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.
Liliana sat in her corner of the hut and watched him cutting the vegetables, his sudden anger radiating in strong waves from his tense form, and felt confusion and fear mingling strongly in her chest as she took in the dark and furious expression on his face.
How had this happened?
She just couldn't tell. One moment, they had been sitting almost amicably on the floor, with him showing her how to use his knife to work properly on the potatoes, and the next…
She cast him another quick glance, noticing the way his eyes were now narrowed dangerously to slits as he worked furiously on the vegetable on his plate, his lips pressed to a thin line, his motions stiff and angry, and cringed. What had she done wrong?
Not that she knew what to make of him anymore. After the revelations of the last evening, she had lain awake most of the night, her stomach hurting like hell through sheer hunger, and had listened to the sound of the raindrops drumming on the wooden roof of the hut, her mind racing.
How could he have been travelling with the Lady-Knight of Neverwinter?
But after she had seen his face, that brief expression of anguish when she had mentioned the lady's name, she could do nothing but believe him. But that was simply impossible! People who fought creatures like the King of Shadows were heroes. Shining, valiant men and women, whose deeds were an inspiration to everyone. Not brutal, ill-tempered thugs like him who liked to chain young women to the wall of their shabby hideouts, intending to make the lifes of their victims a living hell on Faerun.
And how was it possible that a woman like Riana fell in love with a man like him, loved him so much that she actually gave him a token of her love, one that he could carry with him wherever he went? It just made no sense!
She had finally awoken to these thoughts and a dull, grey morning, the rain still drumming heavily on the roof, and had seen him sitting on his bedroll already, his water skin in one hand, the bread in the other, and hadn't been able to stop herself from whimpering as she had seen the food in his hand, the painful burning in her stomach making her want to scream all of a sudden.
He had looked up, his face set in his usual scowl, and had finally thrown her the half of the bread, his cold, unfeeling eyes following her as she had scurried over from her spot at the wall to fetch the food. The bread had been stale and therefore hard to chew, but for her aching stomach, it had tasted like heaven, and so she had gobbled it as fast as she could until she had heard his harsh voice, telling her to stop.
Liliana had looked up, alarmed, and had seen him walking towards her, his water skin in his hand and a displeased frown on his face, and had hastily retreated against the wall, hiding the bread behind her back because she had been convinced that he had suddenly changed his mind and had decided to take the food away from her again.
She still had no idea what she actually could have done to stop him, but she knew that she had been determined not to give up, at least not without a fight. He had seemed to have guessed her fear, for his voice had sounded slightly irritated as he had sat down beside her, handing her his water skin and telling her to take it slow with the food, otherwise her stomach would be hurting like hell later.
She had watched him nervously out of the corner of her eye, suspecting an ulterior motive to his surprisingly calm words, but he had just sat beside her, his eyes closed, and had massaged his temples with a light groan, the dark shadows now very prominent under his eyes, as if he hadn't had a good night's rest, either…
The sound of feet shuffling over the wooden floor startled her out of her reverie, and she looked up, alarmed, only to see him walk towards the chimney, carrying his plate in his hands and adding the potatoes to the pot with so much force that he actually made some water splash over the iron rim and into the flames, where it evaporated with a loud, hissing sound. He turned his head, his eyes wandering searchingly over the ground, and then cursed under his breath before he turned and threw his plate and knife onto his bedroll once more, making his way back towards the door of the hut without sparing her as much as a glance.
A slamming noise, and he was gone, and Liliana pulled her legs tightly to her chest while she edged a little closer to the warmth of the chimney, the cool, damp air in the hut finally making her shiver. Wasn't it strange that she was actually relieved that he had left the hut for now, when only a few hours ago, she had watched him donning his leathers and had been terrified by the sudden, erroneous fear that he would simply leave her here alone to starve, because she had made so much trouble?
