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Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Heavy pieces of masonry flew past Grim’s head at a rather alarming speed. The ballistae and trebuchets of King Foltest were no children’s toys. They were siege engines, designed to tear down solid stone walls, lay waste to forests and penetrate the strongest of defences. Unfortunately, being in the middle of the chaos on the King’s side meant that Grim’s dark hair was now full of alkaline mortar and white brick dust, and all she could think about, while crouching behind a flimsy wooden barricade with overweight and unfit Temerian soldiers, was how drying it would be on her locks. A good looking soldier in his late forties had offered her a helmet. He’d said a pretty face like hers should be protected. 

“Then make sure your sword strikes true,” she’d said with a small smile. She knew she was beautiful, breathtakingly so, and could charm the scales off an adder with only a smile. She wished she could see that beauty for herself, but that just wasn’t possible anymore.

Grim had stepped over that same soldier’s dead body just a few moments ago, pinned beneath a massive piece of stone, his face swollen and bloodied from the damage to his chest and stomach. 

Finally the dust and shrapnel settled and the soldiers emerged. Grim jogged away from them and through a gateway that opened up before a massive chasm. A colossal wooden drawbridge was opposite the chasm and was fully drawn up. King Foltest stood in front of Geralt and Triss, yelling at a La Valette soldier to drop the bridge. It was almost comical to see the ridiculously dressed monarch (even his crown was solid steel, covering the top of his head lest a stray bolt puncture his skull) shaking his fist at the man high on the battlement walls in front of him.

“There you are. Not making friends with soldiers, I hope?" Geralt said, turning to Grim, knowing how easily she could make friends. He was a little jealous at the way people just gravitated towards her and liked her right off the bat. 

She smiled at them both while readjusting her sword belt across her chest. “No, got held up by the falling bits of the castle.” Grim sneezed twice and excused herself. 

Triss giggled and brushed some dust off Grim’s black leather and steel plate covered shoulders and patted it out of her hair. Geralt had been given a Blue Stripes jacket by the king, a way of showing that the Witcher was on his side, but Grim had politely declined. She refused to wear lilies and the king would just have to respect that. Geralt had even touched Foltest’s shoulder in a silent, but firm gesture that Grim would not be swayed, and the king had mercifully dropped the subject. 

A cry brought their attention back to the scene before them and the bridge was suddenly falling very quickly. So was the man the king had been shouting to. The bridge smashed into the ground and made it shake, throwing up yet another plume of dust, brown this time, but Triss created a barrier to shield them and her king from more sneeze-inducing irritants. Across the long bridge, a tall man dressed in a handsome blue gambeson, a heavy chainmail shirt, shining grieves, and a ridiculous black chaperon was walking quickly to meet the king halfway across the bridge. Grim saw the man bow slightly to Foltest and they had a few quick words and gestures before Geralt and Grim both looked to their left at the same time. The wolf head medallions around their necks were vibrating, warning them of oncoming danger, and the distinct tremor of magic. 

“Cross now! ” Grim yelled, and Geralt was already pushing Triss forward in front of him. The man in blue had his arm around the king and was practically shoving and then dragging Foltest away and across the bridge. Shouts went up all around and a sudden blazing hot yellow light filled the space where they had just been standing. 

A dragon, an actual fire breathing dragon had swooped down from the sky and was roasting Temerian soldiers alive, cooking them in their steel armour. 

Grim sprinted across the bridge and into the inner keep behind everyone else, which didn’t provide much cover since it was built from bare wooden beams. The small group made their way carefully in between the burning wood and the dragon came again, pouring liquid fire directly onto them, forcing them further and further towards a stone wall with a heavy wooden gate that was at least ten metres high. The heat was unbelievable and Grim felt the thin skin on her lips immediately dehydrate. Grim could hear the man in blue shouting something to Geralt and Geralt replying something that sounded like, “You run!” 

It was more chaotic than the battle outside the walls had been, since there hadn’t been unpredictable and inescapable fire involved there, just blood and people and swords and spears.

Grim found herself ducking a swipe from the dragon’s tail and rolling forward, coming up on her feet swiftly and pressing her back flush to the stone as another trail of fire sizzled right past her face. She had bitten her lip badly and spat blood out of her mouth.

“Is it true you Witchers don’t hunt dragons?” asked a smooth, deep voice from next to Grim. She jumped a little at it, not expecting it to be so close. Dark brown eyes peered at her intently from under heavy brows. The man in blue, he was right next to her, so close she could smell his sweat and see the stubble on his chin and cheeks. He was ruggedly handsome with a long straight nose and a strong jaw, and fine crows feet just starting to show at the corners of his almond shaped eyes. She could imagine the ladies around Vizima pawing at him for his attention, however fleeting and false it may be. 

“Yes, that’s true,” Grim said, wiping the sweat, soot and blood off her face. Her hair had come undone a little from its neat bun, and now stuck to her forehead and cheeks like dark brown tentacles. 

“Ha…This one doesn’t seem to know that,” the man said with an amused and charming smile. He was still staring directly into Grim’s hazel eyes. 

“It probably ate the messenger,” she said with slightly narrowed eyes. She knew exactly what this man’s game was, but the lilies on the ugly silver chain around his neck did not work in his favour towards her, so she was as stiffly polite as possible. As she was with all patriotic Temerians. 

The man gave out a surprised chuckle and Grim swept past him, seeing the dragon had retreated quite far into the distance now.

“Did you see that, Geralt? It was a dragon !” Grim shouted with giddy glee, climbing onto the sad remains of the wooden battlements to watch it soar over the mountains. And then it did a U-turn and flew right back towards them.

“I saw it, Grim, damn thing nearly killed us, in case you didn’t notice,” Geralt said drily. Triss had already made the wooden gate explode into huge splinters and Geralt had to practically pry Grim off the stand she had found, shaking his head with a fond smile at his wolf sister. Even King Foltest had a chuckle at her childlike curiosity and wonder amidst all the death and chaos surrounding them. 

“Come on, little scorpion; that furnace with wings is coming back at a hell of a speed!” Geralt said, letting go of her steel covered waist and pushing her forwards.

An almighty rumble shook the once-solid stone walls of the hoarding. The dragon had crash landed right above them, causing the stones to collapse, and Triss’s quick thinking saved them from a cave in. The falling stones from the dragon’s weight were suspended in midair.

“ Quickly! The bridge is burning!” shouted the patriot in blue.

“Go now! I can teleport myself to safety! Go! ” shouted Triss, frozen in place with concentration. 

Sprinting across the little burning bridge, flames quite literally lapping at their ankles, Foltest, Geralt and the man in blue were a little ahead of Grim and reached the next solid stone walkway before her, but they stopped dead in their tracks when the dragon landed directly in front of them with another crash, its dull green and brown scaled head and piercing yellow eyes leerning at the meal in front of it. It was not a pretty dragon or handsome by any degree, but it was magnificent. 

Grim didn’t think, she just acted. While she ran, a spear of ice materialised in her left hand and she threw it like a javelin with all the force in her body. It listened to her will and flew straight, splitting into small, terribly sharp daggers that pierced the dragon right between its armoured scales and made it shriek in pain. The reptile took flight again with a heavy beating of its wings, retreating off into the clouds.

“How’d you do that, Grim?” Geralt asked her. The drawbridge was being lowered as they spoke.

“I have no idea,” she said, panting slightly. She looked down at her hand. It was pale and wet, cold and numb from holding the solid ice. 

“Who cares how she did it? You’re a damn hero , girl!” said Foltest, his obnoxious and arrogant tone making something ugly rear its head in Grim’s chest and ring a very distant bell in her memory that she just couldn't place…

‘Do not call me ‘girl’,’ she wanted to snarl at the king, but she just kept her lips tightly shut and bowed her head to him politely, accepting his compliment. The patriot was staring at her in wonder, and was going to speak to her when his king beckoned him onwards. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

A monastery was on the other side of the next bridge. It was a beautiful stone building with cream walls and a red tiled roof. Grim was glad it hadn’t been knocked down in Foltest’s enthusiasm. The building itself, however, was safely tucked behind a very imposing wooden gate that was tightly shut. Grim could probably have burst through the gate the same way Triss had, but her magic was unknown and slightly unpredictable. She also noticed that the wooden beams of the gate’s perimeter were not part of the gate and in fact supported the walls themselves. Blowing this gate off its proverbial hinges would just cause another collapse.

Just in front of this gate was a small team of well armed and armoured men. The Blue Stripes, Temeria’s special forces task team. Grim almost snorted. Elite force fighting for the good of Temeria in all sorts of covert operations to some, elf killers and genocidal madmen to others, herself included. And the blue clad man, Vernon Roche, was in charge of the small team of psychopaths. 

“Report!” Vernon Roche snapped at one of his commandos, a man who kept his hood up.

“Fighting for the castle continues, and a group of rebels have barricaded themselves inside the monastery.”

“What of my children?” Foltest asked.

“Likely in the church as well, Sire. Fenn took a priest to task, finally mumbled something about a passage ‘neath the walls,” said the hooded commando with a frown.

“It would take a week to get a battering ram in here,” Foltest said, clearly irritated.

“Axes, Sire?” his boot licking lackey asked. It was sickening to see the loyalty this seemingly intelligent man had for his cruel king, the king who had ordered elves slain in thousands. Geralt had asked Grim to accompany him on this mission as his own bodyguard, because he didn’t trust the king, and Grim had obliged purely to keep Geralt alive. But Geralt knew better than to tell her to put her ideals and opinions away and behave herself. He also hated Foltest for his horrible laws and cruelty towards nonhumans. What were Witchers after all if not nonhumans themselves? 

“That will also take time, but what other course do we have? This priest…What of him? What of this passage?” asked Foltest.

“He fainted ‘fore I could really get going on ‘im. He’s under guard now, below,” said Fenn, sounding somewhat disappointed that he had been cheated out of torturing a holy man.

“You’ve some work to do, commander,” said Foltest meaningfully, turning to the man beside him. 

“Yes Sire,” Vernon Roche said just before he stalked off to torture another human being. The glint of glee in his beautiful brown eyes and his murderous smirk made Grim feel sick. He nodded to Grim as he walked by her, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

“Geralt, Grim, I’ve a mission for you both, one suited to your abilities. Vernon can be persuasive, but he’s also hot-tempered, at times losing both his self-control, and his subject. You two must try to find this other passage on your own. Succeed, and you’ll be the envy of all Vizima,” Foltest said, speaking with such grandeur that anyone would think he was bestowing some great honour on the humble monster slayers. This time, it was not only Grim who had to contain her snorting. Geralt almost looked appalled by the idea. 

“Shouldn’t we just wait for Vernon?” Geralt asked. “He might come through faster than we will.”

“Geralt’s got a good point, this town is pretty big. We don’t even know where to begin looking for this passage,” Grim said, not that she was at all eager to see Vernon Roche again for as long as she lived. 

“Vernon may not come through at all, these people are loyal to their lords. Now, explore the area. Find a way through.” And Foltest dismissed them with a royal wave of his hand. 

The Witchers walked down the small hill and out of sight of the men at the gate. The Blue Stripes were hacking at the thick wood and the sounds echoed in the town below. Petrified peasants were being corralled by the invading Temerians and the sight made Grim’s stomach churn, but she kept her cool and followed Geralt.

“If this passage does go beneath the walls of the church it’ll probably be connected to a well and sewer system,” Geralt said, turning down a narrow street littered with corpses.

“The sewers ?” Grim cried out. 

Geralt just gave her a shit-eating grin.

"I'll owe you a lot for this, little scorpion."

"Oh, you have no idea…" 

Twenty minutes later, Vernon Roche was stomping back up to his king. 

“The damn monk was an ingrate. He’s dead. I couldn’t get the location of the tunnels out of him, Sire.”

“Not to worry, look! The Witchers have made it through!” Foltest cried in triumph, throwing his fist in the air.

True enough, Vernon watched as Geralt made his way forward through a throng of soldiers defending the monastery’s courtyard, Grim close behind him. Watching them fight was a spectacular privilege, especially Grim. She did not fight like a warrior at all, in fact, she danced through the fight. Her sword strokes were very strong and accurate, her ducks and dives were well executed and confident, her follow throughs were lethal. Though she was not a short woman by any means, only a head shorter than Vernon himself, she was towered over by a La Valette knight who swung his sword at her head with alarming vigour. 

Vernon felt an urge to rush through the wooden gate before him and end the miserable sod’s life for daring to harm such a gorgeous woman. And gorgeous she was. Exceptional strength, speed and agility like that could only indicate a very well toned and sculpted body beneath her cruelly concealing armour. Her ears were adorned with multiple piercings, and her right nostril sported a tiny stone. The gems in all the bars, studs and rings shone brightly in the sun, throwing rainbow sparkles in the eyes of all who beheld her. Her hazel eyes were large and upturned, accentuated by thick black winged eyeliner that touched the tails of her dark eyebrows. She wore dark grey eyeshadow, beautifully blended towards her brow bone, the grey turning her hazel eyes more green than brown. A small nose, full cheeks, the most sensual full pink lips he had ever seen, and flawless pale white skin completed her beauty. There was a small divot in her bottom lip that Vernon wanted to trace with his tongue. 

“For fuck sake, Vernon, pick your jaw up off the ground,” Foltest whispered into his commander’s ear.

“My apologies, Sire. I was just admiring the Witcher’s fighting skills,” Vernon said after clearing his throat.

“Mmm? Which one exactly? The white haired Witcher or the gorgeous dark haired one?” Foltest asked, smirking smugly. 

Vernon shifted and jerked his head towards Grim who was pummeling the knight into the ground at her feet. 

“Can you really blame me, Sire? She is magnificent,” Vernon said, now watching Grim run up a wall and do a backflip with feline grace and agility, landing behind her attacker and sinking her sword between the man’s helmet and gorget. She was left-handed.

“Magnificent, ey? Vernon, I think you’re in love,” Foltest teased, nudging Vernon’s shoulder playfully.

Vernon flushed a little and looked away from the woman for a moment, composing himself.

The wooden gate suddenly began lifting and the Stripes moved forward as Grim and Geralt were taking care of the last few stragglers. Grim was currently sliding her sword very slowly out of a man’s thigh, right near his crotch.

“What did he do to deserve that fate?” Vernon asked from out of sword distance.

Grim turned to him. She was sweating, and yet her makeup had not budged even a millimetre. “He pulled my hair,” she said incredulously.

“Rude bastard,” said Vernon, giving the dying man a solid kick to the head. He almost sounded genuine when he said it and Grim gave a quiet huff of amusement.

Grim stood back to let the king and company pass, letting her hair down from the large metal butterfly shaped claw clip that was barely holding it all in its bun. Vernon stared, dumbstruck, as the dark brown locks, glossy and heavily scented with a sensual floral fragrance, tumbled down her back in long layers coming to an end just under her ample bum. She raked her fingers through the ends quickly to comb out a few tangles and then swiftly twisted it all back up into its secure bun. She plucked at her elegant side fringe a little, making sure it was in place, and then followed Geralt into the church building. The seductive way her wide hips swayed made Vernon’s knees wobble and his mouth water. 

Inside, it was mercifully cool and Grim felt the sweat on her face and neck drying instantly. The interior was beautifully decorated and in the centre of the circular room was a column that people were praying around, a shallow basin of water at its foot. The column had the most disturbing images of gods that Grim had ever seen. Grotesquely painted humanoids were looking down at their grovelling subjects, demanding prayer and sacrifice for their glorious mercy. 

'What a load of waffle,' Grim thought. 

"Arthur Tailles, erstwhile count of Nessvelt," Foltest said coolly, approaching a bald man in a bright blue doublet. He was thin and had a long scar slashed diagonally across his pinched, sour face. "I signed your sentence," Foltest continued. 

"Yes, but the baroness saw fit to pardon me. An awkward situation to be sure," said Tailles with barely contained sarcasm, his arms crossed in front of his chest in a manner of utmost disrespect. 

"Anais and Boussy… Where are they?" Foltest asked, his voice tight.

"The royal children?" Tailles mocked the king, his brows raised. 

"Don't test my patience, Tailles, and I'll grant you a quick death," growled Foltest. 

The monk hovering at Tailles' elbow suddenly thought it wise to put his two cents into the discussion. Honestly, Grim hadn’t even seen the purple hooded figure until he spoke.

"Confess, Foltest! Before the gods and the people! Boussy and Anais are the fruit of your loins! Bow to the gods and admit the truth!" 

It was all a bit too dramatic and pious for Grim's taste. And rather stupid since the king had just waged war on their castle, which practically announced that they were his children… 

Foltest, to his credit, completely ignored the monk. 

"You may not have noticed, Tailles, but I just took this town," said the king.

"Aided by murderers, sorcerers, a mutant for whom nothing is holy, and some painted whore playing with swords!" Tailles said, motioning to Grim. 

Grim's infuriated gasp and Geralt's quiet "Oh, shit," were the only warning that violence was about to occur. 

Grim wound up her left arm and punched Tailles solidly on the hinge of his jaw. The sickening crack echoed off the walls and he crumpled to the floor. Frightened screams and gasps filled the chapel, and were ignored. Grim stepped over Tailles’ unconscious form and spoke to the monk directly. 

"Where are the children?" she asked with false sweetness, showing off the two pairs wickedly sharp teeth in her mouth that Vernon hadn't noticed before. Gods, she had fangs, tips turned slightly towards the back of her mouth and all. Even two pairs of her bottom teeth were curved and very sharp. A thrill of excitement shot through Vernon at the thought of those fangs on his skin.

"The solar…They're in the solar," the monk said with a trembling voice, shaking with fear. 

"Thank you, good sir. Now be a dear, and find someone to clean those high windows up there; they are shamefully filthy," Grim said, and turned to the men gaping at her. 

"What? He called me a whore! " she said with an angry scowl. 

Vernon came forward and looked over Tailles' body. He whistled, low and appreciative. "You dislocated his jaw a good two inches. That's some punching power," he said with a tiny smirk at her. 

Grim shrugged and the group walked on towards the solarium. "There wasn't much to do in a snow-bound castle except train and learn. I'm still a shitty archer though," she said. She was just beginning to wonder if she'd judged the man too soon. 

Vernon's light laugh was real this time and even his commandos were exchanging glances and grinning. 

They all walked out on a narrow walkway between the church and the solar, the hot sunlight beating down on Grim's delicate, pale skin. She could almost feel her skin drying out as they walked and knew she'd need a long bath after this nonsense was over, and would probably have to make a drink to balance her hydration. Being Geralt's bodyguard was a very exhausting business! He was prone to getting himself into the most awful situations, even worse than Lambert sometimes.

Grim's thoughts of relaxing after the battle were rudely interrupted by someone yanking on her head, pulling her backwards, but she merely bent with the momentum, flicking her legs up into a handstand and kicking the now conscious Tailles solidly in the chest while upside down. He went tumbling down the stairs with muffled grunts and groans. 

Grim slowly righted herself and smoothed her fringe. 

"Can you teach me that?" one of the Blue Stripes asked in amazed shock. 

Grim let out a real laugh, dangerous fangs on show and nodded, hurrying forward to join the others. 

Then her medallion vibrated like mad. 

"The dragon's back!" yelled Foltest. 

Geralt was closer and he shielded Foltest, shepherding him forward and away from the dragon that crashed into the stone bridge, separating Geralt and Foltest from Grim and Vernon. The dragon turned to Grim's group and drenched them with fire. Grim threw up her hands instinctively, and a shield of ice cold air and water mixed together, repelling the fire and shielding herself and Vernon who had been knocked backwards clear off his feet when the dragon had crashed. 

Vernon got up slowly and stiffly, watching as Geralt shoved his silver sword through the dragon's mouth and seeing it fly away. Blood was trailing from its mouth freely. Foltest was safe and alive on the other side. 

"We have to go around to meet up with them. Do you know the way?" Grim asked Vernon. The other Stripes had run back for cover in the stairwell. 

Vernon looked at her with mild amusement. "You're always up for an adventure, aren't you?" 

"Depends on the adventure," Grim said politely. It wouldn’t do to piss off too many people in one day, in one castle. She wasn’t in the mood to fight her way out of her big mouth’s mistakes. Heads would roll and her relaxing bath would be even further away. 

She watched Vernon rub his stubbly jaw. He wore brown leather fingerless gloves that were studded with silver spikes. He grinned at her and then thrust forward his right hand. 

"Vernon Roche," he said. 

"Evangeline Graves," said Grim, shaking his hand tentatively, trying to dodge the spikes. 

"Evangeline Graves? Why abbreviate such a beautiful name to ‘Grim’?" 

"It's shorter. And it's the nickname my Witcher brothers gave me, so it just stuck." This was getting too personal and making her uncomfortable. 

"Come on, there's a way around on the other side of the monastery," Vernon said, seeming to sense her discomfort. 

He led her down some stairs and into a dark, cool corridor that she could have happily stayed in for hours and hours. Darkness was her friend and comforting ally after all. 

After about ten minutes of walking, voices and rushing footsteps made the pair turn and look down a bland corridor of whitewashed walls. 

"Evangeline Graves, you are under arrest for potentially co-conspiring to assassinate King Foltest. Your comrade, Geralt of Rivia, is in shackles for our noble King's death. He was found over Foltest's body with a blade drenched in blood, the King's throat slit. Shackle her now," commanded John Natalis, a high ranking officer. 

"What? " Grim said in furious anger. Dimeritium was slapped onto Grim's wrists and she was bodily hauled away down a narrow passage and into the cold, damp dungeons for interrogation. 

Vernon Roche, meanwhile, was having a quiet panic attack in the solarium, standing over the body of his dead, beloved king. Geralt of Rivia would be his responsibility, his charge to break with any and all means at his disposal. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Another loud, fleshy slap echoed around the dungeon. 

“You hit like a girl,” Grim snarled, tossing her hair out of her face. She had been stripped naked and bound to a wooden stool (a stool, I tell you) in thick metal chains made from pure Dimeritium. Supposedly the special metal was meant to bind a sorcerer’s powers, but Grim could still access her strange and misunderstood magic. She just chose not to use it. It would be a dangerous thing to do after all, and her chances of leaving the dungeon alive were very small. Two days had passed and she had not broken under the amateur torturer’s hand, because she had nothing to tell him. She was not involved in Foltest’s assassination in any way. Truly, politics and court life bored her to tears.

The thug in front of her sneered and pulled her hair, which had been relieved of its claw clip, making her neck crack and crane back at a horrible angle. She gritted her teeth, feeling her tendons protesting, and then the thug let go, shoving her head forward and down as footsteps approached.

John Natalis, the acting ruler and Constable of Temeria walked in and shut the wooden door behind him. He ran a hand over his bald head. He slowly traced his gaze over the filthy ground, stopping at her dirty bare feet, moving up her tattooed legs. Thankfully he didn’t linger long on her groyne, and her large breasts were covered by her hair. It was filthy and knotted to hell and back, but it was thick and covered her well.

“Well, it seems you’ve been giving us a hard time,” Natalis said, still standing, fidgeting. He was nervous.

“Perhaps it’s because I wasn’t involved?” Grim said sarcastically. 

Natalis was not looking her in the eye. He was looking somewhere just over the top of her head.

“You are clearly no stranger to torture and beating. And even starvation,” he said, swallowing uncomfortably.

“What gave you that idea?” Grim asked evenly.

“When you were brought here and stripped, the man doing so neglected to mention that you have terrible scars and a certain brand… He let it slip just a moment ago and I’ve come to see if what he said is true. Unshackle her and help her stand. Behave yourself, Miss Graves,” he warned sternly.

“ Doctor Graves,” she grumbled, feeling blood rush to her fingers and wrists. She was hauled to her feet roughly and her arms were thrust forcefully in front of her. 

Natalis was a pale man and went even whiter still at the sight of the insides of her arms. Beneath all the lovely tattoos were at least two hundred short, but deep cuts. Running up the middle of each arm was a very thick scar from cuts that were supposed to have been fatal. They began at her wrists, actually in the heels of her palms, and ended in the creases of her elbows. Natalis motioned for her arms to go down and he peered at the horrible brand on her lower stomach, the Temerian lilies burnt into her pale white skin right above her pubic mound. 

“Turn around,” Natalis said. “Move your hair out of the way, please.”

Grim did so and could imagine the look of horror in Natalis’s brown eyes. Her back had been slashed almost to the bone four years ago, and the scars certainly showed that it had been a long and painful healing process. Not even the loveliest tattoos in the world could cover those scars.

“You are free to go. You have been cleared of all suspicion and charges have been dropped. My deepest apologies for this, Doctor Graves.”

“You know who did this to me, don’t you?” Grim asked him over her shoulder. She heard him swallow very uncomfortably.

“Yes, I do. And… I’m glad you gave them what they deserved. Now, if you don’t mind my boldness, we could really use a good doctor at the field hospital. If you are willing, of course,” Natalis said. He gave a stiff, embarrassingly apologetic nod and left. 

“Wait, what about Geralt?” she called.

“Geralt of Rivia is going to be questioned shortly by Vernon Roche himself. Hopefully this can all be resolved before the end of the week.”

Grim had been given a robe to wear and her bags had been brought up from her tent near the battlefield. She was guided out of the dungeons and into the servant’s quarters of La Valette castle which was now swarming with Temerians. Everyone was either grieving or gossiping. She was shown to a small wash room and given a towel that should have been a rag at least two years ago. 

Once she was relatively presentable, hair and makeup in place, face bruised and full of cuts, Grim found her way to the field hospital just outside the castle gates. It was nowhere near as chaotic as she had expected. And clearly, Natalis had made sure word spread quickly that she was not a suspect, because people were treating her with a modicum of respect, and more than a little curiosity. 

“Excuse me? May I help in any way? I’m a trauma surgeon,” Grim said to the skinny harried little grey haired man who was stitching a wound with shaky hands.

“Oh bless you, dear, you must be Grim, the one the Constable spoke of. Yes, he said you might come. Please, just start anywhere, anywhere you see necessary,” he said, so grateful for another professional around. 

Grim did as he bid and removed her swords, clad in her black leather pants, boots, belts, and her comfortable long sleeved cotton shirt. Everything was black and hugged her figure, showing off powerful, large muscles, and a tiny waist. It looked as though she had been wearing corsets from birth.

All through that day she tended to the wounded, saving a good many lives through her modern techniques and medicine. She wore five leather pouches buckled to her thighs, clipped to one of her black belts from which she withdrew many syringes filled with various liquids. Each had an extremely fine and lethally sharp needle, and the soldiers were grateful to have those instead of the thick and blunt needles the medic used. 

“Where on earth did you find such an excellent anaesthetic?” asked the head surgeon, the little man from earlier. He marvelled at the way the clear fluid numbed the skin and let them stitch and work faster without their patients flinching and fidgeting in discomfort. He also enjoyed her use of tools rather than her bare hands when moving the curved needle through the skin. 

“I manufactured it. I don’t have the formula with me unfortunately, and this is all I brought for the battle,” Grim said, and it was only half a lie. She knew the formula in her head, but she wasn’t about to just give it away to the aid of Temerian soldiers. Besides, if he started asking questions and digging deeper, she’d have to reveal that she was from the 21st century and had been flung into this world through a rogue portal almost five years ago. And people were generally very uncomfortable when she told them that little truth.

“Space for one more?” a familiar voice asked from behind Grim. She had been making notes on her patient's charts and didn’t turn immediately.

“How can I help you?” she asked, her voice just a touch icy as she regarded Vernon Roche standing in black mourning garb. He still wore his stupid chaperon, but he did look very dashing in black. It was the day of Foltest’s funeral, and every noble and peasant from Kovir to the Yaruga had arrived to pay homage to the fallen monarch. 

“I’ve got a deep gash on my forearm, damn thing hurts like hell and won’t seem to close properly so it just keeps bleeding,” Vernon explained. He looked tired. Very tired, and his arrogance had abated just a little. This, Grim could tolerate.

“Have a seat and please roll up your sleeve. I’ll be with you shortly.”

Vernon did as instructed and watched Grim move about, studying the gorgeous, strong physique he knew was hidden under all that steel and leather. He had not expected her to be able to conceal such large breasts under her cuirass. Even queen Meve and Calanthe’s armour had been moulded to create space for their breasts. Baffling.

Grim sat across from Vernon and didn’t bother looking at him. He could have come to her defence at any moment to tell them that she had been at his side and couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with Foltest’s murder. But he hadn’t bothered. He hadn’t even tried to put in a word towards her defence.

‘So fuck you, and the horse you rode in on,’ Grim thought spitefully, while she gently injected small amounts of clear anaesthetic around the long gash on his left forearm. It was indeed a bad cut, and would likely become infected soon. It was inflamed from constantly opening itself and oozed and bled freely onto the linen saver she had placed under Vernon’s strong, hairy arm.

“Relax your hand please,” she said quietly. 

Vernon - no, Roche, since he didn't deserve Grim’s respect or friendliness - placed his hand flat on the table and looked on with curiosity as she threaded a needle. Not once did she touch it with her bare hands, but used two pairs of hemostats to handle the sterilised needle. 

The cleaning process was completely painless and she was very quick. She even plucked out the tiniest sliver of metal that was likely the cause of such irritation. The stitching went quickly and silently, the only sounds around them being the other patients and the wind outside, softly rustling the canvas roof. 

“How is Geralt doing?” Grim asked eventually, doing a final clean and applying a blob of beeswax balm over the stitches.

“He’s fine. Strung up and ready to answer more of my questions tomorrow. Care to say anything in his favour?” Roche asked smugly. 

‘Ah, give a man a little bit of anaesthetic and the arrogance comes back.’

“Oh please, Geralt is probably the last person to give a damn about kings and courts and politics. And he would never kill Foltest, that’s just ridiculous. He had nothing to gain from doing this, commander, and absolutely everything to lose. The real murderer is far away by now, and you’re wasting time interrogating an innocent man,” she said quite calmly, though not without difficulty.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we, Evangeline?” 

Oh, she did not like his tone of voice, or the way he spoke her name. Oh no, she did not like that at all. She quickly dressed the wound in one of her incredible inventions, a piece of sticky bandage that would adhere to the skin without needing patients to be wound halfway to mummification, and quickly left him sitting there with a strange expression on his face.

The next day it dawned bright and warm. It was a really lovely spring morning and Grim went into the woods nearby to stock up on her herbs and willow bark and to just get away from the stench and unfortunately crass habits of male soldiers. She found a tree stump to sit on and closed her eyes, listening to the birds chirping and the breeze making the trees whisper and sigh. 

Everything spoke to her then; the water from the nearby stream, the mossy rocks, the little mushrooms at the base of the tree stump. Everything had a spirit and she connected to them all on a very deep level. She didn't know how. Nobody did. But that was simply how her strange magic worked. It was not a manipulation of nature, rather just asking it for help and nature responding to her needs. 

The day passed slowly, and Grim was anxious to hear news about Geralt. She was even committed to finding Roche willingly just to ask after Geralt. That evening, she could not eat from sheer nerves and annoyance, so she paced up and down, watching the last few rays of the sun dip below the distant mountain peaks. Then she huffed and turned on her heel mid step and bodily walked straight into Roche himself. 

He caught her by her shoulders, steadying her. "Easy there. Where were you going in such a hurry?" 

"I was coming to ask you about Geralt. Has anything been decided?" she asked, frantically wringing her hands. 

Roche looked over his shoulder and ushered her deeper into the medical tent. His hands were still on her shoulders, but she was so sick with worry, she didn't care. 

"Geralt and I have spoken at length," Roche almost whispered. "He is not guilty. Another Witcher, probably in the employ of the Scoia'tael, is the assassin. Geralt says he saw Scoia’tael down by the river on the day of the siege.”

“Yes. He and I both saw them. They wore blue and white striped masks,” Grim said, nodding.

Roche also nodded. “Iorveth’s unit. We have a lead to follow, and Geralt is going to break out of prison. He will meet me at the docks, on the Blue Stripes' ship named Percival." He stopped here and let go of her shoulders, rubbing a hand over his stubbly cheeks and jaw. 

"You're helping him... You never really believed he had done it, did you?" Grim asked, so relieved she could have cried. 

"No, I knew in my gut he hadn't done it. Like you said, he had nothing to gain from it, and everything to lose." Then Roche fixed Grim with a smouldering look she just knew he used on all the ladies he wanted to seduce. And it was very attractive indeed. 

He stepped forward slowly and she realised he had walked her into a corner so she couldn't escape. He gently took her left hand in both of his and he kissed her knuckles the way a lover would. Heat soared through Grim's body as it had never done before and she narrowed her eyes and stiffened. This was not good. 

Roche lifted his head and his eyes were hazy when they locked with hers again. "I sail at dawn," he said and bowed his head to her. He walked slowly from the tent, probably hoping Grim would run after him and beg him to stay. Alas, she was not an ordinary girl who was easily swayed by handsome men and their flirting. She was not an ordinary anything . And Vernon Roche knew that, didn’t he? He was trying to seduce her, trying to win her affections so that he could display her on his arm, another trophy, another achievement to be put above his mantleplace and polished, spoken about like a great victory. 

Grim pulled a sour face and began packing her things, leaving a letter of instructions and advice to the head surgeon before leaving.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 

Finding the docks was easy, even for Grim who struggled to find her way out of a wet paper bag. Cities and even small towns were a nightmare for her to navigate, but the constant screech of sea birds and the smell of the briny water were easy to pick up and follow.

Triss was waiting for her, speaking to Vernon Roche on the deck of a beautiful warship, the Percival . It was all dark wood and blue and white striped sails, a huge lily dominating the middle of the mainsail. Grim quickly boarded, giving Triss a long, tight hug. Triss had lost her home, her job and her king all in the space of one afternoon. Grim knew how some of that felt. Intimately.

Grim stroked Triss’s hair and Triss told her not to fret, that they would find the real killer and all would be well again. Triss then left to wait for Geralt further up the wharf.

“I’m glad you came,” Roche said, taking Grim’s bags from her. 

Grim nodded politely at his enthusiastic approach. “I hope this plan of yours works, commander,” Grim said quietly. 

“So do I,” he said, leading her into the large hold of the ship. Roche had his own quarters in a spacious cabin, but his team slept either on the floor in bedrolls or in hammocks hanging everywhere towards the back of the ship.

“There is enough space in my cabin for you, if you prefer privacy,” Roche said, and Grim didn’t miss the slightest hint of hope in his voice. 

“After the wonderfully warm and considerate treatment at the hands of your torturers, privacy and shyness just don’t seem to bother me anymore,” Grim said calmly, taking her bags from his hands and finding a vacant corner far away from his cabin, and well out of his sight. She saw him clench his fist and his jaw, but he kept his mouth shut.

'Maybe if you'd bothered to stand up for me and convinced your torturers of my innocence, I would have taken you up on the offer,' she thought sourly. She had almost decided that he was an alright person after all, until she had been arrested right in front of him, and all he'd done in her defence was stand there with a mouthful of teeth. Fucker. 

Geralt finally arrived just after first light, La Valette castle burning to the ground in his wake, and Triss and Grim sat with him, treating his wounds and stitching his skin, filling him in on everything that had happened. Triss sat with Geralt late into that night after they had been sailing for a good many hours, telling him stories about his life, his romance with Yennefer and about the girl, Ciri. Grim stayed below deck (or rather she stayed exactly opposite of Vernon Roche whenever she could) and kept her head down, working on medicine and new inventions, writing numerous notes and ideas down in her black leather bound journal. Several members of the Stripes tried to engage her in conversation, and she'd heard more than a few snippets of crass comments aimed at her, as well as badly hidden suggestive looks and gestures, but she politely declined and told them she had much work to do. 

“Is that a rabbit? Gods, it is a rabbit. Alright, why is there a live rabbit on my ship?” Roche shouted down the stairs, irritibly.  

“She’s mine,” Grim said from behind Roche, making him freeze in his steps. It felt good to know that she could creep up on him. 

“ She ?” Roche asked, frowning.

“Yes, ‘she’. This is Bugs. Bugs Bunny. Triss portaled her here from Kaer Morhen for me,” Grim said, scooping up a rather small black rabbit into her arms and hugging it closely. Bugs had one white sock on her left front paw and a white blaze over her nose. She was a beautiful little rabbit and seemed content in her owner’s arms.

“Sorry, she won’t get out again. I think she was desperate for some sunshine,” said Grim, rubbing Bugs’ head.

Roche watched how Grim’s face softened and observed her kissing and cuddling the little bundle of fluff. It was very sweet to watch such a hard woman being motherly to a small animal. And Roche seized his chance.

“No need to apologise, but do keep her contained. She - might get eaten. May I touch her?” 

“Sure. She loves her head and cheeks being rubbed, and her ears.”

Roche stroked the little creature’s head tentatively, feeling the impossibly soft fur under his calloused fingertips. When he stopped rubbing Bugs’ head, she immediately nudged his hand for more.

“She’s a bit of a diva. Very bossy, as you can see,” Grim said fondly, rubbing Bugs’ ears. The bunny licked her lips and her whiskers tickled the backs of Roche's fingers.

“She is rather demanding. Keep her close, Grim,” Roche said and walked off as two of his commandos approached, clearly needing to speak to him. His manner changed completely when speaking to his men, one of whom was actually a pretty woman with short blonde hair and a contemptuous expression. The front of her shirt was completely open and she wore nothing underneath it to Grim’s horror. 

Other than Bugs Bunny’s little Houdini act, nothing of note happened on board The Percival that day. Grim stayed away from Roche and his Stripes and she and Triss discussed medicines and elixirs. That evening Grim ascended the stairs from the hold out onto the deck and sat near the mast, drawing the sunset in her sketchbook.

“My, you’re quite the artist,” Roche said from behind her. His tone was surprisingly honest.

How long had he been standing there watching her drawing? She had been there for maybe half an hour, trying to keep up with the rapidly setting sun, capturing its rays and the clouds in red, purple, yellow and gold hues. 

“Thank you,” Grim said distractedly, not turning to face him. Her gaze was locked on the sky.

“You couldn’t have chosen a more mesmerising sunset, my dear. It’s very romantic,” Roche said, coming to stand right next to where she was sitting cross legged on a huge spool of rigging.

The joy in his voice was a little unnerving, especially the way the pitch changed as he called her ‘my dear’. 

“It is lovely. I had to capture it, preserve this little slice of time. Watch out, Bugs is about to eat your shoe laces,” said Grim, making a mental note to feed Bugs extra blueberries for saving her from this awkward situation. 

Roche moved back quickly and Grim scooped Bugs up into her lap. “Now you sit there and be a good girl, okay?”

And the bloody rabbit did exactly that. Roche wondered if it had anything to do with the strange magic Grim possessed, a sort of command over the elements.

"Do you think this looks accurate from what you remember of the dragon?" Grim asked casually, flipping to a previous page in her sketchbook. 

The stern look on Roche's face said he did indeed. He nodded, his calloused fingers reaching out and ghosting over the serpent's yellow eyes. 

"Gods, it's like it's going to leap off the very page…Bloody dragon nearly turned the tide of the battle," he said in a half whisper. "You are exceptionally talented, Grim," he said with a real smile, showing pearly white teeth. 

Grim blushed a little and mumbled her thanks, cursing her body for its betrayal. Roche definitely saw the fine dusting of rose over her full white cheeks and his smile only widened, dark lashes fluttering slightly as he looked down at her. He was dashing.

To try and conceal her shame, Grim cleared her throat and spoke.

“I don’t think it was a dragon at all. You said so yourself that it was only attacking the Temerian army… I think it may have been a person capable of polymorphy, the ability to transform into animals or monsters. It could well have been an exceptionally powerful mage. It’s only a theory, but it does make a bit of sense, since no beast or monster is able to really tell friend from foe when it’s completely surrounded by humans. That dragon thought and planned , and attacked accordingly.”

Roche frowned. “A mage, you say? I’ll send word back to Vizima about that. Thank you, Grim,” he said with a serious tone.

Grim nodded and flipped back to her sunset drawing and carried on colouring in the water and the distant mountain ranges, ignoring the commander who eventually wandered off. The look of hope and glee on his face was almost comical when Grim called out for him to wait.

“I need to check your wound and redress it just now. Come find me when you’re ready,” Grim said, and Vernon nodded with an eager little smirk that made Grim feel hot and uneasy at the same time. He was very good at this game, but Grim didn't know the rules, and she would never be able to let her guard down to anyone, any potential lover, especially not him. 

Luckily, the commander didn’t try to flirt with her further since some of his men were engaged in a heated discussion of crossbow mechanics and Roche joined them, shouting over their heads and enjoying the banter. His loud laughter was hollow and cruel and made Grim panic slightly, old memories surfacing to cause her pain. Geralt caught her eye and gave her a nod to say that she would be alright. 

The bit of reassurance made cleaning and redressing Roche's wound a far more tolerable affair than Grim could have hoped for. When she was done, most of the argument was over and she said a firm goodnight to Roche. She crawled into her bedroll and lay on her stomach, tucking blueberries into a mountain of Timothy hay for Bugs to find. 

Since Roche estimated that they would arrive in Flotsam’s territory somewhere around noon, Grim had made sure to keep her supplies close at hand and pack up quickly and carefully the next morning. Triss had volunteered to stay behind to make sure Bugs would be alright and to look after all Grim’s precious medical equipment, some of which was from her world and was invaluable on the Continent. Roche, Geralt and Grim would go ashore at the beach since the port was blocked by a beast called the Kayran, according to Roche's informer in Flotsam. They were in for a short walk in very dangerous territory and Roche refused to lower the sails that marked their arrival, like the arrogant, bloodthirsty hound he was. The Scoia’tael would no doubt see the massive “We’re here, come get us,” sails and be upon them in droves. Grim hated the idea of killing elves, and that was only half the reason she so despised Foltest and his stupid laws of segregation, oppression and genocide. But she would defend herself if it came to that. Hopefully, she could get away with just knocking a few elves unconscious.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Noon arrived in a nervous hurry. Grim had changed into different armour, still black steel and black leather, but adorned with magnificent steel scales down each arm. It looked like she was wearing metal dragon scales, glinting dangerously in the sunlight. Her hair was in a long braid that Triss had helped her with and was pinned to her head carefully to keep it away from any stray swords. Around Grim’s hips were her several belts of secondary weapons, bombs, and a few extra potions for Geralt. In the leather pouches securely buckled to her thighs were syringes filled with various painkillers and coagulants should they be needed during the battle. Grim kept them on her constantly. Being a Witcher was hazardous enough, but being Geralt’s bodyguard while he decided to protect a crappy king…

“Come on, time to go,” Roche announced, swinging himself over the edge of the ship and into the freezing water below. He swore and cursed the gods for the cold and Grim smirked at the thought of his balls all shrivelled up. Grim didn’t mind the cold. She was happiest when she was surrounded by water, no matter the temperature.

“Keep your eyes and ears open, and focus. Iorveth and his Scoia’tael rule this forest. They’ll kill us all in a blink,” Roche said as they began walking along the beach. It was a beautiful day, far too lovely to be attacked by elves, but Grim scanned the mighty trees and rock formations of the cliff to their right anyway. The forest and land around them was absolutely ancient, and Grim could feel the water, tree, and wind spirits welcoming her to their domain, whispering quietly, softly caressing her senses. 

Geralt would be the one to know about an attack first, with his excellent hearing, but it was in fact Grim who picked up something decidedly distinct from the bird calls, lapping water and sighing leaves.

“Someone’s playing a flute up ahead,” she said quietly, listening to the slow, gentle melody. It was a simple tune, but lovely nonetheless. 

“I smell an elf,” Roche said with far too much zeal through clenched teeth. Grim and Geralt cringed at the same time, and shook their heads at Roche.

Rounding a corner Grim spotted the elf in question sitting on a massive fallen down tree that was half submerged in the water. They would have to walk right under where the elf was sitting to follow the path to Flotsam. This had all been planned.

Roche stopped dead once they were a little closer, in the cool shade of the ancient trees. 

“That's…” Roche said in disbelief, his mouth hanging open as the last soothing note of the flute faded away.

“ Vernon Roche! ” the tall elf shouted theatrically, standing up gracefully on the trunk of the tree, tucking his flute away. His voice was very harsh and had a nasal quality. 

‘It’s Iorveth himself. Shit, I told Roche not to come into these waters with the damn sails open!’ Grim thought in a panic. This was not good at all. The elf in the green and brown gambeson, and distinctive red headscarf over the right side of his face was a well-known human killer. Grim had not expected him to be so…well, so beautiful . All the elves were beautiful, so she was told, but he was especially gorgeous. 

Tall and broad, with very pronounced cheekbones, a large Roman nose, and full lips. His left eye was a startling glittering green that Grim could easily see even from this distance. The right side of his face was hidden beneath a crimson headscarf that covered most of the ugly red scar which ran up from the corner of his top lip to his vacant right eye socket. A proud speckled brown feather was sewn into the fabric of the headscarf, tilted back behind his pointed right ear. A few strands of dark brown hair poked out from under the fabric. Grim couldn't stop staring at him.

His green gambeson ended mid-shin, and flared open at his neck leaving some of his chest very exposed, and showing off the intricate vine tattoo that wound up the left side of his tanned neck. Over the gambeson was a leather harness, similar to what Nilfgaardian soldiers wore, which had trophies from the defeated members of various special forces factions, and under that, a long shirt of chainmail very similar to the one Grim wore under her leathers, only Iorveth’s had an ornate hemline that zig zagged up and down, and no sleeves. There was a large mended patch of mail over his right ribs, undoubtedly the result of a stabbing. His right elbow was bare, probably to allow him better movement when pulling back his bowstring. 

Around his waist was a rather worn sky blue sash with a red trim about which his sword belt was clasped. His skin was tanned and flawless aside from the red scar, which only served to make him more enticing. Luscious eyelashes, thick, dark and curled, framed his eye. Grim felt her cheeks redden at the sight of such a beautiful, unearthly creature. She felt like she was standing before a god. 

“Special Forces Commander for the last four years! Servant of the Temerian King. Responsible for the pacification of the Mahakaman Foothills. Hunter of elves. Murderer of women and children. Twice decorated for valour on the field of battle -" 

"Iorveth! A regular son of a whore! " shouted Roche pointing towards the elf, interrupting his sarcastic applause. 

Grim raised her brows right into her hairline behind Roche and she was sure Iorveth saw her shocked reaction to the commander's rudeness. Roche was going to get them all killed. 

Iorveth ignored the rude jab and continued on, standing proudly with his broad chest puffed out, displaying the emblems of the Northern Special Forces units he'd destroyed himself. 

"I've long awaited our meeting. Laid plans, set traps… And now you appear in my forest of your own volition," Iorveth said grinning like the cat who caught the rat. 

'Ahh, that's it; his voice is nasally because of the broken cheekbone, right over his sinus cavity,' Grim concluded. Iorveth had jerked his head to the side and Grim could clearly see the indented shape below the covering. 

"You aided the man who slew my king!" Roche shouted back, going red in the face. Grim could see a few veins bulging in his temple. 

"King or beggar - what's the difference? One dh'oine less!" Iorveth spat through a snarky little laugh.

