[A/N]: "Anew" belongs to Voices from the Fuselage. Due to my being at Wacken Open Air next week, there will be no update then. But I promise the next chapter will (hopefully) be worth the wait *wiggles eyebrows*
Five nights had passed by before Lorcán, who had been keeping watch at the time, frantically waved at the others, gesturing for them to come closer. Maeve and Gwen had just returned from hunting, but they dropped their prizes in order to rush towards the stony cliff that looked over the water. Aengus and Iorveth already stood there, peering down at the elves and the vatt'ghern as they climbed from their boats.
From the way Iorveth kept glancing at Flotsam, Gwen knew that he felt uncomfortable and vulnerable, out here in broad daylight. But from the tired looks on almost everyone's faces, it looked like they had done their best. Gwen had to swallow hard at the sight of Ivor with dark rings beneath his eyes, an arm slung around a comrade. His torso was naked but for the bandages, stained with dirt and blood, wrapped around his chest.
"Do we go down and help them?" Aengus asked, his bark brown eyes never leaving the shore. He had begun to fidget as well now, his fingers lingering close to the bow on his back.
"An archer remains here," Iorveth stated before turning. "The rest packs up and leaves."
Aengus and Lorcán shared a look before Aengus nodded, releasing his bow in one swift movement and training it on the ground below. The others followed Iorveth, who had already begun to gather his supplies. Gwen took care of Aengus's bedroll and tent, though she took twice as long doing so than the others. By the time she had managed to dismantle the tent somewhat, Maeve had already begun to help her, tutting and shaking her head all the while.
"For someone with so much experience out in the wild…" she began, but Gwen flicked a rope into her face before she could finish, for which she received a glare in return.
By the time they had climbed down the hill and circled it to greet the squad, the elves had gathered their belongings from the boats and had begun to make their way towards the forest. The going was terribly slow, however, for Ivor wasn't the only one badly wounded. With her lips pursed, Gwen noted that some elves were actually being carried by their comrades. She hoped they were simply asleep.
"Are you all right?" she asked, rushing to Ivor's side and alleviating some of the burden from the elf who had been helping him along. "What happened?"
The unfamiliar elf scoffed, but Gwen kept her eyes trained on Ivor's face, which contorted in pain before his chapped lips formed a small smile. As if, even now, he was trying to look out for her, despite the fact that he was the one who couldn't walk by himself.
Sand crunched beneath their boots as they made their way across the muddy shore, when all of a sudden Aengus yelled from up above. Then an arrow sped by, which Gwen followed with her eyes, wide and darting. As she felt every muscle in her body grow taut, her hands tightened their grip on Ivor. The arrow hit its mark, right through the face of a guard.
Unfortunately, there were more than just one guard. All of them began to rush towards the elves while their comrade fell to the ground.
The La Valette squad, minus the vatt'ghern, could only stare at the humans, their brains most likely too addled to comprehend the situation. Luckily for them, they were not on their own.
"Can you take him by yourself?" Gwen asked the elf on the other side of Ivor, who nodded and took on the additional weight by himself.
When Gwen had pressed herself through the group to greet the guards, two more lay on the ground courtesy of Aengus, and most likely Lorcán, who stood to the side with a bow of his own. Maeve had rushed into the fray with her twin daggers, her brown braid following her like a flag as she spun around two more soldiers. The vatt'ghern, too, had taken on several of them at once, as had Iorveth, holding his sword high to parry the blows.
Yet there were still many more humans trying to get past them to get to the wounded elves. Some of them fell before they could get too close, but there were still too many for Gwen's liking. And so she, too, positioned herself between them and the wounded with her blade in hand.
She easily blocked the first sword that came her way, pushing the guard away before he could close the distance. A second guard appeared to the side, and she raised her arms to block that one, as well. By then the first guard had approached her once more, swinging his weapon sideways. With a grunt, she jumped back, out of the sword's path, and kneeled.
