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“Take me instead.” Vernon’s voice was steady, ringing clear over the shuffle of boots and the almost peaceful rustle of leaves. His hand rested on his sword, his eyes were hard, and he stared down his certain death without fear. Iorveth wanted to kill him. He wanted him to run.
“Why shouldn’t we simply take you both?” The Nilgaardian was cocky. Iorveth could imagine him making a mistake, even with twelve men on his side.
“You’ll have every elf able to hold a bow hunting for your head if you take him but you’ll get no ransom.” Vernon had moved forward, angled in front of Iorveth so that he could no longer see the set of his jaw or his eyes. “The crown may negotiate for my return.”
“Or we could kill you both.”
“You’ll lose more men than we’re worth.”
Don’t do this. Stupid fucking dh’oine. He’d never been self sacrificing. He’d been a survivor . That’s why Iorveth had been willing to let him hold his fragile fucking heart in his hands.
“Then we have a deal, you’ll have to drop your sword of course. Ah, the belt. No need to unsheathe it. The elf can leave.” I’m going to kill you. Two on twelve in an open field - even Iorveth couldn’t beat those odds.
“Go.” Vernon’s voice was steady but Iorveth felt like the world was shaking. “Go!” He barked.
Iorveth walked backwards, eyes never leaving Roche as the men closed in.
Fuck you Vernon. I’m not leaving.