any way from his power in a way that may be found offensive by his fellow citizens.
While helping the elderly and children in the very back of the of the group, many entrust me with different stories, most of which about Bard – how he married young to a kind woman, who gave birth to three wonderful children but unfortunately a disease took her too soon after Tilda came to this world, leaving him on his own. Many told me how kind and helping the fisherman is, how he never sends the needing back, how patient he is with the children that constantly chase around, often than less through his boat, making it sway. As the stories go on and on, I realise that I have come to know Bard fairly better than in the morning.
It is late afternoon by the time we finally reach the remains of Dale. Once again the Bowman is quick to order people around, everyone having something to do. And while most of the women are given the task to deal out food to the children and elderly, I and a few more maidens decide to tend to the wounded. An old church whose roof still stands is the place we find refuge in for the night, away from the blizzard outside. Since it had been designed to have two separate wards, we take all the wounded to the bottom hall where in privacy we can tend to them as much as we can.
Hours tickle by, in which I sooth wounds, bandage, stich and occasionally splint broken hands or legs. Unfortunately I have little to no medical resources with which to work, so we have to improvise for most of the time. Many kids come and go, some barely scratched, others with heavier wounds or sprains, yet I find myself tending them with joy, bathing in the way their eyes sparkle with glee once the burning pain disappears under my cold fingers, my magic tending to the irritated flesh as much as possible.
For once in my life I find all the collected and accumulated knowledge of healing and herbs useful and despite my magic being strictly revolving around ice, with general abilities in controlling separately water and air, it's safe to say healing is not coming as a gift from the Mother, but rather as a self-imposed devotion.
"Miss!" a voice squeaks from behind, making me turn around and see a small boy, no more than four, clutching his hand close to his chest, a pained expression on his face.
"How can I help you, little one?" smiling at him in a reassuring way, I kneel to his level so that I don't intimidate him with my height.
"My hand. It hurts." his voice is so tiny and filled with fright that it makes my heart melt.
"May I look at it?" showing uncharacteristic tenderness towards everyone today, I amaze myself with still having strength to actually think and talk properly.
The boy extends his right hand and I study the bluish bruise on the wrist that now seems to be acquiring a purple hue. My eyebrows meet in a low frown before a reassuring smile brightens up my face.
"What's your name, little one?" I ask after indicating for him to take a sit at a nearby piece of fallen stone.
"Albert." the softly whispered name almost gets sucked away by the ever-present murmur in the makeshift infirmary.
"It's a pleasure, Albert. I'm Isis."
Picking him up gently and putting him to sit on the large stone I once again take a look at the sprained wrist. 'This will be my tenth today at least.' a small smile plays on my lips as I take a wet cloth and gently tap at the irritated flesh.
"Does it sting?" despite seeing no evident wound, I want to make sure there's no damage to the skin.
"No. But it hurts. And burns." his confession makes me nod knowingly before gently placing my cold fingers over the skin.
The child visibly shivers, making me pull away. Humming lowly in assurance, I once again place my fingers over the skin.
"Now Albert, I must ask something really important of you. Will you be able to assist me?" his brown eyes go big before a rather shy nod makes me pat his shoulder.
"I need you to close your eyes and think of nice things; things that have always made you feel happy. Can you do that for me?"
Once again a small nod follows, but it's noticeable he doesn't get why I am asking such foolish- sounding thing of him.
"Will it help heal my hand?"
"Yes."
Without any hesitation Albert closes his eyes, almost squeezes them actually, and concentrates for some time, before his childish face moulds into an expression of delight and harmony. Making sure he's fully immersed into his fantasizes I channel my powers and snowflakes flutter between my fingers for some time before swirling and moulding into a thin blanket. Making sure my little patient's eyes are closed, I gently place my fingers over the irritated skin and with small circular motions rub in the magical layer of embrocation. The reaction is immediate – a soft sigh of relief leaves the child and his eyes flutter open.
"Am I healed?" his squeaky voice makes me want to ruffle his dirty-blonde hair.
"Try it." I urge him on and take a step back, putting back on the leather gloves I took off a few hours ago, and hide away my pale and icy fingers.
Cautiously twisting his small wrist to the side, with an amazed squeal Albert jumps down and throws himself at me, his hands wrapping around my middle in a rather sloppy, but still appreciated embrace.
"Thank you!" he breathes excitedly before running back off to his parents.