Liliana felt her cheeks reddening with embarrassment as she stared into the flickering flames, cringing inwardly. Gods, what a sheep she had been! No wonder he had mocked her after his return, an amused grin on his face, pointing out to her that he never would have left his backpack behind, had he not planned on returning. And how could she have felt relieved, even almost glad, as he had finally returned to the hut, thoroughly drenched from the rain? He was the villain, after all!
That thought made a strange bundle of contradicting emotions well up in her chest, and she continued to stare into the fire, lost in her thoughts as she let the events of the afternoon pass before her inner eye.
She could still hear his gruff voice, telling her to make herself useful for a change and to start earning her food like everyone else, and the biting sarcasm hidden in his words had been enough to make her overcome her indignation at the prospect of washing his clothes, as if she was not only his prisoner, but now some kind of chamber maid as well.
But she had promised herself not to enanger him again, and strangely enough, it had felt surprisingly good to do something for a change, and so she had waited patiently until the water had started to boil and had then tried her best to get it from the pot into the tub, determined to show him that she could earn her food.
She still remembered the wave of pure horror that had rippled through her as he had finally returned to the hut and had lifted the shrunken remains of his tunic out of the still steaming water, convinced that he would get furious with her again.
But instead, he had stared into the tub, his eyes widening in disbelief, and then had suddenly burst into laughter, startling her with his unexpected reaction.
And it had not been his usual cruel, sneering laugh, either, but a deep, melodious sound, full of good humour, and she had watched in utmost surprise how the harsh lines in his face had actually softened with the first genuine smile she had ever seen on his face, his usually cold eyes suddenly filled with a warmth that she had never expected, and had felt more than a little confused as she had suddenly realised that she had even liked the sound.
The creaking of the door made her jump all of a sudden, and as she looked up, she saw him enter the hut again, still in a very foul mood and his clothes clinging to his body again, due to the rain.
She watched him making his way back towards the chimney, still refusing to cast her as much as a glance, and wondered how this man and the one she had seen this afternoon could actually be one and the same person.
Obviously, he had made his way out and into the pouring rain to fetch a long, well-shaped branch and, surprisingly enough, a bottle, filled with a clear liquid, and placed both items on the worm-eaten table before he reached for the branch and started to remove the soaked bark with several rough movements, using the cleaned branch as a makeshift spoon to stir the stew.
His back was turned to her, and she could see the muscles of his shoulders through his clinging tunic, reminding her uncomfortably of that embarrassing moment earlier this afternoon when he had pulled his other tunic over his head to throw it at her, making it impossible for her not to look at his well-trained chest and stomach once more.
He had stood not even two feet away from her, and so she had been quite surprised to see the thin, white lines of the scars that ran over his upper torso, wondering curiously for a moment whether they were remnants of the time when he had travelled with the Knight-Captain of Crossroad Keep as he had addressed her in that almost agreeable voice once more, that amused grin still on his face, and Liliana had felt herself blushing furiously, being strangely embarrassed all of a sudden that he had caught her staring at him.
The thought of his pleased, mocking smirk, had he realised that she had been staring, made her almost cringe with disgust. What had she been thinking, looking at him this way, as if she had actually liked the sight he had presented, and had not just been merely interested?
She cast him another glance and saw him get up and walk over to the table again, reaching for the bottle and taking a deep swig from the clear liquid before he put it down once more, and she couldn't suppress a frown as she caught the whiff of strong liquor and wild berries as he walked back to his bedroll again, starting to work on the carrots, his anger still emanating from him in surprisingly strong waves. What would he do to her, should he get drunk and his anger turn violent all of a sudden?
She watched him in silence, her heart becoming strangely heavy as she saw that the harsh lines in his face had finally returned, and hugged her legs even closer, feeling confused, lonely.
What had she done to enrage him so?
For a blissful hour, it had truly looked as if things would brighten up from now on. She had been thrilled at his surprisingly good mood, feeling so relieved to be freed from the gnawing fear that had begun to eat her alive, and had therefore tried her best to please him, to help with the preparations as best as she could, only to keep things that way.
She had even sung for him, because it had been the only thing that had come to her mind as he had asked her in his usual sneering voice Tell me, what can you do?, as she had been forced to admit that she had no idea how to make a stew.
