Chapter LXVIII – Protectors

"Pr'ncess?"

Bishop's voice felt hoarse. For a moment, he wasn't sure if any sound even came out.

Everything hurt. Everything felt shitty. His back hurt the worst, then his head, then his throat and then his eyes. He wasn't even trying to open those.

All he knew was that Aeyrin was curled by his side, maybe asleep, maybe not. There was a meager blanket on both of them, but that was that. There was no pillow under his head and no mattress under him. Just hard, unforgiving ground. It felt like wooden planks. Very uncomfortable ones and with lots of scratchy bits in them.

Were they still at the cornerclub? He didn't remember.

"Hmm?" Aeyrin's murmur echoed in his ear. She seemed more comfortable than him. She had her pillow – his arm. And the majority of her body was half-laid across his.

"Why are we… on the floor?" He managed to get the words out slowly, but each one scratched his throat as if he had swallowed a cluster of spiky grass the night before. Maybe he did. What did he even know?

"I'm glad you asked," Aeyrin chuckled a little next to him. She sounded so chipper. He really envied her the lack of a hangover now, even though he felt bad for her not being able to drink last night. "So, you were tossing and turning so much, you fell off the bed. I tried to wake you but couldn't. Then I tried to drag you back up, but I didn't manage that. So I left you there. You seemed comfortable. But then you woke up a little, I think, and started calling out for me. I tried to talk to you, but I don't think you were really awake, but you kept asking where I was. And I felt bad. So now I'm here too."

Bishop shuffled on the hard ground, trying to readjust himself under Aeyrin's form squishing him. He managed to roll onto his side with her leg still hooked around his, but he was facing her now, even though his eyes still remained closed.

"Hmm, thanks, sweetness," he mumbled, still trying to fight through the pain in his throat. He really wanted some water, but he doubted there was any within arm's reach. Still, it was sweet of her to subject herself to sleeping on the floor just because he was probably confused in his drunken sleepy delirium.

He didn't want to sound like he was complaining, but… still… the wood was really hard to lie on. "Couldn't get me a pillow?" He chuckled a little.

"Right. Pillows. No, I could not get you a pillow. There are no pillows. They were all used last night to fill one of the tubs in the basement. Malthyr wanted to know how it would feel to lie in a tub of pillows. We were planning on how we're gonna empty the tub first, but he got impatient, stole all the pillows without anyone noticing and chucked them in the tub full of water. So… no pillows," Aeyrin explained with palpable amusement in her voice.

"Fuckin' Malthyr," Bishop grumbled. Of course that idiot would do something like that. Now he had to sleep like this. Some people did crazy shit when they were drunk.

He didn't do anything crazy, did he? He remembered nothing of what Aeyrin was talking about.

"I didn't do shit like that, right?" He grumbled quietly. It was getting increasingly hard to talk, but he had questions.

"You basically just passed out on the table. Sometimes you woke up and said something confusing. Or finished my drink, which didn't help the state you were in much," Aeyrin chuckled a bit. "I'm sorry though, I couldn't really stop what the others were doing."

"Wha?" Bishop mumbled. What did that mean? What were the others doing?

As if to answer him, he felt Aeyrin's finger on the side of his jaw, traveling across it in strange spotty motions, as if she was drawing very short lines or prolonged dots on his face. She did that over his cheek, across his eye and forehead and then she continued to make the same pattern on the other side.

"You… kind of got some Dunmeri tribal markings drawn on your face," she giggled a bit. She had been too busy trying to figure out where to chuck her drink when Bishop fell through as her cover. She didn't notice the elves approaching Bishop with some weird paint. And this was the result.

It would be washable, right? It didn't smudge when she put her fingers on it, but then again, she didn't try that hard to rub it off – she was just showing Bishop the pattern.

"Revyn tried to explain what they mean. He kept talking about some traditions from the Ashlands that were passed down to them and then he was talking about Dunmer teenagers going crazy about the markings for some reason. I don't know why that meant you should get them," she continued.

Bishop could only let out an annoyed growl at this. Everyone should have the common courtesy of leaving a sleeping drunk alone.

"We should get you downstairs, if you're up for it. There might be some clean water there if we wring out the pillows," she giggled.

It wasn't a bad idea. He needed to drink something to ease the pain in his throat. He needed to get up from that fucking ground. And he needed to wash up his face – both to feel at least a little refreshed and to wash off that weird war paint or whatever it was.

