Augh, there's fucking more?!
I really don't see how...
Oh my god, are they actually going with the 'Iorveth tries to make friends' idea?
look at how short this chapter is!
there's not even a sex scene in this one!
Boo!
Boo, I say!
The next morning, Essa sat on the ground and leaned her head aginst the side of the house she shared with two other Scoia'tel. Her headache was bad but any small movement made her stomach churn and acid rise a little in her throat. The cool morning air helped the nausea.
Mitchell, one of her roommates, came out and set a cup of water down next to her. "take small sips or it'll all just come right back up." he warned as he sat opposite her and leaned his head against the stone half-wall that enclosed the front porch.
Essa was slender, even for an elf, and taller than most of the men in their unit. Her auburn hair fell in long, silky threads around her shoulders and complimented her porcelain skin well. Mitchell was a quadroon, and his human blood made him broad-shouldered and stocky. He had tight, ginger curls but he was not nearly so pale as Essa, though freckles dotted his cheeks and shoulders and anywhere else the sun hit him. His prominent pointed ears were unmistakably elvish, though, and gained him just as much scorn among the humans as his stocky build did among elves... except Essa, who had always been friendly toward him, so he repaid her in kind.
Essa tried to thank him for the water but all that came out was an exhausted grunt.
"Well, at the very least, we can trust that someone out there is having a worse morning than us..." Mitchell said sipping his own water. Essa rolled her eyes to look at him, as she couldn't find energy to move her head, "who on earth could possibly be worse off than us right now?"
Mitchell dropped his voice and leaned in, "according to Lydia, Iorveth had a lady visitor last night,"
"oh, come on, the eye is... off-putting to be sure but the rest of him is allright-"
"no,no,no, my sympathies aren't with the mysterious ladyfriend," Mitchell explained, "apparently they were right in the middle of the deed when that dragon flew over last night and scared her off."
"So?"
"Have you ever had to just stop in the middle of it?"
"No."
"Trust me, it's the fucking worst."
"I disagree" A lazy drawl from behind the half wall made them both jump. Essa stared in horror as Iorveth sat two ceramic shot glasses on the ledge. "when you are interrupted toward the end of the venture is far worse."
Essa and Mitchell gaped and stuttered trying to get an apology out for their gossip but Iorveth had no time for it. "Hair of the dog this morning, people. Meeting in the back in one hour. We have much to discuss."
"The back" was what they commonly called the small circular yard in the middle of the Scoia'tel houses, as everyone's back doors opened toward it, even if they had to pass another Scoia'tel house before getting there.
He moved on without a word further. Mitchell handed Essa a shot and contemplated his own, "I hope he's not going to make us a dry faction... I know we've been overdoing it lately but-"
"yeah, seriously, this seems like a little much" Essa finished his sentence, swirling the shot around reluctantly and throwing it back before she could re-think it.
"Not as bad as I thought, it hardly even tasted like dog."
Mitchell tried to decide if Essa's commontongue was simply atrocious or if she was just profoundly hungover. He decided it was most likely both and shook his head as he threw the shot down.
Iorveth had expected some unease but he was somewhat taken aback by the outright dissent his men expressed. His patience had worn thin an hour ago, now his frayed nerves corrupted his speech.
"I really don't understand how you are not getting this," He told the group through gritted teeth, "I can only dumb it down so much before I just have to translate it into troll: elf squirrels make nice face to humies or elf squirrels go back to living in bloody caves!"
"We understand your words, just not where they come from!" One of the older women shouted in disdain.
"The D'hoine, and many other citizens of Vergen find us frightening." Iorveth explained for what felt like the thousand'th time, "if we want to continue living here and enjoying the luxary of shitting indoors, we will have to be less frightening. Get jobs. Stop getting drunk and picking fights. help... people... do things. Fuck, I don't know, be creative."
"We fought for so long to get out from under the D'hoine's oppression and now you want us to grovel at their feet?" A younger blonde man shouted, "That's not the life I fought for! That's not the life our brothers died for!" A murmor of general accord rumbled through the yard.
"Cooperating is not groveling, Micah, don't be dramatic-" Iorveth began. Micah, the light-haired elf interrupted him, "You're telling me not to be dramatic-"
"That had ought to inform about your piss poor tone!" Essa snapped, arms crossed, "I don't like it any more than you, but he's still our commander!" some nodded and shouted their support.
"Keep kissing ass, Essa," Micah scoffed, shaking his head, "one of these days it's bound to finally land you in his bed-"
"Ploughing whoreson!"
Essa dove at Micah's throat and Micah drew his dagger. A glint of steel flashed between them, halting their attack. Iorveth's stag antler knife sung and vibrated, embedded in the plaster wall beside them. The room fell silent.
