Author's Note:

Happy Holidays, everyone :)

I hope all of you who celebrate something this time of year are enjoying yourselves and that you're spending this time doing what you love. Like reading :D

Are you all ready for the culmination of this part of the plotline? It's going to be interesting in the following chapters and I have a fun one ready for the New Year's too.

Thank you all for still sticking around and reading and commenting and liking, voting and what have you. I appreciate all your support so much :3

Enough babbling though, let's get to the story.

I hope you'll enjoy it ;)

Chapter CXXI – A Killer Hostage

Where were they?

Why was nobody barging in with weapons drawn? What happened? Where was Aeyrin?

If those fuckers did something to her, Bishop would strangle each and every one of them with his bare hands. He would beat them until he broke every single bone in their bodies.

Fuck, they wouldn't do anything bad to her, would they? They may have been insane assassins, but even they wouldn't kill the Dragonborn, right? They had to realize what it could mean. The dragons taking over the world would probably not be too good for the business.

And it made no sense. If something happened to her, it wouldn't stop the Penitus agents from coming for him. And they obviously weren't here. What happened? Where even was he? Maybe they couldn't get there fast enough. Maybe they had to keep a bigger distance from the assassins and it would take them a while. He should calm down. He wasn't in any immediate danger. He would only be in one once the other assassins returned.

But for now, he was just stuck here, with an insane jester staring at him with a disturbing grin on his face.

Maybe Bishop could take this guy out on his own. He was no longer outnumbered and it was just one tiny Imperial.

Though… granted, the jester was armed with a crossbow on his back and he might have known magic. Bishop only had his hunting knife hidden in his boot. He might get lucky and throw it. Or Cicero might kill him for trying. Would he kill the 'Listener' though?

Bishop really shouldn't get overconfident when he was alone like this, clearly with no backup. This was a trained assassin after all.

Was it though? Cicero didn't look like the rest of them – all menacing, somber and secretive in that black armor. He looked like he would draw stares everywhere and his manner was not that subtle either. More… deranged. He did kind of look like he just fell out of the Shivering Isles. People like that were often more dangerous than calculating killers. They were too unpredictable.

But maybe Bishop could spin it to his advantage. Maybe there was still a chance to learn more, to get some proper explanations. It was probably naïve to be hoping for clarity from this insane nitwit, but what else was there to do? He couldn't stand the disturbing silence and his cavalry was obviously nowhere to be found.

"So… where are w-…" he tried to speak to Cicero, but he was quickly cut short by a disturbing exuberant gasp.

"Tell me more about Mother's sweet words, Listener," Cicero was acting as if Bishop was actually going to do that. He had no intention of humoring this creep any longer. And besides, that was a fucking spike trap waiting to spring. He could say something that would ruin all the pretenses anytime.

"She's not saying anything," Bishop grumbled. "Look, just tell me where…"

"LIAR!" Cicero suddenly yelled angrily. What? Did he figure it out? What the fuck? "Liar, liar, liar, liar!" he continued to rant. "Sweet Mother was silent for so long. So long Cicero dreamed of this. She knows. She would never be silent again now. She would never do this to her poor Cicero."

Fuck, he was insane. Really insane. It was a fucking corpse! What did it care for this sorry idiot?

"I don't know what to tell you," Bishop growled. "That weird voice is gone. I'm still not convinced one of the other assholes wasn't doing that before as some kind of a joke." Pretending to be confused and frustrated felt natural. Shit, he was still confused and frustrated.

"No! You're lying! Mother wouldn't be silent now!" Cicero fumed. Fuck, he was looking really unhinged.

Maybe it would be better to pretend to still hear that voice. Maybe Bishop could still make it work. But before he could make up his mind, Cicero suddenly pulled the crossbow from his back.

"Cicero hates liars!"

What the…?

Bishop barely even saw the bolt. He only realized what happened when he felt an unbearable pain in that same fucking shoulder again. What the fuck was wrong with these assholes?

