Mae govannen!

Inspiration struck today, so TWO chapters for the price of ONE!!!

again: WARNING: do not read if you don't ship Geralt and Jaskier- you have been cautioned ;)

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the WitcherVerse, all of it is the work of the amazing Andrejzi Sapkowski and brought to life by Netflix.

Please leave a review if you would be so kind!

Namarïe!

"We can't withstand much more of this! They've already taken Echel! If they take you, it's all over!"

Isengrim Faoiltiarna spared the elf beside him a look before dragging him away, a chunk of rubble crashing down where they had been seconds ago. The sound of gunfire was sharp in the winter air. The leader of the Scoia'tael movement had tied his brown, wavy hair away from his face, displaying the hideous diagonal scar that slashed across his face, speckled with dirt and blood.

"If we retreat now-"

"If we retreat now, then we loose weeks of progress," said Isengrim, ducking as a rogue bullet pinged off the stone near his head. "You see it too, Coinneach, we cannot."

Coinneach Dá Reo tore a hand through his pale hair. A curse in Elder leaving his lips.

How long had it been now? Years? The human police force persecuting them for what they were. Elves had been caught and strung up here in Sodden City for their amusement. Until one day, one of them had snapped.

The Iron Wolf, he called himself.

Elves joined him to form a resistance, one dedicated to keeping one another alive. To keeping the humans off their backs. The war had been raging now for near on a year. The elves grimly holding their own.

"Besides, they don't know my name." Isengrim hauled a wounded elf up onto his shoulder, not caring as blood stained his neck.

"They know your scar, Isengrim," said Coinneach, before rising to return fire over the fallen brickwork. A shout of pain declared that he had hit someone. But so had they.

Isengrim said nothing as Coinneach tore a strip from a heap of dusty fabric lying spilled across the ground, binding it tight about his arm. The blood seeped through almost instantly.

"Ysgarthiad!" spat the elf, leaning hard against the stone, the color already draining from his face.

(Shit!)

Isengrim laid the wounded elf back down and came to Coinneach's side. The elf had slid down the brickwork, struggling to fight the glaze forming in his eyes.

"What ess het?" Isengrim brushed a hand over the sodden bandage, and Coinneach caught his hand, stilling it. His head fell back with a groan.

(What is it?)

"An stráede wound," rasped the fallen elf, struggling to get back onto his feet. Blood was running in a river of gore down his arm, pooling on the gravel and dust at their feet.

(An artery wound)

"Hold fast, Coinneach," Isengrim ducked more bullets, before returning fire over the stone with a vengeance. Several screams rang in his ears as he crouched back down beside his comrade. Coinneach had given up his struggles to regain his feet, and his breath had fast become a struggle. Isengrim could feel his chest heaving as he placed a hand on the fallen elf's shirt.

"Aé did neén strasse aep marw a'taeghane..." choked Coinneach, his face paler than bone as he was slowly bled dry.

(I did not wish to die today)

"No one does, my friend," said Isengrim softly, hating the helplessness crawling on his skin. "Rest. All you need...is rest."

He watched as Coinneach's eyes slid closed, was the breath in his chest stilled. As the blood continued to drip from the slightly curled hand.

Isengrim let his head fall onto his chest. Anger shaking his body in tremors that rolled like a stormy sea.

One day.

One day, he would bring an end to this.

One day the elves would once again look upon their hometown of Xin'trea.

"Damn you, elf!"

Echel Traighlethan let out a cough thick with blood as the steel rod struck his side once again.

His wrists were torn, blood wending it's slow way down his arms, chained above his head. He was kneeling, head bowed as he fought to endure the pain in silence. The humans could never quite understand the loyalty the elves had for their leader. Why they never broke and gave him up.

Nor would they ever, Echel assumed. After all, loyalty was an elven thing.

The next strike caught him across the back, slamming into his spine with such force, that a gasp escaped him- emptying his lungs of air.

The captain in charge of his 'interrogation' crouched before him, taking his jaw in her hands. She raised his face to meet hers, a cold smile on her thin lips. "You won't even tell us your name?"

Echel struggled to catch his breath, her fingers digging into his skin. He said nothing. He had taken an oath, after all. Never would he betray those he called brothers-in-arms.

She shook him a little, eyes narrowing dangerously. "The pain can get a whole lot worse, elf."

It was not a threat, but a promise. He knew. Echel steeled himself as she gave the man a nod.

Thrice, in rapid succession, the rod struck his back. Unable to help it, Echel felt the cries of pain leaving him- his body screaming for him to stop this agony.

The blows only came harder and as Echel felt himself nearing blacking out, he felt something give out in his spine.

The agony drew a scream from his aching chest, body struggling as the man seized him to hold him still. Hard fingers stabbed at his back, sending shudders down his skin.

"We have a break," said the rough voice.

Echel did not need that told to him. He could feel nothing- his legs were numb. His back on fire. Despair choked him as he realised that he would die here. Nothing to mark his end, no one to grieve for his passing. A chill gripped his heart. The end drew nearer and nearer. He knew.

The captain paced before him, her energy a storm of frustration now. "Where is the Iron Wolf? Damn you, elf, tell us!"

Echel spat blood at her feet, unsure if he was still alive. Could a body feel this much pain and live? He didn't know.

The iron rod came again, striking his back, just below his neck. Echel was thrown forwards against his chains, blood now running from his nose. Gods, he wished it would end.

Not much longer.

"Esseath e'vinn te tearth," he rasped.

(You are wasting your time)

The woman snarled. So she could understand Elder speech, could she? That was uncommon...

Echel weathered the pain that followed, knowing the end would come at long last.

He fought to remain strong, knowing that he had done his part.

That he had stood firm, never a thought of betrayal in his mind.

The resistance would continue for a while longer.

Isengrim Faoiltiarna was safe.

For now.