Under a Violet Moon

Disclaimer: "Neverwinter Nights" and all the characters and places within belong to Obsidian and Bioware, not me, and I just borrowed them for a little joyride through Faerun. Keridwen is mine. Attentive readers might find some of her weaponmaster philosophies similar to some aspects of Frank Herbert's 'Dune' saga... and they're right. I always found his concept about fear and its control highly intriguing, and so I decided to use it as Keridwen's mantra in an altered form.

Author's Note: First of all, I have to apologize to my readers for letting them wait for so long. The original version of this chapter was much, much longer (which is why it took me so long to write :/), but once it was finished, I realised that it didn't work at all and cut out half of it again - leaving the now uploaded result, which I like much better. At least it has lots and lots of Bishop, which I hope will make up for the pause, and now I'm free to move on to the next chapter... which will hopefully be finished much faster. Many thanks again for all the encouraging reviews - I couldn't do this without all your wonderful support, and I hope you keep enjoying the story! :)

Idiotwhocantthinkofapenname: Thank you so much for your feedback - I'm glad you like this story so far, and hope that it won't disappoint in the future!

Vshard: Thanks a lot for the feedback. I'm glad you like the overall concept of the story, and that you find it entertaining despite the critique points you mentioned. I struggled with some parts of the last chapter, so I'm happy to hear that it was worth the work to straighten them out. ;)

Kalyane: Here he comes, dear, just for you! ;P

jeandark: I really hope your exams went well, dear, and I'm more than happy to hear you still enjoy the story!

Llandaryn: Thanks for your inner grammar nazi. I'll do my best to make it right from now on, but if you spot any other mistakes, please let me know!

As for the story - we're just beginning to pick up speed, so I can asure you that both Keridwen and Bishop will have to make some difficult decisions in the future. That's what I love about writing my own AU universe - the reader never knows what's about to happen, and I can let my imagination run wild. :D

And I haven't forgotten your stories, believe me - work's simply keeping me insanely busy at the moment, but I'll come back soon!

Lemonbreeze: Another emotional chapter, just for you. ;) I hope you'll enjoy this one, and as for your own story - I managed to read some more in the past few days, and it's progressing very nicely. I'll leave some proper reviews soon, but I just wanted to use this opportunity to let you know I like where you're going, and hope that you will update soon! ;)

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12

He was walking in the shadows of Crossroad Keep.

Not the impressive fortress it had once been, with its reinforced battlements and alert Greycloaks that were patrolling the walls, their armours and weapons shimmering proudly in the light of the watchfires. It was the ruin it had now become, filled with the stench of death and long, foreboding shadows, and he gripped the hilts of his scimitars tightly while he nimbly made his way between the broken walls and crumbled towers, his eyes searching for any signs of his quarry… or the enemy.

He did not have to search for long. He found her in the inner courtyard, kneeling motionlessly on the ground, her dark hair blowing gently in a breeze that he could not feel.

"Captain?"

She looked up when he approached, the simple white gown that she was wearing making her look even paler than usual, and there was something in her eyes that he had never seen there before, feeling both foreign and strangely familiar at the same time. A kind of … hunger?

He could see no trace of her sword, though, and it bothered him when he kneeled down beside her, his eyes darting between the ruins around them and her face. Why had she come back here, if not to fetch her weapon? And if she could not find it, why did she linger?

Foolish woman.

"Look, captain, I know that the Keep looks quiet for now, but that might change any minute. Did you find what you were looking for?"

She just kept staring at him, neither speaking nor making any moves to get up, her hands folded almost demurely in her lap. There was something lying beneath her long fingers, and he frowned, not knowing what to make of the glimpses he could catch. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought that it was some sort of wooden doll, something the kids in the Keep had played with – but what would she want with a thing like that?

"We should leave." he pressed on, hoping that the urgency in his voice would finally startle her into action. "Whatever you were hoping to find, it's not here. We should fall back to the trees, and then go East, like you suggested."

