It seemed unlikely that anything could hold more interest for Gilbert in the small village than their encounter with the bard tonight, but as ever, fate had more in store for him than that.
Gilbert didn’t register the clatter of hooves outside the front door as unusual; their house was situated on the main street of the village – the only street, if truth be told – and many horses rode up and down it. He was stirred from his book by the knock on the door.
He could barely believe his eyes when he opened it. “T-toni? That you?”
The hug Antonio pulled him into almost cracked his ribs. “We have found you at last!” he crowed, “Ah, Francis, come look, it is him!”
Antonio and Francis had been Gilbert’s closest friends on the road. All sellswords together, they had stuck together through various groups, companies and battles, and none of them had taken on a job without the others. If you wanted one of them, you had to have all of them. Gilbert had been so ashamed and repulsed by himself, though, that on the day he left camp he hadn’t told either of them where he was going. “You found me?” he managed to choke out.
“Of course, my friend. It was easy!” Francis came over and enveloped him in a hug, too. He had tied their two horses up to the small bar in the street, and he took bags from them when Gilbert insisted they come inside.
“Not actually that easy,” Antonio said when they were all seated around the table. “This village really is in the back of beyond, you know that? Nobody seemed to know where it was.”
Francis waved a hand. “But we have found you now, and that is what matters.”
Gilbert looked down at the table. “I cannot join you, though,” he said softly. “I cannot fight without my hand.”
“We know,” Francis’ face was etched with pity. It made Gilbert’s stomach twist, even though he knew his friend meant well. He hated being so useless.
“We could not let you leave without saying goodbye, though!” Antonio said, sounding scandalized.
“And we had to know where you were staying,” Francis added, “So we could come visit you.”
Gilbert looked up at them both, startled. “Really?”
They both nodded. “You know what we said,” Francis smiled.
“If you have one, you have three!” Antonio cried, beaming.
Gilbert laughed, and tried not to let a tear spill from one eye. He couldn’t wander the roads or ride into battle with them again, but his friends had not deserted him.
~~~
When Ludwig came in from the forge he looked slightly put-out at Gilbert’s guests, but he promised they would only stay a night. And then when he suggested going down to the Inn for dinner Francis promptly offered to pay for the meal, which seemed to smooth things over nicely.
The common room was hot and crowded, but the atmosphere was warm and friendly. The air was thick with smoke and laughter, and a group of men were singing and dancing on a table by the bar, with someone playing a tune on a fiddle. The Innkeep’s smiling daughter brought over their food, a warm soup with fresh bread and cool ale. Francis pronounced it delicious and well worth his coin. Gilbert knew they had all eaten far more extravagantly elsewhere, but the Inn’s food was good for what it was. They chatted amicably over dinner, and other villagers were attracted to the new faces. Antonio and Francis fended off a hundred questions each, but they were used to it.
When they had finished their meal the man with the fiddle, who was by day the village’s tanner, called and chivvied Gilbert up onto the table with him to sing along with his tunes. Gilbert had quite a strong voice, though he didn’t like to boast about it. “A singer’s voice!” the Innkeeper proclaimed, and then furrowed his brow as if in thought.
When the song was over, the Innkeeper took Gilbert’s arm and led him into a quieter corner of the room. A young man and woman who were unfamiliar to Gilbert were sharing a plate of fried fish at a secluded table. They looked up with interest when the Innkeeper announced, “I think I have found the man you are looking for, Edelstein.”
Gilbert stared at him, confused, while the young man at the table gave him a long look. “The one who was singing just now?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.
“The very same.”
“Sorry, what is going on?” Gilbert asked, confused.
“Edelstein here is looking for someone to sing with him,” the Innkeeper explained. “You like travelling, Gil, and you have a good voice. It would keep you fed.”
Gilbert put two and two together and said to the young man, “You are the bard. The one Roma was talking about.”
Edelstein inclined his head. “The very same. Here, sit. We can discuss my terms. Oh, and call me Roderich, by the way.” He motioned toward the woman, “And this is my wife, Elizaveta.”