He barely even realized what he was doing. The pain was consuming everything. He let out a feral scream as he collapsed from his sitting position onto the ground again, clutching the wounded shoulder with a bolt protruding from it. His whole left arm was numb with pain. He could probably not even move it by now. This was gonna be tough to heal.

Bishop continued only writhing in pain, but soon, he felt a presence right next to him again. There were no words, but soon, the bolt got yanked out of his shoulder roughly, eliciting another pained scream. Thank the fucking Gods that the bolt was smooth and with no protrusions at least, but it still fucking hurt like the Void.

"You… you're gonna… fucking kill… your 'Listener'?" Bishop growled, panting as he tried to withstand the pain. Cicero had been so happy about finding him. He would just kill him now? Just because he pissed him off? That was exactly what Bishop worried about when it came to deranged men like this jester.

"Cicero would never! He needs to hear Mother's sweet words. He waited for so long," the Imperial whined. "But you will not lie to me! I know that Mother sings! I know that! I know her! You will tell me what she says or there will be blood. No death, just pain."

Fuck. That was bad. Where the fuck was Aeyrin? Where the fuck were the agents? What happened? He couldn't stand being here with this lunatic any longer.

Bishop was promptly propped up into a sit again, but this time, Cicero seemed careful not to touch the injured shoulder too much. It was an unexpected relief, but it was very short-lived. The next thing Bishop knew, his arms were being yanked roughly behind his back, forcing him to scream in pain again.

"Cannot be trusted. Listener cannot be trusted yet," Cicero mumbled mostly to himself as Bishop felt the tell-tale roughness of a rope around his wrists. "Mother knows best. She makes no mistakes, but she needs time to have her words gain loyalty. Don't worry, Mother. Your faithful Cicero will keep the Listener secure here."

Bishop didn't even have the strength to resist anymore. And Cicero was armed anyway, likely not just with the crossbow. Resisting him further would just bring more pain. But Bishop was getting much more worried about trying to gauge what this 'mother' was saying. Maybe… maybe if he played his cards right, at least the pain could be worth something.

"Fine. I'll talk," he growled. "But you first. I don't understand anything."

Cicero was done with the rope and he stepped in front of Bishop again. He looked somewhat calmer and he did throw him a pondering expression.

"Hmm… Mother can be difficult to understand. Cicero is the one who knows her words best," the Imperial nodded.

How? You can't hear her either, you dumb fuck.

"An answer for an answer. Cicero will play. He likes games," the man said at last, but much to Bishop's horror, he pulled out his crossbow once more.

Bishop couldn't help but flinch at the sight, only making the pain worse.

"The game should be more interesting. Cicero has many bolts," the Imperial pointed to the quiver on his back, filled with sleek metal bolts, as far as Bishop could tell in the dim lighting of that one candle. Granted though, he had gradually adjusted to the darkness pretty well. "Cicero poisons every fifth one. Fifth! Like the tenets. Astrid thinks the tenets are 'antiquated'. 'Relics of the past'," he began making mocking and disdainful faces at those words. Bishop was so confused.

Why did he pull that crossbow out? Why was he talking about poison? Please don't let that be what Bishop thought.

"Astrid… pfft," the man scoffed, but soon, he noticed Bishop's concerned look and he realized himself. "Right! The game! Cicero had a happy day, he gets over-excited. But he remembers now. The game. Answer for an answer. If the Listener refuses to answer or lies, he will get a bolt from Cicero. Careful though. Some might be poison. But maybe the Mother will watch over you."

"I thought you didn't wanna kill me!" Bishop gave him an incredulous stare. This was his idea of a fucking game?!

"No killing. Poison isn't lethal. Cicero would not want to kill targets too soon. It just gets… unpleasant," the jester grinned widely, holding his crossbow up like a prized weapon.

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Bishop really wanted to get rescued already.

"Ask, Listener," Cicero scowled at him promptly. "You said 'Cicero first'. Cicero plays the game right."

Ugh. Fuck. If he refused to 'play', he would just get a bolt anyway. At the very least, he could get some explanations out of this. And maybe he would be able to convince Cicero of 'mother's words' after and not get shot anymore. If he was being held hostage by this lunatic, he might as well make the best of it. He always had with different kinds of lunatics.