“Climb down and we’ll finish this! I await!” snarled Roche, his feet stamping the ground.

Iorveth looked very amused by the childish show of indignation. “You’re a man without honour, Vernon Roche - an insect I’ll not duel, but one that I will crush!”

‘You’ll certainly be doing me a favour,’ Grim thought with a disturbing amount of joy. Although, her snotty parents had always referred to her as a 'decidedly dark child'. 

Geralt piped up now, shifting forward a little. "Where's your unit? Dispersed by a raiding party?" 

"They're exactly where they should be. I assure you, no humans can surprise the Scoia'tael." Iorveth said it with such arrogance that Grim didn't doubt his word for a moment. 

"Since when do the Scoia'tael hire professional killers to do their dirty work? A dh'oine even…You've fallen low…" 

Oh shit, now Geralt was going to get them killed. Grim shifted her weight from foot to foot, terribly uncomfortable with the way this encounter was going. 

"A hired killer, true," Iorveth said, crossing his arms. "But in all certainty, he is no dh'oine."

"Don't make a big deal about the race thing," Geralt grumbled. Oh, he was definitely going to get them killed. 

"Yet race is the very reason we fight! We have pointed ears, yours are rounded. We are few, yet long-lived, your kind multiplies like vermin, though thankfully expires quickly. Humans and elves alike, trying to prove one shape is better than the other. Four hundred years of killing over the mould of the auricle." 

Grim smirked at Iorveth’s use of an anatomical term. It was so refreshing to find an intelligent life form in this century. 

Geralt really didn't have an argument for that so he changed the subject. 

"The kingslayer’s among you - We've come for him," said the White Wolf. 

"Then our interests collide," Iorveth said, throwing his arms out wide. He was very dramatic and moved a lot when he spoke. Evidence of deeply pent up aggression and rage. Grim noticed some of the teeth on his scarred side were chipped and must have been quite sharp against his tongue and cheek much like her own fangs were. "The kingslayer is under my protection, and I'll not hand over a guest."

"Oh please, you're just another old elf in a young elf's skin, using clever words to mask an obvious truth," Geralt said with a sigh. 

"Obvious, you say?" Now that piqued the elf's interest and he peered down at them through a narrowed eye. 

But Grim was the one who answered instead of Geralt. 

"This isn't about race or freedom at all... You're here, defending the kingslayer, because someone powerful sent him to you... Someone who's using you to meet their own ends, and there’s a very real possibility that it could be Nilfgaard again. There’s nobody else who would gain more from a disrupted North than Nilfgaard, after all," Grim spoke slowly, the pieces of the puzzle slipping together as the words left her mouth. 

She saw Iorveth pause just for a moment, the look in his peridot green eye unreadable. He considered her carefully before answering. Grim’s heart fluttered under his scrutiny. 

"Those times are gone… No one will ever use the Scoia'tael again," Iorveth said. The quality of his voice was firm, not as harsh, but still strong. 

Grim frowned slightly, the picture becoming clearer. "You didn't hire the Kingslayer… He did come to you, didn't he? And he hasn't told you the full extent of his plans or orders, has he? Yet I'm sure he's told you he's on your side, and you've given him access to all your hideouts and secret trails." 

"You're awfully talkative, dh'oine, but wrong all the same. As I said before, the Scoia'tael were used, I was used, but never again, and I've made damn sure of it," he sneered, his ruined lip curling back. 

Then his eye narrowed. 

"I heard all about you at the battle… The soldiers were lusting over an exceptionally beautiful woman, a female Witcher, a real fighter, who could slay twenty men in a matter of seconds, moving so fast she was a blur," Iorveth continued.

"What the - You had spies all over the battlefield?!" Roche spluttered in outrage. 

"Geralt and I did tell you that we saw Scoia’tael down by the river, Roche," Grim said with an exasperated tone. 

"Quiet, Grim," Roche snarled at her sternly. 

"Bitch, I'm not one of your soldiers," Grim snapped back angrily, fangs on display. She'd just been waiting for the perfect excuse to fight Roche, the bugger that he was, and her twenty first century mannerisms had slipped through. She had been quite enjoying Iorveth’s compliments before Roche broke the illusion. 

Although , Iorveth was only reporting what he had heard, not what he himself thought. Elves were notoriously disgusted by humans, dispite the growing number of interracial couples emerging. 

The commander was about to spit a retort in her face, but Iorveth interrupted them with a rather startled and genuine sounding laugh. 

" Oef , strong language there, Witcher. It's laughably easy to sneak past soldiers deep in their cups and up to their ears in anxiety shits, Roche. It was child's play to get in and listen to all the gossip around the castle. I have to make sure none of you are planning to ambush me after all," Iorveth said with an arrogant thrust of his chin. His attention shifted back to Grim. 

"I also heard that you gave one of the Temerian commanders a damn good clout for trying to kill La Valette peasants, innocent souls caught in a battle that wasn't theirs. Hm. At least some humans can still be honourable ," said the elf with a particularly long gaze at Grim. It was piercing, but not intimidating or hard. "Don't think that such a good deed will get you out of here scot free."

"That's a nasty threat, Iorveth. Who are you really addressing?" Geralt asked, and Grim scowled at him for interrupting her response. "Her, or yourself? You jealous, because you enjoy killing innocents and can hardly be called honourable yourself?" 

Iorveth’s full mouth pressed into a firm line and the good, but malicious humour in his eye faded away. 

"I do not enjoy killing, Gwynbleidd," he said in a voice full of strangled emotion. "I did everything I needed to do to survive and protect my people from you and this fiend's late king. May he rot in hell!" 

Everything happened very quickly then. Roche's simmering anger boiled over. Before anyone could answer, he shouted, "Filthy fucking elf! Die! " and threw a dagger towards Iorveth’s chest. Grim shouted " No! " and caught his arm as he released the blade, knocking it off course by just a few millimetres. 

" Spa’rle! " Iorveth yelled, gracelessly stumbling along the trunk, off balance from dodging the dagger. 

"Have you lost your mind, Grim?! They're coming for us now!" yelled Roche, unsheathing his sword. 

"Oh, and they wouldn't come for us if you had killed their leader?" she asked angrily. 

The air filled with a series of subtle vibrating noises and then a barrage of arrows hurtled towards the trio from far above their heads. 

Without thinking, without knowing how she knew, Grim held her arms up, palms to the sky and a see-through shield of white pearlescent light encased the group. The arrows came through the barrier, but turned into ash as they entered. 

The elves, dressed in handsome green and brown armour with gold embroidery, that had suddenly materialised on the top of the cliff looked at each other in confusion and then back at the barrier. A jerk of Iorveth’s head and a throaty grunt was all the indication they needed; they turned and were swiftly coming down to the shore. 

"Alright, move, now! Grim, how long can you keep the shield up for?" Roche shouted, keeping Grim in front of him and Geralt. 

"I don't know, my magic doesn't work like that; this is the first time I've done this!" she yelled back in annoyance, trying to concentrate. Her arms were quivering under the pressure of the magical shield and keeping it up and active was going to be a bloody nightmare. 

Roche was pushing her forward along the beach to Flotsam, while he and Geralt fought the Scoia'tael warriors who had come down to use their swords since they knew their arrows were useless. 

From the corner of Grim's eye she could see a figure leaping lightly from tree to tree. Turning her head, she saw it was Iorveth and he was looking directly at her. The look in his startling green eye was strange, conflicted in a way. Grim stopped staring and carried on walking, feeling her energy drain as she fought to keep the barrier up. More and more elves were falling to her companions' blades, more to Roche's than Geralt's, and then Iorveth gave an order in Elder Speech to have Grim killed. 

She looked at him in utter disbelief, and in that moment she knew that he knew that she both heard his order and understood his language. Honestly, she was more disappointed than angry. An elf dropped down in front of Grim, but instead of drawing her sword, she crossed her silver scaled forearms in front of her and ducked her head behind them. The elf's blade couldn't penetrate her armour, and she made a mental note to thank Yoana for that, but the near constant hitting was going to leave huge bruises. Roche swung Grim around his body, groping her waist and hip far too sensually for her liking to manoeuvre her out of the elf's path. 

A sickening, wet cough issued from the elf as Roche's blade severed his carotid artery. Grim looked down at the elf’s lovely face as he breathed his last breath and wanted to cry and scream at the waste that was his death. 

"The barrier's waning - Grim, give me a bit more magic, just a little! We're almost there!" Roche was shouting, but Grim wasn’t able to concentrate anymore. Her heart was beating too fast, and too hard. Vaguely she heard bells ringing and human voices shouting out, Geralt beside her, telling her to stay focused. There was a garrison of guards firing crossbow bolts at the elves on the cliffs, each of them missing their mark by a mile. She turned as her barrier faded completely, to see Iorveth staring after them, flanked by more elves and a mountain of meat that could only be the real kingslayer. 

Then she was falling forward and Roche's strong arms were catching her, setting her down on a nearby rock. His fingers were touching her face very gently and he was calling her name, patting her cheeks. She could feel blood running from her nose and eyes, dripping down her face and onto the sand at her feet. Her black leather boots needed polishing after all that water and beach sand. 

"Hey, Grim, can you hear me?" Geralt asked worriedly. 

"Yes... Yes, sorry, I'm fine. That was - I used far too much energy for that barrier," Grim said, standing up slowly and wiping her face as clean as possible with a piece of cloth from the pouches on her thighs. 

"Arrest that mage now !" a fat Temerian with a thick accent was shouting and Grim was dragged forward and shackled in Dimeritium. Geralt held Roche back with a hand on his shoulder. 

"Excuse me? What the hell are you doing?" Grim asked the fat man with venom in her voice. 

"We have a special treatment reserved for your kind, my beloved. You're a dangerous mage; we saw you using magic and we know what you are, so don't even try to hide it, cunt," he snarled.

Grim's scowl slowly melted into a sinister grin that made even Vernon Roche quiver with fear. 

"Oh, I know what I am… Do you ?" she asked in a low voice, holding up her shackled hands in front of the man's face. 

They glowed white hot and melted right off her wrists, landing at the guard's feet in a lump of hot metal. He spluttered at the scene and scrambled back, but Grim followed him forward, fresh blood trickling from her eyes, staining her sclera red as she blinked. 

"Beloved… Know your master," Grim sneered mockingly, and walked past the man slowly, trying to not let on how terribly weak and sick she felt. 

Geralt and Roche caught up to her. 

"Grim, slow down, you need to recover," Geralt said quietly, holding her by the arm. Grim leant on him gratefully and even accepted Roche's arm around her waist. The look in his lovely brown eyes was genuine concern for her well-being. Of course, that concern only shone through once his blood lust had faded away.

"I just need to rest and I'll be fine," she said quietly. 

They went up a short hill and through a set of double doors into the town square where the inn and tavern were. Naturally, there was a scaffold in the middle of the square where four people were standing with nooses around their necks. 

Two were faces they recognised. 

"Oh god no, Geralt, look … It's Zoltan and Dandelion!" Grim breathed in shock. 

"Dandelion is my informer. How are we going to handle this?" Roche asked quietly. 

There was quite a crowd around the gallows as the executioner took the stage, the crowd cheering and calling for blood. 

"Tactfully. No killing. Grim, take a seat, we'll handle this," said Geralt. Roche helped her sit on a large rock and then went forward with Geralt. 

Most of what happened next was such a blur in Grim's memory she could only remember pieces of it. She remembered that Dandelion and Zoltan were rescued and they had all gone to the tavern for a drink, but Geralt had helped Grim up the stairs and into a room of the inn where she woke up many hours later, feeling horrible and sore. 

The room she was in was rather nice for such a filthy hick town. It had a comfortable bed, clean linen, a large wooden tub, a chest of drawers and even a dressing table and mirror. She moved the thick curtains aside to reveal that she was in a corner room, with large windows on each side. 

All her bags had been brought up, as well as Bugs' little carrier with her in it, and the fold-out playpen that Eskel had built for her. Eskel had been terribly fond of the tiny black bundle Grim had returned to Kaer Morhen with one evening, having found Bugs the only one left alive in the whole litter of kits, her mother nowhere to be found. Even Lambert had nursed a soft spot for the little bunny who had grown up so beautifully under their care.

Grim slowly got out of bed and groaned. The candles lit and burned brightly with a lazy wave of her hand. Getting Bugs set up and settled was a slog that she pushed through, finally rewarding herself with a wonderful hot bath with arnica and Epsom salts for her aching muscles and horribly bruised forearms. 

Once dressed in a black wool tunic, silver belt and thick black leggings, she went downstairs, her hair loose and flowing freely. She hadn't bothered to reapply her makeup. She sat at a table alone and kept her head down, ravenously making her way through a bread roll with cheese, salad leaves, cucumber and some tomato on it. 

Nobody bothered her, but she was definitely being watched. She thanked the proprietor and paid him well, then dragged her tired body back upstairs to slip into a dreamless sleep, listening to the comforting sound of Bugs munching on hay and greens. 

“You know each other?” Iorveth asked Letho, staring at the retreating trio. Roche was grasping at the woman and helping her to sit down, while Letho and Geralt were locked in a staring contest that Geralt eventually had to break.

“Rather well, but he has amnesia. I actually took the Witcher by surprise when I killed Foltest. Fear not elf; I know Geralt. I know his weakness,” said the biggest Witcher in existence.

“And the woman? Also a Witcher?” Iorveth asked.

“Hmmm… Her: I don't know, only that her name is Grim. But let’s see what scent she left behind. I’ll know more about her then.”

He and Iorveth climbed down the cliffs to the beach below and Letho sniffed the air deeply, then sniffed the blade of the dead elf who had attacked the female Witcher head on. Honestly, Iorveth had been impressed by her elegant armour, striking beauty and strong defence, and had been worried about what she’d said about Nilfgaard, but had quickly brushed it off when the fighting had started. He doubted Letho would be humble enough to be employed by Nilfgaard. 

“She’s not a proper Witcher, although she wears a Witcher’s medallion and our swords, but she is damn strong and fast so I can safely say that she's undergone some kind of mutation. Something very strange about her… I can smell her perfume too; lime blossoms, magnolia, lily-of-the-valley and…what is that?” Letho asked, taking another deep sniff.

“It’s lilac; even I can smell it without any enhanced senses,” Iorveth said, closing the eyes on his dead soldiers. Too many youngsters had fallen in this skirmish. He gave the order for the bodies to be removed and for burial preparations to begin “Is she going to be a threat with that magic of hers?”

“I doubt it, elf. She’s no sorceress, just a freak of nature. Let’s go, I’m getting hungry,” Letho said, not even glancing at Iorveth. 

The tall elf looked on in the direction of Flotsam thinking about the strange and colourful events of the last hour. He sincerely hoped Letho was right about the woman named Grim not being a threat, because he had a feeling in his gut that she was far more than she first appeared to be. He almost thought he had met her before, but he would definitely remember that face and perfume. Indeed, even now, burying the dead and saying their last rites, Iorveth could still smell her scent and still see the painful betrayal in those heavenly hazel eyes when he’d issued the order for her death. After the burials, he sent word to his spies to keep an eye out for her and all her proceedings, just in case Letho was wrong.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6 

It was pouring with rain the next morning, so Grim met with Madam Margot at the brothel just next door to offer medical help to her girls. The madam was a bit over enthusiastic about Grim's generous help, but left her alone to tend to each girl in turn in a private room. 

Hours later, Dandelion and Zoltan met her for lunch, catching up on everything that had happened, including Geralt's slaying of the Kayran, and the unfortunate news of Zoltan's cancelled wedding. The dwarf kept a stiff upper lip, but Grim saw the deep sadness in his soulful eyes and her heart broke for her friend.

"Bloody hell, lass…You look dead tired," Zoltan said, patting Grim's hand across the table. 

"And you look as healthy as ever, my dear friend," Grim said cheekily, squeezing his hand. "I don't really sleep anymore. And someone was making quite a racket last night," she said, nodding to Dandelion. 

The bard put his hands up in a sign of peace. "Sorry, Grim, but that elf whore is just -" 

" No, no , not a word. Don't want to hear it," Grim grimaced. "I heard enough last night, thanks."

The boys chuckled and the friends ate their lunch and swapped news at their corner table. Fresh bread and mild cheese was on offer, as well as eggs done anyway you like and plenty of fresh fruit. The boys were enjoying sausages and roast beef too, but Grim hadn't been able to stomach meat since falling into their world from her 21st century life. Her strange magical connection to nature just would not let her eat such pure souls anymore. 

“These ladies are expensive for such a backward little town. That one down by the docks wanted fifty Crowns for an hour,” Dandelion said in shock. Naturally, when he was around, the conversation would soon swing to women of the night.

“And you can be thankful you can’t afford her. You don’t want to know what I saw brewing under more than half of those girls’ skirts this morning,” Grim said, pulling a face.

“Oh, you’re not serious… That means I’ve probably - well,” Dandelion trailed off, choosing to down a shot of vodka rather than finish his sentence.

“It’s alright, Dan, I’ve got a fresh batch of those extra thick needles just for you, like last time, remember? This whole town is one huge venereal disease just festering away, slowly killing its inhabitants, and driving them mad, but one nasty jab in the arse with my ‘magic elixir’ and you’ll be good as new,” said Grim, grinning evilly at Dandelion who had gone quite pale.

Zoltan chuckled away at the memory of Grim having to dose their bard friend with a week-long course of her innovative antibiotic shots in the flesh just above his bum to kill a very nasty infection. She had only had thick needles and it was a very unpleasant situation for everyone involved.

“That madness - It’s a symptom of syphilis isn't it, lass?” Zoltan asked, smoothing the sides of his mohawk. Grim had always loved his mohawk and been so annoyed that she didn’t have the guts to do it herself. Cutting off her long hair would destroy her very soul, nevermind her looks. 

“Mhm, a very advanced symptom, if it travels to the brain. I had a walk around town today in between cloudbursts. I can see it already starting in early stages here and there. Thankfully the non-human populace has yet to be affected,” Grim said. 

“That would explain that madman Loredo. He’s insane. Truly insane, Grim. He hangs all and sundry, and abuses the poor girls from the brothel to the point of trauma. Orders two girls at a time, he does,” Dandelion said, making a fist around his glass.

“Some of them told me what he enjoys doing. He is cruel and evil. That insanity may just be the power going to his head. Little man with a little complex becomes the leader of some gods forsaken trading post in the arse end of nowhere, someone hangs a gaudy chain of office around his neck, gives him the power of life and death, and voila , one little complex becomes a very large and very nasty complex.” Grim sighed, long and low. “He has to go, boys.”

“You lead the attack, Grim, we’ll be right behind ya,” Zoltan said, skimming his knuckles over her jaw affectionately.

Grim smiled. "Oh, I know you will be. Speaking of power and gaudy chains, when the hell did you become a spy for Vernon Roche?” she asked Dandelion quietly.

The bard cleared his throat and leaned in conspiratorially. “He knows of my fame and my travelling ability, so he took advantage of that. And I took advantage of the lovely gold he dangled in front of my face. Besides, my service has been completed and I’m no longer needed.”  

“Of all the boils on the butt of humanity…" Grim said, shaking her head, but grinning at her friend.

Some people just never changed, and Zoltan and Dandelion were just those kinds of people. She had known them from the moment she had woken up in the cold room in Kaer Morhen, and they had been so kind and so wonderfully warm to her that they became close friends very quickly.

“Oh, and speaking of said boil, Geralt tells me Roche has been trying to uh, seduce you, lass. Must be why he’s in such a shitty mood all the time,” Zoltan said with a grimace.

Grim shivered with revulsion. “ Urg, don’t even go there. Look, he’s handsome, powerful and charming, but the only thing he sees in me is another trophy to add to his collection. Gods, you should have seen him when we had just disembarked and Iorveth’s lot attacked us. Roche had his hands all over me, trying to protect me. And he has far too much zeal for killing elves, Zoltan. I’ve never seen so much hatred in someone before, even after - Well, even after what I went through. He didn’t just enjoy killing them, boys… He loved it, he truly relished ending their lives… I just can't understand why he hates them so much,” Grim said sadly, covering her mouth with her hand and lowering her head. 

Immediately, the bard and the dwarf were upon her, hands on her shoulders and soothing her. 

“Don’t you worry, lass, we won’t let Roche hurt you. That whoreson doesn’t know anything beyond his king and country, one of which is now dead, so he’s just looking for some temporary comfort, the fucker,” Zoltan said in his gruff way.

"That's a damn good point actually, not once has he even been a little teary, or even sat and brooded over Foltest. Literally, I have not seen a single sign of that man mourning for his king. It's very, very strange," Grim said with a frown. 

“You know, maybe Roche is the one with syphilis, the rumours that I heard swirling about him and old king Foltest… Now that was just a little more than loyal, if you know what I mean,” Dandelion said, lightening the mood.

“I heard some of those rumours in the days leading up to the battle. We have names for that kind of relationship in my world,” said Grim in a scandalous tone, and they all laughed merrily, the darkness penetrated and put away for now. 

Just after sunset and Bugs Bunny’s dinner, Ves, the Blue Stripe with the open shirt, came to Grim’s room and escorted her to the Stripes’ temporary headquarters just next to the inn. 

Grim waited on the ground floor of the building, surveying the numerous army cots and the huge solid wood desk in the room. The desk was littered with papers, but Grim couldn’t see what they said without actually looking like she was looking. Not that there was anyone around to see her, but she knew Roche would be there, just hoping to catch her unawares. 

And boy , did he ever. 

“I know from experience that stitches are easier to remove right after a hot bath,” said Roche's gorgeous, smooth deep voice from very close to Grim’s ear. 

Grim didn’t miss a beat. She barely turned her head to him. “Correct. Please have a seat,” she said politely.

Roche came around to face her, walking into her field of view very slowly, like the predator he was. He was shirtless, his pants hanging very low on his hips. The little tie around the waistband was undone suggestively. His chaperon was gone, showing off the long dark blonde hair on the top of his head, shaved short on the sides. He was indeed freshly bathed and shaved, his skin gleaming in the candlelight, flushed from the hot water. A swath of dark hair covered his chest and trailed down his toned belly and away beneath his pants. He was absolutely divine . He was thinner than she had expected, but incredibly fit and mildly scarred. Hell, she had more scars than him. And his horribly done tattoos were beyond crass.

Grim saw that he was insulted by her indifference toward his clean, taut, half naked physique. Obviously, he had employed the same tactic many times with other ladies, probably nobles, with very different results. But Grim was certainly no stupid noble lady whose head resided in the clouds and in books about beautiful knights who saved young women and fell in love with them. She had also spent the better part of four years around Witchers who were far more physically impressive than him. 

He may have also been put off by the small fact that she was wearing her full set of Wolf School armour which was not exactly easy to get out of for a quick romp. She had no doubt that was all he wanted out of this encounter.

Roche saw her firm resolution and sat gracelessly in front of her, his jaw clenched ever so slightly. His eyes, so full of worry for her just the previous day, were now hard and concealed a fair bit of animosity.

"You should really put a shirt on; the constant dampness of this town might make you sick," Grim said, placing her bag on the desk and unpacking her tools. 

"I enjoy the cold, I find it refreshing. But your concern is touching," he said cooly, no sign of being touched showing in his hard, cold brown eyes. 

Grim got to work straight away, removing the sticky bandage with her special alcohol cleanser, and snipping the tiny knots in the silk.

“Ah, this has healed beautifully. I doubt there’ll even be much of a scar,” Grim said cheerfully, pleased by her handiwork. 

Roche said nothing. In fact, he didn’t react at all, so Grim slid the silk out, cleaned the wound again and redressed it. Not once did she look up at Roche's face. She didn't need to; she could practically feel his eyes boring a smouldering hole into her head. She wouldn't put it past him to try and force himself on her, but she also knew he was fully aware that she'd beat him to a bloody pulp if he tried. 

"There, you're done. The bandage will peel off by itself in a few days, and the wound will only be a scab by then," Grim said, packing away her tools and balms, and rubbing a pleasantly scented alcohol briskly into her hands. 

"You made me look like a fool in front of Iorveth," Roche growled, his jaw set. 

"No, you managed that all by yourself," Grim replied cheekily. 

Roche deflated somewhat in his chair, seemingly agreeing with her statement. 

"Evangeline, look at me," Roche said sternly, using her real name. 

She looked at him, her eyes big and innocent. 

"You are not a stupid girl - by any means. I've been trying to get you to come to me of your own free will, but you just keep denying yourself. Why is that? I've made myself more than clear in my intentions towards you, and I've seen the way you blush when I speak to you. Why won't you come to me?" 

'Gods, this man has all the romantic capacity of a grapefruit! I can't wait to tell the boys about this moronic cock up!' 

Grim had to really fight to keep her face straight and look intimidating when all she wanted to do was laugh in his face. A fleeting thought entered her mind and disturbed her as much as it excited her; if Iorveth had been in Roche's place right now Grim may well have indulged herself in his fantastic beauty and strength. The thought was gone before she could truly examine it, thankfully. 

She leant over the desk in one swift swoop, arms wide, putting her face close to Roche's. She watched him carefully, heard his breath hitch, saw the tip of his tongue dart out ever so slightly to wet his lips, and saw his Adam's apple bob in his throat. 

"Perhaps you should be asking yourself a question instead of me… Perhaps you should ask yourself what could possibly be preventing me from indulging myself in you of all people. Reflect on that, commander. Think carefully and maybe you'll put the pieces of the puzzle together. Goodnight."

Grim turned and left, leaving Roche as hard as a rock, pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed red at her indomitable, fearless spirit. 

Not even bothering to deposit her bag in her room, Grim turned and walked away from the inn towards the trees that beckoned her on the other side of the walls. In Lobinden, the little mixed race settlement just outside Flotsam, Grim climbed the ladder to the observation platform manned by a tall elf with a magnificently carved bow on his back and a steel hip flask in his hand. 

Zefhar , this type of bow was called. An elven composite bow with added arms to reinforce it and make it even more deadly. Grim remembered this tidbit from hours of reading weapons catalogues in Kaer Morhen. 

"Hello. Do you mind if I sit here? I just came to draw, I won't bother you," Grim said to him politely. 

The elf turned and wobbled a little, but smiled enchantingly at her. He was very handsome, just like Iorveth, with a small scar on the bridge of his nose, his lovely face framed by dark brown braids. Glassy brown eyes stared at her intently from under heavy, pointed brows. 

"Ah, yes, you are Grim, the surgeon who arrived with the Stripes. My, you are a sight , my dear. And such a glorious perfume," said the drunk elf. "I'm Cedric. It's a pleasure to meet the one who stood up to Loredo's thuggish guard." 

Cedric kissed her hand, just barely brushing his lips over her skin. His skin was many degrees cooler than hers and the strangeness was a slight shock to her until she remembered reading that very fact about elves in Kaer Morhen's library. 

"Pleasure. I guess word travels fast here," Grim said with a little cringe. 

"Oh, indeed. Very fast here. Now, I must ask you, since I'm drunk ninety percent of the time, have we met before? Because I swear I've seen you somewhere before," Cedric said, fiddling with the hem of his beautifully embroidered green and gold tunic. The very same tunic the Scoia'tael wore. He had the same tattoos and weapons as them and was clearly an ex-member. 

"No, we haven't met before. I'd remember. Perhaps it was just someone who looked like me," Grim said politely, sitting down on the platform and taking her sketchbook out to draw the canopy of the trees above her, underlit by the warm firelight. 

Cedric fell into deep thought and wandered to the end of the platform very slowly, watching the forest intently. Grim kept an eye on him as she unpacked her colouring pencils, worried he would fall off the wooden walkway. But he was sure footed and graceful, albeit wobbly. 

Soon, she had relaxed and even drawn in the sparkling little stars that had appeared. She had become so absorbed in her work that she almost didn't hear the creak in the wood as Cedric knelt down right next to her. She gave a small jump and was getting quite tired of men of all races sneaking up on her. 

" Beautiful . You're very talented, Grim," Cedric said earnestly. Then he leapt up and walked away, staring off into a specific spot in the trees. Grim stared into the darkness and envied Geralt his eyes. She could barely make out something moving in a small clearing, but Cedric definitely saw it. His fingers twitched, but he didn't make a move for his bow. 

Grim was still watching the slight movement ahead when it stopped altogether. Cedric was tense, his jaw clenched and his brow a little too sweaty for the cool night air, and his low body temperature. Someone was out there watching them, and it was probably his former Scoia'tael brothers and sisters. Grim shivered and remembered the conflicted look in Iorveth’s eye when he’d ordered his warriors to kill her specifically. She didn't hold it against him; of course not. But it drove home his hatred of the human race and the ruthless ferocity he employed to secure equality for his people. 

Honestly, Grim felt terribly sorry for the Scoia'tael, and for Iorveth himself. He hadn't wanted to kill her; she knew that. But she was powerful and she had arrived with his arch nemesis, looking to attack his new ally. She understood how that looked to him. His beautiful face and figure swam into her mind, and Grim’s memories wandered all over, reliving his voice, his looks, his clothes, everything he had said and had made her feel. 

"Do you know the legend of the Roses of Remembrance, Grim?" 

Cedric's voice snapped her out of her thoughts with a bit of a jerk. 

"Roses of what, sorry?" she asked him. His lovely brown eyes were still locked on the subtle movement in the trees. 

"Roses of Remembrance. They're magical purple roses that grow here, in the ruins of Caelmawedd, deep in the forest. They are among the last the Aen Sheide ever managed to cultivate. We were very proud of our gardens and those purple roses specifically were coveted by humans to give to their lovers."

"What makes them so rare and special?" Grim asked curiously. 

"If you pick one with the intention of giving it to the one you truly love, it will last forever, never wilting and not needing water. But if you pick one for yourself or for someone who doesn't return your love, it will die." Cedric's voice took on a strange tone, like he was trying to make a point without giving away the punchline to her. 

Grim frowned, but didn't worry about it. He was drunk, after all. 

"Is there any truth to that legend?" she asked, and only then did Cedric draw his gaze away from the trees and back to Grim, smiling softly. 

"You'll have to find out for yourself, my dear Grim," he said, and took a deep swig from his flask. 

Grim frowned and grinned at him at the same time. She waved it off as the ravings of a drunk elf with one hell of a stomach for vodka. 

A familiar tune touched Grim’s ears and grew steadily louder from the direction of Flotsam’s walls. Lying on her stomach, chin over the edge of the platform and a huge warm smile on her face, Grim called down to the bard.

“Hey you! Who gave you permission to sing my song?” Grim shouted over the side to Dandelion who was currently charming a young lass in Lobinden.

Dandelion and Zoltan, seemingly joined at the hip, saw her and smiled widely.

"Oh, come on, Grim! You basically predicted Geralt's amnesia!" said Dandelion excitedly, strumming hard on the poor strings like Grim showed him all that time ago at Kaer Morhen. The locals of Lobinden had stopped what they were doing to listen and watch the banter.

"Those lyrics give me the shivers, lass. You voiced the oppression of the elder races in that song," Zoltan said fondly. 

"I can't stand oppression. And what for? Because one race is different from another? What a load of waffle. We should be learning from each other and cherishing the differences that unite us, not this - 'human supremacy' or whatever bullshit that bunch is trying to pull." Her voice was noticeably hard when she said this, and she waved her hand around, gesticulating her displeasure.

"Well said, Grim!" said Dandelion, strumming again and breaking into Grim’s harmonious and gentle song. 

Many too many

Living their fears

Only few won't fade away

Not too many

Facing their tears

When sunrise outshines the grey

He couldn't heal the broken memories

A sacrifice

No one could read the silence in his eyes

Just a canvas in the sky

Perfect sunset long denied

Spirit's flying

Birds that cease their wanderlust

Fall

Grim stood up on the platform and put on her best performance, breaking into magnificent dark operatic vocals to join her friends' singing. 

What if I could rescue us?

If I could fight back life

Break my pride

For a moment in time

I could reach the sun

I could touch the stars

And you'd stay

For a moment in time

" Wooh! Now that's what I call a trio showing promise of playing together one day!" Dandelion said, imagining masses of people cheering them on. So far, it was only the residents, but they were clapping and howling and begging for more nonetheless.

"Yes, dear," Grim said cheekily, still smiling at them both. Zoltan laughed like a madman, and they sat down to a few rounds of Gwent with the locals. Grim stayed up on the platform to finish her drawing before joining them. 

“That’s one hell of a voice you have there, my dear Grim, and a damn good moral compass,” Cedric said, half laughing in shock. Her voice was rich and powerful and carried easily all around the forest.

Grim smiled at him. “Thanks, Ced,” and wished him a good night to join her friends below. The elf beamed at his nickname and nodded to her. 

"Geez, Grim… You're killing me, lass!" Zoltan complained as he lost yet another round. 

"It's not me, Dandelion's gone and built his deck to be far too overpowered to be fair," she said, giggling. She had told them all about her encounter with Roche and they had all laughed themselves silly at his lack of tact in all things romantic. 

"It's perfectly fair, and well balanced," the bard said, defensively, still eyeing the lovely girl he had been seducing earlier. 

"It's about as well balanced as you are!" Grim said. 

"What is that supposed to mean?!" And then Dandelion was being pushed by a great gust of wind into the little irrigation pond nearby. 

Zoltan and Grim were roaring with laughter at the spluttering bard, along with the few still around to see. His hat was soaked, the feather hanging shamefully in defeat. He walked out and suddenly gripped Grim's arm, trying to pull her into the water, but he overbalanced and went in with her, both completely soaked. She came up still laughing her mad witch's cackle, an infectious, loud and startlingly hard sound that made everyone else around her laugh. It was a direct contrast to her normal speaking voice, so gentle, smooth and cool. Cedric’s laughter could easily be heard above the raucous goings-on below him.

" Aha! The mighty Witcher is weak when she laughs! I am the victor! " Dandelion proclaimed, hands on his hips and chest puffed out, dripping with water. Grim was behind him, just sitting in the small pond, water right up to her chest, laughing and clutching her sides.

"No, I'm the victor! I'm the only one left who isn’t soaking wet!" shouted Zoltan, assuming the same stance, but looking far more impressive than Dandelion. 

Their laughter, and that of the residents, and splashes filled the forest and echoed through the trees well beyond midnight. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

The morning started normally enough. Grim had breakfast in her room with Zoltan and Dandelion, with Bugs doing binkies and zoomies around them and chewing on anything made from wood. Dandelion scooped Bugs up and tried to get her to sit in his lap, but she just wasn't having it, not even for blueberries or a piece of carrot. 

Then Grim had taken a walk to get more tree sap in the forest, just near the shoreline where Iorveth’s unit had ambushed them. There were still little piles of ash on the sand where the Scoia'tael's arrows had disintegrated. The bodies of the elves had been removed and the blood on the sand long washed away by the tide and rain. 

Then, things had become a little…. abnormal. After slipping and sliding on a mossy rock, Grim put her hand out to stop her fall straight into a nasty looking thorn bush, and found herself clutching Iorveth’s flute. He must have thought he'd tucked it into his belt, but missed it completely. It was covered in sand, tree sap and tiny specks of blood. Grim sat on a tree stump and examined the instrument. It was ancient, made from a very durable wood and well loved. The holes and mouthpiece showed distinct signs of wear and the inner tube was caked with sand from lying in the tideline. 

Taking out a soft cloth and a beeswax balm, Grim began cleaning the flute, unscrewing the mouthpiece and blowing it clear before polishing it to a healthy glow. It was not pale anymore, but a rich dark wood, having absorbed the oils and beeswax greedily. After playing the same tune Iorveth had played, and testing all the notes, Grim cleaned the mouthpiece yet again and stowed it in the inner pocket of her armour. She had read about the Scoia’tael and their fight for freedom, and especially about how Iorveth gave up everything to fight for the betterment of elven lives, and Grim knew that this flute was probably one of the very few things he still had of his old life, a time before war. And she wanted to give it back to him, all those comforting memories and good feelings.

'I'll just leave it somewhere for Iorveth to find, somewhere just off the track,' she thought, entering the forest itself properly. It was not easy to find a distinct place to leave it, somewhere it wouldn't fall off or be stolen, or blown off by a gust of wind, thus she had to walk further and further in. 

A sudden and furious scrabbling and a slightly muffled cry made her start. Someone was close by. Peering around a massive tree trunk, Grim saw Iorveth himself caught in a particularly vicious snare, one not intended to trap game. His foot was caught just above his little ankle boot, and there was already blood seeping through the dark green leg of his hose and blue calf bindings.

He was struggling and clearly in a lot of pain, his lovely face screwed up and shining with sweat. He pulled and pulled, trying to cut the thick steel cable with a crude dagger drawn from the leather harness on his chest while he writhed in the soft, damp earth. Grim moved forward very quickly and closely without thinking, her doctor’s brain taking over. 

"No, no, stop, it's just going to pull tighter if -" 

Iorveth’s dagger was at Grim's throat in a flash. He sneered at her, his face very close, so close she could smell his natural scent and the hormones that had seeped into his sweat. The strong scent of fear and pain. 

Grim took a step back, since Iorveth was essentially trapped and couldn’t follow her with that blade. His sneer only twisted further, showing off his chipped teeth. The same incident that had gouged his eye out had taken a small chunk of meat out of the corner of his top lip. 

"What are you doing here, dh'oine? Want to claim my head for your own victory, ey? Go on; try ," Iorveth dared with venom in his voice, egging her on. 

Grim just stared at him with a slightly offended look. 

"No, I'm going to release you, if you'll kindly put the dagger down,” Grim said quite plainly.

This only served to make the elf spit and sneer and twist frantically like he was - well, he was in a trap.

"Release me? Why? So you can hunt me down for sport like -" 

Both of their heads snapped to face the direction of voices. Thugs, Loredo's hired muscle who were paid just enough to muster the courage to go to the very edge of the forest and look for the Scoia'tael. 

"Oh shit… Iorveth, keep quiet and stay still," Grim whispered, knocking his dagger out of his hand with lightning fast speed and kicking it under a bush well out of his reach. 

"I don't take orders from dh'oine," he hissed back quietly, but Grim had already put her hands on the nearest tree that the snare was secured to, and a huge screen of moss, ivy and vines had materialised out of nowhere, effectively hiding Iorveth and the base of the snare from view. Then Grim sat down just next to Iorveth’s damaged ankle, and turned to him. She could just see his face through the leaves, shock and a bit of surprise etched on his gorgeous face. 

"Keep quiet," Grim said, unsheathing her steel sword and pretending to polish the blade, "and they'll go away. I'll kill them if I have to. But please , Iorveth, just keep quiet and stay still." She was practically begging him at that point. 

Iorveth nodded eventually, sweat rolling down his neck over his tattoo and down his chest. It tickled, but he didn’t dare move. He had the feeling this woman would probably kick the crap out of him if he gave himself away after she had gone through the trouble of helping him.

Grim busied herself with her sword, eyes darting between Iorveth and her blade, and looked up when the thugs were closer, a look of pure innocence on her face. 

"Oh, excuse us, miss. We were just checking our traps," one of the thugs said, a huge, round man with a bald head and very few teeth. He seemed awfully bashful in Grim's presence, as did his two companions. The whole of Flotsam had heard and seen the beautiful surgeon Witcher, and not one peasant treated her as a whore. So she put on her most dazzling persona, flipping her braided hair over her shoulder and pushing her chest and bum out. 

"There are traps here?" she said, lifting her feet up suddenly, acting shocked. She made sure to stretch her legs out on the log to further conceal the elf, her black steel greaves knocking softly on the bark. "Nobody told me there were traps here."

"Aye, apologies miss. If the Squirrels hear about the traps, well, they lose their surprise, ey?" said another dark haired man with a small smile. 

"Speaking of, coulda sworn I heard one of the snares here nab something, but I can't ploughing remember where I put the thing… Damn sure it was around the base of this tree here," said the third, a man with a tiny blonde ponytail that looked like a shaving brush. The rest of his head was shaved short. 

"I think I would have seen it, or definitely walked into it; I was just at the base of that tree collecting sap," and out came the bottles of freshly collected sap. 

"Ah, bloody Squirrels cut the tree down, must have," said the dark haired one. 

Grim put on a convincing frown. "But there's no fresh stump or fallen tree. That would be plenty of evidence. Maybe the snare isn't here after all," she said, shrugging lightly. 

"I think you're right, miss, must be further in. Come on lads," said the blonde, and they all plodded off, wishing her a good day. 

“How thick can you get?” Grim whispered with a chuckle, more to herself than Iorveth. She sheathed her sword, then stood up to retract all the new growth and reveal Iorveth. He was staring at her with amazement. She had to crouch down to his level to get to the cable. 

She pointed a finger at him very sternly as he opened his mouth. " Don't bite me or headbutt me. I'm going to burn through the wire. Stay still otherwise I'll burn you by accident," she said softly, wary that the thugs may return. 

Iorveth shut his mouth and nodded again. Grim relaxed her stern finger and put her hand on the thick cable very near his ankle. It turned white hot under her closed knuckles. Iorveth could see the light shining through her hands, turning them red and pink. 

Then the tension was gone and the cable fell harmlessly to the ground. Grim carefully unwound the rest of the cable from his ankle, practically peeling it out of his clothing. Iorveth groaned and stood, Grim moving well out of his range. 

Iorveth just looked at Grim for a long time, frowning and chewing his cheeks. He was only a head and a half taller than Grim which she found gave her a little more confidence around him.

Grim broke the silence, taking his flute out from her armour and putting it on an old tree stump between them. She backed off a few paces. “I just came to return this to you,” she said quietly. 

" You were the one playing it… Where did you find it?" Iorveth asked, his resonant, nasal voice harsh, but relieved. He picked it up and turned it in his gloved hands. 

"In the bushes just off the shoreline. I think when you stood up the other day you meant to tuck it into your belt, but it slipped past it. I just came in to leave it somewhere for you and then I found you here." 

"And you just saved me and returned my flute out of the goodness of your heart? What game are you playing, dh’oine? Don't think I've forgotten the company you arrived in, and that you created a barrier that stopped me killing Roche, the man who has single handedly murdered more elves than most humans have killed flies," sneered Iorveth, leaning forward slightly to make his point. 

Grim's eyes narrowed. "And yet you have forgotten that I stopped Roche's dagger from hitting you. And you ordered me to be killed specifically, yet I freed you from a human trap just now, and protected you from thugs who would have otherwise turned you in to Loredo quite happily. I didn't travel with that madman for the fun of it, believe me. I didn't mean to create the barrier; my magic works on pure instinct. It's not my fault he was in range of it." 

And then there was a dagger at her throat again. Iorveth had ducked, grabbed his hidden blade, and launched himself at her, pinning her heavily against a tree. She let out a partially winded huff, and thanked Joana again for her incredible armour. 

"And all those good deeds could have been concocted by Roche to try and gain my trust. He must be getting old and soft in the head if he thinks sending in a beautiful soldier will make me tell you anything. You're just a filthy dh'oine, just Roche's little lackey," Iorveth hissed right in her face, spitting at her slightly. His breath was just-warm on her cheeks and smelled slightly herbal. He pushed the blade against her throat harder, but didn't puncture the skin. His other hand was holding her head securely, making sure she couldn't lurch sideways and dislodge him.

Up close, his skin, such a lovely tanned shade, was speckled with the tiniest flecks of dirt and the pores over his cheeks and around his nose were enlarged from infrequent cleansing. His scar was truly awful, deeply grooved into his face and exceptionally red from healing poorly. It was riddled with ridges and additional scarring from the wounds opening repeatedly, probably from massive infection. And that eye, that solitary green orb, hooded and still so visible, framed by the most gorgeous eyelashes, was practically glowing with ferocity. Grim felt herself blush despite the degrading situation, and her heart fluttered at being called 'beautiful' by this gorgeous elf. The sensations in her body alarmed her, just as they'd done when Roche had gazed at her so tenderly on the Percival's deck. 

"Oh please , he's been nothing but a horny teenager around me since I met him. I'm travelling with Geralt of Rivia, and since Geralt had to be broken out of prison by Roche, under suspicion of a crime that you and yours were actually responsible for, it's technically your fault I ended up travelling with that moronic patriot in the first place. You're only reacting this way because you're not used to receiving kindness, only hatred. Geralt and I have no quarrel with you; simply hand over the kingslayer, and we'll part ways. I might even be able to convince Roche to leave you alone on your next food and medicine raids."

Iorveth snorted with humourless laughter and gave her a lopsided grin that was purely sinister. 

"You're very convincing, Grim.” Of course he knew her name, Roche and Geralt had shouted it enough times the day they arrived at the tops of their lungs. And she had no doubt that Iorveth had an incredible spy network within Flotsam. “I'm not handing my guest over. You can run back to Roche and tell him that while you warm his cock ," said Iorveth, scorn dripping from his plush pink lips. 

Grim saw red . She ignored the blade at her throat and stomped hard on Iorveth’s injured ankle. He cried out and hobbled backwards. Grim elbowed his wrist, making the muscles of his hand jump open, and caught the dagger, watching Iorveth stumble and fall into the soft leaves, clutching his ankle in absolute agony. 

"How dare you? You're so quick to play the victim, the only one who's ever been hurt or hunted by humans simply for being different from them; the only one to carry scars as souvenirs of human cruelty," Grim spat in a harsh whisper, seething with anger. She stood over him and threw his dagger at his feet, the blade burying itself in the ground. 

“Hah, what scars could you possibly have, dh’oine? Stretch marks ?” mocked Iorveth, pulling his face in an unpleasant way, obscuring his magnificent beauty. His miniscule flinch at her approach told her his ferocity was indeed all for show. 

“ If only. I am not Roche's spy, and I am most certainly not his or anyone else's whore. You think that you've waded in blood from here to the horizon? I have walked further still ," Grim snarled through gritted teeth, bending down towards him. Iorveth seemed to be stilled by that statement, but Grim hardly noticed. She turned and stormed away from the elf on the ground, breathing hard. 

"Grim, wait!" he shouted at her back. She froze in her steps, the anger and pure fury rolling off her, exhausting her. 

She turned slowly, expecting a dagger in the head. But it was still buried in the sandy soil, untouched at Iorveth’s feet. 

"You didn't answer my question; you just brought back my flute, cleaned and restored, because you simply wanted to?" His voice was calmer now, and his face was not as wildly twisted. The look in his eye was pure curiosity. 

Grim nodded, her anger slipping away quickly. Iorveth saw her face was open and honest. 

"I'm a musician too - or I used to be a musician. I know how lost I feel when I'm not around my instruments. I thought you'd be feeling the same way. I also know what it feels like to lose everything you once held dear. I honestly only intended to leave it somewhere for you to find, that's all," she said sadly, trying to convince him that she really didn't have an ulterior motive.

"One doesn't simply stop being a musician. You remembered the tune I played," said the elf, stirring a little in the shrubbery. He probably had a root up his arse. 

Grim nodded. "It was a beautiful melody. So tranquil and happy. Sentimental."

There was a long moment of silence between them, only the birds, the wind, the water lapping at the shore really making any sound. Iorveth was looking her up and down, taking in her stunning face, the long and intricate braid of her hair, the multiple piercings in her ears, her boxy armour, the small details worked into the black leather and steel, but Grim’s eyes never left Iorveth’s one.