~~~
Gilbert came back to the forge late that night. When he had finished talking to Roderich and his wife, the Inn was nearly empty, and Antonio, Francis and Ludwig had gone home. He found his brother waiting for him at the table, though. “You should have gone to bed,” he chided, hanging up his coat.
“I determined to come looking for you if you did not return by three,” Ludwig said, yawning. “The Innkeeper told me you were discussing business with the bard.”
Gilbert nodded. “He wants me to join him on his journeys.”
Ludwig looked surprised. “Really?”
“He plays the harp and the flute like he was born to it – I heard him play – but he does not quite have the voice to match. Apparently he likes my singing. He travels on the road with his wife, who would be our protection.”
“The wife?”
“When you have been around as many fighting men as I have, brother, you learn to know which man carrying a sword knows how to use it and which man does not. That woman had a well-cared for sword, and I could tell she meant business.”
Ludwig shrugged. “It sounds like a golden opportunity. When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow evening. Though I feel guilty, leaving you alone again,” Gilbert came and sat beside him, “You will stop focusing on your work so much, for me? If you make yourself ill there is no one to look after you.”
Ludwig smiled. “I will think about it. Now, get yourself to bed. If you are leaving tomorrow there will be a lot to be done.”
~~~
Gilbert left the following evening, in high spirits and showing off his singing talent by belting out a rather crass song about a young maiden and a sea-creature in love. Ludwig thought Elizaveta looked like she wanted to clap him over the head with one of the frying pans she’d loaded onto their pack horse, but Roderich had the hint of a smile playing around his lips. They’d disappeared into the growing dark with Gilbert shouting back promises to come visit him soon, and Ludwig had returned to the forge alone.
He didn’t like to admit to himself that he felt lonely; after all, he had been alone ever since their grandfather died, and he had done just fine by himself. But the past three weeks of Gilbert’s presence had left an ache for human company that Ludwig quietly wished he could fill.
He lit a small candle and used it to light his way up the steep and crooked stairs to bed. He checked out of the window before he pulled the curtains across it; the moon was full and rode high in the sky, and lit the land almost like the sun. Ludwig smiled to himself. It was a good night for travelling.
When he sat down on the bed he heard something clink. Confused, he shifted, and heard the noise again. When he lifted the mattress, he saw that a small bag had been tucked underneath.
He smiled as he picked it up. Gilbert had attached a small piece of parchment to the drawstring, on which he had written, ‘Rainy day fund! See you soon, little brother!’
Ludwig placed the small bag in the chest at the end of the bed, and then lay down to sleep. ~~~
The Great Hall of the castle was full of smoke and noise and laughter. Long tables extended from the dais at one end to the large oaken doors at the other, covered with platters of fine food. Benches were drawn up to each table, each filled with more people than they could comfortably hold, and their occupants were shouting and eating, laughing and fighting, and the wine was flowing like water.
Gilbert and Roderich had set themselves up at one end of the long dais, and had been playing recognizable and popular tunes throughout the evening. Requests had flooded in from all around, conveyed through shouts of approval and occasionally through messages from the Lord of the castle, who sat resplendent in the High Seat under a huge banner emblazoned with the family’s sigil.
They finished their current song, and while Roderich tuned his harp Gilbert leaned over. “How rich is this guy, then?” he asked in an undertone, nodding toward the High Seat. “Good pay?”
“They say he owns half the West-country, and is the richest man in the kingdom,” Roderich said boredly. “I would not hold your breath for a pot of gold, though.”
“Why, I think my sweet voice could wheedle a pot out of him,” Gilbert grinned. “Just a little one, though.”
“The Tale of Danny Longshanks!” someone yelled from the crowd, and Roderich sighed almost imperceptibly. Gilbert knew he preferred classical, cultured pieces to the ballads, ditties and folk songs they had made their stock and trade, but no one except petty city nobles who wanted to show off their ‘taste’ actively employed anyone to play those pieces for money. Even high lords preferred traditional, unpretentious fare, it seemed.
Later in the evening when things had quieted down, one of the young ladies from the dais had taken up a vacated seat at the end of the table and asked them to play love songs and romantic ballads. She sighed prettily at the end of every one, and spoke passionately about the wonders of true love whenever Roderich stopped to tune his harp.
