Chapter LX – New Threats

Aeyrin did not like what the news did to Bishop.

Normally she really loved when he was fussing over her.

She loved it when he took care of her when she was sick, when he held her through the soul absorptions and when he reassured her whenever she was anxious or upset.

But now his attention felt… excessive. She was worried that soon he would treat her like an invalid. The wizard herself said that the magic only began to form. It didn't mean that she suddenly couldn't live her life like she used to. It didn't mean that she had to be ushered back into the inn almost every other hour to rest in case she was tired. It didn't mean she wasn't able to survive it when people gawked at her. It didn't mean he had to reassure himself several times if she was really feeling up to sleeping with him. And the tip of the iceberg was when he suggested they take a carriage to Windhelm.

It may have been innocent. Maybe he just wanted to be there early. But she could only see it as him both trying to keep her away from any potential battles in the wilderness and again giving her an opportunity to just sit and do nothing.

She was sick of doing nothing. She just wanted to traipse through the snow endlessly in her heavy armor like she always did. She never thought she would have such a desire, but she did.

Every time she got hungry, he suggested ordering her food to the room like she should be bedridden. She was not sick. She felt mostly fine. Physically at least.

He better stop this before they get into Windhelm. She adamantly refused the carriage idea and they would head out eventually, but Bishop in turn insisted on them waiting here for a bit longer because she was still getting nauseous every night. Well she did last night – two in a row was hardly a pattern. Besides, it might happen. It wasn't the worst thing in the world if she needed to throw up on the road and not at an inn.

Maybe she was being unfair though. She knew this impulse of the caretaker well. Maybe he just wanted to concentrate on her comfort and well-being instead of thinking about the implications of this all.

She, on the other hand, just wanted to concentrate on feeling normal again. And this wasn't helping.

She just wanted to go to Windhelm and continue preparing for the wedding.

Ugh Windhelm. She wanted to get drunk with the Dunmer! But now she couldn't overdo it. Sure, mead was healthy once in a while for Nord children, Bishop said. She wasn't sure if he was to be believed when it came to child care, based on his childhood. But they said the same thing about wine and Imperial children. She definitely couldn't get a bottle of mead with each meal and she certainly couldn't get shitfaced in the Grey Quarter, but she found herself hesitant to drink at all now. She already felt like a bad enough person for how she felt. The priests always said it was best to stop drinking to the pregnant patients. It wasn't easy in Skyrim though. She remembered that there were plenty of fruity juices to buy in Cyrodiil but here, it was just water. Unless she wanted to drink milk. She couldn't do that! The Nords would chase out their legendary Dragonborn out of the Province with pitchforks if they saw her being a 'milk-drinker'!

This all just reassured her that they were completely unprepared for this and utterly out of their depth.

She kind of regretted not becoming a priestess. If she had, she would know more about all this from her further studies.

Then again, if she had, she wouldn't have had sex in the first place.

Ugh. She didn't want to think about it anymore.

"Bish, come on," she whined and poked him with her foot. She was still lying on the bed after their long day of nothing. Bishop was sitting by the foot of the bed, counting their money. That was how boring it was – he did that voluntarily! "Let's go to Windhelm tomorrow already."

"Princess," he sighed. "You know we should stay before you feel better. Or take that fucking carriage at least."

"I feel fine! And I don't want a carriage," she pouted.

"You weren't feeling fine last night," he growled. "And you slept for half the day today."

"What else was I supposed to do? There's nothing else to do!" She huffed. "Would you stop this already, I'm not sick!"

"I know that, but I can see you're not feeling well," he shook his head. "I don't know how to deal with this shit."

"Maybe don't treat me like I'm gonna crumble at the slightest effort. I'm fine!" She continued. It really pissed her off and it was only two days of this. She couldn't imagine it going on any longer.

"Fuck, I'm just trying to help. It's not a good idea to traipse around the wilderness, especially in the cold, when you're like this," he growled. How did she not see it? He could see it. Every time they walked out of the inn, soon she wrapped her arms around his and leaned on him, closing her eyes as if she wanted to sleep again. And last night she spent several hours feeling sick in that bathing room.

"Great, so we'll just stay here until the dragons attack again or something, I guess," she huffed. "You know, even the nightmares were more exciting than this."

It wasn't supposed to be fucking exciting. She was supposed to rest and feel better. He knew that Rina got all sluggish and sick with every pregnancy. She basically had all her children do everything from feeding her to practically carrying her places. She said they had to because the baby was a literal Gods-send. Fine, that was idiotic, but he knew the exhaustion was normal and it would pass. He wasn't sure when… but it would.

