[A/N]: "Lost" belongs to Evergrey. Perfect angst music for this story.

And of course she didn't. Though to be fair, she hadn't even seen him since then, and thus had had no opportunity to talk to him. At least, that was what she told herself.

There was also the matter of her bleeding, which came somewhat as a surprise. Every time she bled, she wondered whether it would be the last. She had grown old, after all. For how long would she remain fertile? Whatever the case, she found some bandages to use and pretended like nothing had happened.

Then came the longing, the images of a certain elf filling her mind in the worst way possible. Her fingers itched to slide along his supple biceps, her legs yearned to capture his hips. Gwen wanted to roll her eyes at her body and say, "Not this again." Alas, she could not, for what good would it do?

When she all but stumbled upon the elf a while later, her face at once burned with her shame. She turned to the side, hoping her hair had grown long enough to hide herself from him. At least until the blush had passed. Then… then she would tell him, though it seemed like a strange thing to do when she wanted to rid him of his clothes.

The commander ended her train of thoughts abruptly by grasping her wrist and lifting it. His voice low, he asked, "What is this? Tell me a nekker managed to bite you."

She had completely forgotten about the bite mark, and all colour drained from her face as Iorveth closed the distance between them, and not in the good way. At least that solved her blushing problem.

"I—" she began. She swallowed hard and licked her lips, eyes darting around as if seeking a way out. "I was mad, okay?"

"And so you fought with someone who then proceeded to bite your hand?" The lines in Iorveth's face softened slightly, but he did not release his vice grip on her wrist. "Or did you decide that the next best option to cutting yourself was this? Next you will tell me that, this way, at least it doesn't bleed."

Gwen only lowered her gaze to examine the grass between her toes. A small insect, some bug, was crawling across a blade, sliding down before it could reach the top. It seemed not to have noticed that, if the foot standing beside it moved to the left, it would not even have the chance to realise it had died. How simple life would be if one were to remain forever oblivious of the dangers around oneself?

A leather finger lifted her head, forcing her brown eyes to meet his green one. "And what made you so angry you lost the capability to act like a sapient being and bit yourself?"

"Because I was scared. Of… of you." Iorveth dropped his hand and took a step back, but the half-elf went on. "But not truly of you. You, uhm… You looked at me like you wanted me. Like you were going to take me, whether I wanted to be taken or not. Or maybe that's just what I saw." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "They all had the same look. It's just simple lust, or need, or what have you. But you looked at me like that, and I thought of Loredo, and of Elric. And… and there was one other." She wouldn't look him in the eye. "An elf. He wouldn't fuck an inh'eid, though, but… Well, he still forced himself upon me, in a way. There, now you know."

When Iorveth didn't answer, Gwen cracked open an eye and recoiled, as if expecting him to hit her. Instead, he only stared at her. She couldn't gauge his emotions, though.

"What, exactly, does this have to do with your biting your hand?" he asked evenly.

"Because you deserve better. I deserve better. I keep remembering the past, though I don't want to. I want to be released, but it won't let me, and it's dragging you down as well," she replied, her voice becoming more high-pitched as she went along. "I was mad because I just can't let go."

His hands flit about for a moment before they quickly died again, and Gwen wondered if they had wanted to reach out. Perhaps to touch her.

"I chose to be where I am, and you have nothing to say about that. Unless you no longer wish for it yourself." Gwen frantically shook her head. "But it indicates that we have done too much, too soon. We must establish boundaries and goals before delving deeper into… this. That, however, will have to be discussed at a later moment."

He tilted his head, as if bowing, and left, his armour shifting noisily as he went. Gwen watched him go, feeling strangely empty and unaccomplished.

When Ivor approached Iorveth with a bottle of clear liquid, the commander at once knew he would not be able to escape this. Ivor had always had a nose for troubling thoughts, and Iorveth wasn't exactly full of happy ones. With Ciaran gone, many Scoia'tael dead, and a second vatt'ghern close by, rest and relaxation had been the last thing on the unit leader's mind. He hadn't even touched his flute in… well, far too long. The fact that the woman with whom he had been sharing quite a few restless nights had told him that he had reminded her of past sufferers…

Perhaps vodka was exactly what he needed in this moment.

"Where did you even get this?" he asked as he accepted the bottle before taking a swig and handing it back to Ivor.

The other grinned and said, "I was in Lobinden today and came by Cedric. Decided to help myself to his stash, hoping maybe it'd encourage him to become sober for once."

