Book 2: Hanging On [Thorin Oakenshield]

Chapter 13

Poppy couldn't remember the last time she felt so thankful for warm clothing. With the house being so small the Dwarves were forced to strip in the main room, along with Bilbo, as Bard's daughters ushered Poppy into their shared bedroom. They offered up a towel and one of Tilda's dresses, since the youngest child was roughly around the Half-breed's height. The young woman pulled it on so quickly it was impressive as a blanket soon wrapped around her shoulders. From behind Sigrid assisted in drying out the dripping wet hair. Once everyone changed, Poppy reentered the main area again to sit near the roaring fire. Finally the cold began to ebb away.

"They may not be the best fit, but they will keep you warm," Bard stated.

His family continued to deposit more layers and blankets among them. Gratefully, the young woman took a hot cup from Sigrid as it helped warm her insides. Emptying her stool for Bifur to sit, seeing as he continued to shiver, the Half-breed took a seat near the window tugging the blanket up higher as the material had fallen away from her shoulder.

Presence appeared beside her a moment later, only to find Thorin with his own mug of the warm drink.

"How are you feeling?" he wondered.

"Much better," she answered.

But the way her shoulders hunched the prince knew she felt tired. They all were, but the strength she continued to display made him admire her further. Poppy wasn't like other women, who would complain or give up, unsuited for the task at hand. Since their first meeting at Bilbo's Hobbit hole he began to realize his doubts towards the blacksmith had been wrong.

"Though I think fate is telling me I need a dress of my own," she added. "I'm tired of wearing ones meant for children."

The comment caused him to chuckle lowly in amusement. She would have nothing to worry about once they reached Erebor. Thorin would give her any outfit she desired due to her courage and loyalty. He was about to answer before something caught his eye out the window beside her, the words dying in his throat to gaze through the glass.

"The Dwarvish windlance," Thorin breathed. It came out so soft Poppy strained to hear him, turning to look at the tall tower that overlooked the town with a weapon attached to the top.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Bilbo stated, joining them along with Balin.

"Because he has," the older Dwarf stated. "The last time we saw such a weapon a city was on fire. That was the day the dragon came. The day that Smaug destroyed Dale. Girion, the Lord of the City, rallied his bowmen to fire upon the beast. But a dragon's hide is tough. Tougher than the strongest armor. Only a Black Arrow fired from a windlance could have pierced the dragon's hide. And few of those arrows were ever made. The store was running low when Girion made his last stand."

The room fell into a tense silence as the company near them heard the tale once more. Remembering the past that forced them from their home.

"Had the aim of man been true that day, much would have been different," Thorin seethed. Poppy bowed her head before taking another sip of her drink.

"You speak as if you'd been there," Bard spoke up, all heads turning towards him.

"All Dwarves know the tale." It was a good lie so none grew suspicious of their true intention for being here.

"Then you would know that Girion hit the dragon," Bain broke in. "He loosened his scale under the left wing. One more shot and he would have killed it."

Dwalin chuckled under his breath from behind them, saying, "That's a fairy tale, lad. Nothing more."

The comment seemed to not sit well with the Lakeman, which confused the young woman for a moment. But before she could question such a thing, the prince stepped forward to address the man, "You took our money. Where are our weapons?"