"I already tried." Her voice was calm and composed, as usual, but there was a sadness hidden beneath her quiet voice that he did not understand, and he did not like it one bit.

"This is what I am now." she said, her eyes never leaving his face as if she was pleading for him to understand. "No matter where I go, it always leads back to this. I will never be free of it."

He stared at her, at the way her chestnut-coloured hair was hanging in tousled curls around her face, framing her delicate features and forming a stark contrast to her white face. Her cheeks were almost deathly pale, but her blue eyes seemed to sparkle with an inner fire that made them shine like azure flames in the halfdark. She looked so lost, so beautiful in the light of the moon that, for a fleeting moment, it simply took his breath away.

Slowly, as if his arms were pulled on strings, he reached out to bury his hands in her hair, savouring the strangely intimate feel of the soft strands and even softer skin under his fingers. She offered no resistance to his touch, just kept watching him with her bright eyes, and his heart ached painfully when he realised all of a sudden why that fire in her eyes had seemed so strangely familiar. It was the hunger for something that was irretrievably lost - a yearning of the heart so desperate, so powerful that it was eating away at the very core of her being, slowly consuming her as it had once consumed him so many years ago when all his childhood dreams had suddenly turned to ashes, dying a most painful death in the harsh fire of reality.

Had he leaned closer? He was not certain, but he could smell her scent now, sweet and seductive and as intoxicating as any wine. He could see a hint of the shard scar marring her chest, and the way her simple gown clung to her curves ignited a different kind of fire in his blood that made him forget about the grief in her eyes in an instant. Her sudden closeness, her unexpected submission… wasn't that what he had wanted, what he had hungered for? If she did nothing to stop him, did nothing to object… didn't that mean that she wanted him to touch her?

He slowly sank towards the ground and took her with him, now lying underneath him in the grass, and lost himself in the sapphire depths of her eyes while his hands moved from her head to her neck to gently shove the gown down her shoulders, the sensation of his caloused hands running over her soft skin making him shiver. She still did nothing to stop him, just kept staring up at him with that saddened look in her eyes, and his heart ached despite the low burning that was now spreading rapidly through his body, her hurting piercing him like a thousand needles in his heart, battling his arousal.

He could not bear to see her so sad, so defeated. Her quiet suffering ignited within him an almost desperate longing to comfort her, to lead her away from this misery and to a place where she could return to being the free and confident woman who had won his respect so long ago… the woman he wanted.

There was a strange, cracking sound nearby, and Bishop's eyes widened in alarm when he looked up and saw the earth around them suddenly break open. A dozen arms were forcefully digging their way to the surface, their flesh ripped and bloody, showing the waxen pallor of death, and the fingers of their hands were bent like claws when they began to grope widely across the ground.

He jumped back, aghast, and watched in growing horror as hand after hand after hand finally clamped around Keridwen's lithe form, reaching for her arms, her legs, her hair. She did nothing to stop them, and did not even flinch as their sharp nails tore into her own flesh, her blood soon staining her white gown with red.

"It is fate, you know?"

It was Black Garius the Human and not the skeletal Reaver he had become who was now watching the drama in the courtyard with unfeeling eyes, but that did not keep Bishop from reaching for his weapons, his muscles tensing as adrenaline was pumped through his veins at the sight of their enemy.

Garius watched his moves without the slightest hint of emotion while he unabashedly went on with his speech, his voice the only sound in the Keep apart from the crumbling of earth and Bishop's harsh breathing, his gaze piercing.

"These events have long been foretold before even the first Empire rose from the Mere, only to crumble once more beneath the stars. And yet here you are, thinking that you of all people could safe her?" His voice turned cold, dismissive. "I think not."

