@Ideas-Guy Is this some kind of cross promotion thing for your MCU story or did you post in the wrong thread?
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Yeah This doesn't seem to be Castoff?
Ah I see, he will go to the Witcher universe to give Guts the armor.
Sweet Lies
- Location
- USA
Radovid was the only other king that Guts had ever seen, and however begrudgingly, he could admit that he was more impressive than the king of Midland. The man had been so unimpressive that Guts didn't even know his name all these years later. But, that wasn't a particularly high bar. What Guts did notice, however, was the fact that Radovid walked like a soldier. There was a special kind of gait that people moved with when they marched more than they walked and Guts recognized it.
There was a fixed pleasant smile on his face as he greeted nobles on his way that didn't reach his eyes. His clothing was impractical for a fight, but if the king was fighting then something had gone spectacularly poorly. In all, with the quickest of glanced, Guts realized he might have judged the king too quickly. He hid it well enough, but Guts recognized the signs simply because he shared them -- Radovid didn't want to be here any more than Guts did.
"Your majesty," Caleb said, dropping to a knee the moment that Radovid neared. He shot a look up at Guts, clearly expecting him to bow. As if. If he refused to bow to the devil, then why would he bother with a king? Instead, Guts met the king's eye, judging his reaction and saw that Radovid took the lack of respect with grace. He wasn't the type to get dragged up by ceremony. Even better.
"Caleb, no need to stand on ceremony. It's a party," Radovid greeted the Witch Hunter with a tone of familiarity. They clearly knew each other and Guts ventured that they knew each other well. The Witch Hunter stood up and only then did Radovid turn his attention to him -- Radovid's eyes ran the length of him, measuring him for a long moment. In that moment, Guts saw Ciri out of the corner of his eye.
She was mouthing something at him. 'Get away from him, you idiot' was Guts best guess.
"Well, introduce me to your companion, Caleb. He does seem like a man with a story to tell," Radovid remarked, his voice decidedly neutral. The other nobility were hovering about, clearly hoping to catch the King's ear, but there were a few mutterings of displeasure that noble blood had been ignored in favor of speaking to a lowborn Witch Hunter first. Guts didn't see Triss amongst them, seemingly lost within the crowd.
Was she really about to kill the king? Guts didn't particularly care one way or the other if the guy lived or died, but that was one hell of a secret to only reveal just before the deed would be done.
"This is…-" Caleb began to introduce him hesitating as he did so because he wasn't sure what name to use, but Guts interjected.
"Guts," Guts introduced himself, his voice low and steady. If Triss wanted a distraction, then he would give it. None of it really matters so long that she held up her end of the bargain. "I just borrowed the name of Redfield," he admitted, curious what the reaction would be.
Radovid blinked but otherwise gave no reaction. "I take it you must be quite new at this," he remarked after a small pause. "When impersonating nobility, it's generally a poor idea to confess that fact to the king." He sounded more amused than anything, but underneath it was a deadly edge. He didn't seem afraid of Guts -- either because he was young and stupid, or because he trusted his guards. In any case, that was something that few could readily boast.
"If you manage to find a rope thick enough to hang me, then you're welcome to try," Guts returned, meeting his gaze flatly. Radovid looked like he was fighting off a smirk, and Guts could see him considering giving the order.
"Impersonating nobility isn't a hanging offense," Radovid remarked, his tone as light as a feather.
"You do seem partial to burning," Guts agreed, making him narrow his eyes while Caleb bristled, shooting Guts a fierce look. If he had a sword, he would have drawn it.
"You will not address his Majesty as 'you'," Caleb spat the word out like it was poison, earning a mild glance from Guts. "You will refer to him as his Majesty," he lectured, getting a grip on the harshness of his tone but they still earned glanced from nobles that lingered nearby, more than a few of them chuckling at his faux pas.
Guts glanced back at Radovid, "That seems tedious." As did this entire conversation. He really hoped that Triss would just kill him already.
"What a rare insolent creature you are," Radovid observed, not sounding particularly angry, though he was less amused. "I imagine it would be tedious. In any case, Guts, if you aren't here to beseech me for my favor as the rest of the nobility here, then tell me why you are here," he instructed, speaking in a tone of voice that told Guts that Radovid was a man used to being obeyed in all things. As he finished the command, Guts saw Triss.
She was dressed as a servant, he realized. Her bright red hair colored black and her eyes were a muddy brown. Not with magic. Glass lenses based on the faint edge just outside of her iris. Their gazes met ever so briefly, and her gaze conveyed the same message that Ciri mouthed. Then her eyes flickered down when she presented a tray of wines for them to take.
Caleb and Radovid took a glass each, hardly acknowledging her and she moved on. Poison, huh? Hopefully a fast acting one. However, it was Caleb who spoke, "Your majesty, this man has information about the creature that attacked Oxenfurt. A creature that I suspect to be connected to the other incidents." He voiced lowered an octave, and Radovid's expression went blank.
"Other incidents?" Guts questioned, that catching his attention. What other incidents? What could that mean? He was the only one with the brand in this Sphere. Puck was an idiot that made up a bold-faced lie to cover up the fact that he and Ciri were responsible for the spirits and teleporting away.
Radovid glanced at him, then at Caleb. "We will speak later. Now, I must give a speech," he stated, taking a single sip of his wine before he departed, heading outside to the gardens. Guts went still when he saw that his entourage had been busy since they arrived. After seeing the remnants of so many, Guts easily recognized a pyre.
"Stay where I can see you, Guts," Caleb instructed. "And if that thing has any intentions for tonight, you are to guard his Majesty with your life. All of the North is depending on him to beat back the Nilfgaardians. Which means they might make their own attempt on his life." Caleb continued, knocking back the wine in a large gulp before setting it on a tray of a servant that was making their way outside. There was no outright order, but the banquet hall just seemed to empty out, following the king like a needy dog.
His gaze caught Ciri's, who gave him a very pointed look and inclined her head to the door. In response, he glanced at Caleb, who was moving outside, simply expecting Guts to follow him. As if expecting Guts to give a shit about some king. Guts started to turn away, going to join Ciri, only to freeze in place when he heard the faintest whisper in his ear..
"Damn you," Guts heard, making him go still. A hand went to his neck -- did the Seal suddenly fail? Guts' gaze darted to the shadows and he saw them start to writh, something in them beginning to stir. Guts heard panicked shouts outside, telling him that he wasn't the only one that had noticed the vengeful spirits. His gaze met Ciri's to see that her eyes were widening and he pulled down the stuffy collar to expose the Seal.
'It's still there,' Ciri mouthed the words, approaching Guts and retreating from the exit. His mind tore into the question, the sun setting and as the darkness grew, as did the spirits.
"Be calm, good people. Be calm!" Radovid exclaimed, his voice carrying over the sounds of terror that came outside. "There is nothing to fear. Everything is under control. You are safe! The whispers you hear are all they are -- whispers." Radovid continued, his voice strong and calm, and like sheep, the nobility flocked to it as a sense of comfort.
"Where's Puck?" Ciri questioned, following guts outside to see that the garden area was full to capacity. A number of Witch Hunters stood in front of the pyres while some priests started swinging incense. He wasn't so quick to dismiss it -- for all he knew, what they were swinging would have some effects on the spirits.
"I don't know," Guts answered, his voice low, looking down at Radovid to see that he stood before the pyres.
Radovid continued, his voice ringing out over muttered cries of shock when a spirit drifted up from the shadows and moved. However, Guts saw that something was wrong. The spirits themselves weren't trying to possess anyone. They don't cling to the living in a desperate hope to escape their wretched existence. They seemed aimless instead of flocking to the living like a moth drawn to a flame. More importantly, Guts didn't see a source of the spirits.
"For more than a thousand years, humanity has been here after the Conjunction of the Spheres, and for a thousand years, our way of life has proven superior to all others that came before us. For it is our destiny, by the grace of the Eternal Flame, to become the rulers of this land." Radovid spoke, his voice loud and clear. Guts narrowed his eyes at the drivel, not really paying it any mind as he focused on what was drawing the spirits. What did Radovid have that could bring them forward? Because the only thing that Guts could think of was the Brand.
"We have taken the reigns to the world. The two greatest empires are both human in nature, and it is now that we -- the Northern Kingdoms and the Nilfgaardian Empire -- must compete for supremacy. For while we are both human, our existences are inconsolable." He continued, sounding like he had rehearsed the speech a number of times. "We have embraced the Eternal Flame, whose light illuminates us and banished the dark and unnatural." And if on cue, a number of braziers that had been placed ignited, pushing back the shadows.
Guts smelled something and it wasn't just bullshit. The air had an oily hint to it. The Witch Hunter's were burning something and the effect on the spirits was like a cup of water poured on a flame. They began to dissipate, retreating back into the shadows where they could only curse at the living.
"The Nilfgaardian Empire has fallen to the same trap that we fell in. That we have only recently freed ourselves of," Radovid continued, his hands spreading out wide. "The dangers of magic and the supernatural. For a thousand years, we allowed ourselves to be complacent to sorceresses and sorcerers, believing in their otherworldly powers because it was convenient for us to do so. Because they offered the seductive power to bend the natural world to our will. And for our willful ignorance, we paid a terrible price. We allowed ourselves to be ruled by mages, your kings chosen by the Eternal Flame were but puppets and the Lodge of Sorcerers their puppeteers."
There was genuine hate in his voice, Guts realized. He was dressing it up and channeling it in some flowery language, but at the core of it was genuine hatred. His purge of the mages wasn't some religious crusade. It was a personal one.
"Nilfgaard believes that it can control its mages, who flock to their banner out of fear of Justice. But we in the North know the truth. It is the mages who control the Empire now," Radovid said, and Guts got the impression that he didn't really believe that. But the crowd sure did as they started to buy into the speech. "It is those mages, and those inhumans, who broker unnatural deals to rob us of our natural place at the top of the world. Who would damn us all for the sake of their own power and indulgences."
Guts narrowed his eyes, the rhetoric was something deeply familiar to him and his heart started to beat a few ticks faster.
Did Radovid have an Apostle? No… no… that didn't make sense. That wouldn't explain the spirits. No, what he had… he had a Sacrifice.
Guts started to move forward, Radovid's words falling on dead ears as he pushed through the crowd. "Today, I will show you what will be done to those that broker with such unnatural forces. To mages, to inhumans, and to desperate people that lost their way -- for all of them are a threat to our way of life, and they must be punished. Harshly. Or all may suffer the consequences," Radovid continued just as Guts reached the front of the crowd.
The Witch Hunter's had dragged three people onto the pyres, a bag of their heads. Two were resisting fiercely, thrashing and clicking as they were bound. The one directly behind Radovid, however, didn't. She wore a simple white garb, her skin a dark shade that stood in contrast to the pale skin of everyone else around her, and beyond the edge of the hood, Guts saw black hair.
It felt like he was moving in a dream. His head suddenly became light headed, his heart felt like it was about to leap through his chest. Everything sounded like it was happening far away or underwater. Because he saw it. Peaking out in a small opening of the gown was the Brand, barely a fraction of it, but enough that he knew what it was. And where it was.
Guts knew exactly who it would be even as the hoods were ripped off.
"Casca," Guts breathed, seeing her for the first time in two years. She almost looked the exact same as he remembered. Her black hair was messy and longer than he had ever seen it, but other than that… there was almost no change. The same bronzed skin tone, her narrow jawline with a stubborn chin and high cheekbones… her brown eyes that used to be so full of life and emotion were hollowed out and vacant.
"Guts, what are you doing-" Ciri hissed at him, grabbing hold of him but she cut herself off when she saw his expression. He didn't even know what it looked like but it felt like someone had punched him in the stomach, driving all of the wind from his lungs. It felt like he couldn't tell if this was a dream or a nightmare.
It was Casca. She was here. She was supposed to be with Grotto and the others. She was supposed to be safe in that cave until she… she put her mind back together. Until she healed. But she was directly in front of him, tied to a pyre, and some fucking king was ranting and raving about the supremecy of the human race and the dangers of magic.
Nothing else mattered in that moment. Not getting back to his Sphere, not Triss's plan, none of it.
"Help me save her," Guts voiced, his voice strangled by emotion. "Please," he said, coming the closest he had ever come to begging.
"Of course," Ciri agreed and there weren't words to describe his relief at that moment. They simply didn't exist and the ones that did couldn't hope to convey a fraction of his gratitude. Ciri could teleport Casca far from here. To somewhere she would be safe.
Guts turned around, and strode forward, heading directly toward Casca. Radovid seemed a bit puzzled by what was going on, pausing his speech for the briefest of seconds, letting Guts get a word in, "Move." He growled the order, uncaring of who he was speaking to.
"What-" Radovid started, anger in his tone even as his guards made to intervene, drawing steel to keep him at bay. But whatever he had left to say, no one would ever know. Guts snarled, his patience non-existent.
He lashed out with an iron fist, bashing the side of Radovid's skull with enough force that blood and shards of bone splattered on Caleb's face. Everything above the jaw was gone, torn through like a clever. Blood spurted up for a brief second, his heart not realizing that he was dead, and the force of the blow pushed his corpse out of the way.
Guts snarled, annoyed with the dead king and heading directly to Casca, whose gaze met his. In his heart, he had a desperate wish that he never let himself know. That when he returned to her, when they next met, that her mind would have healed. That maybe she could talk in something other than gibberish. Then… then he wouldn't feel so… alone. Because there would be someone else that could understand what happened that night -- the betrayal, the loss, the pain…
But those hopes were dashed the moment their eyes met. There was life in them but no awareness. She didn't recognize him. Casca didn't see him at all. "Pwehh?" She uttered as Guts approached -- not happy nor afraid, simply confused at what was going on.
"Get- Avenge the king-" Caleb started, going to rush him as he passed by. Guts was ready to kill him, but there was apparently no need. His hands went to his chest -- his heart specifically -- before he started to collapse in a heap directly on top of Radovid's corpse. Seems like he was wrong about who the assassination target was, Guts thought to himself, his gaze never leaving Casca, almost as if he was afraid that she would vanish the moment he took his eyes off of her. Caleb was the target. Triss poisoned the wine -- the timing was a little suspect, so the poison might have had some kind of trigger.
He didn't care. Not when he heard the sounds of utter chaos all around him, the people descending into a full blown panic. They were already on edge because of the spirits, and seeing the king die was less of a gentle nudge that sent them over the edge and more of a kick to the face. A royal guard screamed bloody murder, rushing him with a sword leveled at his chest. Guts reached out, his grip extending past the length of the blade to grab the man in full armor by the face and lifting him off of his feet. With a heave, Guts whipped him around, smashing the knight into another with enough force that bone shattered and the armor crumpled like parchment.
"Casca," Guts breathed, coming to a stop in front of her, wanting to reach out and touch her but he was afraid to. Afraid that she would collapse into sand or whatever illusion it could be. Was it Triss, maybe? Has she cast some kind of spell on him? Was she making him see her? It made more sense than Casca being here. He probably should have thought of that before he killed a king.
"Guts, you have to be-" Ciri brushed past him, going to Casca and cutting through the ropes that bound her to the pyre. "You have to be completely out of your mind! Do you have any idea what you just did?!" Ciri questioned him while Casca took a step forward, looking up at him. His heart leapt to his throat, pounding powerfully in his chest. He was more afraid in that moment than he ever had been of an apostle.
"Gweh?" Casca babbled, reaching up with a hand to cusp his cheek. Her hands were softer than Guts recalled, but it has been two years since she wielded a sword. The callouses hadn't completely vanished, but they were far less pronounced. "Gweh Faa?" She babbled, and more than anything in this world -- more than he wanted vengeance for his own soul -- he would give anything to understand what she was trying to tell him. To have a conversation with her. He'd happily go insane if it just meant that they could talk.
Guts reached up and cupped the hand that touched his cheek, something deep inside of him threatening to break at the small action. It just about killed him to remove her hand. "Ciri, get her out of here," He told her, swallowing a lump in his throat. The sounds of panic were everywhere now, the royal guard was taken out with ease, people were running around and trying to get away. Their fear and panic, in turn, drew more spirits to them. Some ended up getting possessed, leading them to attack others.
It was pure chaos, but it bought them a moment.
"What about you?" Ciri questioned, her expression puzzled.
"I need to pick up Dragonslayer," Guts told her, making her scoff.
"Guts, the entire northern Kingdoms are going to be after you for this. The Witch Hunter's are just going to be a start," Ciri told him, her gaze flickering down to Radovid while Casca reached down to pick up the crown in her hands before bringing it up to her mouth to chew on the gold and jewels, only to decide it wasn't as tasty as it looked.
Guts scowled, "Then I'll just kill them all." He returned and based on the expression that Ciri wore, she understood that wasn't an idle promise. He intended to do exactly that. The Witch Hunters knew about Casca, and that was reason enough for them all to die. He'd lure them all out and slaughter them to a man. "Get her out of here, Ciri. Don't worry about me."
"I- fine. Fine! But you better believe I expect an explanation after this, Guts," Ciri agreed before both her and Casca vanished in a flash of light. It made his heart clench as if it had been savagely squeezed, her departure happening so soon after their reunion. It was only as Guts turned away, ignoring the other two that were shouting to be saved as well that Guts' mind started to think about the situation.
It didn't make any sense, Guts decided as he pushed through the panicking crowd, his thoughts heavy as he ignored the chaos all around him. He just murdered a king, and he seemed to be the last thing on anyone's mind, the spirits plaguing them but they seemed to completely ignore Guts. It was an honest first for him. The one Witch Hunter that did try to stop him on his way was met with an iron fist to the top of the skull, smashing his head down into his collarbone and crushing the top of his ribcage.
Ciri had brought him here. He was at some 'Place of Power', she jumped Spheres, and somehow she picked him up for a ride along the way. Something about this Sphere had… undone the damage that he suffered at the hands of apostles. That's what he had assumed this entire time but Casca was here. She was here and that meant he was forced to throw those assumptions to the side.
He approached the wagon, seeing Dragonslayer sticking out of the back of it. Grabbing hold, Guts hefted the blade, pulling it from underneath the carriage, and letting it rest on his shoulder as he was forced to consider a very dangerous question.
It seemed impossible to believe that Casca had just so happened to also be in a place of power. Maybe that was the cave. Maybe not. But for Ciri to pick them both up on accident? When they were hundreds of miles apart? No. That was a big stretch in logic and Guts didn't believe it for a second.
Meaning that if Ciri hadn't brought him and Casca here…
Then who did?
There was a fixed pleasant smile on his face as he greeted nobles on his way that didn't reach his eyes. His clothing was impractical for a fight, but if the king was fighting then something had gone spectacularly poorly. In all, with the quickest of glanced, Guts realized he might have judged the king too quickly. He hid it well enough, but Guts recognized the signs simply because he shared them -- Radovid didn't want to be here any more than Guts did.
"Your majesty," Caleb said, dropping to a knee the moment that Radovid neared. He shot a look up at Guts, clearly expecting him to bow. As if. If he refused to bow to the devil, then why would he bother with a king? Instead, Guts met the king's eye, judging his reaction and saw that Radovid took the lack of respect with grace. He wasn't the type to get dragged up by ceremony. Even better.
"Caleb, no need to stand on ceremony. It's a party," Radovid greeted the Witch Hunter with a tone of familiarity. They clearly knew each other and Guts ventured that they knew each other well. The Witch Hunter stood up and only then did Radovid turn his attention to him -- Radovid's eyes ran the length of him, measuring him for a long moment. In that moment, Guts saw Ciri out of the corner of his eye.
She was mouthing something at him. 'Get away from him, you idiot' was Guts best guess.
"Well, introduce me to your companion, Caleb. He does seem like a man with a story to tell," Radovid remarked, his voice decidedly neutral. The other nobility were hovering about, clearly hoping to catch the King's ear, but there were a few mutterings of displeasure that noble blood had been ignored in favor of speaking to a lowborn Witch Hunter first. Guts didn't see Triss amongst them, seemingly lost within the crowd.
Was she really about to kill the king? Guts didn't particularly care one way or the other if the guy lived or died, but that was one hell of a secret to only reveal just before the deed would be done.
"This is…-" Caleb began to introduce him hesitating as he did so because he wasn't sure what name to use, but Guts interjected.
"Guts," Guts introduced himself, his voice low and steady. If Triss wanted a distraction, then he would give it. None of it really matters so long that she held up her end of the bargain. "I just borrowed the name of Redfield," he admitted, curious what the reaction would be.
Radovid blinked but otherwise gave no reaction. "I take it you must be quite new at this," he remarked after a small pause. "When impersonating nobility, it's generally a poor idea to confess that fact to the king." He sounded more amused than anything, but underneath it was a deadly edge. He didn't seem afraid of Guts -- either because he was young and stupid, or because he trusted his guards. In any case, that was something that few could readily boast.
"If you manage to find a rope thick enough to hang me, then you're welcome to try," Guts returned, meeting his gaze flatly. Radovid looked like he was fighting off a smirk, and Guts could see him considering giving the order.
"Impersonating nobility isn't a hanging offense," Radovid remarked, his tone as light as a feather.
"You do seem partial to burning," Guts agreed, making him narrow his eyes while Caleb bristled, shooting Guts a fierce look. If he had a sword, he would have drawn it.
"You will not address his Majesty as 'you'," Caleb spat the word out like it was poison, earning a mild glance from Guts. "You will refer to him as his Majesty," he lectured, getting a grip on the harshness of his tone but they still earned glanced from nobles that lingered nearby, more than a few of them chuckling at his faux pas.
Guts glanced back at Radovid, "That seems tedious." As did this entire conversation. He really hoped that Triss would just kill him already.
"What a rare insolent creature you are," Radovid observed, not sounding particularly angry, though he was less amused. "I imagine it would be tedious. In any case, Guts, if you aren't here to beseech me for my favor as the rest of the nobility here, then tell me why you are here," he instructed, speaking in a tone of voice that told Guts that Radovid was a man used to being obeyed in all things. As he finished the command, Guts saw Triss.
She was dressed as a servant, he realized. Her bright red hair colored black and her eyes were a muddy brown. Not with magic. Glass lenses based on the faint edge just outside of her iris. Their gazes met ever so briefly, and her gaze conveyed the same message that Ciri mouthed. Then her eyes flickered down when she presented a tray of wines for them to take.
Caleb and Radovid took a glass each, hardly acknowledging her and she moved on. Poison, huh? Hopefully a fast acting one. However, it was Caleb who spoke, "Your majesty, this man has information about the creature that attacked Oxenfurt. A creature that I suspect to be connected to the other incidents." He voiced lowered an octave, and Radovid's expression went blank.
"Other incidents?" Guts questioned, that catching his attention. What other incidents? What could that mean? He was the only one with the brand in this Sphere. Puck was an idiot that made up a bold-faced lie to cover up the fact that he and Ciri were responsible for the spirits and teleporting away.
Radovid glanced at him, then at Caleb. "We will speak later. Now, I must give a speech," he stated, taking a single sip of his wine before he departed, heading outside to the gardens. Guts went still when he saw that his entourage had been busy since they arrived. After seeing the remnants of so many, Guts easily recognized a pyre.
"Stay where I can see you, Guts," Caleb instructed. "And if that thing has any intentions for tonight, you are to guard his Majesty with your life. All of the North is depending on him to beat back the Nilfgaardians. Which means they might make their own attempt on his life." Caleb continued, knocking back the wine in a large gulp before setting it on a tray of a servant that was making their way outside. There was no outright order, but the banquet hall just seemed to empty out, following the king like a needy dog.
His gaze caught Ciri's, who gave him a very pointed look and inclined her head to the door. In response, he glanced at Caleb, who was moving outside, simply expecting Guts to follow him. As if expecting Guts to give a shit about some king. Guts started to turn away, going to join Ciri, only to freeze in place when he heard the faintest whisper in his ear..
"Damn you," Guts heard, making him go still. A hand went to his neck -- did the Seal suddenly fail? Guts' gaze darted to the shadows and he saw them start to writh, something in them beginning to stir. Guts heard panicked shouts outside, telling him that he wasn't the only one that had noticed the vengeful spirits. His gaze met Ciri's to see that her eyes were widening and he pulled down the stuffy collar to expose the Seal.
'It's still there,' Ciri mouthed the words, approaching Guts and retreating from the exit. His mind tore into the question, the sun setting and as the darkness grew, as did the spirits.
"Be calm, good people. Be calm!" Radovid exclaimed, his voice carrying over the sounds of terror that came outside. "There is nothing to fear. Everything is under control. You are safe! The whispers you hear are all they are -- whispers." Radovid continued, his voice strong and calm, and like sheep, the nobility flocked to it as a sense of comfort.
"Where's Puck?" Ciri questioned, following guts outside to see that the garden area was full to capacity. A number of Witch Hunters stood in front of the pyres while some priests started swinging incense. He wasn't so quick to dismiss it -- for all he knew, what they were swinging would have some effects on the spirits.
"I don't know," Guts answered, his voice low, looking down at Radovid to see that he stood before the pyres.
Radovid continued, his voice ringing out over muttered cries of shock when a spirit drifted up from the shadows and moved. However, Guts saw that something was wrong. The spirits themselves weren't trying to possess anyone. They don't cling to the living in a desperate hope to escape their wretched existence. They seemed aimless instead of flocking to the living like a moth drawn to a flame. More importantly, Guts didn't see a source of the spirits.
"For more than a thousand years, humanity has been here after the Conjunction of the Spheres, and for a thousand years, our way of life has proven superior to all others that came before us. For it is our destiny, by the grace of the Eternal Flame, to become the rulers of this land." Radovid spoke, his voice loud and clear. Guts narrowed his eyes at the drivel, not really paying it any mind as he focused on what was drawing the spirits. What did Radovid have that could bring them forward? Because the only thing that Guts could think of was the Brand.
