A/N: Hi guys, here's the final chapter of Part One. Flotsam gets quite claustrophobic, doesn't it? Thanks so much for the reviews/follows/faves - it's awesome to be with fellow Witcher 2 fans :)
Disclaimer: No ownership over here, y'all.
In the silence, Rusa was able to focus on her breathing. In the silence… where was everyone? The stone was warm against her body. She let her head fall back and stared up at the lovers. Still in the ruins. How long had she been unconscious? She unfurled her fist and chanced a look at the wound. Messy, bleeding steadily. She needed to get back to Flotsam. She needed…
"Don't touch it."
Iorveth stepped through the bushes and knelt down next to her. Rusa stared up at him in disbelief.
"What's going on? Where's—"
"Don't speak," he ordered and tore the shirt off her shoulder. Iorveth felt around the top of her breast and removed a blueish pulp from his mouth, rolling it between two fingers. He glanced at her briefly. Rusa's eyes widened. She swore loudly as he pressed it into the wound. He kept the pressure for a few moments and she dug her nails into the ground, hissing through her teeth. He let go, catching her head as it flopped forward.
"You've my thanks," she mumbled, tentatively brushing her fingers against her breast. The bleeding had slowed.
"As you do mine," he replied, removing a red piece of cloth from his belt. He tilted Rusa's head to the side and fastened it around her neck and under the shoulder, tugging the shirt up with an efficiency derived from decades of dressing wounds. "We need to leave. Where's Geralt?"
Rusa frowned. Geralt… Everything was hazy. "He and Letho," she spoke slowly, "they fell through the ruins."
Iorveth jumped up and peered into the hole. He held out a hand. "Cáemm."
She reached out with her right arm and stifled a groan as the elf helped her up. Overcome with nausea she pushed him away and bent over, breathing heavily. Iorveth waited patiently.
Rusa looked up at him, panting. "Sorry…I just…" Her stomach lurched violently and she bit back the urge to vomit. The burning sensation around the wound was excruciating. Whatever plant was lodged in there was working. She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. "Okay," she breathed and straightened up, pinching the bridge of her nose. A flicker of amusement crossed Iorveth's face. She brushed off her breeches. "Let's go."
They made their way to the hole Roche had kicked in and climbed down to the baths. Rusa's throat tightened when she thought of the Blue Stripes. And Roche. Nowhere to be seen. That fucking marksman whose name she didn't know, didn't care to know. She scanned the baths as Iorveth strode through an archway into another room. Geralt was struggling to his feet. Letho was nowhere in sight.
Rusa ran towards him, ignoring the pain shooting through her chest. "Geralt! What happened? Are you alright?"
He nodded and sheathed his sword. "Where's Roche?"
She bit her lip as Iorveth came up beside her. "We killed a few of his men," he said. "The rest ran. Is Letho dead?"
"On his way to Flotsam," said Geralt.
"How do you know?" asked Rusa.
"He wants to find Triss."
Her chest tightened. Triss… "What for?"
"Kill him," Iorveth cut in, jaw set. "Before he contacts the others."
A strange moment passed between the elf and the witcher. They understood each other, knew what the other was thinking. Geralt shook his head. "You shouldn't have trusted a dh'oine."
The elf looked at Rusa pointedly. She pursed her lips impatiently. "We need to find Triss. Let's go."
"We can't go there," said Iorveth softly, throwing Rusa off guard with his reservation. "The garrison…"
Geralt pointed an accusing finger. "Of course. I forgot what kind of warriors you are," he said scathingly. Rusa was taken aback by the sudden change in atmosphere. Iorveth glared at Geralt with a taut expression. Then he simply shrugged.
"Maethe taerde, Gwynbleidd. Good luck." He nodded at Rusa and left without another word.
"You're just leaving?" she yelled, as he disappeared into the other room. She turned to Geralt, stunned. "Why does Letho want Triss?"
They climbed out of the ruins and ran back to Flotsam, Rusa lagging behind and wheezing. She clutched a hand to her chest. The cloth was still secure and the burning sensation had eased somewhat. She groaned inwardly when she remembered Iorveth touching her breast. Neither had cared, her in a daze and him working efficiently, but the thought made her flush with embarrassment. She focused on Triss. Geralt said Letho needed her in order to teleport to Aedirn. They were running out of time.
The witcher waited for her at the gates and they headed into the market square. Rusa frowned at all the noise. It was different to Flotsam's usual racket. Geralt quickened his pace. People dashed around the square frantically, screaming and shouting, wielding clubs and any weapon they could get their hands on. Rusa stopped in her tracks. The square ran red with the blood of nonhumans. Men and women huddled over dwarves and elves, beating them to death. Blood splattered across their faces as they pummelled limp bodies, long dead, faces ground into the dirt. It was a massacre.
She rushed over to a group of women and tackled one to the floor. Her shoulder jarred and she clenched her jaw to keep from crying out. The woman squirmed under Rusa's weight, screaming as she writhed around on the bloodied cobblestones. She went to grab her club and, without thinking, Rusa gripped her by the collar and rammed her head into the woman's face. A boot collided with her stomach and Rusa keeled over. A man leered down at her and hammered his club into her side. She curled herself into a ball as he raised his weapon for a second round. Staring out across the cobbles she saw two bodies lying a puddle of blood. One had an arm over the other protectively. The other… familiar blonde curls framing her battered face.
The man brought down his club and Rusa braced herself for the impact. When nothing came she looked up frantically. Geralt hauled her to her feet.
"Come on!"
He pulled her towards the inn. She clawed at his arm in an attempt to break free. Geralt circled her waist and practically dragged her away. She stared helplessly at the bodies of Ylvan and Beryl. The little human had protected the elf with her life.
They found Dandelion shielding two elves and fending off the accusations of two men. The humans turned on Geralt, one yelling about the elves causing the death of his son. Rusa gritted her teeth. Humans. Hateful, naive humans! She blinked suddenly. She was human. Geralt's eyes glowed as he performed an axii charm, which caused the men to leave the elves unharmed. The latter expressed their thanks to the witcher and wasted no time in escaping.