The claws around Keridwen suddenly tightened their grip, now dragging her slowly under the ground, and Bishop screamed, throwing himself into the steadily growing pool of hands, trying to ignore the pain as their sharp claws ripped into the flesh of his legs and arms. His eyes were trained on Keridwen's small form, already halfway sunken into the earth, and still she was watching him with that look of utmost sadness in her eyes, their silent plea making him feel as if a knife was slowly turned in his heart.

He screamed again, an impotent shout of fury and rage and lunged forward, trying to reach her arms to pull her to safety, but the hands were always getting in his way, effectively blocking his own while she sank deeper and deeper into the ground…. deeper…

Bishop woke up with a start, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. There was a shadow looming above him, and he quickly reached for the knife across his chest, intending to slash at his opponent before he would loose the advantage of his well-trained reflexes and speed. But then the shadow moved a little to let a ray of moonlight fall onto a wide-eyed face, and he suddenly got aware of the hand that was touching his shoulder, its grip firm but gentle.

"Bishop?"

It was Keridwen, kneeling beside him, her face looking even paler than all day in the eerie light of the moon.

"Are you alright?"

She sounded worried, concerned, and he stared as her eyes seemed to catch the light of Selune, shimmering slightly. He remembered vividly how he had gazed into these eyes as he had touched her in his sleep, how soft her dreamskin had felt under his hands, and forcefully pulled his shoulder out of her grip as if he had burned himself, his disbelief at his dream actions quickly followed by an irrationally strong wave of fury.

"I'm fine." he hissed with his teeth now bared in a vicious snarl, anger making his voice even sharper than he had intended. "Get lost."

For a moment she held his gaze, and Bishop was certain to see some emotion flicker across her face at his angry rejection… hurt? Confusion? But then she simply nodded and stood up, slowly making her way back to her resting place, her expression schooled back into that calm mask he loathed and knew so well as she picked up his cloak and sat down on the ground once more, continuing her meditation.

He simply watched her go, and couldn't help but feeling impressed by her strength and determination even against his will. This very morning, she had been more dead than alive after her miraculous revival, and only a few hours and some potions and meditations later, she was already able to walk freely again for a short time with only the dark shadows under her eyes betraying her exhaustion when she did so.

Blasted, burning hells!

He experienced a brief moment of guilt for loosing his temper like that, but the fury was still swirling inside him, a strangely impotent rage that left him feeling furious and helpless at the same time, filling him with an almost desperate need to jump up, to run, to shout – anything to vent his frustration.

How was this possible? How could things have gotten so out of hand?

And that it should happen to him, of all people – he who had always prided himself on his ability to sever all ties easily, to cut even the slightest chains of attachment without a single thought of regret?

You're bloody pathetic, that's what you are.

He growled deep in his chest as the rage inside him seemed to burn white hot at that thought, coiling in his belly like snakes, and he laid down once more between the sheets, his eyes firmly closed and grinding his teeth so hard that for a moment, he feared they would shatter.

Why now? Why her?

With a small growl, he forcefully turned away from her and closed his eyes, still seething. No use to think about it now. He had done more than his share of work today, and now he would get some rest. Since Keridwen had been sleeping most of the day, either nestled against his chest or meditating when they had made some brief stops so that he could stretch his arms and legs, she was finally feeling strong enough to stay up without becoming unconscious for a while, and so they had decided that she would take first watch for as long as she could, along with Karnwyr.

Not that she had really asked him for his opinion, mind you. She had merely informed him that she wanted to stay up and meditate to recover her strength, so that he could lay down and get some rest after the exhaustion of the day.

As if he was one of her feeble lackeys from the Keep who needed coddling. Had he not carried her for the most part of the day, only halting briefly to get some feeling back into his sore arms and back when he really couldn't take it anymore?