"We have taken the reigns to the world. The two greatest empires are both human in nature, and it is now that we -- the Northern Kingdoms and the Nilfgaardian Empire -- must compete for supremacy. For while we are both human, our existences are inconsolable." He continued, sounding like he had rehearsed the speech a number of times. "We have embraced the Eternal Flame, whose light illuminates us and banished the dark and unnatural." And if on cue, a number of braziers that had been placed ignited, pushing back the shadows.
Guts smelled something and it wasn't just bullshit. The air had an oily hint to it. The Witch Hunter's were burning something and the effect on the spirits was like a cup of water poured on a flame. They began to dissipate, retreating back into the shadows where they could only curse at the living.
"The Nilfgaardian Empire has fallen to the same trap that we fell in. That we have only recently freed ourselves of," Radovid continued, his hands spreading out wide. "The dangers of magic and the supernatural. For a thousand years, we allowed ourselves to be complacent to sorceresses and sorcerers, believing in their otherworldly powers because it was convenient for us to do so. Because they offered the seductive power to bend the natural world to our will. And for our willful ignorance, we paid a terrible price. We allowed ourselves to be ruled by mages, your kings chosen by the Eternal Flame were but puppets and the Lodge of Sorcerers their puppeteers."
There was genuine hate in his voice, Guts realized. He was dressing it up and channeling it in some flowery language, but at the core of it was genuine hatred. His purge of the mages wasn't some religious crusade. It was a personal one.
"Nilfgaard believes that it can control its mages, who flock to their banner out of fear of Justice. But we in the North know the truth. It is the mages who control the Empire now," Radovid said, and Guts got the impression that he didn't really believe that. But the crowd sure did as they started to buy into the speech. "It is those mages, and those inhumans, who broker unnatural deals to rob us of our natural place at the top of the world. Who would damn us all for the sake of their own power and indulgences."
Guts narrowed his eyes, the rhetoric was something deeply familiar to him and his heart started to beat a few ticks faster.
Did Radovid have an Apostle? No… no… that didn't make sense. That wouldn't explain the spirits. No, what he had… he had a Sacrifice.
Guts started to move forward, Radovid's words falling on dead ears as he pushed through the crowd. "Today, I will show you what will be done to those that broker with such unnatural forces. To mages, to inhumans, and to desperate people that lost their way -- for all of them are a threat to our way of life, and they must be punished. Harshly. Or all may suffer the consequences," Radovid continued just as Guts reached the front of the crowd.
The Witch Hunter's had dragged three people onto the pyres, a bag of their heads. Two were resisting fiercely, thrashing and clicking as they were bound. The one directly behind Radovid, however, didn't. She wore a simple white garb, her skin a dark shade that stood in contrast to the pale skin of everyone else around her, and beyond the edge of the hood, Guts saw black hair.
It felt like he was moving in a dream. His head suddenly became light headed, his heart felt like it was about to leap through his chest. Everything sounded like it was happening far away or underwater. Because he saw it. Peaking out in a small opening of the gown was the Brand, barely a fraction of it, but enough that he knew what it was. And where it was.
Guts knew exactly who it would be even as the hoods were ripped off.
"Casca," Guts breathed, seeing her for the first time in two years. She almost looked the exact same as he remembered. Her black hair was messy and longer than he had ever seen it, but other than that… there was almost no change. The same bronzed skin tone, her narrow jawline with a stubborn chin and high cheekbones… her brown eyes that used to be so full of life and emotion were hollowed out and vacant.
"Guts, what are you doing-" Ciri hissed at him, grabbing hold of him but she cut herself off when she saw his expression. He didn't even know what it looked like but it felt like someone had punched him in the stomach, driving all of the wind from his lungs. It felt like he couldn't tell if this was a dream or a nightmare.
It was Casca. She was here. She was supposed to be with Grotto and the others. She was supposed to be safe in that cave until she… she put her mind back together. Until she healed. But she was directly in front of him, tied to a pyre, and some fucking king was ranting and raving about the supremecy of the human race and the dangers of magic.
Nothing else mattered in that moment. Not getting back to his Sphere, not Triss's plan, none of it.
"Help me save her," Guts voiced, his voice strangled by emotion. "Please," he said, coming the closest he had ever come to begging.
"Of course," Ciri agreed and there weren't words to describe his relief at that moment. They simply didn't exist and the ones that did couldn't hope to convey a fraction of his gratitude. Ciri could teleport Casca far from here. To somewhere she would be safe.
Guts turned around, and strode forward, heading directly toward Casca. Radovid seemed a bit puzzled by what was going on, pausing his speech for the briefest of seconds, letting Guts get a word in, "Move." He growled the order, uncaring of who he was speaking to.
"What-" Radovid started, anger in his tone even as his guards made to intervene, drawing steel to keep him at bay. But whatever he had left to say, no one would ever know. Guts snarled, his patience non-existent.
He lashed out with an iron fist, bashing the side of Radovid's skull with enough force that blood and shards of bone splattered on Caleb's face. Everything above the jaw was gone, torn through like a clever. Blood spurted up for a brief second, his heart not realizing that he was dead, and the force of the blow pushed his corpse out of the way.
Guts snarled, annoyed with the dead king and heading directly to Casca, whose gaze met his. In his heart, he had a desperate wish that he never let himself know. That when he returned to her, when they next met, that her mind would have healed. That maybe she could talk in something other than gibberish. Then… then he wouldn't feel so… alone. Because there would be someone else that could understand what happened that night -- the betrayal, the loss, the pain…
But those hopes were dashed the moment their eyes met. There was life in them but no awareness. She didn't recognize him. Casca didn't see him at all. "Pwehh?" She uttered as Guts approached -- not happy nor afraid, simply confused at what was going on.
"Get- Avenge the king-" Caleb started, going to rush him as he passed by. Guts was ready to kill him, but there was apparently no need. His hands went to his chest -- his heart specifically -- before he started to collapse in a heap directly on top of Radovid's corpse. Seems like he was wrong about who the assassination target was, Guts thought to himself, his gaze never leaving Casca, almost as if he was afraid that she would vanish the moment he took his eyes off of her. Caleb was the target. Triss poisoned the wine -- the timing was a little suspect, so the poison might have had some kind of trigger.
He didn't care. Not when he heard the sounds of utter chaos all around him, the people descending into a full blown panic. They were already on edge because of the spirits, and seeing the king die was less of a gentle nudge that sent them over the edge and more of a kick to the face. A royal guard screamed bloody murder, rushing him with a sword leveled at his chest. Guts reached out, his grip extending past the length of the blade to grab the man in full armor by the face and lifting him off of his feet. With a heave, Guts whipped him around, smashing the knight into another with enough force that bone shattered and the armor crumpled like parchment.
"Casca," Guts breathed, coming to a stop in front of her, wanting to reach out and touch her but he was afraid to. Afraid that she would collapse into sand or whatever illusion it could be. Was it Triss, maybe? Has she cast some kind of spell on him? Was she making him see her? It made more sense than Casca being here. He probably should have thought of that before he killed a king.
"Guts, you have to be-" Ciri brushed past him, going to Casca and cutting through the ropes that bound her to the pyre. "You have to be completely out of your mind! Do you have any idea what you just did?!" Ciri questioned him while Casca took a step forward, looking up at him. His heart leapt to his throat, pounding powerfully in his chest. He was more afraid in that moment than he ever had been of an apostle.
"Gweh?" Casca babbled, reaching up with a hand to cusp his cheek. Her hands were softer than Guts recalled, but it has been two years since she wielded a sword. The callouses hadn't completely vanished, but they were far less pronounced. "Gweh Faa?" She babbled, and more than anything in this world -- more than he wanted vengeance for his own soul -- he would give anything to understand what she was trying to tell him. To have a conversation with her. He'd happily go insane if it just meant that they could talk.
Guts reached up and cupped the hand that touched his cheek, something deep inside of him threatening to break at the small action. It just about killed him to remove her hand. "Ciri, get her out of here," He told her, swallowing a lump in his throat. The sounds of panic were everywhere now, the royal guard was taken out with ease, people were running around and trying to get away. Their fear and panic, in turn, drew more spirits to them. Some ended up getting possessed, leading them to attack others.
It was pure chaos, but it bought them a moment.
"What about you?" Ciri questioned, her expression puzzled.
"I need to pick up Dragonslayer," Guts told her, making her scoff.
"Guts, the entire northern Kingdoms are going to be after you for this. The Witch Hunter's are just going to be a start," Ciri told him, her gaze flickering down to Radovid while Casca reached down to pick up the crown in her hands before bringing it up to her mouth to chew on the gold and jewels, only to decide it wasn't as tasty as it looked.
Guts scowled, "Then I'll just kill them all." He returned and based on the expression that Ciri wore, she understood that wasn't an idle promise. He intended to do exactly that. The Witch Hunters knew about Casca, and that was reason enough for them all to die. He'd lure them all out and slaughter them to a man. "Get her out of here, Ciri. Don't worry about me."
"I- fine. Fine! But you better believe I expect an explanation after this, Guts," Ciri agreed before both her and Casca vanished in a flash of light. It made his heart clench as if it had been savagely squeezed, her departure happening so soon after their reunion. It was only as Guts turned away, ignoring the other two that were shouting to be saved as well that Guts' mind started to think about the situation.
It didn't make any sense, Guts decided as he pushed through the panicking crowd, his thoughts heavy as he ignored the chaos all around him. He just murdered a king, and he seemed to be the last thing on anyone's mind, the spirits plaguing them but they seemed to completely ignore Guts. It was an honest first for him. The one Witch Hunter that did try to stop him on his way was met with an iron fist to the top of the skull, smashing his head down into his collarbone and crushing the top of his ribcage.
Ciri had brought him here. He was at some 'Place of Power', she jumped Spheres, and somehow she picked him up for a ride along the way. Something about this Sphere had… undone the damage that he suffered at the hands of apostles. That's what he had assumed this entire time but Casca was here. She was here and that meant he was forced to throw those assumptions to the side.
He approached the wagon, seeing Dragonslayer sticking out of the back of it. Grabbing hold, Guts hefted the blade, pulling it from underneath the carriage, and letting it rest on his shoulder as he was forced to consider a very dangerous question.
It seemed impossible to believe that Casca had just so happened to also be in a place of power. Maybe that was the cave. Maybe not. But for Ciri to pick them both up on accident? When they were hundreds of miles apart? No. That was a big stretch in logic and Guts didn't believe it for a second.
Meaning that if Ciri hadn't brought him and Casca here…
Then who did?
Snazzy Snake
Devouring Swarm
Wait so it is really casca? I thought Guts was having a PTSD induced flashback and mistaking someone else for her.
The Past, Present, and Future
- Location
- USA
"I don't suppose you'll tell me who you are?" Ciri questioned, looking at the raven haired woman, who seemed absolutely delighted at the sudden change of scenery. The fancy villa was gone, replaced with a rooftop in the heart of Novigrad, not far off from where Triss was staying. Which was not exactly ideal, because spirits like those that once clung to Guts now swirled around her. Already, Ciri heard the sounds of panicked screaming coming from below as the spirits emerged, wreaking havoc. Perhaps it wasn't the best place to take her, but Triss had practically vanished in the confusion and her Brand needed to be taken care of.
"Dewahh! Fashsha!" The woman babbled incoherently, throwing her hands out wide to the sky with a wide joyful smile. Well, at least one of them was happy with how this turned out.
"Guts called you… Casca?" Ciri ventured, having heard him whisper the name. In response, Casca looked at her.
"Wahh?" Casca answered, so that was probably her name. Probably. This was… what was wrong with her? A curse? Was it some side effects of the Brand? Casca was a woman in body, but how she acted… Ciri would compare her to a five year old, but a five year old knew how to communicate. Her musings were cut short when an alarm bell started to ring, the sound echoing across Novigrad but t almost drowned out by the panic. Right. She could get her answers from Guts, because she wouldn't be getting any from Casca from the looks of it.
"Let's get going, Casca. Can you follow me? Hold my hand?" Ciri tried, and Casca obediently took her hand. Ciri wished that she was wearing her own clothing as they approached the edge of the building they stood on. Dresses didn't make mobility easy. After watching a man run away from a spectral skull, she made a split second decision and pulled up on the power that lay within her blood. Space rippled, scrunching up like a piece of cloth, and with a single step, they were within the alley instead of overlooking it from three floors up.
"Weah!" Casca cheered, excited for the use of her power. Ciri flashed her a small smile as she ripped her skirt, finally allowing for some mobility. If at the cost of revealing an immodest amount of thigh.
"Feels good to use it freely," Ciri admitted, taking Casca's hand and leading her down the alley. Ever since she learned about what she could do, she lived in a perpetual state of fear because of those that would hunt her for it. Namely, the Wild Hunt. She never dared to use her power so freely before, using it only in flashes and usually to hide. However, after seeing Guts absolutely thrash the Hunt to the point they outright ran away? That suddenly made them seem far less daunting than they had been. She wasn't foolish enough to think that they were weak. Just that so long as she was with Guts, she could afford to use her power.
Reaching the end of the alley, Ciri peeked out into the street to see that it was nothing less than pure chaos. People ran out into the streets, fleeing the spirits that chased them. The shadows writhed, churning and twisting into shapes that almost seemed human. All the while, they whispered hatred for the living. Mothers picked up their children and fled the buildings they were in, only to find more on the dirt roads. Men and women alike tried to swat away the spirits, lighting torches and waving them about as they screamed in defiance and fear. Some swung with such abandon that they hit each other, or trampled each other underfoot.
Already, Ciri could see the flickering of flames as a building started to catch fire. It was pure chaos. Her heart clenched, knowing that this was her fault for the most part. But she didn't have much of a choice -- she needed to stay near Triss and Guts. Going too far away was a danger to everyone, especially if the Wild Hunt did decide to pounce on the opportunity. Instead, she focused on the fact that the chaos was a perfect cover for them as she urged Casca forward, dragging her to behind her towards Triss's home.
Teleporting straight to Triss's home was far too dangerous. It would leave a trail right to her. And after tonight, there were undoubtedly going to be people looking for a trail to follow. Gripping Casca's hand tightly, she marched forward, keeping check of everything around her. True to form, the chaos was spreading well outside of the effective range of Casca's Brand. People fed off of the hysteria, claiming to see demons in the shadows before they were there, or they simply panicked because they saw other people panicking.
All of Novigrad would be in the throes of absolute panic until the morning sun came, even without the spirits. Ciri couldn't imagine that learning Radovid was dead would help matters much. Spotting the building, Ciri crossed the street and banged a hand on the door. The door opened for her, but not to be welcomed. Instead, the kind butler man roughly shoved her away, nearly toppling her, as he fled whatever he had seen inside. The lobby was in a terrible state, but it mattered little. Heading up the stairs, she pushed the door open and was greeted with the sound of static.
Triss stood in a circle, lightning crackling around her hands, her face completely bloodless. It took a few seconds for Triss to realize that it was them. "Ciri?! Thats- what is happening?!" She exclaimed, her eyes darting between her and Casca, who in a complete lack of fear, walked toward Triss and touched the glowing sigil beneath her, and pouted that there wasn't any glowing residue on her finger.
"It's the Brand! We need to suppress it! Like you did with Guts! It won't stop until morning if we don't," Ciri said, grabbing the ingredients and pooling them together. However, Triss would need to mix some of the ingredients together -- they needed magic to get the correct effects. Triss lingered within the circle, reluctant to leave it, but she found her courage.
"Radovid is dead," Triss muttered to herself as she mixed the ingredients together, flinching at every spirit that came too close. "That changes everything, Ciri. Nilfgaard has won. The Northern Kingdoms are going to fall. Kovir can't hope to stand against Nilfgaard alone, even if I bring every single mage under the sun to them. It might take a hundred years, but… Nilfgaard has won. Because of your friend." There was a bitter edge in her voice and Ciri couldn't deny the accusation.
Radovid was all that was holding the Northern Kingdoms together. With his death, with Oxenfurt under siege… the rest of the war was but a formality. Ciri didn't know if that was a good thing or not. Nilfgaard was bad, but at the very least, they didn't butcher innocent mages and non-humans for the sake of killing them. Or spout pro-human propaganda as they were about to burn people alive. All the same, Ciri couldn't deny that Guts had dashed Triss's plans upon the rocks.
"I'm… I'm sorry," Ciri apologized for him because she knew that Guts sure wouldn't do it.
"Why?" Triss stressed, glancing over her shoulder at Casca, who was licking the floor where it glowed. "What is she to him for him to kill a king over her? He just walked right up to him and swung, Ciri."
"Someone important," Ciri replied, not knowing any more than that. Guts… Ciri knew how to handle Guts. Honestly, he was like a more growly Geralt. Geralt was plenty growly, but he usually voiced his annoyance with dry sarcasm. Guts voiced it with glares and growls. But, in that moment -- when Casca placed her hand upon his face and Guts cupped it…
Fragile. The very idea that that word could have applied to Guts -- who beat a fully armored knight to death with another fully armored knight, before throwing him like a child might skip a rock… Guts had seemed so fragile in that moment. Like he was a piece of glass that already had a dangerous crack in it and the slightest touch might shatter him. It was like looking at a completely different person. "And I need to go find him. Preferably before he kills another king."
"He's not with you? Where did he go?" Triss questioned, sounding like she was genuinely worried that he might do exactly that.
"He said he was going to kill all the Witch Hunters… so, I'm betting that he is at their headquarters," Ciri told her, making Triss close her eyes for a second. She could practically see the headache that she was giving Triss.
"Maybe wait until he's done, then," Triss remarked and they shared a small smile before Ciri stepped back. Glancing at Casca, Ciri found her flipping through a book, looking at the pictures. As if sending her gaze, Casca looked up.
"Byweh," Casca offered a small wave that Ciri returned. She had no idea who Casca was to Guts but one thing was clear -- she mattered to him more than life itself.
Calling upon the power in her blood, Ciri teleported to the Witch Hunter headquarters, landing lightly on a rampart to the walls surrounding it. She felt heat on her face and stared in shock when she realized that it was already burning. Guts… Guts sure worked fast. She had to give him that. In the courtyard were bodies, all of them Witch Hunters and in a minimum of two pieces. Blood ran in rivers over the cobblestone, reaching the dirt road and turning it into mud. Swallowing thickly, Ciri teleported again to a house across the street, looking for a vantage. What she saw was a trail of death.
Guts had been deadly serious about killing all of the Witch Hunters. The spirits drew all of them to this area and that made it easy for Guts to find them. However, what made it easy for Ciri to find Guts was a torso. One that was launched up, cleaved through the ribcage, and sent flying over a three story building before plopping onto the roof. Ciri teleported again, landing on the ledge and her stomach clenched at the sight.
The Witch Hunter's gathered towards Guts. He was the one killing them, after all. Word spread quickly and in the streets were nothing but Witch Hunters. There were dozens of them. All of them pressing forward to overwhelm Guts with sheer weight of numbers, probably because the ones at the back couldn't see what Guts was doing to them. They were just pushing meat into the grinder.
Ciri never had any doubts about Guts' prowess. He always seemed monstrously strong. But, perhaps out of pride, there had been a small part of her that thought she could beat him. Maybe not in a straight fight, but she could win. That thought died a dog's death as she watched Guts cleave through six men, his titan of a sword tearing through them in a spray of blood with such force that their body parts slammed into other Witch Hunters or battered at the walls of buildings. Blood rained down upon the Witch Hunters in fat drops in such volume that Ciri saw some looking up at the sky.
It was an incredible display of raw power, but it wasn't what left her stupefied, her jaw slack with awe. No sooner than the swing was finished, Guts swung again, cleaving through another six with the back swing. Another swing killed seven. Terrifying, but still not why she couldn't tear her eyes away. What made Guts so dangerous wasn't his raw power, Ciri realized. It was his speed.
Because all three swings took the time it would take her to swing her sword once. More than a dozen men, dead in the span of a breath. Ciri blinked and in that time another five men were dead, cut in half by his giant slab of metal. There was no restraint to be found in Guts -- he fought nothing like he did before. His expression was one of fury and he slaughtered his way through the Witch Hunters, leaving blood soaked mud and dismembered corpses in his wake. Blood splashed out in arcs, painting the buildings as if an artist had taken a brush to them, marking them with strokes of red.
It was horrifying. Ciri felt her stomach clench at the extreme violence but was unable to look away. It was inhuman. If she wasn't watching it happen, then she'd claim that it was impossible. She couldn't even think to help, frozen where she stood as she watched Guts just… butcher the Witch Hunters, carving through them like a knife through cake.
"Mwahahahah! MWAHAHAHAHA!" Ciri heard a familiar laugh echo out, a spec of light darted between the buildings. "It is I, Evil Puck, and it is me who has summoned the spirits for my nefarious and diabolical plot! None can stop me! MWAHAHAHAHA!" Puck shouted at the top of his lungs, and as he rounded the corner, Ciri saw that he had dozens more Witch Hunters on his tail. Her body tensed, ready to jump into the fray, but Puck continued. "Oh No! It is my arch enemy -- Guts! Witch Hunters! Kill that man for it is I, Evil Puck, who you answer to!" He exclaimed, dramatically pointing at Guts.
His acting skills would drive a real actor to tears. But he didn't need to be a good actor. The Witch Hunters that followed him pressed forward, giving chase. Those at the front might have been puzzled at why there was already a crowd of Witch Hunters, but those from the back pressed them forward. If there was any communication happening, then it didn't get a chance to produce results. Guts tore through them like they weren't even there. And even if the Witch Hunters did understand what they were being led into, they found themselves far more concerned with Guts.
The bad acting wasn't for the Witch Hunters. It was for everyone else that was listening.
"My long awaited scheme has come to fruition! First, I arrived in Oxenfurt for nefarious purposes and I was just barely thwarted by you, Guts! And that meddlesome girl!" He was monologuing. Ciri found her face in her hands, shame burning through her as Puck shamelessly lied. "You might have even killed that King guy! Who was but a pawn for none other than I! He obeyed me in everything! He was but my puppet! So, it's really bad for me and really good for the kingdoms that you killed that guy!" Every word was causing her physical pain. There was no way that this was going to work.
"And just as the King was my puppet, the Witch Hunters were his! So, they obey me! I had them kill inhumans because… uh… inhumans are really good at interfering with my nefarious plots. So killing them -- especially with fire -- is actually helping me! The guy that is plaguing your city with evil spirits and is plotting world domination so I can rule over the world with a mighty iron fist and reign of terror! That you won't enjoy! I'll up everyone's taxes! I'll include a hundred percent sales tax on everything! There won't be any drinking allowed! Or card games. Or dice! Or anything that you humans enjoy! So, remember -- killing inhumans directly helps me and my reign of terror."
Make it stop. Someone. Someone make it stop. Puck's heart was in the right place but…
When Ciri unclenched her eyes and unburied her face, the last of the Witch hunters were fleeing for their lives. Guts buried his blade into a thick mud before slapping the crossbow into his prosthetic, grabbing the cranky and with each turn of it an arrow shot out and punched through the fleeing Witch Hunters. Not a single one of them escaped, leaving the streets strewn with corpses; it was like a scene right out of hell. Ciri saw Guts glanced at Puck, who was feigning terror.
"Oh no! All of my once removed pawns have been defeated!" Despite the innocent words, Ciri's blood turned to ice.
Did… did Guts… really kill all of the Witch Hunters in Novigrad? In the span of an hour? How many did they number? How many did he kill? She couldn't even tell, Ciri realized. They were in too many pieces.
"Very well! Then I have no other choice but to engage you in one on one combat! En guard!" Puck shouted, glowing brightly, practically illuminating the street to reveal the extent of the butchery. "RAHHHHH-oof!" Puck screamed a warcry, wielding his burdock like a lance before lunging directly at Guts. Whose expression of fury became one of supreme annoyance and reluctant acceptance, before he reached out a hand and flicked Puck away when he neared. Puck dramatically fell into the blood soaked mud, using his burdock to help him rise to his feet. "Not yet! I'm not… done… yet..!"
Another dramatic charge was met with the same result. "Oof!" Puck exclaimed, slamming back into the mud with a small splash. "I… have been defeated! Ugh! Ahhh! I am dying! I… can see… my entire life flashing before my eyes! Ugh! Uuuuuggghhhh! I'm dying! I'm really dying! It hurts! Everything feels so cold! I'm…. Ugh… uggghhhhh-" Puck continued to make dying sounds, managing to have the single most dramatic death in history while also sounding like a drowning cat. Then, in an act of almost divine timing…
The spirits began to fade away. Triss had applied the seal onto Casca.
"Bleugh!" Puck dramatically died, his hands out wide, sticking out his tongue, and he held his breath. Guts looked down at Puck, who Ciri then saw crack open an eye because he could probably feel Guts' desire to step on him. However, in an act of incredible restraint, Guts just sighed and picked Puck up before depositing his 'corpse' into Puck's napping pouch.
The entire scene was stupid. So stupid that Ciri wasn't even sure what she just witnessed other than the fact she had emotional whiplash. And… maybe… just so stupid that it actually worked.
"He… he killed him! He killed the monster! He saved the city! He saved Novigrad!" Ciri heard a man shout out, pure relief in his tone. His cry of relief was joined by others who witnessed the slaughter. And Ciri was just shaking her head. She didn't agree with the idea that all peasants were stupid and easily fooled.
But sometimes… sometimes she really wondered.
…
"It'll trick the common folk, but even if you did 'kill' Puck, the nobility are going to want your head. You killed a king, Guts," Ciri admonished him as they made their way back to Triss'. "You've doomed the Northern Kingdoms."
"I don't care," Guts dismissed, his voice flat. Coming from anyone else, she might think that was just bluster. Now? Now she saw that Guts genuinely didn't care. He completely changed the course of history, the fate of the world… and he didn't care. Because, to him, Radovid had just been another man in his way. And as much as she would like to think that little display would be enough to prevent any consequences, Ciri knew better.
Like it or not, Guts just became the most wanted man in the north. His only real hope to escape was for her to take him back to his Sphere. Or going to her father because he'd probably give Guts a medal for winning his war for him. Shaking her head of the thoughts, she pushed the door open to see Triss, who had her arms angrily crossed over her chest. She glowered at Guts as he entered, but if he noticed, he didn't pay it any mind.
