[A/N]: I'm back, bitchez! That was a far too long break and I hope it won't happen again anytime soon. A lot of shit has happened in the meantime, including but not limited to my becoming an editor for a gaming website and... well, homework, as always. But I promise all my dear readers that no matter how long I am gone, I will always come back. I know where this baby is going, I just need to get there, slowly but surely. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
A few days later, Gwen found herself at the waterfall once more – though this time on the other side, at the top. She also had an elf standing at either side of her, hands holding their weapons ready, their eyes trained on Iorveth and the vatt'ghern Gwynbleidd. The latter held their commander by his bound wrists, pushing him along until they stood in front of the burly man whom they had considered their ally.
While they waited for the signal, Gwen had enough time to blush at the thought that Letho had been here all this time. Had he also been there when they…? Iorveth had known he hung around here! What had possibly gone through his head when he had approached her then and there? It wouldn't have surprised her had he not been thinking anything to begin with.
Worrying about it wouldn't fix anything now, so instead she tried to concentrate on the matter at hand – keeping Iorveth safe, yet again. He sure seemed to like putting himself in danger a lot these days, did he not? Then again, this was Iorveth she was thinking of. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do to further his cause.
"Who are you?" Gwynbleidd asked.
"You really don't remember?" Letho replied, though he didn't sound like he actually cared.
What did he mean? Had Geralt and Letho known each other before?
"I'm sick of that question."
"So it's true. And here I feared that you would ruin it all. I am Letho of Gullet. I'm a Kingslayer."
"Joke's over. Unbind me!" Iorveth commanded through gritted teeth, sounding angry and bitter. Letho only glanced at him before looking back at Geralt.
"Tell me who you're working for, and the elf is yours," the vatt'ghern said.
For a split second, Gwen heard herself inhale sharply. He wouldn't, would he…?
"We work for ourselves."
"We?"
Letho nodded once. "The Kingslayers."
It was like listening to two people who had never known the existence of emotions talk to each other. They spoke plainly, their faces blank, their voices even.
"Demavend, Foltest… Who else? Who the hell are you?" Geralt asked, finally raising his voice ever so slightly.
Demavend. That's right, this man had killed Demavend. Shouldn't she have been grateful to him, for ridding this world of the person who had killed her mother?
You are the one who killed your mother.
Shaking her head, Gwen tried to concentrate, but her mind wandered off again. That day… she had gone to the market. Usually it was her mother who would go, but this time she hadn't been able to. She hadn't been feeling well, and had asked her to go instead. Since Gwen hadn't been able to refuse, the half-elf had left on her own, with nothing but a list of ingredients her mother had given her.
Except she had never heard of half the products on the list and had had no way of knowing where to find them. By the time she had purchased all of them, she returned home, only to find the remains of the houses in her street. A group of soldiers had gathered where once her home had once stood. When she recognised them to be Demavend's men, she had turned around and fled.
The recurring nightmare was nothing more than wishful thinking. She had never tried to save her mother, had never gone to confirm her wellbeing. No, the very moment she had taken in the sight of the entire street burned to the ground… That feeling of dread, its cold tendrils coiling around her limbs, was one that Gwen would never forget.
Neither was the fact that she had never gathered the courage to find her mother to begin with.
Everything that had happened to her in her life – it was punishment for that one moment in which she would abandon the most important person in her life.
"Enough of this farce!" Iorveth's voice cut through the mist of her thoughts which threatened to weigh her down. Her head snapped up again. "Vedrai! Enn'le!"
She felt guilty for having missed the rest of the conversation and watched as the elves who had stood next to her rushed forward. They lifted their swords and aimed their bows.
Even before the battle could begin, arrows flew from out of nowhere and impaled a few of the Scoia'tael. Gwen's brain couldn't keep up as she watched them fall. Then, just as suddenly, screams and yells came from the other side of the small clearing. Human soldiers rushed out of the bushes, weapons held high.
Gwen recognised the commander of the Blue Stripes at once, though she had seen him only once in her life, and even that had been from a distance. He charged towards them alongside his men, taking down more elves as he approached them. From where she stood, it was obvious he had his sight set on Iorveth.
Iorveth, who in that moment was too busy discussing something with Geralt. Something that must have been so very important that he just had to take his eye off the sudden battle. By then Roche was already gaining on him, and the half-elf could hear her heart beating loudly.
