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Description
Angel

Bishop woke to a thundering headache. Groaning, he tentatively touched his head and flinched when his fingers found a very sore spot at the back of his head. Obviously this was more than the usual hangover…

He tried to pierce the fog that clouded his mind. Slowly the previous evening came back to him. Walking up to Crossroad Keep, fully aware of the madness of his actions. Entering the tavern, ordering a bottle, working his way through its contents. The memories got fuzzier here, but he seemed to remember some Greycloaks, talking at the table next to him. Talking about her… insulting her. Red hot rage rising in him, because the dogs dared to speak of her that way. He remembered his hands round the throat of one of them, fully intending to squeeze the last bit of life out of the filthy scum. Shutting him up for good, so the swine would never sully her with his dirty words again.

Bishop groaned again, this time for a very different reason.

Gods help me, I’m turning into the paladin, rushing in to defend her honour!

And I guess I will pay dearly for that.

He opened his eyes and flinched as even the dim light of his surroundings sent daggers into his brain. He blinked a couple of times, trying to clear his vision. He took in the ceiling, made of roughly hewn stones, and the small window high up in the wall, adorned with massive iron bars. He also became aware of a damp, musty smell.

Gaol.

The moment he thought that, he heard movement, the unmistakable clanking of heavy armour.

“Well, awake at last, I see”, a cold, female voice reached his ears.

Very carefully, Bishop sat up, so that his head won’t split with the movement. Still, for a moment, it felt like it would, and he clutched at it, cursing under his breath.

“I see you’re in pain. Good. There will be more to come, I can assure you.”, the female voice said.

He knew that voice. Still careful not to make any sudden movements, he slowly lifted his head and turned to face the speaker. He saw more sturdy bars, substituting for a wall of the little room. And behind that, a woman in armour, dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, slanted brown eyes regarding him coldly.

Kana.

“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me, seeing you behind these bars, my bars now. And it will make me even happier to see you dangling from the end of a rope, traitor. I’m Captain of this Keep now, and I will see to it that you will be brought to Neverwinter, to answer for all that you have done. This time, you will not be able to save your sorry hide, believe me.”

He smirked at her, trying to ignore the pounding in his skull. “I don’t know if the Knight Captain will be happy with these news”, he said.

She clutched the bars with both hands, bringing her face as close as possible, and he could see the cold hate burning in her eyes.

“Don’t you dare speak of her! The Knight Captain is dead, killed by your traitorous hand! And I will make you pay! With interest, believe me!”

With that, she turned and marched away, her fury visible in every forceful step.

Bishop stared after her, then let himself sink slowly back onto the cot. Kana thought the Knight Captain was dead? What was that all about?

Lying on his cot, his eyes closed against the pain in his head, Bishop could not help but smile cynically. Fate sure had a strange sense of humour. Here he was, the past catching up in very unexpected ways, about to pay for all the sins he had committed in his life. It seemed very unlikely that he would be able to wriggle out of this scrape again. They would watch him very closely. Not that he could blame them.

He barked out a short, humourless laugh, as the absurdity of it all hit him, then winced as his head threatened to split.

After all he had done in his life, it was his weakness for a woman that brought him down at last.

Knew it would happen that way.

If you allowed yourself to develop a vulnerable spot, someone would find a way to exploit it. He’d learned that the hard way so long ago.

Should have remembered that lesson better.

His mind wandered back all these years. Even after that long time, the memory was still fresh. As was the pain. Normally he did not allow himself to think about it. Kept the memories shoved as far down as they would go. But this time, lying in the dank cell with nothing to distract him, probably quite near the end of the twisted path that was his life, the thoughts would not be pushed away.

He was just returning from his first “mission” in the Luskan army. If you could call it that, being sent in first into battle with a horde of other kids that had been unfortunate enough to be caught and pressed into service. To be “honoured” with serving as sword fodder in the first wave of attack.

Bishop had been lucky to survive. Lots of others were not so lucky. He still remembered the senseless cruelty of it all, the cries and moans of the wounded and dying all around him, the clanging of metal against metal, the fear and pain, bitter taste in his mouth, as he hacked at everything that moved near him with the sword they had given him, only trying to keep them away, trying not to get hit, trying to stay alive somehow.

And he stayed alive. He did not know how, but after an eternity, the din of the battle seemed to abate, and he still was standing, while around him, the ground was covered with bloody bodies. Then someone came to collect the few survivors, and they were herded back to Luskan, to be patched together for their next assignment.

He remembered entering through the city gates, bloody, exhausted, hopeless, wishing he had died on the battlefield, just to have it over with. What was the point in surviving, when you knew you would just be sent out to die another day?

