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Two weeks. Two weeks they fought against snow, wind and monsters on their way to Mahakam, in a slim hope for Brouver Hoog‘s support in this war. The bone-chilling cold was demoralizing, even the eager and disciplined Reynard has laid down his daily inspections in favour of warming himself and letting the soldiers warm themselves instead of staying out in the snow storm.
Gascon pulled his scarf closer around his neck, and watched Meve riding far ahead, at the top of her army, her golden hair waving in the wind like a banner. She seemed to be the only one not affected by the Mahakam’s weather - she and Knickers, who joyfully played in the snow. The Queen’s gaze was firmly locked on her goal, unyielding like a force of nature. Gascon couldn’t not admire her iron will and inner strength.
And yet. No iron will and no inner strength could withstand countless armies of the Nilfgaardian Empire, because iron wills and inner strengths didn’t win wars - armies did. And Meve, unfortunately, didn’t have an army, at least not one that could be compared to ones of Nilfgaard. She was somewhat successful so far, but Gascon wasn’t one to deceive himself: the tide could be turning anytime, and if that happened, he needed to have something up his sleeve, or he would share the grave with Meve, Reynard, and their entire army.
He didn’t have any qualms making a deal with the enemy, Gascon kept telling himself whenever he watched Meve fight, struggle, win, fail and yet move forward regardless. And everytime this voice sounded smaller and less believable, and something was turning inside him at the simple yet heavy word: betrayal.
A loud blast tore Gascon out of his thoughts. The air vibrated around them, the powerful sound increased in volume, echoing from the mountains. Then another sound joined the cacophony - the sound of a snowslide.
Everything happened too fast. Gascon could only hold to the reins of his panicking horse, while the deadly snow covered the first half of their caravan within mere seconds. His eyes were glued to the golden hair disappearing in white…
Chaos ensued among the soldiers. Gascon abandoned his horse and ran out to where the snow came down on Meve’s army - and on her. His heart was beating beating twice as fast in his throat, cold air pierced his lungs, yet he payed no attention to it, looking for signs of Meve - her coat, her hair, anything - in the neverending white. Frantically he fought his way through the snow masses to the place he assumed Meve was standing, when the slide came down, and started digging with his bare hands.
“Meve!” Gascon’s voice was drowned out by the whinning horses and screaming men. He couldn’t make out anyone under the snow and looked around, realizing that with the slide the surroundings changed to a degree that made him disoriented. He didn’t know where Meve was - the realization dawned on him, and for an agonizing moment Gascon couldn’t move, panic freezing his entire body. “MEVE!”
Nobody answered him - except Knickers. He barked from a dozen feet away, while trying to dig something from under the snow. Something - or someone.
Ever since the old Mud placed himself between the two armed soldiers and the eight-year-old boy, ready to protect his owner with his life, Gascon trusted dogs and their instincts more than humans. He crawled over to Knickers and started digging.
And soon enough, his fingers grabbed something. Gascon pulled at it, revealing a coat. One that could possibly be Meve’s, or anyone else’s. Still, holding on to a small hope, he digged deeper with renewed energy.
Another swipe of snow, and a strand of golden hair appeared amidst the white.
Meve!
Gascon’s heart skipped a beat, and soon enough he could grab her by the shoulders and pull her up.
“Reynard! Anyone! Over here!” The sooner someone helped him, the sooner they’d get the Queen somewhere warm, yet the words were taken by the snowstorm in the opposite direction, while the soldiers struggled to organize themselves in the distance. Apparently, Reynard himself was missing.
Gascon held Meve’s unconscious body and pulled one of his gloves off, placing his hand on her cheek to make sure she was still alive. Her skin was as cold as the snow surrounding them, and for one terrifying moment Gascon felt no pulse, no breathing. Meve’s face was a frozen mask of fear, her body laying limp and vulnerable on his knees.
Suddenly her head turned towards his hand, and he felt a ghost of a shattered breath. Meve’s eyes remained closed, ice on her eyelashes, but her blue lips moved, as if saying something, though no sound came out. Her entire body started shaking.
