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Vernon was on his leave. In fact, many of them were. During winter, things aren't usually as strict overall. Snowdrifts and frost complicate the unit's functioning, and even the Squirrels aren't as active when their asses are freezing. Soldiers can afford to linger in larger cities, take more time off, and save energy until the cold eases a bit.
But that day was even more significant - it was the holidays. People were more generous and friendlier; in every flea-infested inn, at least a warm soup was served, and street performers were doing everything from theatre and music to bizarre arts that can truly boggle the mind.
Some of the Blue Stripes took the opportunity to return to their families, while others, like Vernon, used the break to feel human again for a few days. They ate well, bathed, discarded their armour, and ventured into the city's whirlwind for some revelry.
The more drunk and boisterous they became, the easier it was for them to overlook Vernon’s gloomy mood; in the end, they pulled him along more out of habit than expecting him to celebrate with them. But he didn't mind. He was content alone, or rather, he preferred being alone than trying to keep up with younger, less weathered soldiers not as marked by the war. No need to lie to himself, he wasn’t getting younger.
By evening, they finally stopped; at a quite crowded inn, where – for everyone’s pleasure – the owners brewed a very good beer special just for the holidays. The smell of roasted meat and spiced ale wafted through the air, calling them in. The tables inside were packed, but at least they sat outside, going inside only for more alcohol when needed.
Vernon was just heading to the bar for another beer when he almost collided with someone else at the door. He stepped aside to let the stranger pass, but as soon as he focused on the person's face, he froze.
He almost didn't recognize him without his iconic scarf. He guessed it was probably intentional. The hood worn like a chaperone conveniently covered the tips of his ears, and most of his scar was hidden in the shadows. No one would recognize him as the person from the wanted posters.
They happened to be so close that he could see how the expression on his face changed - from plain unconcern to surprise to the usual contempt just in one breath. His hand immediately went to the knife's hilt, and Vernon realized that at any moment, their long-standing fight could end.
He would lose. His hand was still not entirely steady, he couldn't remember when he last had a proper sleep, and the beer had already gone to his head.
He had to act. In a split second, Iorveth would drive the knife under his ribs and would be gone before anyone could notice what had happened.
Vernon's mind raced, searching for a way to escape, to reverse this dangerous situation. He moved almost as quickly as Iorveth, just with a slight hesitation that gave his opponent an advantage. Fortunately, Vernon's gesture had one thing at its side. Shock.
He raised his hands with open palms to show he was unarmed. Except for the beer mug - if you can count that as a weapon.
Iorveth hesitated, still holding the knife's hilt, but as long as the knife wasn't stuck in Vernon's body, he considered it a success.
"Can we not?" Vernon asked.
"What?" Iorveth ground between his teeth, and Vernon sighed. He really didn't have the mood for this right now.
"I'm tired, Ior-" he almost said his name out loud in the middle of the tavern. He glanced at the nearest drunks, but they didn't seem to pay attention. "I'm tired. Can we not fight at least tonight?"
Iorveth looked suspicious, but that was okay. He didn't want his trust; he just wanted to quietly drink his beer without having to rush right back to the hospital.
Iorveth moved his head as if struggling with the urge to look back, and Vernon glanced behind him, into the tavern’s second room. Iorveth was definitely not alone. Damn, another reason why he would lose their duel. Vernon's small group was sitting and drinking outside. He could only rely on the innkeeper’s bodyguard to intervene, but by the time he would get here...
Iorveth slowly released the knife's hilt. "Fine. No fighting today," he said, like it left a strange taste on his tongue.
Vernon nodded and offered: "You haven't seen me, I haven't seen you?"
"Deal."
Both took a cautious step aside, still half-turned toward each other - in case either of them planned some trick - and returned to their own groups.
As Vernon retreated to his Blue Stripes, he cast a sidelong glance over his shoulder. Of course, Iorveth would probably disappear immediately, whatever was his reason for even being here. For Vernon, it would be way too easy to wait for the elves along with the city guards, so it could be assumed that Iorveth would retreat. Therefore, even if neither of them had any interest in keeping the agreement, circumstances forced them to be men of their word.