As I watch him disappear between the sleeping bodies of the other villagers, I can't help but smile at how productive this day has been.
An hour later, after making sure my help is no longer needed among the wounded, I head to where Bard and the children will be spending the night. The coldness has seized the streets, voiding them of any form of life, and snowflakes fall generously from the sky as a cool night breeze sweeps them around. The muffled sound of voices comes from the few still standing buildings in which the people of Laketown have found shelter; the shadows, casted by the burning fires dance exotically, as if the human speech is their music. The snow is quickly piling up, turning the otherwise ghostly appearance of Dale into a picture taken out of a fairy tale. The walk to the house is rather short and soon I push the old wooded door open, the warmth of the room engulfing me into a loving embrace. Sigrid looks up from her book, the Holly Mother only knows where she dug that out from, with a rather sleepy expression on her soft face. Greeting me with a soft nod, she points at a bundle near the fire, mouthing the word 'food' before once again burring her nose back into the dusty pages. Without even spearing another glance at the food, knowing that our stocks are rather scarce, I head for the fireplace, where I can finally warm myself up a little bit. 'How tired must I be so that the coldness affects me?' I wonder while rubbing my hands against one another to quicken their warming up. 'And how long since I slept? Or ate? Holly cricket, when was the last time I took a bath?' fighting against the urge to sniff myself I stand up and steal a glance around the room. Near Sigrid, wrapped in furs is Tilda, sleeping soundlessly. Her hair, now looking dark brown, freely falls around her chubby child's face, graced by a peaceful smile. Right next to her is Bain, who seems to be drifting off, yet fighting against the sleep, probably wishing to wait for his father's return. With soundless steps I near one of the walls and leave my stuff there – the staff and the sword's weight finally disappears from my tense shoulders, allowing me easier respiration. I don't even have to look around to know that Tilda, the little dove, is still wrapped in my cloak, so without disturbing the silence of the room, I stand up and head for the door.
"Where are you going?" Sigrid's voice catches up with me, making me halt and look over my shoulder, only to see a disapproving scold on her youthful face. "It's freezing cold outside and you need to feed and rest, not to mention warm up!"
"Your worry is rather unnecessary, Sigrid." smiling her way I proceed to leave, "I'll be on the roof, scouting. And don't worry – I'll make sure it won't crumble over your heads." with a playful wink I return back to the coldness of the night.
Since the buildings are rather old and unstable, and I do not trust neither my body, which seems to be at its limits, nor the aged stones, instead of climbing the old-fashioned way, I use a small amount of my magic and with a good jump end up on the slightly sloping roof. Thankfully nothing happens and with a sigh I find a suitable place, near one of the terraces of the second floor and sit down, pulling my legs up to my chest and resting my chin on them. While my body stays still and my muscles relaxed, my eyes dart in all directions, searching for a foe that may be lurking behind the hill. The moon's full body illuminates the ground with a soft milky light, making some objects acquire sharper edges, while others get blurred. A sudden whiff pushes my hair to the side and the still falling snowflakes kiss my skin before melting away, making a small shudder runs down my spine. A howl in the distance snaps me out of my daze and my head turns that way. Thankfully I don't see anything worth my worry, so with a sigh I once again allow my sporadic thoughts to take over. Surprisingly enough, Thorin's image appears and a melancholic feeling swirls in me at what he has come to be in my absence. 'The gold's curse has affected him in a way I thought I'd never have to witness again.' a flash of memories, dating back to the time before Smaug chased away the dwarves from Erebor has my heart clenching painfully, the bitter reminder of my failed attempt to help soon to follow. As the memory washes over my senses, my heart skips a beat before starting to beat rapidly against my ribcage.
It was a spontaneous decision to start traveling and leave my homelands. Passing through all the places I wanted to see while being locked away in a world covered in eternal frost, I was influenced by the impression everything surrounding this new world made – of harmony, happiness and tranquillity; the forests were greener than I had imagined, the wind was warm and the soil was fertile. So when I came to Dale, desiring to see the legendary Erebor, home of the Durin folk, I didn't pass up the opportunity to sightsee and talk with the people who lived here – most of them were nice and welcoming, something the dwarves didn't live up to be, unfortunately. Thrór was the King under the Mountain back then and he and his son, Thráin II weren't pleased to see a foreigner in their lands. Upon our first encounter the crazy look in the old king's eyes didn't stay unnoticed by me, as well as the rage that almost made him throw me out at the mention of wishing to steal a glimpse at their legendary treasury. Either way, I was allowed a tour in their underground home, admiring the way the huge structure stood unshakable under the weight of the mountain. Back then I first met Thorin, who, as it turned out, didn't remember our brief encounter, mostly due to the fact that he was too self-absorbed back then and thought poorly of anyone who was not his kin.