"I'm going to sleep, like you want," she grumbled at him and angrily turned to her side, snuggling herself into the blankets. More to hide from him than to actually warm herself up, he suspected.

Fine. He stood up from the bed, pulled up his boots again and walked out of the room.

Aeyrin only looked over her shoulder as he left. He left often. He said he was going for fresh air. He did that when she was mean to him, sure, understandably, but he did it when she was asleep too. She heard him several times.

She was pretty sure he was going outside to clear his head, not just because of her attitude.

He had no idea what to do and neither did she. Maybe he was right and she needed to take it easy now. She sorely didn't want to, but what did she know? She just couldn't help but bark at him when he got like that. And it made her feel even crappier for snapping at him.

She knew that the news would turn their lives upside down.

She just didn't expect their closeness to suffer. Definitely not so quickly.

Maybe she should really try to curb her anger. Why was it suddenly harder than before? She learned to control it more through so much hardship. But now it felt like before when she couldn't – when she didn't even consider anyone else's feelings when she was mad.

And of course she had to take it out on the last person she wanted to.

Gods, she just wanted to be back to her old self again.

In so many ways.

…

Bishop let out a deep sigh as he breathed in the fresh cold air for at least the tenth time that day.

It helped. The room felt stifling.

He really wanted to clear his head, but it was less and less effective each time. He walked around the city, avoiding anyone in his path. He usually ended up somewhere by the city edges, staring at the sea, before he walked back to the inn. How fucking dramatic – with the sea staring and shit. But it was calming.

Not enough though.

Fuck, he knew he was pissing her off, but he couldn't help but worry about her. It felt like she got worse since she found out she really was pregnant and he was pretty sure the constant fears and stress were to blame. Was he making it worse by being so overprotective? Was he just riling her up more? But when he saw her so exhausted or pale, how could he help himself?

He spotted the Nord blacksmith down on the lower level of the town. The man was walking around with a bundle of furs securely held on his shoulder, back and forth around the edge of the bay. His steps were oddly rocking. It took a while for Bishop to realize he was holding his baby. Why was he walking with it in the cold like that?

Ugh. He didn't know anything. What good was teaching Jules how to steal or sneak around silently when he was little? That was not what normal people did, not how kids should be raised, right? He would just teach it how to attract a shit-ton of trouble. Sure, he took care of more of his siblings, but taking care of someone on the lamb and in the conditions they lived in was not what he needed to know how to do. Besides, it's not like the way any of them turned out was anything to be proud of.

With a groan, he walked away from the scene. He couldn't obsess about his complete lack of fatherly instincts again. He had been doing that for two days. He just wanted to watch the water in silence. Away from that blacksmith.

He saw a small ship sail by Dawnstar in the distance as he walked onwards to the eastern edge of the town. It made him remember his last sea voyage. When they got caught in the storm and a dragon attacked them on Jack's ship.

That was the life they led. And they couldn't just escape it. They couldn't just stop. There were people and monsters that wouldn't let them.

But what was the alternative? Giving the kid to an orphanage? That sounded like a recipe for giving it a shitty life. And could they even bring themselves to do something like that? Even if it was for its own good…

Maybe people like them were not meant for this. He didn't really consider that before because the scenario he was imagining was way in the future when they would actually settle down. Or at least get rid of their constant threats. But now that wasn't the time. Maybe it never would be.

And it was decided for them. They couldn't discuss this shit, if it was even a good idea to have a kid. Now they knew it was a very bad idea and there was nothing they could do about it.

He turned around to head towards the northern edge at the crossroads. There he could always be alone. Right now there were still people walking around the buildings, but the northern edge of the town was always free of anyone. There was only one house there below the path – it had some weird banners on it. But Bishop hadn't ever seen anyone around there.

No matter how much he tried to stop thinking about this, he couldn't. Aeyrin had a point. There was nothing in here that would distract him. Not even some fucking mysteries involving Daedric Princes.

Fuck, he even got wistful about that. None of that shit anymore…

Wasn't a respite from the danger what they wanted? Maybe not exactly. Not from the adventure and excitement.

Besides, they were hardly getting a respite. They were just lucky enough that right now…

Wait.

What the fuck?

Bishop stopped in his tracks when he was right above that weird bannered building.

He just heard someone talk. There it was. It was whispering. He didn't understand it, but it was coming from the other side of the mountain.

That wasn't so weird.

What was weird was the voice. Did he really hear that voice?

His whole body tensed and his hand darted to his sheathed knife.

