She must have slept, but even then the voices of Flotsam seemed to follow her. Except they no longer belonged to that specific town, but to all living beings in existence. Whispers went behind her back, speculating about all kinds of things about her, but they all concluded the same thing: she did not belong.
And no matter how fast she ran, and no matter where she fled to, they always followed her. They always had, they always did and they most likely always would. She simply had to cope with it, as she always had. As she always must.
Suddenly, the voices gained shape behind her, merging together and becoming louder even as she quickened her pace. The figure grew, taller and broader, until it turned red and hot. The whispers became roars and the flames spread out, tendrils of warmth circling around her, closing off all possible escape routes.
Panic clawed at her throat just as a sob tried to worm its way out, and instead the sound she made sounded like a strangled cry. The flames licked at her feet, reaching out for the ends of her brown dress until that, too, caught fire.
She wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted most of all to get away from the fire, but invisible ropes held her in place and she knew she would have to wait until her body had turned to ashes. Smoke filled the air all of a sudden, and in vain she tried to breath, only to find the dust strangling her from the inside and she was certain that her last moment had arrived...
Only then she opened her eyes and gasped, sucking in as much air as possible. Her chest heaved, stretching the ropes bound around her torso against which she leant forward. Sweat dripped down her face and onto the floor beneath; a tent floor, she noticed. She found she did not have the energy to look around to take in her surroundings, her body still raw with pain and her mind still fevered from the dream, and so instead she simply hung forward and waited until her heart had calmed down somewhat.
Apparently that had been too much to ask for, for that cursed voice spoke up just then.
"I can't imagine what nightmares a royal bastard could suffer from. Did they not have the meat of a certain coloured chicken at the last party?"
The black-haired woman chuckled, but did not answer. The grin on her face distracted from how naked and insecure she felt without her piece of cloth covering her ears.
When she remained silent, the Scoia'tael elf stepped farther into the tent. Moonlight briefly filled the room before he closed the flap again, though she could still see his silhouette against the light from outside. How long had she slept? Where had they taken her? Why had they not just killed her instead?
"Who are you and what were you doing in my forest?" he finally asked. The deep timbre in his voice that filled the silence caused a shiver to run down the woman's spine, but she had learned to trust those the least.
"My name is Gwen," she started after taking in a deep breath, "and I had the misfortune of being born to a human father and an elven mother who, despite all the comments from family members, loved each other deeply and decided to bring me into this world. Life was hard, for my father was but a simple farmer and did not earn a lot of money, but my parents loved me very much and-"
A chuckle interrupted Gwen's story, and the Scoia'tael clapped a few times. "And they lived happily ever after, did they not, Gwenfrewi?"
Gwen bit her tongue at the sound of that name and tried to hide her irritation, but the man noticed the frown before she could smooth it away.
"Your father and mother were indeed human and elf, but your father was far from a simple farmer. In fact, he couldn't have been any more different had he tried," the elf said.
By now, Gwen's eyes had adjusted to the dim interior of the tent, and so she could see the man sneer at her as he spoke. She narrowed her eyes at him before replying, "If you already know what you want to know, why did you ask me?"
The Scoia'tael shrugged, his face once more blank while his eye roamed hers for any information he did not yet know and that she had yet to share. She stared right back at him, defying him for as long as possible, though she felt what little energy she had wane together with her will to resist. Let them do with her what they will.
"I was exiled. Thrown out of the country with nothing but these clothes, onto a ship that would take me to Flotsam. I don't know what they planned on doing with me there, I just ran until you found me," she muttered, hanging her head in shame. Though royal blood ran through her veins, she remained an unwanted bastard. She should have been grateful for the fact that they hadn't chopped off her head the moment her father had died many years ago.
A snort came from the elf before her and she glared at him, but he ignored her as he turned to leave the tent once more. She heard him speak a few soft words to someone standing outside before he disappeared, after which a pair of elves - one man and one woman - came inside carrying all sorts of supplies.
She watched in silence as they undid the ropes holding her down and removed her clothes so that they could take care of her wounds. All the while, she wanted nothing more than to crawl away from them and curl up so they couldn't see her marred skin, but she dared not say anything for fear of losing her life. Though she couldn't help but wonder whether her life was still worth living in the first place.
They cleaned her back first, wiping away all the grime and blood before rubbing something on her skin that stung, forcing her to bite on her lip so that she kept quiet. Once they had finished wrapping bandages around her upper body, they busied themselves with her leg from where she had been caught by the trap, all the while muttering to each other in the Elder Speech about broken bones and wasted supplies and whatnot. As if she couldn't understand them when they used the language with which she had grown up, which her mother had painstakingly tried to teach her even as they lived in a city surrounded by people who spoke only the Common Speech.
When the two of them had finished taking care of Gwen, they pulled her to her feet, but she faltered and would have fallen had the woman not caught her in time. While she held the wounded outsider up, her companion once more tied Gwen's wrists together with ropes before leading them out of the tent. He held up the flap of the tent so that the women could exit, and Gwen had to blink her eyes a few times at the bright flare of torches scattered around what seemed to be a camp.
