Chapter LXVII – Rude Awakening

A frantic knock on the door woke him up.

What? It felt like he slept only for a minute.

Fuck, it was still dark out.

He did only sleep for a minute.

Or was it another night already?

Aeyrin was still asleep, blissfully unaware of the commotion, her naked body curled on the bed temptingly.

The knocking didn't stop.

He got up with a groan, looking over the floor to locate some trousers somewhere.

He found the fancy pair by the table, smirking when he remembered how they ended up there. He pulled them up swiftly before turning to the naked elf on the bed. He should probably cover her, in case someone decided to peek in. That was for him only to see.

He grabbed the tablecloth from the floor, forgetting about the empty bottles on it completely.

The loud clattering sounded through the room, the knocking getting even more intense as the person now likely knew that someone was awake.

Aeyrin, however, still wasn't.

He draped the filthy cloth over her, heading towards the door, grumbling.

"What?!" he barked as he opened the door, only to see the paladin's fierce scowl ruining his morning… or night… or whatever.

The tin-head barged into the room immediately, clad in his full-plate armor, catching Bishop off guard and moving past him with no trouble.

"I need to speak with her, there is an urgent… uh…" he stopped suddenly, his mouth ajar as he took in his surroundings. There were empty bottles on the floor along with some spills and food stains from their afterparty – the tablecloth wasn't that big, it was hard to contain their antics. Their discarded clothes were spread out all through the room, some thrown away over the course of the night, some left where they were shed and some kicked into various corners during their exertions. They rarely made use of the bed that night, the floor seemed somewhat more tempting.

His eyes roamed over the side of the room, pausing for a spell on the unceremoniously discarded magical headband, until they finally rested on the elf, covered by a filthy fancy tablecloth, one of her legs peeking from below it, displaying the dirty sole of her stocking.

He slowly turned to Bishop, incredulous look on his face.

"The fuck do you want? Get out of here, tin-head!" he grumbled, eager to get back to bed.

"I need to speak to her, it's urgent," the paladin hissed through gritted teeth.

"No fucking way. We just went to sleep. Get the fuck out!" Bishop growled at him, still standing by the door impatiently.

"You just went to sleep? It's almost morning! What in Gods' names were you…" Casavir stopped himself in realization of the insinuations. He shook his head contemptfully, before explaining with a hint of defeat in his voice: "I need to wake her. There's a dragon."

Bishop narrowed his eyes at him. She was too tired to absorb a soul. Couldn't the tin-head just have it killed and wait for a while? But she would be so pissed if he didn't wake her up and tell her, at least. And the paladin really didn't seem to even consider leaving.

"Fine. Get out. We'll be downstairs in a while," he groaned in annoyance again.

"You think I trust you to do the right thing? You'll likely just lock the door the second I leave. I'm waking her!" Casavir scowled, her eyes returning to her uncertainly, possibly wondering how she could sleep through all that.

"No you're not. She's naked. We need to keep you away from temptation church-boy, so scram," Bishop smirked at him mockingly, inclining his head towards the door again.

Casavir groaned in frustration, but Bishop wasn't sure if it was frustration at the situation or at the idea of Aeyrin, naked, so close to him.

"If you do anything stupid…" he spat at Bishop as he finally moved to the door, his eyes returning for a second on the enchanted headband thrown carelessly to the side of the room.

"Get the fuck out already!" Bishop barked back at him, slamming the door hard the second he was behind the threshold.

He turned to the still sleeping girl covered in a filthy tablecloth, approaching her tentatively, kissing below her ear and stroking over her shoulder.

"Wake up, sweetness, an annoying tin-head wants to get you killed."

They appeared in the common room, greeted by the almost empty tavern with only a sleeping innkeeper with his head lain on the bar and the tall Imperial. His armor was glistening majestically in the light of the lanterns, his head covered with a similarly shiny helmet, two decorative metal wings protruding from its sides.

Aeyrin got the urge to giggle, suddenly realizing why Bishop called him 'tin-head'.

Her head was still spinning lightly and she wobbled on her feet. Now she wasn't certain if it was from the alcohol or from their eventful night before – she still felt sore all over.

"Casavir! Soo good to see you!" she yelled out, stumbling a bit in her steps. Her armor was so heavy, but she felt giddy for some reason, the brief rest filling her with strange amount of energy.

"My lady… you seem… excited…" he narrowed his eyes, looking her over. He looked cross with her. Why? He was fine when they parted ways last night.

"Yeah! Let's go kill the lizard!" she giggled, heading determinedly for the exit.

"It's fucking daft! Can't you just kill it yourself, tin-head? It's really not that hard, even for someone as incompetent as you. She can absorb the soul later, when she's not drunk!" Bishop barked at Casavir, who watched the legendary Dragonborn collide with one of the chairs in the room, sending it tumbling to the floor loudly.

"This is… different. We need her there right away," he sighed, picking up the chair after her as they followed her outside.

"Why? They stay dead for a while. What's so fucking urgent?" Bishop kept insisting as they were making their way towards the gates, his arm darting towards the drunken elf occasionally to support her. He noticed Karnwyr in the shadows, approaching tentatively, but he only shook his head at the wolf again. He wasn't going to help against the dragon and it was safer for him within the city walls, no matter how much he pouted.