First, as she had felt his piercing stare, his amused laughter still echoing loudly in her ears, she had been nervous like hell, her voice shaking audibly, and so she had finally closed her eyes, shutting it all out - the hut, him, everything, to focus on her song, and her song alone.
When her tune had ended, she had looked up at him, smiling shyly, half expecting to see the usual scowl on his face and to receive just another one of his sneering, scathing remarks, and had therefore been quite surprised to see him watching her intently, his eyes fixed on her face, and with an answering smile that one could almost call gentle.
He had even taken his washed tunic from her as she had already been on her way to the door, taking it outside and into the still pouring rain to rinse it himself, leaving her standing in the doorway to stare after him, openmouthed and confused. That had been another thing she had never expected from him. The man she had come to know would have possibly grabbed her by the hair to haul her outside and watch her rinse his tunic, but cleanse it himself?
Strangely enough, this rare show of decency and thoughtfulness had only fueled her desire to make herself useful, to carry her own weight, and so she had settled down on his bedroll, taking his knife firmly in one hand and starting with what she had thought was the proper way to prepare a potato for cooking. She could still hear the amusement behind his exasperation as he had finally come back into the hut, draping his rinsed tunic onto the chair close to the fireplace, and had found her hacking away at the potato with abandon, still determined to help him with the stew as best as she could.
She remembered how he had crossed the distance between them with a few quick steps, kneeling behind her and reaching for her hands to stop her from mutilating the poor vegetable any longer. She had tensed in his embrace, unsure what to expect of him, but he had simply reached for the knife and potato and had started to slowly guide her hands, showing her how to strip off the sprouts and peel the wrinkled skin with the blade.
She could still feel his hands on hers, hardened from his long years spent out in the woods and yet strangely gentle, feeling so different from Cedric's smooth, well cared-for skin, and could hear his voice again, talking quietly into her ear, calmly explaining to her the various steps, and not for the first time this day Liliana had been surprised how agreeable his voice could actually sound without its usual sneer.
Sitting so close to him, she had caught a whiff of his scent again, that not unpleasant musky odour which always reminded her of sun and leaves, and for one short, wonderful moment, she had truly felt something close to merriment, kneeling there on the ground, just content to be sheltered in his arms, doing something, and had therefore turned around to smile at him, a free laughter rising in her chest, her fear of him suddenly forgotten.
And then everything had changed again.
He had just stared at her, still kneeling behind her with a strange expression on his face, and then she had seen that fire ignite in his unusual eyes again, and a deep feeling of foreboding had settled in her stomach as he had cursed viciously all of a sudden and had ripped the knife from her hand, startling her with his vehemence.
She heard him move to the chimney again and looked up to see him adding the carrots to the stew, reaching for his makeshift spoon while taking another swig from his bottle, and Liliana heard her stomach grumble audibly as the smell of cooked rabbit and potatoes began to waver through the hut. Would he even give her something from the stew, now that she hadn't been able to do anything to earn the food?
Remembering the look on his face as he had stood abruptly to cast the remnants of her first potato into the fire, she did not think so. She had fled from his bedroll back onto her own blanket, feeling her panicked fear returning almost instantly, and had watched him preparing his food with growing concern and confusion, still not able to understand what she could have done to ignite that simmering anger inside him.
Go, sit in your corner, and be useless, like you've been all your life!
She could still hear his voice, so full of anger and contempt, hissing at her, and felt a strange mixture of emotions rise in her chest, shame surprisingly strong among them. Was it her fault that she did not know how to make stew, or how to cleanse a tunic? Liliana had never thought much about the things she could do with her life, being born to a good-situated family, but now, with his sneering voice still echoing loudly in her mind, she felt like she was lacking something essential, and surprisingly enough, his words seemed to have stuck true.
A flower, just as prissy, fragile and useless as you are. Good for nothing but decoration.
