This isn't anything serious, and not too long thought out, so I'm not sure how far I'll be taking it. But if it can entertain even a few people, and satisfy anyone else who finds themself missing everyone's favorite Aen Seidhe, then I'm happy. A few plotlines buzzed together while I played through Wild Hunt, and I needed something to do on a plane ride, so.. Here we are.
Frigid mountain air was a welcome travelling companion to Iorveth, a bright refresher when compared to the most recent climates his journeys had paired him with. The forests around Flotsam weren't all that bad, the humidity and vast depth of them being the only things about it that wouldn't be counted as negative. Vergen was a breath of fresh air from the dense wood as well as the long campaign of dealing with the dh'oine of Flotsam. But with Vergen came the strange and unpleasant smells of the eternal battle that wrought among the mists in the fields just beyond the dwarven hold. At least the elf was able to escape that for a time when he had set out to gather the other scoia'tael units.
As he strode along a deer path leading to the next tiny mountain town, the thoughts of where he had been prior fizzled away with the brisk air that filled his lungs. His hair, finally free of his infamous red head covering, bustled about his face and ears. It had grown much longer than he realized. Though, spending six months in fitful unconsciousness on what should probably have been his deathbed would advance that perception quite a bit. He liked it a bit longer than normal. It served to hang and cover his scars when the wind didn't whip it out from his face. The shaggyness made the binding of his simple eye patch more discrete, as well.
The months of bed rest had taken a toll on his muscles, especially his legs, which Iorveth was made to realize in full when he had first set out to find her. The going was slow at first, far slower than he wanted. The frustration with the pace burned still, though his strength had nearly returned to full. She had a month's advance on him, and a fleeted foot sparked by the fire to run and escape. Isolation was her solace, and the mountains alone could calm her heart, Iorveth knew. She surely desired her old mountaineering ways, away from wars and the pain of watching her loved ones suffer. Watching him walk to the edge of death. Her visions had begun spiraling with her distress, he knew. It started shortly after that day in Loc Muinne when Iorveth had been caught in an almost fatal trap, only to suffer intense magical wounds and pain. He was sure his suffering was the cause of her 'mind-spikes,' as she called them: when her strong negative emotions affected her gift of intuition and mild foresight. He had seen it. Their connection caused him to have strange, painful dreams all throughout his recovery at Vergen while she had cared for him after Triss left, and feared for him greatly. He understood why she fled. He could only imagine the effects her mind-spikes had, having experienced them only secondhand. Rarely when he drifted off in the short hours he allows himself on his pursuit, he dreamt of her again. Clues. Tracks. But lately, always great pain, which worried him. Each time he awoke from them in a cold, heart-pounding sweat, he set out with more haste than the last.
Iorveth would find her, this he knew. Travelers in these mountainous lands were few and memorable, and almost every village on this particular route, from the valleys to the low peaks, had seen a dark-haired elven ranger with tanned skin and dusky eyes pass through, and could point him down the path she took. The number of days passed since she'd been seen in passing were growing shorter and shorter. He was finally making headway. He may even reach her before civilization thinned to nonexistence, and her trail would be far less clear.
The increase of bandit tribes as he advanced deeper into the mountain range would have concerned him, if her skills hadn't continually reminded Iorveth over their time together that she wasn't a warrior of little skill and lesser conviction. It was the monsters and her careless demeanor when dealing with them, that caused him concern. He hoped her struggle with her emotions and her foresight didn't get her into trouble.
For two months he trailed her, gaining on her, and Iorveth was nearly a few weeks behind her at this point, the gap ever-closing. The painful squeeze and leap of his heart was understandably violent, then, when a dwarven goat farmer confirmed the presence of an elven lass of that description currently in the town on the other side of the pass. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. But from the highest heights his heart plummeted when the dwarf answered his inquiries about how long she had been there. She had apparently suffered physical injuries some time ago, and was still being cared for. But she was alive, and only a mountain pass away. He thanked the farmer and headed off in her direction, as he had done countless times before. This time, his heart pounded within his chest.