"Bloede wedd'le." Iorveth swore under his breath as he strode between Essa and Micah and yanked his knife out of the wall, "Are you really so blinded by your petty pride and hatred that you'll murder your own? Is that why our brothers died, Essa, so you could cull our numbers yourself? Or did they die so we could be forever locked in conflict, even when we have to make it up ourselves?" He scowled down at the both of them. Ironically, Micah was actually half a head taller than Iorveth but felt much shorter under his gaze.
"You've killed more D'hoine than all of us, don't even pretend like that's not true." Micah said, doing his best to hold eye contact without allowing his voice to waver.
"I've probably killed more D'hoine than all of you combined." Iorveth snarled and pushed his bandanna up off his face, "and what has that gained me?" He pushed his face into Micah's vision and glared at him. Micah finally couldn't bear to look at his discolored, sunken, hollow eye socket any longer and averted his gaze in defeat.
He left Essa to contemplate her feet and Micah to glare at the back of his head. Addressing the group he said, "Look closely, this is the reward I got for all my hatred. Old scars and more dead brothers than I care to remember. We fought and bled and died for a freedom those in Dol Blathanna now enjoy without us. Do I regret the things I did in the name of our people? not for a second. and neither should you. But the time for those deeds and those attitudes has past. So we have a very simple choice on our hands: We can either learn to live among the D'hoine and convince them that we want to be allies, or we can cling to our hatred and continue to reap the reward it sows... I don't know about the rest of you but I've found the fruit it bears to be pretty fucking bitter."
The group of elven men and women eventually nodded in agreement (though with varying levels of reluctance.) Iorveth sighed in relief, though quietly enough that none heard. for a while, it looked like he might have a mutiny on his hands. The last thing he wanted was to deal violence to his own men.
"Besides," he addressed the group again as he pulled his bandanna over his face once more, "I'm running out of body parts to lose."
He had managed to end the meeting on a high note, tentative though it was. As the group dispersed to sleep off hangovers and find work around town, some of the more dedicated like Essa and Mitchell stayed behind to discuss ideas for coordinated community service efforts.
Iorveth figured he might as well lead by example, himself, and set off between the houses into the city. "and what if we can't live among the D'hoine?" a voice said quietly as he passed an alleyway. it was Micah, leaning against the back of Iorveth's house, arms folded. "What if every time we see one of their dense, apeish faces all we can see is fire, and all we can hear is screaming, what then, Iorveth? Where are we supposed to go?" He wasn't angry anymore, but he still deserved some answers.
Iorveth sighed, looked around to see if any other Scoia'tel were within earshot, and approached Micah. "Look, Saskia has sworn that no matter what, we won't be fugitives again as long as we follow the laws here-"
"Who is speaking to me right now?" Micah shook his head in disappointment with just a hint of disgust, "You look an awful lot like Aen Seidhe but your words are unmistakably D'hoine. 'We can all live in harmony as long as we all follow the D'hoine's laws.' They told us that back in my district too, yet somehow everyone I knew, law-abiding citizens and criminals alike all burned alive..."
"Saskia is different-" Iorveth began but Micah cut him off, "They're all different until they become the same... Was this really your plan all along?"
Genuinely puzzled, Iorveth tilted his head back slightly and gave Micah contemplative look, "What do you mean?"
"When you first began talk about this Saskia woman," Micah began, "I was befuddled as to why we should care, much less pledge our allegiance to a D'hoine when you of all people should know about D'hoine and their habit of forgetting alliances after they become less valuable than the hides that bear their colors. Then I remembered that you are, in fact, not a complete idiot and you learn from past mistakes and came to the conclusion that you were surely forming a plan to overthrow this D'hoine whor-"
Micah did not even feel Iorveth's fist as it collided with his throat, his voice simply stopped working, and he hit the ground with a thud. Wheezing and coughing, Micah tried to get to his feet. Iorveth placed a foot on his back and forced him back down to the dirt. "As I was saying," He hissed, venom dripping from his voice, "Saskia has promised that we are all to live as free men, and be persecuted as free men if we transgress the Laws of the Pontar Valley... however, if we are unable to live among the humans, alternative housing will be provided. So maybe show some bloody respect for the one country who is willing to see beyond the price tag on each of our heads." Micah panted and wheezed, struggling to draw air through his swollen trachea. He opened his mouth to speak but the only sound that came out was of his raw flesh slapping uselessly over the air he forced out, making him cough more.
"On my mantle, there's a bottle with a green label." Iorveth sighed, removing his boot from Micah's back, "It tastes awful, but it will make the swelling go down and numb the pain. Take it, and watch your damn mouth."
Iorveth stepped over Micah and continued his way into town, leaving him to struggle over speech alone.
In the courtyard, Essa tilted one ear into the air. "does anyone else hear a duck quacking?"
Oh, fantastic, O.C.'s... because they never make me want to gouge my eyes out
Comic relief O.C.'s nonetheless
Oh har-de-fuckin'-har she doesn't get stuff
well... misdirection is a classic comedic tactic
whatever, I think it's stupid...
...
what?
are you sure you don't want me to explain what 'hair of the dog' actually means?
fuck you! I know what it means!