Grabbing a fistful of sand, she flung it in their faces before charging them. The men yelled and rubbed at their eyes, making for easy prey. The half-elf kicked the legs from beneath one of them, who landed on the ground with a loud rattle. The remaining guard she tried to slash across his stomach, but the chainmail reflected her blow, and instead he was only forced to take a few steps back.
And then suddenly another arrow flew past her, except this one came a little too close for comfort. Off to the side she saw a guard with a bow, already reloading it for his next shot. At the same time, from the corner of her eye, she noted another blade rushing towards her. She twisted and parried it, used the momentum of the turn to slash once, twice, thrice at him, moving towards the river as they went, all the while trying to avoid the arrows. It seemed like an impossible task, yet arrow after arrow sailed over her shoulder and dug itself into the muddy sand or was washed away by the water.
When she heard footsteps behind her, she swung her leg backwards with all her might, her sword still beleaguering the guard in front of her. She did not know what she hit, but hit something she did, for someone yelped and fell to the ground behind her once more.
After turning her attention back to the man in front of her, she used his moment of distraction, his eyes darting towards his comrade, to reach for the dagger on her belt and to plunge it into his stomach. Blood stained his tunic as well as his lips. Gwen gave him a shove and watched him fall backwards, into the river.
Only then did she realise just how close she had gotten to the water. How had she failed to notice the water lapping at her boots, making every step she took heavier? The sound of waves crashing around her?
She had no more time to ponder such things when her luck ran out and an arrow pierced her shoulder. As if on cue, one of the men she had temporarily taken care of returned, running towards her with his sword pointed at her, though he moved rather slowly due to the mud grappling at his shoes. At least he was coming after her, not the retreating elves.
With a yell of pain, the half-elf forced herself to lift her blade again. She almost sank to her knee when the guard hit her, but she clenched her jaw and stood her ground. Too late did she realise that her dagger still stuck out of the other guard, who was slowly but surely being dragged out by the waves. Gwen bit her lower lip and drew blood.
The man pulled away and swung his weapon at her, but Gwen stumbled back just in time. He followed her and repeated the movement, and this time the tip of his blade caught her on the cheek. Eyes wide, her breath hitched as she turned her head to the side. Only when the bandages covering her lower face fell away and she lifted a finger to her skin did she realise she had been cut.
Giving her no time to react, the guard continued to hack away at her, and it was all Gwen could do to block the blows, wincing every time she tensed her shoulder. With a yell, the human brought his sword down with such strength that she fell backwards, gloves sinking into the sand and filling with water.
Her dirk lay but a few paces away from her, she realised with a quick glance. Before the guard could get any closer – for he, too, struggled with the river – she kicked him in the shin. His knee dropped to the ground and his greaves buried themselves in the mud. In the meantime, she half-crawled, half-flopped towards his fallen comrade, choking and coughing whenever a wave rolled onto her.
Salt stung in her eyes, her wounds, her mouth, but she forgot all this when her fingers found the hilt of her dagger. Pressing the body down with her other hand, she tugged the knife free. She gritted her teeth at the pain that shot down her arm from the arrow that still stuck out of her shoulder.
When she heard someone splashing closer to her, she turned around just in time to see the human all but tripping over his own feet to get to her. He growled incoherent words and bared his teeth at her, almost as though he were an animal. Which, in Gwen's eyes, he was.
She held her weapon ready, inhaling deeply as if that would stop her heart from beating harshly against her ribcage. It almost worked, until she saw the man rush towards her with a scream, a looming shadow that blocked out the sky above her. The sound of her own blood rushing in her ears drowned out the waves crashing around her, pulling her to and fro, as she watched him come closer, unable to move.
The weight of the armoured body hit her like a horse, and her surroundings blurred. The rays of sun tried to reach out to her, but could not quite touch her, and even the sound of water lapping at her body fell away completely. For the length of a breath, all seemed at peace… Until the half-elf remembered her predicament and gasped, only to inhale water.
Pushing herself up, she sputtered as she tried to rid her lungs of the liquid in them. Only then did she realise that the guard had all but flung himself onto the dagger in her hands, killing himself. While her lungs burned, her breath rasping as her heart began to slow down, another arrow came her way. Since she still had a guard lying on top of her, it hit him in the back instead.