The memory of how he had held her in his arms, her own nestled firmly against his chest and her breath warm on his throat while she had been sleeping… he swallowed hard when he remembered how he had glared at her sleeping form at times, only to feel a wave of panic wash through him when it looked like her heart had stopped beating once more, only to let out a brief sigh of relief when he had felt her breath still on his skin, calm and regular… mostly followed by another angry glare because it was all her fault that his life had gotten so complicated all of a sudden, because she had tricked him somehow.

The dream came back to his mind, and he closed his eyes even harder as if it could help to shut out the memories. But he couldn't stop the images from dancing in front of his eyes, of the feeling of his hands on her soft skin, of the sudden urge to hold her, to touch her… and of his own growing fear when the hands had began to drag her down under the earth, and how she had stared at him, her eyes filled with a silent reprimand as if these unfortunate events had been his fault after all, as if he had let her down once more…

He sat up with a growl, forcefully rubbing his eyes while his searing gaze returned to Keridwen's silent form, probably burning a hole right through his cloak.

As if it wasn't enough that she made his life hell while he was awake, now she was even ruining his sleep!

But no matter how much he loathed the fact, he had to admit that he would not find any rest for as long as his mind was racing like a bunch of panicked mice.

Fool.

He got up and stalked across the small clearing that he had chosen as their camp for tonight, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down his spine when he felt that strange sensation wash over him again, as if someone was constantly breathing down his neck.

Maybe she wasn't wrong about the King of Shadows, after all.

Keridwen opened her eyes when he sat down on a large root beside her, her gaze questioning. Karnwyr was watching him attentively, lying on her other side, a curious expression on his face.

"Go to sleep," he murmured gruffly, not quite able to meet her eye. "I'll keep watch."

He could feel her eyes on him, watching his face, and he did not need to look at her to know exactly how she was staring at him right now, her head slightly tilted to one side while she tried to make sense of his actions, her slightly furrowed brows the only sign of her confusion. Somehow, he could not blame her.

Believe me, Captain, this doesn't even make sense to me.

It was still some time until the beginning of his watch. He couldn't have slept much longer than the better part of an hour, judging by the position of the moon, but after a long moment of silence, Keridwen simply got up and took his cloak from her shoulders, her pale hands forming a stark contrast against the dark cloth when she held it out to him. He took it without casting her as much as a glance, keeping his silence, and so she simply turned around to walk over to his bedroll, readying herself to go to sleep.

For a moment, Keridwen was fighting with the various sheets of wool and leather, but he would rather have thrown himself headlong into a spider-infested cavern than walked over to help her get comfortable. So he simply got up again to throw the cloak around his shoulders, still warm with her heat, and tried his best to ignore the way his heart sped up when he caught a whiff of her scent, still lingering between the woolen folds.

* * *

The mere had always been an eerie place at night, especially without a fire, but now it had changed into something way beyond creepy. Something different, and dangerous, and it made the hairs on his neck stand up while Bishop sat there in the strange purple half-dark, his skinning knife in one hand and the other closed resolutely around an untouched piece of wood, his burning glare trained on the young woman sleeping only a few feet away on the damp ground.

How long since he had taken over from her? An hour? Two?

He had sent Karnwyr on his way, hunting, and had picked up a piece of wood to let the carving help to ease his mind. It was soothing, working his hands that way, to let his thoughts come to rest while concentrating on the idle moves of the blade.

It had been a good plan. But since Keridwen's breathing had turned from quick and shallow to the deep breaths that told him that she was fast asleep, he had been sitting here, his eyes fixed on her face, his mind still in a turmoil and the wood still untouched.

She looked so small, so fragile lying there, now wearing one of his spare shirts along with her own breeches. The expression on her face when she had finally been awake enough to realise the damage he had dealt her own tunic during… the incident, had been priceless indeed, but he had avoided her questions with a cool glare and some short, scathing remarks. How could she expect him to explain something to her that he could not even begin to understand?

However, he had realised how uncomfortable she had felt, with her tunic being torn almost down to her navel – not that she had been much to look at, anyway – and so had thrown her one of his own shirts from his backpack, not able to keep the smirk from his face when she had fought to pull the piece of cloth over her head, her cheeks flaming and her fingers shaking.