"He still hasn't lost that habit, has he?" Iorveth shook his head. He didn't ask why Ivor had gone to Lobinden, knowing fully well that he wouldn't want to hear the answer. Not that he didn't know what it was to begin with.

"The day Cedric becomes sober is the day the world will be torn asunder," Ivor announced, lifting the bottle into the air as a toast. After drinking from it, he held it in the commander's direction, who mimicked his actions.

"Aye." Shifting on the spot, Iorveth lowered the bottle to the ground at his feet. Ivor had taken him to one of the campfires, since it was slowly growing dark. Instead of seating themselves on the logs surrounding the flames, they took to sitting on the ground, opposite of each other with the bottle of vodka in their middle. "It is a surprise that man could do anything at all like that."

Ivor chuckled. "You speak of him as though he were dead."

The commander, who had been in the process of lifting the bottle to his lips again, halted his movements. He blinked as if in realisation and shrugged. "He did always claim to be so very old. Who knows how long it will take before he simply doesn't wake up one morning."

It would probably be the first time any of them heard of the peaceful dying of a Seidhe. Iorveth did not count those in Dol Blathanna as true Aen Seidhe. Those who willingly bowed down to humans, whether they lived in dh'oine cities or received land – Seidhe land – from them, did not have the right to call themselves Seidhe.

"Now, now, commander," Ivor said when he reached for the bottle, a glint of amusement in his cloudy eyes. A familiar one, that Iorveth had seen many a time. "This is no time for such macabre thoughts."

Iorveth had long since given up trying to find out how the man knew his every thought. Even among the Seidhe, Ivor's… 'talent' to read others was remarkable. The unit leader chuckled lowly. How strange that, at a time like this, he would remember moments from a long time ago. Who knew what they might have done had the feelings for each other still been there. Or if they hadn't had the patience and self-control only a century old Seidhe could have. Humans, after all, would already have jumped each other, ripping off clothes as though they were wild animals.

A smack to his knee brought him out of his thoughts gain, and he jerked up, hands ready to defend himself. He lowered them when he saw Ivor glaring at him half-heartedly. "What did I just tell you, commander?"

"No macabre thoughts. All right."

With a satisfied smile, the man before him nodded once. The look changed completely when he leaned forward with narrowed eyes, a grin playing on his lips. A hand came to rest upon Iorveth's knee, sliding along the length of his leg. First it slid down his calf to his foot, then it changed its track and moved up, towards his thigh…

"Say, commander…" Ivor began. His cheeks were flushed, and for a moment Iorveth wondered, or perhaps feared, whether the man was already drunk. "Do you remember that time in the winter, in the woods…?"

That time.

"Ah," Ivor breathed, almost as a warning, but Iorveth ignored it and continued to work his hard length.

His touch was a combination of harshness and gentleness, two things that didn't seem to mix but that he managed to pour into the movement of his fingers pulling the skin back and forth. He began to swirl his thumb across the tip, spreading the pre-ejaculate across the surface.

"Ivor," the commander said in a low voice, his hand coming down to capture his friends', "stop."

Ivor cast his eyes down. "But why, commander? You have never been one to decline the offer to… blow off some steam."

Iorveth entire body went rigid at the accusation. It was true; he had encouraged taking his mind off of things by indulging in carnal activities. Could he truly get away with it if he claimed he was not in the mood right now? Wouldn't that tip Ivor of all people off?

Much to his surprise, his friend burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. "So it is true."

Perplexed, the commander could only stare at the man, his face frozen into place. He knew that he had lost. There was no use hiding it now. His shoulders slumped, and with a sigh he asked, "How did you know?"

"Oh commander, you wound me," Ivor said and he held a hand over his chest. "Did you truly think I wouldn't notice? I doubt Gwen knows more about Aedirn's situation than most of us here."

Iorveth shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his face. It disappeared just as quickly, however. "For now, at least."

"For now?" Ivor's brows dipped down and he lifted the bottle to his mouth before handing it back to Iorveth. "What do you mean?"

"Gwenfrewi has been having some trouble with her past," he said as he mimicked his friend's movements.

The other man tilted his head to the side. "So she has ended it."

"No, but…" Another swig.

"But?"

"We are both willing to try. If she isn't ready, however…" Another.

Ivor took the bottle from him and inspected its contents, or growing lack thereof. "She told you that herself?"

"She told me I reminded her of her rapist!" Iorveth hissed. The vodka was making him impulsive, though he couldn't care in that moment. "One of them was even Aen Seidhe."