Gwen grunted and pushed the body away, the arrow in her shoulder getting caught on his armour several times, before he joined his other friend in the sand. In the meantime, the half-elf had retrieved her dirk and sheathed it once more, before she tried to crawl out of the water, through the muddy beach, towards her sword.
Standing on the shore was the bowman, who had still managed to go unnoticed by the others. The La Valette squad had already retreated, but the warriors who had stayed behind were still busy dealing with the other guards. How many of them even were there?!
By the time Gwen had staggered towards shallower parts of the river, the bowman had reloaded and aimed for her once more. She knew she wouldn't be able to dodge or parry it. There was also no way she could close the distance between the two of them with the mud slowing her down, sucking her deeper with every step she took.
Just before he loosed another arrow, a bow from somewhere above thwanged, and the guard twitched, his arrow sailing through the air before landing in the sand. By then, Aengus had put three more of his own into the guard, who sank to his knees with nothing more than a croak. His crossbow fell to the mud beside him.
Before the half-elf could celebrate, however, yet another human approached her.
"You've got to be kidding me," Gwen muttered as she held her blade ready. The energy had begun to drain from her limbs, the steel growing heavier with every passing moment.
She let out a breath when she noted that the shore was scattered with guards lying on the ground – more than those still on their feet. Morale must have sunk for the guards, but at the same time it became obvious they were also becoming more agitated.
Especially when the human approaching her all but screamed as he swung his sword at her. She should have sidestepped, she knew that, but she did not trust her feet to keep her steady. Instead, she caught the blade with hers, sparks flying through the air at the impact, but in his frustration the guard stepped closer. Their noses almost touched, and he opened his mouth as if to bite her. Gwen flinched away from him, the hold on her blade faltering for the blink of an eye, but it was all he had needed.
The next moment, her sword stood upright in the mud, its hilt almost begging her to reach for it. But if she were to do that, she'd leave herself wide open. Once more unsheathing her dagger, she hoped it would be enough to withstand her assailant's attacks, at least long enough for help to arrive.
That idea flew right out of the window when the man reached forward, gloved hand clasping the blade of her knife, and jerked it from her grasp. Gwen gaped at the blood that dripped from his hand as he flung the dagger to the side.
Now the only thing the half-elf could do was jump to the side when the guard brought his sword down, staggering as though he were drunk. When Gwen tried to take another step away from him, she found her boot had sunk too deep. She was stuck.
Eyes wide, all she could do was hold her arms up once the guard had caught up with her and raised his blade one more time. As if they would do her any good in that moment. In her fear, she didn't even feel the arrow shift around in her shoulder as she moved.
"Gwen!" Aengus called out once more, and without thinking she tried to at least lean to the side as he loosed another arrow in her direction.
Without missing its mark, it pierced the right hand of the human, who shrieked and dropped his weapon. The blade fell to the sand with a soft thud.
Gwen, too, yelped when she realised the arrow had scraped her hip. However, in her frantic attempt to get out of the way, she had managed to pull her foot out of her boot, regaining at least some of her mobility. She tried to ignore the feeling of mud between her toes as she moved away from the human, but by then he had already grabbed her arm.
He dragged her down with him, pinned her with the weight of his armour just like his comrade – albeit unintentionally – had. Even then, she registered the smell of alcohol on his breath, and she grimaced as her hands clawed at his tunic. She saw Aengus firing arrow after arrow at them, but none of them managed to hit any vital organs.
"Where'd they go?!" he screamed into her face, spittle joining the drops of water and blood that already adorned her face.
It took the half-elf a few moments before she realised that with 'they' he meant 'the elves'. When she finally did, she spat in his face.
With a growl, he managed to twist her around beneath him, despite all her efforts to free herself. Planting his hand on the back of her head, he pushed it down until he smothered her in the mud. She balled her hands into fists, clenching at the dirt under her while she tried her best to kick the bastard off of her.
"Where are they?!" he screeched once more, seemingly forgetting that she couldn't answer him with her mouth full of fucking mud and sand.
