[A/N]: life seriously got in the way of my uploading this chapter, even though I've had it ready for like a month now. Sue me, dammit! Maybe it'll teach me a lesson. In an attempt to make up for it, I've finally started The Witcher 3, so I know how I can fit this story into the game's narrative somehow. Fingers crossed some plotbunnies appear!
Afraid is a song by Nelly Furtado.
By the time the sun had almost reached the highest point in the sky, Gwen had found a spot in the shade of a tree where she sat down with her legs crossed and her eyes closed. She breathed in deep through her nose and released the air through her mouth, hoping it would ease the tension in her body.
Until then, she had purposely kept her mind clear of any thoughts that ranged beyond, "Where can I get away from everyone?" Now that she had accomplished her mission, it was all she could do to not fall apart. But even as she sat beneath that tree, there was no way for her to ignore that which she already knew. Her fingers itched to scratch the wounds on her wrists, to distract herself from the terror that welled up inside of her, but then she heard her mother's voice from a long, long time away say, "Think of the child!"
And then Elric stood in front of her, snowflakes clinging to his hair as he watched her with wide eyes. The grin that spread across his face only made the loneliness that she felt dig all the deeper. His hands grazed her back whenever she threw up and rubbed her belly when they lay on the bed, side to side. They snatched her son away even before she could lay eyes upon him.
Iorveth couldn't be dead. He just couldn't leave her alone like this.
"Mind if I join you?" Ivor's voice dragged her out of her mind. When he saw the wild look in her eyes as they darted across his features, he lowered himself beside her with measured movements. "Gwen, are you okay?"
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"No," she croaked. "Ivor… Ivor… I can't do this… Not again… Not alone."
The elf let out a breath and lifted his arm, but dropped it again when the half-elf jerked away from him. "So, it's true then?" When his friend only nodded, he asked, "How long have you known?"
"Since this morning," Gwen whispered. "At this point, it doesn't have to be true… But the symptoms… They are the same." She looked up and her nostrils flared at the thought. "Ivor. They can't be the same. I can't…" With what could only be described as a whimper, she hugged her knees to her chest and buried her face in between them. "Not again."
"Oh, Gwen…" Ivor murmured and he carefully placed a hand on her shoulder, felt her tense and then relax beneath his touch. "What do you plan to do, then?"
Another question she did want to think about. She did not know if she could go through the whole ordeal again. Even now, simply sitting beneath this tree, she felt trapped within her own body. The first time, every new change had been met with wonder and excitement, with a smile and a gasp.
Now she only dreaded what would come, how this development would tear what little control she had over herself out of her grasp. If someone like Iorveth decided whether she lived or died, she would still be able to fight his judgement as herself. This, however… This would seal her fate from the inside out; her own body would betray her and there would be nothing that she could do.
Killing the child would be the ultimate act of grasping the control over her body with both hands and yanking it free again. But was that worth taking a life for? The life of an innocent being that would never see the sky in summer, would never smell the scent of cut grass, would never cry over a scraped knee…
Possibly the last piece of Iorveth that would never roam the world again.
"Hey," Ivor said as he nudged her. "It's all right. You have plenty of time to think this over. And whatever you decide… Just remember that I'll be with you every step of the way."
"Oh Ivor." Gwen leant back to rest her head against his shoulder, finally allowing him to move his arm farther around her. "What would I do without you?"
He chuckled, causing tremors to run throughout her body as she lay against him. "Let us not think about that."
The tree under which they sat stood at the top of a small hill that overlooked the fields around them. At the foot of it – though it wasn't high enough to actually have a foot to begin with – the farm of Delores and her family had been built, offering a stark contrast to the farmland around it.
From up here, the layout of the property became clearer: almost a perfect square with a plaza in the middle. A stable took up one side of it, with the horses inside sticking their heads out through the doors. Nearby, what must have been Delores stood bent over a row of buckets. The horses whinnied loudly, and Delores responded as though she were talking to humans.
Other houses had been built around the main building, smaller but still large enough to offer quite a few people a home. Most likely all of Delores's children were married and had children of their own, who stayed in those surrounding buildings.
The farmer himself sat atop a cart pulled by two oxen. Even from up here, his harsh whistling could be heard. Whenever a neighbour travelled past, he would stop his work and exchange a few shouted words with them before moving on again.
Two of his children were carrying buckets and herding the cows and sheep in a large field on
the other side of the building, while one small figure stood by the gate, watching. Three others ran in a circle just behind it. Children at play on a warm summer day. How long had it been since Gwen had seen something like that?
"Do you… Do you really believe Iorveth is dead?" she asked without tearing her gaze away from the landscape before her. Maybe because she was afraid to see what Ivor's face might look like as he pondered the question.
The leaves in the tree behind them rustled when a braze rushed through them. The wind carried with it the sound of children screaming in delight, of cows mooing and of people talking. When it died down again, so did the noises.
"I don't know," Ivor finally admitted. "I do know that Iorveth is too stubborn to go down without a fight. But any time might be the last."
It wasn't the answer she wanted, but it was what she needed to hear. As she sat there, caged inside her own body, she realised she would have to come to terms with the possibility sooner or later. And the sooner, the better.
"But," the elf continued, "we shouldn't give up until we know for sure. Until we've seen his remains for ourselves, there is always the chance that he's still out there, somewhere. Doing what he does best."
"Being a pain in someone's ass?" Gwen sniffled, trying to keep her voice light but at the same time balling her hands into tight fists. Until then, the thought of Iorveth actually surviving had eluded her mind. But to imagine him living on and starting a new existence without her, hurt her more than his death ever could. No, if he was out there somewhere, alive, then she would find him and make him miss her. No matter what it took.
