A/N - Hi guys - Chapter Nine at the ready ;)

Disclaimer - No own...no no own no no


Drowsy and nauseous, Rusa slumped against the bough, head throbbing. Her breath was steady, occasionally shattered by a wheezing shudder. She snapped her eyes shut and inhaled slowly. The wheezing continued. It was heavy and laboured, somehow distant and fading as she struggled to attune. And then the movement below her—the tremor of flesh and spasm of muscle. She cradled the back of her head for support and made to shuffle forward but felt a chunk of hair pinch against her scalp. Again, the tremors. Awkwardly, hair twisted, she threw a glance over her shoulder and cried out. Her chest seized up as she stared at Sev's body collapsed and twitching. She fumbled with the massive knot caught up in the saddle and swore loudly when it only seemed to tangle further. Unhitching a dagger she wasted no time in sawing away at the stubborn strands, biting a lip at the strange sensation. In frustration, she kept chopping, unconcerned as to how much she'd have left. Sev grunted as her head snapped forward, free at last, and she scrambled over and unfastened the mouthpiece, froth seeping through her fingers as the horse fought to breathe. Propping a knee under the head for support Rusa cast a cursory glance for sign of injury. On seeing the bent leg, twisted, broken, a weeping wound so deep and oozing puss, she threw a hand to her mouth and gagged. She would never forget when they locked eyes; in all her years she would never forget the sheer helplessness of this creature. Sev's look of confusion and terror, the silent look of pleading locked on to her rider. And amidst all this—the unwavering devotion and loyalty in those eyes that caused Rusa to clench a fistful of mane and sob so violently the sound horrified her.

The horse's breath slowed and Rusa found herself torn between calming her as she slipped into death or resolving to fight for the life of that which had done the same for her. Her thoughts jostled around until the memory appeared, hazy and incoherent. She'd been overrun. The others, back in the ruins, fighting. The one soldier pursuing her… his horse had lost its footing, she remembered this now. It had drawn up parallel to them as they continued to gallop through the forest. She remembered the soldier yanking her ankle in an attempt to pull her off. When she broke free Sev rammed the other horse. Rusa pressed on as Sev gathered pace only to feel her neck whip back as they tumbled to the ground. She recalled the sound as they fell—guttural and wild as Sev's leg snapped in two, a spearhead jutting from behind the knee.

Rusa scanned their surroundings. No sign of the spear, in a daze she must have removed it. She glanced at the wound, weeping heavily, Sev losing blood, and berated herself. Better to have left the spearhead in. A low whimper sounded out in the clearing and she couldn't bring herself to look at the source. She heard the faint din of clashing metal in the distance. The Scoia'tael fought on. Who still lived? She pictured Toruviel lying in a pool of her own blood… Ele'yas dead, too, and Iorveth… alive? In her confusion, it was all she could hope. A twitch of the head got her attention. Sev was struggling to stay lucid. In a moment of impulse Rusa touched foreheads then slipped out from under. A life could be saved today if she had anything to say about it. She'd not abandon anyone else. She cast a wary look into the bushes. Sev would be left at the mercy of nekkers and drowners and gods knew what else.

Draping a blanket over the shivering body, she managed her bearings and fell into a run, a stitch immediately lodging itself under the ribs. The cool air on her newly uncovered neck was strangely invigorating. She saw it not too far off—the promise of help. The lights twinkled as if beckoning her to make haste. She picked up speed, retching several times but maintaining pace nonetheless. The other lights, those other lights she cared not for and would avoid them at all costs as she skirted the forest's edge. Under the cover of darkness she was able to slip into the village silently and manoeuvre around the fish baskets and washing lines in the direction of the tiny shack. She knocked softly on the door, received a 'hmph', then heard the rustling of bed sheets. Rusa jimmied the window.

"Sendler!"

The old man started and gaped at her from his bed, wide-eyed. Any other situation and Rusa would have laughed at the man's makeshift pyjamas and floppy sleeping hat. Despite how ridiculous he looked, the speed in which he acknowledged her and ushered her through the door left her momentarily speechless. Sendler of Lobinden was fast becoming one of the best men she'd ever known.

"Gods, ma'am, yer back! Sit, sit 'ere." He pushed some fishing wire off the table and offered her a seat in the shack's lone rickety chair. "Heard you left with the Scoai'tael—bad business, ma'am, if I say so meself."

"Sendler, I need your help. No time to explain."

The gap-toothed smile faltered and the craftsman nodded earnestly. "What you needing? I see you still got the bow."

"For which I'm eternally grateful," she replied quickly. "Sendler—my horse. She's in the forest, not far from here. She's dying. Possibly already dead."