He did not feel much like smirking now, sitting here in the damp cold without a fire, and watching the woman whose decisions had shaped the past years of his life.

Pathetic, whispered the voice in his head, here you are, always bragging about your famous independence, and you did not even realise what she was doing to you.

Shut up, he replied silently, baring his teeth in a snarl, she did nothing to me. It's all about Duncan, remember? I don't care a fig for her well-being.

No? So you don't care that she doesn't seem to be breathing anymore?

Wha…

He was up and kneeling beside her before he even realised that he had moved, his heart hammering in his chest when he leaned down over the sleeping woman. Keridwen's face looked still ashen in the light of the moon, her lips now carrying a blueish tint, and he only relaxed when he was close enough to hear the soft hiss of her breath and feel her pulse steadily under the tips of his fingers when he reached for the smooth skin of her neck.

Only then his mind seemed to catch up with his actions, and he sat back on his heels, staring dumbfounded at the slender form at his feet.

Hells.

Blasted, burning, bloody hells.

This wasn't good, not good at all. Not only did he have no need for any further complications, Keridwen's skin had felt like ice under his hand, even though she was tightly wrapped into the sheets of his bedroll.

For a moment, he battled with indecision, a deep frown on his face. Then he reached resolutely for the clasp of his cloak, draping it over her sleeping form before slipping carefully between the sheets, taking painstaking care not to wake her until she was firmly pressed with her back against his chest and his arms loosely closed around her, suppressing a shiver as his body tried to warm her frozen limbs.

What would be the sense in carrying her all this way just to have her catching a cold, or even worse, pneumonia?

The moments slowly ticked by, and Bishop tried his best to lie still, listening intently for any hitch in her breath that told him that she would wake up, but Keridwen kept inhaling and exhaling slowly, another clear sign for her exhaustion.

She did not only look small and fragile in her present state. His body framed hers easily, with the tip of her head just coming up to his chin, and he suppressed a curse when he breathed in her scent, some parts of his body reacting almost instinctively to her closeness.

Who would have thought that things would turn out this way when he had offered her to lead her away from all this - the two of them alone somewhere out in the wilds, fighting for their lives and ending up together in his bedroll?

It was an idea that had never truly crossed his mind, simply because she had never given him any indication that she would even be slightly interested in any activities like this – at least not with him – but now that he had her so close in his arms, he could not deny that some parts of him seemed to find the idea very entertaining.

Should have visited the Mask the last time we came through Neverwinter.

Not that this here would ever happen. The idea of touching her, of seeing whether he could actually break through her shell and melt the ice of her calm exterior was strangely enticing, but he knew without doubt that Keridwen would never be interested in a fling. She would expect him to take this seriously, would probably ask him to make a commitment of sorts – and what would he do if she did?

Could not say that he had much experience with that.

In all his long years, he'd preferred to keep his business with women simply sexual, and that was why he usually visited a brothel whenever he felt the need – no whining in the morning when he was packing his bag, only the exchange of coins for the good that had been delivered and maybe a warm welcome back when he returned from another travel.

Casual acquaintances. No complications. He really preferred things that way.

The only time in his life where he had sort of been involved with a woman had been the time when he had worked with Malin, and that were no memories he actually liked to dwell on.

He should simply get up, return to his post. Keridwen felt much warmer already, and it was still his watch. Someone needed to stay alert. And yet he simply stayed were he was, cradling her in his arms, the heat between them leaving his body tingling. It had been a while since he had held a woman like this, and strangely enough, it felt good to imagine that he was holding her because she wanted him to… because she needed him.

Just one moment, he thought, closing his eyes when he pulled her a little closer against his chest, his face now buried in the soft curls of her hair. Then I'll get up, and this will be over. Just a little while longer.

*****