Chapter 10 The Bombastic Fool


"Up, lass," he says gently, shaking me awake. I force my heavy eyes open and look up at the shadow of his head and massive shoulders, blinking a few times to clear my blurry sight. The pounding ache behind my eyes makes itself known. I groan softly and hold my clammy hands against my forehead, closing my eyes to relieve the pain in them and behind them.

"What's wrong?" the hunter asks, releasing my shoulder.

"Mmmm." I shake my head in my hands. "My whole body is aching, it feels on fire – ah, my head!" I grit my teeth and lean forward to—"AHH!" I cry out from a hot poker piercing my back and sit up instantly.

"Take yer hands from yer head, let me feel," he orders.

"Alright." I lower my hands to my lap. The hunter presses the back of his hand against my forehead. Relief cuts through the throbbing ache from his cool, dry skin and from the pressure of his hand against my forehead. I lean into his hand without bending my back too much to seek more relief from my pain.

"Yer burnin' up." He takes his hand from my forehead, allowing a shockwave of the throbbing ache to push against the backs of my eyes. I clench my teeth to keep from crying out in pain again.

"Infection is taking hold," I say between clenched teeth.

He sighs and crouches before me. "Drink all this." He grabs my skin out of my hands, pulls out the cork, and hands it to me.

"All of it?" I ask, my hand trembling as I lift the rim of my skin to my mouth, the ale rippling about inside.

"All'of it."

I frown and look down at the shadow of my skin. I don't want to become drunk like he did two days ago. The worst of me will come out. Not just that, but I'll be far more vulnerable.

"Believe me, lass, it'll make the pain bearable."

I lift my sore eyes to him. I don't trust him, especially with this drink…but if I am to reach Hammond's fortress alive, I need to be able to move. I cannot move in my current state of pain and weakness. If can lessen one of these, then I might be able to push on. I wrap my weak lips around the rim of my skin and tilt my chin back, forcing down each swallow of ale as quickly as possible to avoid its bitter, sour tang from lingering on my tongue for too long. Little good it does with the constant rush of ale down my throat.

"That's it," he encourages. A chill goes down my spine, freezing my blood with fear, but something keeps my mouth latched to my skin, downing every last drop. The taste is not terrible. I might even dare to say it's somewhat good. The throbbing pain in my mind recedes, a rather light, airy feeling replacing it. I slowly lower my skin down to my lap, not bothering to cork it.

"How are ye feelin'?" he asks.

I slouch forward, a dull poking sensation going deep into my back, but it barely hurts anymore. "You're strange…watching me drink the whole time," I say, my voice unusually low, almost incoherent.

"Com'on." He rises to his colossal bear-sized stature, his shadow looming over me like a massive snake about to strike me from above.

My hollow stomach churns with fear. I curl up into a tight ball, clutching my skin to my chest. "Don't hurt me…please." I can't see his face in this dark, but I know he's looking at me with the same lustful, evil eyes that Finn had—those eyes of Finn's that I had gouged out. "Please."

"I'm no' gonna hurt ye," he says softly…gently. He slowly crouches before me, his eyes burning into me despite the darkness hiding them. "Let me help ye."

He extends his hand towards me. I flinch and he stops his hand midair.

"It's alright, Greta," he says, uttering her name. That's not my name, but I'm not going to tell him that! What a bombastic fool that'd make me. Bombastic? Where did that word come from?

"I know ye said ye would never trust me, but ye need to trust me to let me help ye. Take my hand and I give ye my word I will get ye out of this damned forest and get ye to the nearest healer." He holds his hand out to me in the bottom of my sight. I look down at his bear-sized hand…he hasn't hurt me yet with that hand. He's been rough, but he has yet to hurt me. He lent me his coat. He has fed me. He gave me his skin. He saved me from the oulinder and has kept them at bay. He did what he could for my wound with a splash of his ale. Now, he is offering me his hand and giving me his word.

I look up at the shadow of his head. "Ravenna said she would kill all the evil men and give their lives to good men, but she has been killing good men, too. She killed—" a sob escapes me, my eyes stinging. God, Sara! My dear friend, my dear friend who saved my life, my dear friend who gave me hope, my dear friend who I was forced to consume just to survive that brutal winter! "Is there still hope out here!? Are you a good man?" I ask him, words falling out of my mind and rolling off my tongue.

He slowly lowers his hand and rests his arm on his knee. "I try to keep my word. That much I can tell ye."

I try to tilt my head to the side a little, but it drops and nearly hits my shoulder, tears spilling down the side of my face from one eye and tears pooling within the bridge of my nose from my other eye. "Do you promise me that you'll keep your word?"

He nods slowly once. "Aye. I promise." He slowly lifts his hand to me.

