[A/N]: SURPRISE! I decided that, since I can't get in touch with my friend who was supposed to read this chapter for me, I should update this week after all. I beg of everyone to please leave behind some form of feedback - anything, really, to tell me what you thought of this chapter. Was it good? Bad? Horribly OOC? What should I change? I am totally up to editing and re-doing this chapter if my readers think it best. I hope you enjoy! Mature content ahead!
This chapter title comes from the song "Speeding Cars" by "Walking on Cars".
"Ack!" Gwen winced as Aderyn rubbed at her shoulder almost furiously.
"Squass'me. But honestly… What did you do? How come Iorveth and you look like you've been rolling in the mud together?" The elf pulled back, eyebrows almost reaching her hairline. "You didn't…?!"
Gwen frantically shook her head, her hair bouncing around her face as she did so. She wouldn't blame her friend if she ended up not believing her tale. It sounded so absurd she could barely fathom she had seen it with her own two eyes. "It's… ah… A human was trying to drown me in mud and Iorveth saved me?"
Aderyn stared at her before she continued to try and get enough mud off of her to at least take care of the arrow wound. They had been at this for quite a while now, with Aderyn cursing at the hard crust of mud that covered the skin as Gwen winced every now and then. At least the cut on the half-elf's cheek and the scrape on her waist from Aengus's arrow had been disinfected and patched up by now.
"You're going to have to clean the rest down at the waterfall," Aderyn stated, rubbing a poultice onto the wound. "But for now, the wounds have stopped bleeding."
"I must see Ivor first." Gwen peered over the elf's shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of where the La Valette squad was being treated. She found herself biting her lip, fingers curling up against her palm and relaxing continuously. A nagging feeling nibbled at the back of her mind, and it had taken her a while to realise that she was worried. With worry came helplessness, and if there was something Gwen did not know how to deal with, it was that.
Remaining silent, Aderyn finished up and, sitting back on her haunches, said, "All right, you swamp monster. But don't linger, or you'll infect everyone. And make sure to come back to me to get your wounds bandaged once you're done getting rid of all that dirt. Good luck with that, by the way."
The half-elf scowled at her before passing her by, in the direction of the injured elves. Thankfully, most of them were doing fine after having their wounds patched up. She found Ivor lying on a make-shift bed which consisted of a bedroll and many, many discoloured blankets. It seemed that he was the one who had suffered the most damage, excluding those who had died.
When she kneeled down beside him, he lay there with his eyes closed, and so Gwen thought he had fallen asleep, even with the tumult of elves talking excitedly surrounding them from all sides. This was probably the closest they would ever get to celebrating their success. She ignored the amused and shocked glances they shot her way when they saw what she looked like.
Feeling lost and unsure of what to do, Gwen stopped herself from tucking a loose strand of hair behind Ivor's ear. A soft chuckle filled the air, and before the half-elf could react, eyes the colour of a clouded sky peered up at her.
"What happened to you?" Ivor asked, his voice so low Gwen had to lean closer to him. The elf grimaced and grunted, fingers clenching at the blankets on his chest.
Without thinking, her hand shot out and grabbed his. She offered him a small smile and said, "I promise to tell you when you're feeling better. And then you'll tell me what happened to you, too."
For the blink of an eye, the elf seemed startled. Then he smiled back at her and nodded. Gingerly pulling his hand back, he looked at the dried dirt that clung to his skin and said, "Go and clean yourself."
"Yes, yes, I'll go right away," Gwen replied as she got up, jutting her lower lip out. Quickly forming a grin, she waved at him before she turned to leave.
Past the ruins and down the hill the half-elf went. All traces of winter had been removed, and flowers were scattered about the camp at seemingly random intervals. Gwen noted celandine and verbena, as well as scleroderm and cortinarius. As she began to climb past a couple of rocks, she found a vast amount of bryonia. Birds she couldn't see sang with abandon, hidden by the dark green leaves of the trees. It almost seemed like any other day, as if nothing had happened. As if people hadn't lost their lives, and blood hadn't been shed.