When he did remember, he yanked her up by her short hair and repeated his question. Gwen gasped for breath, choked on whatever it was that filled her mouth, and gasped some more. The human waited almost patiently for her to answer, but when all he received was a glare – Gwen was too busy wondering what she looked like to even contemplate selling out her comrades – he pressed her face down again.
Whether he knew he wouldn't get an answer from her, or whether he simply didn't care about killing yet another Squirrel, this time he didn't pull her back up. Her throat tightened as she struggled to breath, the edges of what little vision she had left darkening. Suddenly the beach beneath her seemed so far away, and the screaming of her body became all-encompassing. The only sound she could hear was that of her heart beating frantically, as if it might burst.
For the first time in years, an anger she had long forgotten burned deep within her. For the first time in years, she did not yearn for death, but wanted to live.
A roar filled her ears all of sudden, and it took her a moment to realise that it wasn't her will to survive that had somehow managed to manifest itself. The weight holding her down disappeared, and at once she propped herself up on her arms, heaving as she sucked in breath after breath. She could see stripes of light blinking in and out of existence, and when she realised that she had almost died, bile rose at the back of her throat. Somehow she managed to force it back down, together with some lingering sand in her mouth, and to distract herself she rolled onto her back. The sight that welcomed her almost made her stop breathing once more.
Right in front of her, none other than Iorveth himself rolled around in the sand together with the guard, who looked absolutely terrified. Before long, the commander released the man, only to straddle his back and, with a rough hand, press his face into the sand. Muffled screams filled the air, and Gwen watched, mesmerised, as the human's legs soon began to twitch violently before he went limp. At the same time, the half-elf was horrified by how fast it had gone. When it had been herself in the very same position, it had almost felt like an eternity.
As if satisfied with his work, Iorveth got up from his victim and turned to find Gwen staring at him. Now both of them were covered in mud from crown to toe, making for a rather absurd image. If she hadn't just witnessed the man she had fallen for, who seemed like a walking enigma, murder the human who had wanted to kill her, she might have burst into laughter.
The elf met her gaze, and for a long moment, they both remained silent. She could almost see the cogs turning inside his head, trying to formulate a plan. Trying to reason with himself. Why had he done what he did? In the way that he did it? How much of a fool had he made of himself? Would he ever be able to live up to the repercussions of his actions? Who knew what the leader thought? If Ivor were here, he would probably be able to give her a proper translation of the elf's empty stare.
All of a sudden, Iorveth made his way to her, his steps slow and deliberate, but perhaps that was just the mud. When he stood beside her, he held out a hand, and she stared at it for a few moments before slipping hers in his grasp. He pulled her up with ease and caught her when she staggered. While she realised that the arrow piercing her shoulder had snapped in two, he retrieved her weapons for her. As he handed them back to her, she realised that he, too, had his fair share of cuts, in particular a nasty one just beneath his eye.
Gwen wanted to reach out and clear the grime and blood away, but stopped herself just in time. Then, without a word, the two of them made their way towards Maeve and Lorcán, who had been discussing who of them had fought the best, which apparently meant felling the most enemies while receiving the least amount of wounds. Because Maeve had both killed the most humans as well as been hit the most, they called it a tie, just in time to watch in wonder as two… mud men approached them. It seemed that the vatt'ghern had already disappeared, though Iorveth did not seem too concerned about it.
Neither one of them commented on the state of their bodies, and instead Maeve stated, "A couple of them fled. We should probably head back as soon as possible."
Iorveth pursed his lips but nodded before signalling to Aengus, who still peered down from the top of the hill, that they would be leaving. They waited for the elf at the foot of the hill, where they had also placed their equipment, before making their way back to the camp.
Although the arrow in Gwen's shoulder began to bother her more and more with every step she took, she didn't care complain about it. She knew they couldn't take care of their wounds out here in the open, and so she bit her tongue and convinced herself to hold on until they were home again.
And then, she decided, her eyes never once leaving Iorveth's back, she'd try and have a talk with him.