"Who opened the gates of hell?" Geralt asked Dandelion. The bard was staring at Rusa wide-eyed.
"You look…"
"Disgusting, I know," she said, looking down. She was covered in blood.
"I was going to say exhausted," Dandelion replied smoothly. Despite the chaos, Rusa laughed. Exhausted. She couldn't deny that she was. The bard continued, "I don't have any proof, but my coins on Loredo. Rulers are always looking for a way to cover their mistakes and failures. And the mob always loves a circus, whether merry or bloody." He lowered his voice, a serious look on his face. "This town will never be the same. A time of disdain has come."
Rusa went behind the bar and found a bucket of water in the corner. She grabbed a cloth and wiped herself off. Dandelion stared over the bar as she washed her legs.
Geralt snapped his fingers. "How did the rioting start?"
"They say it's revenge for those soldiers who died following Roche," he said, returning his gaze to Geralt reluctantly. Rusa remained oblivious and continued scrubbing off the blood with a look of disgust. "But they were just thugs on Loredo's pay," the bard added. "No one misses them."
"Why aren't the guards doing anything?"
"Why would they? The Squirrels slaughtered their cronies and Loredo hasn't given them any orders."
Rusa perked up at that piece of information. Her blood boiled. The commandant sat peacefully in his tower while nonhumans died in his streets. Roche was right. Traitor to Temeria or not, Loredo needed to die. She threw the bloodied cloth into the bucket and rested her head against the bar.
Geralt cut to the chase. "We need to find Triss."
Dandelion looked thoughtful. "Last I saw her, she was on her way to meet Sile in her rented quarters at the inn. I told Triss about the megascope Zoltan's been building."
Rusa raised her head wearily. The heat of the inn was making her sleepy. "Let's go, then," she said and opened the door. The screams from outside shattered the quiet.
"I was lucky enough to get the key to Sile's nest." Dandelion looked sheepish as he walked out. "Incidentally, for a big woman, the innkeeper's wife is surprisingly nimble…"
Rusa nodded her head absently. A thought occurred to her as they made their way to Sile's room. The chaos outside—the massacre—where were the Blue Stripes? A nonhuman massacre… the thought of Roche being involved sickened her. She hoped he was busy with Loredo.
They entered Sile's room. Empty, apart from a dead guard in the corner. The megascope stood in the corner surrounded by chalk markings on the floor.
"Not good…" mumbled Dandelion.
"Don't just stand there," said Geralt, clearly agitated. "We need to look for clues."
The three of them searched around the room and Rusa noticed a peephole close to the megascope.
"Here, Geralt!"
The witcher peered through the hole. "Someone might have been spying…"
"The brothel's behind that wall," chimed Dandelion. "Maybe the Madame saw what happened."
Geralt barged into the room next door. Margot stood protectively over the body of a young elven woman.
"What happened here?" asked Rusa.
The Madame turned, breasts heaving, her rouged face stained with tears. "They murdered her. Derae. Yesterday they loved her, drank wine with her, told her she's pretty… Today, five of them came, drunk on blood, screaming filth." Rusa craned her neck to look at the girl. She was beautiful.
"We need to know what happened in the next room. We noticed a peephole…" Geralt trailed off.
"Mhm. Sile normally casts spells that blocked both sight and sound, but there was nothing like that this time." Margot looked back at Derae with a pained expression. "We started peeping—me first. I saw that redhead, Triss Merigold, and Cedric, our drunkard ex-Squirrel."
Rusa's eyes snapped to the peephole nervously. "Cedric?"
"He accompanied her," Margot replied with a nod. "The redhead approached the magic mirror and said, 'Let's see who our ice-queen's been talking to recently.' She waved her hands around and shouted an incantation. A woman appeared in the mirror—a woman named Philippa."
Geralt glanced at Dandelion. "Who's Philippa?"
"Philippa Eilhart—sorceress counsellor to King Radovid of Redania. A grand mistress of the world's most fetid cuisine—politics."
Rusa rolled her eyes at the bard's poetics and waved a dismissive hand. "What did they say to each other?"
Margot took a breath. "Something about a beautiful woman in Aedirn, an uprising and a fight for freedom. She's achieved the impossible, Philippa said. Humans, nonhuman, nobles, burghers, and peasants marching side by side towards a new beginning…"
"The woman Iorveth spoke of," Rusa said hurriedly.
Geralt nodded, eyes fixed on the Madame. "What happened to Triss?"
Margot gave a frustrated sigh. She didn't know. The murderers interrupted, kicked her, stabbed Derae… "I heard the sorceress screaming, though. After the murderers left I peered outside. Thought I saw Cedric sneaking through the alleys, towards the forest. He was staggering."
Rusa felt her chest constrict. She pictured Cedric hurt and stumbling around the forest. Her eyes started stinging. If they hurried they could still get to him.
"Wait!" Margot handed Rusa a letter as they stepped out to the balcony. "Give this to Iorveth."
Rusa frowned. She couldn't hide her surprise. "A letter?"
The Madame gave her a meaningful look. "The names of Derae's killers. He'll understand." Rusa stuffed the letter into her back pocket. Of course, she had to be the bearer of bad news.
Dandelion stayed behind as they searched for Cedric. The witcher pointed out the trail of blood and Rusa's heart seized momentarily. The elf was badly wounded. The glare from the setting sun made it difficult for her to follow the trail so she relied on Geralt's unfailing vision and footprints. Each time they passed another puddle of blood she swore under her breath. Several dead ends later and Geralt spotted him slumped against a tree.
"Cedric!" Rusa darted forward. He was bleeding profusely. She removed his hands from the wound and he stared at her, eyelids heavy.
"Caedmill, Rusa Elyot," he slurred, though this time not from the liquor.
Rusa pressed her hand onto the wound and scanned his face anxiously. "Just tell me what to get." She berated herself for not having asked Iorveth the name of plant he used. She glanced over her shoulder. "Geralt, hurry!"
Cedric greeted the witcher and removed Rusa's hand gently. "I no longer feel the pain… Always wanted to die among trees…"
"Stop it," she ordered, slapping his hand away. "Don't talk like that."