No one else was at the small pool of water. Not even the nekkers that sometimes nested nearby could be found, and the sound of water rushing down from the top of a pile of rocks added itself to the cacophony of nature that surrounded the half-elf.
For a moment, Gwen felt slightly disappointed. She had thought, or rather, had hoped that Iorveth would be here as well. Then again, how uncomfortable would that have been, if she'd had to clean herself with him lingering nearby?
Not quite satisfied with that excuse, the half-elf began to release her breastplate, caked with mud, followed by the chainmail and the tunic she wore beneath it all. She had gathered quite the armoury since her arrival at the Scoia'tael camp, though she kept having to mend something each time she went into battle.
The sound of footsteps and clinking armour filled the air, and Gwen froze, clutching her tunic to her chest. Without turning her body around, she looked over her shoulder, only to find the man himself behind her, looking almost like a deer caught in the light of a lantern. It would look rather strange if she began to pull her clothes back on, now. She had wanted to talk to him, about what had happened. About what he had done. Why he had done it.
The memory from that afternoon flit through her mind, and she saw the anger on the elf's face, the disgust. Now that her throat and lungs didn't feel like they were on fire, a warmth bloomed within her. She thought of his yell when he tackled the human sitting on her back, the fact that he had gotten himself dirty for her sake. And for the first time since she had tried to confess to him, she believed he had seen her as his equal, not as his subordinate. As his 'responsibility'.
Her next move was a risk. But for once she didn't care, and, looking in front of her again, her shaking fingers dropped her tunic to the ground.
Iorveth could see that the inh'eid's scars from where she had been whipped months ago were still bright and angry as she continued to undress herself, each move deliberately chosen. Starting with her boots, then unbuckling her belt and stripping her breeches, all of them dark with mud, much as his own clothes were. Though she had turned her back to him, even from where he stood, Iorveth could see her trembling.
In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to close the distance between the two of them and to soothe her, but that would betray the tremor currently running through himself as well. To be so close to someone who had become a vulnerability to oneself, to lay oneself bare before them though one wanted nothing more than to run away. After what had happened this afternoon, how he had lost his composure in such a manner, he could no longer deny that he felt something for the inh'eid.
Once she had pulled off her tattered leggings and had dropped them to the ground with the breeches, she stood there wearing nothing but her smallclothes. Anyone else might have found the situation arousing, but Iorveth knew just how vulnerable she felt in that moment. Just as he, too, felt the same way.
Uncertain, the inh'eid chanced another look over her shoulder, and though the fear was clearly visible in her dh'oine eyes, she raised a questioning brow at him. He realised that it was his turn, though at least the woman was kind enough to not pay any attention to him as he undid the buckle that held his clothes close to his body after taking off his gloves. He never even considered the option of rejecting her offer and leaving her alone, to return at a later time. Instead, he felt guilty for not offering her the privacy she now gave him, but she did not seem to mind.
Gwenfrewi most likely felt like she had the upper hand, swaying her backside to and fro when she slid her smallclothes down her legs and freed her breasts from their bindings. They both knew she was only taunting him, but the sight managed to stir something in the old Aen Seidhe. He loosened his breastplate with his collection of coat of arms, pulled his chainmail over his head, dropped his thick brown and green robes to the ground. His undershirt soon followed the rest of his garments.
With each layer of clothing he removed from his body, a layer of consciousness took its place. By the time he stood wearing nothing but his pants, shoes and scarf, Gwenfrewi had entered the water. While wading to the middle of the pool where the water reached just above her hips, she splashed water into her face and rubbed her skin to rid it of the dark crust that covered it. She dipped her head into the water before combing her fingers through the dirty strands of her short locks.
Iorveth caught himself drinking in the sight of her body. At seeing that there were more scars than just the whip cuts on her back, he suddenly realised why she was always so self-conscious. However, it was the front of her body that she now hid from him, and he could read people well enough to know that she wasn't simply being squeamish.