Did he just imagine it? He tried to concentrate hard to listen past the cold winds howling around softly.

"…bad idea…" a voice whispered. No, not this one. Bishop heard another one. He was sure of it.

"… come back… needs you… remember what happened last…"

Still not it. Come on!

"You go back!" The second voice got suddenly loud. High-pitched. Almost hysterical. That was it.

Bishop felt a chilling bolt run through his body and a phantom ache in his shoulder. He would recognize the voice anywhere. He would never forget it. He had to listen to it for hours and hours.

'Your turn, Listener.' 'Tell Cicero what mother says, Listener.'

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

How was that insane fucker here? He was taken by Maro! He was in Dragon Bridge. He was being interrogated and shit. He was still there when they left Solitude. Did he get out? Was Maro alright?

Shit. Wait. What was Cicero doing here?

Was he here for… him?

"Stop it!" The other voice got a little louder too, but it still hissed somewhat quietly. Bishop could make out the words now though. There was nobody at all anywhere around to disturb it. "This is pointless. It's Astrid's vendetta. Leave it."

"Mine! My vendetta!" Cicero hissed right back. "He took her to the bully. He lied! Cicero hates liars!"

Oh shit.

Sometimes Bishop wasn't sure if he had extremely good luck or extremely bad one when it came to the assassins. They were not as subtle as they could be whenever he came across them. But then again, he was coming across them all the fucking time! How many were there?

There were two now. He should go get a Penitus agent.

Wait, were there any? He didn't see any Imperials here. At all.

Were they dressed as Stormcloaks or local guards? How was he supposed to recognize them then? He didn't know who to approach.

Wait, why did they stop talking?

Suddenly a figure emerged from behind the hills.

Fuck!

Cicero was just as shocked as Bishop to suddenly be standing face to face. He didn't know he was right here. Of course he didn't.

Well, Cicero wasn't just as surprised. Bishop had the upper hand. For once.

His hand was still clutching the knife. It was mostly instinct.

"Cicero, come back right now," the other voice hissed, nearing Cicero, but Bishop didn't even hesitate.

With a practiced motion, Bishop yanked the knife from its sheath and threw it.

The blade spun through the air, aimed right at Cicero's head.

There was a tense moment. Cicero still stared at Bishop in shock. And then the knife hit.

Fuck!

The hilt hit Cicero's head instead of the blade.

Alright. Bishop had incredibly crappy luck.

But… Cicero did get a hard hit. He fell backwards into the snow limply.

Shit. One chance. Bishop knew the other person was almost there but… fuck he couldn't stop. He ran. He ran forth through the snow as fast as he could. The second he reached the jester that was trying to rouse himself with a confused groan escaping his lips, there was another figure. Another assassin. An Imperial with his face largely covered by a black mask.

Bishop had expected him, all the while the Imperial was still unsure about what just happened – he didn't know Bishop was there until now. And once they met right by Cicero, Bishop instantly punched the man's face, making use of the element of surprise.

The assassin staggered and Bishop began to look frantically for his knife. He had no other weapons on him just then. He merely left the inn in his clothes and unarmed save for his knife.

Finally he spotted it glinting in the snow and he bent down to take it, but at the same time, Cicero reached for it. The jester was still sitting on the ground, a little dazed, but he managed to grab it first.

A sharp pain spread through Bishop's hand. The knife was instantly plunged into his forearm and he let out a pained scream despite himself. But he couldn't let that stop him. Cicero left the knife lodged in him and a maniacal laugh escaped his lips.

"Cicero is so sorry!" He laughed. "He thought everything about you is fake, down to the blade."

Bishop let out a grunt as he yanked the knife from his arm. He merely noted that the other assassin stood there, ready to do something, but he couldn't worry about that now. Cicero was reaching for his belt, but before he could, Bishop managed to stab the knife into his shoulder.

Cicero shrieked and his motion stopped. Bishop yanked the knife out and readied it again. The second assassin would kill him any moment. He was well aware of it. But what could he do? Cicero knew it too. Maybe he expected Bishop to try to run right now. Maybe he should.

But he couldn't. All the frustration and helplessness suddenly bubbled up. And the next thing he knew, he was holding Cicero by his hair and plunging the knife into his neck again and again. Blood was spraying everywhere and only Cicero's sickening gurgles echoed through the air.

"Leave. Me. The fuck. Alone!" Bishop growled furiously. He was so fucking done! He was so fucking done with these shitheads! Why couldn't they leave him alone?