Gascon pressed her closer, shielding her from the piercing wind, while he tried to put his own coat around her shoulders.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you..”, he didn’t realize he was talking, more to himself than to Meve. Within minutes the cold reached his bones, but he paid it no mind. Hooking one arm around Meve’s shoulders and the other under her knees, he tried to stand up, but sank deeper into the fresh snow.
“Damn it!” Gascon tried again, but of no avail. “Over here!! I found the Queen!!” He screamed his lungs out, and to his relief he soon made out silhouettes of two men and a horse moving towards them through the snowstorm. Slowly but surely they got Meve to safety of a warm tent.
~~~
As expected, Meve was furious as soon as she fully came to herself and saw her dead soldiers, frozen horses, broken wagons. So furious as to throw the healers, that were supposed to look after her, out of her tent.
“Go look after the soldiers! I’m fine, for God’s sake!”
Gascon watched them hurrying out of the Queen’s quarter, while he helped Isbel carry another unconscious soldier to the makeshift lazarett. He met Isbel’s gaze.
Moments later, he knocked on the wood post of her tent. “Meve?”
“What is it?” He grimaced at her agressive yet controlled tone, and pushed past the fabric inside.
Meve was standing in front of the fire, a blanket around her shoulders, holding her hands out towards the flame.
“Did Gabor return already?” The dwarf left the camp to meet his kind, and promised to bring news of this event, but…
“No, he didn’t,” Gascon came closer and noticed that Meve apparently tried to hide: her teeth chattered, and her hand holding the blanket still trembled slightly.
“When what are you doing here, then?” her tone - just like her stance - were defensive, as if she didn’t want to be seen like that: shaken and hurt not only by what happened to her, but also by the many deaths among her men. Furious but powerless to change a thing. Shivering from the cold like a normal person, while she ought to be the Warrior Queen.
“Drink that,” Gascon offered her a cup of a strange substance.
“What is it?” Meve rised her eyebrows in surprise.
“A brew Isbel gives to everyone we managed to save. Seems to rise the dead from the grave,” Gascon pointed behind himself, but after Meve still hasn’t taken the cup from him, he grinned. “Drink it, or I will have to take care of your blue lips myself!”
The joke didn’t fail to have the desired effect - Meve’s shoulders relaxed and the corner of her mouth curved slightly in a half-smile. She took the cup from him - when their fingers touched, Gascon noticed how cold they were still - and gulped half of its content in one go. Then she handed the rest back to him.
“Drink it all up, it…”
“I’m not the only one with blue lips, Gascon.”
Surprised, he took it back and downed the rest of the brew. It tasted awful, but felt like fluid fire - hot, but not scorching -, warmth immediately spreading through his entire body. Up until now Gascon didn’t realize how cold he really was.
“Thank you,” taken aback by Meve’s concern, he couldn’t come up with anything wittier than that, his heart suddenly racing against his ribs. Gascon doubted it was the effect of Isbel’s brew . “I… I’ll send Reynard in, he is probably done with… whatever he was doing…”
And before he could make a bigger fool of himself, Gascon was about to leave.
“Gascon,” Meve’s voice was less commanding than usual. He turned around - the Queen looked at the flames, the light dancing on her face and hair, her expression open and soft, though marked by the grief about the lives lost that day. It struck Gascon, how beautiful Meve really was. “I’ve heard that you were the one who found me.”
“Well, it was Knickers, to be precise.”
“Is that so?” Meve looked up at him, her eyebrows arched in amusement. “In this case, give the dog a treat or two from me.”
~~~
When Gascon left the tent, he knew suddenly, that he would never go through with his plan. In the last weeks he liked the idea less and less, but now the thought of betraying Meve downright sickened him. No, in this moment he knew he’d rather die for her - not for the Warrior Queen of Rivia and Lyria, but for Meve - for the woman, who was even stronger than the Queen.