Sunset Tears Chapter 10, a neverwinter nights fanfic

This is an AU. I'm not a stickler for accuracy in the details of the Neverwinter universe such as gods etc. but I do try my best. This story does have explicit sexual content, 18+. If you are offended by sexual themes don't start reading! There is artwork for this story at my deviantart account under aeltari.

"I need you to teach me how to use the bow." said Kyrie looking down at Bishop.

"Don't think so." He responded, pulling it up onto his lap.

"We need to eat more then just rabbits. I…I'm not doing very well."

He shifted onto his other hip and turned his head away. "Remind me again why I should care. Wait…it doesn't matter. I won't give a damn anyway. You aren't touching my bow. "

"You have to sleep sometime."

"And? Still won't help you use it properly." He shot out one leg in a sweep, trying to hit her. He wasn't even close. She had learned to stand out of his reach.

Kyrie resisted the urge to reach down and slap him; he was at such a great disadvantage it didn't seem right no matter how abrasive and violent he was.

She sat down cross legged, and pulled a large stick towards her. She poked his leg. Then she poked his hand. Then she poked his mid section. He lashed out each time with a foul word, but not once did he hit the stick.

"Stop being so out of control." she said. "If you want to hit the stick, concentrate on it, find it, and hit it. Your mindless lashing is a useless waste of energy."

She began to poke him again. She watched as he turned his head this way and that, trying to track it. He got angry, he let out a string of foul words, but continued to lash out mindlessly.

"Your vision isn't the only sense you have, Bishop. You were a ranger, you used other ones. Stop being so angry at everything and use them."

Bishop snarled at her in his customary charismatic fashion, then he sat still, his eyes closed. Kyrie made to poke him again, and he suddenly lunged for the stick, catching it in both hands. He wrenched it free from her with a yell and struck out, hitting her very hard on the shoulder. She yelped in pain and shock. He was on his knees then, bringing it down again and again. Kyrie couldn't move away quick enough, and she got caught in her skirt. The stick hit her in the head, then on her legs as she scrambled away.

Karnwyr leaped at Bishop and tore the stick from his hands, then stood and howled and barked until Bishop sat back down, breathing heavily.

Kyrie had crawled to the other side of the camp and wrapped herself up in the blanket. She was trembling, her sunset eyes large and liquid with unshed tears. She supposed she had deserved his ire then, what with poking him the way she had, but she wanted him to stop feeling sorry for himself just because he was blind. Her shoulder and head hurt, her legs stung terribly and with a sob she felt the warm flood of tears course down her cheeks.

"What in the nine hells are you crying about?" yelled Bishop.

"You hurt me," said Kyrie quietly.

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That night she awoke to find Bishop crawling through the camp on all fours, feeling his way around, his bow forgotten beside the boulder. Karnwyr had lain next to Kyrie, trying to muzzle his way under the blanket. The night was very chilly and she shivered despite the blanket and the warm wolf. The pain in her abdomen was back, and she rubbed it gingerly.

She was starting to feel that she would be trapped with the monstrous, cruel Bishop til she died. She needed to leave this pathetic camp but she couldn't leave him alone and helpless. It wouldn't be long until he died in some awful way, especially if anything ever happened to Karnwyr. The stark reality was that the wolf wouldn't live forever, and Bishop needed to be in a town, hopefully with people who would help him. She sighed. His nightmarish behavior would make it hard for anyone to reach out to him, but she hoped that if he were desperate enough perhaps he would keep his temper in check. Thinking of leaving this place gave her some comfort and Kyrie drifted off to sleep. She kept an ear on Bishop, but he ended up thankfully passing out somewhere not too close by.

The following day Karnwyr was long in returning with the morning meal. Without the wolf's protection, Kyrie avoided Bishop entirely. Although the animal was obviously his companion, the wolf seemed to have adopted her and shown a strange sense of wariness towards Bishop in regards to Kyrie. She remained curled up by the log, tightly wrapped in the blanket. The nausea was back, and Kyrie had to wonder if it wasn't another by-product of the headache she had suffered from the stick's blows.

She watched Bishop crawl from his sleeping place and feel his way around the fire pit.

"Karnwyr! Come!" he ordered.

There was no responsive shuffle, whine, or lick to his face. He called again. He crawled around the pit once more, and called to the wolf. The desperation was mounting in his voice. He turned his head from side to side, then tilted it, listening.

