[A/N]: The title "Fractured" comes from Dance Gavin Dance's song "Doom & Gloom". This has been my favourite band for like a month now. Even though I've been listening to them non-stop, I still can't get enough of them. Plus, it's a great representation of Gwen's feelings during this chapter.

Most of the crowd – if that was even what one could call it – that had gathered consisted of Scoia'tael with here and there a dwarf, a human or a non-Squirrel elf. Saskia and Yarpen had already found their way to the front, people moving before her like tall grass before a horse. Their faces were full of downturned lips, creased brows and cold, watching eyes. Little to no reverence for the lady could be found here.

An eerie silence hung in the air. It sounded more like they had come together to mourn and discuss something. Maybe watch a hanging. No, even a hanging would have been greeted with more cheer than this.

With Gwen in tow, Ivor easily reached the gathering of villagers. The trip there passed by in a whir for the half-elf, who could only stare straight ahead while one voice at the back of her head screamed non-stop, a second told it to shut up and a third cheered for the chance to finally be let loose.

None spared the two of them a second glance as they walked past the few rows of people towards where Saskia stood, a leader without a following. Still, she did her best to stand with her back straight, shoulders squared, chin raised. Though in her current state, Gwen understood none of the words she spoke, they were spoken with strength and vigour.

And then the tip of the bow came in sight, the feather and the red cloth, strands of black hair poking out from underneath it. One eye, a nose, lips pressed into a thin line. There he stood, regarding the woman before him and the people behind her with a blank face.

He looked exactly the same. Here and there, a few scratches had been added to his armour and she spotted a bruise or two on his arms. Then again, perhaps only one lunar cycle had passed, though it felt like much longer to Gwen.

He stood there, almost nonchalant, like he had never done anything wrong. When he lifted his shoulders in response to what Saskia had said, something inside of her snapped and disrupted the quiet inside of her. The muttered words from the crowd, the weariness that the people emanated, Saskia's raised voice so she could be heard above the clamour, it all came rushing towards her. And then the commander opened his mouth and his raspy voice added itself to the sudden cacophony, though the half-elf never understood what he said.

A growl tore itself from her throat and she freed herself of Ivor's grasp before pushing past the few people that stood between the unit leader and herself. Even before she had reached the front of the crowd, that green eye had caught sight of her and followed her progress towards her target. His face remained impassive, and that only fuelled her rage.

Once she had passed the final row of bystanders, she broke out into a run. From the corner of her eye, she saw Saskia try to reach out for her, but she brushed past her without a second glance. Her foot cramped up again, but she bit the inside of her cheek until she could taste blood to distract herself.

"You bastard!" she roared as she tackled the commander to the ground like she had done once in the past.

During the fall, Iorveth wound his arms around her and grunted when his back hit the ground. Her teeth clacked together, the skin of her cheek still in between them, and so she pulled herself out of his hold with tears in her eyes. "Bastard!"

She let both fists come down upon his breastplate, again and again and again, and every time she hit him, she cried out.

"Why?"

Smack.

"Why?!"

Smack.

"WHY?!"

When he neither responded nor held her back, her blows lost their strength. Her arms began to shake, the muscles aching and protesting with every move she made. She could no longer see through the tears that blurred her vision. Her very bones felt weary, the betrayal and confusion that had forced her on for so long seeping out of her every time she hit him.

She wrapped her arms around her middle and doubled over to tuck her chin against her chest. Behind her ribcage, she almost felt her heart break now that the sadness of a lost love finally had the chance to grow. Sobbing and gasping for breath, she continued, "…why? Why? Why…?"

Voices erupted all around her and more than one pair of hands touched her back, but she ignored it all. It was Ivor who pulled her up and held her close, letting her clench the fabric of his shirt while she cried into it. Words were exchanged, low and curt, and then there was only the clamour of a riled-up crowd as Ivor led her back where they had come from. Several footsteps followed them, but who they belonged to, she could not say. All she recognised was that familiar clinking of armour.

The next thing Gwen registered, was being set down on a soft surface. Puffy eyes took in a bed with a nightstand on one side, the other having been pressed up against a wall. A closet stood at the one side of the bed and a dresser on the other. Beneath the bed a large, woollen rug had been placed, warming her feet quickly. Ivor stood next to her, half shielding her from Iorveth's sight.