Eventually, a young knight whom Gilbert assumed to be her brother came looking for her. “Your mother says you should be in bed at this hour, Lili,” the young man told her disapprovingly.
“Ah, but, these men play so beautifully…” She could obviously see she wasn’t going to win the argument, though, so she bid them both a goodnight and asked the young man to pay them handsomely, as they had won her favour, and then disappeared.
The young man sighed irritably as he counted out a number of coins into one hand. Gilbert grinned as he saw a flash of gold between the man’s fingers. “Was that fair maiden your sister, my lord?” he asked pleasantly.
“No, a distant cousin,” he replied. His clothes were of the finest cloth, and his cloak was a heavy scarlet lined with gold. A lion-shaped brooch clasped it at his shoulder, which matched the sigil of the House and marked him as the family of the lord. His hair was a sandy blonde, and when he looked back up at Gilbert he noticed how green the young man’s eyes were.
I would include those details, were I to make a song, he thought to himself as he bowed his head graciously and murmured a thousand thanks for the money the young man deposited into his hands. I would not mention those huge eyebrows, though.
Hope that was decent...Apart from the numbering fail, I think I did okay ^^;
What a gorgeous fill, anon! This was so much more than I ever expected. You created this wonderful universe and managed to make it seem so deep and complete even though the fic didn't even dwell on it for very long. I loved the backstory you created for Gilbert and Ludwig and how so much of the story was from Ludwig's perspective as he observed his brother.
And Gilbert, he was amazing. The way you portrayed his frustration and hopelessness but let him keep his pride was fantastic. His reactions were very realistic, and I loved that despite everything, he was still very much himself. And the scene with Francis and Antonio was beautiful. <3
I'm very happy with the conclusion and how Gilbert got another chance at doing something for himself and living his life. You made me fall totally in love with this universe, so thank you so much, anon! You're amazing!
Thank you OP!! :D I'm really really glad you like it so much! Honestly I don't know where the setting came from....(*cough*fartoomuchreadingGameofThrones*cough*) Your comment made me squee a whole load when I read it......I'm blushing here! XD Thank you again! :D
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Sword Hand - Part 4/?
(Anonymous) 2013-01-08 02:34 am (UTC)(link)It seemed unlikely that anything could hold more interest for Gilbert in the small village than their encounter with the bard tonight, but as ever, fate had more in store for him than that.
Gilbert didn’t register the clatter of hooves outside the front door as unusual; their house was situated on the main street of the village – the only street, if truth be told – and many horses rode up and down it. He was stirred from his book by the knock on the door.
He could barely believe his eyes when he opened it. “T-toni? That you?”
The hug Antonio pulled him into almost cracked his ribs. “We have found you at last!” he crowed, “Ah, Francis, come look, it is him!”
Antonio and Francis had been Gilbert’s closest friends on the road. All sellswords together, they had stuck together through various groups, companies and battles, and none of them had taken on a job without the others. If you wanted one of them, you had to have all of them. Gilbert had been so ashamed and repulsed by himself, though, that on the day he left camp he hadn’t told either of them where he was going. “You found me?” he managed to choke out.
“Of course, my friend. It was easy!” Francis came over and enveloped him in a hug, too. He had tied their two horses up to the small bar in the street, and he took bags from them when Gilbert insisted they come inside.
“Not actually that easy,” Antonio said when they were all seated around the table. “This village really is in the back of beyond, you know that? Nobody seemed to know where it was.”
Francis waved a hand. “But we have found you now, and that is what matters.”
Gilbert looked down at the table. “I cannot join you, though,” he said softly. “I cannot fight without my hand.”
“We know,” Francis’ face was etched with pity. It made Gilbert’s stomach twist, even though he knew his friend meant well. He hated being so useless.
“We could not let you leave without saying goodbye, though!” Antonio said, sounding scandalized.
“And we had to know where you were staying,” Francis added, “So we could come visit you.”
Gilbert looked up at them both, startled. “Really?”
They both nodded. “You know what we said,” Francis smiled.
“If you have one, you have three!” Antonio cried, beaming.
Gilbert laughed, and tried not to let a tear spill from one eye. He couldn’t wander the roads or ride into battle with them again, but his friends had not deserted him.