Eventually I decided to settle for a while in Dale and study the way people lived here, their culture and habits; back in those happy days, the world was a merry place. Then Smaug came, and fire started raining over us, unforgiving and demolishing. For a first time in eons ice clashed with fire in a fierce battle that lasted long and drained me of all my powers, yet the beast stayed untouched. Girion, Lord of Dale back then, whose descendant is Bard, shot the black arrows at the drake, with only one coming to hit its target, leaving an open wound. What the brave man needed back then was another clear shot, yet Smaug deprived him of the chance as he destroyed the tower Girion had climbed up on and burying me under the ruins in the process. Howls of pain, wailing and screams echoed in the starless night as people and dwarves found their death. It was the next morning that I finally managed to get out of the trap the beast had put me into, and upon pushing aside the last block what awaited me was a dreadful sight I'd never forget – all around me there were bodies sprawled, fires burning and ruins. From the once great city of Dale now there was only stones and ash.
I knew I had failed not only myself, but also the people of Dale who had trusted me to protect them, to give them some time to run away. The guilt of depriving them of what they cherished most – life, followed me throughout the ages, making me fall into a severe form of depression. After changing my title from Evocatrix to Ice Witch, giving it that rather repellent sound that would keep everyone away, I hid into what was known back then as the Wolf forest, where ironically I came to know Fenrir, the only wolf to reside there.
Back then I foolishly believed time would heal my wounds, that it would chase away the horrific memories and allow me to sink into oblivion of that day, but I was mistaken – the nightmares hunted me for years to come and for a while my own powers were out of control. That's when I decided to study the herbs; it was all in favour of keeping my mind occupied and sane, and my eyes trained. Gradually I lost the insane spark that threatened to turn into hysteria and my self-control bettered to the point where my powers returned to me. In the end all it took was time. But not time to forget or distance myself, but to accept it.
Now, as I sit with my feet crossed under me and my eyes staring in the distance, I realise that what I had been seeking all this time was forgiveness; someone to come to me and tell me I had done whatever was in my strength to help. And, ironically, that someone was an elven warrior, who managed to see through my thick layers of self-hatred, ice and years' worth of accumulated masking. Tauriel, back at the platform, said the words I never knew I needed to hear in order for the burden to fall off my shoulders – I had helped many survive the desolation and gave them the opportunity to lead their lives somewhere else. 'The wins outweigh the losses…'
Someone clearing their throat makes me blink a couple of times and snap out of my trance. My eyelashes flutter over my watered eyes, as tears have been streaming down my face this whole time. Bringing my hand up to my cheek and wiping the traces away, I look at the balcony, only to see Bard sitting casually on the stone railing and gazing up at the sky, giving me some time to collect myself. After composing my rather shaken soul, I once again glance his way, only to find him already staring. His green eyes come out almost black while his black hair, now illuminated by the soft touch of the moon, appears to have some pearly-white streaks in it.
"Is it a habit of yours to keep away from people, or you just don't like my kids?" by his tone I know he's joking, but that doesn't leave me any less shocked.
"Mother of moons, Bard! I love your kids, how could you say that?" he smiles charmingly my way before deciding to step on the railing and climb next to me.
"Do you mind some company?" he asks me after noticing my questioningly raised eyebrow and the strange way I stare at him.
"No, but…" trailing off, I try to fight off a small laugh at the thought of the fisherman climbing up a distance worth twice his height, without a particularly safe fall either. "No offence, but I'd prefer if you come up here my way – the last thing I want to do is stitch you back together after you slip and fall."
The man just shakes his head in a disbelieving manner, before his laugh echoes in the silence of the night.
"You might be right, I'm afraid. It is rather unsteady…"
Before he gets to finish his sentence a staircase of ice appears, leading directly to the roof. When he looks up at me, startled at the fast reaction and the precision with which I created something as this out of thin air, I can't help but give him one of my shy smiles before looking away, feeling exposed under his intense gaze.
In no time he climbs up and takes a seat near me, crossing his feet and staring up in the sky. A comfortable silence settles as we both study the welkin while snowflakes fall down gracefully.