Rusa leaned against the back of the chair for support, these last words hitting her like a blow to the stomach. The craftsman gave her a blank stare causing her to cry out in frustration.

"Is there anyway we can transport the horse here?"

Sendler's eyes darted around furiously, his jaw slack. Rusa gripped the frame until her knuckles turned white.

"Please help!"

"Seherim," he whispered and shuffled past her.

"Who?"

"We'll not be able to get the horse 'ere—too much weight. If the creature lives your best bet is to send a healer—one good in magical 'erbs and plants and creatures."

Sendler moved with such efficiency now that Rusa almost wrapped her arms around his frail frame in appreciation.

"Seherim's elvish…" he trailed off and Rusa remembered as if it were yesterday. The first time she'd met Cedric on the observation deck and the conversation she'd overheard between he and another elf. Something about a 'Moril'?

She watched from the doorway as Sendler trudged along to a shack not far from his. Better to let him handle this, she thought and jumped when, even in the dark, she felt Seherim's gaze on her. She looked on as the elf bent down slightly to better hear the old man flailing his arms around though speaking in hushed whispers. Rusa noticed the silhouette of a blanketed baby in Seherim's arms. And then they were pacing towards her.

"Sendler tells me of your troubles."

It was the first time she'd taken note of the elf's appearance. So used to Scoia'tael was she that the heavy, patterned robe and sash with the high-frilled collar and cravat seemed so out of place, not only in Lobinden but in the whole of the Northern Kingdoms. Along with the eye-patch, Seherim reminded her of the infamous Skellige pirates she'd read of in stories.

"Speak, girl, do not be afraid."

"My horse lay dying in the forest not far from here. Her leg broken, wounded deeply from a spear—"

"What business have you in Flotsam's forest?" Seherim asked. When she hesitated, he gave her a knowing look. "I know of you, Rusa Elyot. I was under the impression you'd left with the Scoia'tael."

"And now I return for reasons beyond my control," she replied, gaining confidence in the face of another interrogation. Seherim studied her face, his one eye boring into hers much like Iorveth's minus the scar. Sendler scuffed along the floorboards of the shack and retrieved what looked to be a wooden splint.

"To support the leg," he gestured practically placing it in Seherim's hand. Rusa shot him a look of appreciation. Finally the elf concentrated on the splint and nodded.

"Where is the animal?"

She let out a shaky breath. "North of here. Not far. I'll show you—"

Seherim blocked her path. "She may not make it," he said with a solemn bow of the head. "If she does I will return with her to Lobinden but it is likely she won't be able to ride for some time, if at all. You cannot wait for her."

Rusa felt her facial muscles contort as she fought the urge to weep. She touched his arm as he made to leave. "Cedric..."

The elf lowered his gaze. "We found him near the waterfall."

The familiar choking sensation in the back of her throat. "Do you…do elves bury their dead?"

Seherim considered her for a long moment. It would only pain her further to know Cedric was fond of the baeg wedd. "His grave lies to the east."

Rusa slouched into the chair as he left. She'd responsibility to get back to Vergen as soon as possible. She thought of Seven suffering on her own, of whoever was left in the ruins fighting on their own, of Cedric lying somewhere off to the east, his long life at an end. She planned to visit his grave. The plan was selfish and irresponsible but once concocted could not be dislodged. It was dangerous to linger. The militia would be on the lookout for her. And she had only a few hours until sunrise. Understanding the need for silence, Sendler busied himself with a pile of rags near the bed. Rusa watched him lazily enjoying the warmth of the shack.

"Stick to the ravines—stay away from the river."

The ruins had been desecrated, the heads of the lovers decapitated, the garden itself scorched and ravaged. Two roses left, the rest torn from their beds, wilted and dead. Iorveth picked a survivor, gently unravelling the two stems that seemed to cling to each other for protection. He snapped his eye to the torches in the distance—twenty or so men stampeding towards them. They may be outnumbered but they had the forest on their side—and its nocturnal inhabitants were waking up, hungry and ready to feast. By the time the militia reached the ruins their number would have dwindled.

Rusa glanced at Toruviel for reassurance. "We've an advantage up here," she said serenely and drew her bow with a smile. Ele'yas was already crouched low behind a rock near the edge of the slope. Iorveth handed her the rose.

"Keep it safe."

Rusa pocketed it, jaw set in stubborn determination. "We've time to escape—all of us."

"We've the advantage up here," he reiterated, his tone cold and detached. Meaning we'll keep them at bay whilst you escape. Rusa's eyes started to sting. It wasn't right!