"You are very strange, dh'oine," he said in a whisper, almost to himself. 

Grim laughed, huffing really, running her fingers through her fringe with an exhausted sigh. She saw his eye widen at the sight of her fangs, really seeing them for the first time. 

"Aaah, honey, you have no idea... Va fail, Iorveth. And, uh, sorry about stomping on your ankle." She gave him a sympathetic nod and turned, leaving the thick bushes and emerging onto the beach again. 

"You're not even slightly afraid of me," Iorveth called from the bushes. He had got up and brushed himself off. He took a few short steps towards Grim, but stopped a safe distance away from her. He hadn't retrieved his dagger. He still stared at Grim with that wondrous curiosity, like she was an alien artefact. 

Grim shrugged and replied, brutally honest. 

"The worst thing that could ever happen to me has already happened, and I'm still alive. There's not much left to be afraid of after that."

Iorveth’s face noticeably paled at her words. 

Grim felt awkward at his reaction, so she nodded again and, to her utter astonishment, the elf nodded back. It was hesitant, but he did nod. She walked slowly back to the inn, arms folded over her armour as far as the steel would let her. She wandered into the tavern and occupied herself with fixing up the old piano in a dark forgotten corner. Cleaning Iorveth’s ancient flute had made her sentimental, and the mention of her being harmed and the thought of Vernon Roche, shirtless and aroused, just expecting her to fall into bed with him, had made her feel sick. She needed comfort and solitude. She needed her music. 

Comfortably nestled in the fork of two branches, ankle resting on one of them and peering into a spyglass, Iorveth’s gaze was drawn to the tavern in Flotsam. It was unusually loud tonight and drew his suspicion, so he had made the painful climb up to monitor the noise just in case the Blue Stripes were inciting a pogrom on the nonhumans. The south facing windows had been thrown wide open and there were an awful lot of people inside, all clamouring around the bard, Dandelion. He strummed and plucked at his lute and enchanted the dim witted ones with his sappy lyrics of love. It was just a concert. 

Iorveth rolled his eye when the bard bowed and feigned humility. Anyone could see he absolutely thrived off attention, good or bad, it seemed. 

Yawning, and just about ready to doze off in the tree, Grim walked into his line of sight. He blinked quickly and sat up straight. She was dressed in a black long sleeved cotton blouse with exaggerated lapels that ended in long points and a plain pair of black leather trousers, tucked into long riding boots. Her hair was down and flowed loosely around her, falling just to the tops of her thighs. She looked even more breathtaking than she had that morning when Iorveth had met her face to face. His ankle throbbed and he scowled at the memory for her big boot on his delicate bones and already-mangled skin. Her haircut was most… unusual. Long layers that were unlike anything he had ever seen anyone sport, but they suited her and made her otherwise straight hair voluminous and lively. 

'Very much like her personality,' Iorveth thought, remembering how incredibly outspoken and confident she had been. 

Dandelion was clearly egging her on to perform something and she finally gave in. The bard stood in the middle of the room, clapped his hands and announced her to the uncultured swine of Flotsam. 

Iorveth watched her sit at the keys of a piano that was possibly older than even himself, but the rich sound that floated on the breeze to him was clear and true. Grim’s fingers moved across the keys easily, as though moving on their own. 

Then she began to sing, and Iorveth’s heart jumped into his throat. Her carefully controlled dark soprano voice carried with no effort at all, projected with stunning feeling and emotion. 

Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation

Darkness wakes and stirs and imagination

Silently the senses abandon their defences

Helpless to resist the notes I write

For I compose the music of the night. 

Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendour

Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender

Hearing is believing, music is deceiving

Hard as lightning, soft as candlelight

Dare you trust the music of the night

Close your eyes for your eyes will only tell the truth

And the truth isn't what you want to see

In the dark it is easy to pretend

That the truth is what it ought to be

Softly, deftly, music shall caress you

Hear it, fear it, secretly possess you

Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind

In this darkness which you know you cannot fight

The darkness of the music of the night 

Close your eyes, start a journey to a strange new world

Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before

Close your eyes and let music set you free

Only then can you belong to me

Floating, falling, sweet intoxication

Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation

Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in

To the power of the music that I write

The power of the music of the night

You alone can make my song take flight

Help me make the music of the night

Iorveth was in shock and awe as the patrons of the tavern applauded the Witcher. He’d heard her magnificent vocals the night he stalked her sitting with Cedric on his platform, but this was a full performance, not just a snippet. She bowed humbly and left his view. He tried to track her movements, but she must have left to go to her room. Sudden bright light in the corner room of the inn above the tavern caught his eye and he swivelled the spyglass to see Grim in said corner room, hugging a little black rabbit and giving it kisses. The rabbit bounced out of Grim's arms and onto her bed appearing to be waiting for something. 

The smile on Grim's face was breathtaking. Iorveth struggled to keep his thoughts coherent and was transported back to the first time he saw her elegantly disembark The Percival, then when she spoke to him directly about someone new using the Scoia'tael, how cool and smooth her voice was, surprisingly soft for how loudly she could project those vocals. And then he relived the memory in the forest when she smiled and showed him her fangs. 

‘She called me ‘honey’.'

Oh, right. He had completely forgotten to speak to her further about her suspicions of Nilfgaard using him again. It just hadn't seemed important when he was with her that morning. 

Now, he saw her feed the little rabbit a small slice of apple, then turn abruptly and say something. Someone must have knocked on her door. From the annoyed and slightly angry expression on her face, Iorveth could guess it was Vernon Roche. He chuckled to himself, remembering how she had referred to him as a horny teenager, and a moronic patriot. To reduce such an intelligent, fearsome and deadly man to labels like that had been brilliant, and Iorveth realised this dh'oine was very skilled at witty banter, a very rare trait for women of the thirteenth century. And he found himself enjoying that snark and wit quite a bit. 

Clearly Roche had been pestering the poor girl, who was nowhere near as green as she was cabbage looking. Indeed, she had earned a bit of respect from Iorveth. 

Grim snapped something over her shoulder with an impressively intimidating scowl, and turned her attention back to her bunny, which is where it stayed. 

Iorveth could only marvel at the strange dh'oine. Perhaps she was not the threat he had first perceived her as. The candles in her room dimmed and Iorveth watched her removing her makeup and brushing her long, thick hair. Then the curtains were closed and soon after that all light disappeared completely. 

‘It’s not her. It can’t be her,’ he chanted to himself over and over again. Something heavy and troubling settled in his chest, and anxiety about who she really was, and who she could be to him , overran his thoughts. 

"Spying on the new witch, are you?" said Letho from behind Iorveth. He'd climbed the tree silently, but not quietly enough that Iorveth hadn't heard him. 

"Mm. She plays and sings well. I haven't heard anything more about her yet, just that she's a doctor, a surgeon, and she mostly keeps to herself. Treated the girls at the brothel for free," Iorveth said emotionlessly. 

"Hmm, what a kind girl. Pity she's here for me. Probably working for the Blue Stripes' leader. I'll have to kill her sooner or later," said Letho in parting, cold and careless. 

Iorveth’s heart froze and then ached painfully in his chest at the thought of Grim dying. Something was very wrong here indeed, but he had always trusted his gut and it had never led him astray. 

'Please, please let it not be her,' Iorveth prayed to gods he hadn't bothered with in centuries.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

"Could really use some help here, Grim!" Geralt yelled, holding off an Endrega's toothy maw just inches from his throat. 

"I'm a bit tied up just now!" Grim shouted back, lying on the ground, holding onto a protruding root and twisting her hips, wrenching a Nekker's head between her thighs. Its neck broke and the head hung limply at a very disturbing angle. 

The first bombing of the Nekker nests had gone well enough, but the last nest had been too close to an Endrega's cocoon case and the queen was rather unenthusiastic about the disturbance. It was partially Grim’s fault that Geralt was now pinned under said queen, since she had been scanning the trees and shrubs to see if they were being observed by Iorveth and his Scoia’tael instead of focusing on Geralt, but if they were there, they were damn well hidden. She admitted to a small part of herself that she wanted to see Iorveth again, his beautiful face, his gorgeous green eye. She wanted to hear his harsh nasal voice drop to a low, gentle tone, and see his lopsided smile again. Maybe she would be so lucky as to spy on him playing his flute. 

She'd had a surreal wet dream about him the night after she'd freed him, but, strangely, didn't feel ashamed of enjoying the sensational orgasm that woke her up. Iorveth had been making love to her in front of a marble fireplace. She was in his lap, his hips rolling gently up into hers, tender and loving. 

Those thoughts may or may not have been engulfing her when Geralt was ambushed. Woops. 

Grim finally rolled to her feet and dove onto the queen's back with a powerful leap, shoving her silver blade down sideways, hilt-deep into its soft unarmoured side. The queen shrieked and threw itself off Geralt, viciously flinging Grim off and to the ground. She rolled on impact, banged her knee and smacked her head on a rock. 

With blurry vision, Grim stood, holding her head with her right hand, sword held out in her left, and charged forward, delivering the fatal blow to the queen's head. She severed it cleanly and held it up to let all the fluids drain. 

Geralt whistled. "Merse isn't going to be happy when you plonk that down on his desk," he said. 

"Good. Maybe it'll make him think twice about trying to steal an elven monument,” Grim said angrily. Upon entering the forest from the direction of the ruined bridge, they had found the magnificent marble statue of two lovers, and growing all around the base were Cedric’s purple Roses of Remembrance. Then, three thugs had come to try and steal the statue, revealing that the town chancellor, none other than Louis Merse himself, had paid them to steal this piece of elven heritage. Now, the thieves were battered and broken and limping back to lick their wounds. 

“Bloody hell , I hit that rock hard," Grim said, gritting her teeth as Geralt parted her long hair carefully to see the wound. She wore it in a simple ponytail that she slipped from a green velvet scrunchie. 

"Ow, ow, ow!" 

"Sorry, Grim. Eh, it's not too bad. Doesn't need stitching."

"You sure?" 

"Positive, just needs a clean." 

"I remember you saying the same thing about Lambert's arm when a gryphon nearly tore it off at the elbow. That definitely needed stitches." 

"Grim, you're fine. It doesn't need stitches. You know, you doctors really are the worst patients," Geralt said with a grin, walking off to collect a Nekker head to add to Merse's desk. 

"And I'm one of the easier ones," she said, chuckling and following Geralt back to town, all the while still searching the trees for a sign of Iorveth. The fact that neither she nor Geralt had been impaled by an arrow told her that they were being watched, but still not considered a threat, which was a relief to Grim. Perhaps what she had said to Iorveth that day had actually sunk in. 

A sudden cry and punched out huff caught their attention. Three Scoia'tael warriors were battling Nekkers who had surrounded the elves and were tearing at their bare arms with dangerous claws. The elves had magnificent curved swords that would have made easy work of the necrophages, but they had no space to swing them. 

Grim, acting on instinct, summoned a spear made from ice and threw it with deadly precision and punishing force, the very same tactic she had used for the dragon at La Valette castle. She tilted her head and the spear shattered in mid air, turning into daggers that met their targets, buried right through each Nekker's head. The elves looked stunned and turned to her and Geralt. The Witchers raised their hands in a peaceful gesture and the elves gave a reluctant nod, the flaps of their strange helmets (or caps?) falling over their beautiful tanned faces for a moment. 

One warrior had a particularly bad gash all along his forearm and it would doubtless be riddled with infection from the bacteria in the Nekker’s claws alone. 

Grim advanced slowly, hands still up. She spoke to the elf with respect and in his own language, holding out two small glass jars she had fished out from the pouches on her thighs. 

"Here, for your wound. It's definitely going to get infected, because of the bacteria under the Nekker's claws. Just clean it with fresh water and let it air dry, pat it with the clear liquid - it won't sting or burn - and then smear some balm on it and keep it covered."  

The elves were astonished that she was so fluent in their language. They kept looking at her ears to see if they were pointed, but they were as ordinary as any other human's, multiple piercings notwithstanding. Her fangs convinced them further that she was not one of their own. 

"Thank you," said the wounded elf, blue eyed and beautiful, so perfect as to be designed, not born. He took the jars carefully, making a marked effort to not touch Grim’s hand. 

Grim nodded respectfully with a small grin, and turned back to Geralt. 

"Your bleeding heart is going to get you killed one day, Grim," Geralt said in his gruff, caring way. 

Grim sighed and picked up the Endrega queen's head again. "I know, Geralt. But I'm not going to apologise or feel ashamed for being a doctor." She hadn't noticed that the Scoia'tael hadn't moved, and were still watching and listening in on the Witchers' conversation. 

"I know, little scorpion, I know… Come on, let's go turn in these heads. I bet you're just dying to see Louis Merse," Geralt said with a smirk. 

Grim grumbled something very sour under her breath and followed Geralt out of the forest. 

Louis Merse was pale and sweating by the time he had paid the Witchers and they had mercifully left, nodding his head like the snivelling little coward he was. He had been lectured on interracial respect by Grim within an inch of his life, for at least five guards, three tavern maids and two other official looking gentlemen to hear. The heads of the two monsters had been left, bleeding and oozing, on his desk. 

The next morning, Dandelion and Zoltan couldn’t wait to tell Grim that her speech was the talk of the town, that Loredo had even posted a letter on the noticeboard saying that racism would not be tolerated in Flotsam.

Grim snorted. Loredo was the biggest racist of them all! He was just covering his own arse and making sure a riot didn’t ensue, a riot that would leave him penniless and without his fragile hold over the people of the little trading post, especially since he knew Grim and Geralt would not be fighting on his side. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

‘Ah, hell…not this monstrosity again!’ Iorveth thought with panic. He was now trapped up an isolated tree with wolves circling the base and a monster seemingly commanding them. He had gone too far away from his main camp, wandered too far into the deepest, oldest parts of the forest in his hunt for an ancient temple, and was consumed by thoughts of a certain female Witcher all along the way. Now he was tied up in a waiting game, left to see who had the most patience between himself and the beasts at his heels.

The monster in question had been seen only a handful of times by Iorveth himself, and even more by his scouts. It was exceptionally tall and had literal branches for forearms, a kind of primitive loin cloth of bear skin around its hips, and a large skull for a head. The skull had antlers, but not like any kind of animal antlers that Iorveth had ever seen. Its skin was as white as bleached bones, left in the sun of the Korathi desert.

Iorveth was beginning to get hungry and very irritated, watching the sun slowly sink down past midday. And the wolves were still there, still waiting, having nothing better to do apparently. It had been a good half an hour since he had seen the antlered demon around though, and he took the chance to kill the six howling white wolves, one arrow for each, striking true. 

As it turned out, that had been a mistake…

An ungodly rumbling growl saturated the very air and Iorveth felt a horrible shiver run down the steps of his spine, deep fear sitting like a rock in his stomach. He was sweating all of a sudden and scared, truly scared. He gripped the branch of the tree firmly in his gloved hands and willed his body to move. But it wouldn’t. He was frozen in terrified silence, just waiting for the creature to devour him whole. Where the hell was Letho when he needed him??

Again, he desperately told his body to move. One hand. One hand moved and slid down to grip another, lower branch. Then the other hand followed. He slid his body down so slowly, one shaking movement at a time. His breathing hitched and then stopped altogether as he heard the beast roaring in fury again, and he actually flinched, crying out a pitiful little sound and clinging to the tree for dear life.

When he was certain that he was still alive, Iorveth could hear the distinct sounds of a fight going on far below him. He heard the horrible, guttural grunting of the beast and the high pitched, metallic singing of a very well made sword.

‘Letho!’ he thought, scrambling down the tree as fast as his fear-cramped limbs would let him. 

The huge Witcher would take the tree beast down in no time at all, and this quadrant of the forest would be safe for the Scoia’tael again.

Iorveth ran through the woods towards the sounds of the small battle and came to a skidding halt when a body was hurtling towards him at breakneck speed. The body collided with him and they both went flying backwards, a tree unfortunately being the softest object to break their momentum. Iorveth felt his spine crack horribly and was so thankful for his thickly padded armour. 

When the body rolled off Iorveth’s chest and lap, elbowing him in his ribs and inner thigh, a familiar fragrance washed over him and he knew it was not Letho, but Grim. His mind faltered a little and he barely heard her rushed apology, “Sorry! Oh - Iorveth, hello,” before she was up and sprinting back into the fray, leaping up far too many feet into the air to be normal for a human, and angling her sword downwards to stab the creature’s neck in a movement so swift it blurred. The monster shrieked in newfound pain and swatted at her feebly, but she had already wrenched her silver sword from its body and landed lightly behind it, coming round in a wide circle, staying away from the monstrous branches it had for hands. Iorveth could already see a few cuts and bruises along her jawline and her neck, and her hair was an absolute mess. She was also leaning over to her right slightly, so he suspected she had been kicked in the ribs. 

Iorveth heard her click her fingers and summon a small flame, which grew and grew in her palm and she swiped it over her blade, coating the silver in magical fire. The beast shrieked again and almost cowered at the sight. Iorveth struggled to his feet, his back protesting and aching like hell. He would need to soak in the elven baths after this fiasco. He was sure she was not a very heavy woman, but with all that armour on and the force at which she came hurting towards him, a cannonball may as well have been shot at him at close range. 

Grim was still circling the demon, then she broke into a sudden sprint and leapt up with a rumbling growl onto the monster’s chest, thrusting her burning blade deeply into its chest. It stumbled back with a scream that could have rent flesh from bone, and Iorveth covered his ears with a cry. The monster swayed and went down and Grim went with it, using her buried sword for balance. 

The monster lay dead and bleeding black ooze when Iorveth finally wandered nearer. Grim pulled her sword from its chest with an effort and hopped down from its gargantuan frame.

“Are you alright? It just flung me, hell for leather, right into you,” she said to Iorveth in a rush, dabbing at her neck gingerly with her palm. Her hands were as scarred as his own. Strange for a doctor; he thought a surgeon of all people should be taking more care of their hands.

Iorveth nodded, keeping his distance and grimacing with each step. “What the hell is this thing?”

He wasn’t sure why he had not run after he could get up, run away from the Witcher who had arrived with Vernon Roche, who had - Oh yes, because she had saved him. That’s why. He’d stuck around to see if he could help and repay her favour. That was when he came to the startling realisation that he liked this woman, this dh'oine. 

“It’s a Leshen, an ancient forest spirit. They find a spot they like in the woods and claim it as their territory, killing anyone who wanders too close to it. Speaking of,” she said with a downcast expression, “I found two of your Scoia’tael just beyond that ridge, right near its nest. I’m sorry, Iorveth, there was nothing I could do for them,” Grim said sadly.

The tall elf tried to hide the look of shock and sadness in his eye, but he knew that she had seen it. She was very observant, this dh’oine. And then, out of the grief, bloomed distrust and bitterness, an old and ugly habit that always served to disguise his pain and loneliness.

“And how do I know you didn’t kill them yourself? With fangs like yours, I’m sure you could make murder look like a monster attack if it worked in your favour.” He was trembling ever so slightly with anger and pain and sadness. 

The Witcher before him sighed softly. “You know, that’s a really petty accusation after I saved your life just four days ago. I'm glad to see your ankle is alright.” Her voice was tired and a little frustrated. 

Grim turned away from Iorveth, not waiting for his answer, and apparently not caring for it either, and wiped her sword clean, sheathed it, and then brought out an ornate silver dagger. It was fine and beautifully feminine. Grim carefully moved the Leshen's head and began cutting it off, using practised strokes. Iorveth just stood there and watched. 

The head came away with a sickening wet sound and a stench that made the surgeon wrinkle her small, pierced nose in disgust. " Nasty ," Iorveth heard her say under her breath. She stood up with a wince and began twisting her head and neck. Iorveth saw that she was stuck on something. 

"Hold on, there's a stick in your rat's nest. It's caught on your scabbard. There, it's gone," he said, wagging the offending stick in front of her face, the way one would offer a dog a treat. Her beautiful, elegant perfume washed over him strongly when he moved his gloved fingers through her hair as carefully as he could. 

Grim didn't find that amusing, but thanked him nonetheless. If anything she looked disappointed at Iorveth’s juvenile degradation. She broke eye contact with him to pick up the Leshen's head by its antlers and she started walking away, completely ignoring the elf as though he wasn’t there at all. Iorveth easily caught up to her, throwing the stick, which he suspected was actually the Leshen's finger, away into the bushes. 

"Turning that in to Merse, are you?" he asked casually, falling in next to her. 

"No, it's - for me. I like skulls," the dh'oine said, a little bashful. He wasn't sure if that meant that she liked trophies of her kills, but he doubted it. She wasn't the kind of person to brag about her kills, to hang heads from a meat hook on her horse's saddle and trot through town, people fawning all over her and showering her in gratitude and gifts. So he supposed that she just really liked collecting skulls. Perhaps that's why her name was Grim. 

"Hm. I heard that you gave Merse quite the talking to about respecting elven heritage," Iorveth said, dodging the trail of thick black blood still leaking from the monster's head when he was forced to walk behind Grim by a large boulder. He was awfully talkative today, wasn't he? 

From right behind her the scent of her perfume washed over Iorveth in waves of sultry delight. He could smell sun-kissed lime blossoms, lily of the valley, lilac and magnolia. He wondered if she made the fragrance by hand or bought it from someone. It was clearly a very expensive luxury that she allowed herself, and from the condition of her hair, nails and milk white skin, and her various sets of armour and jewellery, she had plenty of money, and enjoyed quite a bit of extravagance. Iorveth missed extravagance. Hell, he missed a normal, real bed. 

"He sent men to steal the statue of the lovers so he could have it as a lawn ornament." Her voice was bitter and annoyed. "If I hadn't stopped them they would have destroyed it. They wanted to lop pieces of it off and cart it out the forest bit by bit. Arseholes ."

Iorveth chewed his lip, walking beside her again. They had avoided each other's gaze since leaving the Leshen's body behind them. He wanted to thank her for saving the statue, telling Merse off, and for saving him. But he was awkward and proud and hated dh'oine. 

'But not this dh'oine. This one is alright, one of the few decent ones and you know it,' said Iorveth’s brain, reasoning with him as much as possible. 

Iorveth sighed quietly. "Grim, wait," he said, touching her right elbow between the steel plates to make her stop. She was warm, her body heat radiating through her leathers and his gloves and settling pleasantly in his chilled bones. He was surprised and relieved and a little flattered even when she didn't pull away, so he didn't drop his grip when she turned to face him. 

"Thank you," he said plainly, but earnestly. No sass, no sarcasm. 

Grim's face was a breathtaking picture of surprise. She was obviously not expecting any kind of gratitude for anything she did, whether it was monster hunting-related or saving elves and their heritage-related. Iorveth saw that in an instant and felt a little pang of pity for her. He himself, fearsome and cruel as he could be, always rewarded a job well done generously, and was loved fiercely by his warriors for it. Her gorgeous full cheeks, so foreign, so un-elven, took on a slightly deeper flush. 

"You're welcome, Iorveth," she said softly, studying his dirty, sweaty face. He saw in her eyes, her warm hazel eyes, so sultry and smouldering, that she understood why he was always on his guard, always walled away behind so many ugly insults and clever, sarcastic remarks. He saw her understanding and tolerance of his pride and it almost knocked him onto his arse. Only then did he slowly release her elbow from his gentle grip, and immediately mourned the loss of her warmth. Grim did not resume walking. She just looked into his eye, gentle and patient. 

"Are you sick?" he asked a little awkwardly. Her face was flushed a very attractive pink, and she was so hot she had to be sick. 

"No, why?" she asked slowly, genuinely confused. 

"Your arm is burning hot. It feels like you have a fever," the elf replied. 

Grim's face softened into a tiny smile. 

"Elves and humans have different body temperatures," she said simply, and didn't venture to demonstrate this fact, much to Iorveth’s dismay. 

"How is it you don't know that humans run hotter?" asked Grim when Iorveth didn't respond. He was just staring at her with curiosity, lips slightly parted. Her question jerked him back to reality and his expression soured. 

"I don't exactly go around fondling humans. And the ones I have to touch typically have rapidly decreasing body temperatures," he said a little harshly. 

"Right. Sorry, stupid question," Grim said, looking a little embarrassed, and shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. Iorveth immediately felt like a fool. 

To cover his awkwardness, Iorveth licked his lips and rubbed a hand over the left side of his face. "Do you really suspect Nilfgaard to be behind the regicide?" He asked it quietly as though someone may overhear. 

Grim nodded and rubbed her neck, just below her hairline where Witch was tattooed in a creative ambigram. "Yes. It makes sense, unless there's another, more powerful group, but I highly doubt it. I mean, we Witchers are expensive and charge a lot, even for small jobs, let alone killing kings. I can't even begin to think how much I'd charge for such a thing. And we all know that nobody has more money than Nilfgaard, not to mention that it's an incredibly difficult operation to pull off. So many things could go wrong with the logistics alone, before even reaching your target."

She looked down briefly and toed the ground, in deep thought. A small frown creased her brow. Iorveth honestly couldn’t remember the last time he'd met someone like her… she was bold and caring, fierce and kind, fragile, but so resilient. And strangely easy to speak to, as though he'd known her all his life, a passing acquaintance he'd meant to catch up with every time he saw her pass by in the streets, ready with her beautiful smile and caring words. He felt a comforting little buzz in his chest and fancied himself courting her in a different life. She was truly unafraid of him even after meeting him, whereas most humans would tremble just hearing his name whispered in city streets.

"When you served in the Vriheidd Brigade, you created enough chaos in the North for Nilfgaard to invade with very little resistance. Now, Northern kings are dropping like flies, and the North is de-stabilising all over again, knocked off kilter by a band of rogue Witchers from an extinct school, assisted by the Scoia'tael in one instance. And who stands to gain the most from all the chaos once all the Northern powers have killed each other and created a weak defense? The North is prime for the taking. And I'm damn sure they will use you for everything you have and then kill you without so much as a 'thank you'. You need to get yourself and your warriors out of their politics before that happens," she finished urgently. 

Iorveth didn't answer her. He didn't have to. It was so clear now. The pleasant buzz disappeared and he was shaking his head. Damnit, why hadn't he seen it all sooner ? He had not lived to his age by making stupid mistakes and miscalculations and this, oh boy, this was a fuck up beyond repair. He was shaking in anger, getting more and more agitated and fidgety as she spoke. As she explained her theory, that was probably a fact. 

"They're planning to march on the North again when it's at its weakest… Bloede dh'oine! And how is it you know so much about elven history, hm?" he asked aggressively. Another war with Nilfgaard would only make already-scarce resources even harder to come by. Feeding his warriors in the winter to come would be impossible and likely result in even more deaths. 

"There are lots of books on the Aen Sheide and Aen Elle at Kaer Morhen. Elves don't exist in my world, so I learnt all I could about your people. In fact, you're the very first elf I've ever met," Grim said, watching Iorveth’s reaction carefully. He knew she was (unpleasantly) surprised by his lightning fast mood change. 

"Are you from Toussaint?" he asked, his scowl growing deeper and deeper. He wondered, in the back of his mind, if that knowledge included how intimately elves regarded hair and hair-touching since he'd just removed a Leshen's finger from her hair. Touching another's tresses was reserved for lovers, serious lovers who intended to marry, or at least be together exclusively for the remainder of their lives. 

Grim shook her head. He had completely missed the important word she had used, too engulfed in his anger at Nilfgaard and at himself for his stupidity and desperate desire to trust humans. 

"Huh, Redanian then... Can you find your way back to Flotsam on your own?" he practically growled at her. 

She nodded, a small frown between her lovely thick eyebrows. She was not offended by his growl; she was worried about him. He saw this, plain as day. Gods, it was a pleasant change to meet someone so easy to read, someone who was actually genuine in their intent. That buzz reappeared for a second before he squashed it. He didn't want to like her just right then. He wanted to be angry, to drive her away from him and all the chaos he embodied. She was too pure, too loving to be tainted by his madness. 

"Good," and he turned sharply, heading in a different direction, seething with anger and frustration. Letho was going to be in for one hell of an arse kicking interrogation when Iorveth found him. 

"Iorveth, tell me you're not going to face the Witcher alone. He'll kill you without a second thought!" said Grim, jogging up behind him. The concern in her voice was so very convincing. “At least let me come with you!” She grabbed his arm, his bare right elbow to make him stop and he started. He'd revealed his vulnerability to her, and it made him feel stupid and foolish to trust her so easily. She was too close in every way possible. 

He turned on her with a murderous glare, coming up so close, right in her face, that he could have bitten her pretty little nose right off. She drew her hand back quickly. 

"I'm not that stupid, alright, Grim? I won't face him alone. My warriors, my army, will be at my side, because unlike you filthy fucking dh'oine, we don't use each other! Now get the fuck out of my forest!" 

Iorveth had never sworn so much in his life. He knew he was far too harsh with Grim, but he couldn't help it; the words fell out of his mouth. And she was a damn tough one to crack, not even flinching at his swearing directly at her, all personal insults meant to inflict pain, to push her away from him before she got hurt. 

"Oh, is that what Francesca Findabair did? Funny, because Aen Sheide history notes that she turned her back on all of you, and practically led you to the executioner's block!" Grim growled at the elf, all venom and sarcasm. “She won’t even let former Scoia’tael into Dol Blathanna, which is, oh look at that, a vassal state of Nilfgaard! ”

"Fuck off , you dh'oine bitch !" he screeched and ran off into the bushes, the pain and fury inside his heart too much to handle. He knew she was right, of course she was, but that didn't make it any easier for him to digest. Once again, he had shattered a possible alliance with someone who really did seem to care about the Aen Sheide, and all because of his pride. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 10 

"For the love of the gods, Grim, get that thing away from me!" cried Dandelion in fear. 

He and Grim were sitting in a small clearing just outside Lobinden. The weather was too beautiful to be inside so he had proposed they go out and work on composing a song they had written together many years ago. The clearing was warm and brimming with life; birds, little squirrels in the undergrowth, a lone hedgehog waddling around - a large snake lazily making its way over to Dandelion, as disinterested in the bard as his last paramour had been. 

"It's just a snake, calm down. Poor thing is more afraid of you," said Grim calmly, slowly approaching the large reptile and gently picking it up. It seemed quite content to just be wound around the silk sleeve of her deep red dress shirt. 

"Oh, of course you'd pick the animal's side. Bloody hell, don't stroke him, just get rid of him! Gods, those dead eyes he's got!" exclaimed the bard, covering his mouth and turning away his face. 

Grim rolled her eyes at the drama queen, examining the snake for injuries. It allowed her to look and prod and poke, languidly flicking its tongue out to taste the air and tickle the back of Grim's hands. 

"Oh my…Well now, he is actually a she. And she's very pregnant with a large clutch of eggs just right now, so I'm going to put her down near the river. Coming with? Or would you rather stay here and be under attack by more snakes?" Grim asked with a smirk. 

That got Dandelion up, lute, papers, and all, and he followed exactly in Grim’s footsteps. She stopped far off the path and set the snake down on a hot, sunbaked rock. It coiled up and dozed happily, seeming to nod its head at her in appreciation. 

"I hate snakes; they give me the shivers, I tell you. Always look like they're plotting something behind your back, just lurking in the grass, waiting to attack," said Dandelion in a paranoid tone. 

"Nonsense, most snakes go out of their way to absolutely avoid people. They're necessary for rat population control. Besides, I could never kill an animal," she said softly, extending her hand to a small red squirrel foraging through a pile of leaves. 

It looked at her and chittered, scampered onto her hand, cleaned its tiny face, and then darted off into the bushes. 

"Be safe out there, little one," she said in the direction of the scurrying sounds. 

Dandelion was smiling at her fondly. "You really do have an amazing way with animals, Grim."

"Be the one who rescues, for they will rescue you in return. Just like that bunny rabbit and I," said Grim. "Now, about that verse…" 

And they walked back to the (snake free) clearing to finish composing and checking their work. 

"Argh, balls . I still don't like my writing here," complained Dandelion, the feather in his cap bobbing with his furious erasing gestures, droplets of black ink flying over the parchment. 

Grim looked at the lyrics and thought for a long time, humming to herself, eventually settling and changing the words and melody using Dandelion's quill. 

"Alright, let's try from the first chorus onto the next," she said, taking the reins. Dandelion was a little highly strung from working with Roche, and Grim could see why; Dan hated the racism towards non-humans, and only helped Roche so far with his information gathering because it hadn’t involved genocide. 

Grim sang and Dandelion plucked a very slow, gentle melody. 

Distant prayers 

Carved in stone. 

The silent words, 

At this point, Grim happened to look up into the surrounding trees and caught Iorveth watching them. He ducked back slightly, but kept eye contact with Grim. The red headscarf did nothing to camouflage him in the green canopy of leaves. 

'So you're alive… Either you didn't find your Witcher or he convinced you he's not working for Nilfgaard. Intriguing.'

They will still be heard. 

How can I see through your eyes 

My destiny? 

I fall apart, you bleed for me. 

How can I see through your eyes? 

Our worlds collide

Open your heart to close our great divide. 

"Yes! Excellent! Brilliant, Grim! Just brilliant!" said Dandelion, scribbling more notes on their shared papers. 

Grim did not smile at Iorveth, not after their last, rather aggressive encounter last week. But she saw that Iorveth did dip his head to her. Perhaps he was feeling a little guilty for the way he swore at her so needlessly and so violently. It wasn't her fault that he hadn't seen how he was being used again. Still, she dipped her head back very slightly, not wanting the bard to see who she was communicating with. Grim had always been secretive, but she felt oddly protective of Iorveth and his commando. 

Dandelion brought her attention back and she sang more, fine tuning and adjusting the final notes and melody. By the time they had finished editing and played the song again from start to finish, Grim had tracked Iorveth coming closer and closer, catching his eye every time he moved to a new position. Clearly he wanted to be seen. Or maybe he was just enjoying the music. It was a damn good song, and he was a musician after all. 

Soon, Dandelion declared the song perfect and they rose, going to sit in the middle of Lobinden with its colourful inhabitants. That was the last Grim saw of Iorveth and she was rather relieved actually. His presence was a reminder of abuse that she really didn't need. 

"There you are! Where've you been all day?" Dandelion exclaimed, seeing Zoltan finally join them around the seemingly never dying campfire. 

"Doing actual work, thank you very much. That bugger up of a wedding nearly bankrupted me; I took up some blacksmithing to make some gold," said the dwarf, looking into the flames, forlorn and distant. 

Grim looked over at Dandelion and motioned something in sign language. The bard nodded and began strumming a lovely tune. 

"Good friends of Lobinden, please sit back and enjoy the stunning song, I Feel Immortal , by our beautiful Grim."

Grim’s operatic vocals filled the air. 

Whenever I wake up

I’m lost and always afraid

It’s never the same place

I close my eyes to escape

The walls around me

And I drift away

Inside the silence

Overtakes the Pain

In my dreams

I feel Immortal

I am not scared

No, I am not scared

I feel immortal

When I am there

When I am there

Whenever I wake up

The shards of us cut within

Always the same day

Frozen all in the fringe

I surrender to the sleep

And leave the hurt behind me

There’s no more death to fear

In my dreams

I feel Immortal

I am not scared

No, I am not scared

I feel immortal

When I am there

When I am there

So far or right beside me

So close but they can’t find me

Slowly, time forgets me

I’m lonely, only dreaming

I feel Immortal

I am not scared

No, I am not scared

I feel immortal

When I am there

When I am there

I feel immortal

And I am not scared

Cheering and applause followed the last note, and even Cedric whooped for them from his platform. Grim laughed and bowed humbly. Zoltan gave her a rough squeeze around the shoulders to show his appreciation at her distracting him. 

The late afternoon sun created dappled shade on them, and Cedric had come down to join them as his shift changed, vodka in hand. He brought out his Gwent deck as he settled on the log next to Grim. 

"Fancy a game, Grim? I'll put up 5 Orens to start," said the handsome elf, raising an eyebrow at her. The sly grin on his face made her laugh and wish she could see Iorveth smile, just once. Hang on now, where had that thought come from? 

"I only gamble with my life, never my money. Dan, how about you?" asked Grim. 

"Hmm, I feel lucky today; let's have a go!" he said, and eagerly sat with Cedric to play while Grim and Zoltan sat in quiet conversation off to the side. Grim's heart ached for her dear friend's misfortune. 

"Don't worry your sweet heart, Grim. I'm on the mend, and I'm sure Dandelion will drag me out to my usual mood some way or another," he reassured her. 

"He is rather persuasive, that one," said Grim with a laugh. It was nearing Bugs bunny's dinnertime and Grim got up to say goodnight to everyone. 

As she walked behind Cedric, she scanned the cards in his hands and moved her own hands past his shoulders to rearrange the cards into a more strategic layout. Her cheek briefly touched his as she jostled him around, and was very cool against her hot one. The contact reminded her of Iorveth’s cool, gentle grasp on her arm, and her thoughts drifted to him again, a pang of something unpleasant sounding in her chest. She hoped Iorveth didn't get hurt by that Witcher. 

"Ey, no fiddling - Oh… Nevermind. Thank you!" the elf said cheerfully, toasting her. She giggled, squeezed his strong shoulders and gave Dandelion a hug goodnight. 

"Why are you helping him? I'm going to lose now, aren't I?" the bard complained. 

"I don't think it's completely fair to fleece a drunk is all," Grim said innocently, shrugging at them. 

As she reached the border, she heard Cedric's voice rise in a cheer and knew he had indeed won, and spotted Iorveth’s red headscarf and bow holster just out the corner of her eye as he ducked back behind a tree.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Vernon Roche was practically beaming with joy. Grim wouldn't have been surprised if he had started dancing at the sight of the captured Scoia'tael before him. Mentally scarred, absolutely, but not surprised. 

They were well and truly off the beaten path, near an abandoned cabin by a huge lake, sunlight streaming onto the elf's beautiful face. He was tall and fair haired with light blue eyes and a strong jawline, much like Iorveth’s, also with stunning, fine, chiselled cheekbones. He had been caught by the Stripes and bound in thick ropes, now forced onto his knees at Roche's feet. 

"Well, well, well… You squirrels are hard to catch, you know?" Roche said, bending down to put his face right in front of the elf's. The elf flared his nostrils and set his jaw, silently stating he would not break under Roche's taunting. Two Stripes stood on either side of the elf, pushing heavily on his shoulders to keep him down. 

Geralt and Grim stood quite far behind Roche, watching the scene unfold with some apprehension. Geralt had urged Grim to come with him and put her game face on in case Roche became too aggressive with the elf and killed him. The Witchers were there to stop that from happening. And so it was that Geralt moved, stood near Roche, arms crossed and expressionless, while Grim slowly walked the perimeter like a predator circling her prey. The elf's eyes kept flicking to her and Geralt gave Grim the slightest nod for the next part of their routine to begin. She began grinning with such seduction at the elf, swaying her wide hips ever so slowly as she walked around the small group. 

The elf turned a little red at the sight of the beautiful Witcher, who only had eyes for him it seemed, biting her bottom lip, licking her lips, and winking at him. 

"Oi, focus, knife-ear. What? A pair of tits atop an arse smiling at you is all it takes to get your blood up? Hmph, pathetic… Now, you'll answer some questions for me." 

That comment, so crass and spoken so bitterly, was proof enough that Roche was immensely jealous of the attention Grim was giving the elf. 

"Where is your hideout?" 

No answer came. 

Roche straightened and backhanded the elf, the spikes on the back of his fingerless gloves striking the elf's lovely tanned skin. 

"How many are in your unit?" 

Again only silence was the answer. Another stinging backhand landed on the elf's cheek. 

"What is Iorveth planning?" 

More silence and another strike. This time there was blood drawn and Grim moved to the next part of the routine. 

"Come now, Vernon, this isn't getting you anywhere," she said calmly, taking Roche's airborne hand in hers and putting it down at his side, patting his arm. He looked confused, but played along. 

"She's right. It's my turn now," announced Geralt, striding forward to stand before the elf. He was bleeding and shaking a little from the adrenaline, but his chin jutted out proudly. 

"Do you know how Witchers are made, elf? We're essentially humans, then we undergo vicious mutations that most of us don't survive," explained Geralt, looking down at the prisoner. "We can smell, hear and see things miles away, and tracking what we want is child's play. If you think you're going to escape us you're sorely mistaken."

Grim took a step forward and bent down, sniffing the elf's neck loudly, so close to touching him that he jumped a little. She gave him a sinister smile as she pulled away, licking her plush lips. They shone in the sunlight, succulent and inviting. 

"He smells divine. I've never fed from an elf before," she said in a husky, seductive voice, eyes half closed. 

" Fed? !" the elf cried out in shock. Now he was visibly shaking. 

Geralt chuckled darkly while Grim motioned for the elf to stand with one slender index finger. The Stripes hauled him to his feet by his underarms and held him fast, frowning a little at this new game. 

"My sister wolf was uh, engineered , almost a century after me, and in that time, Witcher mutations changed, and ways of administering the potions changed. My dear Grim here, well, she was created using the genes from a higher vampire. Hence her incredible fangs." And Grim smiled enchantingly at the elf who went many shades paler and began sweating heavily.

"Unfortunately those same genes left a remarkable desire to ingest blood," Grim said, still smiling. She had slipped her fine silver dagger from her belt and used it to cut open the elf's tunic oh so slowly, exposing more of his throat and muscular chest. 

" Oooh , now aren't you delicious? Such a beauty…" she sighed, drawing her short fingernails over his hairless chest and letting her hand rest on the side of his neck. "My, what a strong pulse you have… I'll have to be careful I don't waste your blood. I've been known to be a, um, a messy eater," she said giggling, showing those fangs again, and the elf struggled and tried to pull away, crying out, but the Stripes held him steady. 

Roche was watching on in horror, seeing Grim pawing over the elf's body and hating that he wasn’t in control of the situation. He didn't know what was happening, but let the Witchers continue. 

"If you call ripping throats out 'messy' then sure," Geralt grumbled behind her. 

"Oh please, it's not as if I killed the last one in your bed. It was just outside your room. Not my fault you slipped in all the blood," she griped back. 

"No! No, please! Please don't do this!" cried the elf, terrified out of his mind. 

"Oh sweetheart, relax. The Vampire's Kiss is a blessing," Grim said, rubbing the elf's jugular notch with her thumb. "You won't feel a thing when I bite you, I promise. I'll try very hard not to rip your entire throat out at once, alright? I want to savour you… Mmm, you are divine," she praised, letting her voice drop very low and turn into a gravely rumble while running both hands through his short blonde hair then holding his head tightly. 

With a very loud and inhuman growl that made even Roche shiver in fear, Grim opened her mouth wide and made her fangs protrude more, barely grazing them along the elf's skin. He cracked in that moment, with the lightest touch of her teeth and her hot, moist breath. 

"Wait! Wait! Please, I'll tell you everything! Please don't kill me!" he wailed, and Grim took a step back looking playfully suspicious, her hands still toying with his blonde locks. 

Geralt took over the interrogation then, and Grim moved behind their hostage, still holding the elf, grinning seductively and massaging his neck and shoulders, dragging her nails over his chest like he belonged to her, growling softly all the while. She let one of her nails drag over the elf's nipple and he let out a scandalised yelp. "Oh, I am sorry, didn't mean to do that. He's a sensitive one, Geralt," Grim giggled, her routine and acting flawless as ever. 

So far Geralt had been able to extract that Iorveth had well over one hundred elves in his unit and they were scattered throughout cave systems underneath Flotsam and most of Temeria which would be impossible to track down. He didn't know anything about the kingslayer or Iorveth’s further plans. 

"Alright Grim, let him go. You'll have to find another elf to feed on, since you're so keen on trying elf blood," said Geralt in a worryingly cheerful manner. 

"Aw, but Geralt, look how gorgeous he is, and such a wonderfully strong heartbeat too… Just begging to be eaten alive, isn't he?" she said in a worshipful tone, draping herself over him from behind and rubbing his chest and stomach like he was just the elephant's eyebrows. 

The poor elf was beside himself in terror and his pupils were nearly fully dilated. 

"Come on Grim, before you break your new toy," Geralt urged her gently. 

"Oh alright, fine . Take him away boys, but don't hurt him," she said, spanking the elf. He gave a squeaky yelp and Grim said, "Oooh firm," and blew him a criminally sensual kiss as he was hauled away to the prison barge, Roche mumbling something about the brilliance of employing psychological torture. Geralt and Grim stayed behind, and Grim let out a long sigh of relief once they were well out of sight. 

"Bloody hell, that was horrible . That poor elf was scared to death," Grim said, sitting on a nearby rock. The large lake in front of them stretched far and looked so inviting she could have happily waded in and never come back out. 

"I know, Grim, I know you hate doing the whole routine. But you did damn well, even Roche was scared of you. And then horny as could be, but I definitely smelled fear before his kinks got the best of him," said Geralt with a smirk. 

"Oh yuk , I don't want to know about his kinks, thanks," Grim said, screwing up her face. Geralt chuckled, patted her shoulder and left, knowing she wanted to just sit and stare at the lake. The crystalline surface sparkled in the Spring sunshine, mesmeric and tranquil. 

Grim sat on the stony shore, drawing swirls and nonsensical shapes in the sparse sandy patches and singing softly to herself. It always took a toll on her, having to frighten people so horribly that they nearly fainted from fear. And fear of her of all people, she who was a doctor and dedicated so much to helping and saving others. 

She took off her boots and socks and let her feet dangle in the cold water, relishing the feeling of being one with the sea again. She closed her eyes and took many deep breaths, feeling the warm air touch her nose, her throat, and expand her chest, then feeling it tickle through her pursed lips on the way out. Everything was quiet and peaceful, and she yawned and stretched her long arms above her head, leaning back and lying on the soft ground. Her eyes slipped closed and she carried on breathing deeply. 

"Was that true?" said Iorveth’s voice from directly above Grim’s head. 

Snapping her eyes open in fright, Grim saw Iorveth perched on the branch just a few metres above her head. His eye was wide and cautious and she wondered just how close they had all been to being skewered by his arrows. 

"Bloody hell , Iorveth, make a noise will you?" Grim said with a scowl. 

"That rather defeats the purpose of stealth. So… is it true?" he asked drily, clearly not in the mood for jests. 

"Which part?" Grim asked, staying where she was. Any sudden movement could trigger him.

Iorveth shifted a little in the branch, orienting himself so he wasn't upside down in her vision. She could see right up his gambeson to his green hose underneath. 

"The vampire part… The gene mutation," he said a little hesitantly. 

"Why? Are you afraid I'm going to jump up there and bite you?" Grim teased, letting her lips curl back in a half-hearted threat. 

"Afraid of you? You must be mad. Although I have seen how high you can jump…" he said a little hesitantly, shifting in the branches again. A few leaves fluttered down towards Grim’s face and she blew them away gently. 

"I have been mutated to a degree, but no, the vampire part is pure fiction. I was born with these fangs. Besides, real vampire fangs are jagged and yellow depending on the species," Grim said plainly. She was a bit nervous that he would start swearing and shouting at her again if she spoke too freely, yet she couldn't help but wonder if he had wanted to make amends. 