It was a lot of tasks.

But it was better than staying there, suffering.

…

"Hey, f'lah," Ambarys grinned at Bishop maliciously when he saw him by the bar.

Aeyrin and he spent some time in the basement without anyone noticing them. There weren't many people there to notice anyway – only a few elves back upstairs where they had woken up. They were all still asleep, even though it was likely almost noon.

There was a tub filled with soaked pillows down in that basement, but fortunately, there was also one with somewhat clean water in it, so there was no need for any wringing. The two of them decided to take advantage of the privacy and wash up a bit more than originally intended. Sleeping on the dirty ground didn't leave them feeling that great.

And after that and the predictable frustration with the face markings, they decided to go back up to the bar to say goodbye to the only person awake in the whole building – Ambarys.

"This shit won't come off," Bishop growled at the barkeep. The two broken lines going across his face were still very visible, even if a little more faded than before after some rigorous scrubbing. But it was clear that they were not going anywhere easily.

"It will. Just… after some time," Ambarys smirked. "And at least everyone knows you're one of us, f'lah."

"How? None of you have this shit on your faces," Bishop scowled. None of them had any markings. And Aeyrin said it was Ashlander shit. Were there even any Ashlanders left in Morrowind? Bishop had only heard of them in some stories and legends.

"Well what else were we supposed to do? Paint you grey or cut your ears so that they're pointy?" Ambarys scoffed.

That was… how did that make any sense?

For fuck's sake…

So drinking for two did not go great for him, but he kind of expected that. He did not expect to be painted on with some tribal shit that meant nothing to anyone now though.

"Isn't it offensive or something?" Aeyrin raised her brow. If it was some traditional Ashlander marking, it might rub some people the wrong way to see it on a Nord, right?

"Do you see any Ashlanders around to get offended by it?" Ambarys chuckled dismissively. "They're all just fossilized lava now, as far as I know.

That was… a fair point.

"The only ones who might get prissy about this are the snowberries. And you're not scared of the snowberries, are you, f'lah?" He gave Bishop a challenging look.

"I would have thought that after I bailed you out of jail, you would at least try not to make my life harder," Bishop sighed in defeat.

"It wasn't my idea! I just didn't protest," Ambarys grinned.

"Did anyone protest?" Bishop wasn't even sure why he asked. He already knew the answer to that.

"Why would they? Even hla aka found it funny, right?" The elf smirked at Aeyrin.

"N-no… well… a little," her face flushed and she gave Bishop a wry smile. She saw what they were doing too late to prevent all damage, but she didn't exactly stop them either. It was pretty funny.

Bishop only let out a defeated sigh. What else was he supposed to do? There was no changing it now.

He could only hope that since the elves didn't have these markings, no Nords would know what those symbolized.

…

Bishop was getting strange stares wherever they went.

Nobody asked, nobody approached him, so far, but it was annoying as fuck. Everyone gaped at his face in a very uncomfortable manner.

War paint was nothing out of the ordinary for Nords to wear, especially warriors. Some liked to put that shit on their face daily. Farkas and Vilkas did, for example. Idiots. What for?

But the patterns on his face looked distinctly… foreign, for some reason. Even he thought as much when he saw himself in the one measly mirror in the cornerclub basement. Nordic war paint looked different – haphazard smudges and shit like this. This was done with delicate care and precision unlike anything else. And it drew stares.

It was so fucking annoying and it only reminded him how shitty it was for Aeyrin to draw curious stares everywhere too, especially now with Alduin being common knowledge.

Well, at least he could think of it this way – he drew attention away from her here for now. That was helpful.

They picked up Karnwyr by the cornerclub entrance and headed back to Candlehearth. It was only for a short breakfast and recuperation though. Since they were washed up already, they just wanted to get to the markets again and spend some time resupplying. They postponed it at first when they got into the city, but their plans for today changed and they had to switch up their schedule a bit. Bishop was not comfortable walking into the temple like this. What if the old priest knew what the markings meant? They would likely not receive the blessing then.

Hopefully tomorrow, the markings would be almost faded. It couldn't take that much longer, right?

And besides, if they were going to spend their day at the markets, they could go see Quintus and ask if he had something to make it disappear more quickly.

It was for the best, even if it would expose Bishop to many more stares.

After their resupplying, they could just hide themselves back at the inn and spend the rest of their day recuperating after another wild night at the cornerclub.