His gaze scanned for Casca, his jaw clenching when he didn't see her. Triss saw it and decided to speak up, "She's asleep. I gave her a tonic -- she was trying to taste my ingredients and most of them would have killed her," Triss informed and a tension eased out of Guts. Ciri could see it -- like he had been holding a breath for as long as she had known him and finally let it go.
"Her Brand is suppressed?" He asked, earning a curt nod from Triss. "Thank you," he said, and Triss seemed as put off as Ciri felt when he thanked her. "Can… I see her?" He questioned and Ciri couldn't help but marvel at the hesitation in his tone. It was almost like he was a completely different person. Well, maybe not completely different. But the Guts she was used to dealing with was undeniably different than the one she saw when Casca was involved.
Triss offered a small nod, "You can. She's resting in the guest lounge," she said with a sigh, gesturing to the door. The anger bled out of Triss as Guts walked to the door, opening it with a small pause. He hadn't escaped a chewing out by Triss, but Triss saw it as much as Ciri did. It wasn't the time to get angry over what had been done. Past Guts, Ciri saw a lavish room with Casca laying underneath a heavy duvet pulled up to her chin.
Puck chose to poke his head out of the pouch as Ciri closed the door. Guts hovered over Casca for a long few seconds, just staring at her like he thought she wasn't real. Then with a heaving sigh, he rested his blade against the wall and sat heavily in a chair next to her bed. Poor Triss -- she'd likely have to throw the chair out with the amount of blood that was smeared into it.
Ciri leaned against a wall, her gaze lingering on Casca for a moment before she chose to break the silence. "I don't want to pry, Guts. Your history is your history, but… who is she?" Ciri decided to ask and Guts didn't look at her, nor at Puck when he floated out of the pouch to plop into the bed next to Casca, apparently worn out by his antics.
Guts absentmindedly rubbed his prosthetic arm for a moment, pausing a long time before he answered. "She's from my Sphere," he told her, making Ciri go still. That- "I don't think you're the reason why we're here. I can't claim to know how magic works, but Casca and I were half a continent apart. I don't know what brought us here, but I don't think it was you." He answered her unspoken question, his voice heavy and melancholic.
Okay. He wasn't backing out of that promise for answers. "And has she always…?" Ciri trailed off, not sure how to phrase it. But Guts understood what she meant.
She saw his expression darken, closing his eyes for a few seconds as if he had to muster the will to answer the question. "No. She… she used to be different," he told her before Ciri heard the bitterest chuckle escape him. It was a haunting sound. "You and Casca would have gotten along. Maybe too well. She was a warrior -- used to drive her up the wall whenever someone made a comment about her fighting. She usually shoved those words down their throats with some of their teeth for good measure. She was a leader too. A damn good one."
Was.
"Was she cursed?" Ciri questioned, looking at the sleeping woman. As much as she wanted to see it, Ciri couldn't. Casca was more like a child than not, only able to babble incoherently -- there wasn't any sign of a warrior or a leader. "Because I can help-" Ciri started, only for Guts to shake his head.
"No. It's not a curse. It's… something else," Guts finished lamely and she could see him swallow his words.
He really was stubborn. "Guts, I want to help. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but I can't help you or her unless you tell me something," she told him, her lips thinning and she saw his guard rise. He worked his jaw, his one hand clenching into a fist as he seemed to stare through Casca… only to sigh a moment later.
"You're right. You've… you deserve to know," Guts admitted. "Casca and I were part of a mercenary group called the Band of the Hawk. I came in later than Casca. She was already second in command by the time I joined up. She hated me something fierce back then. Couldn't stand the sight of me. Calling me a rabid dog was probably the most polite thing she ever said about me," Guts told her, a sad edge in his voice. But, more than anything else, there was exhaustion in his voice. Guts sounded tired. More tired than he did after a week of no sleep. "I only joined up because I lost a duel. She was probably right about me back then. Didn't want to join, hated everyone, but I was too stubborn to leave. And pissing her off was pretty fun."
"We were led by a… man named Griffith. He-..." Guts worked his jaw, his expression tightening. "He founded the Band of the Hawk during the hundred year war. He was the one that beat me. I absolutely hated him at first, but Griffith… there was just something about him that made him impossible to hate. I used to look down on everyone in the Band of the Hawk for worshiping the ground that he walked on, but I ended up not being any different. Griffith was charismatic. I'm sure there's some better word to describe him, but that's the only one I know. Griffith made you feel invincible. He would talk and you would want to listen. He would want something… and you would want him to have it," Guts uttered the words in a grave tone, his head starting to hang low.
A hundred year war? She couldn't even imagine that. And this Griffith sounded like a character alright, because she couldn't see Guts thinking that highly of anyone. However, based on how he spoke of him… there may be a reason for that.
"We fought together for years. I don't really know how many. Griffith had a plan, though. He was ambitious. He wanted a kingdom -- seducing the princess, assassinating rivals, and so on. Blue blood stuff. I helped him with it as much as I could. Because he was my friend. My best friend. As far as I was concerned, the sun rose and set on his shoulders. We fought in the war for some king -- I don't even know his name. Never bothered to learn it. We got knighted by him, though. That was when I decided to leave. I wanted to better myself. I wanted to stand before Griffith as his equal."
This story… it was a terrifying thing that she asked about Casca and he began to tell her of Griffith.
"He was upset. More than I expected him to be. Tried to kill me to stop me from leaving. He didn't manage it, and he ended up getting caught fucking the princess," Guts told her, his voice growing heavier with every word he uttered. With his real hand, he massaged his eyes and sank deeper into the chair. "That's what tipped everything over. The king was pissed that his daughter was despoiled so he captured Griffith and branded the Band of the Hawk traitors. Casca managed to save some of them, broke out of a trap that was laid for them… and after that, the Band of the Hawk spent the next year plotting to break Griffith out of prison. Because as much as I admired Griffith, Casca loved him."
Ciri stiffened -- something that Guts didn't fail to notice. "I don't know what Casca and I are. We've been together… but one of the very last things she told me was that I should leave the Band of the Hawk after we rescued Griffith. Because during that year, Griffith had been tortured. A lot. He was more scars than skin, bone thin, his limbs were useless and his tongue was cut out." That was… excessive. "We got him out. Broke into the dungeon, made our escape… and that's… when it happened."
Guts leaned forward, almost as if he were curling into himself, resting his head in a palm as a cold sweat started to build upon his skin. Looking at him in that moment, Ciri regretted it. She regretted asking. "Griffith used to have a lucky charm. It's called a behelit… ugly little thing. Shaped like an egg with a face on it, but it was distorted. It was alive too" Guts said, his expression growing darker. "After we rescued him, Griffith… I think he tried to kill himself. Stole a wagon, crashed it, and tried to impale his throat on a piece of wood but didn't have the strength to do even that. But what he found was his lucky charm."
"What is it?" Ciri questioned, speaking for the first time, but Guts shook his head.
"I don't really know. I just know that they act as a summons of sorts. For… the Godhand," Guts spoke their name like a curse, the cold sweat growing worse. The hate in his voice was indescribable. "Devils masquerading as angels. They offer power to humans in exchange for their souls and humanity, turning them into apostles."
She swallowed, "And that's what they did with Griffith?" She ventured, trying to spare him from having to say it.
Instead, Guts laughed. It was a truly, deeply, wretched sound. "No. It was much worse than that. They welcomed him among them, and the price was us. The Brand, Ciri? It's a mark of sacrifice. We were the toll for his ascension. The world… it changed. It vanished. Or we were taken there- I don't know. The Eclipse… it was a world filled with apostles and they feasted upon us. Our souls laying the foundation for Griffith's power, damning every one of us to an eternity in hell, of mindless maddening suffering… It… I…" Guts trailed off, taking in deep and even breaths.
That sounded like nothing she had ever heard before. She tried to frame it with what she knew - Dijinn, or other creatures that offered power for something. But nothing came close. Guts wasn't painting the full picture, leaving large details out, but he didn't need to say everything. Ciri could see it -- the cold sweat, sitting like he had an incredible burden on his shoulders… Guts was scared. Haunted. And that conveyed what happened during this Eclipse better than words could ever hope to.
"Casca and I were the only ones to make it out. Everyone else was butchered and betrayed. I… I lost my arm there. And an eye. Casca… she went insane from the horrors there. Her mind just… broke. And sometimes I think I went insane too," Guts admitted, the words slipping past his lips almost of their own will because he grimaced as soon as he uttered them. "I left her with some friends -- the man who forged Dragonslayer and the only other member of the Band of the Hawk that was still alive because they weren't there. After that, I traveled the world, hunting apostles. Trying to get back to Griffith. To kill him for what he did to us." He growled the words out, a snarl in his voice.
The hate was so potent that in her sleep, Casca heard it and mumbled something. That seemed to snap Guts out of it. His expression softened and more than anything else, he just seemed tired. "I don't know if anything can be done, Ciri. Before we came here, I was missing an eye. My hearing was gone in one of my ears. I had a lot more scars and injuries. But, all of them were at an apostle's hands. Casca's madness… it was caused because of Griffith, but it hasn't been healed. Not like my injuries were. I don't think there is anything that can be done."
She shouldn't. Hope was a dangerous thing, and nothing was deadlier than false hope. Ciri knew the dangers and the risks and if either Geralt or Yennefer were here, they'd smack the idea right out of her head.
All the same, Ciri spoke. Because what Guts needed right now, more than anything… was hope.
"That might not be entirely true. Have you ever heard of a Djinn?"
"Dewahh! Fashsha!" The woman babbled incoherently, throwing her hands out wide to the sky with a wide joyful smile. Well, at least one of them was happy with how this turned out.
"Guts called you… Casca?" Ciri ventured, having heard him whisper the name. In response, Casca looked at her.
"Wahh?" Casca answered, so that was probably her name. Probably. This was… what was wrong with her? A curse? Was it some side effects of the Brand? Casca was a woman in body, but how she acted… Ciri would compare her to a five year old, but a five year old knew how to communicate. Her musings were cut short when an alarm bell started to ring, the sound echoing across Novigrad but t almost drowned out by the panic. Right. She could get her answers from Guts, because she wouldn't be getting any from Casca from the looks of it.
"Let's get going, Casca. Can you follow me? Hold my hand?" Ciri tried, and Casca obediently took her hand. Ciri wished that she was wearing her own clothing as they approached the edge of the building they stood on. Dresses didn't make mobility easy. After watching a man run away from a spectral skull, she made a split second decision and pulled up on the power that lay within her blood. Space rippled, scrunching up like a piece of cloth, and with a single step, they were within the alley instead of overlooking it from three floors up.
"Weah!" Casca cheered, excited for the use of her power. Ciri flashed her a small smile as she ripped her skirt, finally allowing for some mobility. If at the cost of revealing an immodest amount of thigh.
"Feels good to use it freely," Ciri admitted, taking Casca's hand and leading her down the alley. Ever since she learned about what she could do, she lived in a perpetual state of fear because of those that would hunt her for it. Namely, the Wild Hunt. She never dared to use her power so freely before, using it only in flashes and usually to hide. However, after seeing Guts absolutely thrash the Hunt to the point they outright ran away? That suddenly made them seem far less daunting than they had been. She wasn't foolish enough to think that they were weak. Just that so long as she was with Guts, she could afford to use her power.
Reaching the end of the alley, Ciri peeked out into the street to see that it was nothing less than pure chaos. People ran out into the streets, fleeing the spirits that chased them. The shadows writhed, churning and twisting into shapes that almost seemed human. All the while, they whispered hatred for the living. Mothers picked up their children and fled the buildings they were in, only to find more on the dirt roads. Men and women alike tried to swat away the spirits, lighting torches and waving them about as they screamed in defiance and fear. Some swung with such abandon that they hit each other, or trampled each other underfoot.
Already, Ciri could see the flickering of flames as a building started to catch fire. It was pure chaos. Her heart clenched, knowing that this was her fault for the most part. But she didn't have much of a choice -- she needed to stay near Triss and Guts. Going too far away was a danger to everyone, especially if the Wild Hunt did decide to pounce on the opportunity. Instead, she focused on the fact that the chaos was a perfect cover for them as she urged Casca forward, dragging her to behind her towards Triss's home.
Teleporting straight to Triss's home was far too dangerous. It would leave a trail right to her. And after tonight, there were undoubtedly going to be people looking for a trail to follow. Gripping Casca's hand tightly, she marched forward, keeping check of everything around her. True to form, the chaos was spreading well outside of the effective range of Casca's Brand. People fed off of the hysteria, claiming to see demons in the shadows before they were there, or they simply panicked because they saw other people panicking.
All of Novigrad would be in the throes of absolute panic until the morning sun came, even without the spirits. Ciri couldn't imagine that learning Radovid was dead would help matters much. Spotting the building, Ciri crossed the street and banged a hand on the door. The door opened for her, but not to be welcomed. Instead, the kind butler man roughly shoved her away, nearly toppling her, as he fled whatever he had seen inside. The lobby was in a terrible state, but it mattered little. Heading up the stairs, she pushed the door open and was greeted with the sound of static.
Triss stood in a circle, lightning crackling around her hands, her face completely bloodless. It took a few seconds for Triss to realize that it was them. "Ciri?! Thats- what is happening?!" She exclaimed, her eyes darting between her and Casca, who in a complete lack of fear, walked toward Triss and touched the glowing sigil beneath her, and pouted that there wasn't any glowing residue on her finger.
"It's the Brand! We need to suppress it! Like you did with Guts! It won't stop until morning if we don't," Ciri said, grabbing the ingredients and pooling them together. However, Triss would need to mix some of the ingredients together -- they needed magic to get the correct effects. Triss lingered within the circle, reluctant to leave it, but she found her courage.
"Radovid is dead," Triss muttered to herself as she mixed the ingredients together, flinching at every spirit that came too close. "That changes everything, Ciri. Nilfgaard has won. The Northern Kingdoms are going to fall. Kovir can't hope to stand against Nilfgaard alone, even if I bring every single mage under the sun to them. It might take a hundred years, but… Nilfgaard has won. Because of your friend." There was a bitter edge in her voice and Ciri couldn't deny the accusation.
Radovid was all that was holding the Northern Kingdoms together. With his death, with Oxenfurt under siege… the rest of the war was but a formality. Ciri didn't know if that was a good thing or not. Nilfgaard was bad, but at the very least, they didn't butcher innocent mages and non-humans for the sake of killing them. Or spout pro-human propaganda as they were about to burn people alive. All the same, Ciri couldn't deny that Guts had dashed Triss's plans upon the rocks.
"I'm… I'm sorry," Ciri apologized for him because she knew that Guts sure wouldn't do it.
"Why?" Triss stressed, glancing over her shoulder at Casca, who was licking the floor where it glowed. "What is she to him for him to kill a king over her? He just walked right up to him and swung, Ciri."
"Someone important," Ciri replied, not knowing any more than that. Guts… Ciri knew how to handle Guts. Honestly, he was like a more growly Geralt. Geralt was plenty growly, but he usually voiced his annoyance with dry sarcasm. Guts voiced it with glares and growls. But, in that moment -- when Casca placed her hand upon his face and Guts cupped it…
Fragile. The very idea that that word could have applied to Guts -- who beat a fully armored knight to death with another fully armored knight, before throwing him like a child might skip a rock… Guts had seemed so fragile in that moment. Like he was a piece of glass that already had a dangerous crack in it and the slightest touch might shatter him. It was like looking at a completely different person. "And I need to go find him. Preferably before he kills another king."
"He's not with you? Where did he go?" Triss questioned, sounding like she was genuinely worried that he might do exactly that.
"He said he was going to kill all the Witch Hunters… so, I'm betting that he is at their headquarters," Ciri told her, making Triss close her eyes for a second. She could practically see the headache that she was giving Triss.
"Maybe wait until he's done, then," Triss remarked and they shared a small smile before Ciri stepped back. Glancing at Casca, Ciri found her flipping through a book, looking at the pictures. As if sending her gaze, Casca looked up.
"Byweh," Casca offered a small wave that Ciri returned. She had no idea who Casca was to Guts but one thing was clear -- she mattered to him more than life itself.
Calling upon the power in her blood, Ciri teleported to the Witch Hunter headquarters, landing lightly on a rampart to the walls surrounding it. She felt heat on her face and stared in shock when she realized that it was already burning. Guts… Guts sure worked fast. She had to give him that. In the courtyard were bodies, all of them Witch Hunters and in a minimum of two pieces. Blood ran in rivers over the cobblestone, reaching the dirt road and turning it into mud. Swallowing thickly, Ciri teleported again to a house across the street, looking for a vantage. What she saw was a trail of death.
Guts had been deadly serious about killing all of the Witch Hunters. The spirits drew all of them to this area and that made it easy for Guts to find them. However, what made it easy for Ciri to find Guts was a torso. One that was launched up, cleaved through the ribcage, and sent flying over a three story building before plopping onto the roof. Ciri teleported again, landing on the ledge and her stomach clenched at the sight.
The Witch Hunter's gathered towards Guts. He was the one killing them, after all. Word spread quickly and in the streets were nothing but Witch Hunters. There were dozens of them. All of them pressing forward to overwhelm Guts with sheer weight of numbers, probably because the ones at the back couldn't see what Guts was doing to them. They were just pushing meat into the grinder.
Ciri never had any doubts about Guts' prowess. He always seemed monstrously strong. But, perhaps out of pride, there had been a small part of her that thought she could beat him. Maybe not in a straight fight, but she could win. That thought died a dog's death as she watched Guts cleave through six men, his titan of a sword tearing through them in a spray of blood with such force that their body parts slammed into other Witch Hunters or battered at the walls of buildings. Blood rained down upon the Witch Hunters in fat drops in such volume that Ciri saw some looking up at the sky.
It was an incredible display of raw power, but it wasn't what left her stupefied, her jaw slack with awe. No sooner than the swing was finished, Guts swung again, cleaving through another six with the back swing. Another swing killed seven. Terrifying, but still not why she couldn't tear her eyes away. What made Guts so dangerous wasn't his raw power, Ciri realized. It was his speed.
Because all three swings took the time it would take her to swing her sword once. More than a dozen men, dead in the span of a breath. Ciri blinked and in that time another five men were dead, cut in half by his giant slab of metal. There was no restraint to be found in Guts -- he fought nothing like he did before. His expression was one of fury and he slaughtered his way through the Witch Hunters, leaving blood soaked mud and dismembered corpses in his wake. Blood splashed out in arcs, painting the buildings as if an artist had taken a brush to them, marking them with strokes of red.
It was horrifying. Ciri felt her stomach clench at the extreme violence but was unable to look away. It was inhuman. If she wasn't watching it happen, then she'd claim that it was impossible. She couldn't even think to help, frozen where she stood as she watched Guts just… butcher the Witch Hunters, carving through them like a knife through cake.
"Mwahahahah! MWAHAHAHAHA!" Ciri heard a familiar laugh echo out, a spec of light darted between the buildings. "It is I, Evil Puck, and it is me who has summoned the spirits for my nefarious and diabolical plot! None can stop me! MWAHAHAHAHA!" Puck shouted at the top of his lungs, and as he rounded the corner, Ciri saw that he had dozens more Witch Hunters on his tail. Her body tensed, ready to jump into the fray, but Puck continued. "Oh No! It is my arch enemy -- Guts! Witch Hunters! Kill that man for it is I, Evil Puck, who you answer to!" He exclaimed, dramatically pointing at Guts.
His acting skills would drive a real actor to tears. But he didn't need to be a good actor. The Witch Hunters that followed him pressed forward, giving chase. Those at the front might have been puzzled at why there was already a crowd of Witch Hunters, but those from the back pressed them forward. If there was any communication happening, then it didn't get a chance to produce results. Guts tore through them like they weren't even there. And even if the Witch Hunters did understand what they were being led into, they found themselves far more concerned with Guts.
The bad acting wasn't for the Witch Hunters. It was for everyone else that was listening.
"My long awaited scheme has come to fruition! First, I arrived in Oxenfurt for nefarious purposes and I was just barely thwarted by you, Guts! And that meddlesome girl!" He was monologuing. Ciri found her face in her hands, shame burning through her as Puck shamelessly lied. "You might have even killed that King guy! Who was but a pawn for none other than I! He obeyed me in everything! He was but my puppet! So, it's really bad for me and really good for the kingdoms that you killed that guy!" Every word was causing her physical pain. There was no way that this was going to work.
"And just as the King was my puppet, the Witch Hunters were his! So, they obey me! I had them kill inhumans because… uh… inhumans are really good at interfering with my nefarious plots. So killing them -- especially with fire -- is actually helping me! The guy that is plaguing your city with evil spirits and is plotting world domination so I can rule over the world with a mighty iron fist and reign of terror! That you won't enjoy! I'll up everyone's taxes! I'll include a hundred percent sales tax on everything! There won't be any drinking allowed! Or card games. Or dice! Or anything that you humans enjoy! So, remember -- killing inhumans directly helps me and my reign of terror."
Make it stop. Someone. Someone make it stop. Puck's heart was in the right place but…
When Ciri unclenched her eyes and unburied her face, the last of the Witch hunters were fleeing for their lives. Guts buried his blade into a thick mud before slapping the crossbow into his prosthetic, grabbing the cranky and with each turn of it an arrow shot out and punched through the fleeing Witch Hunters. Not a single one of them escaped, leaving the streets strewn with corpses; it was like a scene right out of hell. Ciri saw Guts glanced at Puck, who was feigning terror.
"Oh no! All of my once removed pawns have been defeated!" Despite the innocent words, Ciri's blood turned to ice.
Did… did Guts… really kill all of the Witch Hunters in Novigrad? In the span of an hour? How many did they number? How many did he kill? She couldn't even tell, Ciri realized. They were in too many pieces.
"Very well! Then I have no other choice but to engage you in one on one combat! En guard!" Puck shouted, glowing brightly, practically illuminating the street to reveal the extent of the butchery. "RAHHHHH-oof!" Puck screamed a warcry, wielding his burdock like a lance before lunging directly at Guts. Whose expression of fury became one of supreme annoyance and reluctant acceptance, before he reached out a hand and flicked Puck away when he neared. Puck dramatically fell into the blood soaked mud, using his burdock to help him rise to his feet. "Not yet! I'm not… done… yet..!"
Another dramatic charge was met with the same result. "Oof!" Puck exclaimed, slamming back into the mud with a small splash. "I… have been defeated! Ugh! Ahhh! I am dying! I… can see… my entire life flashing before my eyes! Ugh! Uuuuuggghhhh! I'm dying! I'm really dying! It hurts! Everything feels so cold! I'm…. Ugh… uggghhhhh-" Puck continued to make dying sounds, managing to have the single most dramatic death in history while also sounding like a drowning cat. Then, in an act of almost divine timing…
The spirits began to fade away. Triss had applied the seal onto Casca.
"Bleugh!" Puck dramatically died, his hands out wide, sticking out his tongue, and he held his breath. Guts looked down at Puck, who Ciri then saw crack open an eye because he could probably feel Guts' desire to step on him. However, in an act of incredible restraint, Guts just sighed and picked Puck up before depositing his 'corpse' into Puck's napping pouch.
The entire scene was stupid. So stupid that Ciri wasn't even sure what she just witnessed other than the fact she had emotional whiplash. And… maybe… just so stupid that it actually worked.
"He… he killed him! He killed the monster! He saved the city! He saved Novigrad!" Ciri heard a man shout out, pure relief in his tone. His cry of relief was joined by others who witnessed the slaughter. And Ciri was just shaking her head. She didn't agree with the idea that all peasants were stupid and easily fooled.
But sometimes… sometimes she really wondered.
…
"It'll trick the common folk, but even if you did 'kill' Puck, the nobility are going to want your head. You killed a king, Guts," Ciri admonished him as they made their way back to Triss'. "You've doomed the Northern Kingdoms."
"I don't care," Guts dismissed, his voice flat. Coming from anyone else, she might think that was just bluster. Now? Now she saw that Guts genuinely didn't care. He completely changed the course of history, the fate of the world… and he didn't care. Because, to him, Radovid had just been another man in his way. And as much as she would like to think that little display would be enough to prevent any consequences, Ciri knew better.
Like it or not, Guts just became the most wanted man in the north. His only real hope to escape was for her to take him back to his Sphere. Or going to her father because he'd probably give Guts a medal for winning his war for him. Shaking her head of the thoughts, she pushed the door open to see Triss, who had her arms angrily crossed over her chest. She glowered at Guts as he entered, but if he noticed, he didn't pay it any mind.
His gaze scanned for Casca, his jaw clenching when he didn't see her. Triss saw it and decided to speak up, "She's asleep. I gave her a tonic -- she was trying to taste my ingredients and most of them would have killed her," Triss informed and a tension eased out of Guts. Ciri could see it -- like he had been holding a breath for as long as she had known him and finally let it go.
"Her Brand is suppressed?" He asked, earning a curt nod from Triss. "Thank you," he said, and Triss seemed as put off as Ciri felt when he thanked her. "Can… I see her?" He questioned and Ciri couldn't help but marvel at the hesitation in his tone. It was almost like he was a completely different person. Well, maybe not completely different. But the Guts she was used to dealing with was undeniably different than the one she saw when Casca was involved.
Triss offered a small nod, "You can. She's resting in the guest lounge," she said with a sigh, gesturing to the door. The anger bled out of Triss as Guts walked to the door, opening it with a small pause. He hadn't escaped a chewing out by Triss, but Triss saw it as much as Ciri did. It wasn't the time to get angry over what had been done. Past Guts, Ciri saw a lavish room with Casca laying underneath a heavy duvet pulled up to her chin.
Puck chose to poke his head out of the pouch as Ciri closed the door. Guts hovered over Casca for a long few seconds, just staring at her like he thought she wasn't real. Then with a heaving sigh, he rested his blade against the wall and sat heavily in a chair next to her bed. Poor Triss -- she'd likely have to throw the chair out with the amount of blood that was smeared into it.