~~~
When Ludwig came in from the forge he looked slightly put-out at Gilbert’s guests, but he promised they would only stay a night. And then when he suggested going down to the Inn for dinner Francis promptly offered to pay for the meal, which seemed to smooth things over nicely.
The common room was hot and crowded, but the atmosphere was warm and friendly. The air was thick with smoke and laughter, and a group of men were singing and dancing on a table by the bar, with someone playing a tune on a fiddle. The Innkeep’s smiling daughter brought over their food, a warm soup with fresh bread and cool ale. Francis pronounced it delicious and well worth his coin. Gilbert knew they had all eaten far more extravagantly elsewhere, but the Inn’s food was good for what it was. They chatted amicably over dinner, and other villagers were attracted to the new faces. Antonio and Francis fended off a hundred questions each, but they were used to it.
When they had finished their meal the man with the fiddle, who was by day the village’s tanner, called and chivvied Gilbert up onto the table with him to sing along with his tunes. Gilbert had quite a strong voice, though he didn’t like to boast about it. “A singer’s voice!” the Innkeeper proclaimed, and then furrowed his brow as if in thought.
Sword Hand - Part 5/5
(Anonymous) 2013-01-08 02:39 am (UTC)(link)Gilbert stared at him, confused, while the young man at the table gave him a long look. “The one who was singing just now?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.
“The very same.”
“Sorry, what is going on?” Gilbert asked, confused.
“Edelstein here is looking for someone to sing with him,” the Innkeeper explained. “You like travelling, Gil, and you have a good voice. It would keep you fed.”
Gilbert put two and two together and said to the young man, “You are the bard. The one Roma was talking about.”
Edelstein inclined his head. “The very same. Here, sit. We can discuss my terms. Oh, and call me Roderich, by the way.” He motioned toward the woman, “And this is my wife, Elizaveta.”
~~~
Gilbert came back to the forge late that night. When he had finished talking to Roderich and his wife, the Inn was nearly empty, and Antonio, Francis and Ludwig had gone home. He found his brother waiting for him at the table, though. “You should have gone to bed,” he chided, hanging up his coat.
“I determined to come looking for you if you did not return by three,” Ludwig said, yawning. “The Innkeeper told me you were discussing business with the bard.”
Gilbert nodded. “He wants me to join him on his journeys.”
Ludwig looked surprised. “Really?”
“He plays the harp and the flute like he was born to it – I heard him play – but he does not quite have the voice to match. Apparently he likes my singing. He travels on the road with his wife, who would be our protection.”
“The wife?”
“When you have been around as many fighting men as I have, brother, you learn to know which man carrying a sword knows how to use it and which man does not. That woman had a well-cared for sword, and I could tell she meant business.”
Ludwig shrugged. “It sounds like a golden opportunity. When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow evening. Though I feel guilty, leaving you alone again,” Gilbert came and sat beside him, “You will stop focusing on your work so much, for me? If you make yourself ill there is no one to look after you.”
Ludwig smiled. “I will think about it. Now, get yourself to bed. If you are leaving tomorrow there will be a lot to be done.”
~~~
Gilbert left the following evening, in high spirits and showing off his singing talent by belting out a rather crass song about a young maiden and a sea-creature in love. Ludwig thought Elizaveta looked like she wanted to clap him over the head with one of the frying pans she’d loaded onto their pack horse, but Roderich had the hint of a smile playing around his lips. They’d disappeared into the growing dark with Gilbert shouting back promises to come visit him soon, and Ludwig had returned to the forge alone.
He didn’t like to admit to himself that he felt lonely; after all, he had been alone ever since their grandfather died, and he had done just fine by himself. But the past three weeks of Gilbert’s presence had left an ache for human company that Ludwig quietly wished he could fill.
He lit a small candle and used it to light his way up the steep and crooked stairs to bed. He checked out of the window before he pulled the curtains across it; the moon was full and rode high in the sky, and lit the land almost like the sun. Ludwig smiled to himself. It was a good night for travelling.
When he sat down on the bed he heard something clink. Confused, he shifted, and heard the noise again. When he lifted the mattress, he saw that a small bag had been tucked underneath.