Kyrie remained motionless.

Bishop stood up, hands outstretched, and took a few steps away from the pit. He was trying to find his boulder, his safe zone, she thought. He began cussing at the wolf, yelling for him. Then he called for Kyrie, using every adjective for female he could think of.

Stumbling helplessly through the camp, he fell several times, but kept trying to find his boulder.

Bishop was going in completely the wrong direction to find what he was looking for. He got to the edge of the camp and stumbled into the field. He realized that he was no longer in his camp and called for the wolf again. Then he ran forward a few steps and fell in the grass, enraged and yelling.

He sat there afterwards for a long time, and Kyrie went back to sleep. She awoke to his bellowing for the wolf again, taking awkward directionless steps. A bird flew out from the tall grass, and Bishop swung his arms at it, shouting. He continued his panicked flinging at every sound the field gave up. She could hear the terror in his voice as he called for the wolf, and for her.

He no longer used colorful adjectives to describe her, resorting simply to woman and girl. Karnwyr had never left his side for this long, of that she was sure. She had to admit that she was also growing concerned about the animal's absence. Many hours had passed and there was no sign of the wolf. She looked across the campsite at the bow and quiver. She would have to figure out how to use it to keep them alive if Karnwyr didn't return. She had grown attached to the big grey beast and was worried.

Perhaps she needed to try and find him, but what to do about Bishop and his aimless wandering?

Kyrie unfolded herself from the blanket and stood up, following him. He was still in the field moving towards the little forest, walking unsteadily like a drunken soldier.

You do need someone, she thought watching him sadly. No one can go this world alone.

Bishop kept wandering, hands outstretched, yelling curses at the gods, at the wolf, at her, at people and places she had no idea about. There was no sun's heat with which to check his direction, so he just moved aimlessly lost and slowly step by step his rage dissipated. He reached the small, sparse forest, hitting his head hard on a tree when his hands failed to notify him of it.

He sank to the ground and crawled for awhile, then Kyrie saw him sit back against a tree, his arms wrapped around his knees, head down. She walked closer and heard the sobs tearing from him. She knew he would probably attack her viciously when she came near, but she couldn't stand to see him suffer. Whoever he was now, he had once been a ranger, a self sufficient harbinger of the wilds. Now the wilds he loved had turned into a deadly prison. Whatever had happened to blind him was fairly recent and had ripped away everything he knew. His fear was palpable.

Kyrie stood beside him and put her hand on his head. He turned and wrapped his arms around her legs, his head against her thighs, and wept like a lost child.

Karnwyr had dragged a small deer to the camp, and lay beside his prize, panting heavily, eyes smiling.

Kyrie had led Bishop back by walking backwards holding both of his hands. He had held very tightly to her, and often he would stop, the very act of walking an exhausting trial. She encouraged him by telling him how far they were.

Reaching his boulder she placed one of his hands on it then placed his bow in the other. He sighed gratefully and sank down, legs drawn up.

Kyrie proceeded to skin the deer, the knowledge obviously something she had had before, laying the skin out to dry. She cut the meat up as best she could with Bishop's dulling knife, and the wolf set to cleaning the meat off the bones. She tried not to look at his bloody muzzle as he devoured the internal organs.

When he was finished she tossed the remains as far from the camp as possible, and the ravens came down for the feast.

She cooked up the rest.

Bits of bark she had collected and scraped out served as their plates, and they shared the battered cup between the three of them. When she placed Bishop's meal on his lap he reached up a hand, grasped her skirt and pulled her down beside him. She sat awkwardly down, and he reached an arm around her neck and pulled her close. With the other hand he took a piece of the deer from his 'plate' and tried to feed her, missing her mouth entirely. She caught his hand and brought it to her lips, taking the meat from him.

Bishop did not eat a single bite of the meat until Kyrie said she was full.

"We have to start exploring a bit, Bishop" she told him one morning. "If you don't want to come, I understand, but I have to find out where we are."

He had been very quiet the last several days, since the incident in the forest. He held onto her during every meal, and if she moved around the camp he would call out "where are you?" several times, even when Karnwyr was right beside him. His violence seemed to have dissipated, and he allowed her to wash and shave him regularly without so much as a complaint.

"I want to go with you," he answered. "You know, just in case."

She didn't ask in case of what, being blind didn't give him the luxury of defending her or himself "in case" of anything.