The markets were bustling that day, but that wasn't so unusual anymore. The city was all back to its usual self after all. On the surface at least. And for the Nords. Not so much for the marginalized living in the slums or the docks, but who cared about that, right?

They slipped into Quintus's shop right away. Bishop was already tired of the constant stares.

"Welcome! Oh!" Quintus's practiced greeting rang through the room right when the door opened, but when he noticed who came in, he stopped short. He looked both happy and concerned. "It's good to see you here, friends. What… is that?"

It wasn't hard to tell what he was referring to. He was staring at Bishop's face pretty blatantly.

Why was everyone so shocked about this? Was it really that different from the usual war paint? Sure, it looked like someone made his face a canvas instead of him being some posturing warrior trying to look menacing, but still.

"The elves did this to me," Bishop sighed. Maybe that would give the alchemist a hint as to what they used.

"Oh my," Quintus suddenly scowled. "I… uuh… I understand they can get a little… rowdy, but I hope you didn't hurt them for this. They mean no… actual harm, I'm sure. And I'm sure we can get it out."

What? What did he think happened? That the elves cornered Nords to paint on their faces just for the fun of it? And then get beaten up for it?

"Who do you think you're talking to, Quintus? You think he goes around beating up elves?" Aeyrin raised her brow at the man.

"N-no. It's just… the tensions with the elves and Nords… they're quite high here. A lot of people don't take kindly to… uhm… well I haven't seen this happen yet. Why did they paint on you?" Quintus still looked a little caught off guard. He must have been imagining some strange scenarios.

"Relax, they're our friends. I got shitfaced and they thought it would be fun to paint on me," Bishop waved his hand dismissively, upon which Quintus visibly relaxed.

"Oh. Good. I feel for their plight, I really do, and I worried they might have started to do some… ill-advised pranks to make things worse for them," he let out a relieved sigh. "I'm glad that wasn't the case. Now, come here, let me take a look."

Bishop didn't even have to say that he wanted the markings gone. Quintus knew right away. Of course. Who would want to keep getting these reactions after all?

He walked towards the counter and leaned over a bit, letting Quintus examine his face. The Imperial rubbed his cheek with his finger for a while, as if he could get it out like that. Bishop had clearly already tried to scrub it, even with soap. And it was weird having Quintus stare at him so close to his face and so intently. But the alchemist pulled back relatively soon.

"What did they use?"

"I have no fucking clue," Bishop sighed. He should have asked, but did the Dunmer even know?

"Hmm… well, that makes it more difficult. But I'll get you a few concoctions to try out overnight," Quintus nodded.

'Overnight'? So it wouldn't be gone right away? Fucking Void…

"Alright. Just nothing too expensive," Bishop nodded in the end. He liked Quintus, but right now, the man could really tell him anything about any weird concoction he sold him and he would have to believe him. He had no clue about this shit.

"Not to worry, my friend. You will be set up in no time."

It did mean that he would have to spend some more time with this on his face.

The looks would continue to annoy him, apparently, as they resupplied and sold some stuff at the markets.

…

"You sure you wanna sell them?" Bishop asked Aeyrin as she rummaged in her heavy pack to get rid of one particularly heavy thing.

"Why would I keep them?" She scowled at him promptly. "A souvenir?"

He didn't mean that. It was just… a little unexpected. He assumed she would not be getting rid of a security measure so readily. Not for herself but…

"I thought you were gonna give them back to Vilkas," he shrugged. By now, she finally located the sturdy, heavy chains she had to lug around in her pack for six months. The symbol of her curse. Of how careful she had to be, how much she had to watch herself not to hurt everyone around her.

"He doesn't need them anymore either. Unless he would want to chain Aela," Aeyrin mumbled a bit. Maybe if she had to go through the memory loss and this insane process, she would have had more sympathy for turning people into monsters. But Aeyrin was pretty sure that Aela's transformation was just as smooth as Vilkas's. The only one who understood was Farkas.

And granted, talking to him helped her process everything a lot. She was glad he and Vilkas were so determined to ensure that she's alright after the cure. They both helped. Seeing Aela didn't.

But now, none of them needed these. Vilkas never did. Farkas hadn't needed them for ages and now there was no way any of them needed them at all.

It was a good thing to get rid of. The last remnant of that… thing. Aside from the memories.

She still sometimes saw her rampage in Whiterun in front of her when she closed her eyes.

