Work Text:
When her mother died, Sigrid learned very quickly how to run a household by herself. Of course she had helped her mother since she could remember, but this was still very different.
She had to make do on her own. She couldn't ask her mother when something went wrong; she just had to figure it out.
Even without trying to care for Tilda and Bain, both of whom were grieving their mother in different ways, there was just suddenly a lot more work to do.
She could not cry or break, her siblings and her father needed her to let their everyday life continue as smoothly as possible no matter the change that had happened.
Perhaps she did cry a bit while she worked and while her siblings could not see, but if she did, it was useless and unproductive and therefore not worth any mention.
Her grief was nothing special, people died everywhere. So she needed to - not move on, that would be disrespectful, her father was a good man, an honourable man whose daughter could neither be incapable nor uncaring in any way - but she needed to focus on the present.
She must not be a burden. She must not be melancholic or aggravated, it only upset her father and the children. No one could bear the additional burden of her problems or spare the time and energy to listen to them. So she should make do on her own.
Very quickly she became businesslike in almost every interaction. Her father was too distracted to notice. He needed to earn enough money to sustain their family. That was a difficult enough task. Bard usually had left by dawn and returned only when the night had already fallen.
It hadn't been much different when their mother was alive. The hours had just been a bit shorter because their mother had sold some things too and because father had no grief to drive him away from their home.
In any case, this allowed her to change without anyone taking much notice. She adjusted. She learned to be polite in a manner that could hardly be distinguished from affection or kindness without knowing her well.
Her father did not know her well anymore or could not muster the energy to care.
She could understand the latter. Each evening she was exhausted after working the whole day. Washing their clothes, repairing their home, repairing their clothes, looking after Tilda and Bain, searching or haggling for food, trying to make the most of it while cooking, ...
And nonetheless, each evening after having worked the whole day, she still seemed to have a great number of tasks to complete that should have been finished yesterday at the latest.
For some things she was tempted to ask for help from their neighbours. She knew that some neighbours would be more helpful than others, but a few would help. Those who were afraid of the Master or eager to get into his good graces, showed their dislike of Bart and often extended that dislike to his children. Some looked at the absence of Bard and concluded that his family had little to do with the attitude of Bard. And of course some liked Bart.
It must be considered though, that her father tried to give others the things they needed and that she had not once seen him ask somebody for help.
In the end she only asked for help if she truly saw no other solution. It was different, of course, to borrow an egg or some thread. The indirect exchange of some minor goods for favours was a part of the community.
Before her mother had died, Sigrid had been included in a group of young girls that did some work together, talked together and lamented their marriage prospects a little.
The two weeks or so after her mother's death, Sigrid was too busy adjusting, to interact much with anyone. Then she developed a routine, and without truly noticing automatically fell into the group of women more her mother's age than her own.
A year later she knew what to do. She knew how to convince Tilda to go with her to wash their clothes, and how to tell Bain to go with the other boys to collect wood, so that he would actually do it. She could patch up their house as well as Karsa who was twice her age, their house was clean and there was a meal on the table each day.
So she started to find some time to try and do a little work on the side like her mother had done. She did know how to use a loom and after spending some time on it each evening, she got faster quickly and produced some acceptable cloth.
She sold it, made it into clothes for herself and the children and there was just a little more money available.
In conclusion, their life was stable again when Bard brought dwarfs to their house.
And of course it was Bard's house. He could do with it as he pleased.
He sent her to get a meal for their guests and a warm bath and towels and any medicine they had for the arrow wound one dwarf had. And of course she was Bard's daughter, she had to obey her father.
It did not matter that the food they had was usually carefully watched over and divided to ensure they still had something to eat on the next day or the next month.
It did not matter that she had spent hours today cleaning the floors of their cottage and the dwarfs were destroying her work in seconds.
It did not matter that Bard had not warned her he was going to invite rude guests the Master would try to make their lives a living hell for hosting.
Bard had already done so and there was nothing she could do to change it.
Of course Bard spoke to Bain and told him to take responsibility for her and Tilda. Bain was his son.
After the orcs attacked and they survived, they survived, even if Tilda was still trembling and she herself wasn't much better, Sigrid quietly but quickly packed their essentials. They might have to leave quickly. Just in case, she had five packs ready. One for Bain, one for Tilda and three for herself.
When the rumour reached her that Bard had told the villagers the dragon would come if the dwarves left, she readied their boat. For once she was a little careless with the money she spent. She bought more food and better coats and shoes than what was sensible for the money they had. If Bard was wrong there would be some days with very little food and money in their future. If he was right then the food, the clothing and the bow for hunting she bought would be sorely needed and probably still too little to take care of Bain and Tilda properly.
She stowed the food into the boat, into the packs and just a little earlier than the dwarves left she made a trip to the coast with Bard's trading vessel.
If Laketown burned and they survived, at least about half of their essential properties could be found hidden beneath a few different trees.
If they were destroyed by animals or orcs or dwarves and the dragon did not come it would be a harsh loss, but not a devastating one.
The dragon came.
And how dare he. How dare he demand her little brother bring him the arrow. Bain was loyal and brave and an idiot and loved his father and heard far too many tales of heroes and honour. Of course he would put himself into mortal danger to bring the arrow his father had asked for to the tower that was surrounded by dragon fire, surrounded by a city that burned. That was what Bard had wanted, wasn't it?
It was not enough to antagonize the Master of Laketown, it was not enough to let himself get thrown into jail, not enough to try and kill a dragon. Bard had asked his son to die with him and as Sigrid kept a tight hold on her little sister and rowed their boat out of Laketown as fast as she could, leaving not only her home but her little brother behind, she knew she would never forgive Bard Dragonslayer.
Killing the dragon, the heroic deed that saved the majority of Laketown, the dwarves under the mountain and perhaps even the ones from the Iron Hill, would not only be celebrated by the people but gave Bard the influence to reestablish Dale, to bargain with the Elven and the Dwarven King and made the heir of Girion himself into the Lord of Dale.
It also lost him a daughter.