[A/N]: And here we are, at chapter 40! :) *throws confetti* Man, you guy are amazing. Expect a special something for when we hit 50 chapters... ;D
This chapter's title comes from the song "An Ocean Away" by the amazing band called White Moth Black Butterfly.
Bare feet slapped against the cobblestones that made up the paths leading in between buildings that looked like they might crumble with even the faintest blow of the window. It hadn't rained in days, the mud that filled the cracks between the stones dusting the road instead, sticking to the bottom of her soles. It wormed its way between her toes, but she had long since gotten used to the feeling it created.
The air was arid and warm and it almost hurt to breathe. With not a breeze to be felt, the sweat trickling down her skin had nowhere to go but down and into her clothes, which clung to her body in all the wrong places. The heat had risen to her cheeks, colouring them a deep red. Combined with the strands of her hair that clung to her face, she must have made quite the sight.
Not that it mattered, though. With this weather, in the middle of summer, everybody but the nobles with their servants and their fans looked at least mildly dishevelled. Especially in the marketplace, where people crowded together and jumped and ran and shouted as they tried to buy or examine the wares on display. If one didn't leave the market square without at least a little of someone else's bodily fluids, one hadn't been shopping properly.
With a sigh, she hoisted the basket of wares higher in her arms. Chewing her lower lip, she investigated its content in an attempt to keep her mind occupied as she made her way through the sweltering heat. A bag of wheat, three bottles of milk, some red apples, a couple of herrings, two loaves of bread and a stick of butter. As far as she knew, they had not needed any of this with the urgency that her mother had ushered her out of the door earlier that morning.
"Here," her mother had said, pressing a heavy purse into her daughter's hand and listing all that she had needed. Her eyes had shone slightly, but she had claimed she was feeling a little feverish. That was why she had asked her daughter to go to the marketplace in her stead in the first place.
"Yes, yes," she had muttered and tucked the purse away in her tunic. "Now you go lie down, all right? Your face is all clammy."
Her mother had wrapped her arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. Even that early in the day, the warmth of her mother's body had been uncomfortable. She had suffered through the hug for a while longer before wriggling away.
"I'm only going to the marketplace, mother. You're not going to miss me, are you?" she had joked.
Before she could step away from the house, however, her mother's arms had been on her once more, this time simply holding her still.
"Promise me one thing."
Frowning, she had tilted her head to the side. "What?"
"No matter what happens…"
"Really? Now, of all times?! Are you kidding me?" She had flung her head back and groaned loudly.
"Just follow your destiny, child," her mother had continued without tearing her insistent gaze away.
"You do realise I'm only going to the market, don't you?" she had asked, but her mother had not relented. She tore herself free and yelled, "Fine! I promise to follow my destiny or whatever."
Before her mother had been able to say anything, she had sprinted down the street. When she had thrown a grin over her shoulder to her mother, the smile she got in return had seemed strangely sad.
As she neared the street that would lead her home, she heard the clamour of people yelling and shouting. Hasty footsteps underlined the noise. Accompanying it all was the smell of wood burning.
Dread filled her with a strange coldness that chased the heat from her and she quickened her pace when the sight of smoke above her street greeted her. When the crackling of fire reached her ears, she broke out into a run, trying her best not to lose anything from her basket as she turned the corner to her home.
When she did, however, the basket fell to the ground. A bottle of milk shattered against the ground, the noise of the crash sounding as if she had covered her ears with her hands. The contents of the bottle spilled over her foot just as she set it down on top of a shard, though even the bite of glass was dulled by the sight of half the street on fire.
Where her house had stood only a short while ago, the flames had grown the most. People ran up and down the road with buckets of water from a nearby well in a vain attempt to put out the fire. They screamed names and ran into houses despite the smoke. Some of them came out empty-handed, others carrying crying children or stumbling elders. A handful never returned at all.
Aside from them, a group stood in front of her home, shaking their fists and yelling at the guards blocking the path to the house.
"Blodeuwedd is still in there!" someone screamed.
"How could you do this to us?!" another wailed.
"We must save her!"
The soldiers only yelled back at them. "Where is her daughter?!"
"Where is Gwenfrewi?!"
At the sound of her name, Gwen blinked and tried to shake the numbness from her limbs. She had to leave. Now.
But her mother. Perhaps she could still save her?
No. It was already too late. Even if it wasn't, there was no way she could pass the crowd and the guards and save her.
But she had to try…
It was try and die, or run and survive.
She had to choose.