Ivor chuckled and ruffled her hair. "Don't you worry. We will go and be a pain in his ass for once. As long as you don't do anything rash."
Not really listening to what he said, the half-elf just nodded. Her body was stiff and sore all of a sudden, and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to climb into a bed and sleep for an entire week.
She did none of that, however, and simply continued to watch the farmers and their families go about their day while she sniffled every once in a while.
Sitting atop that hill, it felt like it took far too long for the sun to start sinking towards the horizon once more. When dinnertime finally arrived, Delores collected everyone to feed them in the kitchen. Some members from that morning were missing, whereas others had replaced them. It was generally chaotic, with half a normal family gathered around a table, and Gwen soon found herself exhausted. She had never experienced anything like that, and in combination with her condition, it left her both emotionally and physically aching.
Once everyone was finished, it was Ivor who dragged her towards her room at the first opportune moment, muttering something about getting her to bed, and that was exactly what he did. He let her undress herself, and in no time she was tucked into bed.
When Ivor got up to leave, Gwen asked, "Will you stay here for tonight… Please?"
The elf did not hesitate before he, too, lost most of his attire and climbed into the bed behind her. She lay on her side with her back towards him, whereas he lay flat facing up, his left arm touching her.
"Good night," Ivor whispered just before he turned onto his other side.
For the longest time, nobody said a thing. Gwen had no idea how much time passed, though she never once felt like closing her eyes. The thoughts inside her mind morphed into one nagging feeling that would not leave her be. Even the sounds from outside – wind blowing, leaves rustling, crickets chirping – did nothing to calm her.
The moon shone its light through a crack in the window, illuminating part of the room and giving Gwen even less motivation to try and fall asleep. She shifted onto her back, her hands folded over her stomach, and instead decided to listen to Ivor's breathing. It was too shallow for him to be asleep, but he didn't speak or move either.
She thought back to the many times she had shared such a tiny space with Quinn. They had often gone on camping trips in the woods surrounding Vengerberg, squished together in a tent barely big enough for the two of them. Their shoulders would touch, but they wouldn't mind. Gwen could always listen to the sound of him snoring for hours on end. It was one of the things she had missed the most after leaving the city. Now, however, it was yet another sound she would never get to hear again.
"Ivor?" she whispered, her hand ghosting across the sheets in search of her friend's fingers. A hum came from beside her and she continued, "I miss Quinn."
And just like that, the tears slipped down her temples and dripped into her ears. She sniffled as her hands fisted in the sheets, mourning her loss while angered at herself. Since when had she begun to cry so often and so freely? She couldn't believe how weak she had gotten. Ivor did not seem to care as much when he rolled over, his fingers roaming across her face to trace the wet streaks like he always did.
"Why do you always do that?" she asked suddenly, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"Do what?"
"This." She touched his digits that still touched her face. "You always touch me like this when I cry."
"Oh." The elf sounded taken aback and would have pulled away had Gwen not held him still. "I did not realise that. Does it make you uncomfortable?"
Shaking her head, she said, "No, just… curious."
"Perhaps it's the difference in expressiveness between dh'oine and seidhe." Her friend tried to shrug.
"Elves don't cry?"
"We do, just… Less often. Never this close to others." When Gwen only sniffed in response, Ivor asked, "What do you miss about Quinn?"
Silence was the only response he received, together with an increase in tears that met his touch. Gwen hugged herself when she started trembling, as if the question had opened a dam of both feelings and memories.
"It's strange," she managed. "The first time I lost him, when I left Vengerberg, was pretty rough. My mother was dead. My house was gone. I was wanted. And I had to leave behind the only other person who truly cared about me. But I always took… always felt relieved, since I knew he was still out there, somewhere." Sniffing, the half-elf rubbed a sleeve against her nose and eyes, dirtying the cloth of her shirt. "But now he's not. He's just… Gone. And if only I…"
Sobs forced their way past her throat, breaking off her sentence. Instead she pressed her hands against her face and curled herself up into a ball beneath the blankets. "Suddenly, I'm remembering things about him I'd forgotten. Like the way he slurred and got all cuddly whenever he was drunk. Or how, whenever we practiced with our bows, his aim would always be a bit off, to the right, no matter how much he adjusted. Or how he was always so afraid of horses after he got kicked off of one."
Humming here and there, Ivor continued to hold and stroke her.
"He once told me that he always wanted a daughter, so I could be her godmother. Believed that I would very much like that. He never mentioned my own son when he spoke of it, though I knew what he was thinking about. And now he… He'll never… Have any children at all… And here I am… With Iorveth's… And what if he's dead? He can't just… Leave me like this… He just… He can't…"
After that, nothing coherent left her lips, but still the elf nodded as if he understood everything she had just said.
"And what if… What if… Elric comes to take this one as well?" The high pitch that crept into her voice belied the delirious panic that had seeped through to her core.
"Gwen," Ivor finally spoke as he brushed her hair out of her face, "from what you told me, the man would have been a hundred years old by now. You know just as well as I do that that's not possible."
The half-elf dug her fingernails into her arms and bit her lip. "I know, but…"
"Come." Even before she could find purchase, Ivor had already pried her fingers away. "You're tired. Tomorrow we'll start worrying again, all right? Right now, you can't change a thing, so go to sleep. It's all right to get some rest. All right?"
Sighing, Gwen nodded and forced herself to relax, despite the fear and sadness that still clawed at her throat. In her mind she knew he was right – no amount of being upset now would work. If only she could just turn off her emotions that easily.
Despite thinking that, when Ivor draped his arm over her and moved closer to her back, his chest moving against her back with each breath he took, she felt herself drift off into yet another dreamless sleep.