She peered over his shoulder at the oncoming mass and went for her bow. Iorveth grabbed her throat and squeezed until a strangled noise escaped her lips. "Do as I say."

"You're—!" She dug her fingernails into his wrist, clawing his skin as he stared back unmoved. "…Breathe...!"

As the colour rose to her cheeks Iorveth let go with a rough shove for good measure. She needed to leave—now. Rusa regained her footing and threw Toruviel one last look before rushing down the hill. She did not look at Iorveth. She did not look back.

"Is not smart to wait around 'ere, ma'am."

Sendler's voice drifted into her thoughts. She looked up at him with a dazed expression before realising she'd momentarily lapsed into something akin to sleep. The memory was real, though, disturbingly so. She'd left them. Jolted by the reminder she rummaged through her satchel and felt the soft petals under her fingertips. She needed to get to Vergen before it wilted. She made an educated guess that it would be approximately three days until the rose lost potency.

"Sendler." The craftsman looked up eagerly causing Rusa to smile. It felt foreign on her lips after the last few days. She peaked out from behind the curtains at the small vessel on the riverbank. "I must ask of you one last favour."

"As you say," he replied warily.

"I must return to Vergen as soon as possible and I'm without a horse."

"Ain't no 'orses to spare round 'ere, ma'am."

Rusa gave a curt nod and drew back from the dusty window. "I've desperate need of transport."

Sendler was gawking at her. Clearly, he wasn't getting the hint. She flicked her head in the direction of the riverbank, the little fishing boat sitting there with a patched blanket for a sail. Realisation dawned on his face and he shook his head emphatically.

"No, no…No, that's me own. Can't lend you that, I'm 'fraid."

He scuffled over to a chipped cupboard and threw himself into the task of reorganising its contents. Rusa considered it best to let it go—by which she intended to commandeer the vessel without Sendler noticing. The man hadn't a clue as to the importance of her task. She listened as he started whistling some inane tune and took to wiping his 'glassware' with a dirty cloth. The guilt was overwhelming when he looked up at her with a smile, his innate selflessness believing the conversation to be over—believing Rusa to be just as selfless. In that moment, the fate of Vergen resting on her shoulders (crumpled in the bottom of her satchel), she chastised her stubborn conscience. Perhaps there was another way; one that didn't involve destroying someone's livelihood.

She peaked around the curtain. Not long till sunrise. In the pit of her stomach dwelt a discomfort, one she blamed on the situation overall but knew better. Cedric's grave. She needed to go, urged on by some unseen force that compelled her to visit him one last time. For closure? Who could tell in a time like this? Rusa scrambled to her feet, acutely aware of this race against time all but Lobinden seemed victim to. It would hit this sleepy village soon enough, whatever 'it' was. Henselt, Radovid, Nilfgaard…Lobinden would suffer like the rest. For now, however, the village slept and Rusa embraced a surprised Sendler before exiting the shack.

Travelling east, she found what she assumed to be Cedric's 'grave'. Unlike the headstones of humans, there rested a stone with an inscription etched upon its surface, elegant lines dancing in between veins of dimeritium ore. Rusa traced a finger along the markings, the warm bluish glow of the dimeritium comforting as she tried to interpret the Elder Speech.

Va'esse deireádh aep eigean, va'esse eigh faidh'ar...

"Something ends, something begins." She tensed as Ele'yas appeared from the undergrowth. He smiled at her apprehension. "The poetics are inevitably lost in translation to common tongue."

Rusa splayed her fingers over the stone, soaking up its warmth before standing to face him. The elf stood a few paces off, streaks of blood dripping from his skin and clothing. A sword hung limp in one hand whilst the other pressed against his stomach. Clumps of dark hair fell matted across his forehead knotted in sweat and dirt.

Suspicion mounting, Rusa spoke. "Where are the others?"

Ele'yas licked his lips, a sash of red scarlet across clammy skin. Red from the blood, she couldn't tell. His eyes brightened momentarily in some deranged procession of facial spasms before closing. Something shifted in the air around them. She felt it physically, as if the atmosphere had thickened somehow, ominous and stifling. Her body started tingling, the peculiar sensation a warning of something still unknown. Cedric's stone humming faintly…or was this fanciful imagination?

"Speak!"

Ele'yas stared at her under heavy lids. "Dead."

"You lie," Rusa spat, unable to hide the telltale break.

"An accusation from the lips of a coward," he hissed with equal venom. They were beyond contempt now. Rusa felt the hatred dissolve into nothingness. Standing here, opposite this elf she'd never trusted to begin with, she felt nothing. She needed no evidence. He stood before her, a liar and traitor to his own people.