Her wounded foot left bloody prints behind that led out of the city.
Inhaling sharply, Gwen opened her eyes only to be greeted by the night sky and the leaves of the tall trees, black but for the ember reflections of what remained of their campfire. The air felt cool against her skin, offering refuse from the arid summer heat, even if just for a short while.
The half-elf sat up, rubbed her eyes and flexed her toes, noting the lack of pain in the sole of her right foot, though instead it was replaced by a pressure that appeared inside of her chest and forced its way up.
She had always dreamt of what might have happened had she gone back into the house. Had punished herself by doing just that and failing anyway. Never had she dreamt of what had actually happened that day, though it had taken her many years before her self-herself had abated, if only a little.
That also meant she had managed to forget it. Or at least bury it somewhere deep inside of her, untouched. Anxiety coursed through her body and made her jitter, her fingers digging into the bedroll beneath her. It felt like her blood was boiling, pressing against the confines of her veins, and there was only one way to rid herself of the sensation.
"Bad dream?" Quinn's voice came from the other side of the campfire, snapping her out of her stupor.
In the darkness, she hadn't spotted him yet, and her eyes snapped to him. With no moon to shine light down upon them, he was nothing more than a shadow with a vague orange face in the clearing.
Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, still half-asleep, but Quinn didn't press on. Instead, he took out a stick with which he poked the glowing coals of the campfire. A spark or two sprang up at the contact, but nothing else happened.
A snore to her right alerted her of another presence, but when she looked she saw Richard lying against a tree, the back of his head against the bark with his mouth wide open. Even in that uncomfortable pose, he seemed to be sleeping soundly. James lay not far from him, flat on his back and the stolen sword by his hand. Gwen wondered how long it would take before somebody woke him up and found themselves cut in half by accident.
"I…" She licked her chapped lips, realising how thirsty she was. "I dreamed of the day my mother died."
"I… I'm sorry," Quinn said.
For the first time, Gwen heard someone offer those simple words to her not with pity, but with understanding. Especially now that she knew he had gone through something similar.
"'s all right," she murmured and examined the dying campfire. Even though she had been nowhere near the fire that day, the sight of it had scared her enough to make her generally apprehensive of it. Simply the knowledge that it had killed her mother was enough for her to steer clear of it as much as possible.
She continued to stare at the glowing embers through half-lidded eyes. Just as her mind had cleared itself of all thoughts, however, Quinn spoke.
"What happened between you and… and Iorveth?"
The pressure came rushing back in a wave that crashed on top of her. Gwen wanted to scream and cry, wanted to tear her own skin from her limbs, wanted to throw herself onto the campfire in the hopes of turning to ash and disappearing from this world, finally rid of all these emotions.
She did none of these things and merely shook her head. "Why do you need to know?"
"Because," Quinn started after a moment of hesitation, shrugging as he did so, "I'm your friend. I want to know what you've been through. What happened to you."
"I… It's none of your business."
He held out his hands to her, palms facing upwards and fingers spread apart. "It is if you're going to take me to him."
"Well then maybe I shouldn't," Gwen snapped through gritted teeth.
James and Richard continued to breathe heavily as they slept. The guard let out a low moan and moved his head from side to side. A small bug crawled onto his hand and he slapped it away, even while unconscious.
"You don't have to," the other half-elf murmured. "It doesn't matter, really."
Her mind took that moment to remind her that, technically, he was in this predicament, with nowhere else to go, because of her. He easily could have reminded her of this fact, used her guilt against her to get what he wanted. But he didn't. She knew he never would.
Slumping forward, her hair covered her face as she stared at the ground she dug her toes in. "The… The short version is that… I fell in love with him and he betrayed me."
"And… the long version?"
"That I"-she sucked in a breath-"hated him, and the others, so very much because they were elves. And they hated me just as much, because I was an inh'eid. But that we grew closer eventually. I sacrificed myself for them, became one of them. I was stupid enough to fall in love with him, and was even stupider to think he loved me too." She shook her head and laughed once. "Then he sold me to Stennis in exchange for his reputation. And now I'm going to…"
Going to what? Find him and then what? Talk to him? Slap him?
Kill him?
…forgive him?
Unbidden, the memory of his arms around her forced its way into her mind, warming her and easing the pressure inside of her. She felt his chin move against her temple as he whispered sweet nothings into her ear, sensed the movements of the muscles of his back as he moved in and out of her.
She closed her eyes and pushed the images away. He was the same as Elric. She never forgave Elric, so why should she forgive him?