"There are nekkers in every forest. You know that better than anyone." Ivor stared at his hands before meeting the commander's heated gaze. "And I think you don't give her enough credit. Either that, or you give up far too easily. Afraid of being hurt, are you, commander?"

Said commander's ears turning red, and he sputtered in search of an answer. Bloede vodka!

"You and I both know that Gwen has never told you that 'you remind her of her rapists'." Ivor raised a delicate bow. "So what did she truly tell you?"

"That the way I looked at her reminded her of them."

Ivor posed his hands as if all his problems had just vanished. "And then?"

"I said we needed to distance ourselves. To slow down." When his subordinate's face fell, he almost felt afraid. Almost.

"How is doing nothing going to help anything?" he asked, incredulous. "Did you decide this with or without her?"

Iorveth snagged the alcohol back from his friend. He wasn't nearly drunk enough for this. "I don't want her doing anything because she thinks she has to."

"Yes," Ivor replied with a snort, "because Gwen of all people would do anything she didn't want to do."

"I did what I had I had do. If it comes back to bite me in the arse, so be it." The commander shrugged and drank some more vodka. A light-headedness he hadn't felt in a long time slowly began to settle within him.

"What the heck are you two doing here?" a voice came from beside them, the side away from the fire, and Iorveth's back once more became as stiff as a tightly-drawn bow.

"Ah, if it isn't our favourite inh'eid," Ivor stated with a wide grin.

Iorveth grumpily thought the damned Seidhe was enjoying this far too much. He also noticed that said inh'eid focussed her attention upon Ivor. Also that she seemed to be… glowing. Shaking his head, he blamed it on the alcohol and the firelight.

"Have you drunk so much that I must remind you that I am also the only inh'eid you know?" Gwenfrewi asked. "And… is that vodka?"

"Not for you, it isn't. The commander and I are having a boy's night out."

"A boy's night out in the middle of camp?"

"All right then, point made." Ivor's teeth shone in the light of the campfire. "To please our favourite inh'eid, we shall move somewhere more discreet."

"Your only inh'eid!" Gwenfrewi reminded them as they got up.

Though the world spun slightly, Iorveth pretended not to notice. Instead he kept his gaze on the inh'eid, who continued to avoid eye contact with him.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure to get you something to drink next time," Ivor said before he left, holding the bottle of clear liquid in the air as though it would help guide Iorveth after him.

Just before following him, the commander reached out for the inh'eid's hand. The tips of his fingers traced hers, and he could feel her body tense and then relax. He pulled away before, in his drunken fit, he could entwine his fingers with hers, and sauntered off. Even when he was no longer in sight, he could still feel her eyes on his back.

As if fearing another interruption, the two men talked only about light, nonsensical things, mostly silly things they had done in the past when they were younger. Iorveth, however, did not know which was worth: remembering better days, or discussing the misgivings of the present.

While Gwen lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling of her tent, she heard nothing but the sound of a fire crackling off in the distance, as well as some elves who had not yet retreated to their beds, and the breathing of those with which she shared this space. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Iorveth standing in front of her, tempting her. Torturing her. And even when she opened them again, she almost felt the touch of his fingers against hers, just as he had done before he left.

Why would he say one thing, and do the opposite? He wanted distance, although for her sake, but that had been a yearning for closeness. She just wanted to be by his side. There, now that she had admitted it, there was no going back. That did not mean his apparition would stop haunting her, however.

Her cheeks flushed at the idea that filled her head all of a sudden. Holding her breath, she listened to that of her tent-mates. From the evenness of their breathing, she knew that they were asleep, but still that did not set her at ease. Instead she got out of bed and, moving as quietly as she could, she slipped out of the tent and towards the edge of the camp.

The cool air against her skin and the grass, wet beneath her soles, did nothing to quench the heat within. The elves who had been talking amongst themselves by the campfire did not notice her presence as she slipped away. On her way towards a more secluded spot, where she knew nobody would be at this time, she kept an eye out for any sentries she might stumble upon. By now she had memorised their positions enough to be able to avoid bumping into one of them, though.

Away from the voices and the fire and the tents, she leaned against the trunk of a tree, the cloth of her tunic getting caught in the jagged ends of the bark as she slid towards the ground. She leaned the back of her head against the tree, even spotting a few stars that shone in the gaps between the foliage of the forest. Biting her lip, she slid a hand between her legs.

[A/N]: so Iorveth's flashback in this chapter *cough* comes from an actual one-shot I wrote for a dear friend of mine who is an Ivor x Iorveth fan. If anybody desires to have a look at their relationship I can look into posting it as well as a separate story.