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Judas	By : BronxWench Category: +M through R > Neverwinter Nights Views: 438 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Neverwinter Nights 2 and I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Chapter 8
The portal took them directly into the Great Hall of the Keep. Bishop was taken aback by the sheer number of people who had crowded into the space to await their return, and he tightened his hold on her involuntarily. From the expressions on most faces, their appearance was disconcerting. The Captain's breeches were stiff with dried blood, and Bishop's tunic was far too large for her slender frame. Bishop's many scars stood out in sharp relief against his otherwise smooth olive skin, and his breeches were only marginally less gore-splattered than hers. They were dusty, grimy and looked thoroughly disreputable.
Lord Nasher Alagondar stood in the forefront, resplendent in mithral plate embellished with gold. At his right hand was Sir Nevalle in his immaculate blue tunic designating him as one of the Nine. Kana, impeccable and precise, stood at his left hand. Behind Lord Nasher, Bishop saw some of the Captain’s companions. Representatives of Clan Ironfist and the Lizardfolk mingled with Greycloaks and their sergeants. A slight movement caught Bishop's eye, and he saw her foster father make his way to Kana's side.
With a nearly inaudible sigh, she disengaged herself from Bishop and bowed to Lord Nasher, who stepped forward and took her hands in his. He raised her up, his eyes bright with emotion.
“Knight-Captain Farlong, let me be the first to welcome you home,” he said, his rich voice carrying easily through the Hall. “All of Neverwinter is in your debt.”
A cheer erupted at his words, and she seemed dazed by the tumult. Bishop moved closer to her, eying Lord Nasher warily, but no one seemed inclined to seize him and drag him to the dungeons quite yet.
“Knew you'd bring her home, ranger!” Khelgar boomed.
If the damned dwarf tries to hug me, there'll be blood, Bishop thought, trying to calculate the odds of escape. He could elude most of them, but he had a grudging respect for Daeghun Farlong's skills as a tracker. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nevalle watching with a predatory glint in his eyes. Bishop moved even closer to her, suspicious of the other knight's interest.
His movement brought him under Lord Nasher's scrutiny. The Lord of Neverwinter locked eyes with Bishop and nodded curtly.
“I am told that your apparent treachery was a ruse, devised to encourage our enemy to overreach himself,” Lord Nasher said. “I am further told that you rejoined the Knight-Captain within the ruins, and fought valiantly in her company.” He paused, and Bishop shifted uncomfortably.
“Yeah, well, things aren't always what they appear to be,” he said, loathing the attention.
Lord Nasher broke into a broad grin. “Well done, Bishop, and my thanks, to you and all of the brave companions who entered the ruins.” He sobered before continuing. “For those who did not return, Neverwinter shall mourn bitterly. We are all diminished by such losses.”
Bishop found himself taken aback by Lord Nasher's evident sincerity. He had expected some public show of gratitude, followed by a swift return to obscurity for the Captain, and imprisonment, even if only temporary, for himself. Instead, he actually felt like he had done something that counted, for the first time, and he was not sure how that was sitting with him.
“Thank you, my Lord,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I'm afraid we were not prepared for...this.” She gestured at the assembly.
“Of course,” Lord Nasher replied, his voice kind. “You are both exhausted, no doubt. Please do not allow us to detain you any longer. We can speak again tomorrow, when you've had a chance to rest.”
“Someone's been busy,” Bishop said, closing the door to the Knight-Captain's quarters behind him. A fire was lit in the hearth, and a meal laid out. Twin armoires stood open, filled with clean clothing for both of them, and several thick towels hung warming by a brazier near the filled and steaming bath. An elegant flask sat on a piece of parchment on the desk, and Bishop read the note, chuckling.
“Hmm?” She was busily removing her boots, perched on a corner of the bed.
“ 'Congratulations, and we shall call it even. S.' ” he read aloud, examining the flask critically. “Even better than the stuff you lifted from him.”
“I’m surprised,” she laughed. “I thought I'd found his best wine. Neeshka will be disappointed in me.” She finished shedding her clothing, pushing the pile of discarded items into the corner with a bare foot. “I'm for a bath before anything else. Are you coming?”
Bishop grinned, kicking off his own boots. He paused to admire her for a moment, slender and graceful. As slim and straight as a blade, he mused, but with curves just where a man could want. He felt a wave of heat rise through him, and he bolted the door before shedding his breeches and slipping into the bath.