"Going to…?" Quinn prompted gently.
"I don't know yet," she whispered. Without waiting for her friend's response, she got up as best as she could with her trembling limbs. "I'll take the next watch. You can go and sleep."
The half-elf stared at her for a moment. His mouth hung open and the confusion was easy to read on his face. He decided against asking whatever was on his mind, however, and nodded instead.
When he had settled down on his makeshift bed, one arm thrown over his face with the other propped beneath his head, Gwen moved towards the edge of the clearing.
"Just need to make water first…" she muttered and stepped into the circle of darkness that the forest cast upon her surroundings, in search of a thick tree trunk not too close nor too far away from the camp.
Once she had settled against the perfect tree with her legs crossed, she pulled out the knife she had hidden beneath her tunic, just in case. The tension from before had returned with a vengeance, making her tense and itch. Her blood, trapped in her limbs, fought for its freedom. She gave it what it wanted by rolling the sleeves of her shirt up and running the blade along one of the silver lines that adorned her wrist. Soon enough it turned red, the liquid warm against her skin as it slid down her arm, pooling at her elbow before dripping down to the earth.
Gwen released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding, a deep gasp of relief that had her shoulders heaving now that the pressure had been removed. She cut another line beside the first one, then a third and a fourth, pain and pleasure rushing through her whenever she dug the knife into her skin.
The stinging that remained once she had cleaned herself up and sat by the leftover campfire once more served as a reminder: a reminder to not forgive, to never forget. Love and trust meant pain, pain that chipped away at the remains of her defences. How many more blows she could endure before her shell cracked and broke? She did not want to find out.
And if she had this physical ache, so close and fresh and real, then she did not have to think about the hurt that awaited her inside her mind.
"What happened to your arm?" Quinn asked the next day.
They had packed all their things and were on the road once more, leaving the narrows paths between the trees that sprung up from the ground with no rhyme or reason in favour of a small road. Their focus now lay on putting as much distance between them and Vengerberg as possible, after all.
"What?" Gwen looked up before glancing at the bandage around her arm. "Oh, this? I fell into some bushes on my way back to camp. When you went to sleep, remember?"
The half-elf nodded. "Ah, right. You should really be more careful."
"Thank you for the advice. I'll remember that next time I trip over a root." When Gwen grinned at him, she caught James staring at from the corner of her eye. Where Quinn seemed to have fallen for it hook, line and sinker, the other man looked like he did not buy it at all. At least he remained quiet about it.
"Reminds me of that time during sparrin'," Quinn said, ignoring his friend's attempt to bully him.
Gwen's smile was gone even before she had managed to spread her lips completely. "Didn't we promise not to speak of that?"
"Of what?" Her companion raised a brow and scratched the back of his head in a rather exaggerated manner. Then, his mouth made an 'oh' in realisation and his eyes widened. "Oh, you mean that time your foot got caught on a root and you stabbed yourself in the leg?"
A snort came from behind her, and without stopping Gwen swivelled around to face James and that grin on his face. Too surprised to see him smile like that, she forgot to be annoyed.
She remembered something that humans liked to say, claiming that some people looked much younger when they laughed. The half-elf had never quite gotten it, what with her difficulty to guess age in the first place. But as she took sight of James's wide smirk and yellowed teeth, she couldn't help but note that the wrinkles in his face looked less severe than they did when he had that frown on his face.
"You stabbed yourself in the leg?" he asked when their eyes met, still smiling.
Richard made a muffled sound that sounded suspiciously like, "How?!"
"It wasn't really a stab," Gwen tried with a shrug. "More like… a nick. Sure, I drew a little blood, but it wasn't much more than that."
Quinn burst into laughter. "A nick?! Gwen, you bled straight through your breeches and had to throw them away. You had to get stitches and I bet you have a scar like this on your leg." He drew a diagonal line across his thigh, starting halfway to his knee and moving it to a hand span beneath his hip. An elbow found his stomach and he doubled over with a grimace. "Oof!"
"Details, details, m'dear Quinn!" the half-elf called out and waved her hand in a dismissive gesture without stopping to check if her friend was hurt. She opened her mouth to add insult to injury, but froze instead.
"…Gwen?" Quinn managed, his voice tight and straining as he turned to follow the half-elf's gaze.
"Do you hear that?" she whispered, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head to the side.
"Hear what?"
"Hoofbeats," James spat as if it were a curse.
The word had barely left his lips when the figures appeared on the horizon.