The evening passed quickly. In the midst of winter, darkness fell early, and temperatures dropped with dusk, so soon Vernon remained one of the few people who preferred sitting outside the tavern rather than in the crowded, human-warm room where every free space became valuable. He dreaded the moment when he would have to go inside for another jug. Luckily, it was half full, so for now, he contentedly puffed on his pipe and enjoyed a moment of peace and quiet.
"Why aren't you sleeping then?"
"Sweet Melitele!" Vernon chuckled, jumped, and almost fell from his seat. Fortunately, he managed not to spill the beer.
He continued to wheeze and cough for a moment and squinted through tears at the man who seemed to literally materialize from the darkness around him. It wasn't easy to see his face, but Vernon would recognize that voice anywhere. The voice and that chaperone - thanks to their previous encounter.
"What the hell are you doing here? You should have been long gone."
"I should have," Iorveth replied pseudo-nonchalantly but still looked around at the nearest people who might notice them. However, he probably realised – just like Vernon – that it would be a stretch for the nearest drunks to stand, let alone reach them and notice who they were. "You haven't answered me yet, though," Iorveth continued when he turned back to him. "Why aren't you sleeping, if you're so tired you don't want to fight your nemesis?"
"Oh, come on, don't be such a bitch. Can't I just drink my beer in peace?"
"You're making my everyday life a hell, why should I give you peace tonight?" But despite his words, he leaned on the opposite table not looking threatening at all, and something even clinked in his scrip.
Any existing tension began to ease. They exchanged a silent acknowledgment that neither of them wanted a confrontation tonight.
Vernon took a sip of his beer, eyeing Iorveth with a mix of wariness and curiosity. "So, what brings you here? Thought you elves enjoyed solitude and freezing your asses in the woods during these times."
Iorveth's gaze was piercing, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Solitude gets old, and even elves need a change of scenery from time to time. Plus, there's something about the chaos of human celebrations that's oddly intriguing."
Vernon chuckled, not believing a word he said but still taking it. "Yeah, nothing like a bit of chaos to spice things up. Though, I never pegged you for the festive type."
Iorveth smirked. "Don't mistake curiosity for festiveness. I'm just observing."
„Right. Observing. Is that why you are dressed as a poor parody of me?“ Vernon pointed out his hat, and Iorveth immediately tore the chaperone off his head making Vernon laugh. “Come on, it suited you!”
“Fuck you. As if I ever wanted to have anything in common with you.”
For a brief moment, there was silence, and the two men stared at each other, only the noise of the inn and the revelry of the holiday celebrations echoed in the background. Now that Iorveth’s face wasn’t drowning in the shadows, Vernon for the first time saw what he actually looked like and he realised, his imagination was wrong in many ways. And so damn right in others.
Normally he wouldn’t stare so conspicuously – he still knew what good manners are – but this was Iorveth, his enemy. They saw the worst of each other already, so why pretend like there is any kind of decency between them.
Iorveth’s right eye was actually missing. Just an empty socket left where it used to be. The scar looked even nastier than he thought it would be. Probably got infected back in the day because it was still red and purple around the edges and so deep it didn’t look properly healed - although it must have been ages since he got it. These scars usually meant that the person ran away from the gravedigger's shovel. He can say by now.
The memory of his recent injury made him think about all the dreams and hallucinations he would (of course!) gladly forget. And the fact that he was correcting his dream images right as he was looking straight into Iorveth’s eye didn’t help either.
To his credit, he stared back at him all this time without comment and without any mention of an awkward situation. You could even say that was something to admire.
“And yet, here we are,” Vernon broke the silence, raised his mug as in a toast, and gave himself a generous couple of gulps.
Sigh. “Here we are.” The clinking returned, and when Vernon set his mug down, he saw that Iorveth opened himself a bottle of something unidentifiable. Good, Vernon thought, at least I’m not going to be the only one drunk here.