"How did you escape?"

"Much like you. Although I remained until the end." He took a step forward, breaking the stalemate, and smirked when her hand flew to a dagger. She unsheathed it and levelled it between them. And then, with the crudest 'Xin'trean dh'oine filth' she could conjure up, gave him a patronising smile.

"One more step and I'll cut your fucking balls off—assuming you have any."

Despite his anger, Ele'yas was brought up short. Pride mingled with disgust at this lowly creature in front of him; he'd take pleasure in ripping that coarse tongue to shreds.

"Iorveth and Toruviel—you will tell me where they are."

"I imagine their bodies have been taken to Flotsam's main square," he said amiably, his blatant disregard causing Rusa's hair to stand on end. "As proof, you understand."

She'd heard enough. Against her will she pictured the bodies slumped over a cart rambling towards the scaffolds. Iorveth and Toruviel—the Scoia'tael's last hopes. Disgusted that the elf before her still drew breath, she dropped the dagger and went for her bow, arrow tip trained on his skull. "You need to die."

In a flash of movement she found herself firing into the bushes to her right. On hearing the thud of a collapsed militiaman she aimed her confusion at Ele'yas who simply folded his arms with a cold smile. Another rustle from the bushes and the storming of boots. She charged at the elf.

"What have you done?!"

An armoured hand caught her by the waist and threw her to the ground. She scrambled to her feet as three men formed a circle, a fourth nudging the dead soldier with the tip of his boot. She caught a glimpse of Ele'yas—smile faltering but only slightly—before a rough hessian sack smothered her sight and tightened around her neck. She flailed an arm around for support only to have both yanked behind her and tied at an angle that made her shoulders ache. These men, she thought in her panic, Flotsam's militia—but who were they? Who did they belong to now? In a rush of limbs and orders, she aimed her sight on where she presumed the elf lingered, gloating in the glory of his betrayal.

"You really think they'll let you live?!"

Quickly silenced by a blow to the back of the head, Rusa fought to steady her vision. With nothing but darkness for a guide she gave up the struggle and allowed herself to be dragged through Flotsam's gate, the creak of its iron hinges mocking her return.


How many hours passed, she hadn't a clue. Discarded like a piece of trash inside a tiny cell with only a tired candle for company, she assumed she resided in the basement of the old Commandant's residence. Or was the basement the kitchen? Her mind flashed back to Roche's diagrams. She should have paid more attention.

"You were supposed to…" A chesty cough sounded to her right. Rusa pressed her face between the bars and met Toruviel's bloodied face, her eyes heavily bruised but stern. "You were to return—" she spluttered and collapsed onto her elbow. Rusa turned around and pushed her hands into the other cell only for the elf to slump even further away. "To Vergen. The rose—I cannot sense it."

Rusa scanned the cell and slapped her sides in a panic. "Shit." She noticed the contents of her satchel spilt across a small wooden table on the other side of the room. "Shit."

Toruviel followed her gaze. She let slip a soft whimper and Rusa reached for her in consolation. The elf fixed her with a vacant stare before grazing her limp fingers across the offered hand, swollen knuckles restricting her movement. It seemed whoever tortured her saw no need of shackles anymore. A ghost of a smile settled on trembling lips. "All is not lost," she whispered and Rusa struggled to hear the usual spark of confidence. In an effort to explain herself Rusa told her everything—Sev, Sendler and Seherim, Ele'yas. On hearing the elf's name Toruviel's eyes fluttered closed.

"He is a lost soul."

Footsteps in the distance caused Rusa to pick up the pace. "Iorveth—where is he?"

The door creaked open and she looked up expectantly. Whoever it was seemed to linger on the threshold—not so heavy-footed, a servant, perhaps? Rusa rammed her face against the cell to get a better look only to shrink back as a hulking silhouette sauntered into the room. The sole source of light in the room extinguished when he hauled an assortment of weapons onto the table with a laboured grunt. She brought her knees to her chest and peaked at Toruviel under heavy lids that dared not look up. The elf was lying face first on the ground. Rusa inhaled sharply and observed the almost imperceptible rising of the elf's back. It was all she could do to once again reach for those swollen fingers, lifeless and icy to the touch. And that pessimistic voice in her head—she's dying. The long life of another Aen Seidhe meets its end at the hands of some scum in a basement dungeon.

"She needs water!"