"Come, Ivor, let us leave the two to talk," Saskia's voice came from beside Iorveth.

The elf shook his head. "I will not leave before I have some answers. I will not leave her on her own."

"It's all right, Saskia," Iorveth said, his voice sending a shiver across the back of her neck. "Leave us be."

Soon after, the door closed with a strange sense of finality. Gwen inhaled shallowly while she waited for somebody to say something. She feared that, if she breathed too deeply, she might start crying again.

"I demand answers." Ivor was the first to break the silence, lowering his voice as he did so. The words that left his mouth sounded so harsh, she wouldn't have believed they were his if she hadn't seen him utter them herself.

The commander had managed to keep his voice calm until now, but ire began to seep into his tone when he spoke, "You have to be more specific than that."

"Why did you do it?" Gwen broke in between the two of them, meeker than she would have liked. She bit her lip hard, her fingers wrapping around her wrist and rubbing back and forth without her realising.

Ivor finally moved to the side and she was allowed a proper look at the unit leader. Upon closer inspection, there were lines beneath Iorveth's eyes that previously hadn't been there. He hadn't been sleeping well, then. At least that made two of them.

His gaze flickered towards her hand and its ministrations before he glanced at Ivor. "Leave us." The other elf probably moved to protest, for he made a slicing movement through the air and added, "Now."

Gwen had never seen him pull rank on his comrade before, but it seemed to work. Ivor turned to her with a frown and lowered his head slightly, as if asking for permission. Forcing the corners of her lips upwards, she nodded at him.

"I'll be right outside," he said before retreating.

This time, when he closed the door behind him, a feeling of dread overcame Gwen. Iorveth watched her, still keeping his distance. Perhaps he feared she might pounce him again. Maybe he just wanted to give her some space.

"I apologise."

"What?" Gwen tightened her hold on her wrist and looked up.

"You must understand that everything I did had a purpose, however. There was no other way to convince Stennis to cooperate with Saskia. And I knew that you could handle it."

"Couldn't you have asked me first?!" The half-elf slammed a fist against the bed. "What about Ivor?! You could have at least told him! He thought you had betrayed us all!"

Iorveth rubbed his face with a sigh. "Do you really believe Stennis would not have thought the act to be a ruse? You're not exactly an actress, Gwenfrewi. He would have seen through it all then and there."

"Do not—" The half-elf choked back a sob. "…call me that!"

"And Ivor… He has grown attached to you. There was no way he would have allowed me to do what was needed."

"As he should have! You had no right! Do you… do you realise what I went through? What we went through?" Gritting her teeth together, it was all she could do to stop herself from seething. She dug her toes into the soft carpet and clenched the fabric of the duvet beneath her with two fists.

"I did what needed to be done. Such is the nature of my role and I have never been ambiguous about it. I am a commander first; everything else comes after." Iorveth crossed his arms over his chest.

Almost… She almost felt bad for him. The fear had always lurked just beneath the surface, that one day he would have to choose between himself and his people. It had always made her heart go out to him. The consequences would always have been on her, however. He but had to make the choice.

And then he added, "I do not regret my decision."

"You… don't…" She stared at him, mouth agape. Images flitted though her mind like butterflies that came and went. Richard, buried by his comrades. Quinn, dying all by himself, surrounded by nothing but trees and men that meant him naught but harm. James, staying behind to help that farm as a way to repent. Seeing what remained of her own street in Vengerberg. Days stuck in captivity with no way of knowing what the future held for her. "People have died because of this. Because of you. Because of…"

Me.

She had been the only thing to bind them all. She could have ignored Richard, could have avoided James, could have pushed Quinn away.

Could have never fallen in love with Iorveth.

Iorveth either did not care or did not notice her wet eyes when he said, "But you managed to survive, did you not? Here you are again, just as I had expected."

Because that was all that mattered, was it not? Results and consequences. Steps to be taken in a larger scheme. Casualties were to be expected on this path, so no use mourning over lost lives when there was always the next struggle to survive. Collateral damage was a given.

"Yes, well, did you expect the fact that- that I might be carrying your child?!" she yelled and jabbed a finger against her stomach. "Would you have done the same then?!"

"You—what—How is that…?" The commander looked like he had just taken a blow to his gut, eye wide and mouth hanging open. Finally, he stepped closer, hands outstretched towards her.