The bottle ended up at the table significantly emptier than before. “You still didn’t answer my question. Why aren’t you sleeping if you are so tired?”
Vernon grunted, looking into the distance. "I don’t know.” He ran his hands wearily over his face. What could he possibly say? Should he come up with some clichés? Actually, it wouldn't even be much of a lie; their lives weren’t exactly a cakewalk. He could ramble about how he's haunted by war nightmares, even when that's not really what keeps him from quality sleep. In the end, he opted for a middle ground. “I can’t. I guess I’m already living this life for too long, you know what I mean?”
Iorveth's expression softened. “Maybe it’s time to stop?” And then probably just for the fact that they were still enemies, he added: “I can kill you right here right now, and it would be over.”
“Very funny,” remarked Vernon wryly, and Iorveth snored with laughter, breaking his serious expression, while he took a sip again. “Admit it, you’d miss me.”
They both laughed and for a moment, their eyes locked. "You know, sometimes, a change of scenery helps with these things," said Iorveth cryptically.
Vernon wasn’t really sure what he wanted to say with this; maybe there was something unsaid hidden behind these words, or maybe he read too much into it, and it was just some strange elven idiom. Either way, it didn’t really matter. He too wasn’t completely honest with his words – as if he could ever tell anyone what keeps him up at night.
“Mind if I join you?”
Taken aback, Vernon studied his rival for a moment before nodding in agreement and gesturing to the place next to him. “Help yourself.”
Iorveth slumped on the bench, strangely relaxed considering the absurdity of their situation. He leaned in, his voice low and almost unrecognisable. "You know, it seems like - for enemies, of course - we could make surprisingly good drinking companions."
A smirk played on Vernon's lips. "Surprisingly indeed. Who would've thought we'd be sitting here, sharing a drink, instead of trying to kill each other?"
Iorveth grinned and tilted his head to look up at the starry sky. It was clear tonight. “Do you want to hear a fun fact?”
“Depends, what you consider fun.”
Iorveth gave him a skeptical look but continued: “The stars. That… constellation… That’s how it’s called in common, right?” He shifted closer so their vision would be more similar and pointed to the Great Bear. “Do you know its name?”
“No idea,” Vernon lied.
Iorveth continued about the name, origin, and appearance of the constellation with such enthusiasm as if he had longed terribly to tell someone about the stars for a very long time and had finally found the opportunity. “I wonder how drunk they must have been to see a bear in it. Since when the bears have these dog tails?”
“You never know. Maybe back then bears had tails like this.”
“Bullshit. I’ve been alive long enough, and bears never had long tails.”
“Maybe you just never noticed it.”
“Oh yeah, and in the past years, they just started to chew it off I guess.”
“That’s true. They are hungry. And they are even chewing your ears when you sleep; that’s why yours are pointy.”
Iorveth started laughing, perhaps a bit deranged. “That’s why! I always wondered.”
He shifted back again, but not as far as they originally started. From this close, in this situation, he didn’t seem like his enemy at all. The line between friend and foe blurred, leaving them both in a space where the complexities of their past seemed momentarily irrelevant.
They continued talking, sharing their dumb stories, and just joking and ribbing each other, as the night unfolded and the holiday festivities faded into the background. In that quiet corner of the world, two enemies found an unexpected connection.
Suddenly a voice reached them from the square. It was the watchman. Ringing a bell rapidly and shouting so loud that everyone who was still awake had to hear him. Probably also drunk, but who would blame him. At least he could still say what time is it.
“So… Happy New Year, Vernon.” Iorveth rose his bottle and Vernon froze for a while as the intimacy of the name surprised him. No one called him that. That’s another thing that made Iorveth special. Just like in his dreams.
He had to get it together. Iorveth smiled—probably at his stupid expression. He smiled back. “Happy New Year, Iorveth.” Their toast almost disappeared in the sound of a bell announcing midnight.
Vernon couldn't help but wonder if all of this; the unexpected encounter, his confusing thoughts, and his injury were just some sick of a twist of fate forcing him to lose his mind.