The man relit the candle and leered at the two of them. Rusa recoiled as a wad of phlegm flew towards her and dangled loosely from one of the bars. The second aimed at Toruviel found its mark and Rusa looked away, eyes burning, as it settled in the elf's hair. Finally, she chanced a glance at the creature currently arranging his weapons, gently, almost lovingly laying them out on the table. She flexed her fingers nervously whilst observing the array—knives, rope, some kind of garrotte, a spiked club. Her mind raced to the most peculiar corners: who was even in charge here? Temeria? Or was Flotsam considered a lost cause and left to the mercy of bandits? No, Lobinden was still breathing and Sendler was alive and well, for want of a better word. And Roche told her of Flotsam's importance in terms of territory. Surely, it would not be allowed to become some rogue state? Wanted by all the realms—"Stuck in the middle like a candle up the arse." Rusa squeezed her eyes shut. She considered what he'd do in this situation and then berated herself. The bastard would be on the other side of the bars! But it was comforting in its way. If he were the one behind bars he'd not give a fuck as to the consequences.

"I've 'ad a play with your little friend, 'ere." The guard held a knife to the candle and regarded it fondly. He was a large, grizzly bear of a man seemingly without a neck. He pointed the knife in Rusa's direction. "Been waitin' for little sleepin' beauty to wake up otherwise it ain't no fun."

Rusa licked her lips, the saliva stinging between the cracks. "Isn't any," she corrected.

The man was literally frothing at the prospect of another chance to maim, chomping at the bit like some savage mule. He bared his busted teeth in a twisted smile then fell vacant. "Wha's tha'?

"Otherwise it isn't any fun."

He tongued a pocked cheek and nodded as he grabbed the club, fingers bouncing merrily off its spikes. "See this 'ere? Brand new, it is." It was his turn to lick his lips. "Fancy 'elping me break it in?"

Rusa narrowed her eyes at the weapon then sat back on her haunches. "I'm going to have to respectfully decline." Toruviel stirred slightly and caught her eye. The guard brought up another chunk of phlegm and chuckled. He ran a finger along a deep scar traversing all three chins.

"This one—" he poked a stubby thumb at Toruviel—"it 'ad fire, too. I like 'em most when they play 'ard to get."

Rusa gnawed the inside of her cheek. It.

"Why don't you shove that club up your arse?" She lifted the corners of her mouth. "Break it in?"

At which point the guard threw the club aside and wrung his hands in delight. "The men 'ave a sayin'," he said removing his gloves. Rusa pressed her back to the wall. Leather squeaked as he bent down in front of her and wriggled his fingers. "Bare 'ands for a bitch."

The force of the blow was enough to make Rusa choke on the bile pooling in her throat. He fumbled with her chopped hair as he dragged her from the cell. She gasped when he stumbled and dug a knee into her stomach. In a flurry of hands Rusa caught sight of Toruviel, hand stretched beyond the bar and fastened onto the guard's ankle. He shook her off with a sickening snap and wrapped his hands around Rusa's throat.

"Not the normal routine, but I isn't complainin'."

Rusa struggled with his weight and felt her eyes bulge at the pressure. Her legs flailed about causing her to cry out as a sharp pain shot up her foot. She wrapped the other around the handle of the club lodged in her skin and managed to fling it off to the side. The guard's face blurry above her—red and sweaty, a deranged boar in heat—she stuck her thumbs into the drooping eyelids and gritted her teeth as he let out a scream so violent, so horrifically guttural that she almost let go. A flash of motion to her right and the screaming ground to a halt. She unhooked her fingers as his hands loosened. His breath caught in his throat and he stared down at her, stunned, before rolling to his side. He lay there, wheezing, the club protruding from between shuddering shoulder blades. Rusa scampered over to Toruviel who was hunched against a wall with a key dangling from her fingers. She was badly wounded but tended to Rusa who brushed her aside and demanded she sit and rest. The guard let out a muffled groan, his mouth firmly against the cobblestones. Rusa snapped her eyes to him in disgust.

"'Ain't complaining'," she muttered and tensed when voices sounded from the corridor. Amidst them all a resounding, indomitable voice ordering its lackeys to "Leave the elf." Rusa panicked as Toruviel fell motionless again. Unable to make a decision before the door swung open, she dropped to her knees and sheltered her awkwardly, hands still bound behind her back. The men clamoured inside and Rusa watched in satisfaction as they looked from her to the moaning hulk of bloated mass on the floor. One of them managed to disengage from the surprise and charged forward, fist raised. Rusa shielded Toruviel as best she could.