He didn't suppose that the game included requests. Like for a potion. Fuck, what he wouldn't give for a healing potion just then.

"How… how did you know it was me? That… that I would hear her?" Bishop asked. Technically, it wasn't him. But Bishop didn't understand what led the assassins to believe that he or any of the other people they had talked about would be able to hear that corpse.

"Not you," Cicero shook his head. "There were more. Each potential could be the one. Cicero has been waiting for so long. So long without the Mother's voice. So long in the emptiness. Until he heard about the family in Skyrim. Survivors. Cicero knew that our future is here. And Mother would choose a Listener here too. But none of the Brothers and Sisters were chosen. But each new one could be."

So they were just testing all their potentials like this, because Cicero believed that one of them would hear it? That Astrid woman did mention that she was done with it and that she was just doing this shit to shut Cicero up. It wasn't a very exciting answer. In fact, it was mostly anticlimactic. This all just sounded like some lunatic's ravings and delusions that other people were fed up with. But why was the Brotherhood even listening to him at all? Who was he? He mentioned 'survivors' in Skyrim. Was he from the Brotherhood from Cyrodiil? The one that Maro wiped out?

"Cicero's turn to play," the jester slapped his hand against his thigh a few times to make a clapping noise while his other hand was occupied with holding the crossbow. Fuck. This was gonna be bad. "Tell Cicero what our sweet Mother says."

Alright. Here goes nothing. Bishop really had no idea what to say. He decided to just make up some cryptic bullshit.

"She…" Bishop paused a bit, pretending to be listening as he looked at the corpse again. Fuck, that thing was creepy. Why would anyone want to listen to a shriveled up corpse? "She's saying that… that the darkness will come soon and… and envelop everything." Maybe this really was what Idgrod was talking about. But that was bullshit, right? It was the Brotherhood – same as ever. Even if they had a talking corpse, which they didn't, they still would just go around assassinating people. It wasn't as if they would suddenly take over the world – become even more pressing than the dragons. Maybe to Bishop personally, but not to the extent to give Idgrod visions, right?

Cicero gave him a weird look. Dubious. He didn't look like he liked that answer. Maybe it really was bullshit, even to him. Bishop had expected him to start clapping again at the 'coming darkness', but ominous doomsayings didn't really seem to be what he was looking for.

"No," he shook his head and Bishop instantly flinched, but luckily, he didn't aim the crossbow at him again. "What does Mother say about her faithful Cicero?" he almost whined as he asked that.

"I think that's another question," Bishop gave him a challenging look.

Fuck, maybe he shouldn't have said that. Cicero looked really pissed at that as his scowl deepened fiercely. But fortunately, once again, he didn't go for the crossbow and Bishop let out a sigh of relief when he spoke instead.

"Fine. Cicero will play right. Ask."

"Why do you call the corpse 'mother'?" Was it his mother? Or was it just a random corpse he decided to worship for some daft reason?

"She is not a 'corpse'!" Cicero screeched angrily. "She's alive. So alive. You should know. You're the one who hears her! You and not… why, Mother? Why?" he looked at the corpse pleadingly, almost desperately, but it was only brief. He seemed to regain his composure in a second and he turned towards Bishop again with a deadpan expression. "She is our Mother. Our Night Mother. She leads us, guides us, protects us. Wife of the Dread Father, she hears the desperate prayers and tells her children. Tells us who needs us."

'Night Mother.' Bishop had heard that before, but he didn't know where or what it meant. Cicero made it sound like this corpse was some kind of a God to him. He was probably delusional. It was just a fucking corpse!

"S-so, she's like a…" Bishop even didn't know what to equate this to. A Daedric Prince? Cicero certainly sounded fanatical enough. But his question got instantly interrupted.

"No more! Cicero's turn!" the Imperial aimed his crossbow at Bishop menacingly. Fuck. He was getting more and more erratic. This wasn't good. "What does the Mother say to her Cicero?"