I look down at his hand, unsure, hesitant, fearful. I can just see myself placing my hand in his only for him to rip my arm off…but if I do not trust him enough to help me, what hope do I, the bombastic fool, have of reaching Hammond's? I swallow hard and lift my shaking hand, my fingers slowly inching closer to his. The closer I draw, the closer I come to either salvation or doom. It could be doom. He didn't tell me he was a good man. Has Ravenna killed all the good men!? I halt my hand, my trembling fingers only a breath of space from his. My doom? My salvation? His hand is twice the size of mine! I, the bombastic fool! My heart is pounding against my sternum. My stomach is twisting and contorting in nauseating ways. My doom? My salvation? A sob bursts out of me. God above, what choice do I have!? This could be my last moment no matter what happens! I am at this man's mercy.

"Please," I plead with tears and place my fingers in his hand.

"I'm no' gonna hurt ye. Trust me." He slowly curls his fingers about mine, his fingers thick, strong, his hand so rough! "Trust me."

"Oh God!" I turn into a weeping, blithering mess. "I–I haven't held a hand for fourteen years! A man hasn't taken my hand for fourteen years! He hasn't cared enough! He only wanted to hurt me! Kill me! How is any of this happening!?"

"This is happenin'," he says softly, moving his fingers down my hand until my palm rests squarely in his. "Let me help ye. Trust me." He gives my hand the gentlest, tenderest squeeze possible. "Trust me."

Fourteen years of loneliness, mistrust, lack of hope, darkness, evil—it gathers up against Maacktis' thick prison bars of evil and breaks through them. It floods my chest with a gush of warmth, filling me up to the brim. This, combined with my drunkenness, lets me act without restraint.

"Eric!" I sob his name and fall into him, pressing my dizzy head against his leather vest. How good the coolness of his vest feels against my burning forehead. I let out all my tears with abandon. The hunter makes no move to push me away nor hold me to him. He only keeps my hand in his, giving it the gentlest squeezes and brushing his rough thumb across the back of my hand. I cry and cry, letting out everything that was kept prisoner within me for fourteen years. How is it possible that I was a prisoner within me?

"I know this is a lot for ye, but we have to keep movin'." The hunter grabs hold of my arm and helps me to rise to my unsteady feet. "Find yer feet." He helps me find my balance, not taking his hands from me until I steady myself.

"Com'on," he says softly. He picks up his large axe and leads the way, walking slow enough for me to stagger after him.

On and on we move. He treads lightly while I stagger, the ale I had consumed taking the edge from my pain. He's right. Enough ale makes the pain bearable. He glances down at me, ensuring that I am keeping up with him. My heart softens more for him. It's the ale making me feel this way about him, no doubt, but this does feel good; to feel that hope, that trust in him. I can never trust him completely, but I only need to trust him enough to let him help me.


My drunkenness slowly fades and my pain grows with each step I take. My head aches more and more with that throbbing pain. I try to keep silent. So far, I am succeeding, but I'm not sure how much longer I can keep my pain contained.

The hunter turns his head, glancing back at me. "How are ye feelin'?" he whispers.

Shame and embarrassment heat up my cheeks. I hate to seem like a complaining nag to anyone, especially to a man who could easily snap my neck or lop off my head, but if this pain worsens, I'm not sure I'll be able to keep up.

"I–I could use more ale—" I clench my teeth from a particularly sharp, fiery pain piercing my back. I clutch my right side with both hands and dig my fingernails into his coat, causing myself just enough pain to help distract me.

"Let's rest here for a moment," he whispers. We both slow to a stop and rest our backs against opposite trees. He props his axe against the tree beside him and rummages through his satchel. He pulls out a skin and something small clutched in his fist.

"Eat. Drink," he says, holding out his skin and a small bundle of dried meat for me.

My stomach churns at the thought of eating meat. "I'll drink, but I do not wish to eat now." I take the skin from him. "Thank you."

He only nods and stores his dried meat back into his satchel while I pull the cork out of his skin and chug on the ale with frightening eagerness. My fingernails dig into the skin, something telling me deep inside to toss the skin as far away from me as possible, but I keep chugging down the ale, relief from my pain more tempting than I can overcome and endure.

"That's enough, lass." The hunter grabs my hand digging into the skin. Panic rises in me, fearing that he'll rip the skin from me mid drink and cause me to choke, but he waits for me to take my last swallow and push it away. The ale quickly dulls my pain and puts my world off kilter. My head swims. I reach behind me, groping at the rotting tree bark to keep myself upright.

"Damn, it disnae take much fer ye," he curses. He picks up his axe in one hand and pushes himself off the tree. "Can ye walk!?"

"Mm." I look down at the pitch black ground. All my weight goes to my head, nearly toppling me over! I cling tightly to the tree and lean my heavy head back against the bark. I do not yawn, but my limbs feel so heavy yet pleasant. "I want to sleep," I say, each word taking extra effort to shape my lips properly.