"How do you know they're jagged and yellow?" asked the elf suspiciously. 

"Well, I am a Witcher, and I've been bitten by a vampire before," she said, pulling back the neckline of her soft undershirt on the left side, revealing the space between her neck and shoulder; the pale tissue was mangled and marred by definite fang marks, perfectly placed in a circle. It was deep and ugly, and the fangs had torn a little, perhaps in her struggle to get away. Iorveth swallowed hard, and she put her shirt back in place. 

"You're lucky to have survived that bite, dh'oine," said the elf quietly. Grim hadn't missed the use of 'dh'oine' instead of 'Grim'. Apparently she had been demoted. 

"Dh'oine bitch , I think you meant to say," said Grim with a small scowl. 

She saw Iorveth’s lips twist in a grimace and took pride in knowing that he regretted his choices that day, and she wondered if his pride would allow an apology. 

"You saved my warrior from dying at Roche's hands, but I'm curious to know what you would have done if he hadn't broken under your pressure," Iorveth said. 

'Ah, so no apology then, we'll just change the subject completely.' 

"I'd have bitten him at the same time that Geralt would have cast the Axii sign, making him dazed long enough for him to forget what happened after the bite, and to convince Roche he had passed out from fear. It would have been a shallow bite, but enough to leave imprints and break his skin. It's all an act that Geralt and I use instead of the usual cruel interrogation techniques. Then… Then I suppose Roche would have put him on the barge all the same," she said sadly, staring up into Iorveth’s startling green eye. 

She saw his jaw clench and he grunted, pushing off the branch and dropping down to her. She didn't bother drawing a weapon, and only propped herself up on her elbows. 

"So you would have injured him after scaring the shit out of him too?" growled the elf. 

"If that saved him from Roche, yes. The routine distracted Roche from his rage and your soldier will live to fight another day. And it’s hardly any worse than an insect bite really. It's called the Vampire's Kiss after all, not the Vampire's Buffet, he wouldn't even have known it was happening," Grim said, exasperated with Iorveth’s pettiness.

"You're awfully confident that I won't kill you for your ever-increasing sass," was all Iorveth said, totally confident in his domain. 

"Oh honey, you'd miss my sass, and my songs. And if you really wanted to kill me, we wouldn't be having this conversation," she said calmly. 

No reply came from the elf, but he watched her intently and she certainly wasn't going to egg him on. He was in a fragile enough mood as it was. 

The silence stretched on longer until Iorveth finally broke it, his face hard and bitter. 

"That song - 'Our Great Divide'... Some of the younger elves heard it and have begun singing it, trying to convince themselves that humans will accept them with love and kindness and trust. You've put false hope in them." 

That made Grim sit up properly, a shocked expression on her beautiful face. 

"Are you actually blaming me for giving them hope? It's only a song, a song about lovers who can't be together for whatever reason, just a ballad that Dan wanted help with. And I certainly didn't force your youngsters to listen, or read what they wanted to into the lyrics. And what's so wrong about having hope for the future? Your whole reason to fight for equality is to secure a better future for your people, living alongside humans, Iorveth," she said, gesturing to him with a flat hand. 

Iorveth scowled. "Your lyrics, innocent or not, have still put nonsense into their heads, making them think everything will be just peachy from day one. They yearn for the day when they can greet their human neighbours and invite them over for dinner, thinking that their trust will be returned!"

"Why is that such a strange and bad concept? We've built trust, you and I. Hard won trust, yes, but we still trust that neither of us will kill or hurt the other. Don't try to lie to me, I see the truth in your eye, Iorveth. You are so used to being full of hatred and suspicion that you can't let them have hope for fear of their hearts breaking. Just like yours did," Grim said with a slow sigh, reading him like a fucking book.

"Oh, get off it. You think you're so kind and compassionate, so understanding and sensitive so others just fall all over themselves for you. And I certainly haven't built any trust, nor would I, with the likes of you," he sneered, jabbing a gloved finger in her direction. He couldn't believe how well she knew him, how well she understood his pain and torment and all his fighting that always felt in vain. 

Grim looked at him with a mixture of sadness and anger, her eyes wide with something that looked a little like shame. She shook her head and stood, drying her feet with a wave of her hand.

"No, of course you could never build trust with me," she said softly, putting her socks and boots on. "After all, I'm nothing but a  filthy dh'oine bitch. And that is all you'll ever see me as, even after all I've done that proves otherwise." Her voice was small and so terribly sad. 

She got up and turned to leave, and he couldn't stop the fury from falling over, seeing red and finally finding an outlet for so much pent up rage and confusion and conflicting emotions, especially the ones that concerned her. 

"Don't you turn your back on me, dh'oine!" Iorveth screeched, pointing at Grim’s back. 

"What, are you going to shoot me?" she asked, facing him with a soft expression. 

“Oh no, I’ll not shoot you, Grim,” he hissed, slowly walking closer to her. 

“Then what is your problem with me? All you’ve ever done is accuse me of having an agenda against you, called me horrible names, sworn and screamed at me, and still you want to antagonise me, even after I clearly don’t rise to your bait. Why? What is so wrong with me that you just can’t handle?” Grim asked, her voice rising to match her anger.

“Your race is what's wrong with you,” Iorveth spat, standing very close to her again.

“ I am not my race, Iorveth. I do not speak or act on their behalf. You should know better than to tar and feather everyone with the same brush! Your whole organisation was founded to create equality between all species in this world, because you know the ways of the Scoia'tael are doomed to fail and you need to assimilate into human society to survive, yet all you can do is alienate the one person -  me - who would actually like to help the Aen Sheide. Do you know how many innocent elves die in cities because of your actions out here? God, I shudder to think how you go about asking for help civilly , I really do,” Grim said, frowning at the stunning elf, trying to make him see reason and sense, but he was just too furious, now standing barely an arm's length away. Oh, he was so beautiful and so tragically sad. 

“I don’t need your help, dh’oine, you’ll only get in the way and then your death will be on my hands too,” he said with venom in his voice, but Grim saw something flicker in his eye, something that looked like utter horror at the mere thought of her death. 

“Then what is the point of securing a domain for all free folk? Hm? What’s the point of all the fighting, all the killing if you’re not willing to actually build a life beside humans? There are so many who want to help you, so many humans who are sympathetic to your cause, to all you’ve suffered, but still you shun us! So tell me: what did all your dead elves buy with their lives? What future are you going to secure with their blood?” 

Iorveth was shaking in fury, his nostrils flared and chest puffing under his armour. He took another step closer, staring down at her. Grim didn't move backwards, though she had tears of fury in her eyes, challenging him to answer her honestly and to face his own inner demons. 

“They paid for a future where humans would be kind to us, where they would be brothers and sisters instead of enemies, but the kings of this realm have only become worse over the decades. Sooner or later humans will kill off all the Aen Sheide, all dwarves and gnomes. Then they’ll start murdering one another; your kind knows no other way - It’s in your genes. You’ll keep killing until only one remains, the strongest among you. A thousand years from now a dim witted human barbarian will climb to the top of a pile of bones, sit down and proclaim, ‘I win.”

Grim stared into his gorgeous green eye that was flicking between her two restlessly. She had to fight the urge to put a hand on his shoulder to calm him in his fury. She had to swallow to keep her voice steady, tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. 

“It’s true what you say,” she said quietly. “The humans will all kill each other in the years to come, over greed and religion and words in old books. But that’s just more reason to fight against them and their stupidity. You could save your people and the humans from destruction and in so doing prove that you are not the monster the humans make you out to be. I have fought monsters, Iorveth, real monsters, and you are not one of them. You think and plan and have feelings and hopes and dreams of peace and happiness. So I suggest you swallow your pride and ask for help before you all become extinct. I can't bear the thought of you leaving this plane…" Grim had no idea what made her say such a thing, but the tears began falling and she had to wipe her cheeks, distracting her from examining the feelings too closely.

"I’ll be waiting for your call to arms, Iorveth. Of that you can be assured.”

Iorveth’s eye was huge and his jaw was a little slack in surprise and shock. In that moment Grim knew she had struck several nerves at once, and now understood him even better. He did need help and bloody well knew he was too stubborn and proud to ask for it, but the way she had offered her help, the way she had told him that he could rely on her, and that she believed in his cause… She knew he believed her. There was no doubt about it. 

Grim turned again, and this time Iorveth didn’t call her back. She walked slowly through the clearing and found the path back to Flotsam, stopping to admire the majestic ruins of the Aen Sheide bridge. She touched the stone face of one of the many fallen elven statues and let a few sad tears fall onto it. The pain she felt in her chest was crushing, like someone had squeezed her heart too hard.

Standing up straight and wiping away her tears, Grim stretched her arms out towards the chasm the bridge had once spanned. A vibration filled the air, deep and penetrative, one that was felt in the ear canal more than really heard, and the earth trembled. Grim gritted her teeth and the fallen white stones moved and shifted from the ground, reforming into the incredible bridge. The sentinel statues all stood up and floated back to their original positions from hundreds of years ago, pristine and majestic, cleansed of mud, moss and water. 

Grim was shaking and her nose was bleeding by the time the bridge was back to its original glory, gleaming and proud in the bright Spring sunlight. As a final touch, she asked the earth to produce pure white climbing roses, and it did, rambling up the sides and spilling over the bridge. Grim hoped this gesture would be enough to show Iorveth her true colours for she had no doubt that he was stalking her even then, probably with an arrow trained at her head. 

"Oh gods… I felt the earth shaking from the lookout. Grim - did you restore the bridge?" Cedric asked in shocked awe, wobbling towards the middle where Grim stood, staring over the side into the crystalline water below. 

Grim nodded, picking a nearby rose, one that was not quite fully open yet. She carefully sliced the leaves and thorns off it with her dagger and slid it behind Cedric’s ear, arranging his braid in front of it. He looked even more beautiful, the crisp white elegantly complimenting his brown eyes and green tunic. 

"As a gesture of goodwill to all Aen Sheide," she said. 

"You've been crying… Grim, dear, what's happened?" Cedric asked with a frown, putting a cool hand on her shoulder. 

Grim sighed and slouched over the side of the bridge again, elbows on the cold white marble. She found a dark cream vein and traced it with her fingertip. 

"I had a rather ugly argument with Iorveth just now. I'm afraid I've pissed him off quite a bit."

"Oh Grim, what did he say to make you cry?" asked the dear elf, slouching down next to Grim. She did not notice that he wasn’t even vaguely surprised to hear that she had encountered his former commander. 

"Nothing specific really, I just got so frustrated with his stubbornness and nasty attitude. I understand that he doesn't want to trust humans, because of everything that's happened to him, I truly do understand that better than he realises, but it was still a bit of a shock to be called a 'dh'oine bitch' and told to fuck off when I was honestly just trying to help him in his battle. I feel so sorry for them all, Ced. They're all fighting and dying without really gaining any ground in this race war. It hurts my heart something fierce…"

Cedric chewed his lip for a bit. "Grim, you must understand that Iorveth is very old - he must be five hundred or so by now - and he has seen the ruin of his homeland, of his people, his family, and friends. He does not trust anyone easily, even his own kind anymore. I know you want to help him; it's in your nature to help, and you're a sparkling diamond amongst the drab stones of humanity for your loving care, dear heart. Iorveth will come around to trust you, I know he will, but he needs time to be certain, because he's a very sensitive and beautiful soul under all that armour. He's affected by everything around him, just like you are, just as you can feel the emotions and resonance from each living thing around you. He feels everyone's suffering and wishes to take it all away so they can be free of it. You two would actually make one hell of a powerful couple," said the old elf. 

" Ced ," Grim scolded gently. 

Cedric laughed. "I'm serious. Now, tell me what's been happening in this forest that I don't know about."

Grim told Cedric the story of her finding Iorveth in the snare, then the ugly fight they'd had just after she'd killed the Leshen, and now today's argument. She was tired and sighed heavily when she and the elf had finished speaking, and the sun had dipped down to late afternoon. 

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that Iorveth already does trust you. And likes you quite a bit, to be very frank. He didn't kill you after all, and he stalks you through the forest. He's trying to learn about you, Grim. He's intrigued," Cedric said with a playful nudge to her shoulder. 

Grim, who felt much better after sharing her burden of becoming acquainted with a wanted murdered and fugitive, smiled and laughed at her friend. 

"Maybe he is. He is very beautiful," Grim said carelessly, stroking the cold marble. 

"Oh ho, do I detect the doctor developing feelings for an elven rogue?" teased Cedric. 

"Honesty, I have no idea, Ced. I've never been in any romantic relationship before, never had the time or energy between all my studies. But it's strange… When I'm around him, as dangerous as he is, as hateful and volatile as he is - I don't think I've ever felt safer. Like, I'm absolutely certain that he would never, ever hurt me. I feel a definite attraction to him. I want to be around him, in his company, I want to see him succeed and be happy and comfortable… I don't know, I can't describe how he makes me feel. Maybe he will come around after all."

"That a girl! Now, come, it's time to drink and forget the day!" said Cedric, plucking a rose and stripping the thorns and leaves with his bare hands. He tucked it behind Grim’s ear, negotiating the stem behind all the bars and studs and rings, and they set off back to Lobinden in good spirits. Grim completely missed the sly, knowing grin on Cedric’s face as he turned to wag his finger sternly in Iorveth’s general direction. 

'You've gone and done it again, you idiot elf!' Iorveth thought, watching the beautiful Witcher kneeling and shedding tears on the statues his elders had built. He had eventually calmed down enough to actually climb a tree and not fall out of it and had followed her yet again. 

He had been sitting in the trees watching the capture of one of his warriors with an arrow notched and ready to fly into Vernon Roche's head when Grim had stepped from the trees. He'd immediately lowered his bow and watched carefully. 

The way she flirted with and intimidated the poor elf was terrifying. It was very clearly an act since, from his vantage point, he could see Geralt giving her cues with very discreet head signals. But it was bloody chilling to see and hear, especially when she began growling so ferally . He had no idea that humans could even make such sounds! 

Iorveth couldn't blame his elf for breaking. He had trained his men to be able to suffer normal torture of the body, but these mind games were something he hadn't anticipated and they made his warrior shatter under just the thought of his throat being ripped out by this 'vampire'. 

When it was all over and Grim was relaxing, Iorveth had wanted to apologise to her, to make up for what he had said. He really did have every intention of making peace with her, but things had gone sideways and his pride had reared its ugly head and she'd hit a very raw nerve about trust between elves and humans, and all the lives sacrificed under his leadership. He was bitter, because he didn't see himself living to enjoy the new world order of peace and tolerance and kindness. He would die providing that for his people and he was too proud to tell her that, and too heartbroken that he would never be able to experience a life with her . 

He felt awful for making her cry. Such a fickle thing, when he had caused so many human deaths, and not lost a wink of sleep, yet here he was gnawing over this woman and her tears of sadness and frustration. Then she had gone and rebuilt the bridge that his ancestors had built to absolute perfection, before he could even think of how she was making the stones float. Grim and Cedric had been talking about him for a long time, and had eventually walked away. Iorveth wished he was closer to hear what they were saying exactly instead of getting the smallest snippets, but at the same time he was scared to death to know what she actually thought of him.  

Cedric’s "you naughty elf, you've hurt her feelings, but it's nothing permanent and she will forgive you in time" wagging finger and raised brow had helped him feel better and he knew his old friend had soothed her frayed nerves. 

That night Iorveth dreamt of her, his clothes being cut off of him by that silver dagger. He couldn't see her, but felt her presence instead. He was not afraid or even slightly uncomfortable about this situation, her cool soft voice whispering sweet words of comfort to him. 

"Everything will be alright, honey. Trust me; I know you already do. Relax into me… There, see? Complete trust. You know I would never hurt you, my love."

When he was completely naked, a hot wet tongue slid over his neck and scarred face, soft lips kissing and suckling his skin and all the ridges of his scars. The sensation was soft and so loving, slow and deeply explorative, as though he was something to be savoured and worth her time. Sharp fangs punctured his skin with a pitiful prickle of pain, and she growled, loud and dominant. He gave into her love and was then consumed by an incredible, comforting warmth and was happy to surrender to it, if that was the Vampire's Kiss she had spoken off.

Upon waking with a hell of a start, Iorveth felt compelled to check his neck and chest for any signs that she was a Child of the Night, but there was nothing to be seen. No teeth marks, no claw marks, nothing but a cooling sticky mess where he'd come in his hose upon receiving the Kiss. He shook his head and made himself presentable before leaving his pallet bed behind, hoping nobody saw his rattled state on his way out, and hoping even more that he didn't encounter the Witcher today. He didn't think he could handle hurting her feelings again. 

Iorveth unfortunately did see the Witcher that day, but only from a careful distance, making very certain she couldn’t see him in the dim light of the very early morning.

Grim was carrying her little black rabbit and standing with Cedric who was pointing up into the branches of a tree, trying to show her something. Iorveth thanked the stars they weren't whispering this time.

“No, look closer, it’s there in the tree.”

“ Which bloody tree, Ced? There are hundreds,” Grim said in exasperation, and the pointing and gesticulating re-commenced. 

Iorveth figured she didn’t usually get up this early judging by her sleepy yawns and lack of armour. She was instead wearing long comfortable trousers and a warm woollen sweater. All black, naturally. Grim’s hair was up in a messy twisted bun secured by a large silver butterfly clip, looking beautifully casual and sleepy.

“Oh there, I see it!” she suddenly exclaimed, a gasp and joy in her voice.

‘About bloody time, Grim,’ Iorveth almost shouted. She had finally spotted the gorgeous owl that had chosen an ancient maple tree to build its nest in. She watched it with wonder and a small smile as it fed its young, squawking chicks.

Cedric had moved behind her to give her a better view since he was much taller than her, and held onto her shoulders to bend while pointing, his face so close to Grim’s that it made something sour turn in Iorveth’s stomach. There was nothing even remotely romantic in his movements, but Iorveth knew Cedric’s prowess with lovers very well and had learnt much from watching him flirt haughtily with plenty of willing elves, male and female. This was really more just two friends out bird watching at sparrow’s fart, but still the sour feeling remained. 

Cedric mindlessly raked his fingers through the bunny’s fur, close to Grim’s breasts that didn't have any steel plating covering them, and Iorveth practically sprinted away from the scene, leaping over huge gaps in the trees and far from anything that reminded him of Grim.

He was not angry with her anymore, not at all. She had been right, and truthful in all she said, and Iorveth had acted like a five (hundred) year old who didn’t want to admit the truth. He felt stupid and wanted to apologise again, but didn't have the courage yet. She’d probably kick his arse if he showed his sorry face so soon. He had heard how she could hold a grudge via his extensive spy network, and Vernon Roche was number one on her shit list, with Loredo and a few of his higher ranked officials in very close competition for the top spot. 

What would he even say to her? ‘Sorry I was such an arse, I’ve just been frustrated and scared to death, because two powerful Witchers and the Blue fucking Stripes have turned up in my forest and my second in command is missing in action. So... Here are some daffodils. Can we be friends now? Oh, and I could really use a doctor of your skill by the way. Here are my injured and sick warriors. See you later.’

Iorveth snorted at the thought, although bringing her flowers might not be a bad start since he found himself in a meadow of the most gorgeous daffodils, nearly past their blooming time and ready to go back to sleep for the summer. 

Wait, didn’t he come all this way off the beaten track and out of his way to not be thinking about her? Yes, yes he had. He sighed and flopped back onto the soft earth, watching the clouds turn pink and grey and blue with the rising sun. He needed Ciaran now more than ever to sort through this mess of emotions and thoughts, but where the hell was he? He'd told Ciaran about Grim saving him twice, and Ciaran has smirked his cocky smirk and told Iorveth he had a crush on the dh'oine. Now, he realised that Ciaran was probably right, and really needed to speak to him about that, and to make plans and find out if Letho really was using them, but he and his unit had vanished a week ago while on a supply run. 

In retrospect, thinking about Grim was actually more pleasant than worrying about where Ciaran and his unit were. Indeed, Iorveth’s thoughts floated to her soft hazel eyes, so large and expressive, her milk white face, marked with a few small scars, and that magnificent smile that he had only ever seen from a distance. He yearned for that smile to be directed at him. The realisation shook him more than it should have and he knew he was hopelessly attached. 

‘She called me ‘honey’ again. And she’s right, I would miss her sass and her songs,’ he thought with a soft chuckle.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

Watching the beautiful Witcher walk into the forest with Malena was almost heart warming if not for the fact that Malena was an ice cold cow who deserved to be caught by Loredo's guards. Iorveth had already received a report that Malena had (unsurprisingly) been found out, and that Grim had come to stand with her and defend her from the guards not even ten minutes before he saw the women in question. The guards seemed to have some healthy bit of fear for the Witcher and let her pass, taking the spy with her and back into Scoia'tael territory. 

'This woman really is a damn saint,' Iorveth thought, tucking another quiver of freshly made arrows behind him. He hadn't seen Grim in almost a week, and drank in her form greedily; her whispery voice, the sway of her wide hips, her dark brown, glossy hair. He wished he could smell her perfume. Biting his lip, he tried to control the feelings he had developed for her. Dreams of her were pleasant torture, and Iorveth came to the startling realisation that he was so painfully hollow and lonely without Grim in his life, though it had only been a week. He knew in the back of his mind that he loved her, and it terrified him. Nobody had ever compared to her, and nobody ever would. 

"How are you so certain that I'm not a spy, elaine dh'oine ?" Malena asked Grim. They were right under Iorveth’s tree, walking deeper and deeper in, towards the waterfall. 

"I know you're a spy, I saw the Scoia’tael arrows in the guards' bodies. I just refuse to watch those bullies condemn more elves. You need to keep a low profile. Tell Iorveth to rotate his spies more often so you're not discovered so easily next time," Grim said easily. 

Iorveth watched proud Malena baulk a little at the woman's observation, but her chin jutted out in defiance anyway. He wondered if Grim appreciated the massive compliment Malena had paid her, calling her beautiful human.

Iorveth stood up, gathering his many bundles of arrows and tools, ready to leave them in his cache and follow Grim to see what else she was up to. Gods , he missed her. That lovely buzz she had made him feel, that warmth and gentleness in her eyes, her sincere promise to be ready to fight alongside him when he needed her most… He was addicted to it. He missed feeling special and cared for. It wasn't often that anyone asked him if he was alright after battles where he wasn't visibly broken and bleeding, but she had asked if he was alright after being thrown into him. She had been the one bleeding that day and he hadn't even asked if she was alright. 

Yes, special. She really did make him feel like he was special, a little desirable even, and he had fucked it all up. Twice. He sighed quietly and turned his back to the women below, ready to move onwards to the next tree. Regularly spying on Grim through her room's windows only made his feelings grow, especially while watching her brush and braid her impossibly long, thick hair day after day. He wanted to brush and braid it for her. 

One day, he had been watching as Grim danced around the room with her bunny in her arms. It was early in the morning and Grim was only wearing a simple black shirt and very short shorts. Iorveth swallowed hard and watched her perfectly shaped and muscled bum sway enticingly. He'd had to make himself scarce for a few hours that day, and the wet dreams that had followed were magnificent , yet he awoke feeling lonelier and more miserable every day. 

"This is deep enough," Malena said. "No dh'oine come here willingly. Thank you, Witcher. Unfortunately, now that you have found me out and seen my face… Well, I'm afraid you'll have to die, my beauty."

Iorveth froze mid step and could almost feel the fury in Grim’s silence. He turned to look over his left shoulder, the arrows clacking softly. 

"I saved you. They would have raped and tortured you if I hadn't stood up for you!" Grim growled at Malena, who continued to just stand there looking unphased. She gave a signal and four of Iorveth’s soldiers dropped from the trees and began circling Grim, swords out. 

"Nothing personal, dear," Malena said in parting. 

Before Iorveth could give the order to stand down, the fight was on. Grim's steel sword clashed with blades forged in the Blue Mountains. She was purely on the defensive, and would often kick or punch out towards the elves, before turning in a tight circle to the next one who had recovered from a smack to the head. 

Grim's superior speed, strength, and agility had the elves reeling; they knew they wouldn't win this fight, but still they tried, until Grim had knocked three unconscious and had the fourth in a sleeper hold. In desperation, the struggling elf sliced down into Grim’s shin, right between her greaves and trouser leg, parting the leather so very easily. The Witcher cried out and bled like any other person, but she held onto her attacker with unerring determination until he too was slumped over and unconscious. 

A startled gasp drew Grim and Iorveth’s attention; they both saw Malena duck from her cover and run towards the ruins of the old hospital. 

Grim and Geralt had broken a particularly nasty curse on the hospital a few days ago, according to a scout's report. Iorveth had been shocked and relieved to hear that both had actually made it out alive, and he'd had to exercise a startling amount of self control to not laugh in front of everyone when he was told that the former doctors (masquerading as herbalists) at the hospital had been yelled at within an inch of their lives by the ferocious female Witcher. She had found the sickening records of the patients held within and given the former doctors absolute hell in her lecture on mental healthcare and sanitation. The herbalists had nodded their bright red faces, offered up a substantial amount of gold to each Witcher, and left the forest with their tails tucked very firmly between their legs. 

Grim straightened and limped over to check the pulses on all four elves. Iorveth could see they were still breathing, albeit very beaten. Then the Witcher slid a syringe from the leather slots on her thigh harness. The syringe had a red feather on it, probably for easy identification. She removed the thin steel cap and injected the contents into her leg where blood was steadily seeping out and recapped the needle, putting it away in a different pouch. 

After a few deep breaths, Grim started walking, still with a small limp, right towards where Malena had vanished. Flicking her sweaty side fringe out of the way, she marched into the bushes, heedless of the long vertical gash down her right shin. Her leather trousers flapped around her calf and Iorveth watched her get frustrated and move her greaves to cut the leather right off with her dagger, exposing a very shapely leg, decorated with stunning tattoos. Iorveth couldn’t make them out with all the blood, but the colours and general shapes were beautiful and looked like lace. 

Iorveth jumped soundlessly from tree to tree and watched Grim pause at the boundaries of the old ruined hospital. She called Malena out, her cool voice carrying easily in the stillness. If it had been anyone else, he would have notched an arrow, but he knew he didn't need to. 

Malena eventually came out of her hiding place in between the crumbling stone walls. She looked bloody ashamed and sheepish and Iorveth was glad Grim had caught her at her own game. Malena had been a thorn in Iorveth’s side for a very long time, constantly pricking him about his scars and weak leadership, but she was an excellent informant and an even better whore the humans just couldn't resist. 

"You led me into a trap," said Grim, sitting down on a low wall next to a set of stairs that led down into the ground, into the catacombs of the hospital below. Her voice was very low and frighteningly cold. Iorveth was not familiar with Grim being cold. She was warm to him, always warm and caring. Tender, even when she was angry with him and telling him off. Now, she was pissed. 

"I did… I apologise. I… I didn't think you were quite so honourable," Malena said with difficulty. 

"Iorveth called me honourable once too, but honour really has nothing to do with it. I'm just a normal person, decent and kind. And you abused my kindness, you abused my good heart, my bleeding heart for all the downtrodden, oppressed and beaten." Grim folded her hands together in her lap, but her face was hard and bitter. 

"So what's the deal with your little group of protectors, hm? Are you Iorveth’s lover that you have such command of his warriors?" asked Grim with narrowed eyes. 

Gods, now that was a question Iorveth hadn't ever dreamt of hearing and Malena's face reflected as much shock as his own did. 

"His lover? Oh no, no, he has no lover, not with that awful scar, and a missing eye. He was very handsome once, one of the most gorgeous of all Aen Sheide. Nobody wants him now," said the elf with a snobby sniff. 

Grim's expression changed from anger to shock to utter disbelief. "Are you truly so vain? How can you be so cruel and shallow to condemn him for his scars of all things?" she asked, and Iorveth’s heart bloomed with warmth he'd never known. 

"Hmph, I don't expect a dh'oine to understand Aen Seidhe customs," Malena snorted. 

Grim's voice was hard. " Customs can kiss my arse; he sacrificed his life for all of you, giving you the opportunity and training to fight against your oppressors so you don't get driven to extinction . He gave you hope, grabbed the devil by the horns and told him to 'fuck off' without any fear for his own safety. Iorveth’s led you to great victories; he's a living legend, one I wasn't even sure existed until I met him, the greatest Scoia'tael commander who's ever lived, and you condemn him to a lifetime of loneliness, because of scars? " 

Malena said nothing, so Grim continued. Iorveth looked on with bated breath, his mind whirring with all the things Grim was saying, the sincere compliments she was paying him. The warm buzz returned to his body at ten times the magnitude. 

"Or maybe you just have no idea what it feels like to live with the stigma that comes with being heavily scarred. You take his protection for granted, don't you? You don't fight alongside your brothers and sisters for freedom and equality… You're just here to save your own sorry arse from dh'oine like the guards who wanted to hurt you. And those four back there… You keep them wrapped around your finger by offering them sex in exchange for protection. You have no self respect, or respect for Iorveth. Do you ever actually stop and feel ashamed of yourself?"

The elf said nothing again for she had no argument. Grim’s ability to read and interpret people so accurately was very impressive. And a little disarming. 

"Hm, thought so… I don't ever want to see you in Flotsam again. Get out of my sight," Grim said with a dangerous growl. 

Malena nodded and quickly darted off, anxiety written in every movement. Iorveth looked back at Grim. Her head was in her hands, body slouched down over her knees. She sighed, long and truly weary, then sat up and had a look at her shin properly for the first time. Iorveth heard her trill her lips in a harsh exhale. She injected herself with the contents of another red feathered syringe and began a slow limp, avoiding the waterfall altogether. 

Instead of returning to Flotsam, she ended up at the edge of a cliff and sat down carefully, her legs dangling off the edge. She let her shoulders round and slouch forward, and Iorveth heard her singing. He moved as close as he dared to hear the soft verses. 

Bellows of pain

And scraping of chains

The echoes they taunt and deceive me

Oceans of blame

And rivers of shame

The fury it never leaves me

Grief in the snow

The winter of woe

Has come here to judge and bereave me

Lock up the rage

It rattles the cage

The fury it never leaves me

Always within

To lurk in the skin

The wounds ever aching so deeply

Try as I may

To hide it away

The fury it never leaves me

Long I've suffered the hunger

Long I've silenced the cry

Long I've fled from the thunder

To ascend

Still I try

To carry the pain… 

To keep it contained 'til the end

To carry the pain… 

To keep it contained 'til the end

Pour out the anger and hide it away

Lest it spill to the blameless and lead them to pain

In the steel and the rags I will cover the shame

So the innocent need not be judged in my name

Pour out the anger and hide it away

Lest it spill to the blameless and lead them to pain

In the steel and the rags I will cover the shame

So the innocent need not be judged in my name

Long I've suffered the hunger

Long I've silenced the cry

Long I've fled from the thunder

To ascend

Still I try

To carry the pain… 

To keep it contained 'til the end

To carry the pain… 

To keep it contained 'til the end

Bellows of pain

And scraping of chains

The echoes they taunt and deceive me

Oceans of blame

And rivers of shame

The fury it never leaves me 

By the time the song was over, Grim was crying quietly. Not quite in control, but not completely out of it either. She was pinching the webbing of her left thumb very hard, and rocking slowly back and forth. Iorveth watched her come down from the minor panic attack, and couldn't help himself. 

"Grim? Are you alright?" he asked stupidly, stopping quite a way behind her. 

She turned her head a fraction, but didn't make eye contact. Iorveth could see the big black wing of her eyeliner and her painted eyelashes. 

"I will be," she replied stiffly, turning back to the view of the lush green valley below them. Clearly she had still not forgiven him for their last fight, and he really couldn't blame her. 

"Thank you for not killing my warriors… And for restoring our bridge... I don't know how to repay you for that," he said quietly, so very desperate to be on good terms with her again. Like they had been after the Leshen incident, when he had thanked her, and before he had been an utter prick. 

But Grim just ignored him, still staring at the green valley below her. It worried Iorveth that her shoulders were slumped and rounded forward, a sign of defeat. It niggled and pulled at his mind uncomfortably. She just sniffed back her tears quietly. 

Iorveth took a breath. 

"I'm sorry about Malena… She's a - right bitch sometimes," Iorveth said scornfully. 

Grim turned fully now, very, very slowly. The fury in her hazel eyes made Iorveth’s eye go wide and he actually took a step back. 

"You watched as she led me into a trap. You watched as your warriors tried to kill me for helping that bitch who would otherwise share scars and never ending trauma with me. And you did nothing? " 

Iorveth was breathing heavily. Stupidy, he had genuinely not expected such fury and malice to lurk inside such a gentle woman. Iorveth reeled at her anger, stumbling over his words. 

"I didn't have a chance. They attacked you so fast -" 

"No, they didn't. You had plenty of time to stop them, even if you'd only stopped them right at the end, it would have been better than just letting it all happen. But then that would be showing mercy and tolerance towards a dh'oine bitch, and how could your army possibly understand that decision? But that doesn't matter now. What's done is done." She turned away from him again, furiously wiping her face and shaking. Her eyeliner and eyelash paint must have been enchanted to not run or even smudge for it looked as fierce and flawless as the Witcher herself. 

Iorveth sighed with frustration and scrunched up his eye. He didn't have anything else to defend himself with, and she was absolutely right. He was scared of his feelings for her being leaked to his army and their judgement on it. At the same time, he just couldn't stay away from her and the thought of never seeing her again was just wrong . 

"I bet you wish you'd left me in that trap now, hm?" he asked quietly. 

Grim turned, her head whipping around so fast that Iorveth heard her neck crack when her thick ponytail went flying over her shoulder. 

"Of course not. There are exceptionally few people I'd ever wish death on, and you are certainly not one of them. I'm angry with you, but I definitely don't hate you, Iorveth. There's a very big difference," Grim said with irritation in her smooth voice. “Besides, you’re the one who hates me with such a passion.”

“I don’t hate you, Grim,” Iorveth said quietly, finding courage after a little silence. “I tried to. I really tried hard to hate you. But I just can’t .”

Grim’s face softened in that moment and her gaze became confused, expecting more of an explanation, but Iorveth didn’t have the words for his feelings just then. He was upset at his own stupidity and upset that he couldn't comfort her, but he was so happy to have her attention again and to hear that she didn't hate him. If she didn't hate him, did she perhaps like him?

"Will you make it back to Flotsam alright?" he asked after some time of uncomfortable silence.

"Yes, sweet elf," Grim said softly, turning away from him again, effectively dismissing him. 

Heart nearly leaping out of his chest at the term of endearment, Iorveth walked slowly away from her, hoping she would call him back for some reason, any reason, but she didn't and he sped up. He needed to deal with Malena's bullshit and get his injured warriors back on duty and then give them a lecture as well. Laundry duty was not the worst punishment he could give them, but it was the most boring. 

An hour later, Iorveth was up in his treetop watchtower, spying on Grim. She had made it back to Flotsam very slowly, but safely all the same. She had removed her pants and now sat on her wide windowsill in a long sleeved black shirt, so she was seen side-on by Iorveth. 

'Bloody hell , that girl's got legs!'

Muscled to the gods and back were Grim’s legs, exceptionally defined and impossibly powerful with thick smooth tissue. Iorveth tried to focus on just her legs as she cleaned the wound, but his gaze wandered up those legs to her plain black panties and the huge red, black and gold dragon tattoo that dominated her right thigh and hip. The head of the dragon disappeared under her shirt, and its wings extended over her covered cheek. Grim looked around her, agitated, and then threw down the rag she'd been using to get up and hobble to a small medical bag. This afforded Iorveth a lovely view of her bum and the panties that had got all scrunched up in between her full, pale cheeks. 

Iorveth swallowed and definitely did not choke off a whimper. No, sir, he most certainly did not. He was still upset with himself after all. So there was no time or opportunity for whimpering like the touch-starved elf he was. 

Grim sat back down on the sill and began stitching herself up using tools to hold the needle and thread instead of her bare hands, proving Iorveth’s spies' reports correct about her extremely strict sterile procedures. No wonder the town's healthcare was increasing; Iorveth could definitely imagine the lectures Grim would give the residents about cleanliness. 

The tattoos on Grim's calf were now visible with all the blood cleaned up. On her foot was a rose of black, yellow, and orange, made to look like it was formed from lava, and surrounded by a lace design that trailed up her ankle. It was then obscured by Grim’s hands as she stroked one of those sticky bandages he'd heard all about over the wound and pressed it down firmly. Then, Grim sighed tiredly and rubbed her face. Another pang of guilt surged through Iorveth’s chest and he felt so very crappy. 

He should send her a message perhaps, with one of his spies, apologising again and making sure she was alright. No, no, he shouldn't do that. She'd already made it plain that she was very done with him for that week. 

'But she called me 'sweet elf',' his mind argued. 

No, he shouldn't overstep his boundaries. So he sat in his watchtower and spied on her instead, watching her lie on her bed and play with her bunny, still sans pants, and still with her leg up on the sill. That bunny was the apple of Grim's eye and Iorveth was jealous of it. 

He was jealous of a bloody rabbit. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

Lobinden was in an uproar. A little girl, a half elf, had gone missing. Everyone was saying it was the Scoia'tael who kidnapped her, but Cedric was calming them all down, assuring them that the Scoia'tael would never do something like that. 

Grim had volunteered to go looking for the little girl, Mia, and began at Lobinden's boundary, then continued deeper into the forest. There were still Nekkers, Drowners, Endregas, and possibly worse horrors in the forest even after culling the populace. A child would never be safe out here, and this made her quicken her pace. 

Grim touched the trees and the mossy rocks, and inhaled the scent of the morning deeply, finding an incredible sense of relaxation. A sound of something dry, leather perhaps - yes, leather - scraping over the bark of nearby trees caught her attention and she snapped her head around and up to see the source of the noise, hoping it was Mia who had climbed a tree, but there was nothing there except some leaves floating down lazily to the forest floor. There was no doubt in her mind that the Scoia'tael were tailing her and she ignored the hairs standing up on the back of her neck. 

An image worked its way into Grim’s mind, of Iorveth slipping down the branch, falling out the tree, and landing on his arse in front of her. It made her lips twitch up into a small grin. 

Carrying on through the forest for some time Grim reached the lovely waterfall with the clear rocky pool at its foot. Nobody attacked her this time, so she imagined Iorveth had told his warriors off for following Malena's orders and not his own. 

She placed her hands in the water and it greeted her warmly like an old friend. Just to the left of the pool was an ugly totem pole of sorts that didn’t quite match the obvious ancient nature of the forest surrounding it. Staring back at the waterfall, Grim tilted her head and the water parted like a curtain revealing the entrance of a cave. No. Mia couldn’t have gone there, she would never have even known a cave was in there. And so Grim continued her search. 

After another while the sound of a sharp intake of breath caught Grim's ears and she turned to her right to see a little girl of around seven, who had a large thorn in her finger and was trying to be very brave and not cry.

“Hello. Do you need some help there?” Grim asked politely, giving Mia a smile. The girl nodded and Grim knelt next to her on the fragrant leaves and moss. 

“Ouch, that’s quite a nasty thorn. Deep breath now…and it’s out,” Grim said, quickly wrapping the tiny pinprick wound in one of her sticky bandages.

“Are you Mia? Your parents are looking for you,” she said, watching the child experimentally bend her fingertip.

“Yes, I’m Mia. I got lost this morning looking for a rose for momma. Have you seen any roses? Who are you? What’s that on your nose?” she babbled.

Grim smiled. “I’m Grim. Your parents asked me to come and find you for them, they’re very worried. I’ve walked for some time now and the only roses I've seen are the ones on the bridge, but that's quite far from here. And this is called a nose ring.”

“But Cedric said the purple Roses of Remembrance are here in the forest, and that if you give one to someone you love, it will never die, and it’s momma’s birthday and I wanted to get her a rose,” Mia said, gabbing away like all little girls do.

“Oh, I see. Well, how about we get you home first, because the whole village is worried sick about you, and then I'll ask Cedric to see if he can find you a rose.”

Mia looked at Grim suspiciously. “Promise?” 

“Yes, I promise to ask him.”

Mia beamed. “Alright then. Can I ride back on your shoulders?” she asked hopefully.

Grim nodded. “Sure. As long as you promise not to pull my hair or my earrings,” she said, and watched Mia’s little face fall.

“I won’t touch your ears, I swear. The boys in town… They tease me and call me knife-ear. Sometimes they pull on my ears and hurt me.” Only now did the Witcher notice Mia's pointed ears. 

Grim's heart broke for the poor child. “I’m so sorry, Mia. They’re very cruel. I think your ears are beautiful, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with being part elf, so don't let them tell you otherwise. You're part of a rich and beautiful culture. And, you know, you are allowed to hit them back when they hurt you. Even better is to kick them right between the legs. They’ll never touch you again after that. Just don’t tell your parents I said that.”

That put a smile on Mia’s face and Grim knelt forward so Mia could clamber onto her shoulders.

“Wow, you have so many earrings! They have gems in them too!” Mia said, gushing over the many studs, bars and rings in Grim's ears. 

"I like gems and jewels as much as the next lady. Wearing armour and carrying swords doesn't change that," she laughed as they made their way out of the forest. 

Within half an hour, Mia was back with her family, a lovely elven woman and a gentle human man. Grim graciously rejected their offer of a reward and instead gave them some of her gold for Mia's wellbeing. 

" Cedric …We need to talk about you telling little girls about magic roses," Grim said quietly when she found the elf sitting on a log near a campfire. He was drunk as usual, and Grim sat with him, watching the embers fly up lazily into the air before dying. 

"I didn't specifically tell her to go in there and find one, alright?" he said a little defensively, swigging from a bottle. Cedric wiggled his eyebrows at her over the rim of the bottle until Grim laughed. 

"Come on," Cedric continued, "she's just a child. She's growing up in a horrible little village outside a horrible little town. She needed some fantasy and hope to keep her going, keep her imagination rich and strong," he said, gesturing to the house Mia and her parents lived in. 

"You meant very well, but next time, go with her , Ced. And if you find a magical rose, pick one for her to give to her mother, alright?" Grim bumped shoulders with him and he grinned. 

"By the way, have there been any more interactions with a certain elven bandit?," Cedric asked quietly. He had been more than eager to play messenger elf between Grim and Iorveth, and Grim had almost walked into a tree in shock. 

Grim shook her head with narrowed eyes at the elf’s not so subtle subterfuge.

“Not since the incident with Malena,” she said.

Cedric nodded with a smile. “He likes you, Grim… The fact that he admitted that he has tried and failed to hate you just proves he feels something for you.” 

“Oh, stop putting nonsense in my head, and in my heart, if you don’t mind. It's all just emotional whiplash at this point. If he can’t man up - or elf up - to his feelings and stop being an absolute arsehole then he can just leave me the hell alone,” Grim said a little more harshly than she had intended.

Cedric hummed and swigged more vodka, almost falling backwards off the log in his pursuit for the last drops in the bottle. Grim put a hand out over his shoulders and couldn’t help laughing at his antics. She then wished him a good day, pushed herself up heavily to her feet and walked back to her room. It wasn't even ten in the morning, but she felt tired and groggy from too many late nights and too much anxiety caused by Iorveth, Malena and that thrice damned Vernon Roche. The grogginess settled over her mind, and she didn't fight it. Instead, she sat on the floor of her room and let Bugs run around her while she mixed a new batch of simple medicines that she didn't really need much brain power for. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

Grim had been in her room for not much longer than two hours after Geralt had been in and said there hadn't been a break in the case yet, when an urgent knock snapped her out of her medicine making process. Opening the door, she saw Triss Merigold’s lovely face and the two gleefully hugged and smiled. Triss hadn't spent any time in Flotsam at all, preferring to stay on The Percival instead. 

Before they could even begin a conversation however, Geralt was standing at Triss’ shoulder saying they needed to get to the prison barge urgently.

“Triss found out that Iorveth’s second in command, Ciaran aep Easnillen, was captured two weeks ago. He’s imprisoned on the barge, and we might be able to get some information out of him,” Geralt said.

Grim had not told him about any of her encounters with Iorveth. 

“Please bring some medical supplies with you, Grim. I can only imagine the beating he took from Loredo’s men, and I can only do so much with my magic,” Triss said with a forlorn look.

Grim nodded and was ready in a few minutes, the five black pouches buckled around her thighs full of all sorts of balms and bandages, and the slots filled with syringes of various numbing agents, painkillers, concentrated vitamin and mineral shots, and her freshly created antibiotics. One was also filled with her personal brand of artificial adrenaline in case the elf was literally at death’s door. Her colour coded feather system worked well, and offset her pure black armour. 

"I suppose if Loredo had paraded Ciaran through town and word got back to Iorveth, the Scoia’tael would have already laid siege to the barge," Grim murmured on their way down to the docks. 

"I agree. I can't even begin to imagine the true hell Iorveth would reign down on Flotsam if he'd found out," Triss said quietly. 

The trio approached the guards, and Geralt easily charmed the men into letting them on board under the lie that Loredo wanted Ciaran questioned.

The conditions on the barge were horrendous. Cages, literal cages , housed at least ten elves, sitting, standing and crouching in their own filth. She was pretty sure two were dead. The smell of shit, urine, vomit, blood and a variety of sweaty bodies was not new to Grim, and she was grateful for her strong stomach. The elf Roche's Stripes had captured, the one she had frightened half to death, was wheezing horribly in his little cage, head bowed down. He didn't seem to notice anyone around him. 

Ciaran himself didn’t have a cage and was curled into a tight ball at the back of the barge’s hold. Grim's heart broke for the elves, and it made her sick and bitter to see such an intelligent and proud race torn to shreds and humiliated like this.

She barely noticed Triss and Geralt working together to get Ciaran into slightly better shape so they could speak to him. A plan was hatching in her mind, a plan to set the elves free and get them back to Iorveth. As cross as she had been with him, she was not spiteful or cruel, and she would not let them die here. She was jerked back to reality when Ciaran started speaking. He was tanned and beautiful, with short black braids framing his face. His eyes were dark brown and full of fear as well as defiance. 

"You wish, whoreson. I'm no traitor!" whispered the elf through gritted teeth. 

"He's raving, give him a minute," Triss said, standing back. 

"Vattghern? Where am I?" Ciaran's voice was strained and slightly panicked as he took in Geralt's imposing form. 

"You're in Flotsam, on the prison barge," Grim answered gently, kneeling next to Ciaran to check his vitals and his eyes for signs of concussion. All good so far. Most of his wounds were concentrated on his torso and not his head. Infections had begun to set in, but he didn’t have a fever yet as evidenced by his still-cool skin.

"The convict's barge? I'm done for!" Now there was real panic in his strained voice. 

"Not yet, you aren't. We need your help. We need to speak to Iorveth," said Geralt. Grim made a conscious effort to keep her heartbeat steady. She was a horrible liar and knew that she could just stand in the forest at any time on any day and just shout Iorveth’s name, and he'd show up within moments. But then she'd have to tell Geralt that she'd been in rather frequent contact with a dangerous terrorist and mass murderer, and then the shit would hit the fan… Fuck that noise. 