He smiled as he picked it up. Gilbert had attached a small piece of parchment to the drawstring, on which he had written, ‘Rainy day fund! See you soon, little brother!’
Ludwig placed the small bag in the chest at the end of the bed, and then lay down to sleep.
~~~
Re: Sword Hand - Epilogue
(Anonymous) 2013-01-08 02:43 am (UTC)(link)The Great Hall of the castle was full of smoke and noise and laughter. Long tables extended from the dais at one end to the large oaken doors at the other, covered with platters of fine food. Benches were drawn up to each table, each filled with more people than they could comfortably hold, and their occupants were shouting and eating, laughing and fighting, and the wine was flowing like water.
Gilbert and Roderich had set themselves up at one end of the long dais, and had been playing recognizable and popular tunes throughout the evening. Requests had flooded in from all around, conveyed through shouts of approval and occasionally through messages from the Lord of the castle, who sat resplendent in the High Seat under a huge banner emblazoned with the family’s sigil.
They finished their current song, and while Roderich tuned his harp Gilbert leaned over. “How rich is this guy, then?” he asked in an undertone, nodding toward the High Seat. “Good pay?”
“They say he owns half the West-country, and is the richest man in the kingdom,” Roderich said boredly. “I would not hold your breath for a pot of gold, though.”
“Why, I think my sweet voice could wheedle a pot out of him,” Gilbert grinned. “Just a little one, though.”
“The Tale of Danny Longshanks!” someone yelled from the crowd, and Roderich sighed almost imperceptibly. Gilbert knew he preferred classical, cultured pieces to the ballads, ditties and folk songs they had made their stock and trade, but no one except petty city nobles who wanted to show off their ‘taste’ actively employed anyone to play those pieces for money. Even high lords preferred traditional, unpretentious fare, it seemed.
Later in the evening when things had quieted down, one of the young ladies from the dais had taken up a vacated seat at the end of the table and asked them to play love songs and romantic ballads. She sighed prettily at the end of every one, and spoke passionately about the wonders of true love whenever Roderich stopped to tune his harp.
Eventually, a young knight whom Gilbert assumed to be her brother came looking for her. “Your mother says you should be in bed at this hour, Lili,” the young man told her disapprovingly.
“Ah, but, these men play so beautifully…” She could obviously see she wasn’t going to win the argument, though, so she bid them both a goodnight and asked the young man to pay them handsomely, as they had won her favour, and then disappeared.
The young man sighed irritably as he counted out a number of coins into one hand. Gilbert grinned as he saw a flash of gold between the man’s fingers. “Was that fair maiden your sister, my lord?” he asked pleasantly.
“No, a distant cousin,” he replied. His clothes were of the finest cloth, and his cloak was a heavy scarlet lined with gold. A lion-shaped brooch clasped it at his shoulder, which matched the sigil of the House and marked him as the family of the lord. His hair was a sandy blonde, and when he looked back up at Gilbert he noticed how green the young man’s eyes were.
I would include those details, were I to make a song, he thought to himself as he bowed his head graciously and murmured a thousand thanks for the money the young man deposited into his hands. I would not mention those huge eyebrows, though.
Hope that was decent...Apart from the numbering fail, I think I did okay ^^;
OP
(Anonymous) 2013-01-08 06:02 pm (UTC)(link)And Gilbert, he was amazing. The way you portrayed his frustration and hopelessness but let him keep his pride was fantastic. His reactions were very realistic, and I loved that despite everything, he was still very much himself. And the scene with Francis and Antonio was beautiful. <3
I'm very happy with the conclusion and how Gilbert got another chance at doing something for himself and living his life. You made me fall totally in love with this universe, so thank you so much, anon! You're amazing!
Re: OP
(Anonymous) 2013-01-11 06:16 pm (UTC)(link)Thank you again! :D
Re: Sword Hand - Epilogue
(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 08:59 pm (UTC)(link)I like this, Anon. This is very nice. GoT-sorta-but-not-quite-Crossovers should be everywhere on this meme! >_
Re: Sword Hand - Epilogue
(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 09:33 pm (UTC)(link)Thank you! :D