Chapter Text
“I need some bandages over here!”
“Bring me some calendula and poppy right away!”
“Who has my good saw?”
The general sounds of exhausted, yet dedicated, triage medics filled the air as Sigrid made her way among the tents and cook fires. Two weeks after that horrible battle and the field in front of the Lonely Mountain was still covered in people - alive, or dead, or somewhere in between. After the Orc retreat, the Men, Elves, and Dwarves made quick work of any stragglers. Yet work was not completely finished. There were still many wounded; Thranduil, Thorin and Dáin, and Bard had all agreed to a central triage center at the river bank.
Well, central enough, Sigrid thought, as she struggled to find where she needed to go. People had more or less segregated themselves, and as water was the most important factor at the moment, what had resulted was a two-mile-long camp along the bank of the river, with the Dwarves nearest the Mountain and the Men nearest Dale. Thranduil had somewhat predictably brought his elves to the other side of the river, which Sigrid didn’t mind at all. The two elves that had tracked the Orcs to her house seemed to be outliers - the rest of their kind seemed to abhor Men and Dwarves alike, and at this point she could really do without a bunch of giant sticks-in-the-mud looking down their noses at her.
“Oi, lass, if y’aren’t doin’ nothin, come do me a favor,” a man called to her from the open flap of a dingy yellowing tent.
“Um--” Sigrid began to protest, but he’d already disappeared back inside. She scurried after him, pausing at the entrance to let her eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through the canvas.
A tall blonde man lay nearly unconscious, cradling his arm which now ended at the elbow. The rest of his limb lay cast off on the floor underneath the table on which the man lay. The one who had called her over gestured to it as he began crushing some herbs in a bowl. “Will you take care of that for me?”
She stared for a moment. “What-- the arm? How??”
“Eh, just chuck it into one of those fires they’re taking care of the Orcs with,” he answered, not even looking at her. He poured some water into the bowl and mixed the concoction steadily, adding a few pinches of things as he went.
Sigrid waited for a moment, not sure if he was serious. However when no additional order came, she pursed her lips and took a deep breath. “All right…” she murmured to herself and knelt. The grass had been trampled to a yellowing, muddy mess that stuck to the knees of her leggings and ground into the creases of her palms. Quick as she could, Sigrid reached under the table and grabbed the severed limb by the wrist. A glance at the medic told her that she was already forgotten, so she rose and left the tent without a word.
The arm felt odd in her hands. It was still somewhat warm, and heavy. Bits of grass and mud were stuck in the hairs and under the fingernails. A sickly sweet odor rose from a terrible gash down the forearm that was a right mess of green and yellow and black. No wonder it had had to come off. Sigrid couldn’t help her nose from wrinkling though, and as she drew closer to the nearest pyre her steps quickened. The smells coming off the fire were horrible, and the sooner she was done with this, the sooner she could get back to Da and deliver the message she’d been sent with.
The wall of heat was so intense, Sigrid couldn’t get very close to the pyre. She had to hurl the arm with all her strength just to make sure it would stay. Even so, bits and pieces of who-knew-what bounced and rolled around. She didn’t stay to watch.
~*~
Sigrid crossed into the Dwarves’ section of the camp and headed straight for the largest tent she could find. Odds were that was where Dáin and her Da would be meeting, as rumor had it Dáin had taken over while Thorin healed. Before entering the tent she took a quick inventory of herself. She was filthy.
“Well,” she shrugged, “Nothing doing.” So she rubbed her hands on her leggings. “That will have to be good enough.”
She found that her eyes did not have to adjust at all in here; the Dwarves had set up lanterns, crystals, and mirrors which kept the light bright as day. Sure enough, Bard and Dáin were there, standing, to her surprise, next to a very awake Thorin Oakenshield. He sat propped up against a stump someone had rolled over, expression as stormy as ever while her da looked annoyed. To Thorin’s side lay the brothers that had stayed in her home before the dragon came. Sigrid frowned to see Kíli in much the same state as she’d first met him. Would the poor Dwarf ever catch a break? And now Fíli as well, who had stayed so faithfully by his brother’s side and risked his life to protect her as--
“Sigrid? What brings you by here?” Bard’s question interrupted her thoughts and she blinked rapidly.