Geralt dropped down next to them. "Cedric, what happened?"
The elf shifted on his elbow and grimaced. "Triss asked me for help. I killed the dh'oine guarding the door, and we broke in." His eyes darted around helplessly. "Again, I killed a dh'oine…"
"You were helping Triss," Rusa insisted. "What happened to her?"
"A witcher came in. Attacked us." Cedric searched Geralt's face, angry and ashamed. "I tried to protect Triss… He was too fast… too fast for me. He hit Triss before she could cast a spell. He knew how to fight a sorceress… Then he ordered her to activate the megascope… He needed to get to Aedirn… Near the dwarven town of Vergen." He struggled for breath and coughed, several drops of blood spraying onto his shirt. Rusa wiped the corner of his mouth. "Triss said it was madness, that she didn't know the coordinates. He threatened her before I passed out. When I woke, they were gone."
Cedric rested his head against the tree and again lifted Rusa's hands away gently. "I knew I was dying. The forest called for me."
Rusa struggled to keep her voice level. "Why, Cedric! Why did you get involved?"
The elf gave her a meaningful look. "Why did you? Sometimes we must…"
"Have I told you about my visions?" he continued. "That's why I drink. It helps. I'm safe in a mist of vodka… see nothing… feel nothing…" Geralt told him to calm down but Cedric pushed on, his voice straining. "Now I see clearly. You need to regain your memory… Only then will you understand who's killing crowned dh'oine…and why."
Rusa glanced at Geralt. "How can I get it back?" he asked.
"In Aedirn… In a place tainted with dark magic…" Cedric let out a shaky breath. "Where ghosts of the fallen will fight a great battle. Save their souls and your memory will return."
"You need to rest. We can carry you back," Rusa said, looking up at Geralt for confirmation. His eyes flickered over Cedric and he looked away. She wanted to scream at him. She lifted her head and jutted out her chin in determination. "We'll get you back to Lobinden."
Cedric stared up her, his vision fading. "Your path is hidden from me, Rusa Elyot." Tears welled up as she heard the resignation in his voice. He chuckled softly. "Baeg wedd, why do you cry? This is not the end."
Rusa squeezed his hand. "Stop it!"
His tired eyes scanned the forest. Rusa searched his face frantically. Cedric looked up at Geralt who placed a hand on his shoulder. "What's happening...? The forest… I feel a presence…"
Rusa tore her eyes away and gazed into the clearing. A doe wandered towards them slowly, elegantly. She lowered her head, scuffing the ground with a delicate hoof. As if on call, several other forest animals made their way out from the bushes. They stared at the elf, mourning the loss of a kindred spirit.
"They've come to bid you farewell," Geralt said softly.
Cedric turned to the clearing with a small smile. "My forest…" He blinked at Geralt. "Va fail, Gwynbleidd. Farewell." He closed his eyes. Rusa cried out. She slipped her hand from his but not before she felt the small squeeze of her palm.
When they reached the town gate Rusa had to stop, unable to hold back the tears. The witcher surprised her when he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She didn't push him away. She needed the contact. Cedric's lifeless body, Beryl and Ylvan, the elven girl with Margot, all the nonhumans rotting in Flotsam's streets… So much death. She took a deep breath and gave Geralt a nod.
"Here you are!" Dandelion's voice rang out through the forest. Zoltan looked at Rusa suspiciously.
"What's wrong, lass?"
"It's fine," she said. "The kingslayer teleported to Aedirn."
Dandelion gasped. "What? How?!"
"He forced Triss to cast the spell," Geralt mumbled. The witcher wouldn't show it but he was worried. Zoltan swore under his breath.
Dandelion hesitated, picking up on Geralt's concern. He changed the subject. "Roche sent me to find you—we're setting off. He's learned something new."
"The Scoia'tael are also up to something big," grumbled Zoltan.
Rusa couldn't help herself. She needed to know what Roche was up to. "Did Roche mention something to you about the commandant, Dandelion?"
The bard nodded enthusiastically. "He went off on Loredo. It must be something important."
"He won't leave Flotsam until Loredo's dead," she muttered to no one in particular.
"And the Scoia'tael?" resumed Geralt.
"They want to storm the barge and they need your help!"
Rusa glanced at the dwarf, a small smile playing on her lips. "When did you join the Scoia'tael, Zoltan?" He puffed out his chest, scoffing and carrying on. On seeing the smile on her face, the dwarf quietened down and mumbled into his beard.
"Don't test me, lassie," he snapped. "It's not like that. They're taking the prisoners to Drakenborg. A special prison for nonhumans. Bloody monument to human hatred!"
Geralt turned to Rusa with a shrug. "Maybe Roche or the Scoia'tael can finally be useful…"
"I'll see what Roche wants," she offered and, receiving a word of warning from Zoltan, made for the gate closer to the headquarters. She wanted to avoid the market square at all costs. She glanced over at Lobinden, the observation deck bereft of Cedric's silhouette.
She lingered on the bottom step then barged into the headquarters. When Roche saw her he unleashed a torrent of spectacular abuse.
"Where the fuck have you been! What the fuck were you doing with the Scoia'tael?" He slammed her against the door and she cried sharply, clutching her chest. He backed off ever so slightly. "You gave Iorveth a sword!"
Rusa looked past him to Ves who was watching the encounter uncomfortably. Roche dug his fingers into her chin.
"Answer me."
She considered staying silent to provoke him further. When she spoke her voice was muffled, his fingers squeezing the joints in her jaw. "You shot me," she said simply. "You shot me and then left me to rot."
Roche jabbed his finger into the bandage. "Clearly someone came to your aid. Why am I not surprised?"
"If Iorveth hadn't helped me I'd have bled out in those damn ruins!" she yelled back, shoving him with her good arm. Roche stood firm—didn't even budge—but he allowed her some space. Rusa calmed down. "Iorveth knows a lot about the kingslayers, Roche, and they no longer see eye to eye…"
He stared at her in disbelief. "Have you gone completely mad?"
"He could lead us to him," she argued.