When she looked at him from over her shoulder and found him staring at her from beneath his scarf, she frowned. She opened her mouth and the Aen Seidhe heard her inhale, but then she snapped it shut instead. Her eyes sought his after roaming his naked torso for a moment.
He kicked off his boots, released the bindings of his stockings and rolled them down before doing the same for his breeches. When he was naked, he straightened his back and met the inh'eid's gaze, satisfied with the fact that she looked the tiniest bit flustered.
No, Iorveth did not feel insecure about his body. Between fighting dh'oine and surviving, there was not a lot of time to feel bad about things such as looks, scars or even how well-endowed one was. Perhaps he had not slept with a lot of elves, but their mentality was much the same: love was a weakness, and lust a primal need for many of them. What did it matter what one looked like?
At least, that was what he had always told himself, but when he tried to raise his hands to take off his scarf, he found that his arms refused to cooperate. He had always despised that half of his face, but he had never hidden it from his comrades. And Gwenfrewi was a comrade of his, in the end. Then why did he fear her possible reaction?
Without either one of them making a sound, she slowly began to turn towards him, eyes downcast. The side of a breast came into view, though she quickly lifted an arm to cover it, followed by her side, the front of a hip… Iorveth was taken aback by the sight that greeted him.
"You…" he began, hands clenching into fists.
The inh'eid offered him a watery smile as she lifted her other hand to trace along the scar that ran down her stomach, which also sported the remaining signs of stretch marks.
"There… there was too much elf in me, they said. And too much human in the child. After all, it was a quadroon. You can guess how that works in terms of size." She let out a laugh, though her eyes held none of the mirth. "I looked like I was carrying twins, if not more. Natural birth wasn't an option."
The sadness that her body emitted, the sadness that only a mother who had lost her child could bear, made Iorveth's heart squeeze in a way it never had. After all, even an inh'eid mother would outlive any child she had together with a human. That, combined with the fact that she looked so completely ordinary, with breasts that sagged slightly, and the many scars that life had given her… She looked nothing like the almost perfect elves that had surrounded Iorveth almost all his life, and he couldn't help the slight swelling of his member in that most inappropriate moment.
But Iorveth was not stupid, and he knew why she had offered herself to him like this. With only a little hesitation, he finally raised his arms and pulled his feather away, after which he released the scarf. He exhaled before slipping it off and dropping it onto the pile of his clothes. Then he walked over to the edge of the pool and lowered himself into the water. With every step he took in the direction of the inh'eid, his limbs became heavier, and lifting his hands to clean his face of the dried splatters of mud felt like a chore. He doubted it was only the resistance of the water that caused it.
He had to give her credit for keeping her eyes focussed on his green eye, taking in his short hair as it fell out of its cropped up form. It was difficult, though, since her curiosity tried to get the better of her. Yet still she resisted giving in to temptation.
That was all it took for him to reach out for her hand, strangely soft, and place it against his scarred cheek. She grasped the opportunity with both hands, literally, resting her other hand on the left side of his face. The pad of her left thumb moved along the angry line that divided his face like the ground after an earthquake. She traced it from his upper lip to the corner of his eye, where she rested her fingers on top of the empty socket, where the skin was permanently bruised.
Wonder, not aversion, filled her eye, as though she were a child discovering new territory. He, in the meantime, examined the leaves that crawled their way up her shoulder and neck to adorn her cheek. It looked almost completely healed, and so Iorveth couldn't help but ask himself why she had kept it bandaged until today. He couldn't finish the thought, however, for when he saw Gwenfrewi's realisation at his scar begin to sink in, and the disgust finally appeared, he wanted to pull away. The shaky breath the inh'eid released gave him pause.
"How could anybody do such a thing?" she murmured, her nails digging into his skin.
And just like that, whatever invisible weight had been dragging him down disappeared. With the lightness that filled his head came the question of why he even cared so much about her reaction, but by then, without thinking, he had already begun to move.
