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From afar Iorveth watched the funeral. He was perched in an old beech since dawn and had waited. Never in his life before had he seen a funeral for a human and he also had never thought that it would take so long. But Iorveth had never thought about human funerals before, too. He had expected that they would just put the coffin in the ground and then everyone would go. But they were still standing at the grave and Iorveth was also shocked how many people were there. He was also amused that no one had noticed him, though he had watched the whole funeral and even been there before all of the guests.
Iorveth could see Geralt of Rivia, the witcher and by his side were Yennefer of Vengerberg and Ciri. All three of them didn’t look one day older than the last time he had seen them. But also Iorveth himself didn’t look older. He could see the burning red hair of Triss Merigold, who was talking to Dandelion. Of course Dandelion would be present on such an occasion. Iorveth smirked at the thought that he might write a song about the life of the deceased and what it would be about. It probably would be one of the last works of the bard as his hair was fully white by now. Meanwhile Ves had appeared at the side of Geralt her face covered in tears. The only other guest that Iorveth recognised was Queen Anaïs of Temeria. She had grown into a beautiful woman, who always looked a bit stern and sad but pretty. Idly the elf thought that Roche would have been proud of her, if he could have seen her. But he would never see her again as this was Vernon Roche’s funeral.
Surprisingly the Commander of the Blue Stripes had died of old age. Iorveth would have never thought that possible as he had always wanted to kill Roche himself. But he never caught him until he had been an old man and Iorveth didn’t find any joy in killing an old man, who couldn’t even lift a sword anymore. Because he didn’t had the opportunity to slay Roche, Iorveth wanted to piss on his grave at least. But that would be impossible as long as there was such a crowd around the grave. Iorveth had never thought it possible that so many people would actually mourn Roche.
The Commander of the Blue Stripes had never been some one that would attract many friends. He had been ambitious, ruthless and cruel if he had to. However Iorveth figured that he must have been a very loyal person towards humans as he would always help Geralt. Though this thought contained some strange kind of bitterness for the elf as Geralt wasn’t exactly human himself. He had never understood why Roche was so extremely loyal towards Geralt as he was a witcher and thus a nonhuman. Had Roche’s loyalty extended towards other nonhumans they might have had a homeland and this thought made Iorveth angry. Anaïs was doing a fine job as a queen but Iorveth was sure that the best monarch that Temeria could have ever had would have been Vernon Roche and maybe if he hadn’t been such a racist, the nonhumans would have had a home in Temeria then.
Angry Iorveth had gripped his donkeyhair jacket and he was clenching his teeth. However, as soon as he realised he was doing that, he immediately stopped irritated. He didn’t understand why he was suddenly so furious. Actually Iorveth had always thought that the day that Vernon Roche would die would be the happiest of his whole life. But now he was sitting in a tree hiding from everyone and was angry. The worst part was still that he didn’t know what made him so angry. Iorveth tried to calm his mind and reminded himself that he was only here in order to piss on Roche’s grave as he deserved it.
So he sat in his tree and waited and watched. It was somewhat ironic that some of the guests were mortal and would also soon face their ultimate demise while others were immortal. Iorveth idly wondered if witchers and sorceresses found their fate cruel. At last sorceresses had no problem mingling with human society but they were immortal. He also wondered to how many funerals of beloved friends Triss, Geralt and Yennefer had attended to and how they felt about it. Iorveth only knew to mourn the deceased of war and not friends that had died of old age. Maybe it was crueller for them than for him because there was nothing that they could do about old age. Iorveth could still try to defend other nonhumans. But old age was a death that was unavoidable and even Vernon Roche wasn’t too stubborn to die.
Actually the greatest part of the attendants left soon, however all of the people that Iorveth recognised were staying. Even the queen was still there, but that didn’t irritate the elf so much because Anaïs was the closest thing to a child that Roche had. He never married and never had a family. The purpose of his whole life had always been Temeria until the end. Though he despised Roche Iorveth thought that Anaïs had been lucky that it had been Roche, who saved her. Every other man, no matter being a noble or a commoner, would have tried to exploit Foltest’s daughter but Roche never did. All he had wanted was a queen for Temeria. For a short moment Iorveth felt some respect for the man.