"Come now, Vant." That voice. Rusa looked up to see a bald man seemingly built into his armour with a firm grip on his soldier's wrist. The light from the corridor filtered through the bodies and struck the Temerian crest on his breastplate. His face was stern and showed signs of aging despite clearly being under fifty. Lined, hazel eyes studied the scene before him—two women huddled together distanced from the beast in the corner. He noticed the club lodged in his back and flicked his head to one of the men who leapt forward and carefully removed it. The guard remained still, though he was breathing. Rusa could hear the telltale wheeze as air struggled to escape. She cupped Toruviel's cheeks before lifting her eyes to the men. Subduing a spasm of surprise on seeing who led them, she asked for some water. It came out as a whisper. The leader considered for a moment and gave a dismissive nod.

"Water for the elf. Bring the woman upstairs."

He looked on impassively as she tried to fight off the first man. Receiving a kick to the stomach she doubled over and watched him haul Toruviel over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and dump her back in the cell. Another brave warrior smacked Rusa's cheek so hard it bled and only an order from above stopped the blows from continuing.

She was tied to a chair in the main room of the third floor—the lion's den. But it wasn't the old Commandant prowling around her. The man turned a chair around and straddled it, arms hanging casually across the back. There was nothing casual about his expression though. The Temerian crest mocked her in its familiarity.

"My name is John Natalis. And you have very unfortunate timing."

Rusa bit back a grimace. Natalis picked up on it immediately. "You're aware of your face plastered across Flotsam's walls, are you not?

"I know who you are," she whispered and he brought a hand to his ear. Clearing her throat, she repeated, "I know who you—"

"As most do," he interrupted with an indifference that infuriated her. "A small, seemingly insignificant woman conspiring with the Scoia'tael. Not so insignificant, after all." Natalis looked to his men who added the necessary laughter. The room was stuffy and a pungent odour of onion and sweat seemed to seep from the walls—a room of shits, sleeps and wanks.

"Since arriving here in Flotsam, I've learnt three things. The first is that this place is a grimy shithole—" more chuckles from the corner—"the second is that the witcher who stands accused of the murder of King Foltest left these forests with the Scoia'tael. The third, and I find this to be most intriguing, a woman by the name of Rusa Elyot arrived here with the witcher and the Blue Stripes, but has since returned with the most sought after terrorist in the Northern realms."

Rusa frowned and averted her eyes. Natalis had that same scrutinizing glare.

"I agree with the first," she mumbled and cringed when he remained unmoved. "As for the second, Geralt of Rivia is innocent."

"And the third?"

"A disturbing summary, if I'm honest."

Natalis nodded and slipped into his thoughts, grazing a hand along his chin. "Of course, I cannot trust a word you say. You understand this?"

"Yes."

"First, you will tell me all you know of the witcher's role in Foltest's murder."

Rusa groaned inwardly and cut to the chase.

"The one you're after is a bald, giant of a man. Another witcher—Letho. He killed Foltest and escaped with the help of—" the truth certainly wouldn't help her—two other witchers, Serris and Auckes, the three of them are working together. Geralt is innocent."

"How do you know all of this?"

In frustration, she lashed out. "I've already been thoroughly interrogated by your compatriot! He can verify everything."

Natalis's eyes darted across her features. He seemed to consider something then thought better of it. Then considered it again. "Contact with the Blue Stripes was lost five days ago."

Rusa reined in her sarcasm and waited. When he didn't continue she gave him a desperate look. "I've no idea what you want me to say."

"I think you do," he replied tersely.

She hesitated and struck a mental bargain; one she knew would sound ludicrous when spoken out loud. "I've already given you crucial information about the kingslayer. I'll tell you what I know of the Blue Stripes in exchange for a guarantee."

Natalis seemed to weigh her words carefully before chuckling. The men behind visibly slouched and joined in with their commander. His face turned grim and hard. "You're in no position to bargain."

She'd heard that before, of course, and was banking on the fact that it worked the last time. Although the man in front of her was a different sort altogether. Her stomach tightened and she felt her fingers grapple against clammy palms.

"Clearly, you were informed of Commandant Loredo's disposal. I assume this is the last you heard from Vernon Roche."

He gave a reluctant nod and gave little in return. "We are currently resecuring Flotsam as a Temerian outpost."

"Free Toruviel and I'll tell you where he is."

In a lingering pause that seemed to detach her from herself, Rusa caught sight of pink petals on the sideboard. So delicate and undeserving of its fate; how did they know to separate it from the rest of the contents in her satchel? Natalis seemed oblivious to her surprise. One of the guards leaned over him and gave a 'yes, sir' before disappearing downstairs.

"You've my word," the commander said. "Now, continue."

Rusa was disbelieving. He seemed honourable enough in his way but she'd learnt to be skeptical of Temerians. "Just like that?"

He swatted the question away like some pestering fly. "I'm losing my patience."

"The Blue Stripes travelled to King Henselt's camp on the outskirts of Vergen."