But it did not suit a young lady from a good-situated family to have a profession, did it not? At least that had been her mother's conviction, and Liliana had never questioned it, seeing all her female friends brought up in the same way. So when her mother had told her one day that it was time now to stop being a tomboy and turn into a young lady instead, she had obediently stopped playing with the children of their employees and had begun wearing dresses and learning how to knit and embroider, like all well-educated daughters did.
Not that she had actually wanted to become a tradesman, like her father or Cedric, but she knew that she would have loved to become a bard. From all the lessons she had received, music had always been her favourite, and so she would have loved to visit one of the great conservatoires, like the one in Waterdeep, or in Silverymoon, to improve her skill. The thought of travelling through Faerun, from one festival to another, with her lute on her back and her songs in her heart, had been so enticing, but her mother had not wanted to hear a single word about it, had even tried to stop her musical education entirely after Liliana had talked to her about her plans, no matter how desperately her daughter had begged her afterwards to be at least allowed to continue her studies.
It had been her grandfather who had saved her in the end.
Being kind of a rebel himself, he had left his family in Waterdeep as a youth to let them deal with the trading business all by themselves and had become a blacksmith instead, making his living now in Baldur's Gate together with his wife, where he had made quite a name of his own, for he had been a really talented craftsman.
How she had enjoyed the summers spent in his hunting lodge in the Cloak Woods as a child, spending most of the days out in the woods and on the heels of the scouts, dogging their footsteps like a shadow, eager to watch them following tracks and setting up traps during the hunt.
But when her moon's blood had finally started, her mother had insisted that she kept away from what she had always called the men's fancies and started to spend her time with the women of the family instead, just like every well-educated daughter would. Liliana had never truly understood why Damian had been forced to take part in the hunt, although he would have loved to stay behind and spend his time learning and reading, while she had hungered to be out in the woods again but had been forced to stay behind, listening to the gossip of the women.
But her grandfather had known, and had been the only one who had understood what it had meant for her to be forced to give up her musical studies as well, and had therefore done all in his power to help her.
So a few weeks after her mother had decided to end her musical education, and all the discussions that had been led with her parents after that, Liliana had gotten a large package from her grandfather, and had been more than surprised to find a harp inside the wooden box, one of the most beautiful instruments she had ever seen. She would never forget the sour expression on her mother's face while her father had made his way around the box, admiring the harp, before he had finally turned around to face his wife, a coaxing smile on his face.
"Well, my dear, you have to admit that our Lily has truly been gifted with musical talent, and it would be such a shame to have an instrument like that in our house and noone who actually knows how to play it."
And so she had been allowed to continue her studies even against the reluctance of her mother, had learned how to play the harp and the lute, and had actually found comfort in her calm, leisurely way of life. But now he had forced her to face the fact that, in truth, she had no talents at all that would help her out here in the wilderness, away from a city and her protected life, and the truth tasted like bitter wine, its sour taste choking her.
Well, I think I could offer to embroider his tunics, maybe with some kind of ivy runners… or even another woodland motive.
An image of him, wearing such a fancy piece of cloth, came suddenly to her mind, and she giggled before she could stop herself, because the thought alone was just too funny to keep herself from laughing. Then she frowned, quickly casting him another fearful glance out of the corner of her eye, and was relieved to see him still sitting in front of the chimney, staring into the fire and taking a swig from the bottle now and then, and sent a quick prayer of thanks to the gods that he hadn't caught her giggling, unsure what he would have done to her if he had.
He suddenly got to his feet again, and so she quickly averted her eyes, as she did not want him to think that she had been staring at him, and heard him walk over to his backpack once more, rummaging in its depths before he made his way back to the fire after a while, now carrying a wooden bowl and a small spoon in his hands.
Liliana watched as he started to fill some stew into his bowl and then sat down to eat, her stomach churning longingly at the pleasant smell that now filled the hut. That was another thing she had never expected - he, being an adept cook. Her stomach gave a loud, grumbling sound, and she quickly pressed a hand onto her belly, afraid that the noise would catch his attention.