“Da,” she smiled and approached the makeshift council. “I brought news for you from Dale.”
Dain nodded sharply at her and Thorin just… stared. It occurred to her now that she was approaching the King Under The Mountain. “Um…” How do you address someone who crawled out of your toilet, but now wore his grandfather’s crown upon his brow?
“Thorin, you remember my daughter, Sigrid. And Sigrid, this is Dáin Ironfoot, son of Náin, Lord of the Iron Hills.” The formal language sat uncomfortably in her father’s mouth, his gestures stilted.
Sigrid smiled again and gave a clumsy cursty. “My… Lords,” she guessed. Better than nothing. Probably.
The Dwarves nodded at her but remained silent. Her father looked between them for a beat, then ushered her aside. “What is it, Sig? And where are your brother and sister? Not here, I hope.”
“No, Da, Bain is helping Mr. Potts put up shelves and Tilda is playing with Cammy and Gemma. Mrs. Potts said she would look after them.” She glanced over her father’s shoulder at the Dwarves who made no effort to look as if they were not listening. “Mr. Potts told me that he and Mr. Wilkinson saw Nobby Dibbler trying to stop up the river by the old mill, even though Mr. Wilkinson wants to try to get it running again. They want you to come down and tell him to stop.”
Bard sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Aye, I’ll head back down in a bit. We’re just finishing up here. Go back down to Dale and see if you and Bain can’t get some work done at the house, hear?” He gave her a quick hug and kissed her forehead, then pushed her gently away. “I’ll be home by sundown.”
“Yes, Da,” she replied. “M’Lords,” she added in a louder voice, with another quick bend of the knees.
As she turned to leave, she spared one last glance towards the brothers on the ground. Kíli was still sleeping fitfully, his brow furrowed in either nightmare or pain. However Fíli had awoken sometime after she’d entered; he was watching her, though he could barely keep his eyes open. The corner of his mouth picked up in a crooked smile and it was all Sigrid could do not to look around the tent. No, she knew there wasn’t anyone else here. She smiled back at him and ducked her head, all but running out.
He seemed to remember her after all.
~*~
A week later and Sigrid had had enough. Ever since Da had killed the dragon, everyone wanted him to be the new King, or Mayor, or Master, or any number of other ruling titles they could come up with. And as such, they all wanted to make a new, better impression on him. People were coming around the house day after day, offering to rebuild this wall or lay down this floor or install those windows or thatch the roof. It was all very nice and generous, but no one would let her do anything for herself.
After Sigrid was shooed away from doing work in her own damned kitchen, she gave up for good and headed out towards the camp. Someone would be looking after her siblings. That was her whole problem anyway: too many helpers. Blessed peace and quiet finally came to her in the short distance between the town and the triage encampment. Behind her lay the nascent city of Men and its yet-leaderless chaos; ahead, hundreds of wounded or dying, and those frantic few trying to save them.
At least when she was last at the camp, that man hadn’t cared if she was the Bowman’s daughter. Instead of feeling useless she’d felt like she was involved, helping people get their lives back together rather than watching everyone do it for her. Well why not return and lend a hand?
Just as she thought, it didn’t take any time at all before she was put to work. It seemed no matter where she was, someone needed something. Sigrid boiled bandages and served food and water. Before long the medics trusted her to rinse wounds with hot wine, garlic and thyme, make a pain-relieving tea out of poppy leaves, and wrap injuries of all shapes and sizes. When she finally thought there was a break in the action, Sigrid had barely made it to the river’s edge when she heard the shouts.
“No! Y’aren’t takin mah leg, it’s going to be fine. Yeh jus’ gotta give it time to heal!”
A tall woman and a Dwarf were almost wrestling with the younger Dwarf who clearly was not going to heal any time soon. “Come on, now, Gror, everything will be fine. I’m sure someone in Thorin’s crew will be able to fashion you somethin. Losin yer leg won’t kill yeh, it’s keepin it that will.”
The fight went out of the Dwarf’s eyes and he pushed red hair out of his face. “All right. Git to it.” At this, the two medics got to work assembling what they needed and Sigrid looked on in fascination.
Finally the woman noticed her and gestured for her to come over. “You’re the Bargeman’s daughter, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sigrid answered warily, “But I’ve been helping here all day.”
