[A/N]: well shit, this one took me far too long. I'm currently taking a creative writing course at uni, which has taken up most of my writing energies, and on top of that I didn't quite know where I wanted to go with this chapter. But I've finally finished it, and I've already got almost a thousand words for the next chapter, so let's hope that one won't keep you all waiting too long! Anyways, enjoy~

The song "Numb" belongs to Evergrey.

The needle stung against the half-elf's neck, pricking into her skin, drawing blood. She could almost feel the droplets well up before being dabbed away by the elf who sat beside her, her dark eyes concentrating on Gwen's throat. She welcomed the pain. It felt good to feel something – anything.

She did not remember how many days had gone by since the ambush. With her arm and torso wounded, Iorveth had banned her from doing anything other than kitchen duty once more, and so she whiled away chopping up food and cooking it.

And though she had not the energy left to do anything other than stare with unseeing eyes, memories from what seemed a lifetime ago returned to her, unbidden. She remembered times where she laughed, and times where she cried. She remembered the smell of her mother as she embraced her, and the smell of Elric as he wrapped his arms around her. She remembered the feeling of a child inside of her, moving around.

She winced, and the elf – Eira was her name, which fit her almost snow white hair – mumbled an apology as she wiped at her jaw. Gwen only hummed in response, without even registering what had happened.

With her usual caretaker gone, Aderyn had taken on Ivor's task of taking care of her, since Gwen usually allowed nobody else to touch her. She hadn't even resisted the elf when she wanted to check her wounds, and had simply ignored the other's attempts to get her talking. The woman had stopped asking before long, and now only companionable silence filled the air whenever they were together. Brigid at least tried to fill it with nonsensical talk, seemingly not affected by the unresponsiveness of her friend. Her voice distracted Gwen from those in her mind, calling her by her full name. For some reason, whenever Elric spoke to her, she heard Iorveth's voice, spitting out her name as though it were some kind of curse.

Which it was, in some way. Burdened by her mother's wish for peace, Gwen had had to discard it when she fled from Vengerberg. No, it had been before that already. After Elric's final betrayal, she had allowed only her mother to call her by that name. But even that stopped when the guards had come to search for her and had instead found her mother alone at home.

Gwen was so stuck in her thoughts that she hadn't even realised that Eira had stopped working. The elf had to clear her throat before she blinked a few times, as if she had just woken up from a slumber, and looked up.

"It's done," Eira stated and motioned towards the bucket of water that stood beside them on the ground.

She turned her head ever so slightly, biting her lip when it stung to do so, and saw the ink as it crawled down her shoulder, onto her arm and the top of her breast. Her neck felt stiff as she bent over and watched her reflection staring back at her from inside the bucket. Before she could acknowledge the dark rings beneath her eyes, she moved her gaze towards the reflection's neck. Though it was difficult to see with the water rippling occasionally, the sight of the vines and leaves that crept up her neck and clawed at her jaw greeted her inside the bucket.

When the elf had asked her if she had any design in particular in mind, she had shaken her head and given Eira free rein. She had no idea why she had chosen to do something like this, but somehow she felt that it fit herself. It was almost unsettling to see her face with its human tinges accompanied by the elven vines spread across her lower cheek. Almost as if to accentuate the fact that she did not truly belong.

With that thought running through her mind, Gwen found something bubbling up inside of her, almost clawing its way up even as the shroud of emptiness fought against it, tried to push it back down. It didn't succeed, and whatever it was broke free. Relief filled her, together with a hint of sadness, for she felt that she did belong, that she had found her place here. She had just come back from fighting a battle – not just for the Scoia'tael but also with them. With her comrades.

Only when Eira placed a hand on her shoulder and asked her if she was all right did Gwen realise that she had started crying. Tears streamed down her cheeks, stinging the wounds caused by the inserting of the ink. She cursed herself for her weakness, especially in front of what was practically a stranger, but even when she pressed a hand against her eyes the tears refused to stop. The emotions that raged within her swallowed her up, consumed her, and it almost seemed as though time stood still as her body tried to compensate for all the time it had lost while being stuck in a void.

Only when Aderyn stood beside her with her hands on her hips and her brows in her hairline did Gwen calm down little – and only long enough to say one sentence, her voice rough from disuse.

"I've fallen in love with Iorveth."

"What? When? How?" the other asked as she knelt down in front of the half-elf, her eyes wide. She was one of the few elves Gwen had met who did not guard her emotions like a dragon might its treasure.

