A/N: Just a bit graphic towards the end.
"What did you have in mind?" Bishop asked.
"Well nothing splendid, but it's all we can do at the moment," Rowan said while plucking the torch from the holder. She cherished the warm kisses it placed on her frosted skin as she knelt to the larger impelled man and removed his pelt cap. The fur was rough and not well maintained as was expected of a ruffian. Even with a hole through the top of it, they'd consider it all in one piece, but more distracting was the ripe smell of blood covering the inside of it. She dropped the cap and slightly pushed the collar's tip into her neck. Her pounding heartbeat slowed, and after a few deep breaths, she grabbed handfuls of dirt and diligently cased the blood. Carefully she pinched the torch between the rocks and the bars.
"Barely free and already a plan? You work fast, princess."
"We aren't free yet. Here put these on," she said, taking and tossing the bandits clothes at him. A simple wood cutting axe and belt completed the pile, but wrapped in the hand of the bald man was a dagger beating with the holy sense of silver, nearly a tool in her fate. Maybe you weren't foolish, she thought.
"If you'd rather have a dagger, you have the option, but I'm not touching it."
Though Bishop understood the urgency he didn't rush; instead, he knelt alongside her and met her eyes as one wolf to another. His stare made her spine tingle, and kindle a fire in her belly, but with a quick consideration of the past, her chest then beat with admiration. Back when she'd first held his glare as a child, his stare was tainted by fear, but now his ember eyes carried the intimidation and strength of the merciless.
"Something on your mind ranger?" she asked, looking over his facial features she'd not seen in the moonlight. One, in particular, was a scar just above his jaw. She recognized that scar because she was the one that healed the jagged cut.
"Oh somethings, always on my mind, sweetness...Tell me, dragon slayer, what do you expect out of helping me?"
A debt repaid.
"Nothing," she said softly. Bishop's brows pulled together. He could spit at that. Nothing? Nothing but lies. He stood looking down at her with the realization that every time he'd done so, another question arose. Had he not been through enough to be privileged to every person's intentions, secrets, and past at a glance? He knew she was not the town drunkard nor the preacher or the sleeper, but what she was other than different he could not place.
Karnwyr, that's all that matters.
He turned to the fur pile and dusted them off piece by piece as he dressed. Rowan found herself staring and turned back when she had the thought to marvel. The nine indeed blessed him with strength. She observed more scars marked his tanned skin even more so on his back than his broad chest and arms, but she looked at them as building stones that went into creating him instead of destroying him. Turning back almost felt wrong, but she remained forward looking at the rocks or anything else and put her thoughts towards what awaited them. Bandits and gamblers alike roamed above them in the double digits. Thankfully only one carried the unmistakable scent of another lycan. Unfamiliar and male that smelled as foul and potent as a bog even in human form. Was he hostile? Their little pet? Rowan couldn't be sure. She took out a long square cloth from her pocket and laced it through her fingers contemplating little details and acted out different scenarios in her head all the while; she hoped her plan could be executed without either ending up dead.
"Done, yet?" Rowan asked.
"Relax princess. You'll be out soon enough," he said, giving a light chuckle.
"It's not me I'm worried about. Now, are you dressed or not?"
"I can handle myself just fine, but if your ladyship insists on worrying about me I won't stop you... By the gods woman, would you just turn around? Am I so ugly that you won't look at me?"
Rowan nearly hopped to her feet and faced him again while ignoring the shot of pain from the poorly stitched wound and looked at his face once more. With the clink of her chains, she fitted the pelt on his head completing the ensemble. The ranger didn't look half bad, the clothes would fit better if loosened a tad, but in their position, there was no room to be picky.
"This isn't a joke. You look the part. So play the part." She said, handing him the cloth and turning around. "No matter what happens, play the part." Bishop leaned in close enough that she could feel his heat on her exposed back. Rowan remained still despite having the urge to lean into the warmth. Bishop gently put his arms over her head to hold the cloth close to her lips.
"And if you don't make it?" He asked.
His breath tingled the shell of her ear, making a sweet shiver run down her spine. "Then, you keep moving," she said.
A spiral staircase now was the only thing that stood between the bandits and Bishop. He held Rowan's chains and pulled her along behind him. Before he entered the next level, he turned to her and spoke though he knew she couldn't reply. "I apologize in advance, sweetness." Rowan nodded. She was brave he'd give her that much. Entering the upper den Bishop kept his head down and attempted to walk fast enough without drawing too much attention. Goat horn wall sconces and chandeliers hung nearly in every corner illuminating the bars belonging to the pit as two grizzly wolves tore at one another. Those betting gathered in the stands to watch and shout in excitement. All reminded him of his past life and how great it felt to win and fool others with the rigged fights, but there was no joy beyond that. It angered him to be here, seeming as he once was, while Rowan felt repulsed at the scene. When she willed her sensations once more, she was glad their destination was in another part of the cave and that the other lycan had gone. She tapped Bishop's left side, and he understood. He turned and entered a tunnel leading them away from the racket.
"Good thinking, ladyship," he said. "You know if we get out of here, you should let me buy you a drink." He heard her grunt and kept his sly grin ahead. The tunnel let out to another open space that looked like the bandits resting area by the rows of beds, which met the chief wasn't far ahead. He knew all too well most bandit camps were set the same with an exception to the elite that is. Eyes were on them now. Those ugly, short, tall, and fat had gathered in this space with only a few sleeping; all dressed in nearly the same attire as Bishop. He remained stern and yanked Rowan forward again hearing her hiss.
Then the sharp crush of a rock hit the side of her face. Their laughter boomed as she took another to her back and legs. Blood streamed down her face as she tried to keep from stumbling over her feet. The ranger hauled her forward, having had enough witnessing her torment and walked behind her, pushing her along- seemingly unbothered- until they reached a set of crumbling stone stairs. Bishop closed the door behind them. He untied the gag and with a gentle touch, wiped the blood off her brow. They stood only a few feet now from the chief's door; Bishop was sure of it, but he wasn't about to push her again. She leaned on the cold wall with her vision, swimming, and longing for sleep. He was silent and observed the cut and attempted to wipe it clean, but Rowan pulled from him and tilted her head back to look into his eyes. Something was wrong. Tears pooled in them as one word trembled from her frowning mouth. "Karnwyr."
Bishop left her side and rushed up the worn stones. His steadiness withered as he nearly tumbled into the room. The damned Orc stood in the corner of the room, but what held his attention was the body of a wolf lying at his feet, headless. It wasn't until the Orc turned to face him that he saw the head of Karnwyr sitting on a pike. This was the gift; an image likely never to be forgotten before he met death. The bonds of his sanity snapped into a blind rage and plunged the ranger into inconsolable darkness. He charged and pinned the Orc to the ground. What Bishop did was but lost in a mist as the bandit's blood splattered onto him.