[A/N]: "Distance" belongs to Evergrey.
When Gwen returned after taking a large detour through the forest, stopping here and there to just sit and watch the trees sway in the wind, the camp seemed to have settled down. The wounded had been taken care of, and with most of them asleep, the adrenaline had disappeared, after which the others had quietened down as well.
Without waiting to find out whether anybody needed her just yet, she made her way towards the training grounds, avoiding eye contact with anybody who crossed her path. In the past few weeks, she had almost forgotten about how her dh'oine blood. Had forgotten that she did not truly belong here. The vatt'ghern's comments had brought all her insecurities up again, even if he hadn't done it with malicious intentions.
Owain was training a group of young elves when she arrived. She leaned against a nearby tree and watched them work, wondering why she hadn't been called back for more training sessions yet. Perhaps they had figured that she didn't need any of it. Gleefully she recognised the elf who had sparred with her a while back, and who had suffered an overwhelming defeat at her hands – Nessa, if she recalled correctly.
It was weird to watch all these… kids, as it were, being trained in the way of battle as an outsider, without taking part of the training. For one, she was surprised to see that there were still this many young ones left, something which she hadn't noticed before. One would begin to think that, after all these years of fighting, there wouldn't be any left to train. And secondly, it reminded her of the time when she, too, had received her training, back in Vengerberg.
Iorveth hadn't been completely wrong when he had insisted that she had led a life of luxury. It was simply that, relatively speaking, it hadn't lasted very long. She had known the palace of Vengerberg like her own home, and she had eaten and slept and trained with the other human children who had occupied it. They, and most of the adults, had looked down on her, but hadn't dared speak a bad word about or to her, for fear of incurring her father's wrath. But when he died maybe twenty years later, all that changed, and his son – her half-brother – took matters into his own hands. He had always felt that Gwen and her mother had received preferential treatment, and so, first of all, he had banned them from all their connections with royalty. As if those nobles would have wanted to do anything with them after Baldwin's death to begin with.
Her father had been the human to instil a certain amount of naivety within her. Though she had never liked any of the other humans, who had avoided her most of the time, for some reason she had still thought that they could be trusted simply because her father had loved her. That was most likely the reason why, even after his death, she had continued to interact with them, and how she had ended up falling for Elric. Now she knew there were no more humans who wouldn't despise her. But then again, she had thought the same of elves, yet here she was. No, she couldn't think this way. She had to believe in their cause now.
"Anybody home?"
Pulled out of the depths of her mind, Gwen blinked a few times before getting her bearings. Owain stood before her, arms crossed, an empty mask once more in place. All friendliness they seemed to have had during their previous sparring match seemed to have disappeared.
"What can I help you with?" he asked. Behind him, the elves continued to fight each other in mock battles, yelling and grunting as their weapons clashed.
As if that reminded her of the purpose of her visit, Gwen released the bow from her back and the sword from her hip, and held them out to Owain.
Without moving to accept them, a sliver of confusion appeared in the elf's expression. "What is the meaning of this?"
"I wish to return these to you," Gwen stated, hoisting them a little higher into the air to emphasise her point.
Owain reached out and curled his fingers around the bow, only to push it back in the direction of the half-elf. "No. Keep them. I have no need of them."
"You don't understand." She shook her head and resisted, pressing against the bow with just as much force. "I want to make my own."
"Then at least keep the sword. How do you propose to make your own sword out here to begin with?"
Lowering her arms, Gwen bit her lip and frowned. She hadn't thought about that. A bow she could make herself. A sword made of steel, not so much.
"Do you know that these swords are called?" the master-at-arms asked as he almost tenderly lifted the bow from her grasp. When she didn't answer, he carried on, "They are swords of the Blue Mountains, to remind us of a place we like to call home. To remind us of what we're fighting for. You deserve one just as much as any other elf here does."
Gwen stared at the sword she still held in her hands, tracing the intricate patterns with her gaze. Home? Though she had been fighting alongside elves as part of the Scoia'tael, she had done so mindlessly, simply because there was nothing else to do. But the longer she stayed, the more she wanted to belong… Perhaps she, too, could share this dream of going 'home' one day?
"Thank you," she whispered and bowed her head ever so slightly.
A hand landed heavily on the back of her head, ruffling her short hair and touching the tips of her ears. "Never thought I'd get to see the day you lowered your head. I think you need to go and have a fight with some Seidhe before I start wondering if you're still sick."
"I was taught to always respect my elders. Especially the old ones," Gwen retorted with a grin.
She danced away from the elf before he could grab her, though the smile on his face told her more than enough. By the time he turned around to return to his students, all traces of emotions had once more been wiped away. Shaking her head again, the half-elf sheathed her sword. Then she made her way back to her tent, a certain bounce in her step that attracted the attention of others, who turned to watch her go by with small smiles playing on their lips. She was intercepted on her way there, however.
"Gwenfrewi," Iorveth called out from behind her, and she tensed before slowly turning around, her good mood all but forgotten.
"What… what is it?" she asked, keeping her back straight and her shoulders squared. Chin in the air, face devoid of emotion.
"Where have you been?"
"Uhm, out. Hunting." Though he didn't sound angry, Gwen couldn't relax. When he only stared at her, she added, "And? Was that it?"
