Have another chapter, folks! :) Enjoy!
Warning: Some scenes in this chapter are quite brutal!
Maddie Rose: I hope you enjoy this new chapter, let me know what you think!
UniabocetaP: haha you reviewed just in time before I updated again :P Bard is definitely becoming the man we all know and love.
Guest: I'm flattered, and I've really enjoyed writing Gisela's character.
Lady Lazerus: Thanks for the kind words and I hope you like this next instalment :)
Salome Maranya: I know exactly what you mean by the tragedy of there being a possible bond between Gisela and the Master, but greed can easily change a person – that and power and how it destroys relations - thats what I want to portray in this story.
RandomReader65: Thanks for the compliment of my writing!
CeruleanBlu: All answers shall be revealed :)
Guest: Enjoy!
Just4Me: haha yeah you're spot about why Gisela is so bitter, and I wanted to show the struggle for Bard as his children are so important to him as well.
Dalonega Noquisi: you're dead right; I thought through all the trials they've had this chapter ought to be the one where Gisela realised her feelings.
Homeric: It's been a lot of fun to write about Bard's struggle, but this wouldn't be a story if he didn't come rescue Gisela lol. I hope you like this new chapter.
ZabuzasGirl: as requested with every review, I have updated :P Enjoy!
Chapter Seven
"Bard!" Gisela croaked in disbelief, glancing warily around for any sign of Stein or his guards. "What are you doing here?"
Bard raised the hood of his cloak Gisela recognised as her own, and smiled faintly. "You look terrible," he observed, sweeping a careful eye over the small part of Gisela's face he could see through the hole. The Widow's cheeks were hollow, and her skin turning the colour of parchment. Her mane of black hair hung limply around her face like rat's tails, obscuring the grime and dried blood attached to her skin. He blinked at her, a frown of concern lining his face.
"Why are you here?" Gisela whispered hurriedly, beckoning for Bard with her index finger. "How did you know?"
Bard stepped up to her on a pile of wood. "I know the gravedigger who disposes of the bodies. I bribed him with one of your rings and he told me where I could find you."
A watery smile broke out across Gisela's face, and without thinking, reached out her hand through the hole and Bard grasped it softly. She closed her eyes at his touch, savouring the warmth and solidity of his skin against hers.
"They will catch you, Bard," she said gently, gazing at him best she could. "It was a huge risk to come here."
"After everything you risked for me?" Bard answered, raising an eyebrow. "Do not be a fool, Gisela. Gods, your hands are like ice! Here!" He stuffed a pair of rabbit skin gloves into the crack, and Gisela gratefully accepted them. "Did you not think I would come?"
An awkward silence split through the air, and Gisela bowed her head, loosening her grip on Bard's fingers. What could she say? How she selfishly cursed Bard for leaving her to imprisonment whilst he continued his days with his family? How she wallowed in self-pity, her old mistrust and depression distorting her thoughts into darkness. Or how she finally realised her feelings for Bard? The mere sight of him, here, now, risking everything to see her made her heart race rapidly; the only soul in the world who gave a damn.
"I did not know what to expect, Bard," she said truthfully, as Bard listened closely. "I would have you alive and with your family. That was my choice." Despite the circumstances and Gisela's mournful words washing over him like a cold wave, Bard gave a lopsided grin and shook his dark head.
"I knew you would say that. You're a stubborn fool."
Gisela felt a laugh grow in her dry throat, but it transformed into a sob which she swallowed. Stubborn, yes. Noble no. Foolish? Definitely, but all people were fools in love. Gisela would have cringed visibly at the thought. Had Bard not been the man he was to her over the past few weeks, she would have not taken the blame to spare him punishment, despite it being her father's plan all along to seize her wealth.
"The Master visited me today," she told him, as if they were talking about the weather. "And Alfrid."
"He did? What did he want?" Bard asked, frowning.
"He wanted me to marry Alfrid."