Fuck. Alright. He was just going to tell this nutcase whatever he wanted to hear. That was the safest option.

Bishop looked at the corpse again, pretending to be listening, before he turned his gaze on Cicero once more.

"She… she says that she appreciates your loyalty. And that she… loves you?" If this psycho wanted to be loved by the corpse, who was Bishop to deny him?

Cicero looked at him in shock for a while, as if he didn't really expect that. He looked… placated. That was good. He looked ecstatic to hear that for a second, but his expressions changed with each second.

Soon enough, his scowl returned.

"NO!" he seethed. "That is not what she said! That's not what she's supposed to say!"

"What the fuck do you want from me?" Bishop growled. This better not be another fucking pass-phrase because he didn't have one. He thought that this was what this insane jester wanted!

"The answer!" Cicero yelled, but Bishop wasn't left with much time to ponder on it as another bolt promptly shot from his crossbow, straight into his shoulder again.

"Fuck!" Bishop growled in pain as the bolt once again penetrated the same wound. One thing to say for Cicero though, he had quite the aim. It hurt so much. Bishop scurried back almost instinctively and pressed himself against the wall. His hands were tied now and it felt like it hurt so much more when they were tightened like that.

He would have thought that he was used to pain like this by now – Thorn had definitely tried enough. But one could probably never get really used to this.

Cicero was by his side within a second and he yanked the bolt out once more roughly – probably not as a favor to Bishop but to have the shoulder free when he would shoot again. Bishop didn't even feel like he had the arm anymore – he just felt the pain constantly. And the fabric of his torn shirt pressing into the wound.

"Not poisoned. Lucky. You're always lucky," Cicero growled angrily. "Ask!"

Shit. Now he was supposed to ask his question? When he was writhing in pain? He felt like he might black out. But he had a feeling that Cicero would just get angrier if Bishop didn't continue the game. He obviously wanted to hear something specific, but Bishop had no idea how to give it to him.

"Who… who are you?" Bishop tried to speak in between his heavy breaths and occasional grunts of pain. "Why do you… why do you care so much about finding the… the Listener? About what she says? You… you don't look like the rest of them." And he didn't act like the rest of them either, besides the tendency to hurt Bishop for being difficult.

"I am the Keeper," Cicero scoffed, as if Bishop should have known that. He didn't even know what the fuck that was. "The Black Hand, five fingers, five Children. Me… and… you." He snarled the last word. Bishop was starting to get the feeling that Cicero was kind of disappointed with his Listener, despite his earlier excitement. This game was not going well. Especially when Cicero pointed at him, way too close for comfort, until his finger pressed against the wound on Bishop's shoulder, making him hiss and wince.

"I protect our Mother. I keep her safe. I find her a home. I find her Children. I take care of her body, preserve it. I talk to her. I love her. And still…" he scoffed.

'Still' what? What was he so pissed about? And... did he say that he 'preserves her body'?

"You… embalm it?" Bishop cringed. "Ew. You touch that thing?" Somehow, even with as unpredictable as Cicero was, he just knew that this was going to piss him off to no end, but what was the point anyway? Everything Bishop said and did pissed him off. There was no winning with this guy. Bishop tried to say what he thought Cicero wanted, but that didn't work either. So at the very least, he could get some fucking satisfaction calling this creep out.

Cicero instantly pressed his finger into the wound, eliciting another scream from Bishop. Fuck, that was worse than the bolts. At least those were quick. He just pressed in, slowly as Bishop could feel every motion. Cicero kept the finger on his wound, or inside it, Bishop wasn't sure with the mind-numbing pain in the entire half of his body by now. He could barely pay attention to the man hissing in his ear.

"Do not disrespect Mother like this. You don't deserve to even speak of her. You will tell me what she says, now!"

It seemed like the game was over. Whatever. It wasn't doing Bishop any favors. He was just pissed now. Pissed that he had to stay here with this lunatic, pissed that he had to constantly worry about where Aeyrin was and whether she was alright – it's been so long. She would never wait if she saw the ring get extinguished.