All of a sudden the sound of metal clashing against metal overpowered that sound, causing her ears to ring. She ignored it and stared Roche dead in the eye, gritting her teeth together. The muscles in her arms strained against her armour as she pushed her blade against his.
"Impressive," the human commented, though his face remained blank. He did not look all that impressed. "Do I know you?"
He pulled back, but she went after him at once. Their swords met over and over again, the noise of the fight bouncing off the trees that surrounded them. Neither of them gained any ground. Her arms trembled, but she kept them up.
All around her people shouted, arrows were loosed and swords clashed. Clenching her teeth, she ignored all of it and had only eyes for the man before her. He raised his blade again and again, pushing against her with what could have been all his might. Still, she would not budge. She refused to.
An arrow whizzed past her face and strands of black hair fluttered to the ground in front fo her. The half-elf froze, her breath catching in her throat.
Roche's sword bit into her side. With a yelp, she rolled away from his steel. She checked the wound with a hand that came back only barely covered in red. Nothing more than a scratch, then.
When she looked up, she saw Roche advancing towards Iorveth once more. Gwynbleidd was still busy unsheathing the commander's sword for him, however. Though Iorveth's eye was on his enemy, he was still unarmed.
The half-elf leapt in the human's direction, blade pointing forward. She would have pierced him had he not whirled around and thrown his sword up at the very last moment. Instead, her weapon glanced off of his. The movement sent a tremor up her arms, but she bit through it.
Still, she had succeeded. From the corner of her eyes she saw Iorveth approach them, sword finally in hand. He might even have hit Roche, had he not yelled loudly as he rushed towards them.
"Die!" he shouted, and the human turned to meet his attack head-on.
Tightening her grip on her blade, she made to go after them, when another arrow flew by her. This one scratched the side of her ear and she winced as she turned towards the perpetrator. A soldier stood there, his dark eyes on her, a challenge visible in his gaze.
With a growl, she made her way towards him. He quickly knocked another arrow and loosed it, but she jumped to the side before quickening her pace. The guard dropped his bow and fumbled with the sword at his belt. By the time he had unsheathed it, he lay on the ground, unmoving.
From behind her, Gwen heard a crash. When she turned around, she noted that Geralt and Letho, who had locked swords moments ago, had disappeared. From somewhere below she could still hear the noises of battle.
Before she could figure out what had happened, however, somebody had stumbled against her. Her body tensed and she strained her muscles, fingers clawed, when she looked for the perpetrator. An elf had crashed into her, blood covering half of her face. She barely even looked alive.
A yell and the rustling of a nearby bush filled the air. A dh'oine with his blade raised appeared, though he stopped when he saw his prey was no longer alone. The elf slid to the ground with Gwen's help, and she stepped in front of her, weapon ready.
The guard charged, but she easily parried the blow. He surprised her by pulling a dagger from behind his back, aiming for the half-elf's side. She flung her foot against his knee, which buckled. Falling to the ground, the human dropped the knife, and was unable to block the kick to his head.
With that out of the way, Gwen looked at the unconscious elf on the ground. She couldn't exactly leave her on her own, could she? Though she had no idea where she should bring her. Perhaps back to the camp? Or should the Scoia'tael regroup? A glance in Iorveth's direction told her he was still busy with Roche. She would have to take matters into her own hands, then.
Lifting the elf onto her left shoulder, she made her way through the clearing with her sword in her free hand. The next person she met was another elf, one who has just finished off another guard. He relaxed visibly when he saw her.
"We must regroup and push back," Gwen said. She nodded in the direction of the others elves fighting nearby.
The elf nodded, and together they made quick work of the few remaining soldiers. Not much longer they had become a group of six, of which two were unable to fight.
"Where to next?" a young girl asked of her, her bow in her hands and her eyes on the lookout for enemies.
It almost surprised Gwen as to how natural it felt to take on the role of their leader. She had never been in such a position before, yet as three pairs of eyes settled on her, her mind did the rest by itself. "We fall back towards the ruins and continue from there."
Her newfound power was short-lived, however. Just as they arrived there, Roche yelled something at his men. Almost at once, the humans pulled back and ran off, disappearing into the forest. Though Iorveth tried to pursue them, he soon seemed to think better of it and returned.