A sound comprised of a laugh and a choke escaped Bard, and he hastily cleared his throat so as not to seem improper. Instead, he rearranged his expression into one of suspicion.
"Why?"
"It was quite obvious," Gisela continued, "if I married Alfrid, then the Master would have complete control over me. The man may have the personality of a trout and look like one but there was a small part of him which wanted me to be free, even if it was for his own gain. "
"And did you accept his proposal?" Bard asked her carefully.
"Of course not. I would rather enter the Lonely Mountain than marry that dog!"
Another grin passed across Bard's face, but it quickly vanished as the sobriety of the situation settled on his shoulders. He felt Gisela considering him with her brown eyes, which despite being shut away in a cold cell, remained soft and unguarded. "How is Sigrid? Tilda? Bain?" she asked quietly, pushing her face closer to the wall.
Bard raised his gaze, and half-smiled. "Worried about you, but they are in good health."
"I suppose Sigrid talked you into coming here?" Gisela said shrewdly, The Bowman instantly looked away, cheeks flushing. "I understand if you were reluctant," she continued in a softer tone to amend Bard's discomfort. "Truly, I do."
Bard shifted his feet and approached the hole, so that his face was almost touching hers. He was so close he could count the faint cuts peppering her face, and the scar which drooped her mouth, but this did not deter him. The familiarity warmed his heart. "I'm going to get you out of here."
Gisela pushed aside another stone, and Bard saw her smiling sadly, resting her cheek against the palm of his hand. They had never been this close.
"Do not be a fool."
"I'm a stubborn fool, and when I want something done, I do it."
"You're making a mistake, Bard," Gisela replied, faint annoyance trickling into her tone. "I cannot help you again if you got caught! Half the town wants me dead, and they will not think highly of you if they saw you helping me!"
"I mean it," Bard said to her, clutching her hand tightly and gazing earnestly at her with his grey eyes. "Do you think I care about the opinion of fishwives and beggars ? I won't let you rot in here."
"And how will you outfox the gaoler and his twenty guards? They would have your head on a pike quicker than you entering my cell."
"Trust me, I have a plan."
A plan. The Master was the king of plans and undoubtedly sent his little spies to follow Bard, watching him like mice as they shared niceties through a gap in her cell wall. As soon as word reached the Master's ears, he would gladly arrest the Bowman and be done with him; interaction and conspiring an escape plan with a prisoner was treason. All of Esgaroth knew that.
At this thought, Gisela shook her head firmly and pushed the Bowman away, who stepped back looking surprised and hurt. "No, I forbid you to help me!" she said, anger and pain flailing in her chest like a wounded animal as she lashed out, all to prevent the one thing she truly and selfishly desired; freedom and the Bowman himself. Oh how, she will punish herself later! "I appreciate you coming to see me but you're a bigger idiot than I thought to take such a risk! Go home Bard, your family needs you."
Bard's grey eyes hardened, and Gisela could have sobbed as the warmth slowly faded away. Silently, he delved into his pocket and gave her a badly wrapped package and left without so much as a parting glance. Gisela watched him go, chest pounding as the dying animal in her chest writhed in agony. She slid from the hole, tears spilling down her cheeks and collapsing to the floor. Shakily, she unwrapped the paper; inside was a golden locket encrusted with emeralds from the Halls of Erebor, containing two small paintings of Elias and Elbert, which her late husband had given to her on her twenty-fifth birthday.
Elbert had been an excellent artist; and the two pictures were as accurate as the depictions she held in her memory.
Gisela pressed the locket to her chest as if it were a babe, and soon wave after wave of silent sobs wracked her body. What she wouldn't give to tear down the wall and chase after Bard to hold him, to thank him for such a gift! How he managed to find the locket surprised Gisela beyond belief, yet it scared her how much he was willing to risk whilst she remained behind bars. What was his plan? Was he as foolhardy as she thought him to be?