"Alright, tomorrow we will explore around here some, get you used to walking better. Don't worry Bishop, you can keep a hand on my shoulder or hold my hand if you like. We won't be going far."

Kyrie stood up and looked for Karnwyr. The wolf appeared from the field and bounded over, a stick in his muzzle. She proceeded to toss the stick for him, marveling that a wild animal would be interested in such domestic dog games. Karnwyr retrieved that stick and several other things including a rock and when he tired of retrieving began to invite her to wrestle with him.

Kyrie got down on all fours and reared and woofed like a wolf, giggling like a child, pretending to wag an invisible tail, rolling around on the earth with the animal for a bit. Stopping to rest, she looked over at Bishop, and stopped short when she saw his face.

He was smiling, all the way to his amber eyes and she was struck at how truly handsome he was. Her breath caught in her throat and she crawled over to him.

"I do wish you would do that more," she whispered. Bishop, the smile remaining on his lips turned his head towards her. He raised a hand and tentatively searched for her face. She moved closer, eyes closed, and his fingertips touched her forehead, trailing down her eyes, over her nose and lips. He stroked her cheek, then laid his hand on the side of her face. Reaching with the other hand he touched her shoulder and pulled her down into his arms.

She fell awkwardly onto him, and he held her like a child holds a beloved stuffed toy.

"What do you look like?" he asked one day as she shaved and washed him up.

He was wearing only his breeches, she had painstakingly washed his clothing in the cave river and lay it out to dry. He had still not let her out of his 'sight' once. They walked with his hand on her shoulder, and he had taken to lifting his feet high off the ground, like a fancy parade horse, when they were in unfamiliar territory.

He carried the quiver and bow with him even though she doubted he could use it at all. It gave him a feeling of security.

"I have black hair," she said simply. "Its long, and I have it hanging loose most of the time."

"What color are your eyes? Probably green, like summer grass."

"Bishop, I sincerely doubt you could guess the color of my eyes."

He laughed and slapped his knee. "Sounds like a bet! You're on! So what do I get if I'm right, huh?"

"You can have an extra helping of meat at dinner." She offered, smiling.

"Nuh-uh. If I'm right, I get to kiss you. Deal? I guess your eye color, I get a kiss."

As Kyrie was sure he never would, she agreed and sat down beside him in the grass.

His lovely amber eyes fixed unseeingly on her. He reached out a hand and ran his fingertips gently down her face, then grasped a handful of her hair and let it strain through his fingers. His voice was gentle, more gentle then she thought him capable of.

"Your hair is wavy and heavy when it's wet, but once the wind has it, it takes on a life of its own and straightens out like wild grass. When you are angry, you chew on a finger and stare at the ground. Someone, somewhere in your bloodline wasn't human but angelic. Your greatest strength is your heart, there is no one too far beneath your notice to care for. And your eyes…"

Kyrie's breath was already shallow with shock. He was right on all counts.

"...there are few things as beautiful as a summer sunset, and to look in your eyes is to see exactly that, the golden rays of the setting sun as it falls beneath the horizon. The lady with the sunset eyes…" he stopped and closed his eyes and was quiet for a long moment.

"H…how did you ever guess that?" Kyrie asked softly.

"What? I was right?" he asked incredulously. He threw his arms up in a victory gesture. "What are the chances of that! You owe me a kiss, girl!"

He stood up and reached a hand down for her. She fully expected him to grab her forcefully and plant it with all the dignity of an orc, and she braced herself.

Bishop drew her to him slowly, slipping an arm around her waist. His other hand touched her hair, her neck, traced the lines of her cheek and jaw. With two fingers beneath her chin, he tilted her head up, and tenderly brushed her lips with his once, then again. The amber eyes were closed, and the hand at the small of her back trembled slightly.

He kissed her again, this time his lips were parted slightly.

"Bishop, I…can't…" she tried to pull away, something in her mind screaming at her, but he held her firm, his cheek against hers, before pressing his lips to hers again, and this time she didn't resist.

Kyrie curled up in her blanket beside the log, as she did every night, Karnwyr beside her. The fire blazed, their bellies were full, and soon she dozed off. She woke up not long after to see Bishop crawling across the ground towards her, dragging his blanket. He curled up with his head on her hip, his hands between his knees.

"I don't want to be alone" he whispered.

Kyrie touched his head gently and went back to sleep.