But surprisingly enough, Bishop gave her a strange look. As if he was just caught off guard by her stupidity.

"What?" She asked. Why was he looking at her like that?

"You think they're gonna stop?" He raised his brows incredulously.

What? Did he mean: they would not stop turning people into werewolves? Why wouldn't she think that would stop? It was the only reasonable outcome of all this, wasn't it?

"You think they're not?" She gaped at him. After everything they'd been through, why would they not stop this insanity? After everything they'd done to her. They all said they regretted how things went, she assumed they would want to prevent anything like that in the future.

"You heard them. They think it's right for some people," Bishop shrugged. And honestly, he couldn't blame them for thinking that. Who cared if someone wanted that? Bishop himself would never devote himself to some fucked up Prince, but if people wanted to, let them.

"You think they would force people into this again after everything?" Aeyrin shook her head at him, now looking at him as if he was the naïve one. Maybe she had a point, but… he really didn't believe that.

"Not 'force'. At least that will hopefully end. For now. But, princess, you were the only one they did that to. You realize that they all chose this willingly. All of them, no matter what they regretted later. And if they keep offering power and strength… more will choose this. And then, years later when the ones who remember what they've done to you are gone, it will happen again because someone thinks they know better."

Aeyrin looked at the chains in her hands with palpable concern in her eyes. Was he right?

She hoped Farkas and Vilkas had more sense in them than to continue this madness. And Aela too, if her regret was really genuine. They should just empty that horrible basin of blood and never offer this to anyone again. How could they? They had a limited number of cures and would they really take it upon their conscience to turn people when they had no way to undo that? They knew how easy it was to change their minds in this.

No… she couldn't see it. Surely they'd stop. Bishop was just being pessimistic.

"It's… still just chains," Bishop sighed when he saw her concerned expression. "They can get new ones if they need them."

"They won't," she shook her head adamantly, either trying to convince him or herself. He wasn't sure. And he had to make an effort to suppress the expression fighting to get on his face – the one of sympathy to her denial.

He nodded slowly and looked at the chains in her hands again. Strange, he got so used to this. It was almost a sad moment for some reason. There would be no more transformations. Not ever. It was a good thing, sure. Of course it was. Still…

"Bye, wolfie," Bishop smirked, but that little comment earned him a bit of an alarmed look from Aeyrin.

Alright… maybe he shouldn't let her know he might miss it a little. She already knew, of course, but getting back into this shit was not helpful.

"Let's just go sell these. It's gonna be good not having to lug this shit around. And to constantly watch the dates," he nodded. Focusing on the positives of this was the key. Maybe he should apply that tactic to more shit and things wouldn't all seem so dire. He had no idea what positives there were about being targeted by insane assassins, but there were other problems they were facing that he really wished he would be much less bothered by than he was.

"Yeah," Aeyrin agreed and turned on her heel to head towards one of the market stalls. The Altmer fence promptly straightened up when she saw that they were headed towards her.

"Sometimes… you just come across an interesting scene in this line of work," she smirked as she brushed her curly rosy hair out of her face, as if to look at them more properly. "A Nord with Ashlander tribal markings on his face and a girl from a legend, coming at me with chains."

"I'm not coming at you," Aeyrin shook her head. "I want to sell these."

"And you know what these are?" Bishop raised his brow and pointed at his face. He really hoped nobody overheard Niranye say that.

"I've spent some time in Morrowind. Some people had these patterns on their faces," she nodded. "Some who thought it would make them look mysterious and edgy, and some actual descendants of Ashlander tribes that wanted to carry on the tradition. You don't see them much though."

"Yeah… this was just a prank," Bishop sighed.

"Well, count yourself lucky that the Nords here are probably too ignorant to know these have anything to do with Dunmeri culture," she smirked. "Now, let's see the chains." She outstretched her arms towards Aeyrin.

"They're really sturdy. Quality… uhm… steel," Aeyrin tried to sell them. It was steel, wasn't it? Was it Skyforge steel? That would fetch a good price. But that was usually darker, wasn't it?

"Hmm… they're not bad, I just… what are they for? I don't know how I would sell something like this," Niranye scowled a bit.

"They can hold large animals or monsters. Or… I don't know… a drawbridge?" Aeyrin chuckled a little nervously. She couldn't think of any other uses.

"Who do you think I sell to?" The Altmer laughed.

"Come on, don't be coy. If anyone can find a buyer for anything, it's you," Bishop goaded her. He worked a lot with Niranye in the past and present. He knew a little boost to her ego never hurt.