Heavy snow had begun to fall from the sky as Bard walked away from the prison. Wrapping his overcoat tighter to his body, he heaved a sigh and silently welcomed the frozen distraction of the fat snowflakes settling in his hair. A curious mixture of sheer frustration and fear rattled through his mind. Of course you knew Gisela was going to turn you away, she was only protecting you, the wiseacre section of his brain professed plainly. Bard visibly cringed, and strode aggressively across the boardwalks. He was crossing over the High Bridge near the Market when something grabbed his leg.
Alarmed, he pulled away, accidentally cuffing a young girl across the head with his foot. The woman toppled into a pile of snow, flailing her arms around like a windmill. "I'm so sorry!" Bard gasped, helping her stand. She brushed herself off and stared at Bard with sunken eyes.
"Have you a penny, sir?" she pleaded, grabbing the cuff of his coat tighter than Bard liked. "Please? A crust of bread? Please! My son … he is ill!"
The Bowman just shook his head. "I'm sorry, Miss I - " He broke off as the woman began to clutch fistfuls of his coat, a well-worn tactic to distract victims from being robbed. As he predicted, the woman's hands began to wander to his pockets and he pushed her away, unflinching as she stumbled backwards. She blinked, stunned, and before she could harass him any more, Bard hurried down a side street. It lengthened his journey, but the route avoided the back-alleys filled with beggars and harlots. He was wrong.
The stench of faecal matter and rotten fish filled his nostrils, as he walked cautiously down the boardwalk. Hunched figures stirred in the shadows, reproachful eyes watching his every move. The sound of a woman screaming reached his ears, and to his horror, Bard saw a young lady with scraggly blonde hair rocking a small bundle, surrounded by her skeletal family. An old man saw him staring and before a fist could connect with his jaw or a knife stab his belly, Bard ran for it.
The Bowman stopped at the foot of the bridge near his house to catch his breath, his face wet with tears and snowflakes, the memory of the small frozen body still imprinted in his minds eye. Poverty in Laketown had never been this bad, and if mothers were reduced to cradling the bodies of their children in the streets, what hope did the rest of Esgaroth have? What hope did his family have? Gisela?
Mustering himself, Bard crossed the bridge and tore up the steps to his house two at a time. The kitchen was dark when he entered, the only light source coming from the ailing fire tended by Bain. Sigrid was preparing a stewing pot when he arrived, and she glanced at his appearance in concern.
"Papa!" she cried in relief, embracing him tightly. Bard briefly returned the gesture and settled at the table, face buried in his hands.
"Did you see Gisela, Papa? How is she?"
Bard slowly raised his eyes. "Aye, I did darling," he replied, gently as he could to reassure the worried look on Sigrid's face. He did not want to speak of the mother and her baby. The lack of food was beginning to show on his and his children's appearances, despite their attempts to stay postive. Sigrid's eyes were getting darker by the day. "She's alright."
A tiny cheer erupted behind him, and Bard was heartened to see Tilda crawl up onto his knee with her teddy bear.
"So what did she say?" Sigrid pressed him, whilst pouring heated milk into a bowl of grains.
"She told me off," he answered with a crooked grin. "Said I was an idiot for taking such a risk."
"Sounds like Gisela," Sigrid replied with a small smile of her own, jumping as the bowl began spitting loudly.
"She sent me away," Bard continued, as Sigrid wrestled furiously with her tempestuous mixture. "Just as I thought she would," he paused. "I've never met a woman so stubborn in all my life."
"Can we go see her?" Tilda piped up, gazing hopefully up at Bard as she fiddled with the strings of his woollen shift.
"Not yet, darling."
"So … do … you think the plan will work?" Sigrid asked, grunting with effort as the porridge began to thicken. "I mean – when are you going to do it?"
She turned away from the stove, arms folded and a look of worry etched on her face better suited to an older person. Her words caught Bain's attention from the fire and he rose and stood beside his sister, wringing his hands.
Bard heaved a sigh. "Tomorrow, maybe."