She would have none of it, though, and got up. Holding an arm out to ward him off, she circled around him towards the door. "Probably because your seed is as stubborn and stupid as you are, probably! And don't come near me again! I'll stay with the Squirrels because I have no where else to go, but… just… Just leave me alone with your ploughing commanderly duties!"

As promised, Ivor stood on the other side of the door, ready to catch her if need be. At some point, she would have to learn how to stand on her own again, and so she shook her head and moved past him.

"He's all yours." She gestured towards the door with her eyes downcast. Ivor needed to talk to the commander just as much as she did. Even so, he inhaled sharply, most likely getting ready to say something, but she added, "Go on."

Reluctantly, the elf entered the small house that had been built into the mountainside. When he closed the door behind him, the half-elf stared at it for a short while. Her lungs refused to function properly, instead taking in air in a stuttering and haltering process that forced her to breathe quickly and shallowly. Only after she had followed the cobblestone road to some other place she did not recognise, where she found a dark alleyway to prop herself up against a wall with her knees pulled to her chest, did she realise she was on the verge of hyperventilating.

Was it really all her fault? Could she have avoided everything that had happened if she had simply never fallen in love with Iorveth?

…no. It would not have mattered. Their relationship only made matters more difficult for Iorveth himself. He did love her, as she loved him. But to him, this had always been her purpose. Their very first conversations had circled around her blood and her family. He had known that she, the bastard inh'eid of Aedirn's royal family, had been sent to Flotsam by her family to disappear. Why else would he have taken her in? She might prove useful later on, especially if he had already been planning on joining Saskia at some point.

He had used her. His love for her had made that emotionally difficult for him, but he had still done it. The Scoia'tael would always come first.

In that moment, however, she did not care. She was having a child again, something she knew she was not ready for. Most likely would never be ready for ever again. Either way, there was no going back now, so she needed his support now more than ever, no matter what he had done. The fact that part of her didn't want to see him ever again, would make that fact all the more difficult for both of them.

For the first time that season filled with sweltering heat, the clouds erupted into a downpour that came down hard and sudden. There was no initial drizzle that warned everybody of the oncoming weather. Instead, raindrops hit the stones with such speed and ferocity that, within moment, they had darkened and shone brightly in any light that touched them. Gwen barely had the time to look up before her clothes felt like they had been glued to her skin, a second layer that covered her body. Combined with the sweat that still clung to her, every movement was met with delicious, painful friction that seemed to lighten the strangling feeling that made its way up her throat.

For the first time in what might have been years, though, Gwen remained still and simply cried into her knees.

Father. He was going to be a father. Never had he dreamt of that thought crossing his mind, the realisation that a person sharing his blood was growing inside the body of another. He was old, after all, and the people capable of carrying children fought alongside him and often did not get the chance to do so successfully. The fact that elven pregnancies lasted longer than human ones did not exactly help either.

Even with Ivor standing in front of him and talking, Iorveth could not focus on what he was saying. At the back of his mind, he noted that it had started to rain, the sound of it gushing against the windows of the shed ridding him of some of the tension in his shoulders. He stared and remained quiet, hoping his silence would not rub the other elf the wrong way, and forced his mind back to the matter at hand.

Except Ivor had already fallen silent and simply watched the commando leader with a glare.

The commander opened his mouth, ready to apologise, but his friend heaved a sigh before he could do so.

"I… I understand why you did it, but I do not approve of it," he said. It was something that had passed his lips regularly in the past, but somehow it had never held the weight that it did in that moment.

"Where have I heard that before?" Iorveth asked with a rueful smile.

"It is strange," Ivor added, "how you are able to imagine the possible outcomes to anything you do, but cannot fathom the emotional effects of them on others."

Shaking his head, Iorveth pointed a thumb at himself. "It is not that I cannot do so, simply that it I cannot afford it. Emotions that are not rage and dedication are useless in this war, and so they have no place in my… calculations."

"I think that Gwen… that Gwen has felt more than enough rage and dedication following your actions, though." The elf stared at this leader, most likely hoping he might relent. And he might have, had he not had years upon years of experience making the hard choices and carrying their consequences on his shoulders. Simply because no one else wished to do so.