His clouded vision started to clear when Cicero got limp in his grip. And only then the reality set in.

He just killed him. Right in front of a second assassin.

He was gonna die. Right now. He was gonna die here after he threw himself on a fucking assassin. A day after he found out he was gonna be a father he risked his life in the stupidest way possible without a second thought. What kind of a person fucking did that? Not to mention the way he left Aeyrin.

His eyes looked up in shock at the man looming over him. Why didn't he run? What the fuck was wrong with him? Now he had another insane psycho right there, ready to kill him at any second. Now… after he did nothing to prevent Bishop from killing Cicero. But… he was just shocked. Now he would definitely take his revenge.

Any second now.

"What did you do?" The man gasped in shock. "Fuck! Such a fucking pointless… what did you do?!" He screamed.

What?

The man pierced him angrily with his grey eyes – the only thing giving Bishop any hint of his expression. They were… familiar. Where had he seen these eyes before?

Then he reached for something on his belt. This was it.

The man threw something on the ground and that was the only thing Bishop saw. Suddenly everything went dark. Not black, just, hazy and grey and confusing. Something entered his nose and throat – a smoke. It was horrible. It choked him and burned. He staggered back and fell on his ass in the snow, coughing like crazy. What the fuck was that?

He began to heave and his whole body was cramping. Fuck, that was almost more painful than the knife wound.

He ended up curled on the ground, gasping for air. He had no idea where his knife was. He wanted to slash around with it for anyone approaching, but it must have fallen from his hand at some point. He had no idea what was happening.

The wind was still blowing around and the smoke got carried away by it gradually. Bishop was still waiting for the killing blow, but none came. Soon, he was able to take a raspy breath and blink through his teary eyes. He didn't see anything there.

He collected himself off the ground and finally managed to rub the unpleasant burning from his eyes. Not completely, but enough.

There was his knife there, covered in blood. The snow was just… red. So were his clothes and hands and probably face too.

But there was no Cicero. And there was no other assassin.

What?

What just happened?

And why was he alive?

…

Bishop tried to get some of the blood off himself using the clean snow around, but he was sure it wasn't effective. The sun was setting, but there were surely still people around in Dawnstar. It was far enough for the battle not to be heard, maybe except in the weird house, but now he had to get back.

He didn't know whom he could tell what happened. He didn't know if there were agents around.

They needed to let Maro know.

He could just… say he ran into a wolf, right? Though those didn't come close to the town. Horker attack maybe?

Ugh. Maybe nobody would ask and they would just stare.

It was honestly the best case scenario.

With a deep and still raspy sigh, he started to walk towards the town, covering the wound on his arm with his shirt. At least he could walk normally, but once he reached the more inhabited areas and people noticed him, it didn't really matter if he could walk when he was covered in blood entirely.

The people stared at him slack-jawed, but nobody dared to ask what happened as he walked through the streets. Until a guard stepped in his way.

"Horker snuck up me," Bishop only shrugged before the man even got to say anything.

"A horker 'snuck up' on you?" The man narrowed his eyes. "The fuck? They don't sneak, genius."

"It didn't look like it would attack," Bishop scoffed. He didn't have time for this. He didn't have the energy for this either.

"And you're supposed to be the one helping against the dragons?" The man looked at him disdainfully. Bishop wanted to tell him to fuck off, but he really shouldn't risk pissing off a guard right now and being sent to jail or something.

With a sigh, he just walked past the man and rushed towards the inn. Fortunately nobody followed.

He got many more stares at the inn, but he ignored them all. He headed straight for their room.

The moment he opened the door, Aeyrin sprung up in the bed and blurted out what she obviously wanted to for a while.

"Bish, thank the Gods. I'm so sorry for…" her speech got interrupted by a shocked gasp and her eyes went wide. He had no idea how he looked, but he knew his clothes were utterly soaked in blood.

"I'm sorry," he shook his head somberly. "We need to get out of here." She was right all along. Their life didn't even allow them the luxury of a respite. Ever. And he still couldn't believe he would just throw himself into that shit, leaving her and their future kid behind like this. All the old threats they'd been dealing with for so long suddenly felt like they took on a completely new scope with that knowledge.

"Bish, what happened?" She was up from the bed promptly and right in front of him, examining him for wounds. He merely uncovered his arm to show her. He was so fucking lucky that it was the only thing he had to show.

He could have been dead.

Why wasn't he?

Why the fuck did the other assassin leave him alone?

Nothing made sense anymore.

What happened to their lives that it all turned into this constant mess? How could they ever raise a child in this?

They were utterly fucked.