"Like hell , dh'oine. I'll tell you nothing," came Ciaran's weakly defiant reply. 

"You'd be dying in pain if it weren't for us," Geralt said unkindly. 

Grim shot him a dark, disapproving look, but Geralt ignored her. 

"If it wasn't for the dh'oine I wouldn't be here," Ciaran sneered. 

Grim busied herself by pushing antiseptic solution and clean bandages to his abdominal wounds.  

"There's a Witcher in Iorveth’s unit -" Geralt began, but Ciaran cut him off. 

"And like every dh'oine, he turned out to be a bastard." 

"What happened?" asked Grim, suddenly feeling her stomach clench. She had not seen Iorveth in only three days since the whole incident with Malena. Was he hurt? Could this Kingslayer have attacked Iorveth as Grim warned him he would? 

"He betrayed us. He said he had an offer for me. So we met, where Roses of Remembrance grow… I should have known," he trailed off sadly. Strangely, he was not fighting off Grim's help. 

"Roses of Remembrance?" Triss asked curiously. 

Grim nodded to her. "They grow in the forest, in the ruins."

"Yes… Some of the last in the world. The dh'oine thought that I'd betray my elven brother in order to control the unit. I refused. There was a fight. I've never seen anything like it - No human can move that fast. It was a massacre. I was the first to be hit, thus I survived. I would have bled to death if Loredo's men hadn't found me. Letho will kill Iorveth. And all will be lost. So many dead. So much suffering. All for naught!"

"Why does this Letho want Iorveth dead?" Grim asked. She ran her antiseptic-soaked cloth over Ciaran's arms and other small wounds. It had a mild numbing effect as it dried, and she hoped it gave him some comfort. 

"He used us from the start. Our hatred, but he no longer needs Iorveth, sees him as a thorn in his side. I don't know why specifically."

"Tell me what Iorveth’s planning. Why Flotsam?" said Geralt. 

"Go plough yourself," Ciaran managed with some venom. 

"You've got no choice. Tell me or I'll kill you," Geralt said harshly. Grim had to really bite her tongue and school her expression so she wouldn’t give away the scare tactic.

"No!" Ciaran shouted, suddenly full of energy. "If I die, Iorveth won't learn the truth. Flotsam is only the beginning. We are no bandits, we fight for freedom . In due time, Iorveth will answer the call, and we'll emerge from the woods, joining the battle."

"What battle?" asked Geralt. 

"He wasn't specific," was Ciaran's stubborn reply. 

"In that case, I'll ask Iorveth himself. Zoltan can arrange a meeting for us; he's already been in contact with some Scoia'tael. We've got what we came for," Geralt said, standing up. 

"Geralt please , we can't just leave them here," Grim whispered, wary of the guard nearby who was currently tormenting one of the female elves through her cage bars. 

Ciaran's cool, sweaty hand closed around Grim's and she turned to look into his desperate eyes. "Iorveth told me about you, about the beautiful dh'oine who'd come to Flotsam. He said you're intelligent, kind and gentle. He was right. Warn him, Grim. Iorveth fights, for that is what he does best. He's Aen Sheide, a real one, a free one, among the last. Fighting makes sense now more than ever before. There is still hope." The desperation and ferocity in his weak voice made Grim grip his hand harder. 

"What are you talking about, Ciaran? Hope for what ?" asked Geralt. Gods, he was dense sometimes.

"For freedom. For equality," said Grim, gently answering for the exhausted elf, not breaking eye contact with him. His brown irises were flecked with gold. 

Ciaran nodded at her and gave a small smile. "For change. For a better tomorrow. You understand this, dh'oine. You do have a good heart. But I'll not live to see the change. They'll torment me to death here. I'll go gladly where the apple trees bloom. But you must warn Iorveth." 

"We will, Ciaran, I promise," Grim whispered, and Ciaran slipped back into unconsciousness, his hand slipping from Grim’s. From one of the pouches on her thighs, Grim withdrew a painkiller and injected it into Ciaran's arm. It was strong enough to keep him numb to almost anything that came between the time they left… and the time Grim returned for them all. 

They left the barge and Grim made absolutely sure the guards saw her leave and turn away up the street and into town. She flat refused to leave all those elves there, to die in humiliation and agony. And she knew Iorveth would never believe Geralt's word. One Witcher telling him another Witcher had betrayed him? Hm, not a very believable story. She needed to make damn sure Ciaran stayed alive and that she could get him to the site of Iorveth, Zoltan and Geralt's meeting on time so Iorveth could hear the truth from Ciaran himself. She had a feeling that Iorveth would have believed her if she'd been the one to tell him and wondered where that confidence and absolute surety had come from. 

Grim packed a few more meds into her pouches and got herself ready for her little plan. She would have no backup and no excuse if she was caught. She was a lone wolf this afternoon. Her mind kept flitting back and forth into a fantasy of Iorveth and Ciaran sitting around a fire somewhere in the woods, smoking and eating and Iorveth telling Ciaran all about Grim, about her kindness and beauty specifically and she felt her cheeks redden. The fact that anyone could find her truly beautiful was very special to her. Then again, perhaps he was just being polite. And yet Iorveth’s gaze and touch did linger on her every time they were together. 

No, not now. Focus now, fantasise later. She was still a little cross with the elf after all. 

Sneaking down to the dock via the forest was easy enough, and Grim put her hands into the lake. Within moments, a heavy fog rolled in through the town, completely obscuring the prison barge and the forest immediately surrounding it. 

Grim slipped on board silently, hearing the guards mutter and moan about not seeing even a foot in front of their faces. The fog had indeed rolled down into the hold and extinguished torches with its heavy moisture. It had been hours since she'd given Ciaran the painkiller and he would need another one if he was to walk out of there. She crept to the back where Ciaran still lay, and knelt over him so she could whisper right into his ear. 

"Ciaran, it's Grim. Keep quiet and don't move. I'm going to get you and the others out of here. I need to inject another painkiller into your arm, okay? You'll only feel a little sting. There, done. I'm going to release the others and get them off the barge and into the forest first, while the painkiller works, then I'm going to be back for you." 

And then she left his side and Ciaran heard the cage doors open very quietly and the footsteps of his fellow Scoia'tael being freed by this gorgeous woman. The pain in his body receded moment by moment, making him feel more alive. The hope and freedom she instilled in him was a tonic in itself. 

"Alright, ready to go?" she whispered, and Ciaran nodded, a little dumbfounded by her selflessness. Now he felt guilty about saying all humans were bastards in front of her earlier. But he had also told her that she was one of the good ones, one of the very few truly good people. And he and Iorveth had been right. 

One arm draped over the woman's shoulder for support, Ciaran limped as fast as he could with Grim at his side, carefully manoeuvring around the clueless guards who had all gathered on the deck to marvel at the impenetrable fog. They left the barge, made their way into the forest near the harbour, and Grim sat Ciaran down just on the other side of the fog. The sun was almost ready to set on this side of the gloom, and the town of Flotsam would never truly know what had just happened. 

"That couldn't have gone any smoother,” Grim said happily. “I'm going to give you an injection of artificial adrenaline. I've diluted it so you'll be able to sleep at least, but it will help give you a bit of energy for now. Can you guide us to the meeting spot Iorveth prefers? Zoltan and Geralt should be there now to tell him about Letho's bullshit, but I doubt he'll believe Geralt. But he will believe you," Grim said, gently inserting the needle under Ciaran's tanned skin. She was speaking very quickly, high on having pulled off something illegal and also very morally good. 

"Thank you for helping us," he said, staring into her lovely eyes. She could see the deep relief in his eyes. She sobered up very fast. 

"I just couldn't leave you all there. I hate most humans, cruel Temerians in particular, and I won't stand by and watch them torture your people simply because you're different to them," she said with an edge to her voice. "Iorveth has had several chances to kill me, and he still hasn't, so I refuse to believe you're all bloodthirsty murderers like most thick skulled humans say you are."

Ciaran stared at her for the longest time, a small smile on his face. "I thought it was infatuation at first, the way Iorveth spoke about you after you rescued him, but now I understand why he likes you so much." 

Grim started blushing and Ciaran's grin widened.

"Recent events may have changed how much he - likes me. Not this recent event, but - oh, I'm sure he'll catch you up on all the news," Grim said, still blushing, fumbling over her words. 

Ciaran's smile hadn't budged. "You like him too, don't you?" 

Grim fidgeted with her nails. 

"Yes. I do like him," Grim said after deciding to just tell the truth and be done with it. A little crush wouldn't hurt anyone. 

'It's not as though anyone could ever love me, I’m far too tainted,' Grim scoffed to herself. 

"Good thing I brought extra syringes," she said, guiding the conversation away from her feelings. She slid ten pre-filled red feathered syringes into Ciaran's pockets, along with a large bottle of her antiseptic cleanser. 

"I used so much on everyone in the cages, I'll have to stay up and make more pain-killing medicine tonight," Grim said to dodge Ciaran's scrutiny. He had a classic mischievousness to his aura, quite similar to Cedric’s, and she just knew he was dying to speak more about her feelings for Iorveth. And apparently Iorveth’s feelings for her . 

Ciaran jerked his head to the right, his bruised and bloodied smile absolutely huge . "Come on, it's this way." 

Grim cringed inwardly at his ability to seemingly know exactly what she had been thinking. 

The meeting place was in a gorgeous open glade of ferns and boulders, shaded by the huge trees on the rocky cliffs surrounding it. There in the middle of it were Zoltan, Geralt, and Iorveth himself. All around them were Scoia'tael archers, their bows trained on Geralt. The fresh carcass of a massive armoured arachas lay nearby. 

"Bloody hell, look at the size of that mother f-," Grim began, not believing her eyes. 

" Iorveth! " called Ciaran as he and Grim broke from the treeline, effectively cutting off Grim’s swearing. 

Geralt's face was a picture when he saw his wolf sister walking side by side with the elf, seven more injured and bleeding Scoia'tael from the barge flanking them and joining their brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, lovers and friends. 

"Grim - what did you do?" Geralt asked, crossing his arms, but looking mildly amused. Zoltan looked more anxious than amused at this turn of events. 

Grim frowned at his stupid question. "What does it look like I did? I let everyone off the prison barge. Besides, I was worried you wouldn't believe Geralt about Letho's betrayal… So you can hear it from Ciaran himself now," she said, addressing Iorveth directly. He looked so surprised to see her, and she saw an incredible amount of joy and hope flash through his eye which made Grim’s heart flutter. She felt the earth fall away under his joyful gaze, like she was standing on slowly melting snow. 

"It's true, Iorveth," said Ciaran. "Letho tried to offer me the role of commander, hoping he could use me to get close to you. I don't know why he wants to kill you, but that's the truth of it. He disappeared after he attacked me and the rest of the unit, and then Loredo's men found me bleeding to death. If he finds out that I'm alive he'll flee before we can catch him," Ciaran said, sagging at the bad news he had to bring to his leader. 

Iorveth surprised everyone by laying a hand on Ciaran's shoulder and gently squeezing it. 

"He's away on a mission of his own. He won't find out about this for a long time still. How did you escape?" Iorveth asked, his voice full of relief.  

"I'd like to know that too, Grim," Geralt said, turning to her. 

"I created a fog that covered the town, crept onto the barge, opened the cages for everyone to escape first while Ciaran's painkiller took effect, and then he and I left last. To everyone else it’ll just look like the guards slacked off and the Scoia’tael took advantage of the mysteriously thick fog to escape. Nobody died or was injured, and I imagine Loredo will be too humiliated to let such a story spread, so we should all be safe for now at least." She shrugged, like it was no big deal at all. 

Iorveth came forward to stand close and looked down at her, his mouth open slightly, looking to her like a god from a far off world. He looked at Grim with unbridled curiosity, as though it was the first time he was really seeing her, and Grim saw the corners of his plush lips twitch upward, and his eye take on a warm glow. His right hand came up slightly, hesitantly, as though he wanted to touch her to make sure she was actually real, before a slightly high pitched voice interrupted whatever he was going to do. 

"Why would you help us?" asked an elf suspiciously, stepping forward from behind his leader. This elf had light brown hair that brushed his collar bones, worn parted in the middle and tucked behind his pointed ears. His hand was on the hilt of his curved sword. 

"I know what it feels like to be at the mercy of a violent hand, and to be kept in a cage. I would never wish it on anyone," she said softly, staring into the hostile elf's beautiful dark brown eyes. 

The elf unsheathed his sword and pointed right at Grim's jugular notch. She didn't budge and didn't even blink. The elf was radiating anger. 

"Tell the truth, dh'oine . All your race knows is how to kill and hurt and take. How do we know you're not here to slaughter us?" he snarled. 

"Ele'yas, drop your blade. Grim’s saved me three times, and also saved Malena from being slaughtered for her own stupidity," Iorveth hissed, his plump top lip curled upward, but the elf didn't move, even when Iorveth stood between him and Grim, the sword's tip resting in the middle of Iorveth’s shoulder. Seeing him in profile revealed that Iorveth had a slight underbite, making his bottom lip look even more plump and juicy. 

"Ele'yas, stop this! She's a good person, she is telling the truth," Ciaran said from where he was leaning on a comrade for support. 

"Ciaran's right. She's the one who killed the Nekkers that ambushed Jarrod, Dylan and I, and she gave me the medicine for my arm," said the blue eyed elf. Looking at him in comparison to the other Scoia'tael around her, Grim saw that he was very young. 

Iorveth looked surprised by this news. So clearly the elves had not told him about that little event.

"I can't change what you believe, and I can't change what's happened to you. But I hope you now see that not all dh'oine are out to get you. We’re not all evil pieces of shit like Loredo and Roche. And I'm honestly glad to help; I don't expect anything in return. Speaking of, I need to continue manufacturing medicine. Go easy on the painkillers; they're a wee bit addictive. Excuse me," Grim said evenly. 

Grim moved slowly backwards, away from Ele'yas and the others, walking back through the forest to town, really not wanting to leave Iorveth especially after seeing how his face fell as she announced her departure, but she didn’t want to antagonise anymore of his soldiers. Grim’s heart was still fluttering at the memories of Iorveth’s awestruck expression and soft gaze. She wondered if they were alright now, and what he would tell Geralt about their various meetings, since Iorveth had let the cat out of the bag. 

Geralt came back to town hours later, when the moon had risen above the trees, full and silver. He and Iorveth had agreed to work together to locate and capture Letho. Iorveth had also asked for Grim and Geralt’s help in the upcoming battle due to take place in the city of Vergen in Upper Aedirn, where a bold and courageous peasant woman named Saskia had rallied nobles and fellow peasants of all races to fend off oppression and create the first racially equal country on the Continent. 

“And you agreed, I hope?” Grim asked Geralt over dinner.

He nodded with a smirk. “Knew you wouldn’t say no to that, and Iorveth assured me the new world would be a place where even Witchers and mages would be welcomed.”

Neutrality be damned; everyone knew how tired the Witchers were of killing monsters and being treated like shit. And this was a cause that would reshape their world too since so many saw Witchers as nonhumans. 

“So that’s been his goal this whole time… Intriguing. After all the insults he’s flung at me, I can honestly say I never expected this of him,” Grim said with a frown.

“Mhm, he told me about all your secret little rendezvous in the woods,” replied Geralt with an even wider smirk.

“Oh please, they were all pure chance meetings. He - well, he doesn’t hate me, he said so himself, but we definitely aren’t very friendly.”

“Yeah, that’s not even remotely what his hormones were telling me when he saw you appear this afternoon and when we were discussing you just now. The sweating, the hard swallows, the increase in his heart rate and the dilation of his pupil all indicate that he’s very attracted to you. And that all excludes the smell of his hormones.”

Grim looked at Geralt through narrowed eyes. “Have you been talking to Cedric? Because he’s said some pretty similar things,” she said to her wolf brother.

“No, ma’am. Just telling you everything his words weren’t saying. So, tell me, little scorpion, how do you feel about this elf?”

Grim looked down at her plate and frowned.

“I don't know. I feel an attraction to him, definitely - and he’s shown me that he can be reasoned with and has stayed his hand more times than I can count. But, Geralt… Nobody could ever love me. Not after all I’ve been through, after - after what it did to me; rendered me this broken thing.”

Geralt put a hand on Grim’s shoulder and tilted her head up with a thumb under her chin.

“Grim, you are the only person who sees yourself as unloveable, because of what you survived. The rest of us see an incredibly strong, intelligent young woman who overcame death itself.” Geralt paused here to push Grim’s fringe back a little. “You are so young, little scorpion. You will live hundreds and hundreds of years more thanks to your magic and mutations. So many things will happen and come and go in those years, and don’t forget that Iorveth has also suffered and sees himself as unloveable too. Maybe - no, wait , hear me out - maybe he’s been trying to reach out to you all this time, because he knows you’re in pain too.”

Grim’s eyes welled up with tears and her frown became deeper.

“I don’t want to dream or hope for something that may never happen, Geralt. Besides, why would an elf, that elf in particular, ever want to be involved with a human?” she asked in a whisper, swiftly getting up from the table, walking up the stairs and away from the day for good.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15

Wandering through his patrols that night, Iorveth’s mind was racing. Too many things had happened at once in such a short space of time, and the proverbial bag of snakes was not lying itself straight for him. The main worry at the front of his mind was Letho finding out about Ciaran being freed, but that seemed to be strangely overshadowed by Grim risking her life to save his warriors. 

It was all so overwhelming and there were too many emotions for him to unpack in one sitting, but now he knew for certain that her heart was true. Ciaran certainly vouched for her, telling Iorveth that she understood their plight, their pain, and even their rage. Her words to Iorveth echoed in his mind. “You’re only acting like this because you’re not used to receiving kindness, only hatred.” "The worst thing that could ever happen to me has already happened and I'm still alive." "Oh is that what Francesca Findabair did? Funny, because Aen Seidhe history notes that she turned her back on you, and practically led you to the executioner's block!" "You are so used to being full of hatred and suspicion that you can't let them have hope for fear of their hearts breaking. Just like yours did."

'Aelirenn, give me strength… it is her,' Iorveth thought, a little dumbstruck. 

Iorveth and Ciaran had spoken about everything that had transpired in his absence, and if Ciaran hadn't been in such bad condition, Iorveth would have punched him for telling Grim he had so much interest in her. But it did his mood and heart wonders to hear that Grim liked him too, just as he had hoped when she’d told him that she certainly didn’t hate him.

He ran his hand over his face and turned to look at the moon with a heavy sigh. It was full and bright, bathing the woods in a silver light that made it look magical. Tiny fireflies flitted and glowed near the waterfall and reminded him of seeing Grim part water like it was a curtain and how she had decided to incapacitate rather than decapitate his warriors. He should have brought his flute with him and played a few songs to soothe his mind; that had always helped him in the past.

Iorveth bent down and flicked a stone into the little pool at the foot of the waterfall. He hadn't realised he'd walked this far, so consumed in his own rampaging and chaotic thoughts. A small scuffling sound caught his sharp hearing and he walked off the path towards the noise. He stopped dead when he saw Ele’yas, one of his best fighters, pinning Grim to a tree with his ugly barbed shiv at her throat. Grim had no armour on, and had clearly been crying as evidenced by her red eyes, easily visible in the bright moonlight. She was pushing Ele’yas’ arm back with all her strength and slowly moving him away from her, the elf’s heels sliding in the soil under his boots. Iorveth saw white energy beginning to brighten Grim’s hands where they touched Ele'yas' shoulders. He was about to be electrocuted. 

“What the hell are you doing , Ele’yas?!” Iorveth roared at his subordinate.

Ele’yas quickly stood back and dropped his shiv, panting hard from the effort of trying to subdue Grim who was so much stronger than him. 

“He was interrogating me,” Grim said before Ele’yas could answer, also panting and wiping her throat. Ele’yas had cut her and punctured a blood vessel, but it was nothing serious. Grim’s blood shone black in the silver moonlight.

“ Why? ” Iorveth said harshly, not letting his eye off Ele’yas for a moment. 

“I wanted to know the real reason she helped Ciaran and the others. It’s not normal, Iorveth, she’s up to something! Humans can’t feel compassion! So go on, dh’oine, tell me why you helped them,” Ele’yas sneered at her.

“I told you why, in the clearing. I told you all , that I know how it feels to be in that helpless situation,” she said, desperately trying to reason with the elf.

“Now how were you going to get that confession out of Grim if you’d slit her throat, hm?” Iorveth asked, his voice hard and cold as ice. “What else did you plan to do to her?”

“Oh, come on, look at her; she’s just begging for a good hard fuck. You can stay and watch if you like, Iorveth. I know you like to watch since no woman will plough you out of her own free will. Now dh’oine, one more time: Tell me the truth, with nobody else around to hear, nobody to grandstand to," Ele’yas said with a nasty leer.

"You speak as though I had a choice in their rescue, like I did this for glory; I didn't. I know what it feels like to be a captive, to be tortured and - and tormented, and to kneel and lie in your own filth. I know what it feels like to have no hope, to know that nobody is coming to help you, to -" She bit back a fresh batch of tears here and took a shuddery breath. " - to beg your captors for death. I couldn't let Loredo do it. I just couldn't let him get away with it." 

She took a moment to steady herself then spoke again slowly to make every point crystal clear. 

"I have been bought and sold at auctions, beaten, tortured, starved, raped, branded, and left for dead. All by Temerian soldiers, knights, nobles and even royalty; humans , Ele’yas. Every one of them was a human. I refuse to sit by and let more people be hurt by humans." 

Before Ele’yas could truly absorb all she had just revealed, Iorveth spoke up.

“Ele’yas, get back to camp now . I’ll deal with you later.” His voice was stiff and oddly strangled.

Ele’yas spat at Grim’s feet, flashed his cock at her, and disappeared into the bushes, as silent as a shadow.

Iorveth was staring at Grim with deep regret. If he had been just a little earlier - she wouldn’t be bleeding.

“Ah Grim… I’m so sorry about all of this… Ele’yas - He hasn’t been well for a few months now - It’s like he’s losing his mind. I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Iorveth said, rubbing the left side of his face. “I’ll transfer him to another unit, one far away from here. Why are you walking around unarmed and unarmoured?” he asked, seeming to come back to himself. 

“I had nightmares. Night terrors. I… I lose myself sometimes in them, though they are rare now. I didn’t even know I was outside until Ele’yas attacked me,” she said quietly.

Iorveth swallowed and slowly approached her, feeling so guilty it was actually making his head ache and his chest burn. 

“Is that what your nightmares are about? Your abuse?” he asked as gently as he could.

She nodded. “Memories,” she said in the faintest whisper.

The tall elf took a seat on a rock just a few metres away from her, slumped a little, and looked at her in the eyes. She had no makeup on and her hair was up in a messy twisted bun on the top of her head. She looked so young without all the grey eyeshadow and black eyeliner. Iorveth estimated her to be around twenty nine or thirty at the most. He stared at her for a long time, lost in her beauty and her deep sadness that she had kept so well hidden before.  

"Sorry. I'll leave," Grim said, moving stiffly, wiping her face again. She adjusted her thick shawl and scraped her black pumps clean of mud on a nearby rock.

"You don’t have to. Where exactly are you going?" Iorveth asked with a frown. 

"Just - Just going. I know you're particular about your territory. I'm sorry," she repeated and started walking away, her shoulders unusually hunched forward, like she was in pain, or afraid. Afraid that Iorveth would tell her to fuck off again, probably. 

Iorveth was suddenly aware that he didn't want her to go, that he wanted to speak to her, comfort her if he could. His heart raced and he got up and walked up behind her quickly, but quietly. He touched her shoulder lightly and she jerked back in fright, looking at him with those large hazel eyes. 

"Sorry, Grim. Sorry…" Iorveth said quickly. He saw she was twitching and shivering. She was acting completely out of character, the strong surgeon-Witcher locked away from the world, and the vulnerable broken spirit beneath all the armour and toughness brought forth. 

Iorveth sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing what else to do. He had never been good at comforting people and always felt awkward around tears. So he looked around and found a spear lodged in a tree trunk and yanked it out with a grunt. 

"Bloody spears. I hate these things," he said. 

"Sorry?" 

"Spears. I've hated the damn things ever since one tore open my face and robbed me of my beauty," he said bitterly. 

Grim’s frown and confusion were audible. "What are you talking about? You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen in my life."

Iorveth stopped breathing. His brain stopped forming thoughts. Grim stared at him with gentle curiosity. She had called him beautiful. He had never heard a more honest and innocent statement in his very long life.

Finally, someone changed his spark plugs, and his brain revved back to life. 

"Come on… I'll walk you back to the boundary. You haven't got your weapons, and there are plenty of monsters out here that could kill you in a blink," he said in what he thought was a gentle tone. 

Grim just closed her eyes, tears sparkling like frost on her lashes. "And what a relief that death will be."

"Don't say such a thing," Iorveth snapped, suddenly angry. He clenched his fists and jaw at the same time. Deep down, he knew he couldn't bear to see her die. She was too good, too pure, and he was now attached to her in more ways than he first realised.

Grim's anger matched his in a terrifyingly quick flare. "Oh, why the hell do you care? I'm just another filthy dh'oine bitch to you. 'King or beggar - what's the difference, one dh'oine less,' that's exactly what you said that day, the same day you ordered me killed. I am not stupid, Iorveth, I know you didn't want me dead that day, or now. Yet still you think I'm going to turn you in to Roche, because you're so cocksure that I can't be trusted. I could never work with someone so vile, so cruel, someone who loves and serves the same people who hurt me."

Grim turned quickly and stomped away, but Iorveth took a few steps after her, his feet moving of their own accord. 

"Wait, you're heading right into a new Endrega nest. You don't have any weapons -" 

"I am a weapon, Iorveth," she snapped at him with such ferocity he took a step back.

And she was gone. He didn't pursue her, and didn't call out, but he did track her from the trees. She got back to Lobinden safely, straight into Cedric's territory. He saw Cedric meet her halfway to the walls, and hold Grim by the shoulders, his face creased with worry. She whispered something to the elf and he enveloped her in a gentle hug, kissing the top of her head. Grim pulled away from him eventually, gave him a little smile, and left, back behind the walls of Flotsam. Iorveth sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He realised then that he should have forced her to sit and spoken to her instead of just offering to walk her home as such, seemingly eager to get rid of her. He truly hoped she didn’t see it that way.

‘It is her. I’m sure of it now.’

Chapter Text

Chapter 16

The guilt was crippling Iorveth. Usually, he couldn't have given a shit about a dh'oine, but this one… 

This dh'oine plagued his mind, swimming in and out of his thoughts and dreams as she pleased, the force that she was. He and Geralt had agreed to work together to catch Letho, which Geralt had intended to do from the moment of Ciaran's revelation, but this decision was set in stone when Zoltan had let it slip that Vernon Roche had shamelessly propositioned Grim, shirtless and all. To say he was pissed with the Blue Stripes commander was a wee bit of an understatement…

Iorveth knew Geralt’s story and knew he could trust him, so he’d let Geralt in on his plans, his goal, and his dream that he and Saskia would need help with. Having two deadly and highly trained Witchers on a battlefield would be an invaluable boon to their cause. By extension, Iorveth and Grim would be working together too, and the elf asked Geralt a few questions about her on the evening of the Barge Rescue, trying to not seem too interested. It was part of his profession to know everything he could about someone he was going to work with after all, even if he did seem a bit too eager to know all about the beautiful Witcher. 

Geralt had kept that information as brief as possible, clearly hiding the worst that wasn’t his to share, and Iorveth respected that Geralt kept her secrets.

The bottom line was that she had fallen through a rogue portal from the 21st century into this world, been horribly tortured, enslaved and brutally beaten by an underground rink of Temerian slave drivers. After she had recovered, she had undergone mutations to make her stronger and faster, to become a half-baked Witcher as her brothers teased, and she had pulled through with incredible results. She’d trained with the Witchers for the better part of four years, becoming the deadly and highly formidable force she was today. And yet, for all her hardship, for all the sadness and terrifying horrors she’d endured, that she’d told Ele’yas and Iorveth about in brief, Iorveth still saw the incredible softness and tender warmth in her heart. And he felt like a moth, hopelessly drawn to her light, knowing somehow that this light wouldn't burn him. No. He was safe within that light. It was good and warm and safe.

“If the process wasn’t so dangerous, she’d probably have demanded to go through the Trial of the Grasses to become a fully fledged Witcher, but Vesimir wouldn't let her. She’s resilient, that little scorpion,” Geralt had said with great fondness.

“Little scorpion?” Iorveth asked curiously,  remembering the young elves calling her the same thing when they recounted their story under Iorveth’s stern gaze. 

Geralt nodded. "She has a scorpion tattooed on her upper back, right in the middle of her shoulder blades, made to look like it was drawn in blood. It's a kind of protective sigil for her that she smeared on some walls in blood at Kaer Morhen to keep them intact when we were attacked by a whole team of rabid trolls. The shaky old walls we've been meaning to mend forever just withstood everything thrown at them. Some kind of blood magic is woven into her natural magic too, and it just bends to her will."

"I noticed that she didn’t use any kind of spell or incantation that day on the beach," Iorveth said through draws on his pipe. 

Geralt nodded again. "And she's learning more everyday. Triss and the other mages don't know what to make of her. She's a completely unique specimen. Regardless of her magic, I think she's the only one aside from me who was actually born to be a Witcher."

Iorveth thirsted to know more about her. He had so many questions about her, her world, her life before she had appeared here. Her old life had been uprooted and all she had loved was gone. Iorveth knew exactly how that felt and wondered if he could find some comfort for himself with her. But he hadn't been able to face her since that night in the forest, that moonlit night when she had been walking off her nightmares. She had helped him so many times already, and he had been incredibly rude and accusatory to her in return. And he felt bad . 

Iorveth felt guilty and grateful and confused and a bit lovestruck. He turned to a few big bottles of wine that he'd tucked away for a day when he'd really need a drink, and it seemed that day had come. And so he drank and drank, and opened another bottle and drank more. Nobody tried to stop him, knowing better than to question their leader and knowing his fury was nothing to be messed with. They all assumed it was fury directed at Letho's betrayal, but, oh! If only they knew the truth! It was his conflicting thoughts over this dh'oine that kept him up at night, pacing a furrow into the stone floor of his room for almost a week. 

'She said I'm beautiful… The most beautiful person she's ever seen…And even called Malena vain and shallow for judging me on my scars.' He could only imagine how hideous her own scars must be for her to understand his pain so intimately. 

Iorveth had been told numerous times that no woman would ever willingly lie with him, and certainly wouldn’t live with him, after he’d lost his beauty in the eyes of the Aen Sheide. And it had been true thus far, but she had called him beautiful with no sarcasm or malice and boy, had Ciaran almost gone to Grim himself, as half crippled as he was, to force the two of them to see reason and make up. Iorveth had needed to pin him down and cover his mouth so nobody would hear this scandalous idea. 

“At least write to her! An apology for being an absolute arsehole, and maybe throw in something about being eager to work with her!” Ciaran had said in a harsh whisper. 

“Fine! Give me that damn quill!” 

And so, Iorveth had written a note (under duress and Ciaran’s watchful eye)  and had it delivered by his spy, Madame Margot, who discreetly slid it under Grim’s door. He'd apologised sincerely for all his rudeness and his Scoia'tael's behaviour, and had said he looked forward to working alongside her and thought they could teach one another valuable skills, and that he had never truly believed that she was a spy for Roche at all. Spying on her through his location in the trees, Iorveth’s stomach was in a terrible knot when he saw Grim get up from her dressing table and pick up the parchment he'd folded into an envelope very carefully with much prodding and poking from Ciaran in his sick bed. 

Grim appeared to read it and reread it a few times, frowning a little. Then she walked to her dressing table again and out of Iorveth’s view. No reaction whatsoever on her face. Nothing. Even Ciaran’s enthusiasm had deflated when Iorveth had returned to tell him the news.

Iorveth was even more frustrated after that. And so he had decided to drink those bottles of wine. And now, fueled by liquid courage, he hopped over Flotsam's walls and scaled the wall to Grim's room, easily unlocking the window with a lockpick. It was so dark and cloudy that night that he was merely a shadow to the buzzed guards. 

Finding Grim's room empty, Iorveth stood against the wall behind the door where he would be hidden when she returned. The small room was neat and clean and smelled like her wonderfully intoxicating perfume. Lime blossoms, lilac, lily of the valley, and magnolia graced Iorveth’s senses and made him even more courageous. 

After just a few minutes, quiet footfalls came up the stairs, a key turned in the lock of the door, and Grim came in, carrying the little black rabbit Iorveth had seen her playing with. With a small wave of Grim's hand, the candles lit and shone brightly. 

"There you go, you're free," Grim said with a cheerful giggle, releasing the little bunny who ran straight to her playpen and food bowl. 

"Oh please, you eat better than I do, you little freeloader, don't act like - Iorveth?"  

Iorveth grinned and bowed his head a little. Grim quickly shut the door and locked it. 

"Are you completely mad? You could be killed if you get caught here! What are you doing here??" She was not angry, just surprised and shocked that he was so reckless. Again, she was concerned with someone else's life. 

"I just came to apologise. In person. You didn't reply to my letter," Iorveth said, pleased that he didn't slur even once. 

Grim's eyes were wide and her mouth was slightly open. She moved to her dressing table's drawer and took out a small piece of parchment, upon which Iorveth saw several lines of very elegant black script. 

"I did write a reply, but I didn't know who to give it to. I suppose I can give it to you now, but… Look, Iorveth, I'm sorry too; I was in pain and so angry that night. I'm sorry I took it out on you. It was wrong of me."

Grim was looking at him so tenderly, wringing her fingers together, slightly wrinkling the note. Iorveth took it from her hands gently and read it. 

Dear Iorveth, 

Thank you for your letter; it was a lovely surprise on a crappy day. 

I accept your apologies, and I do understand why you do and say such things. I imagine I would be exactly the same in your position. Please know that I will never hold anything against you, and that I was just in pain and in a horrible mental place which Ele’yas definitely didn’t help. I was wrong to snap at you and I'm really very sorry for any pain I've caused you. 

Grim 

It was so sincere, and warmth bloomed in Iorveth’s drunken heart and hazy mind. He tucked the note into his armour. 

"How did you know this was my room?” Grim asked quietly, eyeing the picked window lock.

“I have many spies, but I also have a watchtower in the trees just opposite your room and spy on you from there through a spyglass quite often,” Iorveth admitted, inhibitions gone out the door. 

“Are you serious?” Gim asked in shock.

“Oh yes, completely. But I always looked away when you were changing. I’m not that much of a pervert, and most of my time watching you was purely because I missed you.” He paged through Grim’s heavy leather bound medical journal, sliding his gloved fingers over her elegant and flamboyant writing. "What made that day crappy, hm?" he asked in reference to her opening line. 

"Loredo being - well, himself, really," she said irritably, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at the floor. 

Iorveth pulled a face. "He's a blight on this place… How is your leg?" 

Grim looked down at her right shin where the deep cut was and twisted her leg around a little. "It's fine. All closed and healing well, thank you."

Only now did Iorveth see she was wearing a lovely black dress with a lace insert over the chest and frilly lace around the cuffs of its long sleeves. The hemline brushed the tops of her knees. She still wore her chunky boots and black woollen leggings. 

"Always black," Iorveth said quietly, finally finding his voice. 

"Sorry?" 

"You always wear black."

Grim shrugged. "It's always been my colour. Hey, stop chewing holes in that, it isn't yours! There, you've got your own blanky to chew holes in, you little turd," Grim said with fondness, plucking the black bunny off her bed and shooing her into her playpen. 

"Sorry, she's been in a weird chewy mood today," Grim said, watching Bugs dig in and then smooth out her little red blanky. 

"She's lovely. What's her name?" 

"Bugs. Bugs Bunny." 

Iorveth walked to Bugs and gave her a playful scratch on the head. Bugs chinned his finger happily, claiming his fingertip as her property. 

"What are you making over there?" Iorveth asked, nodding to Grim’s laboratory equipment. 

"Just some cosmetics. Hydrating serums, moisturising soaps, creams, perfumes…" Grim said casually, rattling off the list. 

Iorveth chuckled lightly and straightened from tickling Bugs. He stood very close to Grim and stared down into her eyes. She felt very warm all of a sudden and hoped her cheeks didn't give her away. Iorveth was beautiful, strong, and enchanting. And he was here ; he had risked his life to seek her out just to say he was sorry for swearing at her and being horrible in general. Vernon Roche should have been taking notes. That’s how you do romance.

"As if you need anything to make you more beautiful than you already are," he said quietly and so sincerely, reaching around Grim to pull her long, thick ponytail forward over her shoulder. He combed his fingers through it and began braiding the strands. Such an act was sacred among elves and Grim felt exceptionally honoured and very hot at the intimacy of this moment. Grim stared at him the whole time, memorising every detail of his face, her mouth slightly open. This was a wonderfully gentle side she had not expected to see revealed to her.

Iorveth’s hand then floated to Grim’s jaw and he cupped her full cheek. Grim saw that he was blushing too, but wasn't sure if that was the booze or the act of being close to her. 

"You are truly very beautiful, Grim. Inside, and out." His deep voice rumbled seductively. Grim’s eyes fluttered helplessly, and her skin was peppered with goosebumps. And then his mouth was moving down towards hers. 

Grim stiffened and put her hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him away. 

"Stop, Iorveth. You're drunk. You're not thinking straight," she said softly. 

Iorveth didn't seem to care too much. 

"Why won't you kiss me, Grim? You called me beautiful. You - you didn’t shout at me for watching you. Ciaran said that you like me." His voice was suddenly so sad.

"Iorveth, you are beautiful, so very beautiful… Ciaran was right, I do like you… I think I always have, actually." Grim took advantage of his proximity to stroke his thick, muscled neck, fingers lingering so lightly on his tattoo. He sighed into her touch and closed his eye briefly. His skin was soft and cool under her hot fingers, and Grim felt everything in the universe click into place as she touched him. 

"Then why won't you kiss me?" he asked, cupping her face in both of his gloved hands now.

Grim sighed softly and touched his smooth, hairless chin and jawline. She did want to kiss him, but not like this. 

"Ask me again when you're sober."

Iorveth pulled away from her slowly, suddenly looking very ashamed and embarrassed. He nodded and licked his lips, then walked to the window and slipped out into the night. 

Grim sighed again and locked the window after him. Hopefully he would forget all about it in the morning and just wake up hungover to hell. Grim hoped she could forget the feelings he ignited in her just then. The feeling that she was special, and even desirable.

Chapter Text

Chapter 17

Days passed by with no news of Letho. Patrols were endless in the forest. Grim, Zoltan and Geralt often worked together during their shifts, and then broke off to work with a few Scoia'tael on their watches and patrols. Most were a little stiff about working with humans, but those Grim had rescued were far more tolerant and actually quite friendly, especially Ciaran. Under Grim’s careful and meticulous care, Ciaran had made a full and excellent recovery for which he was eternally grateful to her. Even the elf Grim had scared half to death, Ne'van, was friendly with her and loved recounting the story of how she'd terrified him, to her absolute horror and embarrassment. Dandelion had so enjoyed the retelling that he composed a song to further mortify Grim with. 

Grim treated the Scoia'tael's wounds and ailments with strong medicine, never taking their gold in return. Bothersome coughing fits finally ceased, stomach problems were resolved, and she even smuggled food into the caves from Flotsam and cooked for the army on occasion. Her macaroni and cheese with barbeque style chicken was a hit, and she was teased fondly for not eating the chicken itself. 

“You’ve always said I cook enough for an army,” Grim said, handing a steaming plate to Geralt.

“You sure do, Grim. And, quite frankly, as long as Lamber isn’t cooking, I’ll happily eat anything,” sighed the White Wolf, sitting down after a long patrol.

“What’s wrong with Lambert’s cooking?” Dandelion asked, pausing in his writing, the gentle breeze lifting the ridiculous pink feather in his hat.

“Oh that’s right, you’d already left the keep when he decided to make us all dinner one night. Well, turns out he hadn’t cleaned the inside of the cooking pot very thoroughly and the heat made the bomb materials expand and explode. I literally have scars from Lambert trying to cook us the simplest of meals,” Grim said, waving her wooden spoon around to make her point. The elves sitting around them on the soft moss all chuckled. 

“I told him if he ever tried to make dinner for us again I’d shove my boot so far up his arse he’d taste the leather,” continued Grim while dishing another plate. That line made the elves laugh properly.

“Remember the punishment he got from Vesemir? Old man set him to work mending the outer walls in Winter, and you know how much Lambert can bitch about the cold,” said Geralt, grinning over his plate.

“I don’t think there’s a soul alive that bitches more about the cold than Lambert does,” Zoltan chuckled merrily. “I suppose he made the cold out to be much worse than it actually was, ey?”

“Oh and did he ever! He came in and immediately plonked his sorry arse in front of the fire and proclaimed dishonour on all our ancestors and our cows for making him do labour in a blizzard … It was drizzle. Not sleet, not even a sprinkle of snow. Just plain old drizzle,” said Grim.

They all laughed and ate with joy in their hearts for the first time in many months. Iorveth was very glad to see his elves having a moment of peace for once. Iorveth himself had finally appeared to Grim, nine days after the night he broke into her room, fidgeting and looking a bit anxious when he found her. No doubt he still felt embarrassed by his actions.

He motioned with his head for her to join him so he could speak to her. She and a few other elves were sharing a fire and some grilled vegetables. 

"Iorveth. Good to see you again," she said politely. And she was happy to see him. 

The tall elf nodded and gave her a small grin, looking very relieved at her statement. “One of my scouts, El'anna, is very sick. Could you please examine her?” Iorveth asked.

“Of course,” Grim said, following Iorveth into the cold, dark cave system. The path twisted and turned and went on further than Grim could have ever imagined, and she was always grateful Ciaran or Ne'van or someone else would walk her in and out. Finally, they reached the makeshift hospital lined with single beds all along one wall. A massive fire blazed in the middle of the room all day and night, keeping the damp chill at bay. She had been in here many times and it was wonderful to see the beds slowly emptying. Grim’s instruments were out and ready, all sterilised and prepared for her. 

E'lanna was a gorgeous blue eyed beauty, petite and sick as could be. She was lying on her side, sweating and shivering as though she had a fever, yet she didn’t. The bed sheets beneath her were soaked through with sweat and a puke bucket was nearby. 

After gently rousing and speaking to the exhausted elf, Grim began a physical examination, noting how terribly dehydrated and weak she was. Grim had her 21st century stethoscope out and her sphygmometer. She was always grateful the thugs that had hurt her hadn’t bothered to sell or break her equipment.

“Aha, thought so…," Grim murmured. "El'anna, you’re pregnant. With twins by the sounds of it. That’s why you’re so sick, your body’s not well-nourished enough to cope with two little lives taking all your nutrients.” 

El'anna’s bright blue eyes were huge. “Pregnant? Twins? ” El'anna breathed in exhausted delight.

“Yes, twins. Listen, you can hear their heartbeats. It sounds like horses galloping. And here’s the other foetus, just below your navel,” Grim said excitedly, letting El'anna listen through her stethoscope and showing her where the babies were growing. El'anna laughed and wept with glee, holding Grim’s hand tightly. Iorveth’s eye was huge when Grim turned to see him in the doorway. He shook himself out of his shock and grinned back at her. 

Within an hour, Grim had set up a few bottles of rehydrating mixtures and a blend of proteins, vitamins and minerals, and got them flowing into El'anna’s body through a drip she inserted so gently El'anna wasn’t sure it was actually in her vein. Another hour passed, and Grim had not left El'anna’s side. Iorveth had gone to tell the others that El'anna was expecting twins, arranging for a large celebration at the news. 

Upon Iorveth’s return, the improvement in El'anna’s condition was remarkable. She was propped up by several blankets and pillows and Grim had brushed her hair and braided it neatly. El'anna’s skin didn’t look as grey anymore, and she had the energy to talk now too. Grim was reassuring El'anna that motherhood came naturally and that there was no instruction manual for how babies and parenting worked, that it all just worked out by itself, with careful love and nurturing.

“I’ve given your medic several instructions on how to change the bottles and when to do so. I’ve also given El'anna some ginger and citrus sweets to suck on. They’ll help settle any nausea that might creep up, and give her some much needed glucose. She’ll be alright, but I must stress that she does nothing strenuous for the remainder of her pregnancy. Her body wasn’t ready for this shock,” Grim recited to Iorveth very seriously, making sure he understood not to push the dainty elf. They were standing just outside the main cave entrance in the warm sunshine, Scoia'tael milling about all around them, cooking food, fixing clothes, sharpening blades, and restringing bows.

Iorveth nodded, listening attentively. “Will you be able to come to her immediately if needed?” he asked.

“Yes, of course. And you’ll need to give El'anna a lot of emotional support too, Iorveth, she can’t do this alone,” Grim said very seriously.

Iorveth looked like someone had poured ice water on him. “ Me? No, that’s her husband’s job.”

“Oh… You’re not the father? Oh , I’m sorry, I just assumed you were… Sorry, stupid of me to just assume that,” Grim said in a rush, covering her face in her hand and sighing.

“It’s alright... I'm far too old to be making babies anyway…” Iorveth’s tone was slightly amused. “Her husband, Reinwan, will be back tonight from a mission. Should I stop sending him out?” 

“Yes. Let him be with her now. She will need his support,” Grim said with mild surprise at Iorveth’s considerate manner. He was much calmer now and she sensed he was overjoyed at the news of new Aen Sheide blood coming into the world. 

“Is there a way I can contact you in an emergency?” Iorveth asked.

'You mean breaking into my room isn't an option?' Grim thought sarcastically. 

“Ask Cedric. He'll get a message to me.” 

“Thank you, Grim. Truly.” Iorveth gave her a nod which Grim returned with a small smile and walked just a few metres out of the main encampment, waving and smiling at elves as she went, before the forest consumed her. 

Iorveth waited a full ten seconds and then he was in the trees tracking her movements. She was heading for the waterfall, turning up the path to the ruins. And he set off after her, hanging far back so she couldn’t spot him or hear him. He watched her take out a sketchbook and pencils of every hue imaginable. She began drawing the marble statue of the lovers, highlighted dramatically in the dappled shade, surrounded by the heavily fragrant roses. She was singing softly while she drew, too softly for Iorveth to make out any words.

After some time, Iorveth’s legs were aching from his awkward position far above her. He dropped down at the bottom of the path, walking up it quietly, trying to make it seem like he had just been walking around and happened to run into her here.

"May I sit with you?" he asked softly, trying not to startle her. She looked up swiftly, her warm hazel eyes locking on his one green eye. 

"Yes, of course," she said just as softly. She watched him sit on a fallen log diagonally across from her and then carried on drawing. Only now did he notice that she was left-handed. 

Iorveth busied himself with making adjustments to his bow and they sat together quietly. It was comfortable enough for them both, so different from all the other times they had been together. 

"How long were you a captive for?" Iorveth asked eventually. It had been bothering him to no end, eating away at his conscience.