"Can I ask you something Bard?" my voice is barely above whisper and for a second I wonder whether or not he heard me.
"Of course." his reply is soft, yet with the slightest twinkle of worry.
Without tearing my eyes from the horizon, I take a deep breath and wonder why am I even doing this – reopening old wounds for both of us in order to sate my ego. 'Because it's not my ego that's being hurt, it's my consciousness.' I remind myself before finally looking at the bowman.
"Your ancestors used to live here, in Dale, right?"
He nods and thinks for a second.
"Aye, until Smaug destroyed the place. Then they moved with the other survivors to the lake's shore and established Laketown there." the question as to why I'm talking about this stays unsaid, as he patiently waits for me to continue.
"Were they content?" my voice has dropped to a soft breath, almost impossible to catch.
"They were alive, unlike many that didn't manage to escape, if that's what you ask."
Turning my head away in order to hide the emotions that threaten to overpower me, I once again pull my legs up to my chest and wrap my hands around them, my body recoiled and tense, as screams from a time long gone echo in the back of my head as a vicious reminder that not everyone was lucky enough to escape the fire hell.
"I hope you don't mind me asking, but why does this interest you?" the fact that his voice sounds the slightest bit tense, as if he's walking on eggshells makes something in me cringle.
'Yet another man who has a 'why' that I can't answer without making him run away.' Gulping and taking a deep breath, I allow silence to settle once more, while wondering if it would be worth to share my story. 'He'll either freak out, or accept it. It's not like he hasn't seen more abnormal stuff. Not to mention I started this.'
"Because I needed to know that all my efforts weren't in vain." the words roll off my tongue unknowingly, the sincerity in my voice startling me for a second before with a small resigned sigh I tilt my head up towards the sky, studying its pattern.
"I… I'm afraid I can't catch what you are implying." sounding honestly confused, I finally look at Bard, my eyes holding that sad and melancholic look I keep only for myself.
"Have you heard of the tale of the Evocatrix?"
His eyebrows furrow for a moment and his eyes acquire a distanced look as he seems to be searching through his memory. When a sudden spark appears, I know he has recalled what I asked for and nods.
"The story says she lived in Dale and when Smaug appeared battled him, until a tower fell over her and buried her in the ruin. Her bravery is rather popular and cherished among the children, since she was a lone woman who stood up against a fire-breathing dragon, willingly risking her life to save those of the people of Dale. She's been considered almost a saint amongst the survivors, who managed to escape thanks to her. It's a rather old tale, but some parents are still telling it to their kids in honour of her memory. Forgive me for saying this, but I still see no connection to your earlier question."
A small smile has appeared on my face while he was telling the story with a rather dreamy expression on his face, as if remembering and reliving those gloriously described days. I'm baffled that people have recounted the events in a rather softer and more hero-like way, almost idolising me, which sounds terrifying in my ears, as the last thing I thought they would make out of my failure back then is that it was a glorious sacrifice. The clash between my version and his is rather hilarious, yet at the same time sad, as many facts are left out. Either way I nod in appreciation and once again look at the horizon.
"It's admirable how the ones who made it out of here distorted the facts a little in order for it to sound as if she was a heroin, who actually had a plan, when she wasn't. She was scared out of her mind, weak and knew that she'd never defeat the creature; that not only Dale, but also Erebor would fall. And yet people didn't grow to hate her for that failure, but rather praised her for what she did. Why is that? Why no one mentioned the many lives she didn't manage to save? The fact that she failed to even warn the dwarves in time?" the sorrow in my shaky voice makes it come out like a choked whisper and I stop, allowing myself to compose once again.
"Because she couldn't have saved everyone – it's not only impossible to do, no matter an Evocatrix or a mere human, but also ridiculous for the survivors to hate her. Wasn't it for her, they'd have been all dead. And let's not forget children like stories about heroes." the last remark makes me steal a glance at the bowman's face, only to see humour. 'He thinks it's all made up! How didn't he figure it out by now? He has seen what I can do, for God's sake!' the answer comes to me seconds later, in a form of a small whisper in the back of my mind. 'He can't fathom someone can live that long, that's why. He has no evidence or reason to believe the woman from the story and myself are the same person.'
"You think it's made up?" I ask, testing the waters.
Bard thinks for a second, scratching unconsciously his chin, covered in a few days old beard. After a while he shrugs and looks at me, obviously expecting me to share my thoughts.
