Sorry to leave you all hanging ladies and gents! Here is Chapter Eight!
XlilMekoX: thank you for all your reviews for each chapter, I sent over a PM detailing more about how I write Bard :) Anyways, I'm glad you have enjoyed the story thus far and I present to you the latest chapter!
Wingthing: haha I never thought of that! I suppose I do like to incorporate a bit of a Shakespearian feel to the story!
CeruleanBlu: Of course Bard would come to the rescue! Haha. I must admit that was one of my favourite bits to write in the whole chapter.
Salome Maranya: Update guaranteed! And thanks for pointing out the typo! Much appreciated!
UniabocetaP: I'm glad you liked the chapter and I hope this one keeps you on your toes!
Just4Me: Both Bard and Gisela do deserve a bit of happiness, you are definitely right. I always like to write subtle actions which convey affection, whether it be a simple stroke of the face. I always think that has the most impact. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this new chapter.
Dalonega Noquisi: Bard to the rescue, as it was always going to be! I enjoyed writing that bit ;)
LotRNaustenfan: hello there new reviewer! Thankyou for such lovely feedback. I hope you like this new chapter.
ZabuzasGirl: updated y'all!
Homeric: I feel mean for using cliff-hangers but I always find it makes a reader want to read on :) thanks for another lovely review and I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Chapter Eight.
Bard gazed at his bloody fingers in horror, then back at Gisela; her skin was turning white but her brown eyes burned with the fiery determination he knew so well. She was very much alive. Breathing deeply, he produced a small rag from his overcoat and gently wiped the blood dribbling down her chin, and placed another to stem the bleeding on her side. It was impossible to tell how deep the wound was, but Bard knew he had to get Gisela to his house quickly.
"I'm going to slowly lift you up," Bard told her, tracing a calloused finger down the side of her cheek to ease her nerves. Gisela gave a jerk of her chin which he took for assent, and with exceeding gentleness, scooped her into his arms. Her body was alarmingly light; he could feel every rib beneath the dress but what concerned him was that Gisela's eyes had begin to close, her breathing coming in laboured rasps.
"Gisela!" he whispered desperately to catch her attention. "Gisela can you hear me?" It was vital she remain awake, or her body would slip into a coma.
He shook her slightly, flinching as his bow dug into his shoulder, and Gisela's eyes fluttered open. She dimly considered him.
"You have to stay awake. You have to hang on."
To his relief, a glimmer of life shone behind her eyes and Gisela gave another jerk of her chin to indicate she understood, but Bard could sense the pain was overwhelming her senses. Fresh blood was starting to seep through the rag around her waist.
Outside, he could still hear the distant shouts of the mob and the thrum of weapons but the worst of the fighting appeared to have subsided. What the outcome of the battle was, he did not know and nor did he care; all that mattered was saving the woman in his arms and coming home to his children. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of their safety. Cautiously, he stepped outside the barn doors and before he could look for any danger, a gasp of horror escaped his lips; bodies lay strewn across the boardwalks, painting the snow red, some still smouldering from the many fires burning from the buildings. The canal had become deluged with corpses, arrows and puncture wounds peppering their chests. A small girl near Bard floated past; gold haired and glassy-eyed, streams of blood drifting sinuously from a line across her neck.
The Bowman stiffened, and with great difficulty, wrenched his gaze from the girl; Gisela's body was going limp, and her skin becoming cold.
"Hey," he breathed, shaking her form softly. Another wave of relief surged though him as Gisela weakly tilted her head from his shoulder.
Wasting no time, Bard started the difficult and dangerous journey home. He cursed the flimsy, narrow boardwalks littered with bodies which slowed his progress, but fortunately nobody crossed their path or challenged him. Judging by the orangey glow on the horizon, the mob was congregated in the Market place; perhaps the City Guard had seized control or the Master had been forced to surrender like last time, but Bard wasn't complaining, as long as he remained undisturbed.
The bridge near his house was nearby, and Bard felt his heart begin to race, positively dreading what sight was in store for him. There was little damage to the buildings on the surrounding streets, and only a few corpses drifted in the canals. He almost cried when he saw his home; it was whole, it was unblemished from the destruction of the mob.