Ciri leaned against a wall, her gaze lingering on Casca for a moment before she chose to break the silence. "I don't want to pry, Guts. Your history is your history, but… who is she?" Ciri decided to ask and Guts didn't look at her, nor at Puck when he floated out of the pouch to plop into the bed next to Casca, apparently worn out by his antics.
Guts absentmindedly rubbed his prosthetic arm for a moment, pausing a long time before he answered. "She's from my Sphere," he told her, making Ciri go still. That- "I don't think you're the reason why we're here. I can't claim to know how magic works, but Casca and I were half a continent apart. I don't know what brought us here, but I don't think it was you." He answered her unspoken question, his voice heavy and melancholic.
Okay. He wasn't backing out of that promise for answers. "And has she always…?" Ciri trailed off, not sure how to phrase it. But Guts understood what she meant.
She saw his expression darken, closing his eyes for a few seconds as if he had to muster the will to answer the question. "No. She… she used to be different," he told her before Ciri heard the bitterest chuckle escape him. It was a haunting sound. "You and Casca would have gotten along. Maybe too well. She was a warrior -- used to drive her up the wall whenever someone made a comment about her fighting. She usually shoved those words down their throats with some of their teeth for good measure. She was a leader too. A damn good one."
Was.
"Was she cursed?" Ciri questioned, looking at the sleeping woman. As much as she wanted to see it, Ciri couldn't. Casca was more like a child than not, only able to babble incoherently -- there wasn't any sign of a warrior or a leader. "Because I can help-" Ciri started, only for Guts to shake his head.
"No. It's not a curse. It's… something else," Guts finished lamely and she could see him swallow his words.
He really was stubborn. "Guts, I want to help. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but I can't help you or her unless you tell me something," she told him, her lips thinning and she saw his guard rise. He worked his jaw, his one hand clenching into a fist as he seemed to stare through Casca… only to sigh a moment later.
"You're right. You've… you deserve to know," Guts admitted. "Casca and I were part of a mercenary group called the Band of the Hawk. I came in later than Casca. She was already second in command by the time I joined up. She hated me something fierce back then. Couldn't stand the sight of me. Calling me a rabid dog was probably the most polite thing she ever said about me," Guts told her, a sad edge in his voice. But, more than anything else, there was exhaustion in his voice. Guts sounded tired. More tired than he did after a week of no sleep. "I only joined up because I lost a duel. She was probably right about me back then. Didn't want to join, hated everyone, but I was too stubborn to leave. And pissing her off was pretty fun."
"We were led by a… man named Griffith. He-..." Guts worked his jaw, his expression tightening. "He founded the Band of the Hawk during the hundred year war. He was the one that beat me. I absolutely hated him at first, but Griffith… there was just something about him that made him impossible to hate. I used to look down on everyone in the Band of the Hawk for worshiping the ground that he walked on, but I ended up not being any different. Griffith was charismatic. I'm sure there's some better word to describe him, but that's the only one I know. Griffith made you feel invincible. He would talk and you would want to listen. He would want something… and you would want him to have it," Guts uttered the words in a grave tone, his head starting to hang low.
A hundred year war? She couldn't even imagine that. And this Griffith sounded like a character alright, because she couldn't see Guts thinking that highly of anyone. However, based on how he spoke of him… there may be a reason for that.
"We fought together for years. I don't really know how many. Griffith had a plan, though. He was ambitious. He wanted a kingdom -- seducing the princess, assassinating rivals, and so on. Blue blood stuff. I helped him with it as much as I could. Because he was my friend. My best friend. As far as I was concerned, the sun rose and set on his shoulders. We fought in the war for some king -- I don't even know his name. Never bothered to learn it. We got knighted by him, though. That was when I decided to leave. I wanted to better myself. I wanted to stand before Griffith as his equal."
This story… it was a terrifying thing that she asked about Casca and he began to tell her of Griffith.
"He was upset. More than I expected him to be. Tried to kill me to stop me from leaving. He didn't manage it, and he ended up getting caught fucking the princess," Guts told her, his voice growing heavier with every word he uttered. With his real hand, he massaged his eyes and sank deeper into the chair. "That's what tipped everything over. The king was pissed that his daughter was despoiled so he captured Griffith and branded the Band of the Hawk traitors. Casca managed to save some of them, broke out of a trap that was laid for them… and after that, the Band of the Hawk spent the next year plotting to break Griffith out of prison. Because as much as I admired Griffith, Casca loved him."
Ciri stiffened -- something that Guts didn't fail to notice. "I don't know what Casca and I are. We've been together… but one of the very last things she told me was that I should leave the Band of the Hawk after we rescued Griffith. Because during that year, Griffith had been tortured. A lot. He was more scars than skin, bone thin, his limbs were useless and his tongue was cut out." That was… excessive. "We got him out. Broke into the dungeon, made our escape… and that's… when it happened."
Guts leaned forward, almost as if he were curling into himself, resting his head in a palm as a cold sweat started to build upon his skin. Looking at him in that moment, Ciri regretted it. She regretted asking. "Griffith used to have a lucky charm. It's called a behelit… ugly little thing. Shaped like an egg with a face on it, but it was distorted. It was alive too" Guts said, his expression growing darker. "After we rescued him, Griffith… I think he tried to kill himself. Stole a wagon, crashed it, and tried to impale his throat on a piece of wood but didn't have the strength to do even that. But what he found was his lucky charm."
"What is it?" Ciri questioned, speaking for the first time, but Guts shook his head.
"I don't really know. I just know that they act as a summons of sorts. For… the Godhand," Guts spoke their name like a curse, the cold sweat growing worse. The hate in his voice was indescribable. "Devils masquerading as angels. They offer power to humans in exchange for their souls and humanity, turning them into apostles."
She swallowed, "And that's what they did with Griffith?" She ventured, trying to spare him from having to say it.
Instead, Guts laughed. It was a truly, deeply, wretched sound. "No. It was much worse than that. They welcomed him among them, and the price was us. The Brand, Ciri? It's a mark of sacrifice. We were the toll for his ascension. The world… it changed. It vanished. Or we were taken there- I don't know. The Eclipse… it was a world filled with apostles and they feasted upon us. Our souls laying the foundation for Griffith's power, damning every one of us to an eternity in hell, of mindless maddening suffering… It… I…" Guts trailed off, taking in deep and even breaths.
That sounded like nothing she had ever heard before. She tried to frame it with what she knew - Dijinn, or other creatures that offered power for something. But nothing came close. Guts wasn't painting the full picture, leaving large details out, but he didn't need to say everything. Ciri could see it -- the cold sweat, sitting like he had an incredible burden on his shoulders… Guts was scared. Haunted. And that conveyed what happened during this Eclipse better than words could ever hope to.
"Casca and I were the only ones to make it out. Everyone else was butchered and betrayed. I… I lost my arm there. And an eye. Casca… she went insane from the horrors there. Her mind just… broke. And sometimes I think I went insane too," Guts admitted, the words slipping past his lips almost of their own will because he grimaced as soon as he uttered them. "I left her with some friends -- the man who forged Dragonslayer and the only other member of the Band of the Hawk that was still alive because they weren't there. After that, I traveled the world, hunting apostles. Trying to get back to Griffith. To kill him for what he did to us." He growled the words out, a snarl in his voice.
The hate was so potent that in her sleep, Casca heard it and mumbled something. That seemed to snap Guts out of it. His expression softened and more than anything else, he just seemed tired. "I don't know if anything can be done, Ciri. Before we came here, I was missing an eye. My hearing was gone in one of my ears. I had a lot more scars and injuries. But, all of them were at an apostle's hands. Casca's madness… it was caused because of Griffith, but it hasn't been healed. Not like my injuries were. I don't think there is anything that can be done."
She shouldn't. Hope was a dangerous thing, and nothing was deadlier than false hope. Ciri knew the dangers and the risks and if either Geralt or Yennefer were here, they'd smack the idea right out of her head.
All the same, Ciri spoke. Because what Guts needed right now, more than anything… was hope.
"That might not be entirely true. Have you ever heard of a Djinn?"
The Price To Be Paid
- Location
- USA
"No. That's a horrible idea, Ciri," Triss stated in no uncertain terms. Triss was even looking at her as if she genuinely couldn't understand where the question came from. "Djinns are beyond dangerous. You should know that better than anyone. All the wishes in the world aren't worth a thing if the one granting them is trying to get you to choke on them." Triss crossed her arms over her chest, her brow drawing together. "And I know you know that."
Ciri bit her lip, not quite willing to meet her gaze. She did know that. "Dangers can be mitigated. They have been before. Using a Djinn is risky, but it's not outright suicide."
"It's close enough. Yen and Geralt are the only ones that I know that have encountered a Djinn and survived. Despite the danger, they are prized creatures. Yet, somehow, everyone that gets their hands on one ends up dead not long after." Triss sent her a rather pointed look and Ciri's lips thinned.
"Panic wishes," Ciri retorted. "Those are what kill people. Every successful use of a Djinn documented has been due to precise wishes that can't be misinterpreted." Djinns were incredibly rare, but they were some of the most well known monsters simply because of the allure of what they offered -- three wishes. Even better, three near limitless wishes. Nearly a thousand years ago, a man wished to become a prince of a kingdom and the result was half of a kingdom in the north deciding to break off from another well established kingdom with him as its leader. Naturally, the original kingdom didn't take kindly to a rebellion and tried to ruthlessly stamp it out. They succeeded because the prince didn't have the knowledge or strength of arms to keep hold of his kingdom.
Which is how most tales about a Djinn tended to play out. There was always a caveat to the wish. Ask for eternal life? You wouldn't have eternal youth, your body slowly growing older until you were little more than a mummified corpse that still lived. Wish to be king of the world? You would be king -- all of the other kingdoms would submit to you, but it would only last until they rebelled or a dagger found its mark.
Triss wasn't wrong about the dangers of a Djinn. They were extremely powerful, capable of even bending forces of nature such as Destiny to their will. "Everyone thinks they have an air tight wish, Ciri. Few rarely do. Yen wasn't any different. She was so sure that she found the correct wording for her wish, but it took me all of three seconds to poke a hole in it. I know you want to help, but it's not worth the risk."
It was. Triss hadn't seen it. The look on Guts face when he looked at Casca. Like a man dying of thirst when he was surrounded by an ocean of water. The woman that he loved was right in front of him, but she wasn't there.
"The risk is leaving things to the Djinns interpretation," Ciri argued, not willing to abandon the course of action just yet. "Asking it to make something happen is far more dangerous than for it to do a specific thing. Cure Casca's madness with no harmful side effects," Ciri tested the wish, leaning against the wall while a foot bounced in place. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Triss pinch the bridge of her nose.
A sign escaped Triss. "Is her madness an affliction or is it natural?" She asked, sounding annoyed that she was getting dragged into the idea.
"Natural," Ciri answered after a moment.
"Then it won't work. Her mind would be restored, but the cause of the madness would still be there, and she'd be driven insane again," Triss pointed out and Ciri inclined her head to her, knowing that Triss had a point. "I wish that the source of Casca's madness would be removed. That would be closer, but it leaves the method to the Djinn. It could decide that her capability to feel emotions is the source just as likely as it would be the memories that drive her to that state."
Ciri pursed her lips, her brow furrowing in thought. "I wish that Casca's mind was restored to the event prior to her being driven insane."
"Better, but madness isn't something that happens instantly. I don't know what happened to that poor woman," Ciri winced at that. "And it is none of my business. However, she's not the first I've seen, Ciri. What they all have in common is trauma heaped upon trauma until their minds can't take it any longer."
This was annoying, Ciri decided, trying to pick out the correct order of words that would get her what she wanted. "I wish the memories of the trauma that…" Ciri trailed off, not certain that was the correct path to follow. It would be a lie to claim that she understood it all, but Guts… Guts sounded scared when he spoke of the Eclipse. And anything that was capable of scaring him was downright terrifying in Ciri's book.
"I can't talk you out of this, can I?" Triss questioned, her tone mournful as she stood by a window, gazing out of it into the city. Mourning had come but the night was not over. Ciri could hear the sounds of rioting. She wasn't even sure about what -- the King's death? The extermination of the Witch Hunters? Puck and his reign of tyranny? The war being all but lost for the North? Honestly, the citizens of Novigrad had a whole slew of reasons to be upset at the moment.
Expressing how upset they were by destroying their own homes was an odd choice though. Something that Ciri would never understand, but she knew better than to try to stop it. Geralt tried once and it ended with him taking a pitchfork to the gut.
"I have to do something," Ciri told her, an apology in her tone. Guts was a friend. A big, gruff, growly friend. He grew on her. And right now he needed help. So, no matter the risks, Ciri was going to make sure he got it.
"You're too much like Geralt for your own good," Triss sighed and looked annoyed when Ciri visibly took the words as a compliment. "Fine. Fine! I'll see what I can do to help, but I warn you, it won't be much. Because of your friend, every plan just went up in smoke. Nilfgaard is going to conquer the North. I'm sure it'll take them some time to build up for another invasion, but they're not going to stop until they've conquered the entire world." Triss said with a sigh, and Ciri felt a pang of guilt.
Mostly because she didn't disagree. Unprovoked invasions were a staple of Nilfgaardian culture. The country might break apart in grief if they ever ran out of kingdoms to conquer.
"Thank you," Ciri replied, meaning it. "Do you know what you're going to do?" Ciri questioned, seeing Triss frown through the window.
"I have an idea. If running away won't work, then we may just have to fight," Triss muttered and Ciri didn't at all like the sound of that. More than that, she had no idea how Triss was hoping to get the mages to fight. Sodden Hill was a testament to what thirteen mages could accomplish in combat, but getting thirteen mages to actually fight was nothing short of a miracle that wasn't likely to be seen again.
Mages were powerful. They just weren't warriors. They were politicians, advisors, and clerks.
"Can I help?" Ciri questioned, earning a glance from Triss and a thankful smile.
"Not now, no. I'm not sure if it's even possible," Triss admitted. "I'll need to speak with the others before they flee the city. If I do need your help, I'll let you know. For what you need -- You need to find Yen and Geralt. Especially Yennefer. I don't even know where to start looking for a Djinn, and I wouldn't trust my comrades to help look for it. Foolish or not, they'd use the wishes in a heartbeat." That, Ciri believed easily. And Triss really wasn't making her thoughts a secret about her plan.
Without any warning, Triss backed away from the window and not a second later, a brick came flying through and smashed a glass beaker, sending shards of glass and liquids spilling out into the desk. Triss hissed in frustration, more when the ingredients began to mix together, steaming as they did so. Ciri stepped forward, looking through the window to see that the rioting had spread. It wasn't pure chaos in the streets, but some troublemakers were taking the opportunity to trash the nicer parts of the city.
"Debawh!" Casca announced her presence with the swinging of a door, and Guts was behind her, sticking so close it was as if she had a second shadow. Naturally, Casca zeroed in on the steaming mess of potion ingredients before heading straight for it. Before she could lose a finger, Guts kept her at bay, making Casca whine like a child.
"The city is in shambles," Triss cursed, sending a not so subtle glare at Guts, who didn't seem to notice. "The Witch Hunters were practically the city guard, and without them, there's no one to stop the riots."
"They'll burn themselves out," Guts dismissed the issue out of hand, uncaring in favor of hovering over Casca. Her whining was cut short when Puck revealed himself, popping out of Guts pouch. He led her away from the steaming mess as Triss was too busy cleaning it up.
"Before or after they burn the city down?" Triss questioned, her tone sharp. Guts just grunted, but Ciri heard the answer -- 'either.'
Right. "Do you have any leads on where we could find Yennefer?" Ciri decided to change the subject, her hopes falling when Triss shook her head.
"No. I have no idea where she could be. Geralt set off in search of her, but that was months ago. Knowing her, she's gone in hiding for the sake of a plan. It might be easier to find Geralt than her," Triss voiced, glancing at Ciri. "Or you could give them a reason to come to you," she tacked on. Based on how she said that, Triss clearly had an idea of how that was possible. However, before she could explain, there was a knock at the door. Everyone's attention snapped to it, but it was Casca who skipped towards the door and swung it open with Guts right behind her.
"To… ah… the savior of the city… at the, erm… request of the Beggar King, your presence has been requested at the bathhouse to meet the Four-" a timid voice spoke up, his appearance hidden behind Guts broad shoulders.
"Fuck off," Guts growled, slamming the door shut.
"You absolute- Wait!" Triss called out, marching past Guts and giving him a shove for good measure before opening the door. This time, Ciri saw that it was a beggar, who looked at Triss, then at Guts, with wide eyes the size of plates. He was wringing a cap in his hands, his face marked with pox scars, clearly nervous. "I apologize for him. He's…" Triss trailed off, trying and failing to think of an excuse. "He will be meeting the Four. Do they expect him now?" She questioned, earning a shaky nod.
"Aye, my, uh, lady. They do. I was tasked with escorting him?" He made the statement sound like a question, his gaze flickering to Guts with obvious fear.
"Please allow him a moment to get ready," Triss said, closing the door before rounding on Guts. "You owe me," Triss stated in a furious whisper. "I need their connections to make up for the plans that you ruined." Triss added, one hand on the door while she glared up at Guts. Casca giggled, missing the tension between the staring contest, which made Guts glance at her. Or, rather, the seal over her Brand.
Guts worked his jaw for a moment. Ciri could see it clearly -- he had no interest in meeting the de facto rulers of Novigrad. Their summons meant nothing to him. She'd honestly be shocked if he bothered to even sleep until they found the Djinn and Casca's mind was restored. That was his only priority. "Fine," Guts bit the word out, offering a curt nod of his head.
Ciri smiled lightly as tension bled out of Triss. "Good," Triss said, removing a hand from the door before opening it, revealing the startled beggar who was trying very hard to pretend he hadn't overheard anything. "He'll be right with you."
Ciri crossed the room, Guts meeting her gaze before sharply looking away. Ah. Ciri nearly laughed, and she might have if it were any less tragic. Guts was embarrassed. Sparing him any further indignity, Ciri stepped up to the door, "Actually, there's been a change of plans. Tell the Four to meet us at the Rosemary and Thyme," Ciri informed, closing the door in the messenger's face before looking to Triss. "Let them come to us, Triss."
Because she had an idea why they wanted to meet.
…
The city was in absolute chaos, Guts saw as he and Ciri strode through the streets, yet the street they were on was unoccupied thanks to Puck proving himself useful by scouting ahead. Everyone that wasn't on the streets rioting were in their homes, barricading their doors and hoping that someone would impose order. It was a familiar sight to Guts. Many cities had a similar reaction when an army finished sacking it, and those that survived were furious with what happened.
"It's a left then a right!" Puck said, stealthing towards them, wearing some ridiculous black garb made out of what Guts was pretty sure was a scrap from his cloak. Ciri offered a thankful smile, her expression was tense and pained. Guts couldn't say he was any different.
His eyes drifted to Ciri, feeling… something. Gratitude, if he had to put a word to it. She had protected Casca when he asked, taking her to Triss to suppress her Brand. When he first met her, when she had all but extorted his help in safeguarding those children… He hadn't thought highly of her. She was a bother and an annoyance that he had to put up with. Guts wasn't exactly sure when that opinion started to change, but after last night…
Trust wasn't something that ever came easy to Guts. Even before the Eclipse. But after last night, seeing Casca in bed, happily snoring away, completely oblivious to it all…
He trusted Ciri. And Guts really had no idea how to handle that fact.
"Who are these people?" Guts asked, glancing up to see a child was peering at him through a window before a concerned mother dragged him back down. He recalled something about the Four being mentioned, but he hadn't been paying attention. The inner workings of this city didn't mean anything to him since he fully intended to put it behind him.
Triss. He trusted her less than Ciri, but he was thankful all the same. It was nothing short of a relief that she had called in this favor, as reluctant as he was to delay Casca's mind being restored. He could repay this favor, and then he and Triss would be even. She was the one that made this city a concern. And he did owe it to her, that much Guts could agree with.
"I don't really know them," Ciri answered as the Rosemary and Thyme entered view. "They're the unofficial rulers of this city according to everyone. Gang leaders acting as nobility. Well, acting is probably a poor choice of word. The Four likely have a great deal more power within this city than any noble," Ciri explained, sounding glad for the distraction. "Triss wants them for something. Didn't really say what. If I had to guess, it involves the fate of Novigrad. The North has all but lost, meaning that Novigrad isn't just a giant coin purse for one side or the other to ransack."
She wasn't wrong. The soldiers would have been drooling at the prospect of sacking this city, but the blue bloods in charge would want to take it whole and undamaged. It'd be like burning a house you planned on moving into. "Hm. Do they have the resources for a stand?" Guts questioned as Ciri pushed the door open.
"I guess we'll find out- Zoltan!" Ciri called out, warding off a dwarf that was readying a warhammer to take her out at the hips. Seeing that it was Ciri brought him up short.
"Lass! Look at you! Ya' certainly grew up. Like ya' better when I could look ya' in the eye," the dwarf grumbled out as they entered before he turned his attention to Guts. "Ain't you a big fucker. You's the one that started this whole mess?" Zoltan questioned, cocking his head back to look at Guts.
Guts met his gaze and answered with a curt nod. Surprisingly, Zoltan let out a belch of a laugh. "HA! Get round here, so I can pour ya' a drink. Saw tha' aftermath of your battle -- was a right beautiful sight. Wish I could'a seen the King's head go flying," Zoltan said with a laugh, going to the counter and Guts heard the sounds of scrambling. "Dandelion! Drop yer cock and pick up yer socks! Ciri's here!" He added and Ciri just shook her head, a fond smile tugging at her lips.
Not long after, a disheveled looking Dandelion stumbled out of a back room, followed by a far more put-together blonde-haired woman. Dandelion started to smile when he saw Ciri, only for it to promptly fall into a frown when his gaze landed on Guts. "You- Good morning, Ciri. Guts. I do hope you aren't going to punch anyone's head off?" He questioned, looking more than a little nervous as he finished buttoning his frilly shirt.
"Not without reason," Guts returned while the woman laughed when she saw that Dandelion had misaligned the buttons. She looked familiar, he thought, trying to place her. She… was at the banquet last night. She had played with Dandelion.
"Well, I do hope no one provides you with one. Thank you, dear - ah, where are my manners? Ciri, this is Priscilla. Stage name Callonetta. Priscilla is perhaps the second greatest troubadour in these fine kingdoms," Dandelion introduced Priscilla with evident pride.
Princilla offered a curtsey, a slight grin playing at her lips. She looked to be in her early twenties at the oldest. Dandelion was in his late thirties at his youngest. "Greetings. Dandelion and Zoltan told me a lot about you, Ciri. And you, Guts, I must say that you certainly stole the show. I've already started my balad," she remarked, her tone taking a teasing edge.
"It's a pleasure," Ciri started before she shifted foot to foot. "And sorry, this is a little short notice, but I might have volunteered the Rosemary and Thyme to act as a neutral ground? I wasn't sure where else we could go. Just that it was a bad idea to meet them on their terms." That caught their attention and Dandelion finished rebuttoning his shirt.
"How short-" Dandelion started, falling silent when there was a deliberate knock at the door. His gaze flickered to Ciri, who offered a hesitant smile in response. He swallowed a sigh, "Get in position. If my cabaret must be used for illicit dealings, then I at least want to be seen as professional," Dandelion decided, and Guts would give him this -- he rolled with the punches. Ciri gently placed a hand on Guts' prosthetic, guiding him to a round table that gave him a straight shot at the door.
Dandelion cleared his throat, straightened out his shirt, before he swung the door open. "Gentlemen, welcome to the Rosemary and Thyme- erk," Dandelion sounded like he swallowed his own tongue when the first of the men entering the tavern strode past him. It was a dwarf, Guts noticed. One wearing heavy armor, enough so that he could have been used as a cannonball. On one shoulder, he carried a battle axe, a braided beard falling to the center of his chest.
Behind him were humans. One was a weedy looking runt. Sunken in cheeks and eyes, receding hairline, but cruelty shone in his eyes and by the slight grin tugging at his lips. After him was a more portly man -- shaved head, pox scars,simple clothing that had golden fixtures. Almost as if they were trophies to show off rather than actual accessories.
The very last man to enter was a tall man. Shaved head, heavy features that matched a thick gut and a pronounced limp. A light sheen of sweat made it clear that the walk had taxed him. However, his height was the most noticeable, because he was one of the few men that Guts found taller than himself.
As they entered, Dandelion closed the door, a smile on his face but he was screaming internally. All four of them came to a stop in front of the table, all of them looking to Guts. All except for the tall one, who spared Ciri a glance with his brow drawing together. When he looked away, his gaze settled on Guts. "Introductions are in order. I'm Sigi Reuven," Sigi introduced himself, earning him a dirty look from the others for being the one to break the tense silence.
"Carlo Varese," the dwarf spoke up, crossing his arms. "Most of the lads call me Cleaver on account to me habit of taking hands with my favorite cleaver," he tacked on.
"I'm the King of Beggars, but most people call me Francis," Francis stated, an easy smile on his face that didn't match his sharp gaze.
"Whoreson Junior," Junior said after a long moment, eyeing Guts up like he knew a joke that only he found funny. "Can't say I take kindly to getting summoned."
"I don't take kindly to people wasting my time," Guts growled the words out, turning his gaze to Junior. The four of them were unimpressive, he decided. He was no stranger to criminals. Mercenaries were just bandits with pay, and thugs were all the same. Nothing about them particularly stood out in that regard. Though, perhaps that was too hasty of a thought because Puck hovered over Junior's head and started flailing about. Guts couldn't exactly look at him without giving his presence away, but odds were that it would be nonsense even if he did.
Still, it was clear that Puck knew Junior. And didn't like him.
Dandelion made a sputtering sound, the screaming in his eyes getting louder. "W-wine?" He tried, presenting a bottle. "I have a fine aged Chateau red, year 1150," he offered, still smiling but it seemed as fragile as smoke in the wind.