But he simply continued eating, still not sparing her as much as a glance, and she felt a surprisingly strong wave of bitterness well through her while her heart became terribly heavy all of a sudden. Yes, that was exactly what she had expected of him. Whatever glimpses she had thought to have seen during the afternoon, there was no kind man hidden beneath his hostile exterior. He was cold and cruel right down to the very core of his being - and what else had she expected from a man like him, someone who seemed to make a living with murdering people for gold?
She saw him get up to refill his bowl, feeling the spiteful and childish desire to see him suffocate from his oh-so delicious stew, as he suddenly turned around and walked over to her to throw the bowl down close to her feet, spilling some stew onto the wooden beams.
"Eat!", he growled before he finally returned to his place in front of the fireside, without casting her as much as a glance again. For the length of several heartbeats, she could do nothing but stare numbly at him and then at the bowl in front of her, her mind racing.
Then her stomach gave another grumbling sound, and she hastened to reach for the food, not caring that she burned her fingers in the process, and started eating, forcing herself to take it slow, just like he had told her this morning. The stew was hot and delicious, tasting of rabbit and vegetables, but with a surprisingly strong undercurrent of mint and spice, and in her starved state, it truly tasted like heaven.
She finished her bowl with a small, contented sigh, feeling warm and sated for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, and sat up to watch him still sitting in front of the fireside, staring broodingly into the crackling flames.
I just don't understand him.
How come he… Bishop… could act so cold and cruel all evening, and yet give her something to eat? She watched the light of the fire play with his sharp features, the lines of his face still hardened with anger and frustration, as a surprising thought suddenly came to her mind, making her shiver.
What if all that anger had not been directed at her? What if he had actually been angry with himself? Angry for being… calm, and almost friendly, sitting beside her and showing her how to cut a potato, when he was supposed to kill her in a couple of days?
Got to make a living somehow. Not all of us have rich parents, happy to pay for every whim.
He had been travelling with the Knight-Captain, had even loved her deeply, from what she could tell. In all the tales she had heard, the lady and her companions had never returned, had died during their heroic attempt to save Neverwinter from the King of Shadows. What could that do to a man, losing the woman he loved, losing his place in life, ending up alone in a cold world, with all hope suddenly gone?
Got to make a living somehow.
What if he had been forced to do this, had known no other way of making a living, maybe wondering all the time what his love would have to say to him, could she see him right now, murdering people for gold?
She cast him another sharp glance, taking in the hard glow in his eyes and the bitter lines around his mouth, and, surprisingly enough, felt something close to pity for him.
The woman he loved died to save her city. If it had been Cedric, I think it would have killed me as well.
And if there was a glimpse left of the man he had once been, the man the Lady-Knight of Crossroad Keep must have fallen in love with, maybe she could still work out a truce between them, could find a way of keeping the peace until she had been found and rescued, could try to work around his anger. Maybe even find a way to keep him from hurting her. But how?
Stop being useless anymore. Start carrying your own weight.
Her determination suddenly rekindled, she quickly got up and walked over to the tub, his bowl and spoon firmly in her trembling hands. Casting him a nervous glance out of the corner of her eye, she threw the dishes into the cool water and started to scrub away at the bowl and the spoon with her bare hands, trying to clean them as thoroughly as she could.
All the time she spent washing his dishes, he continued to ignore her, simply taking another swig now and then from the now noticeably emptied liquor bottle. But as she started to drag the tub across the floor towards the door of the hut, he finally got to his feet with a vicious snarl, and his eyes glittered unnaturally bright in the dim light of the fire as he slowly approached her, his posture still tense and hostile.
"What the hells do you think you're doing?"
The violent anger in his voice made her want to cringe and retreat back against the wall, but she forced herself to stand her ground, determined to stay calm, no matter what he would do to her. If she wanted to be treated more kindly, she had to show him that she could be strong. That she was not afraid of him anymore.
"You said I … I should start earning my food. There was still some water in the tub, and so I thought I could clean the dishes before I emptied the tub outside. That's all."
He snorted derisively.