He had thought of running away. Of course he had. Who wouldn’t? But they knew very well what went on in all the boys’ heads. So they actually let one escape. Only for demonstrating what would happen to those who tried. They made them watch what happened after they dragged the poor sod back. It gave Bishop nightmares for weeks. And not one of the remaining tried to run away after that. Including Bishop.

So he had stayed, and fought, and survived, wishing he had died. Deciding that next time, he would die, even if he had to find an enemy sword and impale himself on it. He would not go on like this, this wretched existence, a prisoner, used as a meat shield for the army proper.

And the moment he thought that, he saw her. With the horrors of battle still fresh in his mind, she had looked like an angel to him. Her long, blond hair falling in soft waves down her back, her blue eyes the colour of forget-me-nots, a shy smile on her face as she sold apples from a basket she was carrying to passers-by. He had stopped in his tracks, staring at her, the boy behind him colliding with him, because he had stopped so suddenly.

The commotion of course drew the guards, and he had received some painful blows with a stick for causing the delay. But this time, he barely registered the pain as he moved on, turning again and again to look at her. The proceedings had attracted her attention, and her eyes followed him as he was led away. To him, it was as if a ray of light had pierced the darkness that had surrounded him so long.

After that first assignment, they had decided they had better uses for him. The sergeant that had been with him obviously had reported that Bishop had a talent for killing. He was separated from the other boys, to be trained for special assignments. In other words, assassination. They had taught him how to read tracks, how to avoid sight, how to move silently through nearly every terrain. How to kill swiftly, effectively, soundlessly.

And he had been eager to learn. Training was hard, the trainers harsh, but Bishop had soaked up everything they had to teach him. Soon, he had earned some grudging respect. He became somewhat of a teacher’s pet, because of his eagerness and talent. All the time thinking that they were teaching him exactly the skills he would need to be free of them one day.

The other upside was that because of his status as model student, he gained some freedom. The opportunity to move relatively unobserved within the confines of the city, for example. And the first thing he did when they allowed him some slack was look for his angel. He searched the streets high and low, until at last he found her, selling apples from her basket again.

For some minutes he just stood and watched her, trying to work up enough courage to go and talk to her. Even after all these years, he remembered the staccato beat of his heart and the way his palms grew moist.

How old had he been? Seventeen? Eighteen? And he had had nearly no experience with women. Not many women around in the training camps, and the ones that were tended to wear canes and were happy to use them.

After a while, the girl seemed to feel his stare on her, and she looked up, into his eyes. He saw recognition there. She remembered him. And then she smiled, a sweet, shy smile, a bit of colour rising in her cheeks. He thought she was the most beautiful being he had ever seen in his life.

He walked up to her, his knees feeling like they were made of rubber. When he reached her, he stared down at her, a terrible blankness in his brain. He could not think of a single thing to say. The colour in her face grew deeper, and he could see her hands shaking slightly as she took an apple, offering it to him. He fumbled for some copper coins in his pocket, handing them to her, his heart beating madly as his fingers grazed her hand. He took the apple and practically fled before he stood before her any longer, tongue-tied like an idiot.

That night, he slept with an apple clutched to his heart.

Whenever they would let him out, he searched for her to buy an apple. After a while, his brain allowed him to say a couple of words to her without stuttering too much. He even managed to ask for her name. Sarah. It was the word that was on his mind when he went to his sleep, with a smile on his face. Flight from Luskan suddenly was far from his mind.

After they decided his training was complete, they started sending him out on special missions. Mostly going to other cities, to eliminate someone who stood in Luskan’s way. Sometimes he had to sneak through enemy lines to assassinate some high-ranking soldier or other. These jobs were the more dangerous ones. But Bishop was really getting good at his job. And now, he had a reason to come back. A reason for wanting to survive. The vision of Sarah, her sweet smile, her beautiful face, kept him going, kept him fighting, kept him sane through the horrors of what he had to do. And he always made it back.

Then came the day when he stood before her, heart in his throat, the apple he just bought in hand, staring down into her lovely face, and without thinking he blurted it out.

I love you.

Just like that. It just came out. He froze like a deer, ready to bolt if she started laughing at him She blushed crimson and looked down, but her hand slipped into his, squeezing softly. His apple fell to the ground as he reached out with his other hand, shaking badly, to touch her hair. She looked up then, into his face, adoration in her soft blue eyes, and he bent his head, his lips searching hers for a sweet, if clumsy kiss. His first kiss ever.

The pain of the memory still felt like a knife piercing his heart, even after all that time.

They had exchanged some silly vows of eternal love, like the children they were, and he had left, feeling like nothing could ever hurt him anymore.

He smiled bitterly. Gods, he had been so young. And still naïve, even after all that had happened to him.