Grim looked at him with pain in her eyes and paused before she answered. Her fierce winged eyeliner was precise and flawless. The sun danced off the gem in her nose and those in her ears. 

"Eleven months," she said quietly. 

Iorveth squeezed his eye shut and his mouth was set in a hard line as he clenched his jaw. He had never been caught or tortured, just beaten a little at Drakenborg before he and Isengrim escaped, and he simply couldn’t imagine the terror and pain she’d had to endure. 

He sat with her for a long time, re-stringing his bow and cleaning old blood and dirt from the wood with more vigour than was surely necessary. 

"Geralt and Zoltan and the bard call you ‘Grim’. Why is that?" Iorveth asked, pulling the bow string back to test the tension. He had tried to sound as casual as possible. It surely couldn't be her real name. 

"I was a pretty miserable bitch when the Witchers found me. I was… broken and bitter. So they took to calling me Grim, after my attitude. The nickname just stuck," she said. 

"What's your real name then?" Iorveth asked, genuinely curious and friendly. Geralt had always simply called her Grim, even during their conversation about her. 

She looked a little surprised at his honest curiosity. "Evangeline Graves." 

"Preferable," Iorveth said with a twitch of his scarred lip. 

Grim grinned at him almost coyly. "It was quite a shock to be in my world one moment, and this world the next… And then the worst possible people captured me and revealed that I was in the thirteenth century of all times. That alone is enough to make anyone grim," said the beautiful Witcher quietly, plucking at the grass at her feet. 

“I don’t think you’re grim at all. I think you’re a delight,” Iorveth said casually after a short while. He'd never admit to how easy it was to compliment her. 

Grim looked up at him with a slight blush and then a shy smile that was too endearing to bear. Iorveth’s heart thundered. 

“Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment," said the Witcher with a grin, teasing, but cautious. 

“It's still the truth,” Iorveth said, hands held out in a sign of peace, returning her teasing humour with a smirk. His heart was still hammering away. 

The late afternoon sun warmed them. The sounds of Grim's pencils scratching on paper and Iorveth’s blade whittling away at a piece of wood were the only sounds that really got through to either of them. They hadn't spoken in ages when a string of Elder swearing from Iorveth broke the silence. He had cut his left middle finger, sliced right through his glove. 

Grim whistled at his profanity. In perfect Elder Speech, she asked him: " Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" 

Iorveth was sucking the blood from the cut and stared at her in astonishment. 

"No. She would still tan my hide to this day if she heard me speaking like that," he replied through a laugh, speaking in Common again. "You speak my language like one of my people," he said quietly. 

"Vesemir was an excellent teacher. He's the head of the Wolf School. Very patient, even encouraged me to write a song in Hen Linge ," she said simply. She dug in a pouch on her right thigh and handed the elf one of her sticky bandages. 

Iorveth thanked her, wrapping his bleeding finger tightly. He was struck by her humility. She was a highly educated and trained woman, sitting here with him now, having demonstrated her knowledge of a terribly difficult language, and shrugged it off as though it was nothing. 

"Will you - sing it for me?" Iorveth asked nervously. 

Grim looked surprised, but nodded. 

"It's called Oasis… It's very short, but poignant."

She cleared her throat and sat up straight so her lungs weren't being crushed, and the forest came alive as she sang, high pitched melodious notes echoing peacefully all around them. 

The shadow of goodness covers the tear,

brings a step to the finder.

Peace gets, and the cradle puts you to sleep.

Hope remains, a pathway to love.

A path to deep freedom.

Iorveth couldn’t breathe for the beauty of her purity and voice suffocated him, and the darkness was bliss. 

"Oh, that's beautiful… I've never heard anything like it before," Iorveth said in a shocked, broken whisper, that pleasant buzz overtaking his senses. 

Grim grinned humbly and thanked him, fiddling with her hands. 

“Is your mother still alive?” Grim asked gently, returning to their previous conversation. 

Iorveth shook his head. “One of the few to be lucky enough to die of old age. She was a nasty piece of work, that woman, very hard on me,” he said with a light laugh. “Honestly, I’d always thought that she was too mean to die.” 

Grim snorted in shocked laughter. It was adorable. Iorveth had heard her snort often when laughing hard enough and couldn't help laughing himself. 

“I used to think the same thing about my grandmother, and was floored when she did die. She and I used to tend the gardens at my two universities, and I swear I heard her shouting at me when I pulled up her ugly fucking agapanthus the week after her death,” Grim said with a dark laugh, her shoulders shaking with the motion.

This time Iorveth snorted with laughter, his eye crinkling, scar twisting, and his chipped teeth on full display. He had never felt more comfortable displaying all his flaws. 

“I know the feeling well. I’d often hear my father and brother still working in the room next to the kitchen for months after they were killed. It was rather comforting to think they were still around, but I didn’t dare tell my mother in case she thought the house was haunted. Urg, that superstitious old bat,” said the elf, rolling his eye.

Grim’s smile was gentle. “I’m sorry, Iorveth.” 

He ginned back at her, loving the sound of his name on her lips. She pronounced it perfectly, instead of just turning the I and O into a Y, and rolling the R as it should be rolled. 

Iorveth saw Grim bite her bottom lip and waited for her to speak again. 

"By the way, when I was patching up Ciaran, I saw a wound on his body that was left by a very specific torture device called ‘Helena’. It's primarily used to - rape prisoners or abductees, but I'm fairly certain he wasn’t raped, only hurt externally . Still - perhaps try to speak to him about it. Just in case," Grim said with a small cringe. 

Iorveth nodded with a frown. "What exactly is this 'Helena'?" He honestly wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer. 

Grim fidgeted a little with her fingernails. 

"It's a long iron rod, about an inch thick. There are six razor blades melted into the iron all the way around the top bit, which are wrapped in razor wire."

Iorveth went pale. He felt sick and dizzy and actually had to put his hands out to steady himself on the log. 

"How many of those wounds have you seen to spot it so easily?" he asked in abject horror. 

The look that Grim gave him, pained and deeply sad, made him immediately regret his question. 

"Besides Ciaran's one wound, I've seen two. Both of them are on me. Well, technically I have three scars from Helena, but it's not exactly easy to see that one, if you get my meaning. I was the chosen test subject for its inventor, you see, a horrible man named Micah who suffered from erectile dysfunction, so, one day, he came to my cell in an absolute blind rage, because his erection wouldn't stay, and raped me with 'Helena'. It was blood and screaming and tears that really did it for him. The sick fucker. When he was done with me, he turned to the girl in the cell opposite mine. She died from infection in the following weeks."

" Gods , Evangeline… " Iorveth breathed, his jaw slack with shock.

"Oh, don’t worry, honey, Micha's dead now. He can't use that evil thing on anyone ever again, but clearly he'd already passed the idea on to someone else," she said, gesturing to the general direction of the caves. 

"Did you kill Micah?" Iorveth asked quietly. The tension in his shoulders was so bad he felt like his tendons were going to snap. 

"I did, yes. He was the first person I ever killed. Only two of the original five enslavers are still alive." She did not say this with pride, but sadness, and Iorveth leaned forward, waiting for her to continue. 

"I was actually glad when I saw him coming in with 'Helena' on my last day there. I thought I was finally going to die from blood loss at long last. Except I didn't. Again. Again he raped me, ripped open my insides, and again I didn't die. So I provoked him; he shoved his cock down my throat, and I bit him, but all he did was punch me. Then I bit harder and he screamed for the others, but I knew it wasn't enough for them to kill me. Their clients used to pay a lot of money for me; they loved my tattoos and piercings, thought they made me look exotic. Why kill such a money maker? So I clamped right down, pulled, and chewed, and bit his cock off completely. He died from blood loss that day in my cell. When the others came running and saw what I'd done, I was deemed too dangerous to keep. So my wrists were slit right up to my elbows and I was dumped in the street to die."

"But you didn't," said Iorveth in a frighteningly quiet voice. It shook with thick emotion. 

"No. No, I didn't. Something decided to give me a second chance. I could see my blood leaking out of me, all over the snow. It was the first time I'd ever seen snow up close. I remember my blood steaming in the freezing air. My blood began pooling, but then it just - slid right back into my body… and here I sit today," Grim said with a small smile at the elf. 

Iorveth was still in utter sick shock and couldn't quite form a smile. "No wonder you have such nightmares - enduring all of that…"

"I try not to think about it too much, cover my scars, keep helping and healing people, trying to balance all the evil in the world with my tiny trickle of good intentions. Shit, I'm sorry, Iorveth, I didn't mean to dump all that emotional trauma on you…" 

"Oh no, it's quite alright. Talking about trauma was always my way of healing. Then I got older and meaner and just bottled everything up until Cedric quite literally slapped the stopper out of me. I've tried very hard to claw my way out of that rut - for over a hundred years, mind you. But I know how difficult and frightening it can be to open up," said Iorveth with a gentle glow in his eye. 

"You're a good listener, and exceptionally easy to talk to."

"So are you."

Silence engulfed them again, although it was not as comfortable as it had been before. Although, Iorveth was sure Grim could feel his anger and agitation rolling off him as he replayed everything she had told him in his mind. She was keenly observant and sensitive like that. 

"So, how excited is everyone that two pure blooded Aen Sheide babies will be born in about seven months?" Grim asked, trying to brighten the mood. 

Iorveth couldn’t help the smile that tugged his ruined lips upwards. 

"Ah, over the moon, quite literally. I can't wait for Reinwan to come back, see his face at the news. I'm hopeful that it will encourage more young elves to try and fall pregnant now too," Iorveth said, and he felt the cloud of their combined pain lifting. 

"I hope so too. You all have such beautiful ears. I can't wait to see them in miniature!" Grim giggled. 

Iorveth smiled at her excitement and tried to ignore the comment about their ears. Elven ears were very sensitive and almost too intimate to mention in polite company. 

“By the way, when you were examining El'anna, you said you suspected that she was pregnant. What gave you that impression? Is it a doctor’s intuition or more of a woman's intuition?” Iorveth asked after another long silent moment. 

Grim’s jaw tensed ever so slightly. “Well, I know the textbook symptoms. And I -” Iorveth saw her struggle for words and then give in to the easiest explanation “- I've been pregnant enough times to know the other symptoms, especially when the body is malnourished,” she said, suddenly trying to avoid his peridot gaze.

“Oh gods no…” Iorveth was cold all over again. Two bombshells in such a short space of time was a bit much. He almost dropped his knife and the little piece of wood. “H - how many times did they make you go through that?” he asked, feeling sick to his stomach.

“I can’t remember exactly, but I think it was around three times. This was before Micah had invented ‘Helena’, and every pregnancy was aborted as soon as it was noticed, but after ‘Helena’… Well, I’m not going to be contributing to the ever-growing human population.” 

“I’m so sorry, Evangeline,” Iorveth said quietly. His face was pinched in pain, mirroring hers. 

She sighed sadly and resumed her drawing, nodding a little in his direction, and that was all the acknowledgement he got out of her.

Geralt was right. She was a very resilient little scorpion with one hell of an exoskeleton. 

"I guess neither of us were destined to be parents then, hm? I'm too old, a sterile shell," Iorveth said softly, making sure she knew that she wasn’t alone in this. 

"No, I suppose not. Honestly though, I think I prefer having furry babies to real babies, anyway," Grim said with a smile, lightening the mood. It was getting far too serious again. 

Iorveth’s smile was very small and hesitant. He was still too sick and shocked at what she'd said. Sure, a lot of his fellow Scoia'tael had been imprisoned and tortured, raped and eventually executed very painfully, but for this stunning force to have survived all of it, killed her abusers, and still look at the world with softness, wonder and hope… Gods, how he yearned for that kind of strength and kindness! 

Eventually, Grim yawned, and stretched, her shoulders and neck cracking. Iorveth saw she had put down her pencils and was eyeing her work. How long had he been staring at her for, lost in his thoughts and horrible mental imagery? 

"May I see?" he asked. 

She nodded and handed him the large sketchbook, their fingers brushing for a moment. He had left his gloves off, since they were now splattered with blood, and that brief heat exchange was heavenly. 

Iorveth had always appreciated art, in all its forms. Her work was truly excellent and he turned each page with an excitement he hadn’t felt in decades. The colours were bright and solid, the subjects of the pictures so realistic down to every detail. There were many landscapes, castles, animals, and portraits of people she had deemed worthy of spending time drawing. Even some monsters had made their way in, including a familiar dragon and hulking Leshen. 

"I'm glad you weren't the artist who drew my wanted poster, I'd never be able to get through a black market again. Who are they?" Iorveth asked, slipping down from his log to sit next to her on the grass and stone floor. He made sure to sit on her right hand side so he could still see her.

"That's Lambert, and that's Eskel. And this is Vesemir, standing with Geralt." She said their names with fondness, and obviously loved her wolf family dearly. Iorveth drew his long, slender fingers over their amber eyes. 

"The way you've captured so many emotions in their eyes is incredible," he said, looking up at her, and suddenly realising how very close they were sitting. 

Grim was studying him carefully. "Your iris… It's got gold flecks in it," she said in awe. His thick eyelashes fanned over his cheek as he blinked.

"It's an elven trait. We all have it." Iorveth said it nonchalantly, but didn't break eye contact with this beautiful creature who was clearly, openly , admiring him. Gods, when was the last time someone admired his appearance? Iorveth’s heart was beating very fast and the feeling of wanting to kiss her almost overtook him again. 

"I thought I saw gold in Ciaran and Cedric's eyes too, but yours looks so much richer and almost shimmers. It's gorgeous…" 

After a slightly awkward silence, Grim licked her lips and dropped her gaze. Iorveth unintentionally followed the flicking of her tongue, watching it glide over her sensual lips and those dangerous fangs. He shivered at the whole picture. 

"Ciaran told me that these are some of the last elven gardens left," Grim said, quickly changing the topic to keep her heart steady. 

Iorveth nodded, mentally kicking himself for being such a chicken. "And some of the last Roses of Remembrance in existence. And to think we Aen Sheide were so sure our cultivations would endure…" He tried to snort in indifference, but it came out pathetic and sad. 

Grim paused, thinking. "Come," the doctor said, standing and walking to the purple roses. They glowed in the sun, their golden pollen shimmering like Iorveth’s eye. 

Iorveth followed. Grim knelt in front of the small bush and patted the stone next to her, so Iorveth knelt too. 

"Give me your hand," she said softly, holding her right hand out, palm up. 

Iorveth swallowed and slowly placed his left hand in hers. Both had very calloused, rough hands, used to hours and hours of physical labour. The contact was so startlingly warm and comforting, and Iorveth fell even more for this being of grace and tender love. 

Grim slid her hand over his, and placed Iorveth’s palm flat on the ground with her own on top, and closed her eyes. The warmth that suffused Iorveth’s hand was astonishing and addictive. 

After a few deep breaths, a new bush of sacred roses appeared, sprouting from the earth right in front of their hands, fully formed and bursting with life. Then another grew. And another. And another.

Iorveth was stunned and utterly speechless, but his mouth opened nonetheless. Purple roses grew all around them, perfuming the air heavily. Turning to Grim, Iorveth let out a slightly startled laugh. 

" How ?" 

"I told the earth it was time to propagate new roses for the Aen Sheide. I used a little of your inborn elvish magic, and…" She gestured to the bushes around them bursting with lush life. "Unlike the magic the mages use, my magic doesn't manipulate nature; it communicates with it directly. That's why it's more instinctive and reactive to my thoughts and costs less energy. And I don't have to endure foolish wand-waving and silly incantations." 

Sadly, Grim let go of Iorveth’s hand and the elf stared at it in deep concentration. 

"Inborn magic? I don't have any magic," Iorveth said, looking at his hand as though it would emit sparks.

"You do, all elves do, however faint. I can feel it when I touch you."

"What does it feel like?" Iorveth asked, hoping she would touch him again. 

And she did. 

"It's a tingling vibration," Grim said, grasping his hand again very gently. Thank the gods he was kneeling, because his knees were fucking jelly by then. 

"Like when you've been lying on your arm for too long?" Iorveth joked weakly. 

Grim chuckled. "No, it's not an annoying feeling, not pins and needles. It's more like a thrumming… Very much like when you put your hand on a horse's chest and can feel it brimming with life and vitality in each breath. That kind of thrumming, powerful and beautiful," she said, sliding her palm over the back of Iorveth’s hand very lightly as though following the vibrations and pulse in his veins. Her hand retreated, but the tingling remained in his body. 

Iorveth didn't know what to say, so he just smiled. He had not smiled so much in fifty odd years as he had in the last two and half hours. His broken cheekbone was aching and he welcomed it for the first time in his life. 

Grim gazed at him with a pink flush on her cheeks. They were staring at each other so lovingly. Iorveth tried to ignore the heat that was on his own cheeks now too, looking at her pink ones. 

His eye slid down her face, the red, healed mark at her throat catching his attention. He sighed heavily. 

"I'm so sorry about Ele'yas… I reprimanded him after you left, really gave him merry hell - ," Iorveth said, leaving the words hanging in the air. 

Grim shook her head at him and mindlessly stroked her fingers around the wound. "Don't fret, please. Ciaran apologised about five times today alone. But I have to say, Ele’yas is going to do that to someone less tolerable one day and then the shit will really fly. Not that he doesn't deserve a good smack, the horny bugger.”

Iorveth chuckled at her humour and Grim smiled so brightly that the sunlight became dimmer around them, eclipsed by her beauty. Her fangs suited her, the only natural outward display of how dangerous she really was if she wore plain clothes and didn't carry weapons. 

"I better get back to Flotsam and feed Bugs Bunny. It looks like it's going to rain soon anyway. You'll have to move your party inside."

Iorveth nodded at the suggestion, looking over his shoulder at the dark clouds, showing her his scarred side. He hadn't fully realised that he'd even turned his blind side to her. "It's going to be a cold night, too, it seems. Do you have any influence over the weather?" he asked, standing and leading the way down the path. 

“Huh… I don’t know, I’ve never tried. Wishing for a clear and sunny day?” Grim asked with a grin while they walked through the forest, hugging her big sketchbook to her chest. 

“It would be nice for a change since it never seems to stop raining around here for more than a few days at a time. Still, it could be worse I suppose. But yes, some sunshine and clear skies would suit me just fine. Elves do run cold after all,” Iorveth said so airly, as though he had not a care in the world. 

“I’ll see if I can arrange a meeting with the weather gods and come to an agreement of some kind,” Grim said with a smirk that Iorveth returned.

“Think they’ll ask for compensation?” he asked.

Grim chuckled darkly, her mad cackle making Iorveth smile widely. “If they do, hopefully it’s just for some food. Nobody can resist my cinnamon sugar and honey French toast, and that is a fact.”

“Wait now, cinnamon, sugar and honey? Together? All on toasted bread?” asked the tall elf in disbelief.

Grim nodded. “Technically it’s battered in egg and milk and then fried, but yes, all together. I’ll make it for you the next time I find some sugar,” she promised.

“Gods, my mouth is already watering. You’re right, nobody could resist your wishes after being fed that decadent feast.”

“Maybe I should make some for Roche and ask him, yet again, to leave me the hell alone,” said Grim, making a disgusted noise.

“No way, don’t waste precious ingredients on him. Well, unless you include some of Bugs Bunny's special raisins." 

Grim laughed, her diabolical cackle echoing, and Iorveth’s heart sang. 

"He’s still bothering you then, hm?” Iorveth asked. He had wanted to say “Don’t waste them on him, when you could be feeding them to me,” and his mind had conjured an image of Grim dressed in revealing black and purple elven robes, perched on his lap and feeding him a slice of this sweet treat. His mouth had followed her hand’s retreat, capturing the tip of her honeyed finger in his lips, the deep-cut neckline of her robes revealing so much soft skin of her ample bosom. He swallowed hard and told his body to behave itself, imagining more creative uses for honey. 

“He doesn’t stop,” said Grim with an exasperated sigh. “He decided to invite himself into my room about three nights ago, walking in right behind me, saying I was only playing hard to get because I think - listen to this gem - I think I’m not good enough for him.”

Iorveth cringed so hard he stopped walking and soon he was shaking with laughter.

“That’s not even the best part! He continued his bullshit! He said that I would never have to work again, never have to pick up a sword or wear armour if I married him, that he would provide for me and our children .” Iorveth was in shocked hysterics at the story. 

“Spawn of Roche! I’m mortified! He has no idea how close he came to being killed by you, does he?” he asked, plucking some berries from a bush nearby, offering some to Grim and popping the rest into his mouth. The thought of Roche trying to make babies with the woman Iorveth loved was sickening, and the berries helped keep his expression in check. 

“No, he doesn't. Oh, thank you. He was lucky I was in shock. He better not start making a habit of that. Just now I’ll find him breaking in through my window,” she said with a playful grin at the elf.

Iorveth didn’t reply, but his cheeks and long pointed ears reddened slightly. They were almost at the boundary line when Iorveth suddenly realised he wouldn’t get the chance to ask his burning question once she'd crossed the boundary. He stopped walking and summoned more courage than he'd ever needed. Battles were easier than matters of the heart! 

“Evangeline… That night in your room… You said I must ask you ‘why’ when I’m sober. So - why? Why wouldn’t you - kiss me?” Iorveth practically stammered out.

She stopped and turned to him, her expression going from amused and easy to a little worried, even anxious. She looked down at her boots before she met his eye again. 

“I’m surprised you even remember that night. I’ve never kissed anyone before… Ever. Not even a peck on the cheek. I never had time between all my studies. And the men who hurt me were not the romantic type to waste time on kissing… It seemed pretty crappy for my first kiss to be shared with a drunkard,” she said to the shocked elf.

“I couldn’t agree more. Just - thought you didn't want to,” was Iorveth’s surprising answer after his brain had digested that information, his mouth slightly agape at the unexpected revelation. 

Grim grinned shyly, her cheeks a lovely rosy red. Her voice was soft when she spoke words he had never imagined to hear. "Of course I wanted to kiss you. I still do." She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

And she left the forest, giving him a nod on her way, still blushing and grinning at his lopsided smile that was too charming and soft for such a hard warrior. 

Iorveth’s heart soared higher than the clouds that moment and he smiled all the way back to the caves. When he was in his room, he took out her note that he still kept on him at all times, and re-read it all again, sniffing the parchment that had absorbed her elegant perfume. 

Ciaran noticed Iorveth’s huge grin and seemingly occupied mind, and could only smirk and elbow a few other officers behind his leader's back, knowing exactly who had caused such a reaction in their friend, and happy that he had finally found some peace in this mad world. All through the night's celebrations, Iorveth would play his flute, talk, and reenact battles and moments from the past animatedly, more alive than Ciaran had seen his friend in decades. 

Grim was mighty content to stay in her happy haze, the bubble of warmth that was Iorveth and his gentle words and touch, his intelligent, beautiful gaze, and his soft smile. Honestly, she was stunned that he had even wanted to continue talking to her after revealing so many details of her time being tortured, but then she realised that he viewed himself as damaged goods, and suffered from much self-loathing, just as she did. 

“Grim, there you are,” said Vernon Roche, with his charming smile and powerful swagger, before Grim had even had a chance to get used to the smell of the urine soaked streets again. She didn’t even try to be polite to the thick skulled prick.

“What is it?” she asked him, determined to not let him ruin her good mood, but also making sure he didn't take her good mood as him being the cause. That would be disastrous. 

“Just wanted to know if you’d found anything,” Roche said with a glance at Grim’s chest. The armour she wore today was very light and had diagonal mesh inserts across the chest showing off a little skin and the smallest amount of cleavage. Funny how she hadn't minded Iorveth’s occasional staring, and had even squeezed her breasts together a little more than necessary when holding her sketchbook to let him see more. Now, she slid the book up to block Roche's view completely, feeling horribly uncomfortable under his gaze. 

“We haven’t found anything yet, but we’ll keep searching of course,” she said as calmly as possible, and walked off to her room. 

“I was thinking about what you said that night. You’re wrong, you know?” Roche said, following Grim up the stairs of the inn, passing a whore and her madame on the way. The whore lifted her skirts a little to show off her legs, but Roche ignored her. The madame seemed to be fussing with her own cleavage. 

“Wrong about what exactly?” Grim asked in a bored drawl.

“You know I’m worthy of your affections, but you insist that you never deny yourself anything you want. I know you want me, Grim,” Roche said, a very sultry grin on his lips.

Grim bared her fangs. The ladies were watching them now with keen interest. “No, Vernon Roche. I don’t want you. You’re a vile, cruel man who only sees me as an object, another trophy to display in your hallway, to wear on your arm in front of powerful people. I’ve never submitted to anyone and I certainly won’t submit to you. Get over it, you deluded psycho.” And Grim slammed her door in his face. 

"Sorry, Bugs," she said to the bunny who had fled under Grim’s bed at the sudden loud noise. 

"Come on out, baby girl, I have so much to tell you," Grim said, coaxing Bugs out with some hay. She recited all that had happened and how she was beginning to feel deep emotions towards a certain gorgeous elf. Bugs was happy for her naturally, and did a binky to prove it. 

Iorveth could only smirk and chuckle at Margo’s letter, detailing Grim’s most excellent take down of Roche and his stinking, arrogant attitude. It was exceedingly rare to come across someone so confident and content with themself like Grim was; she truly knew herself and Iorveth was dead certain that she had indeed never submitted to anyone. At least not willingly.

Tapping his pipe clean of herbs, Iorveth stretched back in his bed and put his hands behind his head. He was warm from all the wine he'd drunk at the party and although he wanted to stay longer, he really wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Thoughts of the beautiful Witcher. He and Grim were officially a bit more than just friendly after that afternoon and he was so blissfully happy about it. He couldn't help touching himself a few times that night, entertaining the image of her in the black and purple robes again, writhing in his lap, and coming hard over his stomach each time. He even dreamt of her again, of her making love to him so slowly and sensually, her long hair covering her large breasts, teasing him for the moment. Soft sighs and gasps left both of their mouths, and Iorveth’s dream-self leaned up to capture Grim’s seductive lips in a loving kiss. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 18

“Lift your elbow up a hair more…Keep it bent. There, okay, now don’t let your arm drop when you let the string go,” Cedric said, stepping back from Grim. She let the arrow fly and it hit the target very near the middle. Without the bowstring murdering her right inner forearm. Cedric had given her one of his durable leather vambraces the first time the bowstring quite literally bit her through the thin cotton of her shirtsleeve. 

“Good, good, now go again. Remember to time it with your breathing, too.” 

Cedric was an excellent teacher. Grim had gone from her arrow falling from the bow to hitting a near bullseye in only two hours. The sun was beginning to set and the light was fading down in the valley, so they would have to pack up soon, but Grim wanted to get a few more shots in. It had been surprisingly easy for Cedric to restring his bow so she could shoot left-handed, and had been able to change the way he would usually shoot to teach her accurately.

“You should be giving lessons, Ced, you could make so much money,” Grim said to him, handing back his gorgeous bow. Grim was envious of Iorveth’s bow as well, how proudly it sat on his back in its red embroidered holster. She was almost tempted to ask him to teach her how to shoot, but chickened out since she knew Cedric had more time on his hands to teach her. Her and Cedric’s friendship was carefree and easy, and made Grim inspect her and Iorveth’s relationship more closely. 

"Tell me everything ," Cedric begged, like a teenage girl with raging hormones and zero brain cells. 

"It's an odd thing," Grim said, and went on to detail her and Iorveth’s slightly-too-fond friendship. 

They had worked together for just over three weeks now, chasing leads and even finding Letho's hideout together, and had known each other for almost two months. They often caught one watching the other with a gentle gaze and a small grin, and would stand closely together whenever they could. Grim had even had a moment of utterly absurd bravery and clung to Iorveth’s right arm, his vulnerable blind side, just to stroke the soft skin of his bare elbow while they hid in the trees, waiting for the Blue Stripes to pass them by. Iorveth had turned his head to her slightly, his feather brushing her cheek, and had smiled, the tips of his beautiful ears turning red. His scar pulled fiercely and really mangled his cheek, but Grim still saw him as the most gorgeous creature in existence. 

Iorveth constantly asked her about the marvels of the 21st century, especially movies, cars, household appliances, and basic sanitation. He was enraptured by the idea of surfing and Grim promised to show him one day, when she could find someone to make her a surfboard. 

One day, huddling together under a rocky outcrop to avoid a sudden downpour, Iorveth had said he wasn’t sure he wanted this particular cloudburst to end while staring at her very intently. Grim had replied gently, “I enjoy your company too, Iorveth.” His relieved smile was unforgettable, and he braided a long section of Grim's thick ponytail while they waited, such intimacy making Grim reach out to touch his upper arm ever so gently. His skin was cool through the fabric of his shirtsleeve. She kept glancing at his lips. 

Unfortunately, the rain did stop all too bloody soon, and they were almost immediately called upon by a scout to examine a new lead. It would have been the perfect moment for the kiss that haunted Grim’s dreams. Iorveth had never pushed her for that kiss, nor had he brought it up again, and Grim appreciated that he respected her enough for her to make the first move. At the same time, sometimes she wished he would rather just grab her head and kiss her silly since she had no idea what she was doing, and he must have had hundreds of lovers in his time. 

"Oh for goodness sake, woman, just kiss the elf already!" Cedric said, spilling crumbs and vodka all down his chest. 

"I will when I feel ready, thank you very much. Now stop interrupting."

Iorveth was exceptionally intelligent, a thrilling conversationalist, and had a fantastic sense of humour when they were alone and he was free to speak his mind. She greatly enjoyed his stories about the past, and elven legends that weren’t recorded in any books, and urged him on to keep dreaming and planning, to never give up on securing his people’s freedom. He had been sitting alone in a sunny meadow one day, playing a melody on his flute, when Grim found him. She hung back in the treeline behind him, just listening to the pleasant notes touching the air. He really was very gifted and his agile fingers, gloveless for once, flew over the holes with practised ease. He finished and huffed to himself, lowering the flute and staring at the ground.

“That was beautiful, Iorveth,” Grim said, finally making herself known.

Iorveth turned to her and grinned, but looked a little bashful too.

“I was just experimenting. No real plan or anything,” he said, shrugging his broad shoulders that Grim just wanted to drape herself over.

“Sometimes those experiments net the best melodies. I had a really bad day back in my world, and took my mood out on my piano. Poor thing was abused by that point, but it never complained. When I realised the piece of music I’d created was actually pretty good, I had to replay the two and a half minute long recording and write it all out, note by painful note. Usually, it goes the other way around, but it happened so quickly, in such a rush of emotion that I just had to get it all out. And it ended up being a popular song at the local clubs.”

“What’s the song called?” Iorveth asked.

“ Innocence . A lot of patrons said they could hear my anger and sadness in the notes, more so than in the lyrics. So I called it a successful song,” Grim said with a smile.

Iorveth smiled back. “You’ll have to play it at the tavern one night. If you open the south facing windows I can hear everything that goes on in there clear as a bell.”

“I’ll do that tonight then. The owner keeps begging me to play again, a full concert he asked for, because he made a killing the night Dan and I played together.”

Their conversation carried on for ages about music and the vast differences in the timelines of their glory days as such. Grim trying to explain shredding electric guitar chords seemed to be the highlight of Iorveth’s day, especially when she demonstrated playing the air guitar. His laughter echoed through the trees and his face was red when he pulled himself together. 

"What? What are you staring at?" Iorveth asked Grim, wiping a single tear from his lush eyelashes. 

"You're so beautiful, Iorveth," she all but whispered, sincere and deeply intimate. 

"So are you, love," replied the elf, startled by her sudden change. He hadn't even registered when he'd started calling her 'love', but it was fairly recent. 

It was the easiest thing in the world to sit down next to an elf who despised humans, who had killed children, whose hands were so deeply stained in human blood that they would never be clean; the easiest thing in the world to take away all those layers of hatred and malice and see the elf underneath it all, the smiling, laughing musician, the lover of nature, the elf who had captured Grim’s heart with such delicate and gentle hands.

Grim had indeed sung Innocence for Iorveth that night, making sure all the windows were open just so he could hear her clearly. She was immediately coaxed on to perform something else and chose to sing an upbeat little melody called Ever Dream which made Iorveth giddy with romance, especially when she glanced out of the window right at his well-concealed watchtower that she just knew he was watching from. When she had gone up to her room, she'd leaned out of her forest-facing window and smiled softly in his direction. 

"Oooh, I'm absolutely loving this romance! Now, when you're alone next, you need to kiss the ever loving daylights right out of him, alright? Tongue and all!" Cedric said. 

"Oh my god, Ced, you are indecent! " scolded Grim, cheeks suddenly bright red. 

"Oh, like you haven't been fantasising and dreaming about him!" retorted the elf. 

He was about to say something else when he suddenly pulled a sour face. Grim didn't believe such an expression was possible on his beautiful visage and actually chuckled at him. 

Grim turned in the direction he was scowling in and saw Vernon Roche motion with his head that he wanted to speak to her. 

Grim groaned audibly. 

"Shall I pretend to be deaf and blind?" she said to Cedric who nodded enthusiastically with a mouthful of food. 

Grim sighed and climbed down the ladders. Roche had, very wisely, stayed within dashing distance of the Flotsam gate. He was well hated in the little mixed race village. 

"What?" Grim asked, folding her arms over her chest when she drew up to him. 

"Come and walk with me please. I'd like to speak to you about the other evening," and he turned on his heel, just expecting Grim to follow, which she did at a much slower pace.

When she drew level with him, he turned to her slightly. "You look lovely. Black is truly your colour."

"Sure is," Grim said, not bothering to hide her yawn. 

Roche ignored it and they carried on walking aimlessly around the border walls. 

"Grim… I realise that I have seemed very arrogant and persistent in these last weeks, but know that I am pure in my intentions. I do care for you and I wish to keep you safe, away from this horrible world of monster hunting. Have you considered my proposal any further?" he asked, not looking at her. 

"No, I haven't," Grim said evenly, watching a few birds nesting high above their heads and hoping one would poop on Roche's chaperon. 

"May I ask why?" 

"There are so many reasons… You're the least romantic person I've ever met in my life. You're arrogant, stubborn, and racist. Violent and very foul tempered. You enjoy killing to a frightening level. Everything you do or say has an ulterior motive behind it. You use people and then throw them aside when they've outlived their usefulness. Not once have you asked me anything about myself, but you simply expect me to fall into bed with you purely because you're a handsome, well built man. In fact, Cedric has a far better chance of marrying me simply because he is kind, sweet, caring and funny. You do not care for me, you care only for yourself and what I can give you. The popularity of having a pretty wife on your arm, the honour of taming a wild woman, a Witcher, no less, who is also a doctor. You are just as evil and uncaring as my parents were, always using me as a tool to further their own means and popularity." 

Grim had been surprisingly calm when she'd said all this, and Roche's step had not faltered even once. He knew she was right. 

"Alright. I understand that I'm a difficult person to be around. But if you married me, you would know protection unlike any other. You would be safe for the rest of your life." Roche was also unnaturally calm, but still didn't meet Grim’s eyes. 

"I have no doubt that you'd keep a prized trophy under lock and key. But what about my happiness?" 

Then, Roche stopped walking. A small frown was on his brow. 

"Aaah, I thought so. You haven't thought for a moment about my happiness. My joy."

Roche turned to look at Grim, confusion in his big brown eyes. 

"You see, Roche… I myself have never been in love before, not once in my life, but I have seen my friends love very hard, and do everything to keep the keep the people they loved as happy as possible. And quite frankly, I don't think you are selfless enough to be capable of expressing such a thing, which means that I cannot be yours in any way, shape or form. Ever."

Roche was getting agitated, his jaw clenching and lips being chewed. "You think love will keep you well fed and safe? You think love will secure a legacy?" His voice was hard and he sneered at the last word. 

"I can't have children, Roche. You would know that if you'd bothered to ask me something about myself instead of trying to sleep with me all the time, hoping that I'll just follow you around like some stupid noble lady who doesn't know that there are better feeling cocks out there that come with loving men attached. I'm not an idiot - you said so yourself. So stop this foolishness please . You will never win me over. And who cares if I prefer happiness and love over being wealthy? Certainly not me, and that shouldn't concern anyone else except my beloved and I." 

Grim turned on her heel and walked away before Roche could say anything more. His face was very red with fury and he was fisting his hands in his gambeson. 

Grim folded her arms across her chest, hugging her shoulders and just let her feet carry her, singing softly to herself. 

"I didn't think I'd ever live to see Vernon Roche struck speechless," Iorveth’s voice said from just above Grim’s head. 

"How much of that did you hear?" Grim asked with an exhausted cringe. 

Iorveth just grinned and dropped down lightly in front of her. "All of it. I was in position in case he tried something stupid."

"Thanks, Ior. Although I hope he got the message. He seemed furious enough, hm?" 

Iorveth practically glowed at his new nickname, feeling special. They walked together up the path next to the waterfall and sat together on a bench next to the statue of the lovers. 

"You were firm and gave him enough reasons to bugger off. Very politely too. I would have been swearing at him, cursing at least three generations of his ancestors," Iorveth said, folding his long legs underneath himself. 

"At least three?" Grim chuckled. 

"Oh yes, at least three. Maybe four if I'm feeling generous. And their cows, as you put it. Can't wait to tell Ciaran about your cock comment," joked the elf with a strangely juvenile laugh. 

Grim finally unfolded her arms that were shaking from all her chuckles. 

"The things I hear spoken about behind that thin wall between my room and the brothel… It makes for some creative insults. Remind me to never piss you off; my ancestors would come back to haunt me if they were cursed by you," she said, smiling at him. 

"I don't think you ever could piss me off, honestly. Why are you wearing Cedric's vambrace?" he asked suddenly, tapping the hard leather on Grim's right forearm. 

"Oh shit, I forgot to take it off. I asked him to give me archery lessons," Grim said, fingering the fine tooling on the leather, carved in the signature elven style of graceful flowing lines.

"Why didn't you ask me for lessons?" Iorveth asked, not sounding offended, just curious.

"I didn't want to be a nuisance, and I know how busy you are lately. And I think he needed the distraction from drinking," said Grim, hoping Iorveth hadn't taken any real offence. 

Iorveth grinned and slid his bow from its holster, then restrung it for her to shoot left handed. 

"Alright, leftie. Show me what you can do," said Iorveth, holding the bow out for her. 

Grim took the beautiful bow with its stunning gold inlay and stood so close to Iorveth that the tip of her nose could have touched his chin if she were just a bit taller. With a smirk, she took one of his arrows from the quiver at his hip, practically draping herself over him in the action. His smirk at her boldness was giddy and encouraging. She took a breath and chose a large pine cone hanging off a thick branch about fifteen metres in front of them. The light was still bright up here on the hill and it was easy to see quite far. 

She notched the arrow, drew the string back, and let it fly. It hit the branch right above the pine cone and buried itself into the wood. 

Iorveth nodded. "Not bad at all. Move your feet just a little further apart…Your hips and shoulders are very wide. Which is not a bad thing, by the way. Yes, that’s better. Another one." 

Grim shot arrow after arrow until there were none left in Iorveth’s quiver, hitting the targets Iorveth told her to aim for. The bowstring had hit her forearm hard once with a bitching sting she felt right through the leather. She had hissed in pain, clutching her arm, and that arrow flew wide away from its target. Iorveth cringed with her and rubbed her forearm through the leather. 

After that, Iorveth helped her to bend her arm more at the elbow and still use her wrist to keep the bow straight and stop it wobbling. Grim found herself wishing the world could see this Iorveth, the caring elf, the teacher, the master of his craft. 

"I'm going to have to recruit you to the Scoia'tael officially soon," said Iorveth when he had restrung his bow. Grim was fascinated by the process and asked endless questions. 

"Really? What's the pay?" she asked with a smirk. 

"Cheeky dh'oine don't get paid. But you will have to get a tattoo," said the elf with a small, fond smile. 

"God, I don't think I have space for more ink," Grim said, handing him back his left glove. The skin on her left index finger had begun to shed and would have torn clear off if she hadn't donned the thick leather. 

"Are you really that covered in tattoos?" Iorveth asked, brow raised, wondering which tattoos he hadn't seen while spying on her. 

"Well, I'd say I'm heavily tattooed, but not completely covered," she said. The look on his face was pure curiosity and she couldn't resist flirting just a little. "Perhaps one day I'll show you all of them, and then you'll show me just how far that vine tattoo of yours extends, hm?" Her smirk was criminal and Iorveth nodded, blushing like a virgin, just like the first time she had flirted with him outright. 

'Oh, it goes down that far, does it?' Grim thought with a hot thrill of excitement right between her legs. She so enjoyed flirting with him, as inexperienced as she was. She felt confident and comfortable enough to even throw a few bad puns at him (which he tossed right back), and knew he loved the attention, the gentle teasing and fond affection. 

The sun was setting now and bathed them in a stunning golden light, the sky streaked with orange and purple tinted clouds. The golden hour was warm and Grim felt content enough to just stay right there, staring at Iorveth. 

"If you did find space for a tattoo, would you let me do it for you?" Iorveth asked softly, his hand frozen in the action of pulling moss from a groove in the statue. 

"Yes," she said quietly. 

"You should start thinking of a design then," said the elf with a smirk, the sunshine capturing his gorgeous green eye and thick lashes. His long, pointed ears were being warmed in the sun and Grim could see all the little blood vessels through his skin. 

"Does it have to be leaves and vines?" she asked. "I have quite a few of those already."

"No. It can be anything freedom or Scoia'tael related. The three arrows are very popular among the young elves," said Iorveth, turning his full face to the sun now, his blind side to Grim. He settled into the warmth, leaning his chin on his knees. 

"A little squirrel will be quite sweet I think. And it will blend in well with my other woodland critter tattoos. I'll work on a design, maybe something cute and simple," she said, watching Iorveth basking. 

He suddenly winced and touched his scar over the headscarf, rubbing it gingerly with a scowl. 

"Sore?" Grim asked, and Iorveth nodded. 

"Mm, headache coming on. Sometimes the scar just throbs; sometimes I get headaches from it too, well, migraines actually." 

"May I feel the scar? It might be a muscular knot under the scar tissue that's causing the pain, especially since it spans quite a large area. You don't have to remove the cover; I'll be able to feel through it."

Iorveth looked at her for a moment, then swallowed and slowly lifted his hands to undo the leather strap over the scarf. He paused here and couldn’t meet her eyes. 

“Oh, honey, you don’t have to take it off if -”

“I want to. I want you to see me as I am,” Iorveth said so quietly.

Then he turned to face her and shuffled closer, sliding the red fabric off and away from his head completely. His lone eye looked up at Grim very slowly, and the gentle smile on her face soothed all his fears. His hair was cut shorter and choppier than she had imagined, thin and very fine, almost like baby hair. It was so dark in the setting sun that it was almost black, the gold light highlighting red pigments in the strands. 

“You are so beautiful , Iorveth… No matter what the world has done to you, you will still be the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Thank you for trusting me…" Grim said gently, still smiling so fondly at Iorveth.

The elf swallowed down a large lump of emotions, his chest heaving as he breathed in her radiating love.

“May I touch you?” Grim said in a near-whisper.

Iorveth swallowed again and nodded.

"Easy, sweet elf, it's okay," Grim crooned quietly as he shuddered at her touch. She began smoothing her warm hands over his cool skin a few times before really feeling for adhesions. 

He practically melted into her touch with a long exhalation at the term of endearment, and closed his eye while she felt up and down the ridges of angry red tissue all the way to the hinge of his jaw and then down his throat and neck. She felt over his closed eye socket, under his shattered cheekbone, and dipped into the gaps where some teeth were missing.

"There are quite a few knots just under your eye socket and some very nasty ones in your sternocleidomastoid muscle. How old is this injury?” 

Iorveth could hear the hesitant way she spoke, trying to be as diplomatic as possible while he was so very vulnerable.

“It’s three years old,” said Iorveth, opening his eye.

“Only three years old? And here I thought this had happened decades ago,” Grim said in wonder and shock.

Iorveth huffed good-naturedly. “It was the same spear that killed Sabrina Glevvisig, Henselt’s former sorceress. Some Kaedweni soldier present at her burning took pity and killed her with the spear before she could succumb to the flames. He left the army afterwards and vowed to never harm another soul. I can only assume that a different soldier removed the spear from Sabrina’s body and was the same man who attacked me. He’s dead now.” 

Iorveth dug around in his armour and put a folded piece of cloth in his lap. He undid the leather cord around it and unrolled the fabric, revealing a huge spearhead, silver and sinister.

Grim gaped at it in horror.

“Oh my god, Iorveth… How the hell did you survive this?” Grim asked, looking at the sharp piece of metal as though it was evil incarnate. She couldn’t even bring herself to touch it, she was so repulsed by the object of hatred and pain.  

“I don’t have many memories of the day it happened. I just remember this madman charging me out of nowhere as I was crossing back into Temeria. Honestly, I swear that man was possessed by demons the way he came after me. Ciaran heard me screaming my head off and dragged me to the nearest healer, who did as much as he could for me, but the worst of the damage was done. Poor Ciaran… he was very patient in the months afterwards, teaching me how to shoot again and use my swords, and do just about everything since my depth perception was completely fucked,” explained Iorveth, the shadow of pain and bitterness darkening his face.

Grim scowled at the spearhead. “Why on earth have you kept it all this time? If I found replicas of ‘Helena’ anywhere on the Continent I’d destroy every last one,” she said.

“And I’d be glad to help you in that endeavour. I have no idea why I’ve kept it... It just feels wrong to be rid of it.”

Iorveth rolled it back up and tucked it away with a small sigh, running his hand through his hair and fluffing it up at the top. 

“C'mere, Woodland Fox. Let me sort that headache of yours out,” said Grim. 

“Yes, dear,” responded the cocky elf.

Grim smirked and tried to hide her blush.

“Is it okay if I feel the other side of your face to compare the adhesions?"  

Iorveth nodded and Grim felt the other side of his face just as gently as before, her warm hands a blessing on his skin and soul. Her perfumed wrists were right near his nose and he felt cocooned in her presence, as though nothing could ever hurt him, as though he had never experienced pain or hunger or hurt. 

"Mmm, the knots are only on your right side. I do have an anti-inflammatory, and a pain killing drug that I can inject you with, but I really recommend the drugs with massage to help the knots break up, especially where your facial bones have healed a little jagged," Grim said gently. 

Iorveth’s smile was lazy and mischievous and his eye was still closed. Grim made to remove her hands, but Iorveth held them there with a reflexive movement, nuzzling into her palm. 

Grim got the picture with a chuckle, and brought out an oily balm, keeping her left hand cupped to Iorveth’s scarred cheek. Malena's harsh words echoed in Grim’s mind about Iorveth not having a lover since his face was disfigured, but Grim wondered if he had been loveless for a much longer time than three years, especially from the way he was responding to her touch and words... The way he had always responded to her touch and words… Perhaps potential lovers had been frightened away from him for his cruelty and ferocity. After all, even Cedric thought Iorveth’s methods were far too extreme. 