Leaning forward, his lips hovered above hers. He heard her breath catch in her throat, saw her tense. He closed his eye and waited.
He shifted closer, pressing his body against hers, and looked down at her. She craned her neck, her cheeks turning pink as she noticed the lack of distance between their lips. His breath fanned across her face, and they stood like that for a few moments, her eyes staring at his face. She wanted to be defiant, to push him away, to smirk at what seemed to be his affection for her... But at the same time, she craved it just as much as she wanted to sneer at it.
His lashes were so long, Gwen noticed all of a sudden. She tried, again, to ignore the scar that ran down his cheek, the sunken hollow where once an eye had been. What did it feel like, she asked herself, to have one's eye removed from one's socket? A shiver ran down her spine at that thought, and so she tried to banish it from her mind, though she couldn't help the squeeze that her heart gave.
Still he waited. For her. Seeing him in front of her, eye shut, mouth almost against hers, something inside of her fluttered. Nobody had ever waited for her.
And so she closed the distance between them.
The reaction was immediate.
Rough fingers wound themselves in her hair, deepening the kiss instantly as his tongue found hers. His hips brushed against her stomach, together with something else, and the half-elf placed her hands upon his breast, which was surprisingly soft to the touch. Iorveth understood at once and kept his distance… at least when it came to his lower body.
He smelled of sweat, blood, and leather. Of burning wood, and of roots. A seemingly misplaced hint of smoke, traces of which she could also taste. The half-elf could only describe it as musky.
The entity that Gwen was disappeared, melted away, merged with the entity that was Iorveth. They emerged as something else, something whole, as though they were two broken halves put together.
His tongue moved against hers in rough strokes, teeth occasionally clashing with the urge the two of them had to touch each other in as many places as possible. Her hands roamed his body, caressing every scar she found, and as his hold on her hair remained, his other hand slid down her neck. It caressed the dip of her collarbone, stroked her shoulder, and she winced when his thumb brushed over the arrow wound.
Nostrils flared as they tried to breathe without breaking apart. He bit her lower lip; she trailed her tongue across his scar. He let out a low groan as she dug her nails into the flesh of his chest; she whimpered when his hand found hers and he caressed the top of her breast. He pulled away only for his mouth to find her neck; she tilted her head back to give him more access.
For the first time in years, Gwen felt something stirring inside of her. She thought that she had forgotten about it decades ago, but recognised it with ease now that it finally came back to her.
He dropped his hand from the back of her head to the small of her back, and a tremor ran through her body when he trailed a finger up her spine. In the meantime, he began to move them towards the edge of the pool. By then his tongue had found a nipple, and now it was Gwen's turn to grab a fistful of hair, a moan escaping her mouth. She was floating on pleasure and anticipation, and a hint of fear and anxiety, but it all came crashing down when she felt grass against her bottom.
Her eyes snapped open and she realised Iorveth had placed her on the edge of the pool, nestling himself between her legs. He moved his mouth back up her body, nipping at her lips, but he stopped when he realised his partner had stopped reciprocating.
When he looked up, he must have seen the look in her eyes, for he quickly took a step back and she pressed her legs together again. Now that the water no longer protected her from his sight, her face burned in shame, a hand reaching down between her legs in order to hide the patch of hair. As a half-elf, she was hairier than the fairer race, and for sure someone like Iorveth would despise something so very human.
As if to prove her wrong, the Scoia'tael leader raised his brows and moved forward again, replacing her hand with his own and brushing a finger through the curls there. The barest hint of a grin was visible, but before she could take in the sight of it, Iorveth had already pushed her over with his other hand, his mouth upon hers once more. He moved slower and more gentle, waiting for permission. His nose brushed against hers as he tilted his head to the side.
Tentative, she slid her tongue past his lips and caressed his. She enjoyed the feeling of control he gave her in that moment, something she had never experienced before. And the fact that it was none other than Iorveth himself… A moan passed her lips, and she felt the elf smirk into the kiss.