"She says," Bishop gritted his teeth, trying to fight through the pain. "That you need to stop fucking touching her already. Says it creeps her out, you psycho."

This time, Cicero just laughed. It was much more disturbing than anything else. Much scarier. Even if Bishop didn't know who it was coming from, if he ever heard such insane maniacal laughter anywhere, he would have the urge to run.

The next thing he could feel was an intense burning. He felt heat on his neck, but nowhere else. His shoulder, which was obviously being burned with some spell, couldn't really feel heat anymore. The pain was all there was. He could just smell burning cloth. Luckily not flesh, yet, but he did feel like the torn shirt was being burned into his skin.

He couldn't take this much longer. He didn't even know how much he forgot what this was like. How easy it was to get used to… not being tortured. Last time, Thorn was outright merciful compared to his usual tactics, before he got enticed by the duel, but this really brought back memories. And now when this wasn't a usual occurrence to Bishop, it felt even worse. Maybe he wasn't as angry about it now, more worried than anything, but the pain felt worse without the anger.

He could hear Cicero mumbling. But he couldn't make the words out. Black spots were swirling in front of his eyes until he couldn't help but close them. At least he was pretty sure he did. Maybe it was just all black now in front of his eyes.

It didn't matter, really. The whole world was shutting down around him.

…

It's been so long. So damn long.

Aeyrin feared the worst. The ring had been extinguished for a couple of hours now. At least she was pretty sure of it. Time seemed to drag on with each step the horses made. They had quickened the pace when the light on the ring went out, but it became clear soon that they had been nowhere near Bishop's location yet.

It was excruciating. Bishop could be dead by now and it was all her fault. All because she let herself fall asleep in that damned tub. How could she let that happen? She knew what was at stake. If she felt even a little drowsy, she should have gotten out of that place instantly. So stupid. And now he was in danger and with no help coming. Once again, she had ruined every careful plan they had. It was starting to become an unpleasant habit of hers. And this time it might just turn into a tragedy.

Gods, how she hoped that he was still alive. It was almost physically painful, not knowing what was happening, why he signaled them, what kind of immediate danger he was in. Maybe he was just tied up and locked somewhere? Or maybe the assassins took the ring from him and crushed it themselves. Maybe she and the Penitus agents were now walking into a trap.

So be it. That was still the better option. Anything but the thing she feared the most.

Finally, another glittering light appeared at the road, this time flying a short distance to the side to indicate the change in direction. The Penitus agents had explained the clairvoyance spell to her. The little lights appeared only briefly and sparsely near the caster, but they did that enough to lead one to their target. That was probably why all the roads weren't littered with them from all the couriers chasing their targets. Then again, most couriers probably didn't have to chase their targets into so many various locations – most people stayed where they lived. The lights also didn't lead them through the routes which Bishop took, or was dragged through. They merely led to the target as quickly as possible without obstacles – which mostly meant taking the main roads. It was a little comforting. The assassins would probably avoid those. Meaning that their journey must have been longer. Especially if they had no horses, unlike the agents.

Though Aeyrin knew that those were just naïve thoughts that she kept reassuring herself with. No matter what, Bishop had signaled hours ago. It didn't matter how fast they were – they were already late.

But the change in direction let her hope a little more. Surely when the light led them off the road, it meant that they were nearing some secluded structure or cave where he could be held, right?

'Held'. Not 'dumped' or 'buried'. Don't think about that.

She didn't even want to think how awful it must have felt to have his call for help unanswered. How terrifying it must have been. She let him down. His safety relied on her fully and she couldn't even do that right.

"Something there?" The man steering the horse she was on with him called out to the rest of them.

"A grove. Maps say the locals sometimes call it 'Shrouded Grove'," a woman holding a large map answered as they rode onwards.

"I heard of that. People say that it's so covered with tall trees that sunlight never reaches the grass," another man answered.

"That's ridiculous. How would the grass grow there if it didn't have any light?" the woman chuckled at him in response.

"I don't know, Spriggan magic? I don't know how grass works," he scoffed.