Description
Angel

Bishop woke to a thundering headache. Groaning, he tentatively touched his head and flinched when his fingers found a very sore spot at the back of his head. Obviously this was more than the usual hangover…

He tried to pierce the fog that clouded his mind. Slowly the previous evening came back to him. Walking up to Crossroad Keep, fully aware of the madness of his actions. Entering the tavern, ordering a bottle, working his way through its contents. The memories got fuzzier here, but he seemed to remember some Greycloaks, talking at the table next to him. Talking about her… insulting her. Red hot rage rising in him, because the dogs dared to speak of her that way. He remembered his hands round the throat of one of them, fully intending to squeeze the last bit of life out of the filthy scum. Shutting him up for good, so the swine would never sully her with his dirty words again.

Bishop groaned again, this time for a very different reason.

Gods help me, I’m turning into the paladin, rushing in to defend her honour!

And I guess I will pay dearly for that.

He opened his eyes and flinched as even the dim light of his surroundings sent daggers into his brain. He blinked a couple of times, trying to clear his vision. He took in the ceiling, made of roughly hewn stones, and the small window high up in the wall, adorned with massive iron bars. He also became aware of a damp, musty smell.

Gaol.

The moment he thought that, he heard movement, the unmistakable clanking of heavy armour.

“Well, awake at last, I see”, a cold, female voice reached his ears.

Very carefully, Bishop sat up, so that his head won’t split with the movement. Still, for a moment, it felt like it would, and he clutched at it, cursing under his breath.

“I see you’re in pain. Good. There will be more to come, I can assure you.”, the female voice said.

He knew that voice. Still careful not to make any sudden movements, he slowly lifted his head and turned to face the speaker. He saw more sturdy bars, substituting for a wall of the little room. And behind that, a woman in armour, dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, slanted brown eyes regarding him coldly.

Kana.

“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me, seeing you behind these bars, my bars now. And it will make me even happier to see you dangling from the end of a rope, traitor. I’m Captain of this Keep now, and I will see to it that you will be brought to Neverwinter, to answer for all that you have done. This time, you will not be able to save your sorry hide, believe me.”

He smirked at her, trying to ignore the pounding in his skull. “I don’t know if the Knight Captain will be happy with these news”, he said.

She clutched the bars with both hands, bringing her face as close as possible, and he could see the cold hate burning in her eyes.

“Don’t you dare speak of her! The Knight Captain is dead, killed by your traitorous hand! And I will make you pay! With interest, believe me!”

With that, she turned and marched away, her fury visible in every forceful step.

Bishop stared after her, then let himself sink slowly back onto the cot. Kana thought the Knight Captain was dead? What was that all about?

Lying on his cot, his eyes closed against the pain in his head, Bishop could not help but smile cynically. Fate sure had a strange sense of humour. Here he was, the past catching up in very unexpected ways, about to pay for all the sins he had committed in his life. It seemed very unlikely that he would be able to wriggle out of this scrape again. They would watch him very closely. Not that he could blame them.

He barked out a short, humourless laugh, as the absurdity of it all hit him, then winced as his head threatened to split.

After all he had done in his life, it was his weakness for a woman that brought him down at last.

Knew it would happen that way.

If you allowed yourself to develop a vulnerable spot, someone would find a way to exploit it. He’d learned that the hard way so long ago.

Should have remembered that lesson better.

His mind wandered back all these years. Even after that long time, the memory was still fresh. As was the pain. Normally he did not allow himself to think about it. Kept the memories shoved as far down as they would go. But this time, lying in the dank cell with nothing to distract him, probably quite near the end of the twisted path that was his life, the thoughts would not be pushed away.

He was just returning from his first “mission” in the Luskan army. If you could call it that, being sent in first into battle with a horde of other kids that had been unfortunate enough to be caught and pressed into service. To be “honoured” with serving as sword fodder in the first wave of attack.

Bishop had been lucky to survive. Lots of others were not so lucky. He still remembered the senseless cruelty of it all, the cries and moans of the wounded and dying all around him, the clanging of metal against metal, the fear and pain, bitter taste in his mouth, as he hacked at everything that moved near him with the sword they had given him, only trying to keep them away, trying not to get hit, trying to stay alive somehow.

And he stayed alive. He did not know how, but after an eternity, the din of the battle seemed to abate, and he still was standing, while around him, the ground was covered with bloody bodies. Then someone came to collect the few survivors, and they were herded back to Luskan, to be patched together for their next assignment.

He remembered entering through the city gates, bloody, exhausted, hopeless, wishing he had died on the battlefield, just to have it over with. What was the point in surviving, when you knew you would just be sent out to die another day?