"It sounds a little bit like a fairy tale, idolising a brave woman who had the courage to stand up and fight while the others were running away. I'm not saying she was ordinary, for was she, she'd have been dead just as fast as everybody else. But an Evocatrix? It sounds… rather made up, I admit." by his tone I know he has conflicted feelings about this, yet has accepted the most explicable version, something for which I do not blame him – I, myself, wouldn't have believed a word of that, weren't I the person the tail speaks about.
"And I still don't get your point." the apologetic look in his green eyes makes me smile, as for a second I allow myself to get lost in their depth.
A cold whiff of air once again ruffles my hair, and I notice Bard's body growing tense, a reminder that unlike me, he actually feels the drop in temperature clearly. With a single wave of my hand the wind disappears and the snowflakes scarce. The bewildered look he gives me makes a low, throaty laugh rumble in the back of my throat.
"Don't you find it strange I possess powers, resembling those of the woman from the tale?" my voice is soft and warm, a small laughter still distinguishable.
Bard's frown, as he seems rather perplexed at what I may be implying makes a giggle come from me before I take off one of my gloves and move my fingers, creating an arrow out of ice. Once ready, I examine it for a second and hand it over to him.
"It has been a heavy burden to carry, knowing that many lost their lives due to that failure, but I'm happy that those who managed to make it out hadn't spoken badly of me."
Bard's head snaps my way, as he had been studying the detailed ice arrow in his hand, a miniature copy of the black arrow with which Girion injured Smaug back in the days. Now his eyes are filled with shock as his minds seems to have finally wrapped around the idea I offered.
"You-You are the woman from that day?" when I nod, his eyebrows furrow and suddenly my gut clenches in worry of the vile words that may leave his mouth.
Yet he stays silent, his gaze fixed on the small ice figure in his hand and by the look on his face, I know he's deep in thought. And the more he spaces out, the worse I feel for ever telling him in the first place. 'What was I thinking? Who, in their rightful mind, would accept something like this light-heartedly.'
The sudden hail of the wind makes my now completely loose hair fly to the side, and a shiver runs down my spine, making my teeth rattle. This seems to snap the dragon slayer from his thoughts and he looks at me for a second with a blank look. And just like that, while one second he's completely emotionless, in the next a smile appears on his face.
"I thought the Ice Witch didn't feel the cold?" it's a tease, as at the same time he takes off his own coat and throws it around my shoulders before I get the chance to protest.
The fact that he asks me the same question Thorin did a while ago both startles and makes me chuckle. Smiling in gratitude I pull the furs closer around me, secretly absorbing Bard's scent.
"When I'm at my limit, my powers weaken and make me vulnerable to climatic conditions, like everyone else."
"It may sound harsh, but it's nice to know that you can actually feel the cold once in a while. It's a bit weird when you walk around so thinly clad while we are covered in a few layers of fur and still feel the chilliness seeping though."
My laugh echoes in the quietness of the night as the rather funny image of myself being able to walk around in my undergarment while the others are shivering under piles of clothes, pops in my head.
"You are right – it's nice to react normal once in a while." the smile is still plastered on my face as our eyes meet briefly.
Once again one of those strange, unknown and slightly bothersome feelings forms in the pits of my stomach, provoked by the way Bard gazes at me with warmth and amusement that no one ever aimed my way in such gentle and caring manner. Feeling a blush appearing on my cheeks I hastily stand up, with the intention to finally head inside, but unfortunately what I didn't take into consideration is that I'm too tired to do such sudden movements. So, naturally my head spins and I sway on my feet, feeling lightheaded and slightly sick. Thankfully two strong arms wrap themselves around my middle and steady me, my head coming to rest on Bard's broad chest. Yet even in the state of current inadequacy, I feel the warmth that radiates from him and the way he shivers under the merciless cold wind of the night. Forging the last remains of my powers, I sooth down the weather before looking up at his emerald eyes.
"Sorry for that." I mumble, suddenly feeling so much more tired than seconds ago, my mind tripping on the edge of consciousness.
"We must get you inside." the worry in his voice makes me blink a few times, trying to chase away the sleep.
Unfortunately it's easier said than done. My eyelids are heavy and all my senses begin to shut down until the only thing I can do is gaze up at two beautiful green pools of warmth and worry. And, as if someone blew my candle, everything drowns in darkness.