"Hmm… fine. One fifty," she huffed.

That wasn't much for so much metal, but it was not like they would get more if they offered it to the blacksmith to be melted.

"Agreed. Just take them," Aeyrin carefully arranged the chains on Niranye's counter. She was so eager to get rid of them.

It was the last thing that kept reminding her every time she reached into her pack. Now she only had the memories to battle.

But as if he felt the cautious relief, or maybe he just got restless about waiting, Karnwyr began to nuzzle her leg affectionately.

The fact that he was there, not afraid of her anymore, always made her feel better and even more reassured. Things would be good. They would go back to what they were supposed to be.

Well… some things, at least.

There were other things for which there was no taking them back.

…

They didn't spend that much more time at the markets.

Bishop had a few concoctions he was eager to slather onto his face – something he would never have thought to be excited about – and his hangover was still quite present. He was getting old – the whole day tended to be weird and hazy after a night like that. Back in the day, his surefire way of getting rid of a bad hangover was getting shitfaced again. Somehow that did not seem tempting anymore.

But he was looking forward to a bottle of Honningbrew at least. That always helped a little as long as he didn't have twenty of them.

And he was really excited to get to bed again. This time to stay in the bed. And probably get himself roused by some fun activities in that very bed.

Yet their pleasant plans seemed to get interrupted as they walked through the side alley leading towards Candlehearth. It opened up right by the temple.

And it appeared that their choice of route and their timing brought about something unexpected.

They noticed it from a distance already – a familiar man on the square there, standing in the middle of the paved street, tapping his foot impatiently.

They wouldn't have recognized him from afar like that. Not if it weren't for that hat he wore – a large red hat with a myriad of colorful feathers decorating its side.

"It's Alec," Aeyrin gasped a little and stopped in her tracks. He didn't see them in turn – his attention was fully on something on the side. Something they couldn't see from the alley.

The last time they saw Alec, it was a strange encounter. They shared a carriage with him and he kept prodding about strange subjects. But he subtly insinuated that he didn't want the answers. The driver seemed to be some kind of a spy and Alec did as well, albeit a reluctant one. He asked them for help when he distracted the driver, but he didn't manage to say what was wrong in time.

From what they'd gathered, Alec must have been forced into spying for Ulfric after that unfortunate performance when they met. And the rumors they had been hearing about Ulfric garnering more and more nobility support, even from Imperial sources, only confirmed it.

"Come on already. We have to go!" Alec called out to someone impatiently.

Almost instinctively, Aeyrin and Bishop walked over to the edge of the alley so that they would not be seen and they continued forth to hear better. Soon, another person emerged. One they did not expect at all.

Jora?

The priestess rushed over to Alec. She looked nervous and confused, but she stopped by his side and nodded a little. But before anything else happened, another voice made itself known.

"Jora! Get back here!"

It was the voice of the old priest of Talos – Jora's Master. He walked over to them with an angry expression on his face.

"Master Lortheim," Alec let out a sigh. "I am sorry, but our instructions are clear."

"This is not what we agreed on. He is overstepping his bounds!" Lortheim bellowed angrily.

"Master, please, calm yourself. There is nothing we can do," Jora lowered her head. What was going on? Where was she supposed to be going with Alec? And who instructed her to do so if not her Master?"

"No. I need you here, Jora. Just let me talk to him one more time," the old man asked, but there was still palpable anger in his voice.

"You know there's no point in this. I am sorry, Master," Alec sighed. "We need to go now. It's time."

"This is outrageous! You can't just take her away!" The man threw up his hands desperately. "Jora, my child, you don't have to…"

"I do, Master," Jora interrupted him. "You know this. I'm sorry."

"I will make sure nothing bad happens to her," Alec tried to sound reassuring, but that only seemed to rile the old Master more.

"Something bad is already happening to her, bard!" He spat.

"Please, stop. We can't… this place is too public," Alec shook his head.

Lortheim stepped closer to Jora and grabbed her hands in his, squeezing them tightly. "I promise you, child, you will be back home soon. I will make sure of it."

"Don't do anything, Master," she shook her head. "This is… how it has to be."

What in Oblivion was this about? Up until now, it seemed like Jora was in danger of being discovered by her Master for her cooperation with the dissidents. She seemed to be scared of him. But now he was trying to protect her from something? Or was Alec the one protecting her from the old priest?