He had thought of running away. Of course he had. Who wouldn’t? But they knew very well what went on in all the boys’ heads. So they actually let one escape. Only for demonstrating what would happen to those who tried. They made them watch what happened after they dragged the poor sod back. It gave Bishop nightmares for weeks. And not one of the remaining tried to run away after that. Including Bishop.

So he had stayed, and fought, and survived, wishing he had died. Deciding that next time, he would die, even if he had to find an enemy sword and impale himself on it. He would not go on like this, this wretched existence, a prisoner, used as a meat shield for the army proper.

And the moment he thought that, he saw her. With the horrors of battle still fresh in his mind, she had looked like an angel to him. Her long, blond hair falling in soft waves down her back, her blue eyes the colour of forget-me-nots, a shy smile on her face as she sold apples from a basket she was carrying to passers-by. He had stopped in his tracks, staring at her, the boy behind him colliding with him, because he had stopped so suddenly.

The commotion of course drew the guards, and he had received some painful blows with a stick for causing the delay. But this time, he barely registered the pain as he moved on, turning again and again to look at her. The proceedings had attracted her attention, and her eyes followed him as he was led away. To him, it was as if a ray of light had pierced the darkness that had surrounded him so long.

After that first assignment, they had decided they had better uses for him. The sergeant that had been with him obviously had reported that Bishop had a talent for killing. He was separated from the other boys, to be trained for special assignments. In other words, assassination. They had taught him how to read tracks, how to avoid sight, how to move silently through nearly every terrain. How to kill swiftly, effectively, soundlessly.

And he had been eager to learn. Training was hard, the trainers harsh, but Bishop had soaked up everything they had to teach him. Soon, he had earned some grudging respect. He became somewhat of a teacher’s pet, because of his eagerness and talent. All the time thinking that they were teaching him exactly the skills he would need to be free of them one day.

The other upside was that because of his status as model student, he gained some freedom. The opportunity to move relatively unobserved within the confines of the city, for example. And the first thing he did when they allowed him some slack was look for his angel. He searched the streets high and low, until at last he found her, selling apples from her basket again.

For some minutes he just stood and watched her, trying to work up enough courage to go and talk to her. Even after all these years, he remembered the staccato beat of his heart and the way his palms grew moist.

How old had he been? Seventeen? Eighteen? And he had had nearly no experience with women. Not many women around in the training camps, and the ones that were tended to wear canes and were happy to use them.

After a while, the girl seemed to feel his stare on her, and she looked up, into his eyes. He saw recognition there. She remembered him. And then she smiled, a sweet, shy smile, a bit of colour rising in her cheeks. He thought she was the most beautiful being he had ever seen in his life.

He walked up to her, his knees feeling like they were made of rubber. When he reached her, he stared down at her, a terrible blankness in his brain. He could not think of a single thing to say. The colour in her face grew deeper, and he could see her hands shaking slightly as she took an apple, offering it to him. He fumbled for some copper coins in his pocket, handing them to her, his heart beating madly as his fingers grazed her hand. He took the apple and practically fled before he stood before her any longer, tongue-tied like an idiot.

That night, he slept with an apple clutched to his heart.

Whenever they would let him out, he searched for her to buy an apple. After a while, his brain allowed him to say a couple of words to her without stuttering too much. He even managed to ask for her name. Sarah. It was the word that was on his mind when he went to his sleep, with a smile on his face. Flight from Luskan suddenly was far from his mind.

After they decided his training was complete, they started sending him out on special missions. Mostly going to other cities, to eliminate someone who stood in Luskan’s way. Sometimes he had to sneak through enemy lines to assassinate some high-ranking soldier or other. These jobs were the more dangerous ones. But Bishop was really getting good at his job. And now, he had a reason to come back. A reason for wanting to survive. The vision of Sarah, her sweet smile, her beautiful face, kept him going, kept him fighting, kept him sane through the horrors of what he had to do. And he always made it back.

Then came the day when he stood before her, heart in his throat, the apple he just bought in hand, staring down into her lovely face, and without thinking he blurted it out.

I love you.

Just like that. It just came out. He froze like a deer, ready to bolt if she started laughing at him She blushed crimson and looked down, but her hand slipped into his, squeezing softly. His apple fell to the ground as he reached out with his other hand, shaking badly, to touch her hair. She looked up then, into his face, adoration in her soft blue eyes, and he bent his head, his lips searching hers for a sweet, if clumsy kiss. His first kiss ever.

The pain of the memory still felt like a knife piercing his heart, even after all that time.

They had exchanged some silly vows of eternal love, like the children they were, and he had left, feeling like nothing could ever hurt him anymore.

He smiled bitterly. Gods, he had been so young. And still naïve, even after all that had happened to him.