This is a joint venture of Kaana Moonshadow and myself. We had lots of fun writing it and hope you have as much fun reading.
We don't own Bishop, but we sure as hell wish we did.
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The anger – mostly at himself – still churning in his stomach, Bishop left the hut, to have a look in the shed leaning against it. He had ignored it up to now, but maybe there was something useful to find in there.
Like dry wood.
He opened the low, creaking door and stepped into the musty room behind. He blinked a couple of times, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom inside. There were no windows, and the air was hot and stifling. The only light inside was that filtering through the gaps between the rough planks the shed was made of, and that coming through the open door behind him.
Bit by bit, he could make out the contents of the shed. The first thing that caught his eye was a strange contraption, consisting of a large copper container over a fireplace, from which a glass tube led straight upwards for a bit, then bending to the right, still angling slightly upwards. Then there was a sharp bend, and the glass tube led downwards, through another container that looked like a large metal bucket... and under that into a large, bellied glass flask.
A distillery.
Very, very interesting.
Throwing the girl's boots into a corner, he looked around, taking in the rest of the contents of the shed. There were a couple of shelves, covered with coarse curtains. A small workbench, containing several tools that might come in handy. Looking closer, he saw that the workbench consisted of a rough board, placed over what looked like a wooden tub.
He lifted the board, careful not to drop the tools, and peered under it. Yes, a tub. Good to know.
And last, there was wood, stacked to one end of the shed. Before that, a wooden block with an axe sticking out of it.
Perfect.
Bishop went over to the shelves, drawing aside the curtain covering it and found the remnants of food supplies the previous owner seemed to have left behind. Shrivelled apples and potatoes – anything but fresh, but maybe still edible. The hut really could not have been abandoned for long. He wondered once more what might have happened to whoever had lived here.
He checked the second shelve and was greeted by the twinkling of glass. Now, that really was interesting. He took out one of the bottles and held it against the light flowing through the still open door.
No label, and the liquid inside was colourless.
He drew the cork with his teeth and sniffed cautiously. A strong aroma of alcohol and berries hit his nose. A slow smile spread across his face as he sniffed again. Who'd have thought the shed would hold such a treasure?
Still cautious, he took a small sip and tasted it carefully. His grin broadened. Nice, really nice. The liquid had some bite, but not enough to kill the aroma of the wild berries it obviously was made of.
The prospect of having to spend the next couple of days in the company of the spoiled princess next door suddenly seemed less grim than before.
He put the cork back into the bottle and carefully put it onto the makeshift workbench. He would get back to that later. Now, he had himself some wood to chop.
As he made his way to the wood stacked on the other wall, a sob reached his ear, drifting through the back wall of the shed that actually was also the back wall of the hut. He suppressed a growl as his thoughts, shortly diverted by his find, returned to the obviously crying girl.
And to what he had done when he caught her after running away. His anger, forgotten for a moment, returned full force, thinking back at the way he had nearly lost his head over her.
How could he have allowed himself to be overcome by his weakness like that? How could he have risked handing her the perfect weapon against him? He felt like slapping himself. Stupid, weak, pathetic, that's what he was. He had made a complete fool out of himself.
Well, no more, that he swore to himself as he jerked the axe out of the wooden block. He would not give her another opportunity to find his weak spot and have the last laugh on him.
He placed the first log on the block and brought the axe down with a vengeance. The wood splintered and flew aside. He picked it up and placed it back, hacking away at the wood with more force than was strictly necessary, but it felt so good to be able to vent his fury on something.
He somehow lost track of time, just grimly enjoying the exertion, the whacking sound of the axe and the splintering of the wood, so that he actually was surprised to find, after a while, that a considerable pile of firewood was building up next to the wooden block.
Bishop placed the axe back on the block, picked up the wood and carried it back to the hut, noticing that the sun would set soon. They would need more firewood, but in maybe an hour, it would be too dark to use the axe safely.
He entered the hut, ignoring the flinching girl in the corner, and put the wood down next to the fireplace.
"I don't think you know how to start a fire, princess?", he sneered, turning to her. Because, if she could – for which the odds were slim indeed, he could use the rest of the light to chop more wood.
