[A/N]: WARNING: this chapter contains self-harm. Chapter title comes from the song "Wash It All Away" by Five Finger Death Punch.
Gwen had been gone for only a few hours, lying in her tent because her lack of sleep had caught up with her, only to awaken to the sound of restless murmuring and rain drops hitting the canvas of the tent. She crawled out into the open, rubbing her aching leg as she noted that everyone had come together somewhere else.
Ignoring the rain, the half-elf followed the noise and had stumbled across a crowd of noisy elves. Those at the back glanced at her when they noticed her arrival and moved to the side. She accepted the spot and stood on the tips of her toes to see what was going on.
A large man stood there, talking to Iorveth, Ciaran and some other elf whose name Gwen did not know. Her stomach churned at the sight of the human; not just from the memories that never seemed far off but also because of the grotesque scars on his bald head. That, and his golden eyes made her feel restless.
A Witcher, she realised. The Witcher, the one Iorveth had allied himself with. Gwen had never seen a Witcher before but she had always pictured them as something else. She did not like their kind and everything involved with them, but she could not deny that they, too, received as much scorn from the humans as non-humans did. Plus, this one had killed Demavend. She ought to give him the benefit of the doubt just because he had rid the world of a man like that.
"We must begin preparations sooner rather than later if we are to fulfil this plan in time," Gwen heard Iorveth say.
The Witcher spoke in a deep voice with an accent Gwen couldn't place. "Perhaps you should start by showing me where those hidden pathways lie."
Iorveth remained silent for too long, Gwen thought, and she could picture the look on his face as he stared at the Witcher.
"Patience, vatt'ghern. We will come to that when we get there," the unfamiliar elf sneered in his leader's stead.
Gwen had to snort at the irony of hearing one of the Scoia'tael speak of patience. And now the elf was most likely receiving Iorveth's glare as well.
As she had predicted, Iorveth snapped, "And you will speak when spoken to."
"Y-yes, Iorveth," the elf stammered. All signs of confidence had disappeared and when he spoke, he did so sounding ashamed and embarrassed.
From where she stood, Gwen saw Iorveth turn to the crowd before he announced, "Everyone get back to your duties. Don't worry, I won't decide anything without your consent, and so you'll be notified when we have come to an agreement."
The elves scattered, muttering to themselves and each other as they did so. The half-elf didn't wait long, fearing that she might remain in the presence of the Witcher all by herself. She sought out the kitchen, where she had been reassigned once again until further notice.
They had built a small pavilion above the fires, kettles and pots to keep away the rain, but this also forced them all to huddle together in the small space as they worked. At least Dylan no longer glared at her whenever he could, though she wasn't about to relent her own glare in return. His sister, thankfully, continued to glower as if her life depended on it. It was a refreshing sight to behold, that much Gwen could admit, though unfortunately she was absent that day.
"What do you think of this vatt'ghern business?" Brigid asked no one in particular as they all sat around the kettle, each doing their own job.
"I don't like it one bit," Aderyn admitted with a frown. "Trouble follows those people like a plague. Mark my words, nothing good will come of this alliance."
"It's a necessary evil," Dylan retorted stiffly. He still wasn't used to not snapping whenever in the presence of the half-elf.
"What is it about Witchers that you fear?" Gwen asked as she continue to stir the contents of the cauldron, curious all of a sudden.
"I used to live in a small village in Temeria, with dh'oine, seidhe and even neygharimm living together in peace, though you might not believe such a place to exist." Aderyn let out a sigh. "One day, however, a vatt'ghern arrived. 'Just passing through', he had said, but the next thing we knew the whole village was in fire and flames and almost everyone had died in their sleep." The elf paused for a moment, frown deepening as she violently chopped up the meat of a rabbit into tiny little pieces. Then she added, "Even before the ashes had grown cold, he left and said we ought to be thankful he didn't charge us for helping us."
Brigid shook her head, her expression solemn. It was obvious she had heard the tale before.
"How come you joined the Squirrels if you grew up together with humans?" Gwen went on, confused.
"We're Scoia'tael," Dylan interrupted meekly, averting his gaze from the half-elf. "Not Squirrels."
Aderyn glanced at him before shooting a contemplative look at Gwen. "You lived between the dh'oine as well, did you not? From what I gather this was not a pleasant time for you. I joined Iorveth because I believe that everyone should be able to live among other races in peace. Even dh'oine."
At those words, Gwen couldn't help but snort. "You try to make me more susceptible to your reasoning with that, but you forget that there hasn't been a time for me that was pleasant to begin with."