She swallowed hard and forced down the panic that attempted to break free once more, refusing to show any sign of weakness while she still found herself amidst strangers, whose intentions and motivations she still had no clue of. It seemed to work, for her guides never once faltered as, much to her horror, they led her to what looked like a campfire. Despite the pain in her wounded leg, her heels dug themselves into the ground, and the elves by her sides had to drag her closer.
More elves had gathered there, most of them looking up at the commotion Gwen caused by refusing to take another step in the direction of the fire. Her guides cursed under their breaths, and the man decided to simply lift her into the air despite her protests. He set her down on one of the logs surroundings the campfire, and at once Gwen attempted to stand up and flee, but just as she did so, a palm met her cheek.
In a half-crouch from getting up and with her body completely drained, the slap sent her reeling, and she landed on the ground with a soft thud, her face in the mud. Someone placed a knee to her bandaged back in order to keep her down, and she bit back the cry of pain and found herself forced to stare at the flames. The smell of earth and burning logs that filled her nose and lungs almost nauseated her while she struggled to rid herself of the pressure on her back, but found that she lacked the energy to do so.
"Voe'rle," that voice from before commanded, and in an instant Gwen realised who had been speaking to her all this time.
The knee disappeared and instead rough hands grabbed her arms to pull her back up. Before she had the chance to resist again, they dragged her farther away from the fire and forced her to sit on another log. She vaguely registered somebody sitting next to her, and a firm hand on her thigh that prevented her from fleeing once more.
"Please excuse my lack of hospitality. My camp must be far less than what you are used to in your home country," none other than the legendary Iorveth said, the sarcasm in his tone not unobvious.
Gwen raised her brows at him in disbelief before they dipped back down into a frown and she spat on the ground. "Do you honestly believe I was treated with any dignity at all? The humans never left us in peace, and the non-humans took pleasure in seeing them treat us like shit. You Scoia'tael think yourselves so high and mighty in the position of victims, but you are no better than your oppressors."
She shook her head as if to emphasise her point, when in reality she did so to shake some of her hair in front of her ears. Her cursed ears, which had always been what got her judged; too ploughing pointy for the humans but not pointy enough for the elves. At least when she covered them, the humans who did not yet know of her treated her with a little respect. The elves, on the other hand, had always been able to see her human heritage with a single glance, though her mother had always claimed her elven blood dominated over her human side. Not that it had ever mattered to anybody but her.
Iorveth simply remained silent. Gwen had guessed that if anybody would hate her, it would be him, with his loathing of humans and all, but somehow he seemed the only one who did not look upon her with disgust in his eye. She felt the glares of the other elves on her back and tried her best to ignore them, straightening herself as she did so.
"What is it that you plan to do from now on?" Iorveth asked as he turned his head away from the fire to look at her again.
Baffled, Gwen could only stare at him as she realised that, until then, she had not thought about what she wanted to do. Though she possessed nothing of worth, by being exiled from her own country she had been given a second chance. She could start over again, build something new for the remainder of her life, however long that might have been. One of the disadvantages of half-elves had always been their unpredictability; no one knew quite for sure how old they could become, for example.
But even as she tried to picture a new future for herself, the eyes surrounding her continued to bore into her from all directions, and she felt her anger rising at them. She clenched her hands into fists as if that would make her feelings go away, and she knew that she could never start anew. Not after all that had been done to her, things she would never forget, could never forget, no matter how hard she tried.
Remembering that others had decided for her that she had no place in this world, she turned to the man sitting next to her, who had noticed every emotion and thought as it crossed her mind. "If you believe that I will join your cause, Iorveth, then you are sorely mistaken. Why should I help those who would rather see me dead?"
"It seems that my reputation precedes me, even in Aedirn." The elf chuckled shortly before all signs of mirth disappeared yet again. "Don't misunderstand me, I am well aware of your hatred towards other races, as you most likely are of mine towards humans. But I am not stubborn enough to turn away all those who are neither elf nor human, and thus you could use your... enmity for better purposes."
Gwen only narrowed her eyes at him, knowing full well that Iorveth and his cunning were a force to be reckoned with. He would not dream of offering her a place in his commando, a inh'eid, if he did not believe that he would get something in return. What that could possibly be Gwen did not know, but in that moment joining him looked like the best option. She hadn't eaten in days, her body ached all over, and she had lost her purpose in life yet still retained all this hatred inside of her.
"And furthermore," Iorveth added, as if reading her mind, "you can't possibly hope to accomplish anything by yourself."
The half-elf stared at her tied hands while chewing on her lip, afraid of the consequences if she gave in. Afraid of the consequences if she didn't give in. Whatever she chose to do, she would never win.
In the end, her shoulders sagged in defeat and she nodded her head once. Without lifting her eyes, she said, "Fine, I will stay. For now."