"The only journey I'll make with Iorveth in tow is to the scaffold in Vizima's marketplace."
Rusa rolled her eyes and pressed on. "The kingslayer fled to Vergen in Aedirn. He forced Triss to teleport them both."
Roche slammed his fist on the desk. "Damn, he's made a mockery of us! If that's how he wants to play, I'll make him regret it." Rusa took a seat opposite him. He glanced at her and considered ordering her to stand up then thought better of it. She had information.
"I'm surprised you're not out enjoying the massacre," she added serenely. "How did the riots start?"
Roche leaned on the desk, towering over her. Rusa regretted sitting down. "When my scouts reported you and Geralt had met with Iorveth, I ordered Loredo to provide me with backup. The incompetent oafs were supposed to wait for a signal, but the crossbowmen were twitchy. The Scoia'tael gave us hell. Many of my men are wounded, but Loredo's people… When news travelled of their deaths, two of the soldiers' fathers took it out on an elven girl. " He paused. "You can imagine what happened next."
Rusa nodded, her mind flashing back to Derae's body in the brothel. She glanced down at her wound absently.
"Loredo's man shot you," Roche added. "Not one of mine. When we returned you were already gone."
Rusa raised an eyebrow. "We?"
"Ves and myself."
She folded her arms and shot him a cynical look. Sometimes, he actually impressed her. A master manipulator, the consummate professional...
"Ah, but this changes nothing," he mused. "You aided Iorveth, turned against me, yet you have the gall to sit there, blaming me for injuries you caused yourself."
Almost shaking with the effort of restraining her temper, Rusa spoke slowly, softly, only just managing to get the words past her teeth. "Turned…? Are you suggesting I was once on your side?"
Something shifted in Roche's demeanor. She'd thrown him off guard again. A rare occasion, to be certain, but she'd done it. He collapsed into his chair and regarded her coolly. Two images came to mind. The first involved her writhing around on the floor with his hands around her neck. He smiled at that. The second was using her as bait to draw out Loredo. The smile faltered. He was about to give her an ultimatum when Geralt stepped in.
"About bloody time," muttered Roche.
Rusa felt significantly safer with Geralt in the room. He strolled up to the desk and took a seat. "I heard you have news for me."
Despite his annoyance, Roche wasted no time. "Loredo has a deal with Kaedwen. The merchant living in his house is Henselt's agent. For a pouch of gold the good commandant promised to support Kaedweni troops in the event of a conflict…"
"So what now?"
"I want that spy, to squeeze him for information," Roche stressed. "And I've sentenced Commandant Loredo to death."
"Roche, we have to sail," said Geralt, unable to conceal his agitation. "We have to get to Aedirn."
"I'm not leaving until I deal with Loredo," he replied stubbornly. "The spy may know something about the kingslayers. I wouldn't be surprised if Henselt of Kaedwen was behind all this."
Geralt shot a sidelong glance at Rusa. Its secrecy made Roche's blood boil. The witcher considered his options. He headed for the door. "I'll be back later."
"Dammit witcher, it's not a date. You can't keep putting it off!"
A few moments passed before Geralt's shoulders sagged. Rusa's stomach sank. "Alright." He stared at Roche impassively. "Let's deal with this spy."
Relief flashed across Roche's face before he looked at the others with a stern expression. The rest of the men gathered around the desk. Rusa felt it again; that uncomfortable feeling of being too involved.
Roche began the briefing. "Listen very carefully—I'm not repeating this. We have two targets. The first is a Kaedweni spy—Arnolt Malliger. I want him alive. The other is Bernard Loredo, the trading post's commander and a traitor to Temeria. We don't let his kind live," he reiterated. "Arnolt almost never leaves the residence—so we need to strike there. To get inside, we'll use Ves's unusual talents, and Bernard's habits—"
"Stop calling him by his first name," Geralt complained. "It really rubs me the wrong way."
"Whatever you wish," Roche replied and shuffled around for another diagram.
"I'm sorry, Ves's unusual talents?"
He stared at Rusa impatiently. "I said I'm not repeating this."
She blinked and stole a glance at Ves. "Unusual talents?"
"Loredo's house," continued Roche, drawing everyone's attention to the diagram. "The first floor contains guest quarters. Geralt had the opportunity a few days ago to take a look. Regular patrols. Second floor… Loredo's bodyguards' quarters. They think they're the toughest warriors this side of the Yaruga, but really they're lame drowners dressed in colourful gambesons. Third floor, the lion's den. Here, Loredo stores plundered valuables." He gestured around him theatrically. "It's where he sleeps, shits, and wanks off while staring at the statuette of a she-elf."
Rusa laughed. It hung awkwardly in the silence and Roche gave her a warning look. "The imagery…" she trailed off, aware of everyone's eyes on her. The commander turned back to his papers, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Only the following are allowed to enter: Arnolt Malliger, Loredo's mother, his cousin and…whores."
Ves scoffed. "I'm not sure I still have that frock…"
"After making his round of the trading post, Loredo always orders two ladies. Ves will act as one of them. As for the other…" Roche locked eyes with Rusa and she choked back her disgust.
"No. Absolutely not."
His lips quirked. "I thought you wanted to scout the kitchen?"
"No. For all we know, Loredo's mother might be the local fist fighting champion."
"Will you two stop bickering?" Ves interjected. She looked at Roche seriously. "I'll go in alone."
Rusa groaned inwardly at what she was about to do. This is it, she thought. I've hit rock bottom. "No, Ves, you don't know what Loredo might do. I'll go with you. I know you're more than capable but at least this way we can look out for each other."
"Unless you're busy knocking out the commandant's mother with a frypan," Geralt mumbled under his breath. Rusa turned to him in surprise. She'd never heard him make a joke before.
"No," said Ves with frustration. "You stay put."
"But—"
"No buts. Roche, tell her."
"Ves can hold her own," he said calmly. He wasn't going to admit he'd considered sending Rusa in. "The house is a bloody fortress, but Loredo had it enlarged. The witcher will enter through the extension. Ves will open a window for you. Zenin and Ryckard will cover you from vantage points. If things get hot, lure those whoresons near the windows. I'll be in the courtyard with the others, ready to enter in the extreme. I repeat, in the extreme." Roche looked over his men with a satisfied expression. They'd succeed. They always did.