They found a rhythm, just like the waves of the sea that never stopped rolling across the sand before sliding away, only to come back in again. They certainly kissed each other like they were sea and land, the one needing the other more than anything else. It was only natural for them to keep coming back together, to seek each other out, as if the moon egged them on.
Without thinking, Gwen lifted her hips and pressed her pelvis into the unmoving hand that rested. Something between her legs began to throb; it burned and hurt and at the same it felt oh so good. All her life, the half-elf had thought that sex was underwhelming, completely different from what everyone had told her. Could it be that she had simply never been truly aroused before?
Iorveth did not miss the shift, and he chuckled deeply after tearing his mouth away from hers. The sound sent a wave of pleasure rolling through her, and, without thinking, she repeated the movement.
"I do not think it wise—"
But Gwen did not want to hear it, and so she smashed her lips against his once more. Her fingers grasped strands of his hair, and she rested her other hand upon his, pressing it harder against her skin. The sensation that followed tore a groan from her throat, and she quickly turned her head to the side as she felt her face flush in both arousal and embarrassment.
"Have you never…?" For once, surprise was visible in Iorveth's eye.
"I have," Gwen murmured as she pressed her forehead to his. After Elric, she had slept with various other men, some more attentive to her needs than others. However, even the last time she had simply pleasured herself seemed to have been in a past life. "But I can't even remember when the last time was."
And even then, she had never felt like this with anybody. Like her entire body might combust any moment now. Like every touch caused a shock to run beneath her skin. Like something was trying to claw its way out of her, manifesting itself in the moans that escaped her mouth. But that was not something she would tell him.
Ever so slowly, without tearing his gaze from hers, the elf began to move his hand farther down, until they found that bundle of nerves nestled between her folds. Gwen then dropped both of her arms to the ground, nails digging into the moist earth beneath her. She bit her lip in an attempt to stop the string of sounds threatening to leave her mouth, but Iorveth seemed adamant to do all he could to drag it out anyway.
He pressed a kiss, almost tender, to her forehead, while at the same time adding pressure to her clit. Slowly, he began to draw circles around it. By watching every twitch, every move in her body, he found the perfect rhythm and the perfect amount of weight, effectively turning the half-elf into an incoherent mess.
Suddenly she felt his member brush against her hip, and she tensed and shied away from him, her mind torn between enjoying the moment and ruining it. But just as suddenly as it appeared, it disappeared, and Iorveth muttered a soft apology before he continued his ministrations. When she looked, Gwen saw that he had 'tucked' his penis away as best as he could. The sight of it caused her stomach to twist, but before she could panic, rough fingers forced her to stare into green.
"Nothing will happen if you do not wish it to," he said.
The fingers of his other hand slid lower still, away from the nerves and closer to her opening, and the faintest hint of a smile graced his face when her breath hitched in her throat. He raised a brow and tilted his head ever so slightly. Asking for permission. His words had set her at ease once more, and so she inhaled sharply and nodded, anticipation filling her instead.
With that, he slipped one finger inside of her, stroking her inner walls. Though the feeling itself wasn't as pleasurable as his rubbing her clit had been, the sensation stirred something else inside of her. Something warm, something intimate. She wondered if it could be love, but before she could think any more, the elf had already added a second finger to the first, and he curled them. He pressed them against the front of her wall, and Gwen gasped, arching her back. Her heaving chest brushed against Iorveth's, and a low rumble erupted from his chest.
While his hand continued to slip out and back into her, gathering the wetness that pooled there and occasionally sliding up to circle her bundle of nerves before entering her again, he used his other hand to push her fully onto her back. She went down with him, her legs still in the water, and, without breaking contact, he climbed out of the pool to lie beside her.
He rested on an elbow and leaned over her, bending down to capture her lips in another kiss. A jolt ran through her jaw at the contact, and she released her grip on the soil to clutch at the back of his head. She pulled him closer, her tongue lashing out at his, trying to coil around it, even as she moaned at every move he made.