Spurred on by hope, Bard tore quickly over the bridge and up the steps of his porch. He kicked his door open with his foot, and placed Gisela's body onto the pile of pillows acting as a bed in the corner. He was about to stand, when he felt something cold and sharp against his throat.
"Move or you die," whispered a voice, shaking with both fear and determined courage.
"It's me, Sigrid," Bard rasped, slowly lowering his hands onto Sigrid's behind him.
There was a short intake of breath. A candle was lit, and Sigrid's face lit up in the darkness.
"Oh Papa!" she cried, leaping desperately into his arms. Bard returned the gesture, and to his utter relief, heard the thumping footsteps of Bain and Tilda ascending the stairs from the basement. They scurried across the kitchen, flinging their arms over his neck.
"It's okay, I'm alive – I mean – I'm so glad to see you all alive," Bard said, wiping his eyes.
"We're fine, Papa. Did you find Gisela?" Sigrid asked worriedly, gazing blankly around in the darkness.
"Yes, she's on the bed of pillows."
"Light another candle, Bain," Sigrid instructed, before turning to Bard. "Is she hurt?" A gasp escaped her, when Bain lit another set of candles and Gisela's still form was revealed spread out across the pillows. Immediately, Sigrid rolled up her sleeves.
"What's wrong with her?" she asked Bard hurriedly, as she frantically searched under the table for Gisela's book and bag of healing herbs.
"I rescued her from a group of City Guardsmen," Bard explained. "I believe one of them stabbed her in the side before I turned up." Both he and Sigrid stood over Gisela, their eyes drawn to the dark bandage tied to her waist.
Shaking off her worst fears, Sigrid knelt close to the Widow, eyes glistening and placed a hand to her head. "She's cold and lost a lot of blood. Bain, pass me a knife."
Bain jumped at being spoken too, as both he and Tilda watched Sigrid attend to Gisela with fearful expressions. Tilda's lower lip was trembling, and Bard placed a hand on her shoulder as Bain shakily handed Sigrid his hunting knife. Carefully, the eldest daughter sliced the bandage from Gisela's waist and cut away the material of the dress. A large portion of her flesh was revealed but Bard knew a large area was needed when treating a wound. He edged closer, and his heart sunk; a large, gaping hole split the skin like a mouth, leaking blood and dirt onto the pillows. It was a clean cut, but it was deep, perhaps damaging the internal organs.
"Did Gisela teach you how to treat flesh wounds?" he asked Sigrid.
"Yes, of course," she answered defensively, inspecting the wound closely and then sifting through her medicine book. "I know how to clean the wound and stitch it up, I -" she became distracted as the instructions in the book became more complex. She glanced desperately at the wound then back at the instructions. Sigrid did this several times, until her face crumpled and she flopped onto a chair, sobbing. "I – I can't do this, Papa! What if – what if she? I'm not as good as she is with healing medicines! I can't lose her, Papa! I just can't, I'd never forgive myself!"
Bard sat beside her, hushing to calm his eldest daughter down. It broke his heart to see her this way; t was a lot of pressure for anyone to heal a person, let alone a fourteen year old girl.
"You are a wonderful healer, my darling," Bard soothed in encouraging tones, "I will help you, we can only do whatever we can."
Sigrid sniffed and wiped her eyes. "You're right," she said thickly. "I have to be calm and patient, that's what Gisela said a true healer was like."
Bard smiled. "She's right, come – let us prepare a poultice." With a finger, he stroked her cheek and Sigrid got to work. Once his eldest daughter pulled herself together, he stepped back and watched in admiration as she carefully followed the instructions from the book to clean the wound. As Sigrid applied the poultice, Gisela stirred from the bed. She slowly turned to face him, a weak smile playing on her lips. Bard sat beside her, grasping her hand and gently kissed it.
"Hey …"
"Hey …"
"You're safe, Gisela. We're all here."
The Widow closed her eyes as Bard kissed her hand again, then gazed at Sigrid who was bandaging the wound over the poultice.
"Good girl," she croaked, and Sigrid smiled warmly. "I think … I have taught you well."
"You have," Sigrid replied affectionately. "I'm so happy to see you, Gisela. We're going to make you better again."
