Deathbeds[✓]

12;

Bishop awoke to find Anais sitting by the spent fire, eating an apple and reviewing her map. She ran her pinky finger along a road, mumbling something inaudible in between bites of fruit. He noticed that she was already packed up and ready to leave; she even had his bow and quiver readied for him.

She didn't seem to notice him when he came around behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She flinched, then relaxed as he began to knead the tense muscles there.

"Good morning," she smiled up at him. "I've been thinking about something."

Bishop hummed, "sounds dangerous."

She looked down back at her map. "We can stay at the inn, re-up on our provisions and then..." She threw the finished apple somewhere out of sight.

"And then...what?" Bishop prodded.

She shrugged out of his grasp despite her sore muscles protesting for his touch. "I was thinking about last night, with those cutthroats. They didn't know who I was- which was good for me because I can defend myself. But what if it wasn't me? What if I was just another girl? I can't let Thorn and his creatures continue their deplorable actions. Those girls deserve retribution."

"Bloodthirsty, are we?" He smiled at her and ran the back of his finger along her jaw. She had a glow about her, maybe it was the early sun or something about how she talked about killing one of his own enemies, he thought. She was simply divine looking and his blood began to simmer in his veins. "Works well enough for me. He belongs in the pits of Oblivion for what he's done. We can send him there after I've snapped every single bone in his body."

Anais pressed her cheek into his hand. "I was thinking about shouting him to pieces, but even that's too merciful."

Bishop took the map out of her hands and located the spot he had last seen Thorn. "His hovel is somewhere about here, in the hills just west of town. It's more so his base of operations than a stronghold if you get what I mean."

"It will only take a few hours to get to Falkreath," she went on. "I need to pay the blacksmith a visit; my blade has dulled since Alvor mended it for me."

Bishop drew her blade from the scabbard and ran the pad of his fingers along its edge. "Maybe get something stronger than steel, and lighter."

"I grew up training with a scimitar," she frowned at the sword in his hands, "steel from Hammerfell is better than Nordic steel."

Bishop sheathed the blade with a smirk. "Don't let the blacksmiths hear you say that."

"Shall we get on, ranger?" she asked, standing and adjusting her pack.

"I'd love to get on you, ladyship, if that's what you're implying," he snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her body into him. Her palms came up to rest on his chest but did not push him away, as he thought she might. Instead, she smiled and laughed, and gods it made his blood boil just to see her like this.

"You're wicked, ranger. You best watch yourself before I shout you to pieces," she barbed but smiled.

Bishop blew out a pent up breath, rolling his eyes and met her dark eyes with a challenging gaze. "You keep saying that, ladyship, but the only thing I hear you shouting is my name while I shove my-"

"Okay! You win!" she swatted his chest and he let his hold on her go, Bishop chuckling all the while. He could tell she was enjoying this banter by the way her lip curled at the edge in a sly smirk.

He won all right, he marveled at the thought. Bishop caught her hand when she turned to walk away from him. He kissed her opened, surprised mouth. He kissed her hard and chastely, turning away from her to grab his things. Anais wobbled a bit on her feet, taken aback by his sudden and ardent response.