Through half-lidded eyes she saw him watching her intently, and for the umpteenth time, she felt heat rush to her face and she wanted to turn away. Before she could, however, he jerked his thumb across her clit even while his forefinger and middle finger filled her. When she let out a yelp, breaking the kiss anyway in order to arch her back at the immeasurable amount of pleasure flooding her, he added his ring finger as well and heightened the tempo of his fingers. His teeth caught one of her nipples and he began to suckle on the puckered flesh. She responded by whimpering and she turned her face to the side, covering her closed eyes with a hand as if to hide her shame.
For a while now, a burning heat had begun to coil somewhere deep with her, winding itself tighter with every move the elf made. The tauter it became, the louder the noises that tore themselves from her throat were. The hand covering her face shot out, reaching down, grasping blindly and finding Iorveth's member – hard and warm and waiting for her – she wrapped her fingers around it.
"Do—" Iorveth began, but she pumped once, twice, and the rest of his sentence came out in the form of a choked groan.
Gwen found that the sound of the man's pleasure only added to that of her own, the throbbing between her legs magnifying itself and working its way down her legs, to the tips of her toes. And so, before he could protest again, she continued her ministrations, moving her hand up and down his length along to the rhythm of his fingers inside of her.
Their groans filled the air together, entwined into a duet of pure, unadulterated love. Iorveth interrupted with a swear, and suddenly he bucked into her hand. Gwen quickly used her other hand to pull him down and to give him a tight-lipped kiss, his mouth trembling against hers. Opening her eyes, she was greeted by the sight of the commander coming undone at her touch, his eye nothing more than a slit as he stared down at her, almost apologetic. And that was all she needed to burst.
She cried out, and Iorveth plunged his tongue into her mouth while she broke apart at the seams. Her hands grasped at his shoulders and she dug her nails into them, desperate breaths leaving through her nose. The sound of Iorveth panting in her ear only egged her on, though she had no idea when he had broken the kiss to embrace her. The warmth enveloping her inside and out only strengthened the tremors racing through her body, causing her limbs to twitch, her toes to curl, her throat to produce unimaginable sounds.
When finally, and at the same time far too soon, her climax waned, she relaxed in Iorveth's hold and lay there, limp and breathing heavily. It was then that she noted their bodies were covered in sweat, their skins clinging to each other as if even they were reluctant to let go. While she waited for the elf to release her, she continued to cling to his shoulders. Iorveth let go of her only when their hearts had calmed down and their breathing was once more somewhat regular.
The first thing Gwen noticed was his seed, which clung to her leg as if knowing she was the only way they might have a chance at life.
"Squass'me," Iorveth said in a soft voice, sitting up on his haunches. "You did not have to do that."
"I know." The half-elf shifted on the spot, feeling self-conscious again now that the lust had disappeared. In fact, now that the lust was gone, she could only wonder what in the name of the Goddess she had done. "But it felt… right. Eventually."
Iorveth inspected her for a few moments, as if gauging the truth behind her words. When he was satisfied, he closed his eye and exhaled slowly. Then, a small smile spread across his lips. "Am I wrong to assume that you have never had someone treat you like that before?"
In the blink of an eye, the half-elf had flung herself into the pool, keeping her head under water. Maybe this way he wouldn't see the redness of her cheeks which even reached her neck this time, but going by the muffled laughter she could hear, he probably knew anyway. Without surfacing, she stared at her hand – the hand she had used to pleasure Iorveth – and a million questions flitted through her mind.
Was this the first step towards something more? What exactly were they after this? Would everything change now? What were his feelings towards her? What were her feelings towards him?
But most importantly: could she ever trust again? Would she ever be able to fall in love and offer herself to someone else, unconditionally, once more?
Balling her hand into a fist, Gwen realised that there was only one way to find out. From here on out, she would simply have to move forward.
Hands grasped her by her arms and pulled her above water, and she found herself face to scarred face with the elf. And for the first time in ages, she allowed herself to hope, even if it was just a tiny little bit.