Gisela merely smiled at Sigrid's words and looked over at Bain and Tilda who seemed happier now that she was showing signs of life but Bard gazed at her appearance more closely; her skin was the colour of milk and her fingertips were ice-cold beneath his palm. The Widow's brown eyes locked onto his own, and Bard instantly understood. Blood was still seeping through the poultice, rendering it useless and falling to the floor.
"No ..." he whispered, clutching her hands desperately.
"Do not fret, my dear Bard," Gisela murmured, freeing a hand and slowly combing the tangles of his hair. How she loved the feeling, the very simplicity of affection.
Sigrid looked from Bard to Gisela and instantly cottoned on. "Gisela!"
"Everything .. will … be fine … my dearest, darling Sigrid," Gisela wheezed, and through the effort to speak, the muscles contracted in her abdomen and more blood oozed through the material. Sigrid watched in horror, and like Bard, clung to her arm in desperation, eyes peering beseechingly over the woman's face to search for an answer that would not come.
"I can save you, I can! You taught me!" Sigrid wept, emotion throbbing in the back of her throat. "You taught me Gisela."
Bard glanced at his daughter. "There is nothing we can do, Sigrid. The wound is too deep. You cannot blame yourself."
"But I can, Papa!"
"Sigrid …"
Sobbing silently, his eldest daughter nodded and went to comfort Tilda with Bain in the kitchen. The Bowman gazed down at the Widow, layer upon layer of grief crushing down upon him.
"Is there anything I can do?" he whispered, lifting a hand and running a knuckle over her smooth, pale skin. Tears fell freely from his cheeks. "Anything at all?"
Gisela slowly shook her head. "You … have … done all you can," she replied through slow and laboured breaths. "I'm happy."
"I failed you, Gisela"
"No … " Inexplicably, a smile curved her bruised mouth. "Have you ever loved me … Bard? I have loved you … and … I never thought … I would feel that way again."
Bard choked back a sob. He nodded. "Of course I do," he breathed, "I love you so much." He leaned in and took her head in his hands, and kissed her softly. Her lips pressed against his own, and a faint moan of happiness escaped her. After a few seconds, Bard broke apart and Gisela's hand fell limply from his grasp. Her brown eyes went vacant, as their luster dimmed. She was dead.
The Bowman gazed down at the woman lying before him. Never would the blank face smile, frown nor laugh again. She was a body, nothing more but a shell, never to recognise or love him. The faint throbbing of life beneath his fingers ebbed away, and Bard foolishly thought she would wake up any minute but the Widow never did, her skin becoming stone.
He gently reached out and closed Gisela's eyelids.
"She looks like she is sleeping," Sigrid said quietly, standing next to Bard who jumped. "Just like Mama."
Bard didn't know what to say. His head was spinning with angst. Even if a person died unblemished, their body maintained a devastating emptiness which troubled him greatly. It had been the same when Allis died; she passed away surrounded by her family after birthing Tilda, but as soon as her eyes closed and her chin sank against her chest, there was no pretending that person was merely sleeping. Nobody slept with chalk-white skin, or stained blood around their mouth. Nobody lay so still, so limp and lifeless. Death was an ugly, crude thing and it had taken away too much.
"She's with Mama now, Tilda," Sigrid said to her younger sister who approached the bed, fighting to keep her voice level. Tilda squeezed between Bard and Sigrid, and peered over at Gisela's body. It was difficult to tell what she felt; being so young and all but Bard recalled how terrified he was when his father died. He had only been ten summers old when he discovered his father's gaping corpse staring at him from the bed, colder than a marble statue. His screams of fear awakened his mother and she found him huddled beneath the kitchen table, shivering from head to toe.
But Tilda did not scream. Nor did she cry. Wordlessly, she raised her teddybear and placed it on Gisela's chest. "Can I give her my bear, Papa?."
The Bowman raised his eyebrows in surprise and faint admiration. "Of course you can darling," he said, kneeling down to balance Tilda on his hip. "That's a lovely gift."
He felt Bain hover next to his other arm, and he automatically placed a hand on his son's shoulders. The young boy's eyes were red from weeping, but like Tilda, appeared to hold great strength. For a few minutes, the family stood in contemplative silence over Gisela's body when the sound of heavy footsteps thundered on the porch outside. Bard had already reached for his bow when the door to the kitchen flew open; instead of a band of unruly mobsters, the Master and Alfrid stormed into the kitchen, their faces wild and panicked. The riot had not been kind to them; both sported bruised features and body injuries, but nevertheless appeared unharmed.