Natalis gave a soft 'hmm' before ordering the other guard from the room. He drew back from the chair and paced over to the sideboard. Rusa stiffened when his hand hovered over the rose only to grab a decanter and pour himself some wine. He held up another cup and looked at her.

"No…thank you," she said, thoroughly disarmed. This man knew she was in league with the Scoia'tael, a reminder of which heard her asking, "What has become of Iorveth?"

Natalis took another sip and smiled. "He still lives."

"Roche is convinced Henselt's behind the killing of your king." She understood the little game they were playing—tit-for-tat.

"And if Roche is correct, Henselt's intentions are to destroy Vergen then sweep through a weakened Temeria, yes?"

Rusa gave him an odd look. "How am I to know?

Natalis chuckled and set his glass on the table. "Forgive me, you seem to consider yourself an expert on political matters. Never mind that for now. We must talk about you." He settled into his chair. "Who is Rusa Elyot?"

Choosing her words carefully, she replied, "No one of significance."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. Ally yourself with the Scoia'tael and you become of great significance." He studied her as if she were a specimen in a jar. "You're no Temerian…" he trailed off and Rusa, in her panic, shook her head emphatically. As if being a 'foreigner' and 'unaware' of the tensions between Northerners and Scoia'tael would somehow see her survive this ordeal. It was as foolish as it sounded.

"No?" he asked, almost amiably. Rusa hesitated and withdrew an uneasy smile on seeing his eyes darken. The atmosphere in the room shifted. He'd got the information. It was predator and prey once again. "It matters not. Colluding with the Scoia'tael will see your neck in a noose before the week's end."

In contrast to his composure Rusa cried out, infuriated by the injustice of it all. "I know who you are, John Natalis, because I served at Brenna under the Cintran Volunteers—I served you!"

Surprise flickered across his face but it changed nothing. Instead, he threw the chair aside and bore down on her with an accusing finger. "And now you work for those who wished you dead."

Her arms were chafing from the rope. "I don't work for anyone! I'm trying to stay alive, it's really very simple."

"Spoken by one without loyalty, integrity and valour. It shames me to know your kind served the Northern cause, let alone survived."

"Iorveth's Scoia'tael fight for a free Vergen! They vow to defend it with their lives," she shouted but quickly fell silent. He wasn't willing to listen. And she wasn't willing to risk him hearing the crack in her voice as she pretended his words didn't hurt to an unbearable degree.

"You'll be an example to all," Natalis muttered, untying the rope. He made sure to keep her hands bound as he called for one of his men. When no one answered he gave her a warning look and paced to the door. Taking advantage of the distraction Rusa crept to the sideboard and pocketed the rose. If Natalis noticed it gone he'd order her killed. In light of her current situation, it made little difference.

It was raining heavily when they reached Flotsam's main square. Rusa could barely make out two bodies hanging from the scaffold and if her hands weren't tied she'd give them a salute, for they shared the same fate no matter how different their lives. She glanced up at Natalis conferring with two of his men then back to the swaying silhouettes. She was to join them soon enough. The ape who had smacked her before in the basement yanked her hands with a self-satisfied 'hmph' and she recoiled as he held her against him. She remembered standing in this exact same place held by another ingrate as the rest pummelled poor Ylvan close to death. She took in her surroundings. What better place to meet a grim death than in an even grimmer environment.

One of the men Natalis had been speaking with sauntered over. Under the balaclava were watery eyes and a red bulbous nose that simply by looking at it made Rusa want to sneeze. "A wagon with full guard awaits outside the gates," he said to the guard behind her and she stared back and forth between them in confusion. She was compelled to move and stumbled over a loose cobble.

"Wait," she cried and shuffled up to Natalis. "What's going on?"

The commander regarded her with disdain and sneered, "What example will you make if hung in Flotsam?" Rusa's frown deepened and she gave him a beseeching look. Natalis was momentarily distracted then smiled and signalled to the gate. Turning, she saw the broken form of Toruviel leaning against a post while a guard cut the bonds at her feet. Lurking off to the side was the beast from the basement standing hunched with a hand on his back. Rusa felt sick.

"What's the meaning of this?" she demanded and Natalis raised an eyebrow.

"I gave you my word the elf would be freed." He held up a hand and the guard nudged Toruviel through the gate. She immediately fell to her knees and Rusa lurched forward violently.

"You said you'd let her go!"

"And I am," he replied with a calmness that shook Rusa to the core. "The men saw fit to add an extra clause to our little agreement."

Toruviel was no longer at the gate. The beast shot Natalis a look across the courtyard and the commander gave a small nod. He disappeared into the forest.