There was a spark of defiance in her usually fear filled eyes. "My grandfather has a hunting lodge in the Cloak Woods, near Baldur's Gate. He showed me how to make a fire when I was a little girl.", she declared haughtily.
He lifted his eyebrows in mock surprise. "A hunting lodge. Well, what else." Ignoring her angry face, he rummaged through his backpack and pulled out the pouch containing the flint and steel, throwing it vaguely in her direction.
"Fine, then. Show me what you've learned about making a fire, mousie.", he said, still mocking her.
He went back to the door, turning back to her once more. "By the way, should I catch you trying to lay a hand on my bow or quiver…", he cast her a meaningful glance, letting his gaze linger on the plunging neckline of her dress for a moment, "well, you know what will happen then."
She flinched, the fear back in her eyes, and he left the hut with the comforting feeling that she would not dare to try anything stupid anymore. He might have made a fool out of himself in the woods, but luckily the little mouse hat not noticed. And he himself had found the perfect threat to keep her on her toes in the process. Things were looking up.
Returning to the shed, he found the air still as stifling as before. His shirt was already soaked with sweat, and he pulled it over his head with disgust and placed it on the workbench.
Maybe he could force the little mouse to wash his clothes. Why shouldn't she try and make herself useful for the time they had to stay here?
He continued to chop wood until he had produced a pile that would get them through the next one or two days. He felt hot and uncomfortable as he put aside the axe, thick beads of sweat rolling from his forehead and his neck. But at least he had worked off his anger.
He went outside, relishing the comparably cool air outside the shed and pulled up another bucket of water from the well. He splashed the heated skin of his arms and shoulders, and then poured what was left over his shoulders and back to rinse away the sticky sweat. Oh, bliss. He pulled a second bucket and washed his face, then unceremoniously dumped it over his head, rinsing his hair.
Feeling clean and relatively cool, he returned into the hut. Indeed, there was a fire crackling in the fireplace, the girl sitting before it, her back turned to him.
"Not bad for a prissy little princess such as you.", he said, mocking her.
She looked around and inhaled sharply, but he ignored her, throwing his shirt onto his sleeping place and then making it back outside, to get the rest of the wood. Returning to the hut, he stacked it as cleanly as possible next to the fireplace.
That done, he got up, turning to the girl, who had retreated to her corner again. Approaching her, he asked: "The pouch?"
She shoved it over to him, letting it slide across the floor with a slightly trembling hand, not looking up.
Well, he had not been that scary right now, hadn't he? He bent and picked up his pouch, throwing a glance at her – and noticed her cheeks were flaming red.
Well, now. The little miss wasn't scared... she was embarrassed! This promised fun.
He chuckled. "What, mousie, have you never seen a man before?", he asked, tauntingly.
Advancing slowly, he let his voice drop into a low purr and added: "Or do you just like what you see, and that's what got you all hot and bothered?"
Her head suddenly snapped up, and she shot him a poisonous glance, even though her cheeks were still flaming. "Don't flatter yourself, you have nothing I haven't seen before!", she hissed.
He crouched down next to her and reached out to stroke her cheek, and for the first time she did not flinch under his touch. A show of spirit? This could get interesting.
„That so?", he replied, leaning closer, bringing his lips to her ear. "Tell me, mousie, has dear Cedric been giving it to you good?", he murmured.
He was near enough to kiss that soft spot under her ear, just one little inch to cross. Her sweet smell beckoned to him, and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, feeling his pulse pick up.
"You're despicable!", she hissed, bringing his mind back to the present.
He chuckled again, his thumb running over the smooth skin of her cheek. "You wound me, princess.", he said, mock hurt in his voice. "I guess that was a "no" to my question. Can't say I'm surprised. Your Cedric struck me as the boring kind."
He took his hand away and got up. "I would offer to show you what a real man can do – but then again you have nothing I have not seen a hundred times before as well, mousie."
He turned and started to walked back to his bedroll, took a fresh shirt out of his backpack and pulled it over his head, when her voice reached his ear again.
"My name is Liliana!", she said, icily.