"What are you doing here?" Bard snarled ferociously, pointing his bow directly into the Master's face. He heard Sigrid gasp behind him, but Bard ignored it.
The Master raised his hands in surrender, and before he could speak, Alfrid stepped between them. Despite looking half the man he was, the Civil Servant still managed a sneer. "Lower your bow this instance, Bard. We are here because you are harbouring a fugitive!"
"This is my house, I can do what I like."
"Careful Bard," Alfrid growled, "we may not have seen you burning down the City like the rest of your peasant friends but everyone knows you started the -"
"Enough!" shouted the Master. Ignoring the sound of tightened bowstring, the Master walked over to where Sigrid, Tilda and Bain stood shielding Gisela from the two unsavoury visitors. All three children scarpered instantly, and watched in shock as the Master's knees buckled. The lines of his paunchy face tightened with pain, as he stared down at his daughter.
"Master?" Alfrid enquired.
"What happened to her?" the Master asked Bard, and for the first time, there was no anger or malice in his tone.
The Bowman reluctantly lowered his bow and approached the Master. "She was killed by your Guardsmen."
"Liar!" hissed Alfrid, joining the two other men next to the body. His mask of derision slipped slightly as he looked at Gisela. "The Bowman is responsible for this travesty, your Supremeness. If she had married me, and not mooned after the wretched Bargeman she would have been safe!"
These words hit a nerve with Bard, and he turned to face the Civil Servant, anger blazing in his grey eyes. "Don't you ever say that again in my house," he rumbled slowly, rage heavy in each word and cornering the Civil Servant into his kitchen.
"Bard speaks the truth," the Master said suddenly from the bedside. Bard and Alfrid looked over at him with different looks of surprise.
"Master!"
The Master rose to his feet, disgust etched in every contour of his skin. "I killed her," he said in a wounded voice. "I killed my own daughter."
"Don't say such things, Master," Alfrid pleaded, pushing Bard aside and hovering next to the Master like a dog seeking approval. "You are not to blame for her death, it was a band of unruly mobsters!"
"So now you blame the mobsters," interjected Bard roughly. "Forgive me, but there would have been no mob if the Master had not kept all the food for himself!"
"Treasonous words!" Alfrid gasped, brandishing a shaking finger. "You dare to speak ill of the Master in his presence?"
"Quiet you," the Master said to his Civil Servant, firing him a look of warning. "I could have you arrested for such words, Bard but I will not. For the sake of my daughter's life, I will leave you be."
"And what of the fight?" Bard asked.
The Master heaved his great shoulders, and dragged a garishly jewelled hand through the greasy strands of his auburn hair. The defeated look on his face spoke of the true outcome and through his layers of pain, Bard felt a kernel of hope. He wondered whether the Master had learned his lesson, unlike last time when the Master had won the battle against the town, but even with the death of his daughter, the Master would and always be a selfish man, too proud to admit his mistakes. This was as close to a truce the Master was willing to submit, and reluctantly Bard nodded his head in acceptance.
"I will take my leave." the Master declared gruffly, seizing his cloak from the table. As he approached the front door, he looked back. "Take – take good care of her, Bard." Without another word, he exited the kitchen with Alfrid, leaving a ringing silence in his wake. Bard stared after him, both dumbfounded and angry; he knew the Master would never have taken control of Gisela's funerary arrangements but watching him leave as his daughter lay dead, sickened him to the core. But who could blame him? A voice muttered in the depths of his brain as he sat down next to Gisela. His guilt and regret will haunt him for a lifetime, but the Master is too much of a coward to confront his aberrations, even if it was plain for all to see; his greed of power and wealth had cost him his daughter's life, but if there ever was a reason to change oneself, that would be it.
He slowly reached out and stroked Gisela's face. Even in death she was beautiful; her long, raven hair contrasted to the whiteness of her skin and Bard remembered when he watched her sleeping as Tilda fought off the Scarlet Fever, and how they had shared memories of their lives before they met.