"That would be lovely," Francis decided. "We do have a great deal to speak about."
"Mostly about how you rightly fucked this city," Carlo spoke up, glaring up at him. "Which fucks our business. Which fucks us. As to say, you fucked us."
"And?" Guts prompted, ignoring a glance from Ciri. She didn't seem to disapprove. She was just openly shocked that he was talking, he figured. It wasn't as if he hadn't given her good reason to be surprised, but this was different. If it was up to him, he'd kill the lot of them for being in his way if he bothered to meet them at all. This wasn't for him, though. This was for Triss. He had a debt to repay and it wasn't one that could ever really be repaid. She helped Casca.
"And we believe that you are in a position to make amends," Sigi voiced, his voice flat.
That was almost funny. "I don't have any reason to make amends with you," Guts stated, his voice just as flat. "If you're here to complain, then get out. I don't care to hear it." That was still true. He just had to figure something out for Triss. Wrangle a favor out of them or something.
Junior scoffed, "Do you have any bleeding idea who we are?" He questioned, bristling at the blatant disrespect.
"It wouldn't matter if I did," Guts admitted.
Sigi shot Junior a sharp look that the smaller man missed. "He killed the king. Why the fuck would he hesitate to kill us?" He remarked, and that got a glare from Junior, which he ignored to focus on Guts. "Making amends with us, and this city, is in your interest. For more reasons than you know," he added, his tone deliberately cryptic.
Hm. He knew about Triss.
"I doubt it," Guts remarked, an edge in his voice. "You came to us asking for an apology. One that I'm not going to give."
"I imagine not. Then again, I wouldn't have thought that a man like you -- who would so brazenly murder a king in front of his court in the middle of a bloody speech -- would bother to meet us at all," Sigi pointed out, proving that he had a read on him. "I'll be blunt, Guts. You've fucked more than just this city. You've fucked the North entirely. Victory was on the horizon, and you snuffed out any chance for it. Radovid was a rabid dog, but he was a clever one, and it was too early to put him down."
Guts offered a flat look in response, not hearing why this was his problem. It was Francis that continued.
"Radovid managed to create a stalemate. Nilfgaard didn't have the strength to push through his fortified positions and Emperor Emhyr knew it. That changes when the Crookback Bog suddenly started drying up. For centuries, it acted as a natural barrier. Any army that tried to cross it would end up picked apart by monsters, mud, and disease. Now, word is that it's bone dry, just another part of the forest, and it opened a path for Nilfgaard," Francis continued, and Guts felt a stirring at that.
The timing was too perfect to be anything else. Killing the Crones had made the bog dry up.
The mercenary part of his mind told him he should go to Emhyr and demand payment. Apparently he had been paving the way for Nilfgaard's victory since he arrived.
"Oxenfurt is under siege and it'll fall," Sigi added. "With it, Nilfgaard will pour through the Pontar and into the North. Without Radovid, the North doesn't have a unifying figure to rally around. Won't be long before the nobility falls to infighting because he never bothered to leave an heir."
"But that doesn't need to be the case," Francis pitched in, getting to the heart of the matter. "If the Nilfgaardian army fails to take Oxenfurt, then the war is over. Nilfgaard doesn't have the strength in them to suffer another defeat. That is what we would like to ask your help with."
Francis wasn't posturing. Sigi was. Junior just crossed his arms and scowled while Carlo frowned deeply. Though, Carlo did take a sip of the wine that Dandelion silently poured.
This time, it was Ciri that spoke up. "You, what, just want to throw Guts at an entire Nilfgaardian army?" She exclaimed, protesting the very idea.
Sigi scoffed, "It'd be suicide for a normal man. Let me ask you this -- do you know how many Witch Hunters were in Novigrad before last night? Hm? Five hundred and thirty-six," he stated. "As of this morning, there are one hundred and three. He's already killed a small army in the same amount of time I would take for my supper." Guts was annoyed that there had been so many that survived last night. He killed all that he found, but far too many managed to skip through the cracks.
"He wouldn't be fighting alone, either," Francis added. "We have contacts in the army. We can muster a good thousand men. Suicide against Nilfgaard's thirty thousand, but they know the risks. What we ask is that you inflict enough damage on the army and kill the general leading it. Inflict enough damage on them to break the siege, and the North will be saved. Novigrad will be saved." He continued, finishing the pitch. Guts saw the play pretty easily.
Have one posture while the other spoke softly. One made demands while the other made requests. All to warm him up to the idea.
Attacking an army was a big ask, but he could see why they would. As they said, it was an insane thing to ask a normal man… but Guts had never been a normal man. Killing thirty thousand men was impossible -- at least in one day -- but he wouldn't need to. Kill the blue bloods, kill the officers, kill the generals. From there, the peasant footmen that made up the bulk of the army would splinter and flee. Almost certainly in the face of him as he carved through them. Guts doubted he would need to kill more than a thousand to do the job.
Still, now that he knew what they wanted, and what they had to lose… he could start discussing a price.
"Not interested."
Ciri bit her lip, not quite willing to meet her gaze. She did know that. "Dangers can be mitigated. They have been before. Using a Djinn is risky, but it's not outright suicide."
"It's close enough. Yen and Geralt are the only ones that I know that have encountered a Djinn and survived. Despite the danger, they are prized creatures. Yet, somehow, everyone that gets their hands on one ends up dead not long after." Triss sent her a rather pointed look and Ciri's lips thinned.
"Panic wishes," Ciri retorted. "Those are what kill people. Every successful use of a Djinn documented has been due to precise wishes that can't be misinterpreted." Djinns were incredibly rare, but they were some of the most well known monsters simply because of the allure of what they offered -- three wishes. Even better, three near limitless wishes. Nearly a thousand years ago, a man wished to become a prince of a kingdom and the result was half of a kingdom in the north deciding to break off from another well established kingdom with him as its leader. Naturally, the original kingdom didn't take kindly to a rebellion and tried to ruthlessly stamp it out. They succeeded because the prince didn't have the knowledge or strength of arms to keep hold of his kingdom.
Which is how most tales about a Djinn tended to play out. There was always a caveat to the wish. Ask for eternal life? You wouldn't have eternal youth, your body slowly growing older until you were little more than a mummified corpse that still lived. Wish to be king of the world? You would be king -- all of the other kingdoms would submit to you, but it would only last until they rebelled or a dagger found its mark.
Triss wasn't wrong about the dangers of a Djinn. They were extremely powerful, capable of even bending forces of nature such as Destiny to their will. "Everyone thinks they have an air tight wish, Ciri. Few rarely do. Yen wasn't any different. She was so sure that she found the correct wording for her wish, but it took me all of three seconds to poke a hole in it. I know you want to help, but it's not worth the risk."
It was. Triss hadn't seen it. The look on Guts face when he looked at Casca. Like a man dying of thirst when he was surrounded by an ocean of water. The woman that he loved was right in front of him, but she wasn't there.
"The risk is leaving things to the Djinns interpretation," Ciri argued, not willing to abandon the course of action just yet. "Asking it to make something happen is far more dangerous than for it to do a specific thing. Cure Casca's madness with no harmful side effects," Ciri tested the wish, leaning against the wall while a foot bounced in place. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Triss pinch the bridge of her nose.
A sign escaped Triss. "Is her madness an affliction or is it natural?" She asked, sounding annoyed that she was getting dragged into the idea.
"Natural," Ciri answered after a moment.
"Then it won't work. Her mind would be restored, but the cause of the madness would still be there, and she'd be driven insane again," Triss pointed out and Ciri inclined her head to her, knowing that Triss had a point. "I wish that the source of Casca's madness would be removed. That would be closer, but it leaves the method to the Djinn. It could decide that her capability to feel emotions is the source just as likely as it would be the memories that drive her to that state."
Ciri pursed her lips, her brow furrowing in thought. "I wish that Casca's mind was restored to the event prior to her being driven insane."
"Better, but madness isn't something that happens instantly. I don't know what happened to that poor woman," Ciri winced at that. "And it is none of my business. However, she's not the first I've seen, Ciri. What they all have in common is trauma heaped upon trauma until their minds can't take it any longer."
This was annoying, Ciri decided, trying to pick out the correct order of words that would get her what she wanted. "I wish the memories of the trauma that…" Ciri trailed off, not certain that was the correct path to follow. It would be a lie to claim that she understood it all, but Guts… Guts sounded scared when he spoke of the Eclipse. And anything that was capable of scaring him was downright terrifying in Ciri's book.
"I can't talk you out of this, can I?" Triss questioned, her tone mournful as she stood by a window, gazing out of it into the city. Mourning had come but the night was not over. Ciri could hear the sounds of rioting. She wasn't even sure about what -- the King's death? The extermination of the Witch Hunters? Puck and his reign of tyranny? The war being all but lost for the North? Honestly, the citizens of Novigrad had a whole slew of reasons to be upset at the moment.
Expressing how upset they were by destroying their own homes was an odd choice though. Something that Ciri would never understand, but she knew better than to try to stop it. Geralt tried once and it ended with him taking a pitchfork to the gut.
"I have to do something," Ciri told her, an apology in her tone. Guts was a friend. A big, gruff, growly friend. He grew on her. And right now he needed help. So, no matter the risks, Ciri was going to make sure he got it.
"You're too much like Geralt for your own good," Triss sighed and looked annoyed when Ciri visibly took the words as a compliment. "Fine. Fine! I'll see what I can do to help, but I warn you, it won't be much. Because of your friend, every plan just went up in smoke. Nilfgaard is going to conquer the North. I'm sure it'll take them some time to build up for another invasion, but they're not going to stop until they've conquered the entire world." Triss said with a sigh, and Ciri felt a pang of guilt.
Mostly because she didn't disagree. Unprovoked invasions were a staple of Nilfgaardian culture. The country might break apart in grief if they ever ran out of kingdoms to conquer.
"Thank you," Ciri replied, meaning it. "Do you know what you're going to do?" Ciri questioned, seeing Triss frown through the window.
"I have an idea. If running away won't work, then we may just have to fight," Triss muttered and Ciri didn't at all like the sound of that. More than that, she had no idea how Triss was hoping to get the mages to fight. Sodden Hill was a testament to what thirteen mages could accomplish in combat, but getting thirteen mages to actually fight was nothing short of a miracle that wasn't likely to be seen again.
Mages were powerful. They just weren't warriors. They were politicians, advisors, and clerks.
"Can I help?" Ciri questioned, earning a glance from Triss and a thankful smile.
"Not now, no. I'm not sure if it's even possible," Triss admitted. "I'll need to speak with the others before they flee the city. If I do need your help, I'll let you know. For what you need -- You need to find Yen and Geralt. Especially Yennefer. I don't even know where to start looking for a Djinn, and I wouldn't trust my comrades to help look for it. Foolish or not, they'd use the wishes in a heartbeat." That, Ciri believed easily. And Triss really wasn't making her thoughts a secret about her plan.
Without any warning, Triss backed away from the window and not a second later, a brick came flying through and smashed a glass beaker, sending shards of glass and liquids spilling out into the desk. Triss hissed in frustration, more when the ingredients began to mix together, steaming as they did so. Ciri stepped forward, looking through the window to see that the rioting had spread. It wasn't pure chaos in the streets, but some troublemakers were taking the opportunity to trash the nicer parts of the city.
"Debawh!" Casca announced her presence with the swinging of a door, and Guts was behind her, sticking so close it was as if she had a second shadow. Naturally, Casca zeroed in on the steaming mess of potion ingredients before heading straight for it. Before she could lose a finger, Guts kept her at bay, making Casca whine like a child.
"The city is in shambles," Triss cursed, sending a not so subtle glare at Guts, who didn't seem to notice. "The Witch Hunters were practically the city guard, and without them, there's no one to stop the riots."
"They'll burn themselves out," Guts dismissed the issue out of hand, uncaring in favor of hovering over Casca. Her whining was cut short when Puck revealed himself, popping out of Guts pouch. He led her away from the steaming mess as Triss was too busy cleaning it up.
"Before or after they burn the city down?" Triss questioned, her tone sharp. Guts just grunted, but Ciri heard the answer -- 'either.'
Right. "Do you have any leads on where we could find Yennefer?" Ciri decided to change the subject, her hopes falling when Triss shook her head.
"No. I have no idea where she could be. Geralt set off in search of her, but that was months ago. Knowing her, she's gone in hiding for the sake of a plan. It might be easier to find Geralt than her," Triss voiced, glancing at Ciri. "Or you could give them a reason to come to you," she tacked on. Based on how she said that, Triss clearly had an idea of how that was possible. However, before she could explain, there was a knock at the door. Everyone's attention snapped to it, but it was Casca who skipped towards the door and swung it open with Guts right behind her.
"To… ah… the savior of the city… at the, erm… request of the Beggar King, your presence has been requested at the bathhouse to meet the Four-" a timid voice spoke up, his appearance hidden behind Guts broad shoulders.
"Fuck off," Guts growled, slamming the door shut.
"You absolute- Wait!" Triss called out, marching past Guts and giving him a shove for good measure before opening the door. This time, Ciri saw that it was a beggar, who looked at Triss, then at Guts, with wide eyes the size of plates. He was wringing a cap in his hands, his face marked with pox scars, clearly nervous. "I apologize for him. He's…" Triss trailed off, trying and failing to think of an excuse. "He will be meeting the Four. Do they expect him now?" She questioned, earning a shaky nod.
"Aye, my, uh, lady. They do. I was tasked with escorting him?" He made the statement sound like a question, his gaze flickering to Guts with obvious fear.
"Please allow him a moment to get ready," Triss said, closing the door before rounding on Guts. "You owe me," Triss stated in a furious whisper. "I need their connections to make up for the plans that you ruined." Triss added, one hand on the door while she glared up at Guts. Casca giggled, missing the tension between the staring contest, which made Guts glance at her. Or, rather, the seal over her Brand.
Guts worked his jaw for a moment. Ciri could see it clearly -- he had no interest in meeting the de facto rulers of Novigrad. Their summons meant nothing to him. She'd honestly be shocked if he bothered to even sleep until they found the Djinn and Casca's mind was restored. That was his only priority. "Fine," Guts bit the word out, offering a curt nod of his head.
Ciri smiled lightly as tension bled out of Triss. "Good," Triss said, removing a hand from the door before opening it, revealing the startled beggar who was trying very hard to pretend he hadn't overheard anything. "He'll be right with you."
Ciri crossed the room, Guts meeting her gaze before sharply looking away. Ah. Ciri nearly laughed, and she might have if it were any less tragic. Guts was embarrassed. Sparing him any further indignity, Ciri stepped up to the door, "Actually, there's been a change of plans. Tell the Four to meet us at the Rosemary and Thyme," Ciri informed, closing the door in the messenger's face before looking to Triss. "Let them come to us, Triss."
Because she had an idea why they wanted to meet.
…
The city was in absolute chaos, Guts saw as he and Ciri strode through the streets, yet the street they were on was unoccupied thanks to Puck proving himself useful by scouting ahead. Everyone that wasn't on the streets rioting were in their homes, barricading their doors and hoping that someone would impose order. It was a familiar sight to Guts. Many cities had a similar reaction when an army finished sacking it, and those that survived were furious with what happened.
"It's a left then a right!" Puck said, stealthing towards them, wearing some ridiculous black garb made out of what Guts was pretty sure was a scrap from his cloak. Ciri offered a thankful smile, her expression was tense and pained. Guts couldn't say he was any different.
His eyes drifted to Ciri, feeling… something. Gratitude, if he had to put a word to it. She had protected Casca when he asked, taking her to Triss to suppress her Brand. When he first met her, when she had all but extorted his help in safeguarding those children… He hadn't thought highly of her. She was a bother and an annoyance that he had to put up with. Guts wasn't exactly sure when that opinion started to change, but after last night…
Trust wasn't something that ever came easy to Guts. Even before the Eclipse. But after last night, seeing Casca in bed, happily snoring away, completely oblivious to it all…
He trusted Ciri. And Guts really had no idea how to handle that fact.
"Who are these people?" Guts asked, glancing up to see a child was peering at him through a window before a concerned mother dragged him back down. He recalled something about the Four being mentioned, but he hadn't been paying attention. The inner workings of this city didn't mean anything to him since he fully intended to put it behind him.
Triss. He trusted her less than Ciri, but he was thankful all the same. It was nothing short of a relief that she had called in this favor, as reluctant as he was to delay Casca's mind being restored. He could repay this favor, and then he and Triss would be even. She was the one that made this city a concern. And he did owe it to her, that much Guts could agree with.
"I don't really know them," Ciri answered as the Rosemary and Thyme entered view. "They're the unofficial rulers of this city according to everyone. Gang leaders acting as nobility. Well, acting is probably a poor choice of word. The Four likely have a great deal more power within this city than any noble," Ciri explained, sounding glad for the distraction. "Triss wants them for something. Didn't really say what. If I had to guess, it involves the fate of Novigrad. The North has all but lost, meaning that Novigrad isn't just a giant coin purse for one side or the other to ransack."
She wasn't wrong. The soldiers would have been drooling at the prospect of sacking this city, but the blue bloods in charge would want to take it whole and undamaged. It'd be like burning a house you planned on moving into. "Hm. Do they have the resources for a stand?" Guts questioned as Ciri pushed the door open.
"I guess we'll find out- Zoltan!" Ciri called out, warding off a dwarf that was readying a warhammer to take her out at the hips. Seeing that it was Ciri brought him up short.
"Lass! Look at you! Ya' certainly grew up. Like ya' better when I could look ya' in the eye," the dwarf grumbled out as they entered before he turned his attention to Guts. "Ain't you a big fucker. You's the one that started this whole mess?" Zoltan questioned, cocking his head back to look at Guts.
Guts met his gaze and answered with a curt nod. Surprisingly, Zoltan let out a belch of a laugh. "HA! Get round here, so I can pour ya' a drink. Saw tha' aftermath of your battle -- was a right beautiful sight. Wish I could'a seen the King's head go flying," Zoltan said with a laugh, going to the counter and Guts heard the sounds of scrambling. "Dandelion! Drop yer cock and pick up yer socks! Ciri's here!" He added and Ciri just shook her head, a fond smile tugging at her lips.
Not long after, a disheveled looking Dandelion stumbled out of a back room, followed by a far more put-together blonde-haired woman. Dandelion started to smile when he saw Ciri, only for it to promptly fall into a frown when his gaze landed on Guts. "You- Good morning, Ciri. Guts. I do hope you aren't going to punch anyone's head off?" He questioned, looking more than a little nervous as he finished buttoning his frilly shirt.
"Not without reason," Guts returned while the woman laughed when she saw that Dandelion had misaligned the buttons. She looked familiar, he thought, trying to place her. She… was at the banquet last night. She had played with Dandelion.
"Well, I do hope no one provides you with one. Thank you, dear - ah, where are my manners? Ciri, this is Priscilla. Stage name Callonetta. Priscilla is perhaps the second greatest troubadour in these fine kingdoms," Dandelion introduced Priscilla with evident pride.
Princilla offered a curtsey, a slight grin playing at her lips. She looked to be in her early twenties at the oldest. Dandelion was in his late thirties at his youngest. "Greetings. Dandelion and Zoltan told me a lot about you, Ciri. And you, Guts, I must say that you certainly stole the show. I've already started my balad," she remarked, her tone taking a teasing edge.
"It's a pleasure," Ciri started before she shifted foot to foot. "And sorry, this is a little short notice, but I might have volunteered the Rosemary and Thyme to act as a neutral ground? I wasn't sure where else we could go. Just that it was a bad idea to meet them on their terms." That caught their attention and Dandelion finished rebuttoning his shirt.
"How short-" Dandelion started, falling silent when there was a deliberate knock at the door. His gaze flickered to Ciri, who offered a hesitant smile in response. He swallowed a sigh, "Get in position. If my cabaret must be used for illicit dealings, then I at least want to be seen as professional," Dandelion decided, and Guts would give him this -- he rolled with the punches. Ciri gently placed a hand on Guts' prosthetic, guiding him to a round table that gave him a straight shot at the door.
Dandelion cleared his throat, straightened out his shirt, before he swung the door open. "Gentlemen, welcome to the Rosemary and Thyme- erk," Dandelion sounded like he swallowed his own tongue when the first of the men entering the tavern strode past him. It was a dwarf, Guts noticed. One wearing heavy armor, enough so that he could have been used as a cannonball. On one shoulder, he carried a battle axe, a braided beard falling to the center of his chest.
Behind him were humans. One was a weedy looking runt. Sunken in cheeks and eyes, receding hairline, but cruelty shone in his eyes and by the slight grin tugging at his lips. After him was a more portly man -- shaved head, pox scars,simple clothing that had golden fixtures. Almost as if they were trophies to show off rather than actual accessories.
The very last man to enter was a tall man. Shaved head, heavy features that matched a thick gut and a pronounced limp. A light sheen of sweat made it clear that the walk had taxed him. However, his height was the most noticeable, because he was one of the few men that Guts found taller than himself.
As they entered, Dandelion closed the door, a smile on his face but he was screaming internally. All four of them came to a stop in front of the table, all of them looking to Guts. All except for the tall one, who spared Ciri a glance with his brow drawing together. When he looked away, his gaze settled on Guts. "Introductions are in order. I'm Sigi Reuven," Sigi introduced himself, earning him a dirty look from the others for being the one to break the tense silence.
"Carlo Varese," the dwarf spoke up, crossing his arms. "Most of the lads call me Cleaver on account to me habit of taking hands with my favorite cleaver," he tacked on.
"I'm the King of Beggars, but most people call me Francis," Francis stated, an easy smile on his face that didn't match his sharp gaze.
"Whoreson Junior," Junior said after a long moment, eyeing Guts up like he knew a joke that only he found funny. "Can't say I take kindly to getting summoned."
"I don't take kindly to people wasting my time," Guts growled the words out, turning his gaze to Junior. The four of them were unimpressive, he decided. He was no stranger to criminals. Mercenaries were just bandits with pay, and thugs were all the same. Nothing about them particularly stood out in that regard. Though, perhaps that was too hasty of a thought because Puck hovered over Junior's head and started flailing about. Guts couldn't exactly look at him without giving his presence away, but odds were that it would be nonsense even if he did.
Still, it was clear that Puck knew Junior. And didn't like him.
Dandelion made a sputtering sound, the screaming in his eyes getting louder. "W-wine?" He tried, presenting a bottle. "I have a fine aged Chateau red, year 1150," he offered, still smiling but it seemed as fragile as smoke in the wind.
"That would be lovely," Francis decided. "We do have a great deal to speak about."
"Mostly about how you rightly fucked this city," Carlo spoke up, glaring up at him. "Which fucks our business. Which fucks us. As to say, you fucked us."
"And?" Guts prompted, ignoring a glance from Ciri. She didn't seem to disapprove. She was just openly shocked that he was talking, he figured. It wasn't as if he hadn't given her good reason to be surprised, but this was different. If it was up to him, he'd kill the lot of them for being in his way if he bothered to meet them at all. This wasn't for him, though. This was for Triss. He had a debt to repay and it wasn't one that could ever really be repaid. She helped Casca.
"And we believe that you are in a position to make amends," Sigi voiced, his voice flat.
That was almost funny. "I don't have any reason to make amends with you," Guts stated, his voice just as flat. "If you're here to complain, then get out. I don't care to hear it." That was still true. He just had to figure something out for Triss. Wrangle a favor out of them or something.
Junior scoffed, "Do you have any bleeding idea who we are?" He questioned, bristling at the blatant disrespect.
"It wouldn't matter if I did," Guts admitted.
Sigi shot Junior a sharp look that the smaller man missed. "He killed the king. Why the fuck would he hesitate to kill us?" He remarked, and that got a glare from Junior, which he ignored to focus on Guts. "Making amends with us, and this city, is in your interest. For more reasons than you know," he added, his tone deliberately cryptic.
Hm. He knew about Triss.
"I doubt it," Guts remarked, an edge in his voice. "You came to us asking for an apology. One that I'm not going to give."
"I imagine not. Then again, I wouldn't have thought that a man like you -- who would so brazenly murder a king in front of his court in the middle of a bloody speech -- would bother to meet us at all," Sigi pointed out, proving that he had a read on him. "I'll be blunt, Guts. You've fucked more than just this city. You've fucked the North entirely. Victory was on the horizon, and you snuffed out any chance for it. Radovid was a rabid dog, but he was a clever one, and it was too early to put him down."
Guts offered a flat look in response, not hearing why this was his problem. It was Francis that continued.
"Radovid managed to create a stalemate. Nilfgaard didn't have the strength to push through his fortified positions and Emperor Emhyr knew it. That changes when the Crookback Bog suddenly started drying up. For centuries, it acted as a natural barrier. Any army that tried to cross it would end up picked apart by monsters, mud, and disease. Now, word is that it's bone dry, just another part of the forest, and it opened a path for Nilfgaard," Francis continued, and Guts felt a stirring at that.
The timing was too perfect to be anything else. Killing the Crones had made the bog dry up.
The mercenary part of his mind told him he should go to Emhyr and demand payment. Apparently he had been paving the way for Nilfgaard's victory since he arrived.
"Oxenfurt is under siege and it'll fall," Sigi added. "With it, Nilfgaard will pour through the Pontar and into the North. Without Radovid, the North doesn't have a unifying figure to rally around. Won't be long before the nobility falls to infighting because he never bothered to leave an heir."
"But that doesn't need to be the case," Francis pitched in, getting to the heart of the matter. "If the Nilfgaardian army fails to take Oxenfurt, then the war is over. Nilfgaard doesn't have the strength in them to suffer another defeat. That is what we would like to ask your help with."
Francis wasn't posturing. Sigi was. Junior just crossed his arms and scowled while Carlo frowned deeply. Though, Carlo did take a sip of the wine that Dandelion silently poured.