"Gwynbleidd and Letho fell down into the ruins," he stated once he had come to stand before them. "I will go and see how they have fared. In the meantime, return to camp and see to it that the wounded are taken care of. Ele'yas, I assume you can take care of this?"
"Yes, commander," one of the elves Gwen hadn't found replied. He lifted a hand to push the short dark hair that clung to his skin out of his face.
With that, the unit leader left them. Ele'yas wasted no time in barking orders at the rebels, which they followed without pause or hesitation. With the elf still slung over her shoulder, Gwen followed the others back towards the camp where the others were already waiting, trying her best to ignore the weight resting on her. The burden grew heavier with every step, but she remained silent about it.
The first to greet them as they approached the camp in silence was Ivor, who had most likely been watching out for them. He jogged towards them with a few more elves who helped carry the wounded. Ivor himself made his way towards the half-elf, his brows lowered as he took in the state of both her and the woman she carried.
With a grunt, he lifted the injured elf from her shoulder, after which Gwen released the breath she had been holding. She placed a hand against her throbbing side, which had begun to ache during the short trip. When she looked down at it again, she was relieved to see the bleeding hadn't gotten much worse.
Ivor nodded at her bloody hand. "You should get that checked out, too."
With nothing more than a nod, she followed them through the rows of trees and tents towards the medics. The sound of elves talking was reduced to nothing more than a buzz in the background as she focussed on making sure those who needed it the most were helped first. Only when those were lying down and receiving treatment did she allow someone to have a look at her own wounds. After all, she only had the scratch on her ear and the cut on her side.
She almost wanted to make a fuss out of it when the young man kneeling in front of her wanted to touch her ear. Almost. Without thinking, she had pulled her face back, out of his reach. At the look of confusion on his face, however, she quickly bowed her head in his direction. He quickly cleaned the cut and applied some salve to it – and she tried her best not to flinch again – after which he asked her to undress her torso. When he applied the salve to the wound on her side, she had to grit her teeth and dig her nails into her palms. He deemed her ear better off without coverage, though he did dress her side.
Before she knew it, she was on her feet and clothed once more. Continuing to ignore the noise of people reassuring each other, or complaining about their pain, Gwen looked around. Her eyes spotted Ivor a few rows of beds down, helping a vaguely familiar elf hold down another wounded soldier.
"Can I help?" she asked once she stood behind him.
Ivor did not look up as he held down the legs of an elf whose arm looked like it might fall off any moment now. Instead, he nodded at the poor soul's proper arm, which was now being held back rather inefficiently by the nurse trying to help him. As Gwen knelt beside the body, she gripped his writhing arm and pressed it down with all her might. The smell of blood was thick in the air and she almost gagged.
The elf screamed at the top of his lungs when the medic began to remove the arm. Wincing, Gwen looked away, her gaze meeting that of Ivor, who looked as pale as she most likely did. That did not stop the sound from reaching her ears, though, and so instead she closed her eyes and tried her best to imagine being somewhere else. Perhaps somewhere with trickling water, a small waterfall, hushed whispers…
Unfortunately, it didn't seem to work. By the time the nurse was done with his arm, the man had fainted and Gwen's stomach was roiling at what she smelled and heard. Despite that, she and Ivor continued to hold the limbs down. When she dared to look, she took in the amount of blood that was everywhere, the exposed bones and tendrils and muscle. She managed to turn away from the scene just in time to throw up on the grass beside the blood-stained bedroll.
Beside her, Ivor shifted and placed a hand on her back. The action did nothing to subdue the tremors as her body continued to force her to empty her stomach in such a violent manner. She winced every time her abdomens clenched, her side complaining whenever it did.
"Are you all right?" Ivor asked once she seemed to have calmed down.
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Gwen let out a breath and nodded.
Before she could worry about seeing the unconscious man's wound again, yells appeared from where they had entered the camp. Without another word, Ivor got up and held a hand out for the half-elf. She accepted it and together they made their way towards the commotion.
Iorveth stood surrounded by a group of elves, his arms crossed and the lines in his face hardened. His green eye flickered towards Gwen when she approached with Ivor, though he did nothing to address them as they came closer. More newcomers came to a halt beside them, until they themselves had become part of the crowd as well.
It didn't take long before Gwen caught enough bits and pieces of the conversations raging on around her to figure out what had happened. Turning to Ivor, who looked at her with those bright eyes of his, she said, "Flotsam is burning."