“Aye, I can see that. I’m Caryl, that’s Borin,” she stuck out a hand for Sigrid to shake. “Why don’t you get some clean bandages and something for Gror to bite down on? It’s gonna take a while to get through thick Dwarf legs.”
Indeed it did. Caryl and Borin were working as fast as they could, taking turns on the saw while Sigrid held Gror’s hand and later, leaned all her body weight over his shoulders to keep him still. “I can’t believe you’re still conscious,” she breathed, shaking her head.
“I could say the same of you, lass,” a voice came from behind her. She craned her neck to try to see, but a particularly anguished cry from Gror brought her attention right back to him.
“Almost there, Gror, the worst is over now,” she murmured as she watched Borin finally get through the limb. It was a lie, of course; Borin returned moments later with a hot iron to cauterize the wound, which set off a whole new bout of anguished writhing. As Caryl sewed up the stump, Sigrid relaxed her hold on Gror and sat back in the mud. She pushed her frizzy curls out of her face, then rested her head on her knees. Her leggings were filthy again, she noticed, from her knees all the way down to her feet. Fantastic. She’d have to soak them for days now.
“Prince Fíli! So glad to see you walking about, and after just three weeks!” Borin’s voice shocked her out of her reverie.
Sigrid’s eyes flew open and she scrambled to her feet. Sure enough there stood the blond Dwarf with the silly mustache. He looked somewhat pale, and smaller than she remembered. Though that could also have just been that he was no longer wearing five layers of clothing and weapons. Instead he was dressed in simple breeches and a tunic, and she could see thick bandages around his chest and shoulder. And he was a prince? She tried to put it together without giving too much away. Thorin was now King Under the Mountain, so Fíli must be his… nephew? Surely she’d remember if he were his son. Someone had to have explained this to her at some point--
“Thank you, Borin,” Fíli answered graciously, though he did not take his eyes off Sigrid. “Please don’t let me keep you from your patient. I merely wanted to say hello to the Lady Sigrid.”
“I’m not--” Sigrid stopped herself. Actually, she supposed she was. If they truly did make her da the Lord of Dale, King of Dale, whatever, then that would be the next logical step. “Um. Everything all right then, Borin? Caryl?” But they waved her off, engrossed in wrapping up and cleaning off. She looked back to Fíli, whose crooked smile was only exaggerated by the braids on each side of his mouth. “Er… Hello, Prince Fíli. Very kind of you to stop by. If you don’t mind I really ought to go to the river and wash up a bit.”
“May I accompany you?” Fíli responded. “I was headed there myself when I saw you at work.” He paused, then added, “Shouldn’t you be in Dale, with your sister and brother?”
Sigrid heaved an exaggerated sigh, heading away from the tents. “For pity’s sake-- They’re fine. Honestly, this is the most at-peace I’ve been in weeks. People are so eager to help the Lord of Dale that they’re more of a bother than a blessing, and that includes keeping eyes on Bain and Tilda. Sure, I haven’t had to cook my own dinner in a week, but my house doesn’t even feel my own. I haven’t had but two seconds to myself since you lot came up through my bloody toilet!!” Her mouth snapped shut and her eyes bulged. “Oh shit-- Sorry! Sorry sorry. I-- Sorry. I shouldn’t have cussed, I shouldn’t’ve even--”
Fíli touched her elbow gently. “It’s all right. I rather know the feeling.”
At the river’s edge, Sigrid knelt down in the sand right where the water could lap at her knees. She dutifully scrubbed sand between her hands and up her arms, raising goosebumps wherever the cool water touched. There was a heavy sound behind her as Fíli plopped down as well. Once her hands were clean to her satisfaction, she sat back out of the water and scrubbed at the mud on her leggings. “Da’s never going to let me out of the house again at this rate. This is the second pair I’ve ruined in as many weeks.”
“Aye, I’ve been wonderin’ about that. Why’s it always your knees?” He grinned back at her puzzled expression. “Your knees were dirty the last time I saw you, in Uncle’s tent.”
Sigrid stared. “Prince Fíli, I don’t know what you mean to imply by that statement! The truth of the matter is I had to crawl under a table to get what was left of a poor man’s arm and throw it away.”
Silence. Then, “You’re serious?”