"This one doesn't," Casavir proclaimed somberly. "Besides, if it weren't for you, we'd hardly be having this problem," he added through gritted teeth.

"Oh, good. Now the fucking dragons are my fault too. You expanding your repertoire?" Bishop scoffed at him derisively. That man would blame anything on him.

"It's your fault that she's in this state! Your company alone obviously sends her judgement plummeting into the depths of Oblivion."

"Fuck off, tin-head! She makes her own damn decisions. And at least she didn't get bored to death with the evening you planned for her."

"You two!" Aeyrin yelled out, a chastising look on her face, before she stopped herself, her index finger raised, signaling for them to wait.

"E-excuse me for a bit," she did a strange uncoordinated curtsy, before she suddenly ran off alongside the city wall into a shadowy corner.

They stared after her in confusion, but seconds later the situation became clear, as the sound of retching echoed from the corner.

Bishop gave out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. This was gonna end badly. He couldn't care less about the trouble the dragon was causing people; she was in no condition to handle it.

If anything happened to her, he was gonna beat that fucking tin-head to a pulp.

Emptying her stomach of some of the alcohol and the cold morning air did wonders for her drunken state.

Sadly, they also left her in an excruciating hangover.

She groaned as they marched, pressing her head into Bishop's leather armor.

Casavir walked some distance in front of them, throwing them frowny looks every now and then. He was clearly upset over something – maybe disappointed with her unladylike behavior. She had no energy to discuss 'Bishop's corrupting influence' with him, however, and pretended that she wasn't noticing his scowls.

"You said this dragon doesn't stay dead?" she finally decided to break the silence, remembering vaguely his words back at the city.

"The ones we defeated before stayed dead for almost a day. This one, an hour at most," Casavir responded in monotone, not even turning his head back towards her.

Her feet got a bit heavier, her walk now even more reluctant.

"I-is it… black?" she shared a concerned look with Bishop.

"No, my lady… I heard description of the dragon that destroyed Helgen, if that's what you're worried about. This one is different."

She let out a sigh of relief. Still, it was somewhat strange. Mercer also said it took about a day before the dragon came back to life. Why was this one different? It could be just as dangerous as the black one. It could be more dangerous. Divines, she needed to stop overthinking. Her head hurt.

They traveled north to the mountains by the Sea of Ghosts, the cold getting more and more unbearable.

Luckily it didn't even take an hour before the sounds of roars and yelling men and women echoed across the trees.

"I suggest you stay back, my lady, save your energy for when it's down," Casavir finally looked at her, a grim determination on his face as the dragon came into view, a group of Imperial soldiers surrounding it on the ground.

It was different from the ones they've encountered so far. It looked smaller, its head was… flatter and its colors more vibrant, like a lithe predator, unafraid of being seen. It was bright bronze with glints of purple and blue glistening on its scales in the morning sun.

She really was exhausted and hungover, but Casavir's mood was making her anxious and she was getting irrationally irritated with him. Especially with his overprotectiveness.

"What? No! I can fight!" she barked at him, her eyes fastened on him in a frown rather than on the beast.

She set out towards its direction before a strong hand gripped her around the underchain on her upper arm, hard. She stopped, looking over at Bishop with a surprised expression. It wasn't like him to shy away from a fight.

His eyes were on the dragon, a strangely concerned look on his face.

She followed the line of his sight, watching the beast for a while.

After a bit of thrashing against its assailants, it opened its flat maw, a strange purple light forming at the back of it.

The paladin unsheathed his greatsword, running towards the creature, but she was more concerned with watching the unfamiliar attack.

A purple stream of magical energy escaped its maw, enveloping one of the soldiers, his whole body covered with the bright-colored aura. A piercing shriek followed next, filling the air with dread as she watched in stunned silence.

A second later, the man slumped to the ground heavily.

Her breath caught in her throat. She watched the dragon fight for a while longer, but there was no hint of the usual fiery or frosty attacks. She had no idea what to expect. Was it just not using its elemental breath? And what was the purple thing? It looked a little like the black dragon's resurrection power, but… different?

She still understood so little.

And there was no real hope for understanding more anytime soon – the Thalmor were a sketchy lead at best.

She couldn't concern herself now though, she had more pressing issues right in front of her.

She debated for a bit whether to join the fight. Bishop's hand was still firmly around her arm, pointedly holding her in place. Not that she wouldn't be able to escape his grip, but she was uncertain herself. The sinking terror claiming her, assuring her that she was sorely unprepared for whatever was to come.

It would help no one if she died there.

"It's fine. They can handle themselves. Just… I don't know… get ready?" Bishop gave her an uncertain look when she turned her head to him with a frightened expression.

Bishop stepped closer to her, enclosing his arms around her preemptively as they watched the battle unfold. Casavir was rather impressive with his gleaming sword, burying it deep into the beast's neck, eliciting a loud roar of pain from it.

It looked to be almost dead.