Gwen shrugged, turned her head away and wiped at her cheeks, wincing when she touched her raw skin. When she drew her hand back, she saw a little blood coated her fingers. Gently taking her hand in her own, Aderyn wiped it away with a piece of cloth before she produced a bag of ointments and bandages from her belt.

"For on the ink," she offered before she dipped her fingers into the salve and spread it across the sore skin, which twitched beneath her touch. Without taking her eyes off Gwen's shoulder, she added, "Well?"

"Because…" Gwen winced when Aderyn moved higher, to her neck, and repeated her movements there. Why, exactly? When? Images of the elf flitted through her mind; of the way he had pulled his scarf down, of his nose almost touching hers, of his fingers digging into her skin as he held her arm and he cleaned it. Of his voice, so harsh yet warm at the same time. Of his eye piercing her like a sword, seeing and knowing all, or so it seemed. Of his lips against hers. "Because he cared. Or at least, he pretended to. For all I know that was all a lie."

Shaking her head, Aderyn hummed in a disagreeing manner, her eyes now on her neck. The wind picked up from between the trees, played with the strands of the women's hair. The elf wiped her free hand across her forehead to remove the locks from her eyes. "Iorveth truly cares for us all. We're his subordinates, after all. His responsibility. And in return, we lend him our power."

Gwen closed a hand and cracked her joints while staring at it. Dirt was stuck beneath her nails, with some remainders of blood. How old it was, she could not say. A shiver ran down her spine, and not because of the cold breeze surrounding her.

"I tried to tell him. Don't really remember why. Not that it mattered, though, since he wouldn't even let me finish what I wanted to say," she murmured. She felt strangely calm saying it out loud. Like she was talking about someone else's life, or about a memory from many years ago. The sound of her child crying seemed fresher in her mind than the rejection.

Suddenly two arms wrapped themselves around her arm, pulling her unmarked shoulder into Aderyn's body as she placed her forehead against the half-elf's limb. Gwen, in turn, rested her chin on the other's head and let out a sigh. Feeling melancholic all of a sudden, she wondered how long it had been since she had been embraced by someone like this.

"You poor thing," the elf whispered before she pulled back and looked into Gwen's brown eyes. "So that's what's been bothering you?"

Said brown eyes stared back at her, but Gwen remained silent. How could she possibly explain all that went through her mind, and all that hadn't gone through her mind these past few days? The fact that she had felt like a living corpse, and that at times she had thought about ending it all? About how the fires and screams and grunts and her name kept her up at night, and how she spent her waking hours reliving unwanted memories supposedly long-forgotten?

But Aderyn did not press on. Instead, she pulled back and began to bandage Gwen's shoulder – now both of them were bound – and neck. She even went so far as to cover her lower face in linen as well, which, in that moment, managed to amuse the other slightly. She made quite the sight, she realised when she peered back into the bucket of water.

"Come, let us head back. Who knows what will happen with Dylan working on his own," Aderyn stated as she got up and made her way towards the kitchen.

Gwen dressed herself again before she followed, albeit slower, for the wound on her torso still stung whenever she used her abdominal muscles, which was basically always. Though the gash on her shoulder was worse – if it weren't for her armour, the blade would have reached the bone – she could easily keep her arm still. The only reason she had gotten a tattoo was because she had insisted, believing it best to get it all over with at the same time before she had to remain inactive for months on end.

In the camp, elves were scattered about, as if confused. Some of the Scoia'tael were worse off than her, a few even lying on makeshift beds while others tended to them. Most sported nothing more than cuts and bruises, however. Only a handful of elves had died during the ambush. Gwen had not personally known any of them, though somehow she could imagine Iorveth knowing every single name of the people who had gotten killed for him.

As expected, when they reached the kitchen, Dylan was the only one there. He was chopping vegetables in that harsh manner of his, the loud, monotonous sound of a blade hitting wood at an irregular and painfully slow pace filling the air, disturbing the birds that otherwise would have sung their songs. For once, he kept his scowl directed at the carrots, too focused to warrant the half-elf her usual glare.

"What happened to you?" he asked when he finally looked up, almost sounding incredulous. Or simply acting the part. Either way, it was clear that he did not expect an answer from the half-elf, since she had not spoken a word to him since the ambush. To anybody, really.