A foul, burning smell suddenly crept into the room, cutting through the tense silence which followed Bard's words. Sigrid made a noise of annoyance as she removed the bowl from the stove, and plonked it onto table. The family gathered around it, each pulling a face of disgust as they gazed upon the cremated porridge which was to be their meal for the evening. It was food better suited to a pig, but since the Master had had all the pigs killed, burnt porridge was the best thing going in Esgaroth.
Tilda suddenly began to cry. "I'm not eating that!"
Sigrid threw an ugly look at her younger sister. "It's the best I can do!"
"It's the worst food ever!" complained Bain.
"Well go eat a rat then!"
"Silence!"
Bard was on his feet. A loud bang was heard from outside, and the sound of angry voices rent the air. It had already begun. The people were rebelling. Bard turned to Sigrid, and grasped her arms, gazing into her face. "Right, you know what you have to do. Take the rings, and lock yourself in the basement with the blankets. Take this ..." He handed her one of his hunting knives. "Only use this if necessary."
Stunned, Sigrid nodded but Bard had no time to say more. Tilda was beginning to howl with fear, as the Bowman shrugged on his overcoat, sheathed his hunting knives and shouldered his bow. He knelt down. "I'm going to find Gisela, my little bird," he whispered gently to his youngest, stroking her soft cheeks with his hands. "I will come back for you, I promise."
He glanced over at Bain, who was already holding his own knife Bard had given to him for his birthday a few years ago. "You can trust me, Papa," the young boy said, peering up at his equipped father with a mixture of fear and reverence that made Bard swell with pride. "I can look after them."
"I know you will," Bard replied wryly, briefly hugging Sigrid. "Now go down to the basement, all of you."
Gisela woke to the sound of excited laughter. It was a strange, ringing sound and her brain dimly located it to the prisoner opposite her cell. He was a heavy-set balding man with a lopsided face, a simpleton, and true to his name, was jumping around his cell like a deranged monkey. Irked by his unnecessary agitation, Gisela opened her eyes and was about to rebuke his behaviour when the distant sound of angry yells filled the silence of the cellblock. In succession, other prisoners came to life; banging their cell bars with their shackles and laughing manically.
In desperation, Gisela peered through the crack in her wall and noticed a dim light on the sky; a riot was breaking out. Fear began to course through her veins; she was trapped, the town despised her and there was only one way she would be treated with such lawlessness.
Loud footsteps broke her train of worry and for the first time in her life, she was pleased to hear the drawling voice of Stein.
"Quiet you lowlifes or I'll have your heads!"
To no surprise, this created more ruckus. The prisoners were beside themselves, and Gisela could not blame them; any disruption from the mundane existence of prison life was a rare and sweet thing.
The Widow walked to her cell bars, watching Stein slowly march down the cellblock in full armour, a sword at his side.
"What's going on out there?" she asked him tentatively.
The gaoler twisted his head, a grin lighting up his face. "Nothing to worry about, Widow. Just a few rebels."
"It .. it sounds like the whole town is out there." She hadn't meant for the trickle of worry to enter her voice. Gisela silently cursed herself as Stein drew closer.
"You afraid?"
Stein was no fool, and Gisela surmised any facade of false bravery would have her mocked.
"Yes," she replied, staring determinedly up at him.
"Clever girl, but not that clever," the gaoler rasped. "You're best avoiding this lot in here, than a few unruly men with fish hooks. Rapists and murderers they all are."
Gisela swallowed back a lump in her throat, tearing her eyes off the gaoler's cold, unforgiving gaze. Stein's eyes were the colour of dirty ice, and they seemed to pierce into her very being like thumbscrews. That was why he was here … to torture, to rile up the prisoners whilst the rest of the guards fought against the mob. She could have slapped herself for foolishly thinking Stein had come to their cellblock to protect her on the Master's orders, but who in the world would die for a band of criminals?
She drew herself up to her fullest height, fighting the rampant horse raging against her ribs. Her only source of comfort was the locket dangling from her neck, discreetly hidden by her mesh of tangled hair.