"Did you really think that cleaning the dishes and making my ears bleed from that screeching noise would earn you some food?"
She met his burning eyes squarely, careful to hide her shaking hands behind her back to keep them from view.
"No. But I…could…"
There was a strange light in his eyes as he walked closer and closer, slowly, his glittering eyes reminding her uncomfortably of a predator again, and Liliana was forced to muster every ounce of strength she possessed to stand her ground, her hands balled into fists, swallowing nervously.
He approached her until he finally stood so close that she could feel his body, lightly pressing against hers, and then leaned into her to whisper quietly into her ear.
"I have an idea how you could earn your food, princess!"
His voice sounded unusually hoarse, holding a strange undercurrent that made her shiver, and her eyes widened as she caught a whiff of liquor and wild berries in his breath, realising for the first time that he actually was quite drunk. That strange light in his eyes, his deliberately slow movements…
Then she felt his lips, wandering from her ear and down the column of her throat, their touch tentatively light, tasting her, and she felt herself go rigid under his caress, her heart now beating like a frightened bird in her chest.
I have an idea how you could earn your food.
Oh, Gods, please, no…His mouth wandered over her neck, tenderly, probing, sucking softly, and she felt goose bumbs rise all over her body as a strange feeling welled through her. Was it fear? It had to be fear, what else could it be…
She heard a small moan escape his lips as his mouth touched her ear lobe again, nibbling gently, and felt like her whole body was trembling violently all of a sudden, his scent invading her senses, and for a fleeting moment, she thought her knees would give out beneath her, and without thinking she reached up for his shoulders to steady herself.
That only seemed to encourage him, because with another moan, he pressed himself even harder against her, his hands grabbing her waist, pulling her closer, and yet his lips traced a line of feathery light kisses along her jawline, ever so gentle, nearing her mouth while his hips brushed against hers, and she felt…
No!With a small, panicked yelp, she withdrew from him, pushing her hands firmly against his chest and then hastily stumbling a few steps back, the tub now between them, and her heart was still beating frantically in her chest, her breathing quick and shallow.
"Please, I… I can stitch. Fetch your clothes. Cross-stich, the Tailor's stich… whatever you like!"
Even in her own ears, her voice sounded unnaturally high and breathless, and a part of her cringed inwardly as she heard her babbling, but one look at his face was enough to keep her talking, aimlessly, without stopping, just to distract him, calm him down, make him look away…
"All you have to do is lend me needle and thread, and I can repair your clothes nicely for you, to earn my food. You'll see!"
For the length of several heartbeats, he just stared at her, the smouldering gaze of his eyes making her knees weak and her hands tremble even more violently, and she could feel her blood pound strongly in her ears, the strange emotion that still welled through her intensifying under his burning stare.
Please, don't look at me this way…
For what seemed an eternity, he just stared at her, his eyes boring hard into hers, until he finally averted his gaze, growling in his usual scathing voice.
"Fine. Certainly worth more than a moment of cheap gratification."
His gaze returned to her, his eyes still burning, but his face a cold, unfeeling mask again, revealing none of his emotions.
"And my cloak needs some fixing. But mess it up, little mouse, and I can promise you will go hungry for the rest of your life."
She swallowed hard as she finally understood the hidden meaning behind his scathing words, but somehow found the strength to keep her voice calm and steady, if only a little strained.
"I will… I will see to it first thing in the morning."
He grunted, a sound that she interpreted as a kind of agreement, and then inclined his head sharply in the direction of the wall, that biting sarcasm still very prominent in his voice.
"Sit down and put out your foot.", he growled commandingly.
She reluctantly walked back to her corner of the hut, giving him a wide berth while her heart still beat madly, watching him with growing concern as he took the key from its chain around his neck to fasten the ring around her ankle once more, and hurried to lay down on her blankets as he finally retreated back into his corner, her body still shivering, but not solely from the cool nightair that ebbed through the fissures in the wood.
Maybe things would change between them. But somehow, she couldn't believe that things would change for the better anymore.
