Another short story dedicated to Kass. Excuse my writing. Late at night everything seems good... Crack, Iorveth/Ciaran and Iorveth/Vernon Roche. Just because I can.
Iorveth came back to his camp. He undressed himself, wanting to wash his face ad hands at least. Ciaran looked up at him. His friend looked tired, but also... no, happy wasn't the right word. Pleased? He wanted to ask him where he has been but he stopped when he saw bites on Iorveth's neck.
„What... Bloede dh'oine, did they hurt you?", he asked and approached Iorveth to have a better look at his neck. He gasped when he saw little drops of blood.
„Leave me alone, Ciaran. It's nothing", Iorveth said. He tried to get rid of Ciaran. He took a towel and tried to hide his neck under it.
„No", Ciaran refused angrily. „Tell me, what happened. Was it a..."
„I was in the woods. That creature... It arrived from the right, I didn't see it... It bit me, but everything's fine. You can leave now."
„Do you think I'm a fool, Iorveth?"
„What do you mean, Ciaran? I have no intention in talking about your stupid suspicions."
„I remember", Ciaran whispered. „We used to do the same. But you were never bleeding. I've never made you bleed like this. Who did this?", he asked, desperately trying to hide all emotions, like elves usually do.
„Jealousy is so dh'oine-alike, Ciaran", Iorveth said slowly, wiping his long neck.
Ciaran couldn't stop staring.
„So it was a dh'oine", he decided.
Iorveth laughed.
„Even if it was... theoretically... what would you do?"
„I'd kill him."
Iorveth stopped.
„Him? Why do you think it was him and not her? What makes you think that I am... fond of human men?"
„What makes me think like that? Let me explain this to you, Iorveth", Ciaran hissed. „Who's the one you're talking about all the time? Who's the one you want to capture so badly that you're constantly putting our lives in danger? Who's the one for whom you're after for so long, the one about whom you're thinking when you're touching yourself, the one whose name you're moaning in your sleep..."
„One more word, Ciaran, and I will kill you. I'm not joking. You know me. You know..."
„You're completely out of your mind, Iorveth! What did he do to you? Just look at yourself, fucking that pitiful dh'oine who killed so many of us... How do you even..."
„It's none of your business, Ciaran. Go away."
„I won't."
„Go away!"
Ciaran looked at him like he wanted either to punch him in the face or kiss him, Iorveth wasn't sure. Or maybe both.
„Commander of the Blue Stripes. A whoreson", Ciaran hissed.
„You wouldn't dare..."
„Vernon Roche."
Iorveth wanted to do something. He wanted to kill him, simple as that, just to get rid of that man he once loved. Loved or liked, he wasn't sure. He was never sure about anything.
But the moment passed. Ciaran left, leaving Iorveth alone.
The commander of Scoia'tael touched love bites on his neck. He was never sure about anything but one: one day he will kill Vernon Roche.
But first he will have his pleasure.