She began massaging the muscles slowly, but deeply, undoing the thick knots as she found them, making the elf wince when she undid the particularly painful ones under his jaw and along his elegant throat. 

After many long minutes, Grim’s hands moved to the back of Iorveth’s neck and to the base of his skull, finding more knots that needed relaxing. He was so badly knotted she wondered how the hell he used his bow so efficiently. His fine hair was silky soft and smelt like fresh mountain air, moss and deep caverns just like the rest of him.

"Are you still awake there, little fox?" she whispered right into Iorveth’s ear. He shuddered in response to her warm breath washing over his ear, and lifted his head heavily from her right shoulder. 

When had he leant forward? Had he fallen asleep? 

"I - I think I fell asleep. It felt so good," he said sleepily, feeling a little embarrassed. 

But Grim just smiled her reassuring smile and took two small syringes out of her thigh pouches. One had a red feather on it, and the other had a brown feather. 

"Red for the pain killer, and brown for the anti-inflammatory," said Grim, gently taking Iorveth’s bare right elbow into her lap and cleaning the skin with the small bottle of her signature no-burn antiseptic solution she always had on her. She injected him so gently it barely stung at all. 

“And the green and yellow ones?”

“The green one is a coagulant to help clot blood, and the yellow one is artificial adrenaline. It can quite literally bring someone back from the dead, especially from envenomation or drug overdoses.” 

"Would you like to work as a doctor again?" Iorveth asked once she had cleaned his skin again. He left his arm lying palm up in her lap and she didn't move him away or question his touch. Indeed, she just rested her hand on his forearm and softly stroked his skin on the inside of his elbow. 

"I would. But I'd also like to perform music, sing, and dance. I suppose there's no reason I can't do all of that, hm?" Grim said with a wistful smile. 

"None at all; you can do anything you want, Evangeline." He was silent for a moment and looked down at their feet, then up again. "Would you please sing something for me?" 

Grim looked surprised and pleased. 

"Gladly. Let me think…"

They had sat there for so long that stars had begun peeping out from between the clouds. 

The sun is sleeping quietly

Once upon a century

Wistful oceans calm and red

Ardent caresses laid to rest

For my dreams I hold my life, for wishes

I behold my nights

A truth at the end of time

Losing faith makes a crime. 

I wish for this night time to last for a lifetime

The darkness around me 

Shores of a solar sea

Oh how I wish to go down with the sun

Sleeping, weeping, with you. 

Sorrow has a human heart 

For my God it will depart

I've sailed before a thousand moons

Never finding where to go

Two hundred twenty two days of light

Will be desired by a night

A moment for the poet's play

Until there's nothing left to say. 

I wish for this night time to last for a lifetime

The darkness around me 

Shores of a solar sea

Oh how I wish to go down with the sun

Sleeping, weeping, with you. 

The singing stopped for a moment and Grim’s heavenly operatic chanting filled the air before her last verse. 

I wish for this night time to last for a lifetime

The darkness around me 

Shores of a solar sea

Oh how I wish to go down with the sun

Sleeping, weeping, with you. 

Iorveth hadn't stopped smiling like an absolute lovestuck idiot throughout the song. 

"You're telling me you can't decide between using that wonderful voice, and being stuck doing clinical examinations?" he asked with a laugh. 

Grim laughed with him. "It's not as simple as that. Most of my songs are really not suited to this century, although I have recomposed quite a few of them. So many people need help here, and with my modern knowledge and medicine… I might be able to make a difference, so…"  Grim shrugged. 

"You're a wonderful person, Evangeline."

"So are you, my sweet elf."

Iorveth shifted uncomfortably. “No. Not me. I’m a monster. It’s been said so many times, by humans, by elves… it has to be true.”

Grim frowned and shook her head.

“You are not a monster to me. I told you that before, weeks ago. You heard me describe all your sacrifices to Malena, everything I admire in you. You’re wonderful , Iorveth. And I’m honoured to have met you, to be considered a friend to you,” Grim said with a soft smile.

“You are so much more than a friend to me, Evangeline. More precious than a friend to my heart and my head,” Iorveth admitted in a serious and slightly strained whisper.

They stared at each other and grinned softly for a long time before Grim moved forward more and leant her forehead against Iorveth’s in a sudden rush of love. Her hand slid up his arm and shoulder slowly, over his neck and scarred face and into his hair, stroking and massaging his scalp ever so gently. Iorveth hummed and sighed in satisfaction, letting his eye close to enjoy every sensation afforded to him. 

"How's that headache feeling?" she asked an eternity later, rubbing his arm. He caught her hand and held it gently. 

"It's almost completely gone. Amazing what expert care and excellent company can do," he said. 

Grim squeezed his arm with her free hand and stood to leave, stretching her legs and back. 

"Leaving already?" Iorveth asked, and her heart ached at his forlorn tone. 

"I have to feed Bugs… I'd love to stay, Iorveth. I've made it more than plain how much I enjoy you and your company."

Iorveth nodded with a light blush. "I understand. You just want to go back to Roche," he said with faux contempt. 

"Oh stop it, you! Don’t ruin such a wonderful evening!" Grim exclaimed, putting a hand to her forehead.

"No, no, he wants to marry you, and make babies with you. That's true love right there. Who am I to stand in the way of such pure intentions? And who could possibly resist him? " Iorveth teased. He had to dodge the stone that came hurtling at him. 

“If the walls of your room could only talk! Those brothel ladies will be getting ideas from you and Roche next, just you wait and see!” Iorveth continued.

“Oooh, I do believe you are jealous , my good elf!” Grim retorted with a smirk of scandalous proportions.

“You have no idea! Maybe I should give Roche some advice on how to treat a lady properly since you've apparently had such a lovely evening with me,” he said, losing his composure and smiling brightly through his words.

Grim looked mortified, laughing all the while, and walked away, mumbling something to herself about men being full of shit that he only just heard. 

The walk back to the platform was quiet and blissfully dark. Grim couldn't get over the soft texture of Iorveth’s cool skin and the trust he had placed in her to reveal his scars, and she hoped she would dream about him again. Maybe he would kiss her again in her dreams, making love to her so gently, smiling and happy. Maybe they would be sitting in a meadow of flowers. Maybe they would be feasting with their friends, laughing and flirting with each other for all to see. She returned Cedric's vambrace, and wandered back to the inn, greeting whores, soldiers, merchants, nobles and peasants as she went. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 19

Three days after her scintillating conversation with Roche, Grim was helping Cedric dispose of Nekker corpses at sundown. It had been unpleasant work to slaughter them in Cedric's traps, but someone had to do it. Thankfully neither of them had to be close to the Nekkers when Grim set the bodies alight with her magic, but gods, could Cedric bitch about the smell of the bodies! 

They sat on the platform afterwards, chatting and preparing for a quick round of Gwent, still in armour and soaked in blood and entrails when Cedric suddenly stood up and looked into the trees. He rushed to grab a spyglass and then dropped it just as fast to yell down to the people of Lobinden. 

" Everyone! Get inside the walls of Flotsam now! Vampires are attacking! " 

Grim’s medallion was vibrating like mad on her chest. She took up the dropped spyglass and gazed through it. There, through the trees and vines was a huge pack of vampires. Ekimmarae, Bruxae, Alps, Katakans and even a few Fleders and Gargains. There were too many to count and they were moving too fast, crashing through bushes and trees, snarling and screeching for blood. 

Dropping from the platform, Grim helped Cedric usher the last inhabitants into Flotsam just as Geralt was coming out through the gates. He must have sensed them too, and heard Cedric's cry clear across town. 

"What the hell would make vampires attack here?" Geralt asked, unsheathing his silver sword and coating it in dark, acrid purple oil. 

"We have never had vampires here before. Never ," Cedric said in shock. He was afraid and Grim couldn't blame him. She had that nasty scar on her left shoulder where a Katakan had taken a bite out of her on her very first contract. 

Grim acted quickly and drew her fine silver dagger's blade across her left thumb. Blood welled and dripped to the ground and she turned, drawing a scorpion on both stone pillars of the main gates. A pearlescent glow emanated from the blood scorpions and a shield, similar to the one Grim had conjured on the day she'd arrived in Flotsam, covered the town. 

"There. No vampire will be able to penetrate that, and nobody will be able to leave. As long as I'm still alive to fuel it, that is," Grim said, wrapping up her thumb and oiling her silver sword. 

Geralt looked at her and nodded, ready for one hell of a battle. They plunged into the woods, twirling, ducking, striking and massacring the pack of vampires, but they just kept coming, taunting the Witchers who drew the vampires deeper into the woods. The Scoia’tael had joined the fray by this time and were doing a damn fine job of killing the vicious fanged beasts. Grim intercepted a few of the larger vampires, jumping down from the trees behind the elves to sink her blade into the monsters’ brains. She detonated several of her reformulated Moon Dust bombs so the vampires were coated in glittering silver shards even when they became invisible. She was trying to put herself between as many elves and bloodsuckers as she could, knowing that her silver sword was the only thing that would really hurt the monsters in one strike. 

The battle was fierce and ugly, and raged on with many battle cries, screeches and gurgling sounds from the dying vampires. It was going to be a long night indeed.

Darkness had fallen just a little more when Grim suddenly came to. She was panting and sweating, holding her swollen shoulder. She had been hit from the side by a barrelling Garkain, and had fallen backwards off a sheer cliff, landing painfully on her right shoulder on the stone path far below. 

Grimacing and groaning, Grim dragged herself up and stumbled into a small clearing between the immense trees, seeing Ciaran and Iorveth, who were holding up another elf, blood running down his face from a gash on his eyebrow. He looked concussed and wasn't very responsive. 

" Grim! " Ciaran shouted, spotting her first. 

" Get down! " she yelled, flinging her aching arm towards them and sending a streaming column of flame right into an Ekimmara's chest. It shrieked and pawed at the fire, but it was too late. Another Ekimmara heard its brother's cry and came pouncing over, almost right onto Iorveth, but Grim had moved so fast as to be a blur, lodging her sword right into the vampire's throat and slicing up into its head. It fell apart and slid to the ground, spraying her with yet more blood and brains. 

Grim turned to the elves, panting and holding her arm. She tried to keep the pain off her face, but clearly failed, even while wiping blood from her eyes. 

Iorveth licked his lips and swallowed, looking at her with utter relief. He was also panting and sweating, his beautiful curved swords drenched in vampire blood. There were no arrows left in any of their quivers. 

"Ciaran, get him back to the caves. I'll stay and help," was his order, and Ciaran obeyed with a sharp nod. 

"These are real vampires, aren't they?" he asked Grim, poking at the burnt one with his boot. 

"Oh yes… This one is an Ekimmara, and one hell of an overgrown one at that. Hey, are you alright?” she asked, touching his bare right elbow for a moment, just with her fingertips. 

“Mhm.” Iorveth wished he could surrender to her warmth right then and there. 

Grim didn’t believe him, and rubbed her hand along his upper arm soothingly. Her slender fingers had worked their way underneath his rolled up sleeve searching for more of his skin. Then she abandoned it for his face once she saw she wasn’t getting his full attention. 

"I need you in this with me, me minne . Are you going to be okay?" she asked, holding his face delicately. 

Iorveth’s eye lit up with fire and strength. She loved him and she needed him and he'd be a damned dead elf to let her down. He twisted his head to kiss her palm, deep and sensual, inhaling her delicious scent. 

"I'm here," he said confidently, and she smiled as much as the pain would let her. 

“ Now I believe you. Come on, I can hear a Bruxa nearby. Be careful to stay on the side, not directly in front of her." 

Iorveth nodded and inhaled deeply, following Grim’s lead in the attack on the terrifying vampiric woman. 

Iorveth and Grim protected each other and fought side by side, taking down vampires, creating barriers and backing each other up when it was needed. It felt good for both of them to know that someone trustworthy had the other's back. 

Fighting their way through the horde and towards Geralt had been hell, and both of them were exhausted and in pain. Iorveth’s armour had parted well down his chest, revealing large, well sculpted pectorals and a smattering of small scars, one of which went right through his left nipple. 

Grim had to try hard to not stare at all the fresh and delightful olive skin on display, they were fighting for their lives after all, but she couldn't help the "Oh, hello there," that tumbled out of her mouth and made Iorveth grin widely. But that tattoo, that leafy vine that trailed down Iorveth’s neck seemed to go on and on right down his chest and over his chiselled stomach when his armour gaped open. Now Grim knew it went much further.

They narrowly avoided being squashed by a huge tree that fell over, having been uprooted and literally thrown at them by a huge Katakan. 

Grim forcibly pushed Iorveth out of the Katakan's path, shouting " No! " and launching herself at the giant beast. Iorveth had never seen a person move like this before. These Witchers had incredibly good training and discipline to keep up that level of stamina and accuracy. 

Grim was a dancer and a fighter, a snarling savage and an elegant executioner. The Katakan swiped its claws over Grim's ribs as she came down with the killing blow, parting Grim's armour, steel plates and all, and her blood sprayed over the ground. Her shrill scream of pain echoed horribly in the trees and well over the sounds of carnage, and unleashed something deeply protective in Iorveth. 

Grim fell forward onto her knees, her aching right arm clutching her left side, hot blood steaming in the cool air. The sounds of fighting had increased and the remaining vampires were coming, swarming around them and circling, drawn by the smell of her blood and the sound of her scream. It was growing too dark to see them all and it would be tickets for them soon. Grim was vaguely aware of Iorveth standing over her, protecting her as well as he could, but she was dizzy and in shock. She could hear his panicked breathing, could smell the fear and pain rolling off him. 

She would not let him die. 

So she gritted her teeth and slammed her fists into the earth with a muffled grunt, and a massive wave of fiery energy erupted on contact, seering the vampires in a huge ring of fire that didn't harm a single leaf or elf. 

Iorveth dropped to his knees, holding Grim tightly in his arms, watching the fire burning the evil creatures to cinders with unnatural speed. He was whispering sweet words of comfort to Grim, his mouth pressed tightly to her blood drenched hair.

Everything was quiet then. Screeching ceased and the magical fire extinguished itself in one quick whoosh . All movement stopped. It was as if time simply stood still for a moment. Grim stayed down on all fours, watching her blood flowing out from her side. 

Iorveth shifted, his little brown boots coming into Grim's view. He undid the blue sash at his waist, moving around Grim's shaking form. He tied it around her middle and pulled the knot tight, making her gasp sharply and place her hand over his. 

"Breathe, Evangeline, just breathe, my love," Iorveth said in a soothing tone. He was terrified, but he wasn't going to tell her that he could see her lower ribs exposed through the massive claw marks that had literally torn her flesh off her bones. And possibly carved into her rib bones themselves.

"Green feather… Coagulant to clot blood," Grim whispered, dipping her chin to the leather slots on her left thigh. Iorveth slid the syringe out, quickly flicked the steel cap off and injected Grim in a large vein in her arm. He also injected her with two syringes worth of painkillers, not that he was sure it would do much for her. 

"Can you stand?" he asked, worry etched onto his face. His eye reflected the fear of losing her, and she suddenly became aware of how he was cradling her in his arms, half holding her on his lap. Warmth bloomed in her chest and she slowly touched his naked stomach, his skin not hot, but warm and sweaty under her palm. She slid her hand up his abdomen, over his hairless chest and up his neck, feeling him shudder. 

"I think I'll be able to move soon, but slowly. We have to find Geralt," she said quietly, sluggishly. 

Iorveth nodded and helped her up very slowly when she felt ready. He kept his hand on her good left arm in case she stumbled, but she took it slowly and made it to a clearing where a human was lying face down in the mud. Grim had to take a break and sat on a nearby rock, looking at the human with a frown. 

"But my barrier is still in place, I can feel it. The… The vampires can't get through it, and it also stops people from coming out of Flotsam. So where the hell did he come from?" Grim asked out loud, pointing at the man's body. She was utterly exhausted and paler than normal. Her lips and fingertips were going blue.

Iorveth was inspecting the Scoia'tael arrows in the man’s back. 

"These are my arrows. See the fox carving in the shafts? I know for a fact I didn't kill this man tonight, or any other day. I'd remember," Iorveth said, now also frowning deeply, his already hooded eye becoming even more shadowed. 

"I don't doubt you for a second, love. Let's do a test. Can you rip some of his jacket and shirt open, expose his back?" Grim asked, sliding off the rock and carefully kneeling next to Iorveth. 

The horrible sound of tearing fabric ensued and Grim squeezed Iorveth’s blue sash to get a worrying amount of blood out of it. She flicked her fingers towards the man's back, and her blood sizzled on contact, eating right through his flesh. 

Iorveth leaned back in fright. "I've heard legends of virgin blood being able to burn vampiric skin. The legends are even older than me. But your blood boiled his flesh," he said. 

Grim nodded, looking very weak. "Virgin blood does burn them. However, the blood of someone whose first and only sexual encounters were rape becomes acidic and eats right through them. Tainted blood. Foul blood," she said with a sneer. 

Iorveth felt sick to his stomach. Here sat this gorgeous force of nature, the kindest soul to walk the earth, who had lost her virginity to rape, and had never made love beyond that… such was her scarred and tainted view of herself. ‘Too dirty to be loved.’

"No… No , not tainted at all, not in Aen Sheide culture. We view people who have suffered such horrors as courageous and strong, and sacred in a way. It's the purity of your blood that hurts these evil creatures," he said honestly, touching her hand very gently. He had only ever seen her this vulnerable once, when she had been walking off her nightmare, and her pain twisted his heart terribly. 

Grim had tears sparkling in her eyes. "Sacred and pure? Huh…That's rather lovely. I wish I could see myself that way." Her gaze dropped to his hand which then slowly enveloped her own and brought it to his bare chest, over his heart. 

"Nobody has ever taken my hand so sweetly before," Grim said thickly, staring at the embrace of their fingers. 

Iorveth’s face was so tender it ached. 

She sniffed and cleared her throat, closing the topic off. "Well, from that test we can conclude that this man was in his vampiric form when you killed him. Could you please roll him over?" She clutched her side and groaned as she shifted.

Iorveth easily moved the man's body and Grim gasped, her hand at her mouth. "It's Hubert . But…but what the hell is he doing here?" she asked, moving Hubert's thick blonde hair out of his eyes, beautiful brown eyes that were dead now. 

"Who?" the elf asked. 

"Hubert Rejk, he was the coroner at the hospital in Novigrad. I helped him autopsy people who had died under mysterious circumstances. Together we caught a woman who was poisoning people who had wronged her throughout her life. God, he was a vampire! Can't wait to tell Geralt about this."

"Do you know what he and this whole pack of blood suckers was doing here? Could he have had some control over them? They didn't attack like beasts; they thought and planned their movements and worked as a unit."

Grim nodded. "It's possible, most higher vampires usually have some defining quality, a strange discipline. Said vampire may have had some influence over lesser vampires, like Hubert here, making them follow him. But why attack Flotsam? Maybe someone here has really pissed that higher vampire off… I wonder if Loredo had anything to do with it…" Grim frowned again and then grimaced as a twinge of pain shot through her. 

Iorveth almost had to pick her up off the ground. "Come on, let's get you to Geralt. Bet he's worried sick about you."

"Not as worried as you are, my Woodland Fox. That little fox carving on your arrows is adorable. Think I'll have…" she said, her last few words slurring as she became unconscious. 

"Ah no, Evangeline? Evangeline? " Iorveth said, shaking her gently. Unfortunately, that just made her knees buckle and Iorveth had to carry her very carefully to the line of trees just before the platform. 

"Cedric!" he shouted, hoping the elf was nearby. " Cedric!" he yelled again, with more desperation. 

"Stop shouting, you'll wake the dead," Grim mumbled weakly, snuggled into the crook of his neck, and smoothing her hot hands over his chest and shoulders like he was her only anchor to life itself. Her eyes were still closed, and she was slipping in and out of lucidity and her shield fell away from Flotsam's walls. She was simply too exhausted to fuel it, even passively. 

Eventually, a lifetime later, Cedric came running up to them and took Grim from Iorveth very carefully. She groaned a little and wheezed softly, then settled into Cedric's arms. 

"Thank you, Iorveth. She saved the whole town, you know, with that barrier she created. It's some kind of blood magic." 

Iorveth nodded slowly. "She’s the one, isn’t she, Cedric? The one from your visions?" 

"Yes. So you'd better look after her, and make damn sure you love her with everything you have. Va fail , Iorveth."

" Va fail. " 

Chapter Text

Chapter 20

Iorveth had officially lost count of how many times Grim had saved his life. 

Once she was safely with Cedric, Iorveth had gone to his spot in the trees with his spyglass to watch the proceedings. Geralt finally appeared, just as bloody and battered as Grim. He had brought her to her room with Triss at his heels. They had carefully removed Grim’s armour and clothes and propped her up for Triss to mend her bones. 

Iorveth tried to stop his eye from wandering over her mostly naked form, since she had been stripped down to a simple, strappy black bra and her leather pants. Her sternum was tattooed with a large luna moth accented with belladonna and foxglove flowers that elegantly cupped her breasts. She was very badly bruised and probably had minor internal bleeding. Triss took care of that, and her mangled right shoulder first.

Iorveth remembered the way Grim’s eyes had roved over his naked chest and the feeling of her warm hand on his skin, her cheek on his shoulder, her lips barely grazing his throat... He hadn’t wanted that contact to end. Even now, he touched her still-wet blood, her very life essence, as it seeped deeper into his gambeson and armour, and wished to hold her. He traced a line of her dried blood on his chest. For the thousandth time he despised his life as an outlaw, despised that he couldn't have carried her into Flotsam himself, cared and healed her himself. 

A blood curdling scream broke through Iorveth’s daydream, and he saw Triss's hands were glowing over Grim’s ribs. Then Grim slumped forward, sweating profusely. Geralt patted her cheeks and asked her questions while Triss moved around, collecting medicine under Grim's instructions. Soon, she was hooked up to a drip of several kinds of fluids and Triss put her to sleep, closing the curtains and extinguishing the lights. 

Iorveth took stock of his warriors who were mostly just injured, the worst of which was a broken collar bone. Not a single casualty or missing elf was reported. This was purely due, as many of them could attest, to Grim throwing them aside with great gusts of air and facing the vampires herself. 

Now, she had saved him countless times and had saved his warriors too, and the entirety of Flotsam. And she was the woman Cedric had dreamt of, almost two hundred years ago. The woman from another world and time, who would be a great tool in the Aen Sheide's salvation. The woman who had undergone such suffering as to become a soul so pure, evil would perish in her presence. The woman who would love Iorveth for who he was. And Iorveth knew that was true, and he was scared shitless. He knew it was her from the moment she'd knocked Roche's blade away, and that's why he'd ordered her killed. He was terrified of falling in love with her, because he simply didn't believe he was worth the fierce and true love that Cedric predicted he would receive. 

He'd gone to visit her every night since the attack, sneaking in through her window very carefully, sitting with her in the dark, stroking her hand gently. Triss had used a cleansing spell on Grim to wash her clean of all the blood and guts since she was too wounded to bathe, and her hair was as silky and fragrant as usual. It seemed that Grim infused her signature perfume into all her toiletries. 

The second night had been very difficult for Iorveth. Grim’s breathing was horrible and she was constantly shivering. He pulled her blankets around her tighter and she sighed in comfort. Taking off his gloves, he cupped her pale face and stroked her full cheeks softly. She smiled a little in her drugged sleep and, to the elf's utter bone shaking shock, breathed his name in a pleasant little whisper. 

Grim knew that he was there with her and she was happy. Iorveth had to leave then, he had to bolt the fuck out of Flotsam and get to his room so he could cry his eyeball out. He wailed and cried and beat his fists against the stone walls in a release of pure adrenaline and deep relief. He collapsed into an exhausted heap on his bed and fell into a deep sleep. He was in love with her, destined to be with her for life. Iorveth knew this in his gut. And what a perfect match they were, both thinking they were unable to be loved because of what they had endured at the hands of cruel humans, and each ready to defend the other to the death. 

The next day, Iorveth would periodically check up on Grim through his spyglass, seeing Cedric and then Zoltan and Dandelion come in to visit her, and even Vernon Roche who brought her a bouquet of brilliant red roses. She had allowed him to sit at her bedside for a few minutes, probably recounting the events that he hadn't been able to participate in, omitting all the elven help she'd had. He left her after a short time, giving her hand a delicate kiss that made a bit of anger flare in Iorveth’s stomach. The emotion was quickly quelled when he saw her flip the bird at the door as Roche closed it behind him, and Iorveth chuckled at her fearless cheek. She was truly afraid of no one. 

Iorveth snuck past the drunk guards yet again and up into Grim’s room well after midnight to be with her. A massive party was underway in Flotsam, celebrating the Witchers’ mighty triumph over the attacking vampiric menace, Loredo himself fawning all over the local whores, as drunk as could be, while their true saviour tried to recover in the room above the tavern.

Grim was still chilly and weak, still hooked up to the drip bottle, but only one tonight. Bugs was loafing quietly in her playpen, just her white nose visible in the dark.

Iorveth sat next to Grim in a chair and stroked her hair, braiding it, relishing the silkiness of the thick strands between his calloused fingers. She was so intensely beautiful that Iorveth couldn't resist kissing her forehead, then her cheek, then her neck, just below her jaw. 

Iorveth’s mind raced with thoughts of her - no, their - intertwined fate. Cedric was never wrong. Never. Still, Iorveth was nervous about how to proceed with Grim. Would she just fall in love with him, comfortably and easily, like he had with her over the last three weeks that she'd been working with him and his Scoia'tael? Maybe he was overthinking this far too much, seeing as she showed every sign of loving him too. He was just desperate to not fuck this up, scared to make mistakes, stupid teenage mistakes. 

Grim shifted in her sleep, lying on her right side with a groan and a struggle. Iorveth froze and forgot to breathe, thinking she had woken up and spotted him, but she settled down soon. Moving carefully, Iorveth moved her blankets away and lifted her thin shirt to see her thickly bandaged side. Dark purple and black bruising snaked out from under the bandage, dominating her pale skin and made him feel sick for her pain and sacrifice. He tucked her back in and gave her another three kisses, lingering a little longer to enjoy her soft warmth and divine perfume. 

This time, Grim reacted and scratched her neck a little from his long ticklish eyelashes, adjusting her arms and letting her right one fling out and bob over the side of her bed. Even in this dim light Iorveth saw the scars. Hundreds and hundreds of torture scars. Cuts, deep and shallow, ligature marks, even initials had been carved into her inner forearm. Iorveth moved the covers again and gently moved her left arm around, careful of the drip tube. The inside of this arm had just as many scars, just as much evidence of the hell she had gone through. The killing scars were the worst, thick and twisted and very raised. Gods, no wonder she thought of herself as tainted. Iorveth again wondered how many more scars she had all over her body, carefully concealed under her armour. 

An elvish owl hooted melancholically from the forest and Iorveth sighed, squeezing Grim’s hand gently and giving her three more kisses. He just loved the way she looked annoyed when his eyelashes tickled her cheek and neck. Then he let himself out and wandered back to his caves, his mind and heart abuzz with her and her fragrance, but horribly sad for her time of torture and deep suffering.

The fourth night was warm and Grim’s blanket was thin. She had no more tubes in her arm and was looking much healthier. ‘Even a half-baked Witcher heals quickly,’ Iorveth remembered Geralt telling him. Iorveth lit a small oil lantern before he sat in the chair next to her bed. The curtains were thick and closed, so he wasn't worried about being seen.

“It’s about time you got here,” Grim’s voice said quietly from the bed. Iorveth started and looked over to her grinning face. The grin turned into a warm smile and he came over to sit close to her.

“How long have you been spying on me?” he asked in a playful tone.

“Says the elf who breaks into my room every night and braids my hair,” Grim said in an equally jovial quality. She was tired, but smiling.

“Have you been awake all these nights that I’ve been here?” Iorveth asked with a slight shock. 

Grim chuckled. “No. Geralt told me this morning that he’s heard you sneaking in, and could smell that you’d been here with me. Thank you. It means a lot to me, to have someone who actually cares.” 

Iorveth looked down at his feet. “I know the feeling." He licked his lips. "Evangeline, you saved everyone that night. Everyone. Not a single one of my Scoia'tael died. They all say the same thing, that you literally shoved them out of death's way. Thank you."

Grim's warm fingers touched his chin and she was smiling so tenderly when he finally looked up. He grinned at her gesture and held her hand to his face, feeling the thick scar on the heel of her palm, kissing her palm hard. His fingers stroked her arm softly, smoothing over the angry, raised tissue.

Grim frowned and her smile vanished. “When did you see my scars?” she asked quietly.

“Last night. You shifted and - they were visible - Oh, Evangeline, how did you survive this?” he asked, tracing his long index finger down the killing scar.

“I was dumped out into the street at just the right moment. Vesemir and Triss happened to be passing by and saved me from bleeding out. Evil little scars, aren’t they? One slice from each man who hurt me or raped me,” Grim said bitterly, shivering a little from Iorveth’s cool, tender strokes. 

The elf swallowed hard and buried his face in her palm, squeezing his eye closed.

“Who brought you the roses?” Iorveth asked, changing the subject before he literally fell apart from her pain. The red roses had not been put in water and were wilting fast.

“Urg, take a guess. Our mutual enemy,” Grim said, making such a face. "I offered them to Bugs to eat and she turned her nose up at them."

Iorveth chuckled softly. “That man wants you, Evangeline,” he said playfully.

“Oh honey, he wouldn’t be able to handle me if he had me,” Grim said with faux arrogance and a giggle. “He was surprisingly civil, and almost seemed like he cared, but he was definitely pissed that I effectively locked him out of the battle. Want a cheese roll? They’re really good.”

“Cheese roll? Where?” Iorveth asked, looking around. Grim pointed and he had to abandon her hand to get the rolls. He helped Grim sit up slowly and they ate together, Iorveth making a marked effort to keep his eye off Grim’s exquisite cleavage and naked shoulders since she only wore a black silk camisole. Her arms and shoulders were covered with beautiful, full colour tattoos of flowers, crystals, insects, animals and trees. Some of them were crisscrossed by scars from monsters, both human and supernatural. 

“Poor Bugs Bunny, she hasn’t been out at all today,” Grim said, flicking her wrist to open Bugs’ enclosure. The little bunny lazily got up and stretched with a yawn, showing off her huge teeth, then bounced around the room.

“Her teeth are just as fearsome as yours,” Iorveth said, breaking off another small chunk of his cheese roll.

Grim giggled. “Biting my lips and cheeks is not fun. Speaking of, why are you eating such small pieces? Why not just pull chunks off with your teeth?” she asked, adjusting her blanket a little.

“Urg, that bloody spear… It took out four of my top teeth on this side. Chewing is not exactly easy, so…small chunks,” he said with a light shrug.

“ Four teeth? Bloody hell, Iorveth,” said Grim in shock. She knew some of his teeth were missing from when she had massaged his face, but four?? 

Iorveth couldn't help but chuckle. "You suffer all this and you're worried about my teeth… Gods, what did I do to deserve you?" 

"Everything," said Grim quietly, smiling softly at Iorveth’s question. 

Iorveth had to change the subject before he completely melted and made himself comfortable at the foot of her bed like the pet he'd become. 

They spoke for a long time about Grim’s parents, how cruel and nasty they were forcing her to study medicine from age twelve, and their conversation naturally swung back to music. 

“Where did you perform most of the time? You hate travelling much and the nomadic life is not for you, so did you have a home base of sorts?” Grim asked Iorveth. Bugs Bunny had jumped up onto her lap and made herself quite comfortable in the blankets. Grim often joked that while she was the opera singer, Bugs was the diva.

“Oh, gods, I absolutely hate moving around. It’s easier now since I don’t have a choice and can shove everything I own into my pockets… I used to own an amphitheatre and play my flute for hundreds of elves back in the day. It was near Lake Vizima. The views were incredible, especially at sunset which was always my preferred time to perform. The stone would turn deep gold and a cool breeze would float over the crowd and stage and just envelope everyone. There was a huge orchard nearby full of citrus of all kinds, and on hot summer evenings the breeze would bring the scent of the fruit and flowers that had baked in the sun all day over the whole area. I often rented the venue out to other musical groups and travellers. All sorts of festivals, dances, solstice celebrations, and wedding parties were held there."

"It sounds wonderful… I'd love to have performed there. Perhaps you can rebuild it one day, hm?" Grim said softly. 

Iorveth nodded eagerly. 

“A lot of Scoia’tael have been talking about rebuilding temples and homes in our cultural style again in the new world to come. So that might very well actually happen,” he said with a small smile, hopeful and giddy.

“Oh, that's wonderful. I just love walking through the ruins; they’re so beautiful. I can’t imagine what a whole elven city would look like. I’d probably just stand there like an idiot with my jaw on the ground, asking if I can buy a house,” Grim laughed softly. 

“You’d like a traditional elven home?” Iorveth asked with more hope in his voice than he’d intended.

“Oh yes, of course, right on the shore so I can swim in the sea everyday, and walk through the forests at night. I’ve never felt more at peace than when I’m surrounded by elven stone and architecture. I think it’s my magic picking up on elven magic. It - feels like home,” she finished with a happy smile that Iorveth returned.

Bugs stretched her long body up from Grim’s lap to her chest, tiny front feet pressed up on Grim's breasts. Grim kissed the top of Bugs' head and the bunny binked away to the end of the bed and back, much to Grim’s delight. 

"She doesn't have a tail," Iorveth said in wonder, stroking the bunny's fluffy rump. 

"No, she's just got a little nub," said Grim fondly, lifting Bugs to show off her tiny stump of a tail. "I think she was born like that. But then I got to know her a little better and I realised that she sold it to feed her blueberry addiction," Grim added in a scandalous tone, covering Bugs’ long ears with her hand. 

Iorveth had a good chuckle at that and they carried on tickling Bugs, their fingers touching often and easily. 

"Is that what happened to you other three socks, hm?" Iorveth asked Bugs. "Or did they just get lost in the wash? Groomed right off these tiny little feet."

Grim giggled and they carried on patting the little bun. 

"I didn't realise how badly I needed her before I found her, abandoned in a nest of dead siblings. 'Be the one who rescues, for they will rescue you in return'," Grim quoted, rubbing the bunny's face tenderly. 

Iorveth hummed with a grin and leaned to rub his large nose against the bunny’s head, making cute chittering noises that were too damn sweet for words. "Oh, she smells nice. Don't tell me you bathe the poor thing."

"Absolutely not. Rabbits don't need to be bathed at all. It can actually send them into shock and they can get hypothermia," said Grim, rubbing Bugs behind her ears. 

Grim yawned and rubbed her eyes a little. “Oh, excuse me. I swear it’s not the company,” she said, and Iorveth chuckled.

"Bed time for you, doctor Graves," said Iorveth, putting Bugs back in her playpen and giving her a huge handful of hay. 

"But I'll miss you if I close my eyes," Grim said so softly. The tender statement hit Iorveth hard and he took her hand in his again, intertwining their fingers. 

"I'll stay until you've fallen asleep."

"Promise?"

"Of course, Evangeline." 

Grim smiled sleepily and lay down a little stiffly, her face to him, holding his hand firmly. Within moments she was asleep and Iorveth gave her his customary three kisses and left with a lightness in his chest he had never felt before. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 21

Iorveth fed Bugs Bunny a few berries and gave her a good scratch before placing the rest of the carefully wrapped berries on Grim's dressing table. He sat next to her, removing his gloves and stroking her hair. It wasn't even midnight yet, but Iorveth was too excited to wait until early morning to see her again. 

She began dreaming a little while after his arrival, shaking her head and whimpering quietly. Iorveth soothed her and stroked her face. She suddenly shuddered away from his touch and her face screwed up in agony, then she was sitting bolt upright, clutching her lower stomach with a soft cry. 

“It’s alright, it was just a nightmare, you’re alright, Evangeline, you’re alright,” Iorveth said in a quiet rush, sitting on her bed and cradling her to his chest, realising that this was the first time he had actually hugged her. She shook and cried a little into his shoulder and held him firmly.

“Shhh, it’s alright, my love,” Ioveth whispered to her, rocking her back and forth. 

“Yes… You’re here now. Everything will be fine,” she whispered back in the darkness, and Iorveth wanted to weep, but he kissed the top of her head to keep his agonising cry down.

Once she had calmed down, she pulled away and swung her legs off the edge of the bed, still rubbing her lower stomach. She wore another black silk camisole and a pair of soft black shorts that showed off her strong, tattooed thighs. The outside of her left thigh was dominated by a tattoo of blue, purple and green mermaid scales, designed to look like they were poking out from torn-off skin. It was a very good illusion. 

“Stomach ache?” Iorveth asked tentatively.

Grim shook her head and looked at him, wiping her face gently. “Do you ever get phantom pain in your scars? Not the headaches, I mean. The same pain that you experienced right at the moment the spear touched you?”

Iorveth nodded, stomach tightening in anxiety of where this was going.

“Me too. From the branding iron,” she said softly, lifting the silk a little to show Iorveth the three Temerian lilies burnt permanently into her soft skin right above her pubic mound.

Iorveth got up from the bed and put his hands over his mouth. He was trying to stop himself screaming. He crossed to the window, opening it for some air. He stood there for a long time, breathing very deeply, his head down between his shoulder blades, hands braced on the sill. He wanted to leap out of the window and slit every throat of the Blue Stripes below, and every single Temerian soldier he came across. He wanted to hear them choke and splutter on their blood, to watch the life leave their bodies, to - 

A warm body curled around him from behind and his breathing stuttered. Grim’s stunningly hot temperature seeped through his armour and into his very bones. 

"Please don't leave me, Iorveth," Grim whispered in a shattered voice. 

Iorveth’s anger and rage evaporated in an instant.

"I would never leave you, Evangeline. Never, not in this life or the next." The elf turned slowly and removed his armour and harness, then held her properly to his body. They said nothing. Nothing needed to be said. 

Soon, Grim shivered and got back into bed carefully. She lay on the far edge on her right side, and patted the bed for Iorveth to join her. He removed his boots and the feather from his headscarf, but kept his gambeson and chainmail on, and climbed in, covering them both with the blankets without a second thought. Grim immediately curled up to him, and he easily slipped his right leg between hers, completely comfortable with lying on his sighted side in such an intimate position. He could feel the heat of her core pressed against his lower stomach and hip and hoped his body behaved itself in her fragile state. Their hands and fingers found each other at chest height between them. Everything was right with the world at that moment. 

“I can’t fall asleep here, Evangeline. If someone walks in…”

Grim flicked her wrist lazily towards the door and a pearlescent sheen rippled across it. 

“Nobody will be able to come in. And if someone tried to take you away from me, there wouldn’t be anything left of them to bury," Grim mumbled, her eyes closed. Her promise was dear and Iorveth loved her even more for it. So he snuggled into the soft pillow and her warmth that he had been dreaming of for weeks and fell into the best sleep of his life.

Dawn came too soon. 

Iorveth stroked Grim’s cheek, propped up on his left elbow. She sighed softly in her sleep, whispering his name again. He gave her his usual three kisses before leaving as the sun crept over the trees.  

Making it back to the forest was a bit trickier than normal, but he felt wonderful, despite seeing his beloved’s awful brand. It was her fight, not his, and he had no right to take that justice from her. 

Iorveth’s chest was light, he walked with a spring in his step and couldn’t stop smelling his gambeson where Grim’s perfume had fragranced the fabric. He spent the morning organising a raid and it went off without even a moment's hitch. The supply wagons they'd stolen had lots of food, wine, beer, ale and fabrics. There were also books and a few small pieces of jewellery that Iorveth could sell for a good price at the black market just a few hour's ride from Flotsam. One item was a ring with a beautiful, but huge, peacock coloured pearl centred in the middle. He immediately thought of Grim and her mermaid scales tattoo, and how she had told him about her dream of a home by the sea, bordered by a dense forest. An elven home. A home with him, perhaps?

Prising the pearl out himself was no option since Iorveth would certainly damage it, so he asked Ciaran, who had some skill with jewellery, to help. 

"This wouldn't happen to be a gift for a certain human doctor, now would it?" Ciaran asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Iorveth tilted his head to the side. "What if it is for that certain doctor?" 

"Then I'd say you've finally seen sense and gone after her. Come on, Iorveth, we've all seen the way you two look at each other. It's plain as day! And if you're worried about what everyone will think, about you falling for a dh'oine, don't. Everyone likes her; she's been more helpful to us than most elves have. You have sacrificed your whole life for us, Iorveth. It's long past time for you to be happy, and worry about yourself for once. Go on and get her. Otherwise I will," Ciaran said, and Iorveth laughed softly. 

"I'm working on it, alright? She's - been through a lot of trauma. The slow and gentle approach is the way to proceed with her. And I've been visiting her every night in her room and she let me sleep there last night. Well, I say she let me, but she really just opened the covers and made me stay."

"Slow and gentle my arse! Tell me everything , I need to know details of this sexual escapade!" Ciaran said, making Iorveth sit on a nearby crate with him. 

"We didn't do anything, Ciaran. She had a nightmare and she asked me to stay. Well, technically she just patted the space next to her on the bed, and I just got in. I didn't even think about it… She put an enchantment over the door to stop anyone coming in and told me she'd rip anyone who tried to take me away from her to pieces," Iorveth told his second in command. 

Ciaran's jaw dropped and he sat back with a great huff, running his hand through his hair. 

"Now that's love right there. I'm damn happy for you, my friend. Jealous too, but damn happy," and they embraced, patting each other on the back. 

"So, what's your idea for this pearl, hm?" Ciaran asked having successfully removed it from the gaudy gold ring with not even the trace of a scratch. 

"I was thinking of it being cupped in a silver clam shell, sitting in the middle at the top. Made into a pendant for a necklace," Iorveth said uncomfortably. He wasn't the kind of person who did this sort of thing, and he had never gifted a woman jewellery before. Especially not a woman as exceptional as Grim. 

Ciaran was nodding optimistically though, and sketching on some parchment as Iorveth spoke. 

"Something like that?" asked the elf, holding the design up for Iorveth to see. 

Iorveth nodded and grinned. "That actually looks a lot better than it did in my head."

"Leave it to me, boss. I'll have this ready in a week or so," Ciaran said, blowing the ink dry and then rolling up the design. "I know an excellent smith at the black market who will bring this to life -" 

"Good lord, who's bringing what to life?" came Grim’s alarmed voice from behind the two elves. 

Iorveth was quick to hide the pearl and Ciaran slipped the parchment up his sleeve. 

"Grim! What are you doing up and about?" Ciaran asked, giving her a gentle hug and allowing Iorveth time to put the pearl in Ciaran's satchel. 

"I can't sit in bed all day, I'll go mad. And I need to check on El'anna too. Now what's this about someone bringing something to life? Do I need to get Geralt?" 

"No, no, everything's alright. I'm just taking a weapon diagram to a smith. Nothing is coming back from the dead! You look after yourself. I'll see you later, Iorveth," said Ciaran with his infallible confidence. He grabbed his satchel and left, nodding to them both. 

"You really shouldn't be out of bed, Evangeline," Iorveth said tenderly. She was dressed in a lovely sleeveless knee length black dress and black leggings with lace work over the shins. Underneath the dress was a deep red long-sleeved dress shirt with black buttons made from bone. She even had her makeup on and her hair was up in a neat bun, wispy short layers and her wide side fringe framing her face. 

"Nonsense, I'm fine. If I can roll myself out of bed then I can walk. Washing my hair on the other hand… Well, that's going to take a bit of ingenuity since I can't bend at the waist," she said with a little grimace. 

She fished around in her bag and brought out Iorveth’s blue sash, beautifully laundered and folded. 

"Thank you, Iorveth. You saved my life that night, and not once have I thanked you. Here, I got most of the blood out. And this is half the money I squeezed out of Louis Merse for killing the vampires. Don’t even try to say you won’t take it; you know I won’t let you refuse. It seems that Merse was the one responsible for the attack after all. He'd made a deal with a higher vampire and couldn't hold up to his end of the bargain," Grim said, rolling her eyes. 

"And I have two cheese rolls for each of us if you'd like to sit with me after I've seen El'anna?" she asked hopefully. 

Iorveth put the sash and clinking pouch of gold aside and held her gaze. Then he slid his hands down her arms, feeling her shudder, and clasped her hands in his. 

" Are you saying you want to hang around an old fossil like me willingly?" he asked with a half hearted smirk. 

"There's no other fossil I'd rather be with than you, love," Grim said, squeezing his hand. 

Iorveth’s heart fluttered and he couldn't believe how much love he could feel coming from Grim. 

"Meet me at the ruins when you're done. I'll be there," he said quietly, smiling at her. 

Grim just grinned and nodded. 

"My my my, those babies are growing fast! And El'anna is looking fantastic, walking around, full of energy, shouting at poor Reinwan to get his feet off the table, stoke the fire, and get more wood," said Grim with a laugh. They sat in the shade on the same bench as before, eating cheese rolls and the berries Iorveth had left for Grim in the very early hours of that morning. 

"There are going to be two Aen Sheide babies, the first pure blooded elves in about two decades thanks to you. I don't know how to ever repay you for all you've done, all the care and medicine…" Iorveth said, feeling strangely uncomfortable. 

Grim shifted to face him, stiffly twisting her torso. "Look at me, Iorveth. You never have to repay me for anything. Not a single thing, not in money or deeds. I want to help you, because I truly care. You don't get to pay back generosity and kindness."

Iorveth looked at her and exhaled slowly. To cover the glistening tears in his eye, he leant forward and hugged her a little awkwardly to avoid her ribs. She sighed into his arms and nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck, basking in his lovely natural scent. 

"Thank you." 

Grim squeezed him to her as hard as she dared and then pulled back when she heard the sound of footsteps crashing gracelessly through the bushes and shrubbery just at the bottom of the hill. She and Iorveth got up to look, walking behind the statue to see none other than Zoltan and Dandelion. 

"Oh, what are they up to now?" Grim whispered, snuggled up to Iorveth’s side to get a better view, head leaning back on his shoulder, and without thinking about it, he had wrapped an arm around her, resting his scarred cheek on her head. 

They observed the dwarf and the bard peering at a small red mushroom that had tendrils and a dark hole in the middle. 

"Don't touch it, don't touch it," Iorveth chanted quietly through his wide grin. 

"Is that stinkhorn? Oh, they're precious, these two," Grim said, shaking her head, watching her friends playing rock, paper, scissors to decide who would put their finger in the mushroom's throat first. 

"You know, the last time Dandelion put his finger in a, uh…questionable place, I had to give him a week-long course of antibiotic injections in his arse," she said, twisting a little to see Iorveth’s face properly. 

"Bloody hell, why his arse?"  

"I didn't have any fine needles, only thick ones that are best suited to the muscle just above the butt cheek. Of course, when I asked Dandelion to pull his pants down just a little , he took his whole kit off, and let me tell you, that man has the hairiest arse in existence, Iorveth. I worked in a hospital for almost ten years, changing bedding and giving sponge baths when I had to, and I still maintain that Dandelion has the hairiest arse in creation."

Iorveth was shaking with silent laughter, practically wheezing into Grim’s neck to keep quiet. 