As the others gathered their equipment—Ves dusting off her 'outfit' irritably—Rusa hurried upstairs and collapsed onto the bed. She needed to rest and collect her thoughts, even if only for a few moments. She shuffled around on the bed and felt the paper crumple in her back pocket. Iorveth's letter. She wondered what he and Geralt had spoken about. It surprised her that the witcher ended up back here. Worse still, he'd agreed to go along with Roche's plan. Had he chosen the Blue Stripes over the Scoia'tael? Had she? She frowned at the familiar feeling of unease.
What of her feelings towards the Scoia'tael? She hated what they stood for—banditry and terrorist tactics. But the woman in the east. The saviour uniting all races under one banner. Iorveth's scoia'tael fought for her now. It was a worthy goal, one the Blue Stripes would never understand. Just as her thoughts drifted to Anaïs and Boussy, Roche barged into the room. He glanced at her briefly and began rummaging around in the corner. Rusa stared at his back, aware of the pain swelling in her chest. It wasn't the wound. He looked over his shoulder.
"How can you sleep at a time like this?"
"No time like the present."
He grunted in agreement and sat on the edge of the bed, studying her intently. She carried souvenirs from her time in Flotsam. A bruise here, a cut there, clothing shredded and filthy. She looked like a little savage with a messy braid swept across her face. Rusa dug her heel into his thigh.
"Staring is impolite."
Roche lowered his gaze to the floor, smiling inwardly. "I'm not one for courtly manners."
She snorted. "You don't say."
Silence fell between them—a relatively comfortable one, despite the situation. Rusa acknowledged something was about to change. Whatever her decision, something wouldn't be the same between them. She studied his profile, rugged and battle-worn, scars scattered along his jaw line. And the black chaperon he never removed in public. Hiding something. Another scar, perhaps, deeper and more gruesome than the others. Like Iorveth, although his wasn't so easy to hide. They were too similar. Perhaps being enemies was a blessing in disguise. If they worked together, they'd be a formidable opponent. Rusa shifted uncomfortably. Racism. That's all that stood between them. Entrenched, poisonous, mutual racism. But Iorveth was fighting for a place founded on acceptance. He understood that the fragile longevity of the elven race depended on mutual tolerance. He worked for the bigger picture, saw further than Roche, a patriot concerned purely with Temeria's plight.
She inhaled sharply when Roche lifted his gaze. His eyes rested on hers and she struggled not to look away.
"After we get the kingslayer, we'll find Foltest's children," he said softly. We. We'll find… Together. Her and Roche. In that moment, in spite of everything he put her through, Rusa realised how difficult their separation would be. "You have my word."
She nodded absently. She wanted to scream at him: you're on the wrong side! Roche pressed on, struggling to voice his thoughts. "That's your goal. The children. You shouldn't have got caught up in all these schemes…"
Rusa's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Was he blaming himself? "I got myself involved, Roche, it wasn't anyone else's doing."
Amusement flashed in his eyes. "Did you think I was apologising?" His head tilted in disapproval. "You've only got yourself to blame."
She clenched her fists and cast her gaze to the floor. "I see."
She allowed him time to backtrack but instead he sat in silence, staring ahead aimlessly. She sighed and stood up, joints aching as she stretched out her spine. Roche watched her leave and raised a hand.
"Wait."
Face inches from the door, Rusa squeezed her eyes shut. His footsteps came closer. Heavy, slow, deliberate. She took a deep breath.
"You'll stay with me and the others in the courtyard tonight," he said, leaving little distance between them. Rusa heard the threat in his voice. A silent ultimatum. She bucked at his presumptuous authority.
"You're not my father, Roche," she replied scathingly. "You can't tell me what to do all the time."
He looked genuinely taken aback. Closing the distance ever so slightly he said, "I've no desire to be your father."
Rusa searched his eyes, his face. The man was impenetrable. She pressed her fingers to the door nervously, flinching slightly when Roche reached around for something in his pocket. He unfurled his fist. "Take this."
A delicate gold chain pooled in the palm of his hand. Rusa looked up at him, bewildered. "I've no need for fancy trinkets…" It sounded harsher than she intended. Roche made an impatient noise in the back of his throat and brought her hair to one side with a swift tug. She glared at him when he did it a second time, harder than before.
"It's not a trinket," he snapped, purposefully pinching her skin as he fixed it around her neck. It fell gently across the red cloth covering her wound. Iorveth's handiwork. Roche's temper flared. "Although, perhaps it is, compared to Cintran goods."
Rusa traced her finger over the intricate filigree. She smiled and knocked the wind out of his sails. "I only wore Cintran gems when my mother forced me," she teased and then fell serious. "Thank you. But I can't take it."
"You will."
She went to unclasp it and Roche grabbed her hands, digging his thumbs into the delicate skin under her wrists. Rusa struggled and he pinned her arms above her head. "Take the necklace!" he demanded.
Rusa hissed through her teeth. "I don't want it!"
"Take the fucking necklace!"
She dug a knee into his groin but missed her target. Roche chuckled and hooked an arm under her leg. "So close."
In one swift move he hoisted her other leg around his waist and pushed her against the door. Rusa bit her lip as his body pressed into hers. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and locked her legs around him. Roche braced one hand against the door and secured the other underneath her. He looked up at her expectantly. Drawing in a quick breath, she held it, and fleetingly touched her lips to his. He let her kiss him lightly at first, delighting in the softness of her lips, her gentle touch. She kissed with a tenderness foreign to him and he fought the urge to throw her on the bed and show her what he was used to. But he felt the digging of her nails, the tightening of her legs at his side acting as confirmation; she was the little masochist he thought her to be.