"Eira inked me," she mumbled, her voice muffled by the bandages. She tried to smile, though no one could see it, and even then she knew it must have been a rather watery one. "I am now, officially, one of you."

Dylan muttered something under his breath as he turned back to his job. For half a moment, Gwen wondered whether she had spied the elf's lips quirking upwards or not, but by then his mouth was a thin line as he concentrated on the carrots again. And who was she to tell him to loosen up his joints, to not lock his wrists so as he repeatedly lowered his knife?

"Ah, I see the inh'eid is done with wallowing in her self-pity, is she now?" came the sound of a certain leader's voice, combined with the notorious clinking of armour. Before long, Iorveth stood behind Gwen, straightening his back and almost towering above her.

The half-elf turned around, scowling. "What are you being such an insufferable bastard for?"

"Says the inh'eid who has been nothing but a burden since returning from Flotsam."

"Says the elf who didn't even set foot in Flotsam."

Iorveth took a step towards her, closing the distance between the two of them. Their chests almost touched, and he all but shoved his face into hers, returning her glare. All she had felt for him – attraction, affection, longing – merged with her irritation and the pain coursing through her body in that moment and instead became a ball of rage pulsing inside of her.

"Because someone had to ensure the entire situation did not get out of hand. Such has always been the way of things, and as such it will remain for as long as I am leader," he snapped.

"And I say someone was too pansy to join the heat of the battle!" Gwen yelled before freezing to the spot, and not just because a stab of pain went through her torso.

Glowering at her with such ferocity, the half-elf almost feared his gaze might burn her to a cinder. Instead, without even moving his scarred lips, he hissed, "Be gone from my sight."

She dared to glance behind her, where she saw Dylan and Aderyn looking very pointedly at each other, shaking their heads. Fine, be that way. She let out a huff and, ignoring the wince that tried to escape her throat, left the clearing. To where, however? There was nothing that she could do in her current state. Her body still felt slightly sluggish, as if awoken from a slumber, which it had in a sense. Anger consumed her, burning brighter with every step she took away from that bastard. What a typical elf he was! No understanding for others whatsoever!

Other elves looked up to watch her stomp, covered up in bandages though with her scowl still very much visible. She had clenched her hands into fists and bit through the agony that moving brought her, but she had already become fixated on something else.

When she reached the training clearing, as she had dubbed it, Owain looked up from his sword practice with a raised brow. Suddenly she noticed its bushiness, as if to make up for the lack of his hair on top of his head – which must have been a personal choice, being an elf and all – and she concentrated on that as she made her way towards him. Almost limping by now, she bent down by the tree against which the rack of practice swords rested, and lifted one.

"What do you think you're doing?" the instructor asked, his voice not betraying any emotions.

Gwen ignored him, biting back a wince as she spread her feet and positioned herself for battle. Every ounce of her body screamed at her, wanting her to lie on the ground and rest. Her mind, however, refused to calm down, thoughts racing through her head that she knew would spin out of control if she didn't distract herself now.

Dropping his sword to the ground, Owain crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head backwards, so that he was looking down at her despite the fact that she was slightly taller than him. There was no hiding the scorn in his eyes – green like a lush, dense forest. The look he gave her, combined with the colour which always reminded her of a certain commander, set her off, and with a snarl she jumped at him, weapon held high.

As she had expected, he stepped to the right, and the blade hit him on the shoulder. In the blink of an eye, his face was once more blank, the mask of the master-of-arms covering what he might have been feeling. Gwen couldn't detect a hint of pain as he danced away from her.

Normally she would have gone after him, hacking and slashing all the while, but that single move had almost been enough for her knees to buckle beneath her. Standing still, ignoring the trembling of her arms and trying to keep her weapon steady, she found a strange sense of calm washing over her as she watched Owain retreat and retrieve a new wooden blade.

A slight limp that she otherwise might have missed indicated that he, too, hadn't come out of the ambush completely unscathed. Left leg? No, the right. He also grasped the sword with his left hand instead of his right. Gwen narrowed her eyes but remained silent.

He came at her, fast and sudden, and she only had enough time to stumble backwards. When her back bumped against a tree trunk, preventing her from falling, she winced. Just how much could she push herself before she began to do more harm than good to herself?

