He was in the hanging iron cage next to me, bloody and bruised. Another cage held a dead prisoner, burnt beyond recognition. Below us, lava bubbled hungrily as though waiting for us to be dropped in. A black sigil stone sat on a pedestal not too far away, though it was much too far to take and escape.

Our bodies were bare, gashes cut deep into our skin. They were fresh, blood dripping from each and every one. His eyes were dull with pain, and I had no doubt mine were, too. His thin arm hung out lazily, black and blue beaten into his skin.

I lurched forward, causing the chain holding my cell to swing. When I tried to speak, I had no voice to cry or shout. Mute, trapped, and terrified, like pigs waiting to be slaughtered. Except we weren't pigs, and our executioners found more excitement in torture than death. We would be their playthings for an eternity if they so wished. We were at their mercy- and these crimson creatures had none.

Blood and sweat trickled down the man's temple, and his eyes slowly started to close. The red lightning-streaked sky above thundered as I screamed silently, focused only on myself. I couldn't think, petrified by my situation.

Up the stairs came the familiar clanking I dreaded so much, sending a fresh wave of terror through me. Despite knowing its futility, I began shaking at the iron cage in desperation to escape. If I managed to get out, maybe I could reach the sigil stone and close this gate, end my torture...

"Churl... Dian," the Dremora Caitiff hissed, boots hitting the brimstone floor with thuds that echoed in the demonic tower. "I am eager to spill your blood once more." Its wicked black eyes wandered to the half-dead man in the cage next to me. "So simple, so easy, to break a mortal."

I didn't know how long I'd been here, but it felt like an eternity. Maybe it had been, and perhaps I'd be here for the rest of time.

I tried once again to shout, scream, say something, but again my words never passed my lips. The Dremora gave a guttural laugh, striking my heart with fear. It was so unearthly, a sound that shouldn't even exist. "You're ours," it gurgled as though reading my thoughts. It walked over to a lever. I knew it well, and the very sight brought waves of dread down upon me. "Dagon will hold you forever."

It pulled the lever, and a loud clang echoed around the blackened tower walls. My cage didn't move, but the grating sound of a rusty chain still struck me. The morbid realization hit me, and I again threw myself against the iron cage. Though the fear tensing his emaciated body was unmistakable, the man was silent in his descent. Lower and lower, he approached the fire and flames of Dagon's lava pit. Now did his voice ring clear, an agonized shriek that shook me to my core. I knew the excruciating torment he was going through. The Dremora cackled darkly once more.

My terror increased tenfold when a second lever was pulled. Ever so slowly, my own cage was being lowered into the lava after the man. I wasn't ready for this again. I never would be. It didn't matter; I couldn't stop the cage. Just as the man had, I finally found my voice and released a deafening scream to the bloodred sky as the searing pain began.

...

I bolted up, though the instant ache from my limbs and head knocked me back to the ground with a moan. Had I been sleeping? What had I been dreaming about? I couldn't quite remember, but there was a dark overtone. Instead of lingering on some dream I couldn't recall, I focused on my current situation.

There was grass below me, wet grass. It had rained recently. Mud was sticking to my hands, along with trickling red water. Red water... the gears in my mind were turning much slower than normal, and it took me a second to register it all. It was blood, coming through several gashes in my skin. Wasn't my-

"Bishop," I breathed, forcing myself up. My vision swam with the sudden movement, along with the migraine knocking me back down. "Where-"

"I'm right here, princess." I snapped my head up, alerted by the nearby voice. Pain once again shot through my skull, and I groaned before trying again slowly. Bishop sat near me, looking slightly better off than me.

"What are..." I winced, feeling at my ribs. "Ugh." I strained to look his way.

"Here, princess." Bishop grasped my hand and helped me up, leaning me against him until he could sit me against a tree. "Take this." He placed a small bottle into my hand, and I didn't have to read the label to know it was a healing potion. I didn't hesitate to down it, blessed relief sweeping through me as my body began to heal itself. "Sorry, we don't have a bigger dose. You don't have any broken bones, though. If anything, you've probably got a concussion. Hit your head pretty hard, huh?" My headache and vertigo were ebbing away. "Feeling better, sweetheart?"

I lowered the near-empty bottle and nodded, my sides itching as the scraped skin knit itself back together. There wasn't enough of the potion to heal the bone bruises inside, but for now, I was just happy to be able to see and move again. "Thanks," I whispered, shifting my position before speaking with more volume. "Thanks," I repeated, louder this time. My eyes wandered over him. "What about you? I'm sure you took quite the hit back there." I reached for him, but he jerked away.

He shrugged. "I'm fine! I'll be fine." I raised a brow, lips pressed together in a tight line. It was clear I didn't believe a word, and he peeked at me before sighing. "Though if we find a spare healing potion, I wouldn't say no," he admitted.

"What, did you give me the last one?" I joked, then quieted when I realized he wasn't speaking. "You did, didn't you?"

He gestured over to his torn leather bag. "The other ones broke. I figured you needed it more." I was honestly touched, though felt more than a little embarrassed for it.

"Oh... thanks," I said lamely. An awkward air settled over us, and I took to petting Karnwyr to avoid speaking to Bishop. Karnwyr whined a bit as he limped over, and I inspected his legs to see if I could figure out the problem.