He crossed her arms over his chest as he thought back to Isengrim's frustration concerning this, the rage that the man had held towards his own comrades for their inability to act. That anger had been one of the reasons why he took charge of the Vrihedd Brigade, back when they had fought under Nilfgaard's banners. Back when they had still thought that humans could be trusted for, well, anything. They'd paid dearly for thinking that. Iorveth's empty socket throbbed as if on cue.

Ivor sighed. "I suppose I am simply glad that you are still alive. For a moment, we well and truly believed you dead."

With a scowl, Iorveth stared at the ground, his grip of his arms tightening. The leather of his gloves creaked in protest at the movement. That was something had he had not been able to foresee. He believed nobody could have predicted what would happen. But thinking of Gwen, carrying his child, all by herself and suddenly hearing that he was dead… He could not begin to imagine her panic, her despair. Though he did not know the whole story of how she came to be who she is, and he probably never would, he knew enough to have an inkling of what she must have felt in that moment. The dark rings that had circled her wrists were testimony to as much.

All of a sudden, Iorveth had to speak to her again.

"Where is she even?" he asked as he lifted his gaze back to his comrade.

The calculations being made were clear enough on the man's face, eyes flitting back and forth as he rifled through his memories. Iorveth knew the answer even before he spoke. "She didn't say. She told me to talk to you, and I did. Then she… left."

Impulses were foreign to Iorveth's mind. He noted everything, analysed from every angle, weighed the pros against the cons and only then did he decide what to do. Spontaneity was calculated, emotions repressed, sentences designed, moves deliberated. If he could not recall doing or saying something, he knew he had failed his people.

So when he stood in the middle of the street, hair blocking his already limited sight by hanging limply over his brow, armour heavy with rain and shoulders heaving in what he could only describe as panic, he did not know what to do with himself. He did not even remember opening the door and leaving the house to begin with.

"Iorveth?" Ivor came to a halt beside him, looking just as drenched as he felt. Drops of rain ran down his face, forcing the elf to blink excessively in an attempt to rid them from his eyelashes. It almost reminded the commander of that one time by the waterfall—"Why are you… What is wrong?"

Through clenched teeth, Iorveth managed, "We must find her. If she is somewhere out here, with this weather, then—"

His companion held up a hand, a darkness in his eyes that the unit leader hadn't seen in a long time. "Are you telling me, after all that crap about strategy and tactics, after throwing her out with a plan, you're worried for her safety."

"I constantly worried for her safety when she was gone!" Iorveth shouted, though the rain easily drowned out his voice to anybody trying to listen in. "Listen, from the very moment she left my sight—"

"No, you listen." Ivor moved closer towards him, jabbing a finger against his chest. "Gwen has fought in her current condition. She fought men trying to kill her, knowing what was going on with her body. She walked most of the road from Vengerberg to Vergen, throwing up all the while. A little rain will do no more than all that, to either her or the child!"

The commander grabbed his wrist, grasping it tightly as he held it in place. "I… I know I've failed her. I sacrificed her for our—no, my cause, I know. Now I must make up for it, so I ask of you to help me rather than hinder me, because alone I will not be of much use here."

There, he had said it. He had thrown the thoughts that had weighed him down out into the open for anybody to hear. There was something the legendary Iorveth was afraid of after all, something he needed help with.

Anger seeped out of Ivor like water from a squeezed sponge. The corners of his lips quirked upwards and with a clap on the unit leader's shoulders, he said, "It took you far too long to say those words, my friend."

"Now let us go and find her," Iorveth stated with a clenched jaw.

And so the two of them took off, running through alleyways and past all kinds of nooks and crannies, most of them empty. Once they were completely drenched, their armour became a second layer of skin, their shoes squeaked with every step they took and their teeth clattered even as they called out a certain inh'eid's name over and over again.

"Gwen!"

"Gwenfrewi!"

"Where are you?!"

"Answer me, dammit!"

Villagers stared at them from inside their shelters, eyes that watched them from behind windows or within dry corners. None dared exit their havens to see what all the fuss was about, though, and so the duo moved through the streets without stopping.

There was no telling how much time had passed when Iorveth all but stumbled across a pile of Gwen sitting against a wall. She gasped as she tried to breathe despite the shaking of her body. Her lips revealed themselves to have turned a shade closer to blue than pink when she looked up, her skin a shining circle against the dark wall behind her. Bloodshot eyes peered up at him, and if he hadn't seen the red bitemarks just beneath her lower lip, she might have completely missed the fact that she had been crying.