She remembered the riots which broke out several years ago; the people had been unforgiving and spared no thought for their actions. Children had died, and the next day the canals of the City ran red. Fifteen pubic hangings of the supposed ringleaders were carried out in the market; and the bodies left to rot as a reminder for those who challenged authority.
Gisela had been afraid then; a few scrawny fisherman had broke into her house and stole whatever they thought of high value; a few brass candle holders and silver plates belonging to Elbert's family but they had left her unharmed. Esgaroth folk were a superstitious lot, and believed killing the 'madwoman' would bring them bad livelihood and ill-health for the rest of their days. Having her privacy and cherished home trampled on by a pair of ill-gotten thieves deeply affected Gisela, and she spent an entire month shut away in her bedroom, sobbing and yearning for Elbert's protection. Such extreme solitude made her ill, but Gisela knew the virus already contaminated her mind.
The Simpleton was laughing again and Gisela was dragged back to the present. The cries were getting louder, and the prisoner's more restless. Stein was casually pacing the corridor, swinging his keys tantalisingly on his long fingers, whistling a tuneless tune. Gisela began to mirror him, but her own pacing was one of terrible fear. Was Bard out there in the commotion? Was Sigrid? Or were they locked in their house, armed at the ready for any thieves who tried to break in? The thought made her choke back a sob, and she fruitlessly pushed at the hole in her wall, foolishly hoping Bard might be outside ready to help her.
The noise of the prisoners grew louder, and Gisela was about to peer through her bars once more when a loud bang erupted at the end of the corridor, sending bricks and mortar flying.
Fresh growls like an awakening beast stirred, slaying the jeers of the prisoners. Torchlight and the stench of smoke began to waft through Gisela's cell bars, as the riot began to spill through the cellblock.
The world had plunged into chaos. Smoke and angry flames flared from every house like dragon breath. Cries of pain, fear and anger filled the night sky as crowds of people armed with makeshift weapons battled against the City Guard. Bard creeped along the shadows of the houses like a cat, knife ready and his left hand inches from his bow.
He both blessed and cursed the snow softening the fall of his footsteps, while still freezing his ill-made shoes. The riot had turned into a full-scale battle. When he entered the fray, a few fisherman were challenging the City Guard outside the Master's house. He chose to rub salt on the wound and provoke the incensed people to claim what was rightfully there's; plentiful food and wine. Another surge of angry mobsters appeared as he spoke, and overrun, fought past the City Guard and forced their way into the Master's House. After that, chaos broke out and the people declared anything from anyone was theirs to claim resulting in the first fatalities.
Bard had watched horrified as the City Guard began to slay any man within range. He had not wished for that. Like the last riot, he fully supported the common's folk claim that the food was there's but now thieves were born, killing and burning as they went from house to house.
A young man he recognised to be one of the baker's sons had tried to swing a punch to his jaw, but familiar with combat, Bard had merely ducked and upended the clueless boy on his back with a firm kick to the ribs as warning. It both saddened and angered him that such a barbaric change was possible in a person, but the Bowman knew that when in the thick of a riot, the people were one. Each individual wore a mask. The mob was a monster.
Bard continued walking stealthily down a blessedly empty boardwalk, the snow a pallet of brown and red. He bent down and crept into the shadow of a broken shed. In the distance he saw the imposing tower, but something flickered. He edged closer; a huge chunk of the building had been torn apart and flames were licking up the structure, consuming all in it's path.
"No ..."
His knees buckled, and Bard steadied himself against the shed. Swallowing back all terrible possibilities, he ran towards the building, bow loaded and waiting. There was no sign of disturbance; piles of brick and charred bodies littered the boardwalks, smouldering in the chill breeze. It was impossible to make out which cell had been Gisela's; a total massacre had occurred; City Guardsmen and peasant alike lay dead on the ground, some with axes still protruding from their limbs.