The hunter sighs aloud and grabs my hand tightly, his coat sleeve providing some kind of barrier between his skin and mine. On the inside, I startle, but I'm too heavy on the outside to jump back and pull my hand from his.

"Com'on, we need to keep movin'," he says, pulling my hand from the tree and half-leading, half-dragging me along. I stumble and stagger over my two heavy feet, my sense of balance having completely picked up and moved to my left. With nothing else to hold onto, I cling to the hunter's arm with my free hand and do my best to walk with him. His arm tenses beneath my hand, his hard muscle palpable beneath his thick woolen sleeve. My heart flutters in my chest. His strength emanates from him like fire. I look up at the shadow of the hunter's head. He is focused on the journey ahead, but there is a different air between us than there was this morning when he roused me from sleep. Perhaps it's because of my drunkenness that I am feeling this, but to feel his strength and know that he is not going to hurt me with it, but has rather protected me with it and is now supporting, nay, upholding me with it, I feel…safe beside him. He gave me his coat to clothe me and shield me against the young winter. He has fed me and gave me his ale for my thirst and pain. His colossal body is a shield for me now against the darkness, loneliness, and death of this forest. He is alive, so he fends off this dark forest's death. He creates light when we rest for the night. Even when we tread in this darkness throughout the day, he is leading the way like a ray of sun breaking through the pitch dark of night. Lastly, he is here with me now.

God, it has been fourteen years since I have felt safe. Fourteen long years of questioning each day when death would come for me. Now, death has never felt farther from me even though I am near death with my infection. I can't die for Greta and Sara's sakes. The hunter gave me his word that he would get me out of here. I believe him. I trust him enough to believe he will get me to the nearest healer. I cling tighter to him, hugging his strong arm as we continue on.


"We'll rest here for the night," he whispers. He guides me to one of the trees and helps me to sit my weak, wobbly body down against it. He pulls his strong arm out of my hands despite my weak attempt to cling to him. As soon as his hand leaves mine, the darkness, loneliness, and death of this dark forest closes in around me, threatening to consume me whole.

"Please," I plead softly, half drunk, but half aware of the words spilling out of my desperate mouth. "Please don't leave me."

"I willnae, lass. I'm gonna start a fire. Rest here." He turns and walks to the edge of the clearing without a second glance. I watch him as he sets his large axe aside, draws his hatchet from his back, and chops at thick branches to gather kindling. He sheathes his hatchet, gathers up the logs in his arms, and returns to the center of the clearing. He crouches, assembles the logs and brambles, and starts a fire by striking his flint against his knife. He blows on the little flame and pokes at it with a stick until the fire is almost as tall as his crouched form. I try to move my eyes elsewhere, but they are tied by invisible threads to the hunter's face. His eyes are downcast upon the flames while he pokes at them with a stick, but his mind is somewhere else entirely.

"What are you thinking?" I ask aloud.

He stops poking the fire and lifts his eyes to mine, the fire burning in them. Lightning shoots down my chest to my stomach, zapping all my nerves on the way down, leaving them tingling. I can't believe I asked that aloud! I would not have said a word if I was entirely sober.

He opens his mouth to speak, but his breath hitches in his throat and his eyes drop down to my chest. My heart takes off racing while the throbbing heat stirs between my legs. I clench my thighs together and glance down at my chest. His coat is barely open, showing only the skin of my sternum, but there resting between my covered breasts is Sara's ring still looped about my throat. I take Sara's ring in my fist while I pull his coat about me with my other hand. I lift my eyes to his. His eyes are still focused on my clenched fist about Sara's ring, something soft in them.

"Where'd ye get that ring from?" He lifts his gaze to mine, sending another bolt of lightning through me that leaves my nerves buzzing.

I glance down at my clenched fist hiding Sara's ring from sight, the memories of her flashing across my mind. "It was…about two years ago? If I kept proper track of the days, then it's been close to two years. There was a cell across from mine that would see the comings and goings of many prisoners. For twelve years, most everyone was the same. They either ignored me, mocked me, or begged me to save them." I scoff. "As if I could have done anything imprisoned behind my own bars!" I grit my teeth and shake my head, doing my best to banish that same pressure building up within my chest that will eventually make me erupt like a volcano.

"Most of them were like that except for three people. A man, whose name I never learned, and two women. It was two years ago when one of the women…" I shake my head and let out a shaky breath "…when she came into my life. Even though I only knew her for a day"—I sniffle while my eyes and nose burn with the need to cry—"she…she quickly became my dearest friend. I…" Should I say it? God, what good would it do for me if the hunter learns that I contemplated to take my own life? No good, that's what it would do.