Sighing Iorveth closed his eyes and mumbled to himself, “Really… All of this is taking so long that I’m starting to respect that dh’oine…” Irritated he shook his head while he thought to himself that the long wait must really be confusing him. He was sure he never had thought so much about Roche before in his entire life. Annoyed he noticed that the sun was going down already. He couldn’t believe that they had spent so much time at Roche’s grave. Sure he had been a good friend to Geralt and Yennefer, Ciri, Triss and Dandelion were probably still here because of the witcher and Ves and Anaïs were saved by him, but Iorveth didn’t think that it was necessary to be staying so long at his grave.
But only moments after the elf had thought that Geralt and his friends were obviously saying their goodbyes to Ves and the queen. With new interest Iorveth watched the two remaining women and he saw that Ves was still crying. He actually felt a bit sorry for her. Only because he hated Roche it didn’t mean that he couldn’t understand that his death was a great loss for her. But they only stayed a few minutes more and after they left the graveyard was completely empty. Many humans would probably be frightened to be alone on a graveyard during dusk and thus Iorveth would be undisturbed.
Light-footed the elf jumped from the tree and took a look around to confirm that he was actually alone. Not a soul was to be seen and content Iorveth nodded. Completely at ease he walked over the graveyard until he reached Roche’s grave. The freshly deposited earth was covered in flowers that soon would wilt. In Iorveths opinion the grave still looked prettier than Roche had ever had in his life. Human males were so ungraceful and so had Roche been. However, he had been strong indeed and also swift that he could have bested Iorveth in a duel. When the elf thought about that duel it seemed a whole lifetime away. Roche had been in his best years while the last time Iorveth had seen him his hair had become grey, his muscles were mostly gone and he had become so slow. The elf had been shocked, though he always had known that Roche would eventually become old and weak.
“So here we are, Roche” he practically spat the name out, “your dead and I’m alive. Soon the worms will eat your corpse…or corpse eaters.” It was actually ridiculous that Iorveth spoke to a gravestone but he tried to push that thought away. “I’m going to piss on your grave” he informed the gravestone and somehow Iorveth did start to feel ridiculous. Actually he had just wanted to go to Roche’s grave, piss on it and then he would have been gone. But now he was standing before a gravestone and felt an awkward silence as if he was talking to someone. But the stone could hardly answer him or even look at him.
Still Iorveth had the feeling that Roche’s gaze was fixated on him. He could remember the feeling of that perfectly. It started with a tingling sensation in his neck and would crawl down his spine. However, Iorveth had never been able to define the emotion he was feeling exactly and he actually never bothered to. Still it occurred to him that it was strange that he could remember it so well. He hadn’t seen Roche in years after he had realised that he had become old. When he had seen that old man he had known that this wasn’t the man Roche used to be. He had been old and weak. But Roche had always been determined and strong.
“You stupid bastard… You’re dead and you’re still annoying me” Iorveth growled frustrated. Of course there was no reply, which made him only angrier. “You son of a whore” he added as if he hoped that the insult which Roche despised the most would make him answer. Iorveth was sure, if the Commander of the Blue Stripes would have been alive, he already had drawn his sword. But there was only the gravestone with Roche’s name on it. Again Iorveth became irritated what it exactly was that made him so angry. Maybe he should just get over with pissing on Roche’s grave and then take his leave.
But Iorveth was only standing in silence before the gravestone. He actually didn’t even step on the grave; he was standing before it like everyone else. Still angry Iorveth asked himself since when he had become so pathetic. He must have become weak somehow. Maybe he was hesitating because Roche had been friends with Geralt who also was Iorveth’s friend. But their mutual friendship with the witcher didn’t stop them before when they tried to kill each other. “You…fucking asshole. What’s the deal with you? How could you dare to just disappear?” Iorveth sounded more disappointed than he had intended. But the whole situation made him so furious that he was at a loss how to behave.