"He doesn't have any broken bones either," Bishop intoned, craning his neck to see the wolf. "He dislocated his hip, but I managed to put it back into place before you woke up. He'll still be sore for a while." I continued to scratch under Karnwyr's chin, and the wolf's eyes closed as he enjoyed the attention. "So, ladyship." I bit my lip and turned to him. "Still feel like going to Windhelm, or are you calling the adventuring quits?"

I cracked a grin. "You kidding me?" The uncomfortable atmosphere dissipated. "Sure, we almost died, but I refuse to die until I've taken care of my unfinished business. Besides, what's life without someone trying to kill you every ten minutes?" My response elicited a laugh from the ranger, and for once, I saw a genuine smile on his face. "Let's just avoid worshippers of Dagon from now on. Sound good?"

Bishop sauntered over and knelt beside me, petting Karnwyr as well. The wolf was in his glory with attention from us both. "Sounds just fine, princess. Just fine."

...

My head still hurt a bit, but Bishop insisted that Windhelm was only a few hours away. Although I was still somewhat sore from the priestess debacle, I was pushing myself on with the thought that I'd be in a warm and comfy bed soon enough.

The closer we got (or I at least assumed we were closer), the more annoyed Bishop seemed to become. "These people..." I missed his next few words as his voice had lowered into a grumble.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" I leaned in, hoping he'd repeat it. He turned and met my eyes, and though I hadn't doubted it before, it was obvious he was pissed. I was surprised the snow around us wasn't melting from his fire.

"These people think it's cold when they have their cozy little houses," he spat furiously. "Ha!" I'd never heard a more derogatory laugh, which was a surprise given that I'd spent time in Mehrunes Dagon's hellish realm. "I've endured much worse as a child and survived on my own with nothing more than branches to keep me warm." His scowl deepened. It became awkward for a moment.

"So... how much longer?"

Bishop took a deep breath, though appeared no less vexed than before. "Maybe forty-five minutes or so, as long as there are no interruptions." Oh, boy. Here it comes. "Though I'd be more than willing to hold off for a while if you'd like to take a break to warm ourselves up." I wondered if he was only making that comment to keep his mind off the city he seemed to dislike.

"And I suppose that would be in your bedroll?" I drawled, rolling my eyes at the same time.

"However did you guess?"

"Dream on." He chuckled quietly in response and moved to set his hand on my back. "Watch it, Prince Charming," I warned, batting his hand away. It was clear that the epithet was more of an insult than a flirtation. The tension eased out of him somewhat.

"Oh, I'd be just fine with watching you all day- or night- long, princess." His return with the royal nickname had me muttering under my breath, something he seemed to enjoy thoroughly. I searched desperately for another distraction and found Lady Luck to be on my side.

I pointed in the not-so-far distance. "What's that?" I queried, hoping he'd pick up the question instead of constantly throwing sexual suggestions my way. His eyes followed my finger.

"Some sort of cairn." He shrugged. "They're all over Skyrim. I've heard some people say it's where the dragons of old were buried, but if you ask me, it's an old pile of dirt." Bishop snorted before speaking again. "Like dragons were ever real."

I hesitated, thinking of his denial. "Well, it's said that Saint Martin turned into a dragon to fight M-Mehrunes Dagon," I said uneasily, stuttering over the Daedric Lord's name. Bishop clearly noticed me tripping over my words but didn't comment. I hastily continued to avoid any potential questions. "Some kind of joining with Akatosh." It was here that the conversation seemed to intrigue the ranger. He rubbed at his stubbled chin as he pondered what I'd said.

"I think that's different," he said slowly. "The gods, well sure, they're real. But they don't help. At all," he growled. "Sure, here's a blessing or two, let's string our followers along with tiny bits of divine graces so they keep their egos sated." Bishop pursed his lips. "Have you seen them helping anyone lately? And I mean actually helping? Not giving someone the ability to be a tad more eloquent in their speaking or managing to get a better deal trying to buy a spoon." He gestured to the land and sky, and Karnwyr whined as he sensed his master's aggravation rise. "Look at this! The empire, and by extension Tamriel, is torn apart from the Great War twenty-something years ago!" He snapped his fingers, brow furrowing. "And now we've got some civil war on our hands because of one of those damn gods. But when was the last time you saw one of them give a shit about the world they supposedly rule over?

"Take my advice, princess. Don't put your faith in those so-called 'gods.' They don't care about us and never will." His finishing statement was full of conviction, raising my inner suspicion about him experiencing a negative experience with the Divines. My mind wandered for a moment about the golden statue I'd seen in my cell. It had been Mara... right?

"You're right," I found myself saying, mood darkening. If the gods had really cared, they'd have pulled me from Dagon's Deadlands, not some stone manmade prison. "I don't trust any of them, either." Bishop peered over a snowy hill before expertly sliding down. He held out his hands to grab onto me as I followed his path to the bottom, much more unsteady in my descent than him. He caught and set me down with ease before urging Karnwyr to follow our path. The wolf appeared to consider the hill for a moment before jumping lightly through the snow.

As Bishop took the lead once again, seemingly oblivious to my thoughts, I wondered not for the first time just how much he'd gone through.