Aeyrin had the urge to run forth and interfere, to stop Jora from going away. But what if she wanted to go away? What if Alec was taking her somewhere safe from scrutiny? Was that even possible? She had no idea what was going on. She had no idea who was to be trusted here. And what if interfering ruined Jora's plan?

Would she write to Aeyrin when her old Master wasn't anywhere near?

Bishop grabbed Aeyrin's shoulder, as if to hold her back. He must have figured out what she was tempted to do, but she herself knew it was probably not the best idea.

The three people on the square soon parted. Jora went along with Alec towards the gates and Master Lortheim walked in the other direction – back towards the temple. Or maybe towards the Palace.

After a second or two, Bishop and Aeyrin stopped hiding out and stepped into the alley proper again. They only shared a disturbed look.

"Do you think she's in danger?" Aeyrin whispered as she bit her lip nervously.

"I don't know," Bishop sighed. "She's not that bad at being subtle. Maybe this is what she wanted. But how the fuck did that squawking bard get involved?"

She had no more information than he did. With what they assumed of Alec, this didn't fill her with much ease.

They needed to find out more.

But how? And from who?

They walked towards the square, only to see Alec and Jora leaving through the gates. The old Master was nowhere to be found now and they couldn't catch up with Jora and Alec. Not with the Stormcloaks by the gates.

They couldn't do anything right now.

But Aeyrin was already trying to think of how to find out what was happening.

And there was only one person now who could tell her.

…

"You need to be careful, princess. You can't let him know you know her," Bishop sighed.

He didn't like her plan at all. He knew she was worried about Jora, but he also knew that the priestess herself was wary of her Master.

"I know. I know what to do," Aeyrin nodded.

By now, they were already back at Candlehearth, waiting alone by the counter on the bottom floor until the innkeeper would return. They didn't know where she was, but they just wanted to order some food and drinks for their room and disappear there. Bishop was tired of everyone eyeing him and they also needed to talk a little more privately. Right now, they were just carefully whispering there, trying to remain as vague as possible.

Aeyrin was determined to look into this more, but the source of information she decided on was less than ideal. Then again, he had no better idea of his own. And they would be headed to the temple tomorrow anyway.

Still, it would be for the best not to get involved.

Once again, Windhelm seemed to draw them into issues they could have never anticipated. What was it with this city?

They waited silently for a little while longer, but soon, before the innkeeper returned from wherever she was, someone else rushed by them. One of the patrons seemed to be in a hurry to get outside.

And then, another two ran by, descending the steps from the upper floor and rushing towards the exit.

What was going on now?

Another patron emerged soon after and, as he noticed people standing by the bar, he called out to them: "Come quick, there's gonna be a… a…" he suddenly stopped himself as he looked them over. "Never mind."

He was gone in a second, out the door just like the others.

What?

What was going on outside? And why did this person change his mind in 'inviting' them?

Bishop and Aeyrin shared a brief look before they stepped towards the exit themselves. That was too fishy. They wanted to see what this shit was about now.

As they walked outside, they had to weave their way a bit through a small crowd of several people. And then they saw it.

Idesa and Faryl were standing there in front of the gates, all tense and uncertain. And opposite them, with a fierce scowl on his face, was a familiar hulking idiot they'd seen one too many times already. It was that asshole who always harassed the elves. The one that Bishop had beaten up in the cornerclub and then in turn got beaten up by at Candlehearth when Calixto goaded him to get Aeyrin alone.

"Fucking greyskins! Look at them!" The lummox bellowed angrily, addressing the small crowd. But his eyes were fastened on the elves. "Parading themselves around our parts of town like they fucking belong!"

The onlookers all shook their heads disdainfully, but it was hard to tell whether the disdain was directed at the idiot or the elves. There were guards by the gates, watching the spectacle, but they didn't seem like they were eager to interfere.

"I say these knife-ears should be taught a lesson," the Nord spat hatefully.

Alright. That was it. The man took a step towards the elves and they visibly flinched, but just as he did, Bishop promptly rushed forth with Aeyrin in tow.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" He growled at the man. Like fuck he would let this idiot get the best of him again. And like fuck he would let him hurt Idesa and Faryl. He was so fucking sick of this asshole constantly harassing them.

"Oh look, the elf-fucker is here," the man snarled. "Didn't get enough last time? Itching for another beating?"