"I have received news that two of our soldiers have been hanged in Flotsam. Shea and Muriel, both scouts from Lobinden," he stated. His face was unreadable and his voice held the tone of the commander, but Gwen realised this was most likely his way of apologising. She released the breath she had been holding. "A dwarf named Zoltan Chivay, whom I had extended the offer of commanding a unit, was to be hanged, too. The vatt'ghern who cut through many elves when I confronted him this morning saved at least him and some dh'oine friend of his."
Gwen swallowed hard, jaw clenched, at the thought of innocent elves finding their place on the scaffold. Surrounded by nothing but haters and enemies during their final moments… There was nothing she could do about that, though. The vatt'ghern, though… "I met a vatt'ghern today. Or rather, he found me. I was hiding in a tree when he looked right at me."
A startled expression crossed Iorveth's face. He took a step toward her, his hands clenched and his teeth bared. "Did he touch you?!"
"What?! Of course not!" Why would he ask such a— Oh! Her lips formed a tiny smile. "Don't tell me you're iworried?"
And just like that, his face closed like a book, and she met a brick wall. "Of course I do. It is my responsibility to see that nothing happens to my subordinates, and I have lost far too many good soldiers due to that bastard today."
"Why are you telling this to me, though?" Gwen asked. Though she appreciated the information, she couldn't believe he would say this just to make her feel better. There had to be something else behind it.
"Everyone knows now," he stated by way of explaining. "The vatt'ghern's appearance heralds a change in plans, though I am not yet sure how. We must all be on our guard from now on."
"And what about Ciaran?" Gwen whispered, averting her gaze and rubbing her arm.
Iorveth surprised her by heaving a sigh. "I have already sent a few scouts to investigate the situation. Some days ago, to tell the truth. Immediately once I had realised he was gone."
At hearing that, Gwen perked up. So he hadn't given up on the stupid elf after all! "Have they found anything?"
"He is indeed being kept on the prison barge. Other elves have been sent to get into position for a rescue mission, but it will take some time to scope out the situation and to come up with a proper plan. If they hold him there, they must have intentions of their own," Iorveth responded after a moment of hesitation.
And somehow she had missed all of this. Then again, he had never told her anything either.
When neither of them spoke, Iorveth raised a hand to adjust his headscarf. "Well then. I have some matters to attend to, so I shall take my leave now."
He turned to leave, but seeing him perform a nervous tick for the first time since meeting him had made her insides feel like they were melting. She hadn't quite forgiven him, or so she told herself, even though she had already come to the conclusion that it had been within his right as her commander. It was a better reason than the fact that she just wanted to do this.
And so she reached out for him, catching his upper arm before he could step out of range. When he looked at her over his shoulder, his mouth open and ready to respond, she leaned forward to capture it with hers. She traced her tongue along his lower lip and felt him tense, relax, then tense again when he pushed her away.
Wiping a hand across his mouth, he scowled at her, a dangerous look in his eye. Its intended effect was diminished by his flustered expression, his hand still covering his mouth. He inhaled, ready to reprimand her, but someone called out his name, and his head snapped in the direction of whoever had spoken. With one more look at Gwen, who hadn't stopped grinning, he slinked off to be the commander again.
Only when he had disappeared did the corners of Gwen's lips descend as her entire body sagged, as it were. That look in his eye hadn't spelled certain doom for her. She hadn't been saved by some unsuspecting elf who had interrupted their commander just before he tore her apart for going against his orders.
His eye had been filled with lust.
Though they hadn't had actual sex yet, they hadn't been completely innocent, either. They had already established that they enjoyed each other's bodies, but always in a dark tent or during the night. Never out in the open, during the day, where their faces and every flicker of emotion were visible.
Closing her eyes, her fingers wrapped themselves tightly around the hilt of her sword as if that would ward off these the memories. Men had often looked at her like that. Loredo had had that look, as had Elric. In between those men, one other had had his way with her as well. None of them had thought of anything but their own pleasure.
But Iorveth… Iorveth was different. He had never used her. Always made sure she was comfortable and ready. And she did the same for him.
This was what a relationship was supposed to be like… Right? Then why couldn't she shake off the uneasiness that had crept into her limbs, her insides, when she realised what that look he had given her had meant?
She lifted her other hand to her mouth and bit on the skin between her thumb and her forefinger. Tears sprung into her eyes and she thought she tasted blood, but she did not relent. Why couldn't she just shed her past like a second skin? Why couldn't she just let go?
Furious at herself, she looked down at her sword and wanted nothing more than to slice her skin open with it. She deserved it. She fucking deserved it. Things were finally looking up for her – she had people she considered friends surrounding her, she had found a man who respected her, she almost had a cause and a reason to live again – and all she could do was remember the past.
At first she had trusted everybody and everything, but now she saw monsters in every shadow. Perhaps it was better to remain naïve and to tackle every betrayal headfirst as they came than to become bitter and to expect the worst around every corner.
Almost… almost she unsheathed the blade, her throbbing hand holding the scabbard while her other still held the grip. But she had made a promise. The spell would pass, and she would speak to Iorveth about it. She would.
At least she hoped she would.