Deathbeds[✓]

16;

The citizens of Skyrim celebrated for weeks at the news of Alduin's defeat. Bards sang while people danced, drank, rejoiced. Some even went on to regal in the tales of Ruma the Dragonborn. They spoke of her courage, her fearlessness, her strength against insurmountable foes, striking them all down with nothing more than a Nord- crafted steel sword.

Only one person knew the true stories, and it wasn't a steel sword. It was a glass sword, crafted by some fancy elf and given to her after her steel sword had shattered into pieces fighting a dragon outside of Falkreath.

The announcement of her triumph came during one particularly hot summer day, weeks after Ruma the Dragonborn left Skyrim, from the combined Voices of the Greybeards.

Bishop was at Nilheim when he heard the Voice quake through the lands. Karnwyr raised his head and howled to the sky, saluting her victory.

The news made him all the more miserable and yet he found relief that she hadn't died like he thought she might. She was too stubborn for that.

He wandered around the weald for a long time, enjoying Karnwyr's companionship just like old times. They hunted together again and Bishop slowly became a little less lonely without the Dragonborn. He was back to making coin for nobles, the very type of people he hated, but coin was coin and it was somewhat of an honest living.

Being alone didn't make his feelings change at all for her. He spent many nights lying awake and looking at the stars, wondering if she'd ever come back, what if they had run away together. But he couldn't dwell on what-ifs. He had himself and Karnwyr to look after, and that was family enough.

But weeks came and gone, and the next thing he knew seasons changed and winter was upon them. He did a lot of traveling to the places he thought she might be. He even took a journey to Markarth, just to make sure she wasn't in the custody of the Silver-Bloods.

By the break of spring, the war had resumed. Roads were as dangerous as the wild with the number of soldiers skirmishing on their routes.

There was no news from Falskaar.

Bishop even took the initiative to ask around while on his travels. He visited Sayma in Solitude and asked if she'd seen the Dragonborn. Sayma shook her head sadly.

It wasn't until he was walking down the hill past the docks did he find his only hope at news from the island territory. He recognized a ship pulling into the harbor that bore strange animal bones along its stern.

He whistled for Karnwyr to follow him down the steps and waited on the wooden planks for the ship to fully dock.

He heard the captain before he saw him, singing a song about a pirate smuggler and a clipper ship. The draw plank was lowered and Bishop stood there, glaring up at the shipmate until he noticed the ranger standing there at the bottom.

"Oi! If I haven't seen an angrier face in me life!" The shipmate Wesley jested, wheezing as he laughed and took off his cap. "Cap'n! We've a visitor!"

"Is it a fair maiden?" Bishop heard Jack's voice carry from aboard the ship. He looked down the rail at Bishop and his eyes widened. "Ah, but a fair maiden's escort! It's Ranger, isn't it?"

Bishop frowned, irritated already. He came to probably the most insufferable man for information. He fisted his hands on his hips to keep them from drawing a weapon against the drunk pirate. "It's Bishop."

"Bisship!" Jack boomed and waved him up, "come aboard now, I got a few bottles of rum around 'ere."

Bishop found Jack near the stern, sitting at a small table with two tankards and an already half-empty bottle of rum. Bishop took the seat opposite of him and accepted the rum. It was as nasty as the last time, but it was much needed.