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It all started inconspicuously; Iorveth began waking up during the night. The first few days were fine — everyone was happy when he took over their watch or when they didn't have to get up at all. But then, it started to stink a bit. Iorveth had never been the type to have trouble sleeping because he simply couldn’t afford it. A commander must be rested, and his senses sharp; otherwise, it costs the lives of his soldiers. Of course, when times were a little bit easier and general tiredness and exhaustion subsided a bit, he too was haunted by nightmares. But under normal circumstances, when every minute of sleep was precious, Iorveth was capable of falling into a coma anytime, anywhere. One minute he's talking, the next he's snoring. Just like that. Many of his men in the unit envied him for that ability.
So why the sudden change? True, it could have been anything — a toothache, a cold, or hunger. But when it didn’t stop even in spring, when the temperatures warmed, and there was enough food, it was just weird. And what’s more, it wasn’t the only change.
Despite his lack of sleep, Iorveth was surprisingly energetic and positive. He was never really a grump — despite his look and the way he presented his ego in public — but suddenly he started joking more, was more relaxed, played the flute, or even sang to himself.
He was so enthusiastic about everything they did that it was pretty damn scary. Again, with Iorveth, it was never about a lack of enthusiasm; he fought like a madman, motivating them all with his determination. He had to — if he hesitated, the whole commando would crumble like a house of cards. But from the very first moment Vernon Roche and his Blue Stripes showed up, Iorveth was extremely passionate. Revenge is a powerful motivation. Iorveth recognized that he had almost an equal in the new commander, and after the initial fiasco, he did everything in his power to catch up and destroy him. And Vernon Roche seemed to be doing the exact same thing.
Maybe that was the origin of all of this. A challenge. The need to outdo each other. Trying to eliminate each other and deliver the final blow.
It’s true that when Iorveth mentioned his archenemy, as he often called him (too dramatic as always), it had a peculiar closeness to it. Not in a good way, more like talking about the girl who broke your heart, the family member who ran away for an adventure with all the money, or a best friend who stabbed you in the back. But the closeness was there. Even when he found out that the d'hoine preferred his second name - Roche - he started referring to him exclusively as Vernon. It should be noted, however, that this privilege belongs only to him! The expression he bestowed upon Ciaran when he once also referred to him as Vernon spoke for itself.
At first, they tried to ignore it. Just another peculiarity in Iorveth's already peculiar nature. But his peculiar behaviour was like a running snowball. Add to all that energy and fascination the fact that he went a little crazy. He extensively analysed every step Roche took. He had to know everything about him - from expected things like where his base is and where he sent his spies, to absolutely absurd things like: What are the names of his team members? What time does Roche go to sleep? Does he sleep with weapons by his side? Or even: Does he take off that silly towel he wears on his head and pretend it's a hat when he sleeps?
At this point, they were already sharing weird looks with each other, but they didn't say anything to him. An elf must be a bit crazy to be a commander. And eventually, he will surely get tired of it.
“Okay, we need to cure this.”
Elirion came to a small group of the Scoia’tael who stayed in the camp, absolutely clueless about what the hell he was talking about.
“What? What are you on about?” A group had just returned from their scouting, and true - Iorveth was limping a bit. He probably hurt his leg somehow, but from the way he and everyone else behaved, it didn't seem like anything serious. Certainly nothing he couldn't handle himself. He was going to be fine.
Elirion hurried with his explanation: “We ran into one of those traps. We noticed soon enough, so no real damage done, but Iorveth hurt his ankle while jumping away.” He waved his hand to make it clear that this was definitely not the thing that worried him. “We almost died of fear because he wasn’t getting back on his legs for a while, but you know what? That madman laughed.”
“So what?” Liraelith took a bite of dried meat, listening to the story with little interest. Not that there was anything more entertaining to do, but hearing the same stuff every day was tiring.
“He laughed! And then said how well was the trap hidden and how even he wouldn’t do it better!” Elirion was trying too hard to sell the story. Especially when no one around the fire seemed bothered or even interested enough.
“Well, if it was a good trap, Iorveth would know. He can appreciate a good trap.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t normal.”
“He stopped being normal a long time ago. This is just another nail in the coffin.”
Everyone laughed about it, and the topic was abandoned for a while.
In the end, they were right about the madness Iorveth went through. It eventually stopped. Iorveth started sleeping normally again - that was definitely a step in the right direction. In the times when Iorveth, with two hours of sleep, hyperactively ran around the camp and, in his mania, demanded extraordinary activity from everyone else, they often didn't know whether to kill themselves, him, or Roche. Because they were sure it was Roche who was responsible for all of this.
They eventually got used to their dynamics. Iorveth and Roche are arch-enemies. They are all over themselves. There is nothing the commando can do about it. Fine. It’s not like it’s a big deal or something. Sooner or later, one of them wins, and it will be over…
“Are you sure?”
They were sitting by the fire again, talking about Iorveth once more.
“I’m. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Maybe it was some kind of mistake. It all happened so quickly. Maybe he didn’t even realize what was happening.”
“Maybe. Or he let him go on purpose.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
They all stared at each other, biting their lips, and shaking their legs. Worried even talking about something like that. To spare someone who is trying to eliminate their whole kin, meant treason to all they were fighting for.
“Well,” Feyrial finally dared to say something. “It’s been ages since Roche took over the special forces. Maybe they are so used to each other now that they are scared of what might happen if they actually eliminated their known enemy.”
“No, Iorveth wouldn’t do that. He is no coward.”
“I don’t think it’s about bravery. It’s more like a routine.”
“Routine?”
“Yeah, you know, when you get used to someone, it’s hard to change. Like in a marriage!”
“MARRIAGE! You just compared these two to marriage?”
The group roared with laughter, and Feyrial looked back for a second to see if they didn’t catch Iorveth’s attention. “You know what I meant,” he grunted.
“No, no! You’re right! They are like an old married couple. Just their fights are a little bit deadlier.”
“So that’s it?” Elirion asked - still worried - after the laughing turned down. “They don’t want to kill each other just because of comfort?”
“Maybe. Or they are in love.”
And so they laughed it off, not knowing what was the right answer. Maybe it was better this way.