She moved to the left just as he brought his sword down, which bounced off the bark with a loud clack. Probably due to his wounded hand, his swings were less refined and somewhat choppy. As she dove to the ground, tears blurring her vision, she reached out with her sword. The wood glanced off his bad leg, and with a grunt his knee hit the ground, his free hand shooting out to grasp his thigh. Blood soon seeped through the fabric of his breeches, and Gwen, who now stood a safe distance behind him, dropped her arms.

"Sorry, I should—"

"No," he said in a curt voice. He slammed a fist against the red spot a few times before he pushed himself off the ground, holding his sword in front of him once more. "We continue."

It seemed strange to see the man like this. Usually he was the epitome of calm, practically oozing calculated thought at every turn. Witnessing him with red cheeks and breathing heavily, pain written all over his face, went against anything Gwen had thought to know of him. Though it also told her that he needed this as much as she did. They did not want to think, or to feel. They just wanted to move and to forget, if just for a moment. Easier said than done, however, when her wounds throbbed in time with the heightened pace of her heartbeat. His too, most likely.

And so Gwen raised her weapon again, and matched each and every of Owain's blows. A few times she jabbed at him as well, only for him to parry. With the current states of their bodies, however, it didn't take long before the two of them were panting like hounds during a hunt, faces flushed and bodies drenched in sweat.

Blood soaked through her tunic as it did his breeches, and for a moment Gwen feared she might have ruined her ink. When she tore the bandages away from her mouth in order to breathe more easily, Owain told her that the lines looked red and angry, but that was normal for new marks. They stung like raging infernos with the sweat that ran down them.

A while later found the two of them resting their backs against the same trunk, their chests still heaving as they shared a large skin of water.

"What happened to your hand?" Gwen asked, handing the skin to her companion.

The elf only grunted and lifted the water to his lips, tilting his head backwards as he did so. After he had wiped his mouth with the back of his good hand, he stated, "Hit a bastard trying to have his way with some woman. Think it was an elf, too."

"So the mighty Aen Seidhe are not above such heinous acts, are they?" Gwen snorted and held her hand out for the skin. With a frown, she added, "Why do you care so much about such things anyway?"

The look Owain shot her otherwise might have made her wither on the spot, or set her aflame, but after the sparring match they had just shared, she could only meet the look head-on. "Because I cannot care without there being a reason?"

"You almost broke your hand hitting something," the half-elf pointed out coolly after she lowered the skin again.

"But it is the truth. I have had no terrible experiences with rape, and neither have any of my loved ones, thank the gods." Owain lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Just the thought of using someone in such a way for one's own benefit disgusts me. Which is why I can't stand that Dylan. You being who you are and what you've been through, it seems to me a miracle you can be around him at all."

Gwen blinked, hand freezing in mid-air as she was about to give the skin back to the trainer. "Dylan? What's he got to do with this?"

"His parents were killed in a raid, and when those very humans tried to touch his sister, he ended up assaulting them much in the same way they had intended for her. Whether it's true or not, Iorveth does not allow him near Flotsam. Surely that must be proof enough." Owain accepted the skin and turning it upside down above his face, shaking the last few drops into his mouth.

Gwen could only stare at him, dumbfounded. That Dylan, the one she had a glaring feud with? She never would have thought him capable of such crimes. By the time she realised goose bumps had spread across her skin at the thought, Owain had already broached the next subject.

"Speaking of Iorveth, what did you do this time?"

"W-what? Why would you think I've done something?"

The master-at-arms allowed a hint of laughter in those eyes of his. "Even an old man like me can still catch wind of the latest news. The inh'eid and the unit leader kissing in a tree, quite romantic."

Gwen wanted to comment on how she was probably older than him, but instead she stuttered, "T-that was—"

"Only one time? An accident?" Owain actually sniggered this time. "I wonder how many people have managed to accidentally kiss the commander. If he ever lets anybody close enough for that."

The elf's mirth only grew when Gwen's cheeks – which had only just begun to recover its original colour – turned red away, clashing with the black locks that framed her face.

"Too bad your little romance novel will remain nothing more than a fantasy," the half-elf muttered, averting her gaze. "The commander has made it quite clear that he wants nothing to do with me. At least like that."

Owain snorted, shaking his head as he pushed himself off the ground with the help of the tree. "You two tell yourselves that, and maybe, just maybe we'll have many more quiet nights in the future."

Brows knitting together, Gwen tilted her head to the side and watched the elf leave before deciding she should probably get Aderyn to check her wounds again. The trainer's words echoed at the back of her mind while she wondered how she could possibly explain the state of her body to her friend.