“Hells, that feels good,” he sighed. The water was hot enough to ease the ache of his tired body, and he closed his eyes to savor the sensation. She slipped behind him and began to soap his shoulders and upper back, skillfully kneading his knotted muscles. A soft moan of pleasure escaped his lips as her hands traveled deftly down his back. She moved to face him, straddling him as she ran her hands down his chest. He caught her face between his hands, pulling her into a kiss. She tasted impossibly like honey and cinnamon, and as he marveled at her sweetness, he felt himself engulfed in the velvet heat of her, and he stopped thinking for some time as she claimed him.
The water was starting to cool by the time they climbed out of the tub. Bishop wrapped her in one of the thick towels, leaning forward to steal a kiss as he did. He wrapped a second towel securely around his waist.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, her voice slightly husky. “I know I am ravenous, truth be told.”
“There's enough food here for a week,” he grinned. “Don't think anyone'd leave us alone for that long, though.”
She laughed, surveying the assortment on the table. She took a plate and filled it, and then curled up on the cushions piled in front of the fire with a sigh of contentment.
“Should I open Sand's wine?” Bishop asked.
“Later, I think,” she said. “The wine on the table will do with dinner.”
Bishop settled in beside her, and handed her a goblet with a wry grin.
“So, what comes next for the Knight-Captain of Crossroad Keep?” he asked, deliberately keeping his voice light. “Joining the Nine, maybe? Putting Luskan to the torch?”
She looked at him over the rim of her goblet. “I had been thinking I'd step down,” she said. “There are others better suited to holding this Keep, and I have no heart for bloodshed after all we've seen.” She reached out to run a finger along his stubbled jaw. “A ranger I hold dear once offered to run away with me, down a forgotten path. I think I'd like to camp somewhere for a year or two.”
“I think we can arrange that for you,” he replied, his voice soft. He reached out to gather her close, her skin golden in the firelight.
Bishop woke in the middle of the night, alone in the bed. He sat up, running his hand through his hair.
Hells, he thought. Can't they let her have one night? He pawed through the armoire holding his clothing, pulling on breeches and a tunic, and tugging on tall boots. He slipped his old hunting knife in the top of one boot, and set off to find her.
Aside from a few Greycloaks on patrol, the Keep was quiet. He stuck to the shadows, slipping unnoticed into the courtyard. Moving silently, he climbed up to the wall. She sat between the crenelations, her hair streaked with moonlight, and he made to join her until he saw a darker shadow emerge from behind her.
He ghosted closer, recognizing the shadow as Sir Nevalle. The knight moved closer to her, and she turned to face him, her nightshift clinging to her, skimming the tops of her bare feet as she stood.
“Sir Nevalle?” she asked. “Is something amiss?”
“A great deal is amiss, Captain.” His voice was cold and stern. “A paladin of Tyr lies dead, and you return in the company of a traitor. And where is the Sword of Gith, Captain?”
“Is there some reason I should tell you this, before I have spoken with Lord Nasher?” Her voice was as icy as Nevalle's. “I do not answer to the Nine.”
“You will answer to me, or this Keep will have a new Captain come the morning,” Nevalle responded.
She laughed then. “So be it.” She started to turn away, and Nevalle seized her arm, spinning her back around to face him.
“Do not mock me, Captain,” Nevalle snarled. “I will have the truth from you, and I will have it now.”
“Is this how a knight of Neverwinter acts?” Bishop sneered, unable to watch any longer. “Seems pretty damned unchivalrous to me.”
“I should have known you would be slinking close by, traitor,” Nevalle snapped, not relinquishing his hold on her arm. His free hand moved to the hilt of his sword.
“Draw that blade, and it will be your last living act,” Bishop growled, his eyes narrowed. “She's unarmed. Are you so afraid of her?”
“I don't fear either of you, nor do I trust you.” Nevalle yanked her further away from the wall, closer to him. “Why are the two of you prowling the walls in the dark of the night?”
“Lathander's light,” she said, sounding exasperated. “I could not sleep, and came out here for some air. Bishop was asleep when I left our quarters. Were you actually watching me?” She widened her eyes in mock horror.
“Don't be insolent,” Nevalle said sharply, turning to Bishop. “Am I to suppose you woke up and missed her?”
Bishop grinned and crossed his arms across his chest. “Thought that up all by yourself, lackey?” He moved closer, reaching out to grip Nevalle's wrist. “Any sane man would miss her. Now, get your hand off my Captain before I start thinking it needs to be removed more permanently.”
Nevalle shoved her towards Bishop with a sneer, contemptuous. “Take her, then, but this is not over. I will have my answers, no matter how well you've fooled my Lord of Neverwinter.” He stalked away, snapping at a sentry as he passed.
Bishop looked at her, troubled. “Not sure where that came from, but by the Hells, there goes a man who wants killing.” She did not answer, and that was even more troubling.
- 7
- 8
- 9
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Judas