The elf crouched down beside her and reached out to wrap his arms around her, but Gwenfrewi whimpered and tried to scoot away from him.

"Leave me alone!" she managed, despite the fact that her lips must have felt as numb as shit.

Ivor came to a halt beside them just as Iorveth pulled back and, after a moment of hesitation and another look at Gwenfrewi's face, motioned for him to help her up. His friend did so by pulling his lover close to him, a sight hat made his chest feel too tight for comfort. He followed in silence as Ivor led Gwenfrewi back towards the shed they had claimed as their own, murmuring to her all the while. He watched Ivor close the door in front of him, a pointed look on his face as she did so.

With a sigh, Iorveth turned to find himself some other shelter.

Once the door fell shut, Ivor grabbed a towel from the room and began to undress the half-elf before wrapping the piece of cloth around her. He reached for another and began to dry her with fast, rough strokes, starting with her hair. Gwen hardly felt any of it, instead staring at nothing and taking in the warmth that seeped back into her limbs.

"How…" Her voice cracked and she swallowed thickly. Speaking was difficult when one's tongue felt like it was made of iron. "H-How did you ever love him?"

"Iorveth, you mean?" The elf stroked the towel across her face, forcing Gwen to close her eyes as he removed tears and rain from her cheeks. She nodded into the fabric before he moved to her shoulders, chuckling as he did so. "With difficulty."

He rubbed her left arm dry, taking care to clean the space between her fingers before moving on to the next limb where he repeated the process. Gwen almost forgot her train of thought as she stared at his hands while they went through the motions. When she felt her eyes grow moist again, she whispered, "Why?"

"Why what?" Without pausing, he knelt down in front of her and moved the towel in a circular motion just above her right knee. "Why did I love him? Or why was it difficult to do so?"

"…both?"

Once he had reached her right foot, he switched to her left knee. "Why do you think we are no longer together? I respected his choices as my leader but could not handle the thought of sleeping next to him at night. But as his friend, I eventually accepted that side of him. Perhaps, if we tried again, it would work out this time, but that is for another life."

"And why did you… why did you fall in love?"

"Because it is Iorveth. From a distance, he seems cold and ruthless, and he does not let many lose. But when one finally does get near, one experiences the warmth of his soul. He is a wild and passionate creature, and many wish to tame him. Perhaps I was simply one of them." As though he were handling a delicate flower that might let go with the first gust of wind, Ivor pulled a brown woollen gown over the half-elf's shoulders. "Is it not the same for you?"

Gwen watched his hands while they fastened the gown around her middle. Her shivering had become less furious, but it did not let up completely. In an attempt to still the final tremors, she wrapped her arms around herself. "No. When I'm with him… was with him, I feel—felt… safe. Warm, just like you said. But also worried. I want to make him relax, to be himself when he's with me. He accepts me and my wishes, and I want to do the same for him. Wanted."

"Not anymore, then?" Ivor asked, leading her to the bed where he pressed her onto the mattress and started piling blankets on top of her.

"I don't know." The tears that had glazed her eyes again rolled down the cheeks that had only just been dried. "I don't know if I can trust him again. If I'll ever… not fear that he's planning something again."

Her friend brushed the tears away with a corner of the towel. "I cannot tell you what to do or feel. We both know that he'll never stop being the commander first. He'll always be planning something. But I also know that he didn't foresee these consequences, and it will affect him. I can't say how, but he has changed. But whether that is enough is something only you can decide."

"I'm scared, Ivor," she managed in a small voice.

The look on his face made it seem like his heart had shattered into a million tiny pieces. His brows scrunched up and he pursed his lips even as he bit the inside of his cheek. The grey of his eyes wavered with what might have been tears of his own, but he blinked them away. "I know, Gwen, I know. Now you should get some rest, before you catch a cold. The world might look completely different by the time you open your eyes again."

With a squeeze of her hand, he got up and blew out the candles that had kept the room lit before making himself comfortable in a nearby chair. The rain pattering against the roof of the shed slowly lulled her mind into emptiness. Her lids grew heavy and she drifted off into a feverish dream of her childhood home in Vengerberg burning to the ground.