This time, it was Ciri that spoke up. "You, what, just want to throw Guts at an entire Nilfgaardian army?" She exclaimed, protesting the very idea.
Sigi scoffed, "It'd be suicide for a normal man. Let me ask you this -- do you know how many Witch Hunters were in Novigrad before last night? Hm? Five hundred and thirty-six," he stated. "As of this morning, there are one hundred and three. He's already killed a small army in the same amount of time I would take for my supper." Guts was annoyed that there had been so many that survived last night. He killed all that he found, but far too many managed to skip through the cracks.
"He wouldn't be fighting alone, either," Francis added. "We have contacts in the army. We can muster a good thousand men. Suicide against Nilfgaard's thirty thousand, but they know the risks. What we ask is that you inflict enough damage on the army and kill the general leading it. Inflict enough damage on them to break the siege, and the North will be saved. Novigrad will be saved." He continued, finishing the pitch. Guts saw the play pretty easily.
Have one posture while the other spoke softly. One made demands while the other made requests. All to warm him up to the idea.
Attacking an army was a big ask, but he could see why they would. As they said, it was an insane thing to ask a normal man… but Guts had never been a normal man. Killing thirty thousand men was impossible -- at least in one day -- but he wouldn't need to. Kill the blue bloods, kill the officers, kill the generals. From there, the peasant footmen that made up the bulk of the army would splinter and flee. Almost certainly in the face of him as he carved through them. Guts doubted he would need to kill more than a thousand to do the job.
Still, now that he knew what they wanted, and what they had to lose… he could start discussing a price.
"Not interested."
- Location
- United States
Good chapter, wonder what guts will try to squeeze out of them.
Curious if the djinn magic could do much in regards to helping Casca.
With the appearance of Casca. I wonder if will see griffith or the godhand at all in this fic. Im certainly curious how Ciri, Triss, Yen, and Geralt. Will react to the godhand, and How the latter 2 will react to Guts.
Curious if the djinn magic could do much in regards to helping Casca.
With the appearance of Casca. I wonder if will see griffith or the godhand at all in this fic. Im certainly curious how Ciri, Triss, Yen, and Geralt. Will react to the godhand, and How the latter 2 will react to Guts.
- Pronouns
- He/him
I'm worried about the plan for a djinn, the behelits at their core grant wishes too, and Guts and Casca both are branded. Maybe I'm making connections where there are none, but i wouldn't trust another hostile magical wish.
The Best of Intentions
- Location
- USA
Ciri had to admit it -- Guts knew what he was doing. She went into this meeting thinking that she was going to be stuck translating Guts speech and leading the entire negotiation. It was actually incredible to witness, in its own way, how he had the biggest gangers in the city -- the Four, who controlled Novigrad more than any king could hope to -- by the balls in a vice grip. And, better yet, Guts was making sure that they knew he knew how desperate they were.
"You are interested," Sigi returned, his tone of voice just as flat as Guts. "I have a talent for reading people. You aren't someone that wastes their time with things that they can't be bothered with. If you really were completely uninterested, I imagine you'd take that massive slab of iron of yours and cut us through before you bothered with a negotiation." Despite herself, Ciri did find herself impressed with Sigi the most of the four. Francis seemed like a decent sort, Junior was an arsehole, and Cleaver was a straight shooter.
Sigi, however, was smart. Because he just described Guts to a tee.
"Or I enjoy watching morons that think they're powerful squirm," Guts rebooked and he gave the closest thing to a smile that Ciri had ever seen on him. A shiver raced down her spine at the sight of it, and Dandelion outright shivered. Their eyes met, and Ciri tried to convey how sorry she was for the entire mess she was getting him into. The old diplomacy lessons kicked in, the ones that made her extremely aware of the power dynamics of any conversation. She thought that Guts would need the leverage.
"Tha' fuck did you call me?" Junior swore, his temper flashing. "Say another fuckin word and you'll be the one that's squirming!" He spat, but it was clear to everyone that Junior didn't believe that for a second. He was like an animal. A stupid one. He felt threatened and he was trying to puff out his chest to scare what frightened him off. Ciri imagined it was how he managed to climb his way up to be one of the Four. That, and his own terrible reputation. But, all the same, not even he was foolish enough to think that Guts would be scared by empty threats.
"I don't have any reason to fight for the North," Guts stated, outright ignoring Junior, and that set him fuming. It was obvious that he wasn't used to being disrespected. "Much less fight an army for its survival," he continued before a small huff escaped him. "It might even cost me all the goodwill I've earned with Nilfgaard so far." To that, Ciri winced.
It wouldn't be… terrible for Nilfgaard to win. Oh, Nilfgaard was full of faults even without factoring in their habit of unprovoked mass invasions. Still, if it was a choice between who was better… well, Nilfgaard didn't have a habit of burning mages and non-humans at the stake. Yet, all the same, Ciri didn't want them to win. It wasn't for the sake of the North either.
She didn't want Nilfgaard to win for the same reasons that Triss didn't want them to win. That Geralt wouldn't want them to win. Or Yennefer. Or anyone that she knew and cared about.
Maybe mages shouldn't have complete unchecked freedoms considering their power, but what Nilfgaard did was slavery with extra steps. Non-humans were treated better, but they were still firmly second class citizens and there was never any hope that they could rise above their stations in life. It was rare in the North, but at least it was possible. Witchers? Witchers had no place in Nilfgaard. And… and…
And her father. The one that wanted to marry her and put a child in her belly to create the 'chosen' one. All because he read some prophecy.
Perhaps it was selfish- no. It was absolutely selfish. Ciri just didn't care. She didn't want Nilfgaard or her father to get what they wanted.
"But you could do it, then?" Sigi questioned and Ciri stole a glance at Guts, curious to what he would say. What they were asking was downright insane. They were asking him to fight an army, a thirty thousand strong army. That was pure madness. The very idea was laughable. Ciri couldn't do it. Geralt certainly couldn't do it. You would need a small army of mages to fight such a force, and they would need to be supported by a small army.
Guts' expression didn't do much as twitch. "I could," he voiced and despite how utterly absurd the entire idea was, Ciri believed him. And that was terrifying. What did they feed him in his own Sphere? "Cut my way through the command tent and retreat, kill the pursuers. Attack again, retreat -- do it a few times and the army will collapse in on itself. I wouldn't need to kill all of them. Just some." He made it sound so easy. Like it was barely an inconvenience.
He was talking about fighting an army. Of cutting his way through hundreds of soldiers, killing someone important, cutting his way through hundreds more soldiers…
Then doing it again. Several times even. Enough so that an army -- a highly trained Nilfgaardian army -- would retreat rather than continue to face him. Guts was claiming that he could have an army running off scared. It was madness and she had to be insane for thinking that he could do it.
"I just haven't heard a reason why I should," Guys finished, his tone flat. Ciri saw a kindred spirit in Francis, as he looked as alarmed as she felt. His brow furrowed and he looked at Guts with apprehension, as if he just now realized he was within swinging distance of a nigh unstoppable monster of a warrior.
"I don't think it's about what you want," Sigi voiced. "I think it's what Triss Merigold, Ciri, and that woman want." Too smart, Ciri decided, narrowing her eyes at Sigi, whose lips curled into the faintest of smirks.
Junior sputtered, "Wut? You saying if we had sum tits, you'd jump and do it? That dark skinned lass-" Junior stated, not even realizing his mistake before Guts moved. With a hand, he flung the table that seperated them with enough force that it splintered on the far wall, and with a single step forward, he reached out to grab Junior by the face. In an awe inspiring display of strength, Guts lifted Junior off of his feet, making the man kick out at his armor while the rest of the Four took a big step back.
Ciri's blade was out in a flash, locking eyes with Cleaver-
"My table! That- that was imported! Oh, no, it's in ruins…" Dandelion bemoaned, his voice cutting through the tension.
"My associate didn't intend that to be a threat to your woman, Guts. We're here for help and I've found that making threats when asking for favors isn't good sense," Sigi spoke up, talking soothingly, as if he were dealing with a wild animal. Junior's screams was muffled by Guts' palm, but Ciri saw his fingers digging into his flesh. A morbid thought entered her head -- could he crush a man's skull in his palm? "Respectfully, I'm asking you to let him go."
Guts worked his jaw for a moment. He didn't say anything, he just let go of Junior, who fell on his arse as he coughed. The rest of the Four looked relieved.
"Thank you. Now, I know what Triss wants," Sigi claimed, making Ciri raise an eyebrow at the bold claim. "What she wants… is Novigrad," he continued without pause, and… he wasn't wrong. He wasn't right exactly, but he wasn't wrong. "Radovid was all that was holding the North together. Without him, even if we do rebuff this army, Nilfgaard is going to pick up pieces of the shattered alliance. It won't be the whole North, though. Parts, such as Novigrad, can maintain our independence if things go to plan."
"A city for fookin' mages," Junior said, spitting on the floor as he glowered up at Guts, rising back to his feet.
"More or less," Sigi continued. "What she wants is a place for mages to practice their craft freely. Without fear of persecution. Not so much to ask for, really. What I'm proposing is that you deal with the Nilfgaardians and Triss, along with her mages, will be welcomed into the fold. The Four shall become the Five." To Ciri's annoyance, he actually did know what Triss wanted. "She can discuss the fine print with us, but it's a good offer. She gets what she wants, and she doesn't have to go to the ass end of the world."
There was a brief pause as Ciri considered the offer. Triss would take it, Ciri knew. Triss didn't really crave power and influence. Not like she knew Yennefer did, love her as she might. Triss simply enjoyed having power and freedom and refused to let anyone take them from her. Having a place in the Four, the de facto leaders of Novigrad would be enough for her. Might not be enough for the mages under her, though.
"Not enough," Guts decided. At least he knew the price for doing something that was blatantly suicide for anyone remotely normal. "You seem well informed. Where is Yennefer?" He asked, ignoring Junior. Ciri's attention snapped to Sigi just in time to see his eyes narrow a fraction at that. He knew. She could see it in his beady black eyes, he knew. Her grip tightened on her sword and Sigi's lips thinned before he glanced in her direction for but a moment.
Sigi worked his jaw, visibly reluctant to answer the question. "She's in Nilfgaard. With your father," Sigi answered at last, and Ciri's stomach started to do flips. Yennefer was in Nilfgaard? With her father? That… that didn't make any sense. For one, Ciri couldn't imagine how Yennefer could stand to work with her father and the control he would exert over her. Unless it wasn't her choice at all?
"Her father?" Cleaver questioned, still glowering at the two of them, his axe in hand.
"Emperor Emhyr of Nilfgaard. Perhaps better known as the White Flame," Sigi answered and Ciri decided that he was entirely too well informed for her liking. How could he even know that? There weren't many who could possibly know that. Even if they knew that she was a princess -- as much as you could be for a nation that no longer existed -- there should be no reason for him to know who her father was.
The others sputtered but it was Junior that spoke. "Why we bothering with this mangy cunt, then? We take the girl, lord her over her father, and tell him to get gone if he wants her back. Else we'd bend her over a barrel-" he cut himself off when Guts took a threatening step forward, forcing Junior to stumble back.
"Because Emhyr wouldn't take that deal," Sigi stated, sounding like he also knew her father quite well. On that, Ciri agreed.
Still, it was disquieting to learn that Yennefer was in her father's clutches. She knew he was looking for her. Those Nilfgaardian soldiers said as much, even if they didn't know why they were looking for her. Was he using her as bait to capture her? Was she being threatened? Coerced? Her father was a monster. A vile man that could do anything under the sun and everything that never saw the light of day if it meant solidifying his own power. There was a reason that he was known as 'He who dances on the corpses of his enemies.'
Guts glanced over his shoulder, meeting her gaze. He offered the smallest of nods and she knew right there, that he had already agreed to whatever she was going to ask him to do. She didn't even know what she was going to do -- but, no matter what, they needed to get in contact with Yennefer about the Djinn. It may, just so happen, mean that they might need to rescue her from her father while they were at it. And Guts was onboard.
"I don't think we should be makin' deals at all," Junior continued, his lips curling at Guts. Ciri got a measure of him then. As much as he puffed out his chest at whatever scared him, he was also arrogant enough to feel disrespected when someone didn't fear him. And neither of them feared him. Worse, Guts had just humiliated him in front of his fellows and Ciri very much doubted that the four gangsters were the best of friends.
Pride was a terrible curse. Some fools thought it was worth their life.
"Whoreson, don't," Sigi interjected, sounding like his patience was wearing thin with the man. He wasn't the only one. "You'll only be speaking for yourself. And everything that happens next will be on your head." He was distancing himself from the brewing confrontation, making it clear that Junior wasn't speaking for all of them.
"We got options, Sigi. This is why I can't stand you -- No spine at all. You're asking politely when you need to be making threats," Junior scoffed, glowering at Guts. And Ciri saw it. In a normal situation, what Junior was doing made sense. He was disrespected, and he was returning that disrespect with threats. He was trying to save face. He was an arsehole that wasn't used to not being the scariest man in any room he was in. Junior wasn't used to feeling afraid.
Except they came here to ask Guts to fight an army. This was nothing even resembling a normal situation.
"Ya' see, I know your little secret. That blue little fuck that was flying about? He got everyone convinced he was the devil 'em self, he did. But I know the truth. Caught 'em back in Oxenfurt and he busted out of the auction I was sellin' 'em at. Now, I imagine it might be inconvenient for you if that little detail were to slip on the streets, wouldn't it?" Junior threatened, making Ciri's eyebrows climb high. That… was a credible threat. Just perhaps not for the reasons he thought.
The city was already in an uproar. If they learned the truth about Puck, then they'd tear this entire building down to get to Guts.
And Guts would absolutely slaughter them. He'd cut a bloody swath through the streets, he'd be defending himself, but all the same, he'd be killing possibly hundreds of men and women who wanted justice for the murder of their king and the butchery of the Witch Hunters. Mob justice, true, but… well… It wasn't like Guts wasn't guilty. Even if the world was better off. That's what she was afraid of.
Guts didn't react, and Ciri could see him labeling that potential slaughter as a non issue. She didn't blame him for that, but it was an issue all the same.
Naturally, Junior tried to take it a step further. "When they learn about you -- how you're in league with 'em? Oh, they'll whip themselves up into a tizzy. They'd march into that building of yours, and-" and whatever he was about to say would never be heard by anyone because Guts hit him. Given the last person that Guts hit was missing the top of his head, Ciri didn't think that Guts was actually trying to kill him.
He still did, though. Junior's jaw might as well have been made out of glass because it shattered to pieces when Guts' organic hand struck him on the chin. Junior went down, spitting out half of his shattered teeth. What killed him, however, was the broken neck that came from his head snapping so hard to the side, filling the tavern with a loud crack.
No wind up. Just a straight cross.
"Heh. Been wanting to do that for years. Ya' know what? Ya' ain't half bad," Cleaver decided, walking over to Junior and giving him a quick kick in the ribs to make sure he was dead.
Sigi was less than pleased, "Are you physically incapable of not killing people?" He demanded, shaking his head in exasperation.
"Do you want to find out?" Guts growled at him, sounding annoyed that he killed Junior. Seems like it really was an accident in this case.
"I believe," Francis spoke up before the tension could get any thicker. "It might be best for a recess. For us to deal with the aftermath of Junior's death and for you to present the terms to Lady Triss." He offered, glancing at Ciri for a moment.
That actually sounded like a good idea. "Agreed," Ciri decided before Guts could whittle down the Four to the Two. Francis offered a deep and thankful nod before he made a not so hasty retreat away from Guts. Cleaver delivered another kick to Junior's corpse before walking away laughing. It was Sigi who lingered, stealing a look at Ciri for a long moment. Then he turned and walked away, limping out of the door.
It was Dandelion that closed it, "It has been a pleasure and an honor to house you…!" Then he closed the door, "Please never come back again." He leaned on the door, a huge sigh heaving out of him and Ciri felt more than a little guilty for causing him so much distress. But, when he turned around, he looked at them. "Yen's in Nilfgaard? That can't mean anything good. For anyone. I can't tell which thought I find more frightening -- your father controlling her, or Yen controlling your father." He shivered dramatically, earning a weak smile from Ciri.
"What was that about the creature?" Priscilla questioned, looking to Guts. It was at that moment that Puck decided to reveal himself.
"It is I, none other than Not-Evil Puck! Master swordsman, traveler extraordinaire, world-renowned actor, and emergency medical supplies!" Puck introduced himself, making Priscilla's eyes light up at the sight of him. He gave a deep theatrical bow at the waist. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance!"
Priscilla laughed while Dandelion seemed to realize that every rumor he heard was probably the biggest con of the century. "Oh, I believe the pleasure is all mine, Missure Puck," Priscilla said, curtseying in response.
"Ohohoho! You see that Guts? That's respect! You should respect me more! I've got options now," Puck said, flying around near Priscilla, the very picture of smugness. "How many times have I had to bail you out now? Honestly, sometimes you're more trouble than you're worth." He added with a shake of his head, dramatically rolling his eyes at Priscilla, who seemed delighted and fascinated with Puck. Much to Dandelion's immense annoyance.
"Feel free to explore them," Guts grumbled, ignoring the shocked look Puck shot his way in favor of looking at her. "What does this change for you?" He asked, and Ciri was caught flat footed by the concern he was showing. It wasn't like he was a completely indifferent ass beforehand, but before last night, Ciri knew for a fact that he wouldn't have asked that question. He would have just grunted and waited for her to say something, and if she never did, then he would never bother finding out.
It wasn't a bad change. It was a good one. A great one! Just an unexpected one.
"No matter what, we need to get Yennefer first," Ciri stated. "For the Djinn, and because my father will use her against me in any way he can manage. As for running off the Nilfgaardian army… I think it's a right foolish move, but you know your limits better than I do. If you say you can do it and survive, then I believe you."
"Is he right about Triss?" Guts questioned as Puck was being consoled by Priscilla while Dandelion was pouring himself a tall glass of wine. She really did feel terrible about this. She'd have to find a way to make it up to him later.
Ciri hesitated to nod, really thinking about it. As it would turn out, she didn't need to answer at all because the back door opened. Ciri half expected to see Triss striding through the door, and who it really was… well, Ciri would have preferred it to be Triss by a wide margin.
Philippa Eilhart. Ciri had only met her once, briefly, but Philippa had certainly made an impression on her and, looking at her now, that impression still held strong. Philippa's dark hair was pulled into a set of twin tail braids, flowing down to her open dress that clung to her body. She was beautiful, as all sorceress's were, but that beauty was obscured by a blind fold over her eyes. Ciri had heard the rumors. She just hadn't really believed them.
But you never would have thought that Philippa had had her eyes carved out by how she gracefully entered the room, the faintest of smirks playing at the edges of her lips at her suitably dramatic entrance. "I believe I can answer that question. Triss sent me. She's currently babysitting," Philippa informed, her voice could only be described as haughty. The kind that made sure you knew she was talking down to you and she wanted you to know it.
"Philippa! I'd say it's good to see you, but I'm afraid we'd both know that's a lie," Dandelion sniffed, none too pleased to see the sorceress.
"Bard," Philippa returned, coming to a stop in the middle of the room. "And you must be Guts. You killed Radovid. He was my prey," she remarked, her tone as cold as winter itself.
"Then you should have gotten to him before I did," Guts returned, unimpressed with her. That killed the slight smirk on Philippa's face for a second. She seemed to think on that, and despite missing her eyes, she inclined her head to Guts. She could still see. Magic was the obvious answer, but it was a question of how well.
"I suppose you are right. I waited for an opportunity -- one that Dijkstra and his band of collaborators were meant to provide. I would have preferred he suffered, but there is something special about killing a king like he's just another man. For that, I thank you, Guts," Philippa decided, and the words sounded foreign to her. Ciri got the impression that she didn't say thank you very often.
However, Ciri's attention caught on something. "Dijkstra?" Ciri echoed, recognizing the name. If only because she recalled Geralt cursing the man for being too clever by half. "The Redanian spy?"
"Formerly, my dear. Cirilla, it is lovely to see you again. I am glad you're doing well, even in these most trying times," Philippa addressed her, and Ciri thought the words sounded fake. They wouldn't be out of place in court, but in a run down and shabby tavern -- sorry, Dandelion -- they felt out of place. "It is that 'formerly' that has rather soured Dijkstra to the monarchy. Naturally, as with all arrogant fools, he seeks the crown for himself, believing that he could steer the North in a better direction. Which is why he is rather cross with you, Guts. You didn't just ruin his plans. You stole his crown."
Ciri expected the answer to that. Guts just grunted, uncaring.
"Are you working with Triss? She said she couldn't find you," Ciri pointed out, taking a moment to process what was said. Dijkstra wanted to be King of the Northern Kingdoms? That was… a lot. Could he have even done it? No- that wasn't what was important. What mattered was that he thought he could. And now he was trying to use Guts to get his hands on the crown. If nothing else, it certainly was ambitious.
"Because I did not want to be found. Given my… weakened state, I dared not to reach out to anyone. They could be found by the Witch Hunters and Radovid wanted nothing more than to get his hands on me. It was for my own protection," Philippa stated, and that made enough sense to Ciri. "But, seeing as they are no longer an issue, I made contact with Triss and she asked me to oversee the meeting."
"And?" Guts prompted.
"What Dijkstra is offering is within what Triss -- the Lodge -- would want. Self governance, political power, and a base of operations. Novigrad would suit quite well to our needs,"
Philippa stated, but how she said it made Ciri's eyes narrow.
"But?" Ciri prompted, knowing that couldn't be the end of it. And in response, she got a ghost of a smile.
"However, this offer is a feint. A cover. He desires Triss to be blinded by what she wants so she doesn't see the opportunity before her for more. Because, quite simply, the Lodge has no need for rivals within Novigrad," Philippa started, sounding pleased that she heard the unspoken but. "And that is all because of you, Cirilla."
Her eyebrows shot up, "Because of me?" She blurted, not seeing where this conversation was going. Or liking where it was going for that matter.
"You forget who you are, Cirilla. What you are. Being raised by monster hunters in the middle of nowhere would do that, I suppose," Philippa sniffed, displeased with the mere thought of it. "Dijkstra was right about one thing -- Radovid managed to unite the North with military might and fear. He had the noble lineage and he was the one of the few remaining kings of the North, making him the natural choice in a power vacuum. For the common folk, he directed their fears and uncertainties toward the non-humans -- a minority group to rally the humans around a single message. It was rather crudely done, but I suppose the results speak for themselves. If his head hadn't been squished because he couldn't obey an order, he very well might have won the war."
Philippa sounded displeased, almost nauseated by the very idea. "He was a unifying figure and what the North needs right now is to be unified. Dijkstra would have you believe that there is no figure in the North that could hope to achieve that. That is simply not true. You are Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, princess of Cintra. A Northern Kingdom, and one many recall fondly. You are the natural choice for the North to rally around."
Ciri's jaw dropped, and she really hoped that Philippa couldn't actually see her because she stared at the woman with a stupefied expression. "What?" The word blurted from her, tumbling past her lips before she could hope to stop it. "Me? I- that doesn't make any sense- Guts is going to drive off a whole sodden army -- wouldn't that make him the natural rallying point?!" Ciri shamelessly tried to shove the idea into him, and based on the scowl he wore, he wasn't any more enthused about the prospect than she was.
"For the common folk? Certainly," Philippa agreed with a small nod. "However, I doubt that Guts has a drop of noble blood in his veins. Or perhaps I am mistaken?"
Guts huffed. It sounded like a laugh. And that was answer enough, Ciri supposed.
"The idea of rallying the common folk is a lovely fantasy, dear, but it's no more than that -- a fantasy. If you want to rally the Northern Kingdoms, you need the nobility. Such as it is, they will only accept one of their own -- noble blood. A princess. Cintra has fallen, but that matters little in this case. It's your blood that matters." Philippa stated, and Ciri scowled. That. That right there could summarize her entire life in a single sentence. The blood of a princess, the Elder Blood -- what ran in her veins seemed to cause her no end of trouble.
"What would even be the point?" Ciri said, her tone defensive. Angry. "So long as the army gets run off, what does it matter?"
Philippa started to say something, but thought better of it. Ciri could see her switching tact, "Because the North will fall into infighting as soon as Nilfgaard is beaten. The war won't end with their defeat. With no unifying figure or enemy, there will be no end of ambitious dukes or counts that seek to elevate their position because there will never come a better time to. The bloodshed in coming years will make this war look like drops next to an ocean." Ciri saw what she was trying to do. She wasn't stupid. Philippa saw that she had no interest in power for power's sake, so she was appealing to her better nature.
Worse, Ciri thought she might be right.
That small smile returned. "Guts shall be the sword, and you shall be the wielder. With blood and deeds, you can unify the North beyond petty kingdoms. It can be ruled as you see fit in accordance with your ideals -- equality for non-humans, the protection of sapient monsters. Whatever you believe is right shall become righteous. I know you don't covet power, Cirilla. I do respect you for it. However, you can not change the world without it… and you are in position to take it. All you must do is reach out your hands and take it."
Ciri clenched her jaw. How many times did she want to change the world? How many times had she fought against injustice and cruelty? How many times had she visited a wonderous world and wished that her home Sphere was a little more like it?
Damn it.
Ciri summarized her thoughts rather aptly.
"Fuck."
"You are interested," Sigi returned, his tone of voice just as flat as Guts. "I have a talent for reading people. You aren't someone that wastes their time with things that they can't be bothered with. If you really were completely uninterested, I imagine you'd take that massive slab of iron of yours and cut us through before you bothered with a negotiation." Despite herself, Ciri did find herself impressed with Sigi the most of the four. Francis seemed like a decent sort, Junior was an arsehole, and Cleaver was a straight shooter.
Sigi, however, was smart. Because he just described Guts to a tee.
"Or I enjoy watching morons that think they're powerful squirm," Guts rebooked and he gave the closest thing to a smile that Ciri had ever seen on him. A shiver raced down her spine at the sight of it, and Dandelion outright shivered. Their eyes met, and Ciri tried to convey how sorry she was for the entire mess she was getting him into. The old diplomacy lessons kicked in, the ones that made her extremely aware of the power dynamics of any conversation. She thought that Guts would need the leverage.