Roche deepened the kiss and smiled when Rusa let out a small moan. Her eyes widened at the sound and she pushed him back violently, slapping him across the face—hard. His eyes darkened and he growled before crashing his lips onto hers. She kissed him back with equal force and gasped as he practically threw her onto the bed. She sat up immediately and pulled him down on top of her. Roche lifted her up so she was straddling him and leant back when she started tugging on the lace of his uniform. She fumbled with it for a moment before crying out in frustration and tearing off her own shirt. He smiled at her impatience. Cheeks flushed, lips swollen, hair tumbling over her wounded breast… He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so aroused. In that moment, he berated himself for not being able to treat her gently. She swatted his arm irritably for making her wait and his lips quirked. She didn't want gentle. He leaned into her mouth with a hunger that excited Rusa, and kneaded her breasts, squeezing the injured one softly. She whimpered and pushed herself into him further.
A knock on the door. "Ready when you are, commander!"
Roche paid it no heed, every ounce of his attention on the woman in front of him. Rusa broke the kiss and glanced at the door.
"Ignore him," he whispered urgently.
Another knock, louder this time. "Commander?"
"What?!"
Rusa flinched at the anger in his voice. She made to move but he tightened his grip on her thighs. She dropped her head on his shoulder, breathing heavily.
"We're ready to move sir," came the muffled voice.
Roche's fingers cut into her skin but she didn't seem to care. They sat there for a moment before he loosened his grip reluctantly. Rusa threw her shirt back on in a hurry and hissed when her bad shoulder got stuck in the sleeve. Roche helped her into it, his eyes never leaving hers.
"We have to go," she said, lifting herself off him and pacing towards the door. She swung it open, much to the surprise of the soldier on the other side. "We're coming." He gave a curt nod and looked over at Roche who was rummaging through his belongings.
Rusa swept downstairs and scanned the room for Geralt. She needed to talk to him. To ask him what his plan was. To tell him there was a right side… He stood in the corner speaking with Silas. She marched over and pulled him to the side, glancing at the stairs nervously.
"Geralt, you don't need to do this. There's…" She hesitated, trying to verbalise her turbulent thoughts. "If you go with Roche, I can't follow you. I won't." Geralt opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by Roche's footsteps on the stairs. Rusa pleaded with the witcher.
"Iorveth's goal is a worthy one, Geralt. You of all people should understand!"
She looked at Roche frantically. He had his back to her whilst discussing something with Fenn. She gave Geralt a desperate look and then ran out of the headquarters. Once outside the gate, she caught her breath and glanced back at Flotsam with contempt. To hell with this place!
She sprinted for the ruins, assuming Iorveth and his Scoia'tael waited there. The decision was made. Her mind was racing, the feeling of Roche's body against hers burned into her skin. She couldn't follow him. She wouldn't. He would have found out she'd abandoned them by now. Imagining his reaction made Rusa wince. She'd betrayed him. But he was not to be trusted. Her head was pounding and she quickened her pace, branches scratching her face and arms. Anaïs and Boussy—she'd find them her own way. Roche was not to be trusted.
She ran with a desperation reminiscent of her time spent skirting the fields of Brenna, scouting her next target. Except this time she sought Iorveth out personally. To go with him. To travel to Aedirn with the Scoia'tael. She must be mad. But the mysterious woman in the east—she was someone worth following, worth fighting for. The woman wished to see an end to places like Flotsam and, for this, she had Rusa's unwavering support. Her mind flashed to Beryl and Ylvan, their bodies lumped together in a final embrace. If there was to be a battle over this so-called free state, Rusa would defend it with her life.
She crashed through the bushes, sweating profusely. Zoltan stormed towards her as she stumbled into the clearing and laid a heavy hand on her back.
"By the grace of Mother Creatrix's tits! Where yer been, lass?"
Rusa doubled over and held up a hand. "No time to explain."
"With Roche," came Iorveth's sneering voice. He walked up to her casually and bent down to look at her. His eye bore into hers. "Am I right?" When she didn't reply he twisted his lips and muttered, "I'm right."
"And the vatt'ghern?" he continued, pushing Rusa's shoulder as he drew back. "Sided with the commander, as well?" Iorveth lowered his gaze, jaw set. "If so, he'll pay with his life."
Rusa took a deep breath and brushed Zoltan off. "Don't give up on him yet."
Iorveth barked an order at one of his men and turned on her with a small shrug. "It matters not." He leant against the lover's monument, eyes fixed on the woman in front of him. The little dog betrayed her master. He'd have loved to see Roche's face. "Tell me, what provoked your decision? You stand here with me now. A little feral running through my forest blindly…"
Zoltan stiffened and opened his mouth to retort. Rusa laid a hand on his shoulder. "Roche and I don't share the same path," she said calmly despite her throat constricting. Her wound throbbed and she felt his hands around her breasts, kneading them with rough, calloused fingers. Her eyes stung.
"And you wish to share mine…" Iorveth drawled, drawing her out of her thoughts. He regarded her coolly. "You betrayed Roche easy enough. You shall betray me, also."
"I didn't betray anyone!" she screamed, her grip on Zoltan's shoulder like a vice. The dwarf didn't seem to notice but she eased off slowly. "Betrayal implies I actually swore my allegiance in the first place. I haven't—to either of you." She covered her eye. "I guess you didn't see that."
Iorveth's eye flared, enraged by her insolence. He strode towards her and raised his fist. She didn't flinch this time. It only angered him more.
"Geralt!" cried Zoltan, and the elf spun around in surprise. Taking advantage of the distraction, Rusa stepped away from him lightly. He snapped his eye to her and grabbed her wrist before she could get any further. She smiled at Geralt over his shoulder and Iorveth released her with a frustrated growl.
"Decided to join us, Gwynbleidd? It seems Roche is losing his touch."
Rusa fought the urge to smack the smug look off his face. Instead, she went to Geralt and searched his eyes for information. "What happened? Is Ves okay?"
"I believe so," he said softly.
"And Loredo?"
"Incapacitated last I saw him. It was chaos when I left. You were right about his mother, by the way."
Rusa bit back a laugh and stole a glance at Iorveth. She lowered her voice. The elf snorted at her attempts to be secretive. "And…"
"Roche went beserk," said Geralt, and addressed Iorveth. "Once they've dealt with the commandant, they're sailing to Henselt's camp—on the outskirts of Vergen."
