#bloedelv

❝ i know my weakness, know my voice - and i'll believe in grace and choice. ❞

@bloedelv  .    sends  iorweth  in  to  love  geralt  and  ask  nicely  demand  it  back

he  had  not  the  time  nor  the  specific  resolve  to  return  ,    that  the  land  demanded  of  any  person’s  resolve  ,    to  iorweth  .    that  was  far  too  long  for  his  liking  ,    and  the  trip  had  been  far  too  long  to  justify  .    or  it  would  have  been  ,    if  he  wasn’t  returning  for  the  very  specific  reason  that  involved  a  certain  elf  ,    who  was  probably  so  mad  at  geralt  at  this  point  that  the  witcher  would  surely  leave  with  raw  lashes  and  marks  still  healing  .    the  thought  didn’t  scare  him  ,    but  it  did  intrigue  him  .

it  would  more  if  iorweth  didn’t  ,    in  the  time  it  took  for  him  to  dream  up  all  of  this  ,    approach  with  more  willingness  than  geralt  predicted  .    admittedly  ,    he  was  used  to  being  the  taller  of  most  people  .    he  could  hardly  scratch  the  eye  of  the  elf  ,    as  short  as  he  was  in  comparison  ,    and  gave  up  trying  to  stretch  taller  before  he  had  even  had  the  realisation  of  trying  .    no  point  .    the  witcher  could  afford  himself  the  luxury  of  leaning  into  iorweth  at  this  very  moment  ,    out  of  the  way  of  prying  eyes  .    though  ,    maybe  ,    not  out  of  the  way  of  prying  ears  .    if  he  cared  enough  ,    he  wouldn’t  have  said  anything  .

he  didn’t  care  enough  .

❝    sorry  .    ❞        now  he  reached  .    drew  his  arm  around  iorweth’s  back  and  set  his  chin  on  his  shoulder  .      his  beard  ,    while  trimmed  ,    scratched  even  himself  ,    but  he  couldn’t  find  it  in  himself  to  grimace  with  iorweth  .           ❝    would  have  been  back  sooner  ,    but  i  got  caught  up  .    what  happened’s  not  important  .    ❞        a  pause  .      he  could  detect  the  faint  scent  of  herbs  on  iorweth's  collar    .          ❝  you  smell  like  you've  been  in  the  woods  .    ❞

𐎟 ܆ ᭝ ゜ unprompted  !                𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗.

the contact is—

indescribable. had rhea found the words, surely she would only hung her head in shame at the indecency of it: for how else could she truly describe the wave of want underneath her skin ? she can give nothing back to iorweth; she has given him nothing, except only her name in protection. but even then, it was not as strong, can never be strong beyond the perimeter of runestone. it is unlike a protection that could be extended by a king. she is merely a lady, after all - not even an arryn who commands the whole of the vale, and so, the question bubbles. it insists : why her ? why offer such unyielding loyalty when he is not here out of blood oath, or because his father before him had sworn fealty to her kins before her ? why stay at all ?

( she knew why. they spoke about this once, and he'd stayed anyway. unflinching. uncontested. even her cousin gerold, who was suspicious by the newcomer, had become lenient enough to begrudgingly welcome iorweth in, teaching him the ways and the weapons and the customs, while the rest of the knights and bannermen and squires whisper about iorweth potentially being half-bloods of the children of the forest. it is only rumours, of course. one rhea never addresses. no. she lets iorweth speaks in matters of his origin if he would like, if he would trust the others. that is his tale to be told — not hers. )

she is ruined. utterly and completely. the wife her husband never wanted, so why would anyone ? still, her hand clammers up, trembling. it touches the high of his cheeks, her eyes following the movement — startled that she could, that she is not scorned from the act — and she confesses, ❝ ... i have nothing to give. ❞

“ 𝚆𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗. ”

"Oh yes, because nothing says responsible use of magic like bringing the dead back to life just to kill them again. Brilliant plan." And she makes the gesture of clapping, mocking him, her lips curled in slight disdain at what @bloedelv is suggesting. He has the uncanny ability to set her on edge anytime he opens his mouth to speak. He once again proves, form her point of view, how he's not a trustworthy ally.

He knew it the moment he saw it, Scoia'tael territory. Trees marked with the faintest symbols meant to blend into the barks of the wood, the grass left untouched in the middle but treaded softly around the edges with leaves & broken branches covering almost every surface, a sure sign of constant tree climbing. He drew his hood on should this be a Scoia'tael unit he had angered during his time as a Leader, so, so long ago, & he knew although he'd live, he wouldn't want to come face first with an elf who spent their whole life fighting looking down on once assimilated kin.

Eldain kept his eyes to the trees above, ensuring the road he treaded was clear of scouts & when he did spy some, he went the opposite direction until he found himself lost in expanding & twisting woods, an unfamiliar ground with armed elves rotating the trees. Eldain kept quiet despite his intense dislike for the situation & its disadvantages, dipped down to his knees & followed the symbols as far as he could until he came upon a large clearing with sunlight seeping in the middle, an ethereal, almost fantastical beauty of a pond. Well, at least they chose a nice spot.

Voices came, then, & in alarm he turned to leave & stopped in an instant when he rounded a large willow to find an elf right before him. Red bandana, Zephyr bow, & badges hanging upon his chest. He wouldn't have recognised him at all had this description not plague every city, town, & village north of the Pontar valley.

❝ i'd wager, ❞ the hills are quiet except for the rush of the breeze. rhea does not know if the sight of the vale — green, vast, with mountains lining up the scenery as far as any eye could see — would aid her guest in feeling anywhere near peaceful or content, though she would doubt so. soldiers, as rhea has learnt, rarely return from any battle being sate of anything. whether they're in need of more violence, or have the insurmountable need to run away from whatever they saw each time they close their eyes, are the only difference.

at the very least, that is what she has observed so far. she herself has seen little battle in her lifetime, save for a few confrontations with mountain clansmen here and there - though her lord husband is a known warrior. and rhea knows his fury as cold and as sharp as she knows and has seen of dark sister, the valyrian steel sword he carries since they first met. there is ... a certain rage yet that she recognises lives in iorweth, though she hasn't fully met it. knowing what she knows now, she anticipates it.

she wants to see it, even — if only, like the enormity of her husband's anger, she would know his too. so she can learn quickly how to defend herself against it.

❝ — and yet, without them, how else could we defend what is rightfully ours ? what is honourable ? what would be best to ensure our people's safety ? ❞ rhea contemplates; under her, broiefort, her stallion, neighs. rhea pats his mane, calming. she continues, ❝ i know not the way of the sword - but i shall gladly wear my family's bronze armour and meet any enemies if it means i will protect this land and the residents in it. i will do it all, ser. as you have done. ❞

@bloedelv​ asked:         “you really don’t have to do that, not for me.”