Bard of Laketown

Part Thirty-Five

PART THIRTY-FIVE

I sit up and lean against the cold wall, rubbing my raw, chafed wrists. I have failed in every possible way. I did not help the dwarves. I did not find Bard. Nobody will find him now. Nobody will go looking for him. Nobody will come looking for me either.

And his weak, miserable, innocent children. Their father is gone now. How are they to survive? Fili and Kili are still there, though, and I pray that they stay with the children, and help them, until I can escape.

I should have stayed in Mirkwood. I should have stayed in Mirkwood. I should have stayed in Mirkwood.

The river of thoughts races repeatedly through my throbbing head, and I press my hands over my ears.

I could be planning my wedding to King Thranduil now, laughing and hunting with Tauriel and Legolas. I hope they have forgiven each other. Has Tauriel forgotten Kili? Not this soon, I imagine. He certainly has not forgotten her.

I let out a sad sigh and examine the cell for any possible means of escape. There is a small window on the back wall, but it is barred. There is no way to get out of here without the key. I close my eyes and think of Bard. As much as he has hurt me, I must find him.

I can't forget how he saved my life. Or how he told me he loved me. And that kiss... I feel a smile creeping onto my face. I need to get out of here. I rise to my feet and pull one of my knives from my leather boot.

What sort of jail does not check for weapons? I turn to my head to look at Grümbold. Now that Alfrid is gone, he is

gulping down the pitcher of bitter ale.

I roll my eyes. This might be easier than I thought.

I turn back to the window and slam the blade of my knife repeatedly into the thin glass. A long, thin crack appears across the surface of the window, and a shard of glass falls to the floor and shatters. A keep jamming the knife, and piece by piece, the glass breaks from the frame.

Immediately the temperature in the already cold room lowers considerably. Gusts of wind are seeping in through the open window. I reach into a small pocket in my tunic and find a thin sheet of parchment and a small quill, along with my inkwell.

I used to draw the things I would see while I was off in the forest, but I haven't had enough time since I left my home. I scrawl a note on the parchment.

"Bard is gone. I am in prison. Please help. Areya." I fold the paper into a square and write Fili's name in Dwarvish on the front. I know a few simple phrases in that language, as I spent a lot of time in the Mirkwood library.

I push the note out of the window and onto the wooden dock above. With any luck, it will not get trampled by the thick boots, or soaked by the dirty, slushy snow. People's shouts ring through my ears, discussing the day's catch, or what their thoughts on the dwarves return are.

One man is talking about a great battle which is being prepared for. Dwarves, orcs, and elves are travelling to the Lonely Mountain to get their share of the treasure. When I hear elves, realization hits me. I know where Bard is.