"He wants to find out if Henselt's behind the slayings…" Rusa mumbled and glared pointedly at Iorveth.
"Enough of Roche," he snapped. "Upper Aedirn is our goal. The Pontar Valley is juicy piece of meat beset by hounds. We need to get there as soon as possible."
"The Scoia'tael bite hardest," said Geralt.
"It's our land! Our forefathers' land." Iorveth pointed an accusing finger at Rusa. "Your forefathers' lands. I'm no bandit, Gwynbleidd—I lead a great army."
"It sounds like you want to establish an elven state."
The elf sneered at him. "There is already an elven state—Dol Blathanna."
"Francesca Findabair rules there," noted Rusa. Re-establishing Dol Blathanna as an elven state was a reward for the elves that sided with Nilfgaard during the war. It was a provision of the Cintran treaty. Findabair sacrificed the Scoia'tael so as to appease Nilfgaard and the Northern monarchs. Rusa understood Iorveth's contempt.
"Rules?" he spat. "She merely carries out Nilfgaardian orders. We want a truly free state where an elf could visit a human inn! A land where humans could enter the forest without fear!"
The vice in Rusa's chest suddenly subsided. She made the right choice.
"And you plan to be king?" asked Geralt. "King Iorveth I?"
Zoltan chuckled and Iorveth pressed his lips into a thin line. "I've already told you, I know the head the crown would fit. We merely have to place it there."
"Whose head is it, exactly?"
"One who believes in integrity, honesty and honour," replied Iorveth, his gaze resting on Rusa. "A person who won't sell out to Nilfgaard for a few florins. A woman named Saskia."
Geralt stared at him, completely nonchalant, and asked suddenly, "Is she your fiancée?"
Rusa's eyebrows shot up and she struggled to restrain her laughter. The tension hung awkwardly between them and she hid her reddening face from Iorveth's scrutinising glare. She felt Zoltan's shoulders shaking and bit down on her lip.
"Don't mock me, Gwynbleidd."
Geralt shrugged. "It sounds like she's more important to you. Not just a woman whose head would fit the crown."
"You'll understand once you meet her," Iorveth said firmly. Rusa uncovered her face and turned back to him, eyes on the verge of watering. An involuntary laugh escaped her throat and she pressed her lips together.
"You said you're going to Vergen," reminded Geralt. "Why go to a dwarven town?"
Iorveth and Zoltan exchanged looks. "Henselt and his army have pitched camp on the right riverbank. Saskia and a sorceress gather reinforcements to defend Aedirn."
"Philippa Eilhart," chimed Rusa, remembering their conversation with Margot. She threw a hand to her back pocket. She was yet to give Iorveth his letter.
"What does the leader of an army expect from me?" questioned Geralt.
"That you accompany me to Aedirn. Perhaps you'll find your sorceress there. You'll certainly find someone who will soon change the balance of power in the North."
Rusa cut in. "Aedirn must be two days travel on foot. You'll never make it in time."
Iorveth gave a curt nod. "I have a plan."
"What plan?"
"First you must agree to help us. I need your decision now." The elf folded his arms and shot Geralt a cool stare. "You helped me with Letho. That's the sole reason we're speaking. You"—he glanced at Rusa—"aided me in the ruins. I returned the favour in kind. We may both be pursuing the same son of a bitch, Geralt, but I haven't forgotten the company you arrived in."
Rusa sneaked a glance at Geralt. He was frowning, deep in thought. She'd already made her decision. Iorveth knew this. Hence why his eye burned into Geralt's with a particular intensity.
"Count me in," he said. "We'll get Letho together."
Iorveth inhaled slowly and straightened. "Excellent, we've no time to lose. We need to capture the prison barge."
"You want to enter a town where they're massacring elves?!" Rusa spluttered. "You're not grandiose, you're mad!"
Iorveth almost smiled. "My mother claimed likewise. We'll not enter the town. We'll divide the unit. Take my best scout and attack from the harbour. I'll sail downriver with the others. Most of the guards should be at the trading post."
Rusa shook her head adamantly. "The harbour could still be dangerous…"
The elf gave a harsh, derisive laugh. "What did you expect? A Xin'trean tea party?"
"No…" she spoke through her teeth. "Don't you think we should trick them, as we did Letho?"
Iorveth considered this for a moment and looked at Geralt. "You and I can take out the guards on the prison barge. They'll be dead before they can reach their swords. Then we can signal the others." He glanced behind him as two scouts emerged from the bushes. "None will get away this time," he muttered under his breath.
One of the scouts whispered to Iorveth. He nodded slowly, looking Rusa up and down with an unreadable expression. His gaze lingered on her bandaged chest and she shifted uncomfortably. Zoltan tugged her sleeve.
"I'm gettin' sick to death with tellin' you to be careful."
She smiled and flopped down on the lovers' monument. Last time she felt the stone she had an arrow protruding from her chest. The last time she sat here Iorveth had his hand around her bleeding breast. She groaned and stretched out languidly. When did she last sleep? The concept seemed foreign to her now. And she didn't get any rest in the headquarters. Her body tingled as she relived the scene in the bedroom.
"…always runnin' around with that blasted bow in yer hand. An axe! That's a weapon! You listenin', lass?"
Zoltan snapped his fingers an inch away from her face. Rusa smiled up at him. "I've used a throwing axe before."
The dwarf's face reddened and he scoffed indignantly. "A throwing…! Flimsy human shite—that's not an axe! I'm speakin' proper dwarven craft. Double-bladed battleaxe. Enough with this elvish shit on yer back!"
"Move aside, dwarf." The scout from before sauntered up to them. Rusa craned her neck and saw Geralt and Iorveth marching down the hill. "You!"—he glared at Rusa—"Come with me. We're to wait for Iorveth and the vatt'ghern down at the docks."
Rusa jumped up and dusted herself off. She looked around. "Just us?"
"No, dh'oine. The unit awaits us below. Come, quickly." The scout disappeared into the bushes.
Rusa threw Zoltan a swift smile as she readjusted her bow. "See you on the barge?"