"I suppose he'll take any opportunity to show off his meat and two veg, won't he?" he asked when he was somewhat composed. 

Grim nodded. "For all the good it did his ego; I couldn't see anything through all the hair!" And they were shaking in fresh peals of silent laughter, watching the proceedings far below them. Iorveth tucked his face into Grim’s neck, his cold nose caressing her skin, inhaling her scent. Grim hummed a little, low enough for it to be ever so slightly seductive. 

"Oh, look, there come the instigators of this little prank," Iorveth said, pointing to three young elves, the troublemakers, sitting on a low bough, holding their sides and laughing at the dwarf and bard who were now wrestling to see who would touch the mushroom first. 

"They've laced the inside of the stinkhorn with an itching agent that only activates when the skin becomes wet, and it is a bloody horror to get that shit off your hands," Iorveth said, watching the events unfold with a childlike enthusiasm. 

"How do you know?" 

Iorveth giggled like a naughty teenager. "It's my prank, I came up with it," he said. 

“Why am I not surprised that you’re a naughty shit, huh?” Grim asked, stroking his neck with her left hand. Iorveth just raised his lone eyebrow and grinned at her. His hand covered hers and lifted it to his face. 

Eventually both parties stuck their fingers in the mushroom's gullet. They shrugged, looked confused when nothing happened and walked back up the hill as the sun reached its zenith. 

"Ooh, those two are in for one nasty surprise when they get their hands wet. There is no remedy for it either, it fades within an hour and isn't that intense, but I'll bet good money that they call on you before that hour lapses," said Iorveth sitting down again, still holding Grim’s hand. "Oh, speaking of water, there's an elven bath beneath these ruins that has a small waterfall. It might be easier to wash your hair there than with a bucket," said Iorveth through a small mouthful of cheese roll. 

"Elven baths? Cedric never told me about them…Will you show me?" she asked, suddenly full of curiosity. 

Iorveth nodded with a grin, and motioned for her to follow him just a few paces around the statue and past one of the ancient pillars slowly eroding away, succumbing to the ravages of time. Down a short earthen slope was a wall of very carefully packed brown mud bricks that Iorveth moved away.

“This way, doctor, it’s a bit of a drop,” he said with a cheeky grin that made her knees go weak. He held out his hand to her and helped her down the sheer drop into the small cavern below. He didn’t let her hand go and neither did she, even when she gasped in wonder at the scene before her.

“Oh, Iorveth…Oh, this is magnificent . Well, it’s settled. Elven home for me thanks,” Grim said breathlessly, walking forward slightly. Iorveth let their hands drop so she could explore on her own. She touched everything and examined it all under an appreciative and wonderfilled eye. Iorveth felt immensely proud that the feats of his people impressed her so much. 

Green and gold embossed tiles covered the floor and walls, and the bath itself was carved from solid marble and sunk into the floor. The waterfall was small and rugged, water flowing easily from a massive crack in the rockface, elegantly offset by the beauty of the red roses that tumbled down through the cracks in the ceiling. A shaft of sunlight nourished the roses and heated the air, drawing out the fruity fragrance of the blooms, and only served to make the place more magical. There was a large marble bench next to the bath and tall, spiralling pillars that held up the ceiling. Iorveth watched Grim take in the scene, kneeling carefully to touch the water.

“Hot springs?” she asked Iorveth, who had now taken a seat on the bench to watch Grim’s reactions. 

“Yes. They’ve fuelled the bath for centuries. I love coming here to think and bathe and just try to make sense of the world, and relax. It’s a rare luxury I allow myself,” Iorveth said.

“I don’t blame you. I could comfortably spend hours and hours here. Imagine the view of the night sky through this crack in the ceiling… Oh, it must be stunning. I’m going to go back and get a few things then come here and finally wash this stinky rat’s nest on my head. Mind standing sentry for me while I’m bathing?”

“No, of course not,” Iorveth said with a shiver, remembering how gorgeous her body looked the night of the vampire attack, as bloody and torn apart as she was.

Grim nodded gratefully. “Thank you. I’ll be back shortly. Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone, see?” she added with a smirk.

“Aren’t I a bit too old to be getting into trouble?” he chuckled, helping her up and out of the bathhouse.

“I might believe you if I hadn't heard you giggling at that silly prank, you old fossil.”

Grim returned a short while later with her little black leather backpack over her shoulders, bulging more than it had been before she'd left. Iorveth sat with his back to the baths, whittling a piece of wood, while Grim bathed and finally washed her hair. It had begun to matt slightly and her scalp was feeling tight and a little itchy despite Triss' magical cleansing spell.

After what felt like no time at all, Iorveth heard her wet footsteps come up just behind him.

“Sorry, Iorveth… I need help getting the new dressing on. Would you mind…?” she asked awkwardly, dressed in a black cotton dressing gown, holding the top half closed with her hands.

“As if you need to be shy when asking me for help,” he said with a smile, trying to reassure her. Still, she looked nervous as he sat on the bench inside the humid bathing cavern and she stood in front of him, loosening the gown and letting it uncover her left side and arm, still holding it closed over her chest.

‘Ah… that’s why she was nervous,’ Iorveth thought with a horrified start. 

Besides the enormous wounds the vampire's claws had created, Grim had scars from vicious lashings all over her side and across to her back. The skin over her spine had been split right to the bone multiple times, and had healed very badly, misshapen into ridges of angry red tissue, much like Iorveth’s scars. 

Iorveth slowly put his bare hands on her back and turned her, slipping more of the gown away to see the true extent of her back. 

“Oh gods, Evangeline,” he said in horror, touching the scars over her spine. "Who the hell   -" 

" Please , Iorveth... Please don't make me talk about it," she said in a shaky whisper. 

"I'd never make you do anything you didn't want to, me minne … Never.” He ran his hands soothingly over the unscarred areas of her back, the softest skin he had ever felt in his life. The large blood scorpion tattoo, the same symbol that had saved the people of Flotsam, nestled between her shoulder blades. Between its pincers was a very detailed blood moon. Coincidentally, it was not marred by a single scar or blemish. 

“The claw marks have healed well,” Iorveth said, applying Grim’s beeswax balm over the neat stitches. “Seems your Witcher mutations, however slight, still have a significant effect on you.” He carefully positioned the sticky bandage (that she had become somewhat famous for creating) over the stitches and outside the layer of balm and pressed it down smoothly like he had seen her do a hundred times on his own elves. He rubbed the edges lightly to make sure they adhered and then pulled her gown back over her skin, covering up her slightly shivering form.

“Even so, I bet you still wish you had Geralt’s enhanced sense of smell and hearing, hm?” Iorveth asked, trying to hide how worried he was by her stiff silence.

His face split into a huge, relieved smile when she gave a light chuckle.

“Clearly you’ve never shared a wall with a brothel. Geralt can keep his super senses, thank you very much,” she laughed, securely tying the gown and sitting next to him on the marble bench.

“Do we have to leave soon?” Grim asked quietly, dragging the tips of her toes along the mortar between the gold tiles. 

“Nu uh,” Iorveth mumbled back to her, putting his chin on her shoulder. She gave a light laugh at his silliness, softly touching his beautiful jaw.

“Thank you,” she said back to him, curling her arms around his left arm, entwining their fingers. 

They both sighed and Iorveth’s head dropped onto her shoulder properly. He nuzzled into her neck, her wet, fragrant hair touching his hooked nose. Grim giggled at the ticklish sensation and rubbed his forearm over his long gloves.

“So you’re saying that ‘office workers’ are essentially chained to their desks for nine hours a day? They have no time to actually enjoy life?” Iorveth asked with a shocked face. 

“Exactly. And that’s just the beginning of the hell that is sitting at a desk. Your eyesight goes to shite, your neck and shoulders hunch forward which creates headaches, and your hips lose muscle strength which makes your lower back ache. A typical thirty year old, like me, has the posture and body aches and pains of a seventy year old. It’s just wrong on every level,” Grim said, flipping her hair back over her shoulders.

They had moved from the bench to the steps of the bath. Iorveth had taken off his boots and socks and was soaking his feet in the warm water. Grim had put her hands in the water and brought the temperature up for him a little more. The comfortable sigh he let out was music to her soul.

“That really is hell. And all that pain and time away from family, friends, hobbies, all that to make some high powered arse even richer?” Iorveth asked.

Grim nodded and sighed. “I was always so angry with my parents for forcing me into medical school so young and pretty much abandoning me to the university, but seeing the incredible life I had there compared to a conventional office space… And obviously having all those degrees has helped so many people here.”

Iorveth chewed his lip for a moment before he asked his next, rather uncomfortable question.

“If you could return to your world, would you?” 

“Oh hell no. There are lots of things I miss and wish I had here, but more often than not, I find myself relishing this time period. Everything feels slower, like an hour is actually an hour, it doesn’t feel like only a minute has passed. I feel like I have time to accomplish things now,” Grim said with a light laugh, knowing how strange all that must sound to Iorveth who didn’t know any other time. “Besides, I’d have to leave you here if I went back, and we both know you’ll be a wreck without me around,” she teased, touching her foot to his under the water.

Iorveth sighed and rolled his eye in mock frustration, making Grim laugh even louder, her mad cackle echoing off the walls of the cavern.

An hour later, they were both walking through the forest, taking a slow stroll back to Flotsam. Grim had begun to yawn after her bath, leaning on Iorveth’s shoulder and cuddling right up to his side. He found himself blushing over it, since it was the most intimate contact he’d had in many decades, but then he remembered waking up in her bed that morning and could only feel comfort in her warmth and love.

“I’m sorry to say that I won’t be visiting you tonight. I’m heading a search for an artefact in that part of the forest where the Leshen was. That’s what I was doing out there in the first place,” Iorveth said, picking some twigs and leaves out of his headscarf.

“Let’s hope there aren’t any more Leshens lurking around while you’re out there. What is the artefact, something magical or valuable?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. It was one of Cedric’s visions or dreams. He saw the artefact, really just a blue light, he said, but it’s crucially important to our fight,” said Iorveth, his face darkening slightly as reality crept in.

“Cedric has visions?” Grim asked in shock.

Iorveth nodded. “That’s why he’s constantly drunk. He realised staying drunk was the best way to keep the visions away. They drive him mad, and he doesn’t believe we should know what the future holds for us, that if we knew about the significant parts of our futures we’d try to change the outcome.”

“That’s very sad actually. No wonder he sees it as a curse. Huh, I never thought that was the reason for his addiction.”

“What did you think the cause was?”

“Leaving the Scoia’tael. Leaving you. Living with humans. Having Loredo looking at him like he’s scum. The options are endless,” she said with a shrug.

“No, just visions. Sorry to let you down there. You know, he even drew a map of the temple that’s supposed to be in the forest, but it’s all hidden underground and under so much vegetation, it’ll be easy to miss. Still, I’m hopeful we find the temple’s location at the very least.”

“I hope so too. And I’ll be glad to help if you need it. I’m good at finding things, as you know with your flute,” Grim said, smiling at him, so dazzling and radiant.

“And finding me caught in a fucking trap,” said Iorveth with an embarrassed chuckle, rubbing his face. 

Grim cackled and bumped his shoulder with hers as they approached the boundary line. 

“See you soon, sweet elf. You be careful out there, see?” Grim said tenderly.

“As the doctor orders,” was Iorveth’s cheeky reply, because he didn’t know how to react to sweetness yet.

“That’s surgeon general to you,” came Grim’s smartass retort, and she walked away, turning back often to catch his eye as he was climbing a tree for a better view to make sure she got behind Flotsam’s walls safely.

From this vantage point he could even see Vernon Roche’s chaperoned head approach Grim and speak to her. It seemed to be an almost pleasant conversation except for the narrowing of Grim’s eyes and the sneer on her perfect lips when Roche had turned away from her.

“Grim. Wait, please,” came Vernon Roche’s voice from just behind Grim.

She turned slowly and looked at him with her tired eyes. The warm bath and time with Iorveth had re-energised her for a short time before the trauma and exhaustion of her injuries came back with a bite and told her it was time to sleep. The fact that her bed and pillow still smelt like Iorveth only made the Call of the Covers even more attractive.

“How are you?” Roche asked, a look of real concern in his eyes, his lovely dark brown eyes.

“Doing better every day. I can’t stay cooped up in my room all the time though. I’ll go insane. And sunlight and fresh air is excellent for recovery,” Grim said matter-of-factly.

Roche nodded enthusiastically. “Good. Excellent. You spent an awfully long time in the forest. I was afraid I’d have to go in and find you.”

“I’m a child of nature. I've never felt more at home than in the forest,” Grim explained.

“Of course. Well, you go and rest. I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said with a smile and turned to leave her. 

Grim bit her tongue and just squinted at his retreating form. She was too tired for his nonsense.

Chapter Text

Chapter 22

The day after Iorveth had shown Grim the baths, she had returned on her own to draw them. She hadn’t seen a single Scoia’tael around and wondered where they all were. She was still a little stiff and sore and certainly couldn’t bear the thought of wearing heavy armour; now she was beginning to wish she’d worn at least her chainmail under her shirt, but she still had her silver dagger in her boot and her magic.

The drawing turned into a bit of a flop, since the humidity had begun to curl and wrinkle her paper and no amount of forcing the steam out of the cracked ceiling above her had made a difference. Looking for another piece of paper in a drier section of her sketchbook revealed evidence of a certain bunny having chewed on the paper. 

Sighing in frustration, Grim decided to just sit back and let her bare feet dangle in the water, wishing Iorveth was with her, holding her hand, talking to her and making her feel like she mattered and was special. She was addicted to that feeling that he conjured in her, and was dead certain she was in love with him. 

Ribs bitching with the movement, Grim hauled herself out of the warm cavern into the fresh air outside and began to walk back to Flotsam, still not seeing a single elf. Not even Jarrod, who was almost always sitting on a branch with his pipe in one hand and bow in the other, trying to seduce one of the female elves who kept playing with his affections. Elves in general were haughty and proud, but the females took that to a whole new level as Grim had found out spending more and more time around them.

Singing “The Unquiet Grave” to herself, Grim was almost to the edge of the forest on the harbour side of Flotsam when a hooded figure came out of the bushes and tackled her to the ground painfully hard. The wind got knocked out of her and she gasped as well as she could, the world all tilted on its side. 

"It is you, you bitch !" the man yelled through yellow rotting teeth. Grim knew him immediately. 

Grim moved sideways under him as he swung a fist at her head, making him hit the ground in a painful wail. She twisted around, ribs screaming, under his heavy body and straddled him, raining punches down on him until she was hauled off by strong arms around her waist, crushing her already damaged ribs. She cried out and tried to bite the hand that came up to silence her. 

The man on the ground got up slowly, blood pouring from his shattered nose and split lips and smiled evilly.

"Woah there, careful of this one's teeth, Stan. This is the tattooed whore who bit Micah's dick off," Rikkard said to the man who was still holding Grim by her ribs, squeezing them so painfully hard she could hardly think straight. 

"He probably shouldn't have shoved it down my throat," Grim hissed, her voice deadly cold and low. She spat at Rikkard as he came closer and Stan gave her another squeeze, increasing the pressure and making her scream louder. 

“See when we heard that some gorgeous, dark haired woman had come to Flotsam, we just knew it was you. You’re a hard woman to find, but someone so beautiful is spoken about by just about everyone. You killed our friends. It’s time we took you back to your little cage in the dungeons, whore,” sneered the ugly man.

“And if you try to bite me again, you know what’ll happen,” Stan said in her hair, brandishing his curved dagger in front of her face, a dagger she knew too well to be decent. 

Fear, old and familiar, washed over Grim in a surging tide and she was helpless to resist it. It swallowed her up and made her sweat, shutting down her brain functions.

“We heard you’re a doctor now. Pity you weren’t able to patch yourself up after we were done with you, ey?” smiled a smug Rikkard, pulling out a length of rope from under his cloak.

"Yeah, but then she was tied down to the floor," Stan said, also chuckling. "Oh, but I did love pulling your fingernails out. One of my favourite things to do," Stan said with a sick smile, licking up the side of Grim's throat. 

"Yeah, I loved beating her stupid until she bled. Especially those lovely thighs of hers," Rikkard said, licking his lips. "But nobody enjoyed you more than Patrick did." A noose was being tied in Rikkard's hands. "Lucky fucker popped your virgin cherry so hard, he cried when he came. Wish we had known you were a virgin, could have sold it for a fortune." 

Stan laughed. "Gods, but how her cunt bled! Like a stuck pig!" 

Stan's evil cackle was cut off by a solid thwack that vibrated through the air. He wailed and cried out, staring at the arrow embedded in his shoulder. It had pushed him back a step and pinned him to a nearby tree trunk. Grim stumbled away from the screaming man and Rikkard turned to see Iorveth, beautiful and terrifying, bearing down on him. 

Iorveth drew his curved swords and launched himself at Rikkard, crossing his blades at the man's throat before Rikkard could say "Oh shit." 

"Do you enjoy hurting innocents? Do you take pleasure in hurting helpless people? Raping and torturing?" Iorveth’s voice was hard and vicious. 

Beneath the blades, Rikkard shook pathetically and Stan just whimpered. 

And then the fear vanished and anger replaced it, a hungry, biting anger the likes of which Grim had never felt before. 

"Yes, yes they do. Yet now, at sword point, they have nothing to say, no gloating, no threats… Just silence," Grim said, circling around to stand at Iorveth’s shoulder. 

"That alone speaks volumes, doesn't it?" Iorveth sneered, hissing and spitting right in Rikkard's face. 

"It does indeed, my love, it does indeed…" Grim said, then leant forward to whisper in Iorveth’s ear.

He nodded and stood back near a boulder, lowering his blades and sheathing them. 

Stan began violently thrashing against the tree. The body and stench of Stan vanished and Rikkard actually pissed his pants. He was suddenly covered in pink splatters of blood, and only then did Grim realise that her plan had worked. She'd made Stan's body explode. Ah yes, there was pink mist all over the tree behind them, but not a drop on Iorveth or Grim.

“ Gods, what did you do to him, you cunt?” roared Rikkard, backing up in fear.

“More than he deserved, that’s for damn sure. And where are you going?" Grim asked, following slowly. Iorveth stayed back by the boulder while Grim made grand gestures with her arms, mocking the cruel coward in a loud voice. "You always had so much to say, so many stories and smug musings about your days in the great Temerian infantry army . Now where are all your brothers in arms to protect you from the wicked witch of the forest, hm? Oh wait I remember now - I killed them all, didn’t I? Just as I’m going to kill you.”

With a sadistic smile, Grim began to sing:

I can’t forget it - The pain and the dirt that I had to swallow

This is the limit - The soul you rape will once be strong

You never get it - The tears of the past are the hate of tomorrow

Cursed Soulcrusher! 

Rikkard began running, running towards Flotsam, but stopped short when he suddenly jerked and flailed, and then burst in a spray of blood and shit and bile. Grim had discovered that she could boil the water inside his blood and make his whole body burst that way. Hm, interesting indeed.

" Me minne… Are you alright?" Iorveth asked gently from behind her. He had given her a few minutes alone before speaking. 

"I'm more than alright, darling. I'm finally free. And these fuckers will never be able to hurt anyone else, ever again," Grim said with a slightly hysterical laugh. She clasped her hands around Iorveth's neck and drew him into a tight hug, standing on her tiptoes. 

"Thank you for saving me," she whispered to him. 

Iorveth chuckled. "The day you need saving will be a very long time coming, Evangeline. I came as quickly as I could when I heard you screaming… Gods , I can't believe the things I heard them saying. It's better that they're dead," he said, stroking her hair and dropping a kiss to her forehead. 

"Mmm, it is better. Oh, did you find the temple?" Grim asked, breaking the hug to look up at him. It was such a strikingly casual change in conversation, as though she hadn't just murdered two men. 

"Not yet, no. I came back to get some rest before we carry on searching tonight. And what were you doing here, strolling around like you own the place?" he teased. 

"I was trying to draw the baths, but it was too humid and my paper got all wrinkled. I think I'll go back to town and get another sketchbook with thicker paper and then try again," Grim said, rubbing his strong shoulders. 

"I'll meet you at the statue in a bit?" Iorveth asked with a tilted head. 

"Naturally, since I seem to need a bodyguard now," Grim said, casually gesturing at the bloody pools around them. 

"I'll meet you there in just under an hour then," Iorveth said, kissing the back of Grim's hand in parting. 

Grim smiled and felt giddy from the press of his lips. She walked over the mess of blood and guts and went back to her room, back to her beautiful bunny to gently scold her for chewing on the pages of Grim’s sketchbook. Just then, a knock on her door distracted her from playing the blanket game with Bugs. 

“Who is it?” Grim called from where she sat on her bed.

“Ves. Commander Roche wishes to see you immediately.” Retreating footsteps followed the statement and Grim sighed, heaving herself off her bed and telling Bugs she would be back soon to get unchewed paper. The little bunny looked too sassy for words, so Grim wrapped her up in her red blanket like a burrito and left her to amuse herself trying to get out of it. 

Grim walked to the Blue Stripes temporary headquarters and prepared for more rubbish flirting and horribly blatant attempts at seduction. Roche was sitting behind the ornate desk and he motioned for Grim to sit, which she did, gingerly. Her metabolism was a bit too fast for her normal painkillers. 

“You’ve not been entirely open with me, have you Evangeline?” Roche asked over his steepled fingers. He was not in a good mood at all, a startling contrast to Grim’s mood. 

“No, I was in fact very open when I said I have no interest in marrying you,” Grim said, egging him into an even worse mental state. She was just too jovial to care, high on the thrill of victory, and seeing Iorveth that night. Maybe she would be brave enough to kiss him and maybe, she dared to hope, she'd be brave enough to try something even more intimate with him. God knows she wanted to. 

Roche's jaw clenched and Grim just stared at him.

“I can’t read minds, Roche, if you want to speak to me about something, then you need to use your words,” Grim said in a bored tone.

Roche leaned forward, all business, and spoke very seriously. “When you came to Vizima with Geralt I investigated you and found nothing, not even your training at Kaer Morhen. I didn’t get anything out of Geralt either. It was quite plain that you had never been around soldiers before, though, and then today - Well, what I overheard and saw just now was quite shocking. So, I’m going to give you one chance to tell me why you felt the need to kill two Temerian soldiers, whom I knew very well from my days as an infantryman. One chance.”

Grim’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me that you were so close as to overhear all that and you did nothing to help me? Knowing that I’m injured, you did nothing to help me?” Her voice was low, trying to hide her relief at how fucking close Iorveth had come to being captured because of her. If the elf hadn't been in just the right spot, hidden by that boulder…

“Helping someone who murders soldiers is not in my line of work, Evangeline. Your one chance is slipping away quickly.”

“You say you knew Rikkard and Stan? Well, did you know that they ran the slave rink that was going on under your very nose for a good decade? Oh, no you didn’t. That’s news to you I see. Ahh, you only heard the end of our little conversation, and not the beginning. Well, now you know. They were the ones in charge of the whole setup, the ones who captured me and paraded me at auctions like an object , selling me to the highest bidder who didn’t like my attitude, so I was sold back to them. Then I endured eleven months of rape, torture and multiple beatings, several pregnancies and forced abortions that ended in horror and unimaginable pain, and are the reason I can't have children. And your darling king, your dearly departed Foltest … Oh, he knew what was going on. He knew, because he would come down and inspect us and choose one of us from our cages. Naturally he was in disguise and I didn’t exactly look my best so I didn’t realise it was him when I was fighting by his side until I heard the inflection and cadence in his voice when he called me “girl”. Even Natalis knew it was going on, and thanked me for giving the cretins what they deserved. So forgive me for killing your two buddies who ruined my life. My sincere apologies.”

Grim got up and turned to leave, but Roche was faster and slammed her into the wall next to the door frame, bashing her jaw against it.

“How dare you speak so shamefully about my king? Foltest would never have let something so vile happen under his rule,” Roche sneered, pulling Grim’s hair back painfully.

“Fuck you and your king, Roche,” hissed Grim, taking a breath and twisting from his grip. She grabbed his head in both hands and smashed it onto the desk very hard, hearing his nose break. He howled in pain, but grabbed for her arm, pulling her to the ground with him as his knees buckled from the pain and dizziness. Grim growled and punched him as he tried to subdue her, crawling over her lap, bleeding onto her profusely. Her knuckles were already shredded and bruised from striking Rikkard, so a few more punches were nothing to her hands. 

Roche only pulled back and tumbled away from her when she slapped his broken nose with her palm, clambering towards his dagger that was impaled in a map on his desk. But Grim was faster this time and kicked him in the ribs, knocking him sideways and onto his back as he struggled to breathe. Grim was on top of him then, her own silver dagger at his throat. She was pleased to see the glimmer of fear in his eyes.

“The next time you raise a hand to me, Vernon Roche, will be the last time you have hands.”

Grim got up off him, keeping her blade pointing towards him, his handsome face completely obscured by swelling and blood and a broken nose. She turned swiftly and left the building, slamming the door on her way out, knowing the blinding headache he must have had from his head meeting his desk.

Fuming with anger and in considerable pain, Grim hunched forward and clutched her ribs all the way back to her room where not one person stopped her to ask if she was alright, after all the care she had given free of charge. She packed Bugs and all her toys and food into her carrier and left the town, ducked past Cedric, who would only plague her with questions, and continued deeper into the woods. She was too early to meet Iorveth, but she was too sore to walk further into the woods, and all her painkillers were still slotted into the thigh holster in her armour that was in her room. 

Her hands, ribs and side were aching terribly when Grim finally stopped at the ruins and sat on the bench. Her hair was a mess from being manhandled, but lifting her arms to undo it was too painful. Just carrying Bugs with her this distance was enough to hurt her already damaged hands.The sunlight was cooler than it had been earlier and it was very quiet as though the forest was holding its breath. She wasn’t sure how much time passed as she sat there, still hunched over and cradling her hands in her lap, staring at the grass that was trying to grow through the ancient marble tiles. 

“Well now, Doctor Graves… looks like you’ve gone a few rounds with a tree trunk,” said Iorveth’s voice from just opposite her. He was standing in the archway, looking at her hands with a frown. He knew full well that her hands hadn’t looked that bad when they parted. 

“Huh… You should see what Roche looks like,” Grim said weakly. 

The frown turned to pure worry as he took in her hair and the haunted look in her eyes, the blood all over her face and clothes. He rushed to her and knelt on the floor, hands resting so gently on her thighs.

“What happened? What did he do to you?” he asked urgently. 

“He overheard me talking to those cretins, but he only caught the end of the conversation, the part where I mocked them for being Temerian soldiers - and then he saw me make their bodies explode, but he didn't see that you were present, so you're safe." She paused and put a hand to her ribs with a wince. "I was summoned to Roche’s office where I explained that his buddies, because he knew who they were, had tried to kidnap me. I insulted Foltest, who knew all about what was going on, and I was slammed into the wall when I tried to leave. I gave as good as I got. He’s got a broken nose, probably a few loose teeth, and definitely a few cracked ribs.”

Iorveth was frozen and then he was suddenly overheating with anger, lips pulling back over his teeth so far the gaps were exposed.

“I know that look, Iorveth… Don’t you dare, don’t you be a hero for me. They will kill you if you go anywhere near Roche. Besides, I held my dagger to his throat and told him that if he ever laid a hand on me again, it would be the last time he had hands and he was scared, properly scared, Iorveth. So don’t cause me anymore pain by going on a violent tangent. Please, my love, please, just stay with me for a while -”

Iorveth cut her off by hugging her around her shoulders and she sat there breathing hard and trembling in his strong grip.

“Shhh… It’s alright. I'm not going anywhere near Flotsam,” said Iorveth, his face creased in anger and pain for the pain and shock she felt.

“Can Bugs and I please stay here for the night? I can’t go back to town. I might just massacre anyone I see wearing blue stripes,” Grim said once Iorveth had released her and knelt in front of her again. It was a poor attempt at humour, but at least she had tried.

“You create two huge blood puddles in my forest and then ask if you can sleep here with your rodent?” Iorveth said with mock horror and indignation.

Grim gasped and her eyes went wide, but her bloodied lips smiled. “She is not a rodent! She’s a lagomorph!”

“And she is still as destructive as any rodent! Still, I suppose her coming with you in tow does sweeten the deal, so yes, I’ll allow you to stay with me for tonight. And as long as you need to,” he said, combing her tangled locks with his fingers.

All joking aside and done, Iorveth undid Grim’s hair and combed it into place with his fingers, brushing through knots and dried blood. Grim cleaned all the blood off her face and neck in a small stream, and then followed Iorveth back to the caves where he received many chuckles and well-meaning jokes about being seen playing babysitter to the little bunny in her carrier that he had taken from Grim to relieve her poor fingers.

“Big bad Iorveth, the human slayer, carrying this little fluff ball,” Ciaran said, watching Bugs run around their mutual living room, exploring every corner and sniffing every elf she could find. They were kind to her and gave her affection and even tossed her a few apple slices, and not once did they make a joke about eating her. Indeed, even Grim made more jokes about putting Bugs in a pot after finding new holes in blankets or clothes than the Scoia’tael did. Grim was pleasantly surprised to see that Zoltan and Dandelion were there too and sat with them in a little corner.

Ciaran, Zoltan and Dandelion had been let in on the details of why Grim was staying, and they had hugged her gently. Grim was going to sleep next to them on the floor of the common room, warmed by the roaring fire in the middle. Iorveth left them once Grim and Bugs were settled, taking a unit back into the forest to try and find the temple’s entrance again. As was the norm, Ciaran was in charge while Iorveth was away.

Grim was unusually quiet and rattled from Roche's attack, but tried very hard to appear normal. She had desperately wanted to be somewhere private with Iorveth and just lie with him, but she knew how much this artefact meant to him, so she had lied and assured him that she was fine and felt perfectly safe now. 

Dandelion distracted some of the nosier elves with incredible tales of Geralt of Rivia, most of which were heavily embellished, while Grim and Zoltan were engaged in a tense Gwent tournament with Reinwan, El'anna’s husband, and a few other elves and dwarves. Grim had made a grave tactical error and got herself thrown out of the semifinals leaving Zoltan and Reinwan the sole players, facing off and finally toasting to Reinwan’s very slim victory. Bugs then decided that this would be a great time to bink right through the play area, spreading cards all over the place. El'anna and another young female elf loved the sassy little creature and played with her until Bugs was tired. 

Grim scooped her up and sat with her in her arms until she fell asleep, eyes open, nose still. Grim deposited the sleeping bunny into her carrier and closed it, booping her little white snoot. She and El'anna used a private bathing area a little later, and Grim told her what had happened with Roche. Grim didn't even mind being naked in front of her, they'd grown so close right from the beginning of El'anna’s pregnancy. 

"Bloede dh'oine!" she said, outraged, her chest and growing belly puffing out. She was rinsing Grim’s hair of all Roche's blood while Grim nursed her bruised hands in the hot water. "It's good you stopped Iorveth, he's far too hot headed when anything concerns that crazy dh'oine. Good on you for smacking Roche around too, love!" She was quite a force to be reckoned with when not incapacitated by pregnancy, and was warm and supportive to be around. She was more of a mother to Grim than her real mother had ever been and was as nosy as Cedric when it came to her romance with Iorveth. 

Heading back into the common room, Grim found herself suddenly exhausted, nestling into a vacant lot of blankets next to a snoring Zoltan, and drifting off to sleep with the sounds of quiet talking and the crackling fire.

Grim woke up suddenly, movement right next to her jolting her from sleep.

“Sorry, sorry, shhh, go back to sleep.”

It was Iorveth, back from his expedition. He was lying next to Grim, as close as he could get. Grim sighed and snuggled up to his side, throwing her leg over his hip just like she had that night in her room. She made a scene of tucking him into the blankets and making sure he was cosy and warm since he was always so cold. Ciaran and a few others caught Iorveth’s eye as he was settling down, smiling broadly at the sight of their battle and world-weary leader finally finding comfort in his old age. Iorveth discreetly flipped them the bird quite literally behind Grim’s back, and the chortling elves left him be.

Chapter Text

Chapter 23

Another arrow hit the target Iorveth had set out for Grim, dead in the middle of the straw bale. She had spent three nights recovering with the Scoia’tael before she and Bugs headed back to Flotsam, each night nestled in a mountain of blankets and holding Iorveth close, whispering to each other, sharing stories and being sumptuously devoured by his very presence. Neither had made a more intimate move on the other, nothing further than just holding each other tightly under the blankets, much to the Scoia'tael's amusing dismay. Ciaran and El'anna were especially nosy, just happening to walk by when the conversation dipped, but gave the couple plenty of privacy. 

Their favourite thing to do was to lie on their sides, legs intertwined, and recount stories from their lives before Iorveth had become a guerilla soldier and before Grim had fallen through the rogue portal. 

Geralt had been asking after Grim and had nearly killed Roche himself for his stupidity and violence, a full on riot very nearly breaking out between Geralt and the Stripes. Grim had recovered well enough to remove her stitches, and wear armour again, and had been enjoying her archery lessons with Iorveth, holding his gorgeous bow and feeling like a real Scoia’tael warrior. 

“Very good, doctor. You’re a damn fast learner. I think you’re ready to try moving targets now,” said the tall elf, handing Grim another arrow.

“Already?” she asked in a strange mix of excitement and alarm, her hazel eyes shining in the sun.

Iorveth nodded and grinned at her. “Come on, let’s go down to the waterfall. There’s a tree with constantly shedding leaves. You can aim for those,” he said, leading the way, knowing she would never be able to aim even the bow at an animal, never mind the arrow. 

The walk down to the waterfall was lovely; the birds were chirping and whistling, Iorveth was smiling and Grim was laughing. They were touching each other’s hands, shoulders and faces often and just loving the warm Spring sunshine. Every tree was buzzing with new life and Grim was basking in it, touching leaves and bark, brushing her hands along the vines that snagged at her hair.

Then she slowly stopped walking, stopped following Iorveth’s long strides and turned to her right, moving off the path and into the bushes.

“You know, I was talking to myself back there,” Iorveth griped, having finally found Grim standing quite a few metres off the path where he had last seen her.

“First sign of madness, love,” snickered Grim, holding her wolf head medallion. “My medallion keeps vibrating, this kind of shudder it does when it senses magic. It’s getting stronger the further in I go off the path. I was just wondering if it might be the -”

“The temple,” Iorveth finished, walking to her quickly.

Grim nodded and grinned at him in excitement. She had been quite surprised to hear that he and his group hadn’t found even an indication of the temple’s entrance after two thorough investigations in the forest. He had been so determined to find it and Grim was certain he would, but the forest proved to be too big even for the Scoia’tael’s incredible tracking capabilities. Then again, how do you find something when you don’t really know what to look for? 

“Alright, let’s follow your medallion and see what we find,” he said, the excited anticipation in his voice making Grim smile. She took his hand, pulling him along with her as they went crashing through the bushes to where the shuddering medallion was practically shaking itself off its chain.  

“This is the point of the strongest vibration,” Grim said, staring up at a sheer cliff face that towered up into the clouds. The stone was deep red and brown with striations of tan and soft cream in between.

“Ah hell… If this is the entrance, we’ll need to go back and get tools to cut all this overgrown vegetation out of the way. I can’t even see through it all to the actual rock,” Iorveth said with a huff, kneeling in the soil to pull at the leaves and vines.

Grim’s hands found his and stayed their movements. With a smug little smirk, she put her hands over the greenery and it retracted at her will, revealing a tall, narrow crevice in the rock, smoothly hewn on either side and arched into a point at the top.

“What would I do without you?” Iorveth asked her, smiling in wonder at her and the newly revealed entrance.

“Crash and burn, honey,” she said with a smug cackle. Iorveth pushed her over from her teetering position and she landed in the nearest bush, laughing and shoving him back, but he was seated solidly and didn’t move.

“I guess it's true that the older you get, the more full of shit you become,” said the grounded doctor, smiling up at him.

“Well, you're spending more time around me, so you'll get used to it. Come on, let’s go get that map," he said eagerly, helping her stand up.

Grim had never been in Iorveth’s room before. It was odd, since she had been almost everywhere else in the cave system the Scoia’tael inhabited, yet had never been in this tunnel that led to his room and the weapon’s cache. All those nights spent in the common room seemed very strange when they could have been in here the whole time. 

The room was exceptionally sparse, only housing his large palette bed, a firepit with a cooking pot and kettle over it, three tree stumps used as stools, and two crates that had been pushed together to form a table. His flute and a few dishes lay about the place, and a few books were atop an ancient wook and leather trunk. 

Iorveth moved to the enormous old trunk in the corner by his bed and took out the oldest piece of parchment Grim had ever seen. Iorveth indicated for her to sit on one of the stumps around the crates and unrolled the map before them, spreading it flat with his hands. The glitter in his green eye was wonderful to see.

“Cedric drew this from memory?” Grim asked in awe. The map was very well detailed and labelled with clear, small letters.

“Mhm, straight after he had the vision. The parchment however is showing its age, and I was wondering if you could redraw it at all?” Iorveth asked.

“Sure, I was going to offer anyway. This poor rag won’t survive being rolled and unrolled repeatedly when we get into the temple itself. It’s time for it to retire, methinks,” Grim said, taking her little backpack off her shoulders and unpacking her pencils. Iorveth brought over a huge roll of fresh parchment and held down the edges with smooth river stones. 

“I know you don’t drink alcohol, so can I offer you some tea? Ciaran says you enjoy the cranberry and cherry tea that I make,” said Iorveth, moving to the fire and kettle.

“Oh, is that your blend? Yes please. The mix is just perfect, such a lovely balance of sweet berries to offset the tart cranberries. Oh no, don’t bother boiling water, just bring over the mugs,” said Grim, positioning her ruler and pencils on the parchment.

“Ah yes, lest I forget that I’m hosting a force of nature herself,” said the smirking elf, plonking the mugs and tea leaves on the crates.

Grim arched a cheeky eyebrow at him and wrapped a hand around each mug. The mugs began filling with steaming water, drawn right out of the air. The doctor smirked at Iorveth’s expression.

“No smartarse comments? Hm, I’m disappointed, commander.”

“Shut your trap, drink your tea, and draw the map,” said the elf through a roguish smile that made Grim’s heart flutter.

A good hour later Grim straightened up, her mug empty, and put her pencil and ruler aside. She looked over the maps several times, making sure she hadn’t left anything out and then turned to Iorveth. 

"That's as good as we're going to get. I'm still not sure about this first passage here… This line looks like it might have been drawn faintly on purpose, or it's just the old parchment… I've kept it faint either way." She couldn’t very well go and ask Cedric, since he would never have remembered. 

Iorveth looked over the map and nodded. "It's perfect. Shall we have lunch and then set out? It looks like a long adventure, all these stairs and passages," said Iorveth, touching Grim's drawing. 

The doctor hummed in agreement. "I'll pack a few medical supplies and blade oils too, just in case. We don't know what we're going to run into down there." Grim began making a small list on the edge of the parchment and tore it off, packing up her drawing supplies. She had a pharmacy of sorts set up in the tunnel near the Scoia’tael’s makeshift hospital and took a few supplies from there instead of having to trek all the way back to her room in Flotsam.  

Upon her return, Iorveth was facing away from her, rolling up the new map and sliding it into his armour. Grim was suddenly struck by the trust he had in her, to willingly show his back, even when he heard her footsteps approach. 

"What's that gorgeous smile for?" Iorveth asked, catching her stare. 

Her smile was tender and she paused before she answered. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Iorveth?" she asked so softly. 

Iorveth’s heart dropped and he swallowed. His hands were shaking. Before he knew what was happening, he was crying, properly crying, and Grim's arms were around him, holding him firmly and whispering in his ear. 

"Oh, honey, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry. It's alright, darling, let it out, let go of all those emotions. They don't serve you anymore. You are so beautiful, so wonderful, you old fossil," she said tenderly, and actually got a wet chuckle out of the sobbing elf. 

Grim moved them both to Iorveth’s big pallet bed and tucked them in under the blankets and skins, lying next to him, singing softly and cradling his shoulders as wretched sobs shook his body and soul.  

“You alright there, love?” Grim asked once Iorveth had calmed down.

He nodded and grinned sweetly, pulling her closer into a hug. He had taken a while to really get that all out of his system and he felt better for it. 

“Thank you for staying with me through that, Evangeline. Not many people would,” he whispered to her.

Grim’s warm hands stroked over his shoulder and arm firmly, soothing him further. “Nonsense, Ciaran would have comforted you all the same. Okay, maybe not in your bed, but he would have been there for you emotionally. You’re not alone, Iorveth. No matter what anyone tells you, you’re not alone, okay?”

Iorveth stroked Grim’s silky soft hair and nodded.

They got up after another few minutes and Grim went to get them food. Iorveth’s face and eye were red and puffy and he, understandably, didn’t want to be seen by his warriors in his moment of weakness. They sat and ate and drank more tea, and Grim made him laugh and forget his worries for a moment in time, soothing his frazzled nerves with the tale of when she first met Dandelion at Kaer Morhen.

“That bloody bard… He had known me for two whole days at the time and got roaringly drunk trying to keep up with the Witchers. And when I say roaringly drunk, I mean absolutely motherless . I couldn’t sleep that night so I went to the kitchen for some food and hoped for a chat with Vesemir, but Dandelion spotted me on the steps and half ran, half slid, half stumbled his way across the floor to me, dropped down on one knee and asked me to marry him.” Grim was giggling a little at the memory.

Iorveth raised his eyebrow. “Well, now I’m jealous,” he said, grinning, suddenly imagining himself kneeling before her and asking her to be his for eternity. He knew his imagined self should have been nervous of her answer, but his logical self knew it would be 'yes'. 

“ Oh , don’t be. I told him no, that marrying him would be more like a life sentence than a life commitment, and he didn’t speak to me for the rest of the night. Cheap fucker didn't even have a ring," she joked, laughing her mad witch’s cackle. 

Her laugh set Iorveth off as well, imagining the bard’s face fall at her most excellent insult. 

“I’ll bet the Witchers had a good laugh at that,” he said, putting aside his plate.

“They thought it was brilliant, but Dandelion forgot all about it by the next morning and we were singing and dancing together by the following night.”

“Oh, now I’m very jealous. Singing and dancing? Hm, guess I’ll have to improve my courting technique then,” said the elf, smirking boyishly at Grim. He couldn’t help himself now with all the flirting.

She looked down at her boots, but couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. Iorveth saw this and his heart fluttered.

"Dancing together would be quite romantic, don't you think?" she asked hopefully. 

"Very romantic indeed. We’ll have to make time for it after our adventure,” he said, touching her hand across the crates. It was so easy to forget that she was inexperienced in the realm of romance and relationships and Iorveth was being as gentle as possible, letting her become comfortable with one thing before he tried another. A kiss was very long overdue, and he swore to Ciaran, under pain of having his ears pulled, that he would have kissed Grim by the end of the week at least. 

Grim nodded with a big grin and they left the caves shortly afterwards, setting off back towards the temple. The narrow entrance was still uncovered, but proved very narrow indeed.

Iorveth went first and gave Grim his bow while he slid through the crevice sideways. Grim handed him his bow and her swords and all her pouches while she attempted to get through.

"Come on, just slide through," the elf said, trying not to laugh. 

"That's easy for you to say, you don't have boobs o r an arse," Grim said, sliding through at last with quite an effort and much contorting. 

"How can I not have an arse when I'm so full of shit?" Iorveth asked through a chuckle. 

"You don't need an arse when all that shit comes spewing out of your mouth," came Grim's tactful reply. 

Iorveth absolutely loved her quick wit and her ability to tease him so delightfully. 

Iorveth handed her various belts back to her with a barely concealed snort of laughter, Grim giving him a gentle punch to his shoulder. 

"Perhaps if you didn't wear so much steel plating you'd have slipped through easily. All these different sets of armour you own are very bulky," Iorveth said, grinning at her. She caught the flirt and couldn't resist taking the bait. 

"And be like you who wears the same armour every single day? No thank you; I'm far too unique for such mundanity. You'd look fantastic in black plate by the way," she said, biting her bottom lip slightly. 

"You'll just have to imagine me in it then," smirked the elf. 

He was trying to light a torch in the dark passage when Grim replied, taking the torch away and creating a ball of white flame between her hands that lit up more than any torch could. 

"I prefer imagining you wearing nothing at all," she said with a devilish grin, letting the ball of light go, setting it to hover high above their heads. 

Iorveth was as pink as could be and his breath intake was sharp. Grim smirked, bumped her hips sideways into his, and led the way forward, affording Iorveth a stunning view of her leather clad bum. Oh yes, that kiss was definitely on the horizon. 

They proceeded down a steep earthen slope to the antechamber of the temple. Everything was made from white stone blocks, perfectly even and stacked to a vaulted ceiling high above their heads. A subtle glow emanated from the blocks themselves, effectively creating enough light to see very well by. 

"Oh, this place is incredible," Grim said in awe. She ran her hands over the blocks, feeling the cold smooth rock below her fingers. 

Iorveth took the map out and unrolled it for them to both look at. "Hold on…Where's the corridor? There's supposed to be a corridor going… there according to the map, but there are no exits in this chamber," the elf said, moving his gloved fingers over the map. 

Grim stood shoulder to shoulder with him, examining the map too. Her perfume caressed his senses, threatening to overwhelm him. She traced that faint line on the map from a far wall to the corridor they needed to find.

"So we're looking for a concealed door on that wall. That's why the line was so faint…it was marking a secret passageway. Let's have a look," she said and walked to the wall in question. 

Iorveth watched her running her fingers over every stone, trying to dig her fingernails into the mortar. He did the same next to her, removing his gloves to get a better grip and feel. 

Suddenly, Grim's nail hooked in a deeper crevice and she removed her finger, blowing hard into the hole she had found. Around the edges of the hole were definite ridges. 

"Iorveth, look, it's a keyhole!" she said excitedly.

Iorveth knelt next to her and pressed his eye against the hole.

"There's our corridor, and it curves to the left just like the map shows. If only Cedric's dream had manifested a key," he grumbled, sitting back on his haunches. 

"We could…always make a key," Grim said slowly. She reached up and pulled her hair stick out, letting her hair tumble down her back. 

Iorveth moved aside and let her move the wooden stick in the little keyhole, whittling it down with the dagger in Iorveth’s harness. 

She slid the stick in smoothly after some time and turned it a few times, intensely concentrating. A satisfying click rewarded her efforts and a strong gust of pressurised air released as the stone door swung inward, the corridor finally revealed. 

Iorveth and Grim stood and grinned at each other. 

"After you, doctor,” Iorveth said, smirking. 

"Yes dear," Grim replied cheekily. 

They followed the map exactly and went down and up many flights of cold stairs, into the very heart of the temple. They had spent at least two hours combing corridor after corridor. Grim used the opportunity to finetune her map reading skills, since they really were lacking. 

They stopped three hours later to eat and rest. The stairs were quite a strain in some areas, being old and crumbled, and missing completely in some instances forcing them to climb and cling to the ancient stone walls.