Disclamer: I own nothing in this world. Even the atoms in my weird head are rented stardust. Bioware claims to own Bishop and Casavir and Neverwinter Nights; good luck to them. As for Ingrid, you can't claim to own a force like that.
Chapter 3. Casavir
A year dies and another year is born. After many travels and misfortunes, she reforms the Sword of Gith. As she admires the silver shards circling around her and assembling into the shining miracle in her hand, she notices the way Casavir looks at her. As if she is a miracle herself and he will lose her at any moment. And this is how she knows he is ready.
He approaches her as they return and asks if they might speak. They walk over the fortifications, and admire the moon together, and he finally pours his heart out into her palms. She accepts him and smiles and asks him to shelter her under his cloak. They exchange a short vow, and their fates are sealed together. She leads him up to her chambers.
He is hesitant. Suddenly, his mature, hardened face is soft and young. He is older by a decade, but Tyr is a strict master, and in this aspect, he is a timid boy inside a powerful man. She helps him strip off his breastplate, his arm pieces, his leggings and all the other shells that clink against the floor. She steps into his embrace and melts into him finally. The feeling of his unprotected skin under her fingers is so divine that she tries to reign in her anticipation for a while. Naturally, she fails.
He touches her sleeve gently, uncertainly, as if asking for permission. She guides his callous, scarred hands to her clasps and laces and folds her fingers around his as they struggle over them. She is patient. She wants him to discover and reveal her body on his own. When the task is done, she takes a step back and allows him to gaze at her and take her in. He seems mesmerized. Desire runs across his face in hot waves, and his cold blue eyes are not cold at all. In a wave of focused, determined motion he lifts her off her feet, hugs her to his chest and in three wide steps reaches the bed. He lays her down gently, as if she is fragile. She beckons him to her, and he follows.
He is reverent and so afraid to crush her, he is hovering over her and she can hear his heart racing. This is sweet. She prompts him to lie back and takes the lead. She loves him so much she wants to cry with the power of the feeling. It blooms in her blood. She rocks slowly. Of course, he does not last. Of course, he has heard enough exaggerated stories to be ashamed of it. We have all night, she whispers to him tenderly as she curls at his side and continues to explore his body. We have a few months, may be a year, she thinks privately, but she does not say it aloud. He already knows.
She does not need words to teach him, but she enjoys telling him about her sensations and watching him tremble at the incredulity of this happening. This science is art, it is very difficult to do it wrong if you have the right intent. A kiss, a touch, a stroke, a caress, and passion is ignited. He is a quick learner. Before long, he grows back into his brave self. He explores her, he reads her gasps and breaths and sweet whispers like a map. His eyes drink her in, and she basks in his love and admiration. They cannot have enough of each other, and even as their hunger is satisfied, they cannot part. She breathes in his sweat and he smells intoxicatingly good. He cradles her in his arms – she is so small compared to his torso – and as she drifts into her dreams and her loving whispers grow fantastical and cease, Casavir feels that his whole soul is taking root in her.
In the middle of the night, she wakes up and sees that he is not asleep. Instead, he is watching her sleep. Their bodies work their magic again, and later she curls up at his chest and he falls asleep with his lips touching the top of her head, his arms entwined around her. As she closes her eyes and listens to his steady, strong heartbeat, Ingrid suddenly thinks about Bishop. Where are you, she wonders sleepily. Are you alive, she inquires his ghost in her mind.
Little does she know that Bishop is in Merdelain, with the King of Shadows himself. He has just lowered his bow – the bow she had charmed for him. He has proven how deadly he is. He is bargaining his price. He names her, alive, free from the shard inside, and the King of Shadows is amused. He leads Bishop to a flat round mirror. The mirror rests on the table, black waves ripple across its surface, and Bishop is flooded with apprehension. After a short, sharp incantation the emotionless, cold-bloodied, fleshless, passionless creature shows Bishop the two lovers asleep and asks mockingly if this is the woman his new minion desires to own in exchange for his service. Bishop stares at them. He stares at the way she has melted into Casavir's chest like he is able to shield her from all the world, at the way his breath kisses her hair, at their serene faces, at their fingers folded together.
Jealousy, hate and grim determination fill him to the brim. The King of Shadows chuckles and it is crystal clear that the creature has already reached out into his mind and sifts through his memories, prods the worst ones and constructs his future servant's motivation to his liking. Exposed, naked, defenseless, Bishop feels the King of Shadows brush upon the geas that covers that night and the filthy lying beast does not notice it. Neither the memory, nor the little trapdoor concealing it. Bishop opens his mouth and makes an unexpected decision. He turns back to the creature and demands a different price. He wants to be at his side when the King of Shadows kills these two. He is of course granted this much cheaper price. He pushes his jealousy and hatred to the surface and cloaks himself in them.
Yet deep, deep in his mind he treasures the determination secretly. These two must live. When the hour comes, he will help them slay the shimmering beast. He can already see a gap where his arrow will fit nicely, and an opening for Casavir's hammer, and he can practically smell the raw fear the creature harbours for Ingrid's sword. Until that hour, he will be very good at wearing this mask, the mask of a betrayer.