"I am sorry to hear that, and will continue to fight so that people like you too may one day live in peace," the other woman replied, earning herself a surprised look from Gwen. The half-elf quickly looked away, afraid the mushiness would get to her.
Brigid's lips had formed into a small smile when she, as if to divert the attention, murmured, "I like him. The vatt'ghern, I mean. He looked calm, even when surrounded by a force that could overpower him and of which he didn't know if they would try to do so or not. I believe he'll be able to help us."
"Be careful with what you say, Brigid," Dylan interrupted sharply as he threw some chopped onions into the cauldron. "He should not outstay his welcome either. Who knows what will happen then. Iorveth might be the strongest of us all, but he can't possibly compete with a vatt'ghern."
Gwen listened to the rest of the conversation in stunned silence. She had always thought that the elves worshipped Iorveth like an invincible hero, or perhaps even some sort of god. It seemed, however, that they were painfully aware of their leader's capabilities and his shortcomings.
"What about you?" she asked Brigid when they had grown quiet. "You did not hate me at the beginning. Do you not hate humans as well?"
The girl, for Gwen viewed her as such, lowered her eyes and began to play with the loose ends of her tunic. Aderyn pulled her close while Dylan grumbled something in disgust, which earned him a sharp look from the former.
"She used to live with her parents in Flotsam. One day during festivities, a group of guards had had a bit too much to drink, and they took her from the crowd and used her there in the streets," Aderyn explained as she brushed her friend's hair out of her face. "She was so ashamed afterwards that she left for Lobinden without a word to her parents. Cedric sent her to us, believing that would be best for her."
"If I ever set foot in that place, I'll-" Dylan began, but Aderyn cut him off.
"You won't be setting foot anywhere, and you know that," she said without looking at him. It had the wished effect though, and the elf looked at his feet once more.
Everyone remained silent for a few more moments until Gwen, hesitating slightly, asked, "Why are you telling me all of this?"
"To show you that we know what it's like as well. That everyone in this camp has their own story, and everyone has once gotten those looks from the others. Eventually everything will return to the way it was before, but I hope for you that they'll be less hateful than they used to be."
Aderyn's words still rang through Gwen's mind that evening as she stared at her wrists. The lines that once covered them had almost completely disappeared; one could only notice them if one knew of their existence. She missed the kick she got from angering someone, of listening to someone yell at her and yelling right back, of the sneers they sent her way.
A strange sense of emptiness overtook her as she lifted the knife and pressed it to the skin. If she did not know how to cope with this lack of hatred, she would have to fill it with pain. She could deal with pain, that was her only certainty as she watched the drops of blood well up and slide down her arm, gathering at her elbow before dripping down to the ground.
The sting brought up memories, both old and new, and she found herself in many different places at many different times. She had started with this after her first rape, but had stopped when the forceful lovemaking had turned into lustful reunions. When she found out that she was with child, she had started again only for her mother find and scold her. She had replaced that need to hurt until she had died. Over the course of many years, moving from town to town, village to village, meal to meal Gwen had felt enough pain in hunger and thirst. Until this moment she also hadn't had the time.
She carved a second line to make up for time lost, a third one just because she hated herself, a fourth because of Loredo's weight that haunted her day and night. A fifth she added because she couldn't be bothered to stop now, and a sixth because she thought five such an ungainly number to leave it at.
"What do you think you're doing?" Iorveth's voice hissed from next to her all of a sudden as he yanked her arm forward so he could see for himself.
Her cheeks burned a bright red, a combination of anger and humiliation, and she ripped her arm free, all the while wondering why she hadn't heard his armour any earlier. She held it to her chest, but that only caused her to smear blood all over the front of her tunic.
Her timid eyes met his stormy one, and she realised that perhaps she should have carved this man's name into her arm instead. Danger, caution, stay away from him. Do not get closer to him than necessary.
"That's none of your business," she snapped. "What do you want from me?"
He beheld her for a moment, grimacing as he did so, before he replied, "I came to inform you that I've decided you'll be joining us on our next hunt, but I see that perhaps you are not quite ready yet after all."
"What? No!" Gwen took a step in his direction and all but snarled. "I'm fine! This isn't my fault! It's because you all look at me with those sad puppy dog eyes!" She hesitated for a moment before turning away, her back now facing the elf. "You should just go back to hating me. I know how to be hated. It's all I know."
When she glanced over her shoulder, she almost blanched. Iorveth's rage had left him and now he looked up her with that bloody pity in his eyes, his hidden brows raised slightly. No, not him as well... Gwen felt hopelessly alone in that moment and squeezed the cuts on her arm, the pain comforting her as it always had. People always changed. Pain never did.