It had been after that night when Bard felt his heart race whenever he saw the Widow, and how he was warmed by the close bond between her and Sigrid. He never thought he would feel such emotions again after Allis' demise, but it seemed Death was mocking him once more; the moment to confess their love was on Gisela's deathbed, and once more, Bard was going to bury another woman.
"She made you happy again, Papa." Sigrid's voice drifted from a hundred miles away. "I always knew you loved her."
Bard shook his head to rid himself of the sorrow burning in his chest and looked at his eldest daughter. "How did you know?"
"Women's intuition," Sigrid replied with a small smile. "She may have gone, but you will always know you can be happy again." Bard fought back the noise of derision in his throat, but Sigrid clasped his hands in hers. "It would be easy to fall into bitterness and despair, but you have us," she summoned Tilda and Bain and before Bard could stop himself, the family gathered together beside Gisela's bedside, in warm, tight embrace.
Some wounds heal quicker than others. It took several days for normality to be restored to the City of Esgaroth. Bard carried Gisela's body outside before the mass burials could begin, and sledged her across the Lake to the cemetery on the shore. After searching the tombstones for twenty minutes, he finally found the graves of Elias and Elbert and set to work digging a hole next to their bodies.
The hard work helped take Bard's mind off the pain constricting his chest, and he silently apologised for any disturbance he caused to the family whose grave he was unearthing. After several hours, he finished and sat down on the pile of mud, taking a swig of water and stared at the gaping, empty hole exposed. One of the worst things about a funeral was lowering the person into the cold, hard ground with the worms and maggots. It was so crude and unforgiving. But this time Bard felt slightly comforted knowing Gisela was not going to be alone, unlike Allis.
After draining his water, he forced himself over to the sledge and raised Gisela into his arms. Her body was swaddled in her elaborate winter cloaks, and inside she carried Tilda's teddybear and the locket. Fighting off tears, Bard climbed into the hole and gently lay her down with as much dignity he could manage. Chunks of mud landed on her face as he clambered out. He stared down at her for a few minutes, and muttered a few prayers. It was nothing much; he did not know any fancy poems which would speak of her beauty or kindness, or lamentations. Nor did he have the money to afford an elaborate effigy to honour her memory, but Bard doubted Gisela would have cared.
Wiping his eyes, he turned away and began the agonising process of filling the grave. He avoided watching as the dirt covered Gisela's body, covering her forever. When Bard had finished patting the mound of earth with his shovel, he returned to his sledge and prepared for the journey back to Esgaroth, back to his home and life as a Bargeman. As he shouldered his bow, a faint twittering caught his attention. Strangely, he understood the noise, as if it were words.
He craned his neck and saw a mother blackbird feeding her young in a nest, high up in the branches of a beech tree. The blackbird became still as he watched her, brown eyes alert. When the Bowman failed to pose as a threat, she fed the chicks the worm from her beak and continued to watch him curiously.
And Bard smiled.
Fin.
My beloved readers, we have come to an end. I have grown so deeply attached to this story and all it's characters that this chapter was hard to write.
I hope many of you aren't too angry at me for killing Gisela off, but the whole point of my story was to show what happens when the power of greed takes control. I did intend for this story to be a tragedy, but I hope you all see the message I have been trying to convey. I truly wanted Bard and Gisela to live happily ever after, but I feared there were too many instances were an OC miraculously survives.
I have entertained the idea of writing an alternate chapter, but I am currently planning a sequel. If anyone is interested in helping me with this project, PM me and I would love to have you on board.
Also, I wonder if anyone will understand the last part of this story about the Blackbird (throwing in a bit of symbolism haha) The Blackbird represents Gisela, but also it mentions about Bard being a man of Dale and understanding the tweets of the bird, like when he listens to the thrush when he slays Smaug.
To everyone who has reviewed, favourited, followed or even just looked at my story, I honestly cannot thank you enough. Your support has been invaluable, and every-time I see a new review my heart skips! This is the first story I have truly enjoyed writing (and finished lol). Even if you didn't review, yet still read or visited the story, it showed you cared and my story meant to you in some way, even if was just entertainment and to me that is worth keeping. So thank you, thank you all!
Keep your eyes peeled for the sequel: Birdsong!