"Tha' fuck did you call me?" Junior swore, his temper flashing. "Say another fuckin word and you'll be the one that's squirming!" He spat, but it was clear to everyone that Junior didn't believe that for a second. He was like an animal. A stupid one. He felt threatened and he was trying to puff out his chest to scare what frightened him off. Ciri imagined it was how he managed to climb his way up to be one of the Four. That, and his own terrible reputation. But, all the same, not even he was foolish enough to think that Guts would be scared by empty threats.
"I don't have any reason to fight for the North," Guts stated, outright ignoring Junior, and that set him fuming. It was obvious that he wasn't used to being disrespected. "Much less fight an army for its survival," he continued before a small huff escaped him. "It might even cost me all the goodwill I've earned with Nilfgaard so far." To that, Ciri winced.
It wouldn't be… terrible for Nilfgaard to win. Oh, Nilfgaard was full of faults even without factoring in their habit of unprovoked mass invasions. Still, if it was a choice between who was better… well, Nilfgaard didn't have a habit of burning mages and non-humans at the stake. Yet, all the same, Ciri didn't want them to win. It wasn't for the sake of the North either.
She didn't want Nilfgaard to win for the same reasons that Triss didn't want them to win. That Geralt wouldn't want them to win. Or Yennefer. Or anyone that she knew and cared about.
Maybe mages shouldn't have complete unchecked freedoms considering their power, but what Nilfgaard did was slavery with extra steps. Non-humans were treated better, but they were still firmly second class citizens and there was never any hope that they could rise above their stations in life. It was rare in the North, but at least it was possible. Witchers? Witchers had no place in Nilfgaard. And… and…
And her father. The one that wanted to marry her and put a child in her belly to create the 'chosen' one. All because he read some prophecy.
Perhaps it was selfish- no. It was absolutely selfish. Ciri just didn't care. She didn't want Nilfgaard or her father to get what they wanted.
"But you could do it, then?" Sigi questioned and Ciri stole a glance at Guts, curious to what he would say. What they were asking was downright insane. They were asking him to fight an army, a thirty thousand strong army. That was pure madness. The very idea was laughable. Ciri couldn't do it. Geralt certainly couldn't do it. You would need a small army of mages to fight such a force, and they would need to be supported by a small army.
Guts' expression didn't do much as twitch. "I could," he voiced and despite how utterly absurd the entire idea was, Ciri believed him. And that was terrifying. What did they feed him in his own Sphere? "Cut my way through the command tent and retreat, kill the pursuers. Attack again, retreat -- do it a few times and the army will collapse in on itself. I wouldn't need to kill all of them. Just some." He made it sound so easy. Like it was barely an inconvenience.
He was talking about fighting an army. Of cutting his way through hundreds of soldiers, killing someone important, cutting his way through hundreds more soldiers…
Then doing it again. Several times even. Enough so that an army -- a highly trained Nilfgaardian army -- would retreat rather than continue to face him. Guts was claiming that he could have an army running off scared. It was madness and she had to be insane for thinking that he could do it.
"I just haven't heard a reason why I should," Guys finished, his tone flat. Ciri saw a kindred spirit in Francis, as he looked as alarmed as she felt. His brow furrowed and he looked at Guts with apprehension, as if he just now realized he was within swinging distance of a nigh unstoppable monster of a warrior.
"I don't think it's about what you want," Sigi voiced. "I think it's what Triss Merigold, Ciri, and that woman want." Too smart, Ciri decided, narrowing her eyes at Sigi, whose lips curled into the faintest of smirks.
Junior sputtered, "Wut? You saying if we had sum tits, you'd jump and do it? That dark skinned lass-" Junior stated, not even realizing his mistake before Guts moved. With a hand, he flung the table that seperated them with enough force that it splintered on the far wall, and with a single step forward, he reached out to grab Junior by the face. In an awe inspiring display of strength, Guts lifted Junior off of his feet, making the man kick out at his armor while the rest of the Four took a big step back.
Ciri's blade was out in a flash, locking eyes with Cleaver-
"My table! That- that was imported! Oh, no, it's in ruins…" Dandelion bemoaned, his voice cutting through the tension.
"My associate didn't intend that to be a threat to your woman, Guts. We're here for help and I've found that making threats when asking for favors isn't good sense," Sigi spoke up, talking soothingly, as if he were dealing with a wild animal. Junior's screams was muffled by Guts' palm, but Ciri saw his fingers digging into his flesh. A morbid thought entered her head -- could he crush a man's skull in his palm? "Respectfully, I'm asking you to let him go."
Guts worked his jaw for a moment. He didn't say anything, he just let go of Junior, who fell on his arse as he coughed. The rest of the Four looked relieved.
"Thank you. Now, I know what Triss wants," Sigi claimed, making Ciri raise an eyebrow at the bold claim. "What she wants… is Novigrad," he continued without pause, and… he wasn't wrong. He wasn't right exactly, but he wasn't wrong. "Radovid was all that was holding the North together. Without him, even if we do rebuff this army, Nilfgaard is going to pick up pieces of the shattered alliance. It won't be the whole North, though. Parts, such as Novigrad, can maintain our independence if things go to plan."
"A city for fookin' mages," Junior said, spitting on the floor as he glowered up at Guts, rising back to his feet.
"More or less," Sigi continued. "What she wants is a place for mages to practice their craft freely. Without fear of persecution. Not so much to ask for, really. What I'm proposing is that you deal with the Nilfgaardians and Triss, along with her mages, will be welcomed into the fold. The Four shall become the Five." To Ciri's annoyance, he actually did know what Triss wanted. "She can discuss the fine print with us, but it's a good offer. She gets what she wants, and she doesn't have to go to the ass end of the world."
There was a brief pause as Ciri considered the offer. Triss would take it, Ciri knew. Triss didn't really crave power and influence. Not like she knew Yennefer did, love her as she might. Triss simply enjoyed having power and freedom and refused to let anyone take them from her. Having a place in the Four, the de facto leaders of Novigrad would be enough for her. Might not be enough for the mages under her, though.
"Not enough," Guts decided. At least he knew the price for doing something that was blatantly suicide for anyone remotely normal. "You seem well informed. Where is Yennefer?" He asked, ignoring Junior. Ciri's attention snapped to Sigi just in time to see his eyes narrow a fraction at that. He knew. She could see it in his beady black eyes, he knew. Her grip tightened on her sword and Sigi's lips thinned before he glanced in her direction for but a moment.
Sigi worked his jaw, visibly reluctant to answer the question. "She's in Nilfgaard. With your father," Sigi answered at last, and Ciri's stomach started to do flips. Yennefer was in Nilfgaard? With her father? That… that didn't make any sense. For one, Ciri couldn't imagine how Yennefer could stand to work with her father and the control he would exert over her. Unless it wasn't her choice at all?
"Her father?" Cleaver questioned, still glowering at the two of them, his axe in hand.
"Emperor Emhyr of Nilfgaard. Perhaps better known as the White Flame," Sigi answered and Ciri decided that he was entirely too well informed for her liking. How could he even know that? There weren't many who could possibly know that. Even if they knew that she was a princess -- as much as you could be for a nation that no longer existed -- there should be no reason for him to know who her father was.
The others sputtered but it was Junior that spoke. "Why we bothering with this mangy cunt, then? We take the girl, lord her over her father, and tell him to get gone if he wants her back. Else we'd bend her over a barrel-" he cut himself off when Guts took a threatening step forward, forcing Junior to stumble back.
"Because Emhyr wouldn't take that deal," Sigi stated, sounding like he also knew her father quite well. On that, Ciri agreed.
Still, it was disquieting to learn that Yennefer was in her father's clutches. She knew he was looking for her. Those Nilfgaardian soldiers said as much, even if they didn't know why they were looking for her. Was he using her as bait to capture her? Was she being threatened? Coerced? Her father was a monster. A vile man that could do anything under the sun and everything that never saw the light of day if it meant solidifying his own power. There was a reason that he was known as 'He who dances on the corpses of his enemies.'
Guts glanced over his shoulder, meeting her gaze. He offered the smallest of nods and she knew right there, that he had already agreed to whatever she was going to ask him to do. She didn't even know what she was going to do -- but, no matter what, they needed to get in contact with Yennefer about the Djinn. It may, just so happen, mean that they might need to rescue her from her father while they were at it. And Guts was onboard.
"I don't think we should be makin' deals at all," Junior continued, his lips curling at Guts. Ciri got a measure of him then. As much as he puffed out his chest at whatever scared him, he was also arrogant enough to feel disrespected when someone didn't fear him. And neither of them feared him. Worse, Guts had just humiliated him in front of his fellows and Ciri very much doubted that the four gangsters were the best of friends.
Pride was a terrible curse. Some fools thought it was worth their life.
"Whoreson, don't," Sigi interjected, sounding like his patience was wearing thin with the man. He wasn't the only one. "You'll only be speaking for yourself. And everything that happens next will be on your head." He was distancing himself from the brewing confrontation, making it clear that Junior wasn't speaking for all of them.
"We got options, Sigi. This is why I can't stand you -- No spine at all. You're asking politely when you need to be making threats," Junior scoffed, glowering at Guts. And Ciri saw it. In a normal situation, what Junior was doing made sense. He was disrespected, and he was returning that disrespect with threats. He was trying to save face. He was an arsehole that wasn't used to not being the scariest man in any room he was in. Junior wasn't used to feeling afraid.
Except they came here to ask Guts to fight an army. This was nothing even resembling a normal situation.
"Ya' see, I know your little secret. That blue little fuck that was flying about? He got everyone convinced he was the devil 'em self, he did. But I know the truth. Caught 'em back in Oxenfurt and he busted out of the auction I was sellin' 'em at. Now, I imagine it might be inconvenient for you if that little detail were to slip on the streets, wouldn't it?" Junior threatened, making Ciri's eyebrows climb high. That… was a credible threat. Just perhaps not for the reasons he thought.
The city was already in an uproar. If they learned the truth about Puck, then they'd tear this entire building down to get to Guts.
And Guts would absolutely slaughter them. He'd cut a bloody swath through the streets, he'd be defending himself, but all the same, he'd be killing possibly hundreds of men and women who wanted justice for the murder of their king and the butchery of the Witch Hunters. Mob justice, true, but… well… It wasn't like Guts wasn't guilty. Even if the world was better off. That's what she was afraid of.
Guts didn't react, and Ciri could see him labeling that potential slaughter as a non issue. She didn't blame him for that, but it was an issue all the same.
Naturally, Junior tried to take it a step further. "When they learn about you -- how you're in league with 'em? Oh, they'll whip themselves up into a tizzy. They'd march into that building of yours, and-" and whatever he was about to say would never be heard by anyone because Guts hit him. Given the last person that Guts hit was missing the top of his head, Ciri didn't think that Guts was actually trying to kill him.
He still did, though. Junior's jaw might as well have been made out of glass because it shattered to pieces when Guts' organic hand struck him on the chin. Junior went down, spitting out half of his shattered teeth. What killed him, however, was the broken neck that came from his head snapping so hard to the side, filling the tavern with a loud crack.
No wind up. Just a straight cross.
"Heh. Been wanting to do that for years. Ya' know what? Ya' ain't half bad," Cleaver decided, walking over to Junior and giving him a quick kick in the ribs to make sure he was dead.
Sigi was less than pleased, "Are you physically incapable of not killing people?" He demanded, shaking his head in exasperation.
"Do you want to find out?" Guts growled at him, sounding annoyed that he killed Junior. Seems like it really was an accident in this case.
"I believe," Francis spoke up before the tension could get any thicker. "It might be best for a recess. For us to deal with the aftermath of Junior's death and for you to present the terms to Lady Triss." He offered, glancing at Ciri for a moment.
That actually sounded like a good idea. "Agreed," Ciri decided before Guts could whittle down the Four to the Two. Francis offered a deep and thankful nod before he made a not so hasty retreat away from Guts. Cleaver delivered another kick to Junior's corpse before walking away laughing. It was Sigi who lingered, stealing a look at Ciri for a long moment. Then he turned and walked away, limping out of the door.
It was Dandelion that closed it, "It has been a pleasure and an honor to house you…!" Then he closed the door, "Please never come back again." He leaned on the door, a huge sigh heaving out of him and Ciri felt more than a little guilty for causing him so much distress. But, when he turned around, he looked at them. "Yen's in Nilfgaard? That can't mean anything good. For anyone. I can't tell which thought I find more frightening -- your father controlling her, or Yen controlling your father." He shivered dramatically, earning a weak smile from Ciri.
"What was that about the creature?" Priscilla questioned, looking to Guts. It was at that moment that Puck decided to reveal himself.
"It is I, none other than Not-Evil Puck! Master swordsman, traveler extraordinaire, world-renowned actor, and emergency medical supplies!" Puck introduced himself, making Priscilla's eyes light up at the sight of him. He gave a deep theatrical bow at the waist. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance!"
Priscilla laughed while Dandelion seemed to realize that every rumor he heard was probably the biggest con of the century. "Oh, I believe the pleasure is all mine, Missure Puck," Priscilla said, curtseying in response.
"Ohohoho! You see that Guts? That's respect! You should respect me more! I've got options now," Puck said, flying around near Priscilla, the very picture of smugness. "How many times have I had to bail you out now? Honestly, sometimes you're more trouble than you're worth." He added with a shake of his head, dramatically rolling his eyes at Priscilla, who seemed delighted and fascinated with Puck. Much to Dandelion's immense annoyance.
"Feel free to explore them," Guts grumbled, ignoring the shocked look Puck shot his way in favor of looking at her. "What does this change for you?" He asked, and Ciri was caught flat footed by the concern he was showing. It wasn't like he was a completely indifferent ass beforehand, but before last night, Ciri knew for a fact that he wouldn't have asked that question. He would have just grunted and waited for her to say something, and if she never did, then he would never bother finding out.
It wasn't a bad change. It was a good one. A great one! Just an unexpected one.
"No matter what, we need to get Yennefer first," Ciri stated. "For the Djinn, and because my father will use her against me in any way he can manage. As for running off the Nilfgaardian army… I think it's a right foolish move, but you know your limits better than I do. If you say you can do it and survive, then I believe you."
"Is he right about Triss?" Guts questioned as Puck was being consoled by Priscilla while Dandelion was pouring himself a tall glass of wine. She really did feel terrible about this. She'd have to find a way to make it up to him later.
Ciri hesitated to nod, really thinking about it. As it would turn out, she didn't need to answer at all because the back door opened. Ciri half expected to see Triss striding through the door, and who it really was… well, Ciri would have preferred it to be Triss by a wide margin.
Philippa Eilhart. Ciri had only met her once, briefly, but Philippa had certainly made an impression on her and, looking at her now, that impression still held strong. Philippa's dark hair was pulled into a set of twin tail braids, flowing down to her open dress that clung to her body. She was beautiful, as all sorceress's were, but that beauty was obscured by a blind fold over her eyes. Ciri had heard the rumors. She just hadn't really believed them.
But you never would have thought that Philippa had had her eyes carved out by how she gracefully entered the room, the faintest of smirks playing at the edges of her lips at her suitably dramatic entrance. "I believe I can answer that question. Triss sent me. She's currently babysitting," Philippa informed, her voice could only be described as haughty. The kind that made sure you knew she was talking down to you and she wanted you to know it.
"Philippa! I'd say it's good to see you, but I'm afraid we'd both know that's a lie," Dandelion sniffed, none too pleased to see the sorceress.
"Bard," Philippa returned, coming to a stop in the middle of the room. "And you must be Guts. You killed Radovid. He was my prey," she remarked, her tone as cold as winter itself.
"Then you should have gotten to him before I did," Guts returned, unimpressed with her. That killed the slight smirk on Philippa's face for a second. She seemed to think on that, and despite missing her eyes, she inclined her head to Guts. She could still see. Magic was the obvious answer, but it was a question of how well.
"I suppose you are right. I waited for an opportunity -- one that Dijkstra and his band of collaborators were meant to provide. I would have preferred he suffered, but there is something special about killing a king like he's just another man. For that, I thank you, Guts," Philippa decided, and the words sounded foreign to her. Ciri got the impression that she didn't say thank you very often.
However, Ciri's attention caught on something. "Dijkstra?" Ciri echoed, recognizing the name. If only because she recalled Geralt cursing the man for being too clever by half. "The Redanian spy?"
"Formerly, my dear. Cirilla, it is lovely to see you again. I am glad you're doing well, even in these most trying times," Philippa addressed her, and Ciri thought the words sounded fake. They wouldn't be out of place in court, but in a run down and shabby tavern -- sorry, Dandelion -- they felt out of place. "It is that 'formerly' that has rather soured Dijkstra to the monarchy. Naturally, as with all arrogant fools, he seeks the crown for himself, believing that he could steer the North in a better direction. Which is why he is rather cross with you, Guts. You didn't just ruin his plans. You stole his crown."
Ciri expected the answer to that. Guts just grunted, uncaring.
"Are you working with Triss? She said she couldn't find you," Ciri pointed out, taking a moment to process what was said. Dijkstra wanted to be King of the Northern Kingdoms? That was… a lot. Could he have even done it? No- that wasn't what was important. What mattered was that he thought he could. And now he was trying to use Guts to get his hands on the crown. If nothing else, it certainly was ambitious.
"Because I did not want to be found. Given my… weakened state, I dared not to reach out to anyone. They could be found by the Witch Hunters and Radovid wanted nothing more than to get his hands on me. It was for my own protection," Philippa stated, and that made enough sense to Ciri. "But, seeing as they are no longer an issue, I made contact with Triss and she asked me to oversee the meeting."
"And?" Guts prompted.
"What Dijkstra is offering is within what Triss -- the Lodge -- would want. Self governance, political power, and a base of operations. Novigrad would suit quite well to our needs,"
Philippa stated, but how she said it made Ciri's eyes narrow.
"But?" Ciri prompted, knowing that couldn't be the end of it. And in response, she got a ghost of a smile.
"However, this offer is a feint. A cover. He desires Triss to be blinded by what she wants so she doesn't see the opportunity before her for more. Because, quite simply, the Lodge has no need for rivals within Novigrad," Philippa started, sounding pleased that she heard the unspoken but. "And that is all because of you, Cirilla."
Her eyebrows shot up, "Because of me?" She blurted, not seeing where this conversation was going. Or liking where it was going for that matter.
"You forget who you are, Cirilla. What you are. Being raised by monster hunters in the middle of nowhere would do that, I suppose," Philippa sniffed, displeased with the mere thought of it. "Dijkstra was right about one thing -- Radovid managed to unite the North with military might and fear. He had the noble lineage and he was the one of the few remaining kings of the North, making him the natural choice in a power vacuum. For the common folk, he directed their fears and uncertainties toward the non-humans -- a minority group to rally the humans around a single message. It was rather crudely done, but I suppose the results speak for themselves. If his head hadn't been squished because he couldn't obey an order, he very well might have won the war."
Philippa sounded displeased, almost nauseated by the very idea. "He was a unifying figure and what the North needs right now is to be unified. Dijkstra would have you believe that there is no figure in the North that could hope to achieve that. That is simply not true. You are Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, princess of Cintra. A Northern Kingdom, and one many recall fondly. You are the natural choice for the North to rally around."
Ciri's jaw dropped, and she really hoped that Philippa couldn't actually see her because she stared at the woman with a stupefied expression. "What?" The word blurted from her, tumbling past her lips before she could hope to stop it. "Me? I- that doesn't make any sense- Guts is going to drive off a whole sodden army -- wouldn't that make him the natural rallying point?!" Ciri shamelessly tried to shove the idea into him, and based on the scowl he wore, he wasn't any more enthused about the prospect than she was.
"For the common folk? Certainly," Philippa agreed with a small nod. "However, I doubt that Guts has a drop of noble blood in his veins. Or perhaps I am mistaken?"
Guts huffed. It sounded like a laugh. And that was answer enough, Ciri supposed.
"The idea of rallying the common folk is a lovely fantasy, dear, but it's no more than that -- a fantasy. If you want to rally the Northern Kingdoms, you need the nobility. Such as it is, they will only accept one of their own -- noble blood. A princess. Cintra has fallen, but that matters little in this case. It's your blood that matters." Philippa stated, and Ciri scowled. That. That right there could summarize her entire life in a single sentence. The blood of a princess, the Elder Blood -- what ran in her veins seemed to cause her no end of trouble.
"What would even be the point?" Ciri said, her tone defensive. Angry. "So long as the army gets run off, what does it matter?"
Philippa started to say something, but thought better of it. Ciri could see her switching tact, "Because the North will fall into infighting as soon as Nilfgaard is beaten. The war won't end with their defeat. With no unifying figure or enemy, there will be no end of ambitious dukes or counts that seek to elevate their position because there will never come a better time to. The bloodshed in coming years will make this war look like drops next to an ocean." Ciri saw what she was trying to do. She wasn't stupid. Philippa saw that she had no interest in power for power's sake, so she was appealing to her better nature.
Worse, Ciri thought she might be right.
That small smile returned. "Guts shall be the sword, and you shall be the wielder. With blood and deeds, you can unify the North beyond petty kingdoms. It can be ruled as you see fit in accordance with your ideals -- equality for non-humans, the protection of sapient monsters. Whatever you believe is right shall become righteous. I know you don't covet power, Cirilla. I do respect you for it. However, you can not change the world without it… and you are in position to take it. All you must do is reach out your hands and take it."
Ciri clenched her jaw. How many times did she want to change the world? How many times had she fought against injustice and cruelty? How many times had she visited a wonderous world and wished that her home Sphere was a little more like it?
Damn it.
Ciri summarized her thoughts rather aptly.
"Fuck."
- Pronouns
- He/him
A convincing argument for Ciri that might be, but Guts seems to be a big part of this plan and he sort of has a thing about just being used as a weapon by white haired people trying to rule a kingdom
Acheroraptor
Probably mortal
Gut's POV: So I'm supposed to be the sword for a white-haired future monar- wait a fecking minute
I'm actually curious about what Gut's thoughts are on this whole dealio, aside from that, talk about butterflies eh, wonder if she is actually gonna agree, she probably won't if Guts won't agree but hey time to wait for the next chapter ,anyway a good chapter me very happy
I'm actually curious about what Gut's thoughts are on this whole dealio, aside from that, talk about butterflies eh, wonder if she is actually gonna agree, she probably won't if Guts won't agree but hey time to wait for the next chapter ,anyway a good chapter me very happy
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The Greater Good
- Location
- USA
"Do you want it?" Guts asked, his hand twitching to grab Dragonslayer and just start swinging. Something heavy sat on his chest and shoulders, weighing him down. Crushing him. Grinding his bones into dust as he saw the past repeat itself before his very eyes. It wasn't a one to one. Ciri wasn't a bastard, and she was a woman, but beyond that it was like he was seeing it all over again. An ashen haired person reaching out to the crown, claiming that a utopia would be built by their hand.
Ciri had retreated to the rooftop to gather her thoughts, Philippa leaving as soon as she arrived to deliver the message to Triss. Guts was left reeling from it. He tried to shove it down, but his thoughts spiraled -- The Eclipse. Griffith's betrayal. All of it.
Ciri was seated on the edge of the building, glancing over her shoulder at him. She didn't seem surprised to see him. And not only because the roof groaned underneath his and Dragonslayer's combined weight. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, uncertainty shining in her eyes before she released a huge heaving sigh. "I don't know," Ciri confessed. "Philippa isn't as clever as she thinks. She called Djstrka a fool for wanting to do the exact same thing she said I could do. As far as manipulation goes, it's not her finest bit of work."
At least she wasn't blinded by greed, Guts decided. Still, it wasn't an outright no. He wanted an outright no. He had no right to ask for one -- Ciri wasn't Griffith. But, at the same time, never in his worst nightmares could he have imagined that Griffith would have done what he did. He wanted her to say no because it would prove to him that she wasn't like Griffith -Ambition wrapped in good intentions to make the bitter pill easier to swallow.
"But," Ciri continued, gazing out at the city from their vantage. There were a few trails of smoke as fire burnt down a house where the rioting got out of control. "She also isn't wrong. Nilfgaard gutted the upper nobility in the North as their opening move for the invasion. Radovid was one of the last true born kings. I'm a princess without a nation, but the nobility are a bunch of idiots. They'll listen because of my blood claim. We rebuff the Nilfgaardians, then we have the prestige to support my claim. Honestly, it's really sad how easy it would be. Kind of feels like cheating with you, though."
She wasn't going to get any disagreement from him that the blue bloods were a bunch of self serving idiots. They valued their blood because without it, they were worthless. Having a noble lineage just gave you opportunities but those that were born surrounded by opportunities never understood their value.
"Do you want it?" Guts repeated, his tone harsh to his own ears. That earned Ciri's attention, making her turn around to face him. He could see it on her face that she suspected what his issue was. He never told anyone about what happened that night. Not even Skull Knight, even if he had seen the end of it. Casca was the only one that could possibly understand, but she was insane. Seeing her again made the truth spill out from his lips in a flood, and now Guts wasn't sure if he regretted that or not.
Ciri worked her jaw for a moment, uncertain. Guts did believe that she was torn about the decision. "I don't, but I think I should," Ciri uttered after a moment, meeting his gaze. "I don't want to be Queen of anything. I want to just be a Witcher, walking the Path. As I have been. But… on the Path, there's a lot of shit, Guts. Tragedy and neglect. People dying because the people that were supposed to protect them decided that they didn't care enough to. And I think I'm arrogant enough to think that I could change that."
Guts closed his eyes, even the words sounding familiar to him. It was the same dream that got him swept up in the Band of the Hawk. Guts never cared about what the dream meant for the world. Not in the slightest. If Griffith's dream had been to destroy the world, then Guts would have led the charge. The only thing that mattered to him then was that it was Griffith's dream.