"Quiet already. We're almost there. They could be guarding the grove and overhear us," the man in front of Aeyrin whispered sternly and everyone went silent in an instant. The man had a point after all.

Soon enough, everyone hopped down from the horses. They would have trouble in the rougher terrain anyway and they needed to remain subtle. At least the agents were planning on it.

While the Oculatus men were strapping their horses to the nearby trees, Aeyrin spotted it. It was in the distance and very hard to see between all those trees, but she did notice the glimmer of the light there.

It led to Bishop.

"Alright, we need to prepare accordingly. We don't know what numbers we might be facing," the man with whom she had shared a horse started to explain. He always seemed to be in charge. He had told her his name, but Aeyrin didn't remember it. She wasn't able to concentrate on anything but Bishop.

"We might need to approach with the use of the potions. And we might…"

He kept yapping, but Aeyrin wasn't listening anymore. She couldn't. She couldn't just wait there and talk. Now when she knew where to go, that he would be there. Alive. Please, all the Divines out there, please let him be alive.

She broke into a run. It wasn't exactly subtle, the clanking of her armor gave her away and the Penitus agents quickly caught on. But she didn't stop. She ran towards the light without regard as the last words echoed behind her in a panicked hiss.

"Wait! We need a plan!"

…

"Why? Why, why, why?"

Bishop tried to remember where he was. It was hard to think. Especially with something always happening and distracting him. Either it was the pain in his shoulder, which he did remember all too well, or it was the hand poking into the wound. Sometimes it was a palm wrapping around his neck while angry hissed words rang in his ear, but he couldn't make them out. It was never for too long, just enough to make him rouse a bit from his daze. And sometimes, he just felt sick to his stomach and his head spun wildly. It did kind of feel like poison. He remembered something about a poison. He wasn't sure if it was just a threat or if he really did get poisoned. He didn't know anything for sure.

"Why, Mother?"

Cicero. Again. How long had Bishop been here? Whenever he remembered his predicament at least a little, he couldn't help but get so worried. Something horrible must have happened to Aeyrin. He couldn't stop thinking about it whenever he regained some lucidity. Would the Brotherhood really kill her to get her out of the way?

Maybe this was the end for the both of them. He sure as fuck was getting killed himself the second the assassins came back from Markarth. Based on what Cicero had revealed, they were going to talk to Thongvor, ask him if he called for them. There was a small chance that he would use the opportunity to get rid of someone he wanted and keep Bishop's cover for a while longer, but that was a huge risk that Bishop wasn't going to take. Besides, Cicero was already prodding him so much for some answer that he did not have. What was it he kept asking? He wasn't even talking to Bishop the entire time.

"Why, Mother? Why him? Why not me?"

What did that mean? Did he want to hear the corpse? He probably did. Fuck, what did any of this even matter? They would hunt Bishop down anyway even if Cicero didn't get pissed enough to kill him here and now. And Aeyrin… if they really did something to her… fuck, dying now, that would be the worst thing for her. Dying would generally be a bad thing, but now, she would likely end up in the Hunting Grounds like she feared. This has all gone so fucking wrong. And their plan was so good in theory.

"Look at him, Mother. He doesn't deserve your love! He disrespected you! He doesn't deserve to hear your sweet, sweet words."

Shut the fuck up already, creep.

Bishop squirmed in spot to try and get away from him, but he only got his wounded shoulder pressed firmly. He couldn't help but scream loudly. His throat felt so rough from all the screaming.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"

What? That voice! Aeyrin?!

Bishop's eyes snapped open – he didn't even realize they had been closed – but it took a while for him to adjust to the dim lighting. Before he could see anything, he felt Cicero finally leave his personal space. But next, his gaze was caught on the bright glint of Aeyrin's gold-bronze armor and glittering white underchain. It was good that the armor was eye-catching. He could spot her instantly, even in the dark cave.

But next thing he saw was Cicero lunging at her.

"Watch out!" He yelled. He wasn't sure if Aeyrin was ready for an attack. And he still couldn't see what was happening too well. He didn't even yell very effectively. His voice was so hoarse.

