Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything of the Witcher-Series. OC and parts of the plot are mine, though.
Six years
Only a few more paces up the high rocky slope towering over Vergen's main gate and he would have reached the tiny campfire that was his guidance. He should have cut the dwarf's lousy beard right away instead of believing his stupid story about a dark haired elven girl with eyes like fluorite crystals, camping all on her own high above the city. But hope was a bitch! No matter how hard he or life had tried, this small flame inside of his heart always remained, though it had become significantly smaller over the past years.
Iorveth cursed. Gods, he was tired! Their hurried flight from Flotsam and todays rush over this cursed battlefield had taken their toll and instead of going to sleep in a safe and warm house for the first time in months, he was crawling up this mountain like a marmot – less light-footed though. Now his clothes were soaked knee-high, his thighs ached from the unfamiliar climbing and his own harsh voice just didn't stop calling him a sentimental idiot in his head.
Pulling himself up one last cliff without making any noise, he finally reached the small rock spur and critically scanned the figure huddled into a woollen mantle close to the happily flickering campfire. The woman's breath was low and even – definitely fast asleep. Two more steps and he was behind her, kneeling down and carefully taking the sturdy leather glove of his right hand to have better control of his fingertips. He had to see her face, but she mustn't awake – he would make a fool of himself, stalking strange elven women in their camps. The bloody dwarfs would laugh their ulcerous asses off, if word of this got round. His men might understand, but still...
God damn this tiny little flickering flame of hope!
Slowly, carefully Iorveth reached out to alter the position of her mantle, to get a look on her face, to ... Faster than he could react – or even blink – the sharp blade of a dagger was at his throat, cutting into his skin, and his bare right hand was caught in an iron grip. Two wild fluorite crystal eyes glared at him. They blinked once and he could see recognition replace rage slowly but steadily, widening her gaze. The grip on his wrist loosened, the sharp lines of her face softened. Finally the blade left his throat.
"Iorveth..." Her voice was a nearly inaudible whisper, more question than statement. And yet it was her voice. Those were her eyes. It was her face. All of which he had believed long dead and gone... He was unable to form a comprehensive sentence, only her name lingered in his thoughts and on his tongue: "Enwynn."
Time stretched. He couldn't recall how long they had sat there, staring at each other, but the campfire was barely smouldering, when she finally found her voice again and broke the spell: "Pray, don't let this be just another cruel dream!"
"I am no dream, Enwynn!" Her gaze grew cautious... sceptic... sad. "Can you prove it?"
Iorveth hesitated. He didn't know what had happened to her in the past six years. He didn't know how it came that she was still alive. He didn't know how she had ended up here in Vergen. But he could tell easily, that the years following the battle of Brenna and the treacherous "peace" of Cintra hadn't left her unchanged, wherever she might have been.
He slowly reached out for her cheek, longing to feel her skin under his again and couldn't think of any other answer to her question, than: "I will not be gone after the third cock-crow."
"We will see.", she replied but nevertheless closed her eyes, peace flickering over her expression, and nestled her face up against his palm. For the first time in six long years little sparks of happiness exploded in Iorveth's stomach like Dwarven fireworks and a little smile forming involuntarily on his lips made his scar ache.
He didn't care.
After another long moment of silence he couldn't keep himself from asking any longer: "What happened to you, Enwynn? I believed you to be in safety. When I learned after battle, that the camp had been attacked and there was no trace of you..." His voice broke, when the memories nearly brought tears to his eyes. With a shake of his head he regained control over his emotions again, before he would lose it.
When Iorveth was lord of himself again, he met Enwynn's eyes, gazing at him sadly, while her hand still pressed his palm against her cheek. "Please let us not talk about this now. After all you might still turn out to be a dream and nevertheless I wouldn't want to spoil just a second of it with memories of grief and despair."
That being said, she pulled his body down to the ground and nestled up against his breast, wrapping her mantle around both of them as well as possible.
Never for a second did she let go his right hand.
For a few scary moments Iorveth himself wasn't sure anymore, if this was just a dream – a cruel and wonderful dream... Then sleep finally overwhelmed him, too, his heart aflame.
Here we go. It's just a tiny little something, that wanted to be written. There is still something more in my mind, but we will see, if it finds its way hither. Reviews welcome, but please don't be too harsh on me on canon stuff.