If there was one thing he knew about Gisela, is that she was a survivor. If the prison had been overrun by mobsters then she would have surely found a way out … surely …
He swept a careful eye over the bodies; the silence of the dead would only be short; soon enough the mob would find it's way here again and forage for any goods within the ruins of the prison, like the crows would in the morning.
Pursing his lips, Bard shouldered his bow and carried walking down the empty street.
Each breath stabbed Gisela like a knife as she ran fruitlessly down the boardwalk. The snow and ice disrupted every step, and a stitch was forming up her side. The mob paid the panicked woman with wild hair and torn dress no heed as they raced past, weapons aloft and yelling to the high heavens.
All around her people lay in patches of red, the houses too stood wounded as the fire wrought havoc on it's bones, destroying all things which had once been precious and good.
It must be a dream, Gisela thought foolishly as she hurried blindly down another street filled with fighting men. A cruel, torturous dream that some power had cursed her to experience with every fibre of her senses. A family fending off some men with their goods blocked her path, and before Gisela could change course, she caught the attention of a band of City Guardsmen who were fighting off an aggressive fisherman brandishing a knife. A sword struck his shoulder, and within seconds he lay sputtering in a pile of his own blood.
Terrified, Gisela turned on her heel and tore back down the boardwalk into the belly of the commotion. An open barn door to her left caught her eye and she threw herself into the dark building, supporting herself against a fallen beam to calm her nerves. A single thought had barely crossed her mind, when the barn door opened and the group of City Guardsmen entered, swords raised and bloodstained.
"Grab her," a thickset man with pale eyes ordered to the other three.
"NO!" Gisela screamed, backing away as the men grabbed her arms and pinned her to the floor. "NO! PLEASE! Stop! STOP" She flailed beneath their grasp, hissing and snarling like some wild animal.
"Lie still you little hellcat!" the pale eyed man snarled into her ear, "or I'll cut your tongue out!" He knelt down and licked her cheek, his fleshy, wormy lips slithering across her skin like a leech. Gisela didn't know what made her do it but she raised her head and bit his cheek, almost choking as warm, metallic blood filled her mouth.
An outbreak of shouts ensued, and the pale eyed man staggered backwards in agony. Something sharp connected with her side, but Gisela had no time to figure out what had happened. Her attacker advanced on her again, punched her mouth and forced her legs open.
"I'm going to enjoy this," he sneered, eyes flashing dangerously as he forced her dress upwards. "We all are."
He produced a small knife and held it to her throat. "Lie still."
Gisela felt the cold air sting her navel and thighs and before the man could further his attack, something sharp protruded from his chest. An arrow. He was thrown aside like a rag-doll, and Bard stood above her, bow raised and eyes blazing with feral anger. The three other city guardsmen relinquished their grip and drew their swords. One charged at the Bowman but Bard was ready and produced a knife from nowhere, cutting the man's throat with deadly accuracy. The remaining two he felled with two more well-aimed shots of his bow. They each fell to the floor with a dull finality, blood ribboning across the straw and gathering into puddles.
When the danger passed, Bard threw aside his weaopans and knelt down next to Gisela who was sobbing uncontrollably. The Widow sat up and sagged into his grasp, her hands clutching at every bit she could find. Blood was pouring from her mouth, and bruises were swelling up on her legs.
"It's alright," Bard soothed, stroking her hair as he cradled her broken body against his. "They're gone."
Gisela heaved another wild sob, and drew back her head, gazing at Bard intently. "You came for me," she said miserably, attempting something of a smile.
"I promised I would," Bard replied.
His hand reached down to her waist to help her stand when his fingers became coated in a sticky, red substance. Immediately, he looked down at Gisela's side and noticed a red hole staining the grey dress and a bloodstained knife lying on the floor.
She had been stabbed.
Okay guys, please don't kill me for leaving you on another cliffhanger! ;)
Chapter 8 is in full swing. Look forward to hearing your thoughts!