He laughed, fully enjoying goading her on. "Oh, I know. How fitting. A flower, just as prissy, fragile and useless as you are. Good for nothing but decoration."
"You know, for someone with a lifestyle such as yours, I would be very careful before I allowed me to judge people by their names, Bishop.", she hissed.
He froze in his tracks, his head snapping around.
"What did you just say, little mouse?", he asked, his voice deadly calm.
How had she found out his name? The minx... he glanced over at his knapsack. Was it in the same position he left it in? He could not tell.
His gaze returned to the little mouse, who, the show of bravado having left her, tried to melt into the wall behind her, the fear back in her eyes. Oh, she knew that it had been a mistake, letting that slip.
"What did you just call me?", he repeated, low and deceptively sweet.
"I... nothing", she stuttered, her face white as a sheet.
He took some steps back to her, dropped to his knees again and with one quick motion, grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. She yelped, as her scalp was probably still hurting from the rough treatment it had received earlier that day. Well, tough.
"Did you search my stuff, little mouse? And you better not lie to me now."
Her eyes were glistening with tears, and she tried to blink them away. "Yes", she whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I will never do it again!"
"Damn right you won't!", he said viciously, shaking her head, and she moaned with the pain. "What did you see? What did you take? Tell me! And don't make me search you."
"I... I...", she stuttered, but he growled impatiently, and she pulled herself together. "A map... I saw a map with your name on it! But I did not take anything, I swear!"
"Did you find the amulet as well?" He tightened the grip in her hair.
"Yes!", she cried. "But I just wanted to admire it… it's so pretty... please, I really meant no harm, you're hurting me..."
He closed his eyes for a second as his heart pounded painfully in his chest. She had found the amulet, the one he nearly had forgotten about. The one he had stolen from the paladin's chambers before he left the Keep, with the miniature of Riana inside. The one he had kept with the stupid map, the map of the Mere, because that was something she had given to him, her writing on the margin.
And now the mouse had seen her face. Knew about the gaping hole in his armour.
No! He would not let that happen, would not let her get to him so easily. Furious, he tightened the grip in her hair even more, making her whimper, and brought his face to hers, so he could stare directly into her eyes, to bring his point across.
„Don't think that changes anything, little mouse", he snarled. "You're nothing like her, useless spoiled brat that you are. She was strong, she was determined, and she was a force to be reckoned with. You – you are not fit to hold a candle to her, as you no doubt realise yourself!"
She stared back at him, and he could see realisation dawn in her eyes. "Merdelain. The Mere of Dead Men. And Riana...", she whispered. "I knew I heard it before!"
"Don't say her name!", he hissed, letting go of her hair finally, sitting back on his heels.
She seemed so engrossed in her realisation she did not hear what he said. "The Lady Knight of Neverwinter... the one who fought the King of Shadows with her companions…", she murmured, staring past him. "One was a wizard... and a paladin... and there was a ranger travelling with her..."
He curled his lips. "Blackmailed into helping her out, you mean."
Finally, her gaze fixed on him, shock written all over her face. "You... you fought against the King of Shadows?", she asked, still trying to get her head around that fact. "It was you?"
"As long as it suited me", he said, curtly. "Drop it."
She continued to stare at him, her eyes wide. "But... they were heroes", she said, thunderstruck.
Bishop sneered. "That they were. Bright, shining heroes. Much good it did them."
"But you... you were a hero then, too.", she whispered, her eyes huge, fixed on his face, the question in them reminding him painfully of the might-have-beens in his life.
His anger somehow mostly evaporated, he ran his hands through his hair, suddenly feeling tired.
"I'm not hero material, little mouse. You have seen that for yourself. So just drop it, and don't get your hopes up that you might appeal to that spark of honour in me, because there's nothing to appeal to. I never was a hero. And that's why I'm still alive."
He fumbled the key to the chains out of his pocket. "Foot", he said.
She hesitated, still looking shaken, but then stretched out her leg so he could fasten the ring around her ankle.
He got up, went back to his backpack, took out the amulet and hung the key on the chain, fastening it around his neck. Then he let himself fall onto his sleeping place, and just lay there, his hand closed around the amulet, staring up into the ceiling until finally sleep claimed him.