"Aye, lass. Good luck."
"Stop stumbling!"
Rusa gritted her teeth. "It's dark."
She trailed behind the scout as he marched on ahead. They'd been walking towards the docks in the silence—Rusa, five Scoia'tael, and who knew how many more in the trees. She recognised the elf they'd met when asking for Iorveth. Before they'd been led into an arachas lair. He caught her eye and frowned in annoyance.
"Find something interesting, dh'oine?"
"Not really," Rusa mumbled.
The elf raised an eyebrow. "Typical Xin'trean dh'oine filth."
"Quite a mouthful, there. Are Cintran dh'oine worse than usual?" The elf stiffened. They were so easy to annoy.
"You're all equally abhorrent," he said.
"Ah."
They marched on in silence until a scout jumped from the bushes a few feet ahead.
"Ele'yas," he said and the elf next to Rusa gave a flick of his head.
"What news?"
"A vantage point, some way ahead. Iorveth and the vatt'ghern are almost at the barge."
He pointed through a set of trees and Rusa ran off, ignoring Ele'yas's frustrated cry. She settled herself against the thick trunk of an oak and drew her bow. Ele'yas and the others joined her on the riverbank and readied themselves. The barge was some 200 feet away and they could see Geralt leading Iorveth down the dock, the elf's hands 'bound' behind his back. Ele'yas shot her a look.
"You need to follow orders," he said with a tight voice. "I'm surprised you survived Brenna."
Rusa smirked. "I survived because I didn't follow orders." He looked at her like she was mad. She didn't mind. Anything to have him leave her alone.
The scout raised his hand in anticipation. Rusa watched as Iorveth slammed his shoulder into a guard's chest, lifting him in the air until he flew overboard. She notched an arrow and aimed for the guard running towards Geralt. The scout dropped his arm in an order to shoot. Rusa released, along with three other Scoia'tael. Four arrows lodged into the back of the guard who collapsed at the witcher's feet with a thud. Several rounds later and Geralt and Iorveth stood alone on the barge, searching for stragglers. The scout gestured for them to follow and they darted along the riverbank, climbing onto the barge. Rusa rushed to Geralt to make sure he wasn't injured. Pointless, of course. She looked Iorveth over briefly and averted her gaze when their eyes locked.
A voice rang out across the docks. "I knew you'd partner with those hate mongers, mutant! Think yourself a hero, do you?"
Rusa's eyes snapped up to the waving flame on the balcony of one of the guard towers. The commandant stood there, holding an elven woman by her hair.
"How the hell did he escape?!" she yelled over the alarm bells.
Loredo tightened his grip and the girl's neck snapped back violently. "Sail away and I'll burn these sluts alive!"
Rusa shot Geralt a desperate look and climbed onto the railing. A hand wrapped around her wrist. Iorveth stared down at her, his mouth pressed into a grim line. "We sail. Our women are prepared to die." He pulled her from the railing and stormed off as she fell to the floor.
"Geralt, say something!"
Loredo's maniacal laugh travelled across the river. The witcher's eyes darted back and forth and then he helped Rusa onto the railing. He turned to Iorveth, the elf's back to them. "But I'm not about to let murder happen. We're going ashore."
Rusa was already running towards the tower when she heard Iorveth swear loudly. Loredo threw his torch on the roof and the building shot up flames. He threw the girl inside and sprinted down the steps towards the town gate.
"Geralt, follow him! I'll take care of the women," shouted Rusa and the witcher ran past her, hacking down the guards in his path.
She dashed up the walkway, shooting an arrow at the guard by the entry. Digging her boot into his slumped body Rusa barged through the door. The flames spread rapidly and she could hardly see from the smoke. She brought her arm to her mouth but it made little difference. Waving her arms about frantically she raced up the stairs and found two elven women writhing around on the floor, hands bound. Rusa fumbled with the ties, her fingers slippery with sweat. The three of them ran to the balcony and she gestured for the women to jump first. Rusa stared at the water hesitantly. It was quite a distance. She'd never been one for heights. She prepared to dive. A flame licked her body and she toppled over the balcony, crashing into the water with ungracefully. The other women were already swimming towards the barge, which Iorveth had anchored a little ways off. He stayed, Rusa thought, surprised.
She climbed onto the railing and slid down the side, exhausted. In the corner of her eye she saw Geralt flash past her. Iorveth spoke with him and then ordered to set sail. Rusa crept down to the lower level and found herself a corner. Ciaran's body was gone.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Footsteps sounded on the stairs and she groaned. Iorveth knelt beside her, fingers roaming over her bandage. Rusa slapped his hands away. He shot her an irritable look and brought his hands up again. This time, she let him. He gave the cloth around her neck a sharp tug and it fell past her breasts. She shielded herself quickly.
"What do you think you're doing?"
The elf sat back and unravelled a clean piece of cloth. "The bandage is soaked through. Your wound will get infected."
Rusa snatched the material and, with one arm covering her chest, tried knotting it at the top of her spine. She moved around awkwardly, balancing one end of the cloth on her neck and joining it with the other unsuccessfully. The arm covering her breast lifted instinctively and she brought them both down with a huff. Leaning against the wall, she stared at Iorveth with a haughty expression and removed her arms. His lips flickered in amusement and he reached behind her to tie the cloth. With his face only inches from hers Rusa focused on his scar. A wound that jagged and deep would have taken months to heal. She wondered if he still had his other eye.
He smoothed the bandage and rearranged her shirt. The necklace fell over her chest. "You saved our women. We are indebted…"
"The names of those who killed Derae," Rusa said, remembering the letter and handing it over. Iorveth scanned it quickly and crumpled it in his fist.
She watched him leave and exhaled loudly. She stared ahead in a daze, lightly tracing a finger over the gold chain. She felt a bump and held the tiny tag in between her fingers. In the darkness, Rusa squinted at the engraving in elegant, swirling font.
Anna.
A/N: If you've read this far, thank you so much! Part Two will take me a while. Needless to say, The Witcher lore is DENSE...but fun. Thank you again for reading, I hope you enjoyed it.
