Chapter Text
"I'm sorry Iorveth," Toruviel whispered.
Iorveth didn't reply to her words, he didn't react at all. He continued to smoke the pipe they shared between them. He looked at the field in front of him, blew out the smoke, and passed her the pipe. He knew what she was sorry for and it saddened him but he could not begrudge her for her choices.
Toruviel was tired of the fighting and hiding. Iorveth could physically see the fatigue of it dragging her shoulders down. She didn't want to go on as they were, fighting losing battles, and killing 'poor' humans. She no longer had the drive that made her such an excellent commander.
After their fellow commanders and leaders were slaughtered in the ravine of the hydra, they fled in different directions. On the run Toruviel was helped by kind humans who hid her and took care of her wounds, changing her mind and making her abandon the cause.
Iorveth, unlike Toruviel, still fought and clawed. Kind dh'oine be damned with the rest of them. He raided villages, outposts, merchants, nobles, marching men, caravans, and many more. Never quite quelling his thirst for revenge.
The very last one to be still doing so.
Which was one of the reasons he held his tongue. He could not give her forgiveness she wanted from his bitter self nor their ghosts.
Iorveth still seethed with anger and collected men for his cause and his comando. He will never forgive the plague-like dh'oine and he will never stop.
But he understood her weariness.
"Yaevinn and I are leaving for Haakland by the end of winter now that we know Isengrim is there setting up camp," she sounded resigned like she didn't want to admit her failings but felt the choice was best for her.
She didn't say anything else. Both of them just enjoyed the autumn wind as it cooled their faces. They mourned their fallen brothers and sisters, their friends, and their people.
Two friends. Sitting on the ground. Sharing a pipe. Knowing it will be the last time they meet.
...
The next time Iorveth gets a chance to smoke, he is worlds away from his own.
But now he smokes on his own, sulking away from a group of dwarven merchants he accompanied for a few crowns and some tobacco.
He thought back to that moment with Toruviel and regretted not giving her the closure she wanted from him before she left the northern realms. Maybe he could have pretended to be someone able to give forgiveness from ghosts and bid her a kind goodbye.
But he held his silence.
Still, he was feeling regretful especially now, sitting on the hard ground of a suspiciously familiar forest.
In a world not his own.
"Hey, ladie!"
Ah, his new charming companions.
Iorveth grunted in acknowledgment and turned back towards the caravan of wagons stacked full of dwarvish goods.
He looked up, not by much to see his host on the road. It was a dwarven merchant known as Garad. Dwarves made for interesting companions for Iorveth. There were some dwarves in the scoia'tael, not many but enough for Iorveth to find out they made for excellent guerrillas.
But these dwarves were merchants. In some aspects, he found them more ruthless than his scoia'tael. Garad was coldhearted when dealing with potential buyers and clients, not giving a shit about the sad stories of their starving families.
Iorveth liked him.
"We wanna set the camp before nightfall. Stop pushing forward and let's choose a campsite already."
Iorveths' job was to escort the group through the thick forests of Temeria and Cintra.
When Iorveth first woke up in this new world he spent almost two years foraging in forests, never leaving the tree line for long. He didn't want to have anything to do with the humans, dwarves, or elves of this world after he learned that no one heard of scoia'tael, that they didn't exist here.
Iorveth didn't take that well at all. He became a hermit of the woods, traveling them from one end to the other like a ghost, an ugly driad, or as some stupid people pointed out a fairy.
"Do you want to wake up to drowners for late-night company?" Iorveth asked with a deadpan voice, "This lake probably houses some of your merchant colleges."
You don't need to be a witcher to use common sense.
Iorveth put out his pipe and off they went. Iorveth walked ahead of the caravan, making sure that no bandit or monster could take them by surprise. Not that he would be able to do much in a situation like that. He would be more comfortable if he had a trusted friend at the rear of the caravan just to be safe but he had no one.
The dwarves used to hire more mercenaries but let them go after iorweth budded heads with them in Wysima and after refusing to work with him, they became too stingy to hire more power, saying that if Iorweth was good enough to bitch about them then he could do their work too.
He, of course, cussed them out in turn, saying that one half-blind elf will not be good enough to protect all their cargo if they were to be attacked. Then they threatened to hire dh'oine mercenaries and he piped down.
He could see that his companions were tired, but this whole forest was shit, almost a marsh. The air was stiff and the ground was wet and unstable under the wheels of the wagons. He would not sleep here if he could help it, even with night approaching.
As he contemplated if they would still pay him if he told them to hurry up, he heard a song in the distance. It was quiet but his hearing was good enough to recognize the tune.
They came across an already set-up camp full of elves. It was very uncommon to find a traveling group consisting of just elves and even rarer to find them in such a good mood.
The elves were suspiciously joyous. They were sitting around a balefire, where they found so much dry wood that remained a mystery for Iorveth. A big part of the group was drunk and dancing to a piece of cheery music. This all was very uncanny to Iorveth because he was sure that elves didn't have it that much better here than in his original world.