Luckily it didn't hurt anyone else since they arrived, she would have felt so guilty for just standing there, not helping when she could have.

She watched it tentatively as it slumped to the ground, the adrenaline making her forget her fatigue and her hangover readily. She couldn't close her eyes this time, watching in trepidation, mesmerized as the familiar white light changed into a strange purple substance, sticking to the scales of the beast, eating through them as if they were melting snow. It stuck to the meat then, devouring it with the same intensity, then to the bones, making them sticky and aglow with purple magic as the insides behind them slowly dissolved into nothing – the only remainder was the shiny white light in the place of its heart.

She turned herself around, burying herself in Bishop's chest with a terrified whimper.

What was going to happen to her?

It felt like she screamed but she couldn't hear a thing. It was on her. All over her. Her eyes were closed but she saw it right in front of her, as if she stepped out of herself and watched from nearby, her whole body engulfed in the purple magic. It stuck to her skin, like a thick layer of clotty blood. Then it started to eat through her, slowly, agonizingly. She felt every inch of her skin prickle painfully, as if tiny little insects bit her continuously and unceasingly. The sensation moved deeper, her skin as if dissipated into the Void. The meat on her bones felt exposed to the cold air, but it soon became engulfed in the same layer, the pain unceasing as it ate through her muscles and sinews, the slow process making her curl into a ball, screaming till her throat went numb. She felt it envelop her bones and gorge on her insides. Slowly she began to feel so empty. There was nothing left of her.

She could smell death.

It seemed like time stopped.

He watched her in his arms, clutching at him, trembling, screaming in pain.

He closed his eyes, pressing her even more tightly into his embrace. He hated these moments. She looked completely fine, at times cold, sweaty or pale, but there were no wounds, no blood, no bruises. But she still screamed, that piercing scream that made every hair on his body stand.

He heard her throat getting sore as the scream turned strained, silencing gradually. A familiar sound by now.

It was almost over now, he could already tell. The trembling got worse towards the end but the screams always stopped.

He sighed out deeply, stroking his hand over her hair soothingly.

But then…

He felt the clutch on his leather weaken, her weight in his arms suddenly slumping. Limp.

Dead.

His eyes snapped open in horror.

No… this was not happening… this couldn't be happening.

He looked over her, not a muscle moving on her body, her face as white as the surrounding snow.

His breathing got ragged, his heart thumping wildly in his chest in panic.

Fuck… he wasn't able to think.

This was not happening.

His mind was blank.

His eyes only saw her, her pale face, her lips, slightly opened, her eyes, closed, relaxed.

He willed himself to look down her body, to see some semblance of moving, breathing… anything.

Suddenly there was a hand on her neck.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. He recognized the bared hand on her as the glinting armor above the wrist blinded him for a second. He didn't take his eyes off her though. He saw the man press his fingers against the side of her throat, checking for pulse.

Bishop was sure that there were loud sounds around him, some yelling, some talking, some screaming. He couldn't focus on any of it.

He was shoved suddenly, her body torn from his grasp, a singe of anger coursing through him at their parting.

He only felt some of his senses return to him when he managed to focus his eyes back on her again – she was laid in the snow some distance away, the paladin kneeling by her, his hands alit with healing magic.

A last hopeless attempt?

No… who would heal a corpse?

She was alive.

"… doesn't seem to be any actual damage. But she is unconscious. I'll need to monitor her closely, to make sure there is no actual threat to her life."

He heard the paladin call out to the soldiers.

What did that mean?

And what the fuck?!

He wasn't going to let him 'monitor' her! He was taking her to the temple, right away!

No way that the paladin would get to interfere with their lives any longer!

This was all his fault!

He thought she was dead because of him.

She might have died because of him.

Fuck, she still could!

His blood was boiling, his heavy breathing getting even more pronounced.

The tin-head ruined everything he touched.

He would not get to ruin her!

Besides, Bishop had promised himself, if anything happened to her…

He rose to his feet, striding over to the paladin with determination and unbridled hatred.

"I will take her back to Caste Dour while you take care of the remains…" the tin-head barked orders at the soldiers again.

Not a fucking chance in Oblivion he would!

Bishop lunged at him as soon as he got close enough, tumbling both of them into the snow with a loud clank of his stupidly shiny armor. Bishop ended up half-straddling the paladin, giving him a vicious sneer as the man's brows shot up in shock. He used the element of surprise to yank that imbecilic helmet off of him, throwing it across the plain before he punched down, hard, right into his face. Then again. And again.

"YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE HER ALONE! YOU ALMOST FUCKING KILLED HER!"

Bishop screamed at him furiously. He was seeing red, struggling with the man's arms that tried to restrain him.

He felt one of Casavir's fists – the one that remained armored – land heavily on his face, his jaw crackling, sending him tumbling away from him.

Not. A. Chance!

He got up immediately, lunging at that piece of trash again. His fist connected with his eye but he earned another hard punch right away, making him splatter blood over the tin-head's polished plate.

Next thing he knew, someone was behind him, restraining him, grabbing his flailing arms.

There was a sudden sharp pain at the back of his head.

Then… darkness.