The River Wife: A Tale of Bard the Bowman

Arrival at Lake-town

Bitter pin pricks burned her forehead and cheeks, bringing her out of a dreamless sleep. The blank darkness of her mind roved for logic, meaning, or an answer of some kind. Only one word feathered through her consciousness.

Snow.

A sail over her head filled with the wind, billowing pregnant with the winter chill. Currents of ice surged through the air. They were thick flakes that collected into heavy banks. The air was getting colder by the moment.

Winter.

She clung to the simple words. They were a comfort in the muted confusion of her lost memory. She knew them. 

Snow, winter, boat, sail, wind... man.

Man.

The stranger's boots, covered in sheep skin, made muffled thuds on the wooden deck. She was lying on her back, wrapped in a thick coat of worn leather, the edges rough and homespun. He had also cocooned her in a woolen blanket. She was naked otherwise, but was still warm. 

She laid still and closed her eyes when she heard his footsteps draw close. She had to think. But she had nothing to remember. It was all darkness. 

Drawing a quiet breath to calm herself, she tried to focus on the present.

She was sailing on a body of water. Nothing hurt and she wasn't cold other than her exposed face. The stranger had given her his own coat. She got a swift glance at him when his back was turned. Board shouldered and tall, he wore only his tunic and homespun shirt against the vicious wind. 

The sun was a gossamer orb through the ghostly haze to the west. Shadows of ancient stones floated past overhead. The boatman guided his vessel through the maze of sunken ruins with keen direction, his strong movements confident. Oddly, she wasn't afraid of her surroundings. Cautious, but not fearful. The only thing that scared her was the silence of her memory.

Snow. She reminded herself. Snow.

Winter, boat, wind.

Man.

She let herself drift off into the sweet nothing of sleep once more.

***

"I found her washed up on a bank beyond the Lake." Bard rubbed the back of his neck and met the wary eyes of the toll gate guard. "She only stirred once. She needs to see a doctor."

Percy, the guard, was an old friend. They had been boys together. That was a small mercy. "Strange thing in winter... was it near the edge of the wood-"

"She is no elf."

"Human."

"From the looks of it," Bard replied huskily then gave a bashful shrug. Unbidden, the image of how her long hair had plastered to her bare skin rose in his mind. He had seen enough of her to know that she was a mortal woman, though it had been many years since he had seen a woman in such a state. "Aye, she is a woman."

Percy smirked at him, as though guessing his thoughts. Running a hand through his greasy beard, he scanned the quiet channel running into the city. Bard had arrived at the perfect time of day. It was twilight, the hour for the evening meal. The Master's spies and guards would be eating their fill. Nothing would distract them from stuffing their gullets.

"So I'm assuming you have no papers for your... guest."

Bard dug into a sack at the edge of the barge and retrieved a handful of coins. He pressed them into Percy's gloved palm and raised his eyebrows.

"Ah," Percy said, stuffing the money into his coat pocket. "So you do have papers. Very well. Say hello to your little ones for me."

Bard gave Percy a tight lipped smile of gratitude and hopped back into his barge. The young woman shifted and sighed. Bard glanced over at her as he guided them into the depths of Lake-town. The sparse lamplight swinging on the mast cast a warm glow on her features. Her long, thin nose had a curious twist at the end and her eyebrows were dark against her ice pale skin. It was her bow shaped lips that distracted him as her mouth parted.

You look at me.

Her words echoed in his head, mixing with the hazy memory of a half forgotten dream. Surely, it had been just a coincidence. The woman was clearly not in her right mind. But the mystery of who she was and where she had come from could be dealt with later. Now, she needed a doctor. She wouldn't die of the cold or exposure, but there was no knowing if she suffered any more wounds.

Bard tore his gaze from the lovely mystery of her face as he pulled the barge up to the dock outside his home. Bain was waiting, pacing in the snowy air. Bard waved down his son and the youth tied off the boat.

"How was your-" Bain's voice died as he hopped onto the deck and looked down at the young woman. "Da, who is this?"

Bard swung her up into his arms, holding her tight to his chest as he lighted off the boat. "Run to Roald Wardman's home and fetch him."

"The doctor?"

"Yes, Bain. The doctor," he commanded, ascending the steps.

Her body was warm against him. It was good sign. In her sleep, she pressed her clenched fists against his chest and turned her face into his shoulder. 

Sigrid opened the door, wiping her hands on her stained apron. Her eyes widened when she saw what her father carried. "Da, who-"

"Hot water and warm blankets, daughter. Quickly now. She'll take my bed," Bard gently told his eldest. 

As he brought her over the threshold, he tried not to consider the consequences of taking the strange girl under his roof. Regardless of the repercussions, he knew he had no choice. In his heart, he had been bound to her fate the moment he had found her.