They spun around the fire in big cycles, some more clumsily than others. The approaching party could see them spook a little from the new arrival but when they noticed it was just a merchant group of dwarves with one elf they continued as if nothing happened. The music didn't even stop as a small group of elves approached Iorveth and Garad.
"We didn't expect to find any company tonight," the elf kept his good mood as he spoke in a friendly voice. He was dressed in a light well-worn tunic with one hitting knife on his belt, “You rarely see a merchant on these paths.”
The elf was curiously studying their group. His eyes lingered the longest on Iorveth.
"You're a wise elf," said Garad sarcastically, "but this is the straightest way to Cidaris on the map and we happen to have a good guide. Could we trouble you to share this meadow for the night?"
"Of course, we don't mind sharing space with good people."
The elf introduced himself as Vaeldeith and Iorveth and Garad introduced themselves in turn. The conversation continued only for a short while because Garad and Iorveth needed to help set up the dwarven camp. It didn't take long as even though the night was cool, it was still summer. The dwarves didn't even put up their tents, wanting to sleep under
the stars.
Iorveth checked on his weapons then made sure that all the animals were cared for and then went to join the two groups in their celebration.
"Iorveth!!" Shouted Garads cousin, Alejek, as he saw Iorveth's approach. "Come sit with us here."
As Iorveth sat down he felt the conversation stall, "Have you been gossiping about me?" He asked jokingly.
“Do we look like the fucking priestesses of Melitele to you, lad?” screamed Garads' younger brother Jelik, who already tasted both the elvish mead and dwarven spirit, which someone gave to Iorveth in a funny-looking cup.
"If I drank twenty of these maybe," said Iorveth loudly to match Jeliks' voice as he threw back the shot. It burned on its way down. His funny-looking cup was filled right away. The good mood was infectious to the dwarves, as they were not normally so generous with their liquor.
"I've heard you're traveling mercenary from the south, Iorveth," said Vaeldeith in a much calmer tone. He cast a glance at Iorveth who was seen by many walking into the camp armed with his swords and bow.
Iorveth nodded after he took the second shot, hoping he will get another one just as fast. "I spent most of my life traveling the continent. Life of a mercenary suits me well.”
It hurt a little, saying that. He wept a little on the inside for himself. A Vrihedd veteran, a scoia'tael commander reduced to a mere mercenary. He now made his way by telling false stories about his life.
"What are we celebrating?" Iorveth asked.
There was a short pause, their meadow neighbors looked confused. The dwarves must have not asked yet.
"Ah, there is no occasion," Vaeldeith said, "only hope that we find a save haven in Cintra."
This news surprised Iorveth as he knew Cintra only as a horrible place full of some of the most vile and cold-hearted of dh'oine, with the worst living conditions for any other race.
"By the look on your face, you must not believe Francesca's messengers, Cym'al¹." The old elf looked disappointed.
"The word just hasn't reached us yet," said Garad honestly, "Care to share the good news?"
“Francesca found herself a good companion to the Nilfgaards sorceress. They together with Filavandrel organized a refuge inside Cintras walls.” said one of the elves trying to get some more alcohol from their table.
“The sorceress and our queen have worked out a deal. We’re getting a city to call our own, courtesy of Nilfgaard.”
The Nilfgaard making deals with Francesca part wasn’t surprising to the squirrel commander but the rest sounded like nonsense to him. Nilfgaard wasn't known for giving out land for free, no dh'oine kingdom was.
"Which sorceress?" He asked, now sounding more skeptical.
"Fringilla Vigo, she is a friend to our people."
"I've never met a sorceress with friends," Iorveth scoffed at even the idea. "They probably beat the concept of friendship out of them with a stick in Aretuza."
"Met many sorceresses, Iorveth?" Garad asked jokingly. "After Sodden, you can easily pick one that we wouldn't be able to tell us if you're lying."
Laughter sounded around the table.
"Sorceresses and sorcerers care for our language and history, not our present-day plight. They care about power and sucking the cock of the highest king." Iorveth was not backing down. He was not sure he knew how.
"Thaess aep!" One of the elves hissed. "Our queen practices magic too, she uses her arcane knowledge to our benefit."
Iorveth, in opposition, did not have much love for their queen, if one could even call her that. She rules the land that he and his vrihhed brothers fought hard for only to never set foot there. She is now only a nilfgaardian dutches, no queen, and certainly not his.
At least in the world he comes from.
Iorveth held his tongue between his teeth. He didn't want to fight with his brethren, not over something that brought him so much grief. Maybe Francesca was a strong ruler here, able to negotiate Cintran land with Nilfgaard without any sacrifice. Maybe, maybe, maybe. At the end of the day, he did not know one way or the other.
But they must have seen his sour face as the conversation stalled yet again. The dwarves went to work asking silly questions about the weather and such to bring the mood back up again.
"I've heard that sorceresses are very pretty." said a small confused voice from under the table. It startled Iorveth and the dwarves but Vaeldeith quickly dove under and came out with a small child in his arms.
It was a cute little girl with pointy ears but she was only half-elven. She looked at Iorveth all of a sudden too shy to speak.
A young dark-skinned elf came swiftly and took her from Vaeldeith. "Thank you, Dara,” he said as the youth took the little girl away.