"She saved me," I say, the answer vague, but horrifically true. "She made me smile, she made me laugh…she made me happy." A small smile spreads my lips, the memory of Sara's scarred but pretty face flashing across my sight for the blink of an eye. My heart softens and hurts all the same, memories of her skinless, eyeless corpse invading my mind. My smile leaves me. "I had not smiled, I had not laughed, I had not felt a glimmer of happiness for twelve years until she came into my life. She made me realize that hope is real and that it is not a lie." I manage to lift my teary gaze to the hunter, his face too blurry for me to read his expression. "Before she was taken away to be brutally murdered, she asked a favor of me"—I open my fist enough to show him Sara's ring—"to deliver her ring to her husband." I close my fist tightly about her ring.

"We couldn't reach each other through our prison bars and the black glass knights were coming quickly to take her away!" A sob escapes me, tears slipping down my cheeks. "She threw herself at her bars, breaking her bones just to place her ring in my hand." I gasp in a shuddery breath and scrub my tears away with my free hand. I should not weep like this before the hunter. I am so exposed, so vulnerable to him, yet the trust and safety he has coaxed me to feel are little now. I cover my eyes with my hand and draw my knees to my chest, curling up to protect myself and Sara's ring. I must be acting like this because of the ale; so emotional, so stupid. Indeed, I am the bombastic fool, though bombastic does not make sense.

"Ye've been through hell," the hunter says softly, his gruff voice barely reaching my ears amidst my weeping and the crackling fire. I heard him, though.

I shake my head fervently and look up at him across the flames. "You don't know half of the hell I've endured, and yet my dearest friend, who I only knew for a day, endured a hell far worse than mine! You asked me what does a young lass like me know of sorrow? There was a point in my life where—" I stop myself from saying it outright. No, I'm wrong. "I know so little sorrow, yet I have witnessed so much." Truly, I have. Really, I am blessed considering how little sorrow I have known when compared to Sara, and perhaps compared to the hunter.

He sits down on the ground layered with brambles and twigs, cracking several twigs under his weight. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. "Ye cannae compare yer life to someone else's. Ye were imprisoned and starved for fourteen years, right? How many years did ye have when ye were imprisoned?"

I swallow hard. Should I even answer his questions truthfully? "I…I had nine years when I was imprisoned."

He looks down at the fire, shaking his head. "Damn," he curses under his breath. He lifts his gaze to me. "Sometimes the scars of the soul are far worse than the scars of the body. Ye have few scars on the outside, but ye are mangled on the inside."

A sting fills my already aching heart. "Mangled!?" I echo, my voice full of tears. "I know I'm hideous! Starved! What other insults have you!?"

"Ye misunderstand me. It's yer heart that matters, no' yer scars. Ye could be covered in scars and still be beautiful."

My anger dissipates, leaving behind confusion that furrows my brows. "I don't understand."

He sighs, sounding fatigued. "Yer fourteen years of hell has left many marks on ye, but ye huvnae lost yer heart yet. Hold fast to it. There's no' many left." My eyes widen, his words barely getting the chance to sink in while he says, "Now tell me, this lass, yer dearest friend, do ye know who her husband is? Do ye even know if he's alive?"

"Uh…" I trail off, still half stuck on his previous words. Ye huvnae lost yer heart yet. Hold fast to it. There's no' many left. "I…no, I don't know who he is, and he could be dead now, but I have to try to find him for her, and I will keep my promise to free Greta—" My stomach twists about a thousand blunt knives. Oh God.

"Greta?" he asks, suddenly sounding suspicious.

I must rectify this now! "The other woman, she has the same name as me." I cringe. Stupid lie. Stupid, stupid lie! If he does discover my lie, I will never get the chance to fulfill my promise to Greta and Sara!

"Hmm." He nods slowly, either disbelief or scrutiny in his mind.

Panic stirs the pit of my stomach, but I fight to keep my mind clear and my voice calm. "You don't believe me?"

He cocks his head to the side. "Why are ye askin' me that?" he questions, scrutiny thick in his tone.

I shake my head at him, some deceptive, manipulative words coming to mind. "Because I made the decision to trust you"—a sting enters my heart, forcing the next words out of me because of my guilt––"I mean, I trust you enough to let you help me. I trust you, but do you trust me?"

He chuckles softly. "I trust ye enough to no' attempt to kill me in my sleep." His smile drops immediately and he tilts his chin back, putting on an intimidating display of power over me. "Go to sleep."

I recoil against my tree, wishing to God above that I could somehow fold myself within this tree and never have a human eye fall upon me again, but here I am subdued beneath the hunter's gaze. How did it come to be that I trust the hunter more than he trusts me? Have I let myself become the bombastic fool? I hide my face in the bend of my arm, burying myself in the darkness while I try to forget about the hunter's burning eyes and my embarrassment.