Authors Note:
Hello fellow readers! Firstly, thank you VERY much for stopping by and reading this story. I've been a bit of a lurker in this fandom, and after trawling through countless Kili/OC's and finding NO Bard/OC's, I decided to write my own. There's not enough of them! I dug around on the internet about (what I assumed) daily life was like in Esgaroth and the names (I chose Nordic/Swedish names) considering Peter Jackson used "Tilda" and "Sigrid" for Bard's daughters.
Anyway, I suppose this story could go either way. Bard/OC's aren't very popular and my OC isn't a sword-wielding, arrow-shooting Elf but this story may get swamped among the many Kili stories.
If you have the time, I would LOVE to hear what you think so far! It really motivates me, and I appreciate all types of feedback.
Chapter One.
Gisela had been returning from an appointment with the seamstress when she heard the splash. The disturbance in the water rippled down a narrow street, gently rocking a pair of docked fishing boats. Wondering if the local kids were throwing stones at the alley cats again, she hitched up her skirts and quickened her pace, only to find a fully grown man flailing about in the icy waters like a helpless seal-pup. Without hesitation, she whipped off her woollen cloak, rolled up her sleeves and knelt down to grab the man's hands to keep his head above water.
"Hey!" she shouted at him to get his attention. "Hold on!"
The man appeared not to hear her, and Gisela struggled to hold onto his weight. She felt someone pass along the street behind her, and Gisela spotted a beggar skulking in the shadows watching the commotion with glee.
"You have help me!" she yelled desperately "He is going to drown!"
The beggar, a woman with bronzed skin, moved into the light and reluctantly grabbed hold of the man's other arm. The water was weighing down his clothes, and he was slowly losing consciousness, making his body go limp.
"He's dead," the beggar woman panicked through puffs of breath, as she and Gisela attempted to haul the man onto the jetty. "He's dead. Look at him."
"He's not dead," panted Gisela. "Keep pulling!"
"He is! We'll hang for this! We killed him!"
The beggar woman took one last look of the unconscious man and fled down the street, disappearing into the night. Gisela gave a cry of frustration, and with all the strength she could muster, dragged the rest of the man's body onto the jetty. He collapsed on top of her, icy water seeping through her dark garments and stinging her skin. With great difficulty, she flipped him over and checked his pulse, deflating with relief when she felt the faint throbbing of life in his frozen veins. Gently, she brushed aside his long wet hair and blinked in surprise. It was Bard the Bargeman.
Tentatively, she slapped his face, and after a few tense seconds, his eyes opened. The pupils were dilated and struggled to focus. He was drunk.
Well this was a first, Gisela thought wryly as Bard rested his head in her arms, the man always seemed so sensible.
"You fell in the lake," she told him, speaking loud and clear. "Can you hear me?"
He nodded and slowly sat up, leaning heavily against Gisela who was rapidly wishing she could go home and change her sodden clothes. Goosebumps were forming on her arms, and she was starting to shiver. She knew Bard lived not too far away, but getting him there was another matter; dragging a fully grown man out of a lake had spared her last breath but she trusted no-one else to get him home.
"I am going to help you," she said. "Can you stand?"
She instantly regretted asking this when Bard staggered to his feet with alarming speed, almost pushing her into the lake. He clutched handfuls of her cloak to steady himself, his wet hair swaying in bedraggled clumps around his face. She brushed herself off, suppressing her annoyance.
"Can't go home …" he mumbled, a hint of a slur behind his words. "Damn Alfrid … taxing … kicking me out in two weeks … Master of Laketown got his way … failed my family … "
Gisela fought to roll her eyes at his ramblings. "Well I have to take you home, Bard. You'll freeze to death if you stay out here."
"I've failed my family ..."
"Are you listening to me?"
Bard twisted his head and stared at her blankly, before focussing on a point below Gisela's mouth. Following his gaze, she hastily snatched her cowl and covered up the burns scarring her neck. Now she was angry, more at herself for letting her guard down and allowing somebody to see those markings, even if this particular individual would not remember it. Bard was so drunk and in shock that he neither cared who she was. Snow was now starting to fall in earnest from large clouds partially obscuring the full moon, and Gisela thought longingly of sitting next to her large fire with a glass of mulled wine. Undisturbed.
A cold snowflake landed on her nose, disrupting her wistful daydream. Bard was beginning to shiver violently beside her, wrapping his soggy thick coat around his body. Pursing her thin lips, Gisela poked him sharply in the shoulder. The longer they stayed in the cold, the quicker Bard's body would go into shock.
"Come, follow me."
He obeyed without comment, teeth chattering and hugging himself to conserve heat. Fortunately for Gisela, he was more surefooted than she thought and they reached his house without any real incident, except when he tried to relieve himself near a cattle-shed. He lived in a part of Esgaroth that Gisela mostly avoided, mainly due to the lingering smell of fish and the suspicious-looking locale lurking in their boats and shabby stalls. His house was crudely built, balancing precariously on a handful of rotten wooden stilts which were smothered in moss and limpets but twinkling through the darkness, Gisela saw the welcoming glow of candlelight shining from his house.
Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. It opened a fraction, and a pair of fearful blue eyes peeked through the gap.
"Who is it?" a timid voice asked.
"There is no need to fear me, girl," Gisela explained, stepping into the sliver of light shining from the house. "I found your father, Bard in need of help. I have brought him home."
"Papa?" the girl asked worriedly. "In trouble?" She opened the door in full and Bard twisted his head in the direction of the girl. He smiled weakly, knocking Gisela aside as he staggered into the warmth of his home.