“So I did hear someone talking.” Shocked Iorveth twirled around and instinctively he grabbed for his bow. He couldn’t believe that someone actually managed to sneak behind him. The elf would never have anticipated that he let his guard down this much and he would have been probably dead, if it hadn’t been Geralt who was standing in front of him. Thus Iorveth tied his bow again to his back as there was no need for his weapon to be drawn. However, Geralt of course asked him, “What are you of all people doing here on this day?” He didn’t sound angry or sad just genuinely curious. “It is none of your business, Gwynbleidd” mumbled Iorveth defensively while his gaze was glued again to the gravestone.
Geralt actually had the decency to not ask any further stupid questions. Iorveth also had no idea what he was still doing here. Obviously his plan to piss on Roche’s grave didn’t work out and he just could have gone. But right now he was standing in silence before Roche’s grave with Geralt. Normally Iorveth wouldn’t have minded the tranquillity but he didn’t want that the witcher could get any funny ideas why he was here. So Iorveth asked, “What are you doing here again? Didn’t you and your friends go?” For a short moment Geralt shrugged his shoulders and looked around. “Actually we have gone to a tavern. But Yen lost a button of her top or something and she is convinced that it must be on the graveyard. So she wanted that I search for it. As if I would find that damn little thing. The things you do for love” Geralt explained quite lengthy to him.
Iorveth just nodded. He didn’t exactly know what he should say to that and he also wasn’t in the mood for easy chit-chat. Since Geralt had arrived his anger had actually faded but now he was experiencing a strange sadness. However, this was one of the moments in which the witcher showed that he could be surprisingly receptive towards others. So he just casually asked, “What’s wrong with you, Iorveth? I can tell something isn’t alright. So tell me. No one can hear us here anyway.” Most people would not have dared to ask Iorveth something like that so directly but Geralt was one of his few friends and the elf sighed heavily.
“I should be happy that this whoreson has died” answered Iorveth. He was still looking at the gravestone while Geralt was watching him closely. “You’re not?” he asked curiously. The elf snorted frustrated and he was regretting already that he said anything to the witcher. “I don’t know!” he spat at Geralt. Sceptically the witcher raised an eyebrow and that was all that Iorveth had needed to become enraged. “I don’t fucking know! I assumed I would be happy. But I was also sure that I would be the one that would kill him! Or that I would already be dead when he would die because he killed me. I didn’t imagine…this!” Iorveth snarled while he gestured accusingly towards the grave. Geralt wasn’t very much impressed by the furious elf, however he did look contemplative.
Full of resentment Iorveth crossed his arms, but he wasn’t sure whether he was angry because of Geralt or Roche. But he guessed that the witcher was more annoying at the moment as he was saying nothing. At first he insisted that he wanted to know what was wrong with Iorveth and now he remained silent. However, Iorveth didn’t want to be the first one to break the silence. After some time, which felt like an eternity for the elf, Geralt actually spoke up again, “Could it be…that you’re…mournful?” Iorveth could hear how carefully the witcher tried to formulate his presumption. “What? Why should I mourn this dh’oine?! He killed dozens of my kind! Are you out of your mind, Geralt?” he asked furiously. The witcher didn’t look like he understood that he was stepping on thin ice or he just chose to ignore it. He still looked unwavering at Iorveth, who was becoming angrier by the second. He wanted to throw all the insults he could think of at Geralt’s head and maybe then he could escape the feeling of despair that was ever so slowly crawling through him. But then his old friend spoke again, “Why not? One who you hate with so much passion can play an important role in your life. I guess if love can be fate so could be hate.” Completely irritated Iorveth blinked at the other man and he actually forgot about his anger.
He just stared at Geralt and tried to process what he had said to him. Iorveth did understand, indeed, but he didn’t want to. “You speak of fate, Geralt? That sounds much romanticised” scoffed the elf. He could hear Geralt chuckling, but this time Iorveth didn’t become angry at his reaction. The witcher just shrugged and explained, “Perhaps it does sound like that. But you believed that you would end his life or he yours. You already believed that when we met for the first time. Sounds very akin to fate.” To Iorveth’s utter frustration he had to admit that Geralt was right. It did sound like fate. Maybe he was so angry because their fate had been to die at the hand of the other but it never happened.