"You lay a finger on him or the elves and you're dead," Aeyrin instantly piped up. If anyone should be taught a lesson, it was this idiot. Why did he keep doing this? What was his problem? The elves had probably just been walking through the square without bothering anyone.

Aeyrin felt a pang of guilt jolt through her. She remembered her discussion with Idesa all too well. She encouraged her not to be afraid to even walk here and now this happened the second she dared to.

"You think you scare me, little knife-ear?" the Nord scoffed. "You can call yourself whatever the fuck you want, but you're just a little weakling like they are. I'd be doing everyone a favor getting rid of you and making place for a real Dragonborn."

"You'd be dead before you try," Bishop growled.

"What's on your face, elf-fucker?" The man snorted mockingly. "Did you try to look intimidating with some war paint? I think you need some finger-painting lessons there."

A few people in the crowd chuckled a bit, but that only encouraged Bishop more. Oh, he wanted to know what it was?

"This is traditional Dunmeri paint," Bishop smirked. Suddenly, he didn't care who knew. He was already getting shit from this idiot anyway, so what was the point in hiding it? "It means I'm one of them. And if you wanna mess with the elves, you're messing with me. You really wanna try your luck again?" He scowled at the man menacingly.

"Pfft, idiot," the lummox rolled his eyes. "You got beaten like a month old puppy last time and you're getting uppity?"

"Guess we'll get to see how you do in an actual fair fight," Bishop snarled and took a step closer to the man, fists clenched in anger.

"You're one of them, you'll get beat down like one of them," the Nord gave him a victorious smirk before his eyes turned to the crowd. "Isn't that right?!"

Some of the people flinched a bit, but there were two or three who stepped forward confidently with eager nods and their fists clenched as well.

But before anyone could take another step forward, suddenly a very vicious bark and growl echoed through the square. All eyes went to the source instantly. Karnwyr was standing a pace away, burrowed down and ready to lunge with his teeth bared and a menacing look in his eyes. He was ready to protect them in this fight.

That made even more people flinch, and soon, a few of them quickly ran back, rushing inside the inn and closing the door behind them. The only people left there were those eager for a fight, except for one of the ready Nords who fled as well.

Fuck. If Karnwyr attacked, it could get them in trouble. It could get him in trouble. This wouldn't just be a street fight. Karnwyr would go for the kill.

The Nords didn't seem deterred in the slightest, but a moment later, another voice interrupted the scene.

"Hey! Hey!" The guards seemed to decide to interfere now. They brandished their weapons and rushed towards them instantly.

"Down!" Bishop commanded Karnwyr quickly. Escalating this would help nothing right now. Karnwyr let out an uncertain whine, but he did stop growling and sat down instead in order not to look so menacing.

"Disperse this instant. Everyone!" One of the guards yelled. "You, greyskins! Back where you belong, now! And the rest of you too!"

The elves didn't hesitate. Idesa and Faryl only threw a regretful look at Bishop and Aeyrin before they turned on their heels and rushed back towards the Grey Quarter.

"Come on. Let's get out of here," the idiot Nord grumbled, clearly disappointed by the lack of a fight, but his new, or maybe old, buddies quickly followed him as they all headed towards the markets. The only ones left there were Aeyrin, Bishop and Karnwyr and the guards.

"If the wolf harms anyone in our city, you're gonna pay for that," the guard snarled at Bishop instantly.

"He won't. But you might wanna keep your own fucking dogs on a leash," Bishop growled.

"Why didn't you do anything when he was harassing the elves?" Aeyrin shook her head at the men incredulously. The Dunmer had a right to be wherever they wanted!

One guard merely scoffed at her, but the other gave her a pointedly hateful look.

"None of you should ever forget your place, elf," he spat at her disdainfully.

Bishop clenched his fists again, almost subconsciously, but attacking the guards would be the stupidest thing ever just then. The two of them weren't even armed, and even if they were, that would not end well.

Aeyrin only grabbed his hand and dragged him back inside the inn. This was one fight they shouldn't pick.

Not to mention that it again dawned on her how ready they were to get into a fight. A fist fight. With her in… this condition.

It was hard not to when they felt protective. But why did the protectiveness of the one that should matter the most not occur to her first?

This was close. If it weren't for Karnwyr, the guards would have surely let things escalate.

And it was her fault. She encouraged Idesa.

But how could she feel bad about that? It was true! The elves couldn't continue living like this.

If only there was some way to get rid of this idiot riling people up.