"Papa? What has happened? Why are you wet? Is that blood?"
The girl had begun to stress herself with worry, and Gisela placed a hand on her shoulder. "May I enter your home, girl? I can help you."
"Of course," the girl replied, standing aside more graciously than Bard, who was now huddled next to a small fire, stroking his arms in an attempt to warm himself. His sodden overcoat lay crumpled on the floor. The girl picked it up with a sigh, as Gisela shut the door behind her. "What happened to him?"
"I'm not sure. I found him in the lake near the Market, and pulled him out. He's obviously drunk."
"That's not like Papa," the girl mused darkly, filling a kettle with water from a pump. "Forgive my manners, my name is Sigrid. I am his eldest daughter."
"Gisela."
Sigrid froze slightly, but Gisela had expected this reaction. Her reputation in town was as prominent as Bard's but much less favourable. She was the widowed daughter of the Master of Laketown, shunned due to her chosen solitude and dark, hooded appearance. It was burned into the memory of each citizen of how Gisela lost her family, five years ago in a freak fire which wreaked havoc in Esgaroth. Rumours whispered she'd gone mad with grief and her body was mutilated with burns but Gisela only chose to conceal herself as a display of mourning. She had gone back into the burning house to rescue her son, but was pulled back by her father's guards screaming hysterically. The last thing she ever heard was his screams of anguish. Her husband had been rescued but later died in the infirmary from smoke inhalation and severe burns.
"Forgive me once more," Sigrid said, dipping her head in apology and avoiding Gisela's eyes. "You are most welcome, Gisela and I cannot thank you enough for saving my father. Truly."
She sounded sincere, and Gisela smiled slightly, brushing off the awkward moment. She gazed at Bard who was sat staring into the fire, the dancing flames reflecting in his glassy eyes. She had never seen a man look so crushed. The effects of the alcohol had worn off slightly, and Gisela knew he was pondering the impending eviction of his family and financial woes. She glanced over at Sigrid who was now preparing a warm cloth to douse her father's head, apparently unaware of the bad news.
"Sigrid? What's going on?"
A small figure hovered in a doorway, leading to a cramped bedroom. Gisela twisted her head as a small girl padded into the room carrying a soiled teddybear, and sucking her thumb. Her feet were bare.
"Tilda!" Sigrid reproached, turning on her sister while she applied the cloth to Bard, who silently clutched Sigrid's other hand. He was shaking. "Go back to bed!"
"I heard strange noises in my room again."
Sigrid gritted her teeth. "For the last time, Tilda there is no dragon under your bed."
Tilda's large eyes began to glisten with tears. She was about to open her mouth to protest, when she noticed Sigrid nursing Bard. "What's wrong with Pappy?"
Sigrid glanced over at Gisela who was sitting at the table. The little girl followed her gaze and her jaw dropped. "It's … it's the crazy lady!"
"Tilda! Don't be rude!" Sigrid hissed. "This is Gisela, now go back to bed you little imp. Papa will be fine."
Gisela was resisting the urge to chastise the young girl. In plain, she heartily disliked children; they were the most fearful when they passed her in the street, glaring her down and recklessly throwing names at her to provoke a reaction, but she never rose to the bait. She was a proud woman, and losing ones temper was better suited to the harlots who worked in the taverns with their bosoms spilling over ill-fitted corsets, or fishermen at the market. Nevertheless, their witch-hunt over the years had dried up all affection she once possessed for the younger generation.
"You should listen to your sister, child," Gisela said coldly. "It's late."
The young girl stiffened at being rebuked by a stranger, and with a stern look from Sigrid marched out of the kitchen, dragging her filthy teddybear on the floor. Sigrid watched her go with a sad look on her face.
"I shouldn't have been cross with her," she said regretfully, "she sleeps little these days since we started rationing the food. So does my brother, Bain but he's too polite to say anything. He doesn't want to worry, Papa."
Despite herself, Gisela felt her stomach clench painfully with guilt as she remembered the hearty storage of bread and cheese in her pantry. Her husband had been a wealthy merchant and she lived on his remaining wealth, revelling in her luxuries. What did she care for the need of others? She wasn't easily swayed by charity, but the pained look on Sigrid's face made her feel extremely uncomfortable. She rose to her feet, observing Bard who was still lost in his own world.
"I will take my leave, Sigrid. Thank you for your hospitality."
"Oh! But it's late, Gisela … you are more than welcome to stay the night – I"
" - No, I think not, Sigrid," Gisela cut in smoothly, but there was gentleness to her tone. "Your father must get some sleep. On the morrow cut him some ginger root, I don't doubt he'll need it." She risked a smile and Sigrid returned it warmly. She rushed over to Gisela to see her out.
"Very well. I cannot thank you enough for bringing my father home … I … I also," her pale cheeks began to flush slightly. She bit her lip. "Never once did I believe the rumours … I always knew you were a good woman, Gisela. Those naysayers are all fools."
Gisela felt her skin drag as the compliment washed over her, causing her insides to swell with empathy. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. "I am nothing more than a cynical old maid, Sigrid," she said finally, watching Bard slowly collapse in a vacant bed in the background. "Neither am I truly what you think I am. I bid you goodnight."
Sigrid's flush began to crawl down her neck. Gisela didn't wait for a response, and with a polite nod to the young girl, exited the house not before slipping a bag of gold coins within the folds of Bard's coat.
Any thoughts, peeps?