"A little bit of justice, don't you agree?" said the commander and chuckled at the dazed expression plastered across the face of his prisoner. Rusa stared back at him, speechless, horrified, numb. "If the elf survives, she's free to go." A reassuring hand sat heavy on her shoulder. She wanted to tear through its flesh.

Natalis gave her one last condescending pat. "Don't concern yourself—you've certainly got bigger things to worry about. Ever been to the Royal Palace?"

Rusa swallowed the thought of a wounded Toruviel being hunted to death and blinked. "What?"

There was no more time for pointless jests. Natalis leaned closer to her with a grave expression. "You're to hang at Vizima."

Before she had time to react the guard threw her over his shoulder and laughed as a strangled breath escaped her lips in a comical wheeze. He moved with jerky strides towards the gates. Rusa lifted her head to the gallows. Ele'yas's bloated, bloodied face gazed back at her, lifeless eyes penetrating hers accusingly. She screwed her eyes shut as if to keep him at bay.

A barred wagon with full guard did indeed await her and she was unceremoniously tossed into the back. Before the canvas fell down she was shackled at the ankles. The men laughed and traded pleasantries as Rusa groped around in the darkness. She drew back when her fingers connected with something solid. With tentative hands she met frayed material and traced over the unknown form. Hardening her touch she made out the shape of a body and moved her hands upward towards what she presumed to be the head. As she grazed across smooth, cold skin she had to refrain from crying out when she felt the familiar cloth. She lightly traced the jagged scar running to the upper lip and froze when Iorveth stirred beneath her. Rusa collapsed next to him with an aching sigh of relief.

"I'm going to die," she said. "I didn't even get to visit Kovir."

He shifted uncomfortably and she made to help him move, fumbling for the outline of his arm. Iorveth shrugged her off though not unkindly. "You've visited Flotsam twice," he drawled. Rusa bit back a smile and flinched as her lips cracked.

"I'm a lucky woman," she remarked and felt his eye trained on her. Even in the dark it pierced through hers with that intensity peculiar to him. She lowered her gaze.

"They chased Toruviel into the forest," she said softly and tuned into his steady breathing. "If she can survive he said… She's wounded and bleeding and I couldn't… She won't outrun him."

Rusa let the tears fall as she sank into her hands. It was strangely comforting as the warmth trickled down her numbed cheeks. "Ele'yas is dead." She couldn't bear to speak the truth of his betrayal.

"I've yet to know someone more resourceful than Toruviel," Iorveth replied and his voice turned cold. "Ele'yas met his fate."

Rusa apologised and told him she should be comforting him. She thought of Toruviel crawling along the forest floor in desperation and fought to stop the onslaught of tears. "They're your men, after all."

"You are young, Rusa Elyot."

The silence was more than she could bear. "I've failed everyone," she whispered.

"As have I."

The wagon jerked forward and Rusa fell into a fitful sleep. Warped images of Toruviel scattered throughout her dreams, the hulking mass leering over her, his face transforming into Ele'yas's who would snarl and show his teeth before succumbing to a bluish hue. Iorveth and Natalis standing in the courtyard staring over her shoulder at Roche who leant against a wall, arms folded, chaperon off, much to her surprise, though when she awoke she'd not remember a thing.

Iorveth sat up—a challenge, to say the least—and glanced at the shivering frame struggling with whatever troubled her. There was nothing to warm her with and he couldn't recall the last time he'd felt so useless. He hit his head against the bars ignoring the pain as it raced down his spine. She had failed no one. He'd failed his men. He'd failed Saskia. His heart sped up and calmed when he focused on the dh'oine curled up beside him. There was only one failure in this wagon and she wasn't it. He could see her clearly, of course, his eyes easily attuned to the darkness and noted, with surprise, that somewhere along the line she'd decided to discard half a head of hair. She was the strangest looking creature. When she came to he almost laughed at how dishevelled she was, padding around the floor for her bearings and narrowing her eyes at the wall in a futile attempt to make out his form. He watched her flounder for a little longer.

"To your right," he muttered and she visibly jumped.

"Don't do that!" She slapped the air and collapsed again with a huff. "How long was I asleep?"

"Not long."

"You should get some rest."

"No need."

"Fine."

The silence stretched on until Rusa broke it, as he expected.

"Iorveth, I'm so sorry." She fumbled for the rose and found his hand, also shackled. They remained still, her hand resting in his, before he ran a finger over the petals and gently pushed it back. Rusa nodded and wiped her cheeks with an awkward shrug. "For Saskia."


A/N: To everyone reading, reviewing, following, favouriting - thank you, it truly means a lot.