“Does it matter anymore?” Iorveth asked and he almost sounded remorseful. Maybe they had been brought together by a strange kind of fate. Iorveth could actually accept that. “Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. For Roche it doesn’t matter anymore. But you are still here, Iorveth, you are still alive. Your fate did not come true” Geralt mused and now he was looking at Roche’s grave, too. It was during this moment that the wrath returned to Iorveth.
Geralt was right, since he had known Roche he had been sure that he would die through his hand. Iorveth had never been afraid to die as it was merely also a part of life. Of course like most people he preferred if he had to die rather later than sooner. But he had never been frightened by death and after Roche had been the only one of the Commanders of the North to defeat him Iorveth thought that someday he would also be his death. The only other possible outcome would have been that he would kill Roche.
“I tried. I tried to kill him. But he was either a step ahead of me or I had other more pressing matters to attend to. However… The last time I saw him I thought that it would be the day of our ultimate duel. Don’t misunderstand me, Gwynbleidd, I knew that Roche was like all humans und would age. It just happened so abruptly. I saw him and… I could see that he recognised me but his eyes had gone milky. His muscles had gone. He did not even have a sword at his side. But he was not afraid of me. He…greeted me like an old friend. In hindsight… I guess he hoped that I would kill him. That would certainly have suited him better. But I…could not” told Iorveth the witcher at last. It was the first time that he had ever spoken about his last encounter with Roche. Until now he did not deem this meeting worthy enough to mention it to others and furthermore no other Scoia’tael would have understood him as for them Roche was only a human.
Iorveth only realised now how important this encounter had been. It had been the last time that he had seen the person who had shaped his life for the past decades. If there hadn’t been any more pressing matters, Iorveth’s most important goal had been to track Roche down and kill him. Many things in his life had been attuned to either searching for the Commander of the Blue Strips or to evade him. Of course Iorveth had always wanted to fight for the nonhumans but only if it also allowed him to battle Roche.
“Iorveth?”
“What?”
“You are crying.”
For a short moment Iorveth did not move at all. Then his hands searched for his face and he could feel wet tears under his fingers. He was really crying. Helpless he looked at Geralt as if he knew the reason for his tears. In silent solace the witcher put a hand on his shoulder and Iorveth closed his eye. “I don’t understand…” the elf whispered softly but in fact he did understand. He could understand the anger. He could understand the sadness. He could understand what Geralt meant by fate. Only it was too late now. Vernon Roche had died and just afterwards Iorveth realised how much he had meant to him. Iorveth did not say a further word to Geralt but he still understood.
“Ves, I could lend you my arm” Geralt suggested to the former second in command of the Blue Stripes. Like the day he met her, her hair was short but now it was white instead of blonde. She was walking slowly but it was only appropriate for a woman of her age. Nevertheless she shook her head and explained, “I’m fine. I’m just old not helpless.” A little bit amused Geralt snorted while he just slowed down himself in order to walk at Ves’ side. Except from them was anyway no one on the graveyard and they could take their time.
Ultimately they arrived at their destination and for a second they just stood in silence before the grave. After they had paid their respect Ves knelt down surprisingly swiftly for an old woman and examined the grave. She was the one who tended mostly to the grave because Roche had no relatives. Though the Queen had offered to send gardeners Ves had refused as she wanted to take care of the grave until she was dead too. Sadly Geralt thought that the offer of the Queen would probably be needed soon.
“Where do all these primroses come from? I don’t mind them, but I also can’t remember planting them” Ves commented irritated. For a short moment Geralt looked at the flowers and was hit with a certain guess. But he would rather not tell Ves as she probably would misunderstand it. Thus with the hint of a smile on his lips Geralt suggested, “Maybe someone else planted them.” Ves shot a sceptical glance towards him but she did not ask further questions. But maybe she also had noticed a rustle in the leaves of a tree not too far away from the grave.