“Aye. A man had his arm off, just like Gror, and some man asked me to take care of it, so I did. I threw it on one of the pyres they were using for the Orc corpses.”
“Mahal, lass, you continue to amaze me.”
“What, like it’s hard? It only weighed like ten pounds.”
“No, no,” Fíli chuckled. “It’s just, you hear all these stories about Men, and their Ladies, and how delicate they are. Damsels getting in distress, fainting from a finger prick, that sort of thing.”
“That’s the biggest load I’ve ever heard,” Sigrid scoffed. “I was on my way to King Thorin’s tent, as that was where my da was supposed to be, and then this man asked for my help, and I could do it, so I did. Same with today.”
“It’s just, you don’t see many Ladies of Men helping Dwarves get their legs amputated.”
“Caryl’s a lady,” she retorted.
“Aye, she’s a woman, but she’s not a Lady,” Fíli pointed out.
“I’m not either, though, not really. I’m just trying to get my life back to normal again.” Sigrid rose back up to her knees and shuffled down to the water to rinse off again. “Though now it probably never will be normal. You know, none of this would have happened if it weren’t for you.” She stood and wiped her wet hands on her jacket.
He had opened his mouth to interject, but she had built up momentum. “We were doing just fine, you know, until you lot came. And you, and your brother, and whassname stayed so long we were attacked! By Orcs!” She walked back towards him, shaking her finger accusingly. “My house was destroyed by Dwarves, Orcs and Elves, and I’d barely gotten it back together again before the dragon attacked! Which never would have happened, if you and the rest of you foolish creatures hadn’t pissed him off! And then. And then! Thorin has the gall to tell my da that they’ll have to make a deal for the gold he promised us when you first got on his boat, just so Dale won’t starve this winter. And Thranduil is a whole other story. There was frost this morning, you know, we don’t have time to be mucking about like this when our seeds and cattle are in the bottom of the Lake!”
Fíli blinked. Apparently it had never been laid out for him so plainly. Quietly, he ducked his head and replied, “We’ve certainly caused you quite a bit of pain, Lady Sigrid. I hope in the future we can make it up to you. I will...speak with my uncle.”
She turned her back on him, opting to stare at the lake as she calmed down rather than his puppy dog face. “You go ahead and do that, Your Highness.”
When she refused to say nothing more, Fíli added, “Truth is, I had hoped to see you today because I wanted to thank you for what you had done for Kíli and me, back in Lake Town.”
“That wasn’t even me, that was the Elf.” Sigrid flicked her hand as if to shoo the very idea away. “Tauriel, wasn’t it? She was the one who actually knew what to do.”
“Stop selling yourself short, Lady Sigrid. You took us in when we were in need, and let us stay despite the great danger it brought you. You defended my brother and protected your siblings, and we never would have made it to Erebor if it weren’t for you. You held him as we left your house... Kíli is… He is all I have, right now. And besides being my brother, he is currently my heir. Whether you meant to or not, you saved the line of Durin.” Fíli sighed and stared at his feet. “You are right, we have brought you nothing but hardship in return.”
“How is he? Kíli?” Sigrid asked quietly, most of her fire extinguished by his quiet sorrow. “He was injured as well when last I saw you.”
“He’s getting there. Tauriel has stayed behind here, which certainly gives him something to look forward to. She visits him from time to time, raises his spirits some.”
“Well I hope that from here on out you can keep each other out of trouble. You’ve had quite enough brushes with death for one year.” Sigrid turned to smile at him, swiping nonexistent dirt from her hands. “And I as well. So I should get back home before my da, else I may not see the morning.”
“And I must head in the other direction. Please send our best to your father, and tell him that I’m going to talk to my uncle and see what we can do to make things right.” Fíli rose to his feet and gave a sort of half-bow, eyes twinkling. “My Lady.”
Sigrid rolled her eyes but bent her knees a bit anyway, mocking his formality as she answered, “Your Highness.”
As she headed south along the river bank, she had to admit to herself that she felt quite a lot better after shouting at the Dwarf Prince. Maybe she could make this “Lady of Dale” thing work after all. She just needed to find something to do during the day. Then everyone would be out of her hair and she could have some damned peace for once. And who knows, maybe Fíli would succeed where Da had failed, and Thorin would keep the oath he’d made on the other end of the lake.
She wouldn’t hold her breath.