Before she could hurl any more insults his way, he said, "Tomorrow I will take some people hunting. You will be coming alone, so get that arm cleaned and don't let me see you doing it again."
His glare returned as he left, but he didn't do so without first patting her on the shoulder. Brows scrunched in confusion, she turned to see the lake and its waterfall, only to wonder how she had gotten here in the first place.
Gloved hands were on her shoulders all of a sudden, kneading them gently. She almost screamed at the intrusion, but managed to bite her tongue in time as she glanced behind her. Whoever stood there slipped around the other side before she could identify them, but this time the clinking of armour tipped her off.
Iorveth held onto her red arm and washed the blood away with water from the lake, smearing some of it out along her skin. When he looked up at her, her stared at her from under his brows, his green eyes devoid of any emotion or thought.
The half-elf frowned deepened at the sight. The scar still remained on the right side of his face and went all the way up to his eye, but there it stopped. Where had his scarf gone?
She was just about to ask him this when he leant forward and pressed his lips to hers. Both of them had chapped lips, but the elf didn't seem to mind as he pushed her over until her back lay on the ground. As his tongue explored her mouth, which had opened in her surprise, his hands moved from her shoulders to her hands, slowly, almost sensually. His fingers wrapped around her wrists and at once Gwen tensed.
Iorveth did not seem to notice or care as he brought her arms up, holding them above her head and not letting go. Gwen struggled to pull herself free and bit on the commander's lip. That only made him smirk into the kiss as he ground his hips against hers and she realised that somehow he had lost most of his armour. When...?
But then one of his hands released her, though one hand was enough for both of hers, and her struggle grew. In an attempt to break the kiss she turned her head to the side, but he simply attacked her neck, the exact same spot as Loredo had.
Her breath caught in her throat and so she couldn't say anything about it. Only a meek, "Stop," left her, but his digits continued to travel down her body and his mouth didn't stop its ministrations. When his fingers brushed against her breast, she noticed that she was naked and she tried to throw him off. He shouldn't see her like this; no one should.
Iorveth only chuckled in her ear and purred, "You don't say no to your commander."
Fear filled every inch of her like the tears that filled her eyes. His hand ignored her breast in favour of her torso, moving across the scars that littered her skin here and there. It went lower still, until it arrived at their hips, where he pulled down his breeches and whispered, "Don't worry, I won't hurt you. You might even enjoy it."
Gwen screamed, and then someone was shaking her, and then she opened her eyes and found one of the elves who shared the tent with her; Madoc. His face hung above hers as he stared down at her in concern, and somewhere behind him sat Tesni, mirroring his expression. The two of them had been friends for a long time from what Gwen could see, practically joined at the hip. Everyone mused about what sort of things they did when they were alone, but the half-elf could vouch for their friendship being nothing more than that.
When he saw she had woken up, he slinked back off to his own bedroll, shooting her looks every now and then but not daring to ask her any questions. Gwen soon grew sick of it and got up to leave the tent, her body still trembling from the nightmare.
It had been just a nightmare, had it not? She looked down at her arm and saw that it had been bandaged. By whom? When? Where? She felt like crying, but bit on her lip instead.
She couldn't remember what she did between that moment and dawn. Perhaps she had simply sat in that spot, staring at nothing with a blank mind. When Ivor came to fetch her for her first time out hunting - another part of her dream which came true - her mood hadn't improved. She hadn't seen him in a while and was glad when he treated her a bit like he used to, though he at once saw something was wrong. When he asked and she refused to answer, he dropped it. For that, she was thankful.
Her feelings of thankfulness disappeared when she saw Iorveth, whose gaze and company she avoided as much as possible. Why had she even dreamt such a thing? Had it even been a dream in the first place? How could she forget something like that?
While he explained what they would do that day, she stared at him. As if he had felt her gaze on him, he turned to her and gave her a strange look before looking at the others once more. Gwen missed everything he said, too stuck with her thoughts to concentrate on his words.
Why had he glanced at her like that? Had he actually...? But everything until now seemed to prove that what had happened in the dream had been real. Her arm, the hunting... Then that, too...?
He had not left any marks on her body, but then again, perhaps he had been... gentle with her. But it just wasn't possible for her to not remember it at all. Denying it was one thing, but having no recollection of it whatsoever?
"What is it?" Ivor asked again once they had set out. Gwen watched his expression for a bit, still feeling a bit miffed by his betrayal after all.
"It's nothing," she replied in the end, and turned her gaze in front of her. Her problem would have to come later. For now, she had to prove her worth to the Squirrels.
Vatt'ghern: Witcher (Elder Speech)
Neygharimm: dwarf/dwarves (Elder Speech)