The next moment was so fucking confusing. He saw Aeyrin's mace. But then he didn't see Cicero. He only noticed him on the other side of the cavern, too late to do anything as the psycho aimed his crossbow at Aeyrin.

"NO!" This time he did yell.

But then, the crossbow fell from Cicero's hands with a loud noise and he made a choking sound.

It was so confusing. And Aeyrin looked just as confused. It was hard to see what was happening with the candle flames dwindling already, but soon, a bright light blinded them all.

It took a while for the light to get more manageable. It didn't help as much as they would have liked. It was a magelight – just floating there, illuminating the room, but there was not much more to see than before. Except for Cicero – he was in a strange stance, leaning back awkwardly and trying to balance himself on his feet. He did make some sounds, but they were muffled. And the next second, his arms were yanked behind his back, just like Bishop's still were.

It took only a minute before the figure behind the jester appeared. And so did three others. The rest was probably waiting outside.

"This is why we plan beforehand," the Penitus agent holding Cicero at bay gave Aeyrin a chastising look, but she barely even took a second to register him. She didn't care about their plans anymore. She didn't care about anything at all at that moment. Except for Bishop.

She was by his side in a second and she quickly wrapped her armored arms around him. Bishop couldn't help but note that instead of throwing them around his neck, she realized enough that he was hurt to snake them around his waist. It did slow her down a little, but it did not stop the force of her hug in the slightest. She was practically squeezing the breath out of him.

Even the pain didn't seem so bad when she was there. She was alright.

"Princess, fuck," he almost chuckled into her hair as she nuzzled her face to him. Her hand gently snuck towards his shoulder in the meantime to very carefully pull off the singed cloth sticking to his open wound. He still couldn't feel his arm. But that was the least of his worries just then. "I was so worried about you."

"About me?" Aeyrin gave him an incredulous look before she planted a firm kiss onto his lips. "What about you? This was the last time, you hear? I'm the only one who gets to do insane plans from now on."

"Back to the old ways then," Bishop let out a hearty laugh, though the motion of his chest hurt him. It was still so fucking amazing to see her there.

"I hate to interrupt the moment," one of the Penitus agents cleared her throat to indeed interrupt them. "But we need to know who else to expect."

"Three of them. They'll be back, probably," Bishop nodded. He felt so much more lucid all of the sudden. The shock and sudden action did wonders for that.

"Where are they?" The agent holding down Cicero asked. The jester seemed to be twisting his arms strangely, probably trying to get out, but after a second, the woman gave the Imperial's captor a meaningful nod. The next moment, something clattered onto the ground from Cicero's hands. A small blade. "Someone paralyze him already."

Cicero was released from the grasp only for a fraction of a second. In an instant, a green light enveloped him and his body stiffened. He let out an erratic scream, but another light took care of that promptly – a silencing spell. It was nice to see the Brotherhood get the taste of their own poison for once.

"They went to Markarth. Hours ago. I… I don't know where we are," Bishop shook his head. It was possible that they were close to Markarth already. If he had known even his approximate location, he would have made sure to send them far away. But he couldn't.

"Near Nightgate Inn. We should have time. But now we know when they'll be back here. You'll be long gone by then, of course," the man answered.

Fuck, Bishop didn't even believe that he would live to see this moment. And they did take care of Cicero quite smoothly with their invisible attack. It made him so hopeful.

"And it looks like we got ourselves a hostage," the agent smirked at Cicero who was just lying numbly on the ground. "We'll find a way to make him talk."

Oh, Bishop knew how to make him talk.

"Be sure to grab that thing then," he inclined his head towards the opened sarcophagus.

"That's… theirs?" a Redguard agent scrunched up her nose at it. "It wasn't just… here? Like a barrow thing?"

"No. It's theirs. And he's really attached to it. Almost… insanely so," Bishop smirked. He could only see Cicero's eyes turn towards him in the light. He couldn't even blink or furrow his brows, but the hatred was palpable.

And after all that shit this lunatic had put him through, Bishop couldn't help but prod once more.

"Good game, creep. Hope you'll still like playing when the tables are turned."