He clenched his jaw, "You can't change people, Ciri." He replied gruffly, doing what he wished he had done years ago. The what ifs that plagued him. Zodd's prophecy still rang in his ears, but was there truly no way that he could have averted the Eclipse? Was it always bound to happen? If he challenged Griffith instead of blindingly following his dream… if he never left… "No matter what or how many crowns you have, people are always going to find ways to be lazy fucks. They will always skirt their obligations and find ways to avert your gaze. It's human nature."
Ciri nodded slowly, seemingly a bit sad at that. "I don't think you're wrong either. I'm not a little girl, Guts. I know how the world works. But… I've also seen what the world can become," Ciri argued, looking away from him. "I've been to hundreds of Spheres to escape the Wild Hunt. This Sphere and yours, I reckon, are similar but there are countless ones that are different. In one, I arrived at a city that had buildings taller than if you stacked every structure in Novigrad on top of one another. In another, luxury was so common that even the most destitute of beggars would look on our kings and emperors and weep at their wretched lives."
Ciri took in a breath and turned her attention to the sky above. "In another sphere, man had conquered the stars above. Or mastered nature to the point that planets were treated like gardens that could be shaped and tended to be exactly what the gardener wants. I've seen Spheres where things such as hunger, disease, even war are forgotten concepts. I've seen them, Guts. With my own two eyes. They're not an impossible dream that have no basis in reality. They're real. And this Sphere could become like them."
The utopia.
"Easy to say. Harder to do," Guts argued, earning a nod from Ciri.
"Probably. But just because it's hard, doesn't mean we shouldn't strive for it," Ciri retorted.
"And what are you going to sacrifice for that utopia?" Guts bite the words out, drawing Ciri's attention back to him. His hands twitched for Dragonslayer. It was right in front of him. He could see Griffith -- that same festering dream that cost Guts everything.
"Myself," Ciri didn't hesitate to answer, stopping Guts in his tracks. "I don't want the crown, Guts. It's just selfish of me to not take it. Even if I can't make a perfect world, even if nothing I do actually works, I know that I can improve lives. I could bring technology and knowledge from other more advanced Spheres and implement them in this one. As a queen, I wouldn't need to bend to the whims of the nobility. Clean water, medicine against diseases, farming techniques and materials to increase harvest yields so no one needs to go hungry… I know I can do that much. And I have the opportunity. If I don't… if I choose to not do it… isn't that the same thing as letting people starve? Letting them die of disease?"
Guts closed his eyes, hearing Ciri's guilt at the mere thought of it. "Not even close."
"Really? If you had the chance to stop Griffith, knowing what he would do, and you chose to do nothing-" Ciri started, cutting herself off when Guts' eyes snapped open. "No. Sorry. That wasn't right of me. I'm sorry, Guts," Ciri heaved out a sigh, burying her face in her hands.
Guts looked at her for a moment, seeing how the decision weighed heavily on her. The anger that churned in his chest began to settle at the sight. A fear that he had since he first heard the offer was quelled by it. Because, for all of their similarities… "Griffith chose to sacrifice all of us for his ambition," Guts told her, making Ciri look at him. "I'm sure he wanted the utopia -- the same one you're talking about -- but what mattered to him was that he was the one that lead it's creation. He wasn't doing it for the sake of the people. He was doing it for himself and his ego -- it would be proof that he was a greater leader and king than the nobility that he despised."
Griffith was selfish, all the way down to his core. Everything he did was for the sake of his own ambitions. Even if something good came out of it, Guts knew that it was a byproduct of Griffith's selfishness and ego.
And that's where he and Ciri differed.
"I don't really know if you're right or wrong. I never bothered to keep track of that stuff," Guts admitted. In his experience, the greater good was just a convenient excuse for people to make sacrifices. A cheap justification to do something that the one making the decision already wanted to do. "I do think you'd hate being queen, though."
To that, Ciri grunted in agreement. "I would. I hated being a princess too. Snuck out of the castle every chance I got to play knucklebones with urchins. I'd have gone right mad if I was stuck inside learning etiquette lessons all day. I'm going to hate it. I just think I would regret it more if I didn't do it. There's so much shit on the Path… and there was always this thought, 'If I was still a princess of Cintra, then this wouldn't be happening.' I was probably dead wrong, but… I want to make a difference, Guts. And I know I can make a bigger impact as a Queen or Empress or whatever than I could as a nameless Witcher."
She sounded miserable about it. A sigh heaved out of her, "What about you? What do you think?" He cocked an eyebrow in response, and she rolled her eyes. "Come off it. You're a friend, Guts. And this whole plan hinges on you soloing an army."
A friend? He was silent for a long minute, considering that word. What it meant to him because that word was the one that changed everything. After he assassinated that duke and stumbled across Griffith and the princess talking… he wanted to be Griffith's friend, and that meant standing as his equal. He left the Band of the Hawk as soon as the war ended in pursuit of finding his own dream.
He never did find it. Even now, what he desired was vengeance.
Ciri looked increasingly nervous at his long silence. She wasn't Griffith. Friends…. He didn't think he would find any more of those. "I don't really care about the North or Nilfgaard. Their fates mean nothing to me. I owe you and Triss, so whatever you want is what I'll do," He told Ciri, and her flat expression told him that she was less than impressed with his answer. He swallowed a sigh, "Aren't you the princess of Nilfgaard too? Why bother defending the North at all?"
To that, her lips thinned. "My father gutted the nobility before his invasion, so, in theory at least, I would have a lot easier time restructuring the North than I would Nilfgaard. And… I know my father. He does love me, in his own weird and obsessed way. Even if I unite the North against him, I don't think he would change my place as his heir. So, in theory, I could unite Nilfgaard and the North through peaceful means. More or less creating world peace." World peace?
The idea was an odd one. What would a world at peace even look like?
Still, Guts was starting to see why the decision was weighing so heavily on her. He didn't care all that much about the world. The greater good, the lesser evils -- they didn't mean a damn thing to him and they never had. Death stalked the land in the forms of war, famine, and the supernatural. Some deaths were regrettable, but at the end of the day, dying is what people did. Life had no special value to him.
It did to Ciri, though.
"You sure about that?" Guts asked, not knowing much but that did sound like one hell of an inheritance.
Ciri shrugged, "As sure as I can be without getting it in writing. Even if my father does agree, it doesn't mean the nobility will. Nothing might come of it, but something could. Well? A copper for your thoughts?"
"Don't think they're worth that much. Do whatever you think you would regret the least," Guts offered the little advice he could. He knew a thing or two about regrets. There were days when they seemed to weigh him down as much as Dragonslayer did. Guts didn't think that Ciri would be happy as queen, but if she carried fewer regrets walking that path, then that was worth more than happiness.
Ciri let out a sigh, as if she had been afraid of that answer. Telling Guts that she already knew what she wanted to do and hoped that he would talk her out of it. "It's a moot point for now, anyway. First, we have to get Yen back and find a lead on a Djinn," she decided, putting the decision off. Guts knew what she was doing, but chose not to comment in favor of giving a serious nod in agreement.
The Djinn. A wish granting creature. It really was nothing short of the height of irony that that was their best bet curing Casca's madness. Ciri told him what the risks were -- Djinns were renowned for twisting the wishes of those that captured them in a way that usually ended with the wisher dead. That was a cold comfort to Guts. Especially when he saw first hand how terribly such wishes could go when they were made to the Godhand.
It was dangerous. And no wish came without a cost. There would be a price to pay, no matter how cleverly worded the wish was. All he could do was ensure that Casca wasn't the one that paid that price.
He swallowed his thoughts, pushing away his doubts. It was a lead on bringing Casca back from the confines of her own mind. Guts wasn't under the delusion that he was anything less than desperate to have her back.
"We know she's in Nilfgaard, but that's about it," Guts pointed out. He didn't even know how big Nilfgaard was.
To that, Ciri smirked. "My father wouldn't dare take his eyes off of Yen. Even if he does have her under guard, he would know that she'd slip out from underneath his thumb and run rings around him the moment he did." She said the words with pride before trailing off in a grimace, realizing that would make things more complicated. "So, she's likely in Vizima with him. The old capital of Temeria. Good news there is that I've been there before, so it shouldn't be any issue taking us there. Getting out is going to be an issue."
Ciri bit her lip, looking out at the city to see that the riot was still ongoing. And it likely would until they had a reason to stop or they burned themselves out. He could see that was weighing heavily on her out of a misplaced sense of guilt. If it was anyone's fault, it was their own. Or his, Guts supposed. Though, he didn't put much stock in that. He wasn't responsible for their reactions to their king dying or the massacre of the Witch Hunters. If someone was to blame for the damage, then it was the fools that were doing the damage.
A sigh escaped her, "Are you ready?" Ciri asked, earning a curt nod from him in response. "Alright. Here we go…" Ciri said, reaching out and placing a hand in his prosthetic arm.
Then they moved. Guts felt a pull, almost similar to what he felt when a horse went from stationary to a full gallop. His vision was washed with white, but when he blinked it away, he found himself standing in a completely different city. Smaller, for one. And parts of it currently weren't on fire. The buildings were of the same general make, telling Guts that construction methods didn't change a great deal across the North. However, the differences were still present.
Novigrad and Oxenfurt looked old. Weathered. The street would have cracked stones with weeds springing up between them, the paint on buildings might be faded or whitewash would be stained. Old junk and odds and ends gathered up in back alleys or corners of the streets, left there because no one bothered to remove it. None of that could be seen in Vizima. The opposite, really.
Everything seemed to be freshly painted, and the green that could be seen throughout the city was well-maintained. Guts could see a couple of elves and dwarves that were actively replacing the roads -- either removing the broken stone or paving over the dirt roads. The people themselves seemed to be the average peasants, but Guts did note that their clothing did seem a little finer, though that could just be because of a different styling. In short, compared to Novigrad, it was a large step up.
"It's to prevent rebellion," Ciri remarked, sensing his thoughts as they looked down at the city from atop of the walls that surrounded it. "No one really cares whose arse sits on the throne, but everyone notices when things become better or worse -- after an invasion, things are always bound to be worse. So, give people roads. Have kind and benevolent commanders in charge of territories. So on and so on. Those that lost are still going to be angry, but those that didn't lose anything? They'll just see how things are better under Nilfgaard's rule."
She shook he head in frustration, "Then those that like the way things are will turn on those that are angry. Turn them in. Kill them themselves, even. I've seen both."
"Clever," Guts summarized his thoughts on it. Ciri was a princess. A Witcher. She cared about people.
Guts could tell that wasn't what she wanted to hear -- she didn't want to hear a single redeeming thing about Nilfgaard, as far as he could tell. Or complete agreement that they were scum of the earth. If they were or weren't didn't matter. If their goal was to conquer the world, then they found a way to do it and minimize rebellions. If he was still a mercenary, then he would have joined them. The North might have paid more, but Nilfgaard seemed to be the winning side.
Instead, he inclined his head to the castle that was hidden by another set of walls, standing at the very top of a hill that overlooked the city. As far as castles went, it would be a tough nut to crack. Not impossible, just costly. "Don't suppose you know where she would be?" Guts questioned, his gaze flickering over it. It wasn't a question of how they were going to get in. Ciri's ability was incredibly useful for that. From a purely tactical standpoint, he got why the Wild Hunt wanted her.
It would be incredibly convenient to appear at the heart of a castle with an army. It was also part of the reason, Guts imagined, her father wanted her back.
Her lips thinned at that. "She could be in the dungeon," Ciri muttered darkly, a tone that promised blood would be shed if that were the case. "We should start there," she continued, also sounding like she thought it was likely. "We just have to find her. Once we do, we can get back to Novigrad in a blink of an eye."
Guts reached up to the hilt of Dragonslayer, but she shook her head. "Best not. At least not at the start. I don't want to give my father a chance to react and do something to her. There's a good chance that the reason he has her is to set a trap for me." Her jaw clenched as her hands curled into fists.
"Then lets take your father hostage. He's here too, right?" Guts questioned, catching Ciri by surprise. "It'd be worth doing anyway. Nothing causes disorder in the chain of command quite like cutting off the head of the snake," he added and he saw that Ciri hadn't even considered it. That told Guts that Ciri had tunnel vision. She just wanted to free Yennefer, get in and get out, without ever having to confront her father.
"That'd be one way to do it," Ciri agreed. "Suppose it comes down to whoever we find first. Let's head in," Ciri said, reaching out and teleporting them again. Guts felt the same pull in his gut, and his vision went white.
This time when he opened his eyes, he found himself standing inside of a hallway. The air was perfumed, carrying a sweet scent. The floor and walls seemed to be made with marble, paintings hanging off of the walls and Guts heard the faint sounds of music reaching them. Guts glanced over his shoulder to see that there was no one behind or in front of them. He glanced at Ciri, who set off in one direction. He followed behind her, heading to a door that she opened with a shove.
Standing on the other end of the door were guards, Guts noticed. Ciri strode right past them, barely giving them so much as a glance. Guts did as he stepped past them, seeing them look at him and Ciri before looking straight ahead. They didn't move to stop them.
"They're not going to assume we just teleported inside. They don't have any reason to be suspicious. So don't give them any," Ciri remarked to him as he followed her through the castle, speaking in a low voice once they were some distance away. Guts felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb, but true to Ciri's word, even as they passed by guards or servants, they hardly gave them a glance before moving on. "It's rude for servants to look their 'betters' in the face. It's an offense that's worth a caning in Nilfgaard." Her tone told him she found that disagreeable.
Ciri came to an abrupt stop at one of the hallways, however. Her attention snapped in one direction and she pivoted on a heel to approach a door. "I smell gooseberries," Ciri muttered, though Guts couldn't smell anything other than perfume. With little hesitation, she pushed the door open, entering an extravagant room that was larger than most peasant buildings. Guts entered, noting that it wasn't that dissimilar to Triss' apartment, but the amount of clutter wasn't as bad, possibly because three of Triss' apartment could have fit in the room.
His gaze was drawn to a painting that leaned against the wall. A painting of an ashen haired girl that was half buried in a frilly dress while wearing an expression that told the world exactly how unhappy she was with it. "Is that you?" Guts questioned, catching Ciri off guard.
"Ah. That. Yeah, it's me -- it was meant to be my portrait for Radovid way back when we were engaged. Wouldn't smile for the world. My grandmother thought it was so funny she kept the original and sent another with a fake smile to Redania," Ciri admitted, a slight smile tugging at her lips. "This is Yennefer's room. It has to be. Much better than a cell in the dungeon," Ciri remarked. "We just need to-"
Almost before the door had even closed, it was thrown open and a woman stepped through it. Guts looked at her, just as her eyes locked into him. She had deep violet eyes, raven black hair, and a black and white dress. More pressingly, however, was the magical fire that was costing a hand as she scowled at him. "Fool, you-" she started, and Guts supposed she had some magical trap that alerted her whenever entered uninvited.
However, the words died in Yennefer's throat when her gaze slid to Ciri. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. The scowl fell away and, for a split second, Guts saw the expression of a mother that saw her child returning home after a long campaign. "Ciri!"
"You look well," Ciri started, only for Yennefer to sweep across the room and grab Ciri in a hug, squeezing with all of her might. It was a moment of pure relief.
And one that was bound to be ruined by a second set of footsteps.
"Cirilla," a male voice interjected, making Yennefer and Ciri break the hug. He was a man in his forties to early fifties from the look of it, dressed in finery with his hair pushed back. His expression was as neutral as his tone as he entered the room.
Ciri's expression tightened. "Father," she replied in a curt tone.
Guts turned his attention to Emhyr. The Emperor of Nilfgaard. The emperor paid him no mind as he entered the room, "We have much to discuss-" he started, but whatever he was going to say was cut off when Guts' slugged him in the chin. He dropped to the floor with a grunt while Ciri sputtered.
Good. He didn't kill him this time.
"Come on," Guts said, grabbing Emhyr by the scruff of his neck and dragging him over to Ciri and Yennefer, who gaped at him while Ciri was burying her face into her palms. He wasn't sure why. Wasn't like this wasn't the plan in the first place.
"Let's go back to Novigrad," Guts urged, holding out his prosthetic for Ciri to touch.
Back to Casca.
"Fine… but seriously Guts, please stop punching royalty, would you?!"
Ciri had retreated to the rooftop to gather her thoughts, Philippa leaving as soon as she arrived to deliver the message to Triss. Guts was left reeling from it. He tried to shove it down, but his thoughts spiraled -- The Eclipse. Griffith's betrayal. All of it.
Ciri was seated on the edge of the building, glancing over her shoulder at him. She didn't seem surprised to see him. And not only because the roof groaned underneath his and Dragonslayer's combined weight. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, uncertainty shining in her eyes before she released a huge heaving sigh. "I don't know," Ciri confessed. "Philippa isn't as clever as she thinks. She called Djstrka a fool for wanting to do the exact same thing she said I could do. As far as manipulation goes, it's not her finest bit of work."
At least she wasn't blinded by greed, Guts decided. Still, it wasn't an outright no. He wanted an outright no. He had no right to ask for one -- Ciri wasn't Griffith. But, at the same time, never in his worst nightmares could he have imagined that Griffith would have done what he did. He wanted her to say no because it would prove to him that she wasn't like Griffith -Ambition wrapped in good intentions to make the bitter pill easier to swallow.
"But," Ciri continued, gazing out at the city from their vantage. There were a few trails of smoke as fire burnt down a house where the rioting got out of control. "She also isn't wrong. Nilfgaard gutted the upper nobility in the North as their opening move for the invasion. Radovid was one of the last true born kings. I'm a princess without a nation, but the nobility are a bunch of idiots. They'll listen because of my blood claim. We rebuff the Nilfgaardians, then we have the prestige to support my claim. Honestly, it's really sad how easy it would be. Kind of feels like cheating with you, though."
She wasn't going to get any disagreement from him that the blue bloods were a bunch of self serving idiots. They valued their blood because without it, they were worthless. Having a noble lineage just gave you opportunities but those that were born surrounded by opportunities never understood their value.
"Do you want it?" Guts repeated, his tone harsh to his own ears. That earned Ciri's attention, making her turn around to face him. He could see it on her face that she suspected what his issue was. He never told anyone about what happened that night. Not even Skull Knight, even if he had seen the end of it. Casca was the only one that could possibly understand, but she was insane. Seeing her again made the truth spill out from his lips in a flood, and now Guts wasn't sure if he regretted that or not.
Ciri worked her jaw for a moment, uncertain. Guts did believe that she was torn about the decision. "I don't, but I think I should," Ciri uttered after a moment, meeting his gaze. "I don't want to be Queen of anything. I want to just be a Witcher, walking the Path. As I have been. But… on the Path, there's a lot of shit, Guts. Tragedy and neglect. People dying because the people that were supposed to protect them decided that they didn't care enough to. And I think I'm arrogant enough to think that I could change that."
Guts closed his eyes, even the words sounding familiar to him. It was the same dream that got him swept up in the Band of the Hawk. Guts never cared about what the dream meant for the world. Not in the slightest. If Griffith's dream had been to destroy the world, then Guts would have led the charge. The only thing that mattered to him then was that it was Griffith's dream.
He clenched his jaw, "You can't change people, Ciri." He replied gruffly, doing what he wished he had done years ago. The what ifs that plagued him. Zodd's prophecy still rang in his ears, but was there truly no way that he could have averted the Eclipse? Was it always bound to happen? If he challenged Griffith instead of blindingly following his dream… if he never left… "No matter what or how many crowns you have, people are always going to find ways to be lazy fucks. They will always skirt their obligations and find ways to avert your gaze. It's human nature."
Ciri nodded slowly, seemingly a bit sad at that. "I don't think you're wrong either. I'm not a little girl, Guts. I know how the world works. But… I've also seen what the world can become," Ciri argued, looking away from him. "I've been to hundreds of Spheres to escape the Wild Hunt. This Sphere and yours, I reckon, are similar but there are countless ones that are different. In one, I arrived at a city that had buildings taller than if you stacked every structure in Novigrad on top of one another. In another, luxury was so common that even the most destitute of beggars would look on our kings and emperors and weep at their wretched lives."
Ciri took in a breath and turned her attention to the sky above. "In another sphere, man had conquered the stars above. Or mastered nature to the point that planets were treated like gardens that could be shaped and tended to be exactly what the gardener wants. I've seen Spheres where things such as hunger, disease, even war are forgotten concepts. I've seen them, Guts. With my own two eyes. They're not an impossible dream that have no basis in reality. They're real. And this Sphere could become like them."
The utopia.
"Easy to say. Harder to do," Guts argued, earning a nod from Ciri.
"Probably. But just because it's hard, doesn't mean we shouldn't strive for it," Ciri retorted.
"And what are you going to sacrifice for that utopia?" Guts bite the words out, drawing Ciri's attention back to him. His hands twitched for Dragonslayer. It was right in front of him. He could see Griffith -- that same festering dream that cost Guts everything.
"Myself," Ciri didn't hesitate to answer, stopping Guts in his tracks. "I don't want the crown, Guts. It's just selfish of me to not take it. Even if I can't make a perfect world, even if nothing I do actually works, I know that I can improve lives. I could bring technology and knowledge from other more advanced Spheres and implement them in this one. As a queen, I wouldn't need to bend to the whims of the nobility. Clean water, medicine against diseases, farming techniques and materials to increase harvest yields so no one needs to go hungry… I know I can do that much. And I have the opportunity. If I don't… if I choose to not do it… isn't that the same thing as letting people starve? Letting them die of disease?"
Guts closed his eyes, hearing Ciri's guilt at the mere thought of it. "Not even close."
"Really? If you had the chance to stop Griffith, knowing what he would do, and you chose to do nothing-" Ciri started, cutting herself off when Guts' eyes snapped open. "No. Sorry. That wasn't right of me. I'm sorry, Guts," Ciri heaved out a sigh, burying her face in her hands.
Guts looked at her for a moment, seeing how the decision weighed heavily on her. The anger that churned in his chest began to settle at the sight. A fear that he had since he first heard the offer was quelled by it. Because, for all of their similarities… "Griffith chose to sacrifice all of us for his ambition," Guts told her, making Ciri look at him. "I'm sure he wanted the utopia -- the same one you're talking about -- but what mattered to him was that he was the one that lead it's creation. He wasn't doing it for the sake of the people. He was doing it for himself and his ego -- it would be proof that he was a greater leader and king than the nobility that he despised."
Griffith was selfish, all the way down to his core. Everything he did was for the sake of his own ambitions. Even if something good came out of it, Guts knew that it was a byproduct of Griffith's selfishness and ego.
And that's where he and Ciri differed.
"I don't really know if you're right or wrong. I never bothered to keep track of that stuff," Guts admitted. In his experience, the greater good was just a convenient excuse for people to make sacrifices. A cheap justification to do something that the one making the decision already wanted to do. "I do think you'd hate being queen, though."
To that, Ciri grunted in agreement. "I would. I hated being a princess too. Snuck out of the castle every chance I got to play knucklebones with urchins. I'd have gone right mad if I was stuck inside learning etiquette lessons all day. I'm going to hate it. I just think I would regret it more if I didn't do it. There's so much shit on the Path… and there was always this thought, 'If I was still a princess of Cintra, then this wouldn't be happening.' I was probably dead wrong, but… I want to make a difference, Guts. And I know I can make a bigger impact as a Queen or Empress or whatever than I could as a nameless Witcher."
She sounded miserable about it. A sigh heaved out of her, "What about you? What do you think?" He cocked an eyebrow in response, and she rolled her eyes. "Come off it. You're a friend, Guts. And this whole plan hinges on you soloing an army."
A friend? He was silent for a long minute, considering that word. What it meant to him because that word was the one that changed everything. After he assassinated that duke and stumbled across Griffith and the princess talking… he wanted to be Griffith's friend, and that meant standing as his equal. He left the Band of the Hawk as soon as the war ended in pursuit of finding his own dream.
He never did find it. Even now, what he desired was vengeance.
Ciri looked increasingly nervous at his long silence. She wasn't Griffith. Friends…. He didn't think he would find any more of those. "I don't really care about the North or Nilfgaard. Their fates mean nothing to me. I owe you and Triss, so whatever you want is what I'll do," He told Ciri, and her flat expression told him that she was less than impressed with his answer. He swallowed a sigh, "Aren't you the princess of Nilfgaard too? Why bother defending the North at all?"
To that, her lips thinned. "My father gutted the nobility before his invasion, so, in theory at least, I would have a lot easier time restructuring the North than I would Nilfgaard. And… I know my father. He does love me, in his own weird and obsessed way. Even if I unite the North against him, I don't think he would change my place as his heir. So, in theory, I could unite Nilfgaard and the North through peaceful means. More or less creating world peace." World peace?
The idea was an odd one. What would a world at peace even look like?
Still, Guts was starting to see why the decision was weighing so heavily on her. He didn't care all that much about the world. The greater good, the lesser evils -- they didn't mean a damn thing to him and they never had. Death stalked the land in the forms of war, famine, and the supernatural. Some deaths were regrettable, but at the end of the day, dying is what people did. Life had no special value to him.
It did to Ciri, though.
"You sure about that?" Guts asked, not knowing much but that did sound like one hell of an inheritance.
Ciri shrugged, "As sure as I can be without getting it in writing. Even if my father does agree, it doesn't mean the nobility will. Nothing might come of it, but something could. Well? A copper for your thoughts?"
"Don't think they're worth that much. Do whatever you think you would regret the least," Guts offered the little advice he could. He knew a thing or two about regrets. There were days when they seemed to weigh him down as much as Dragonslayer did. Guts didn't think that Ciri would be happy as queen, but if she carried fewer regrets walking that path, then that was worth more than happiness.
Ciri let out a sigh, as if she had been afraid of that answer. Telling Guts that she already knew what she wanted to do and hoped that he would talk her out of it. "It's a moot point for now, anyway. First, we have to get Yen back and find a lead on a Djinn," she decided, putting the decision off. Guts knew what she was doing, but chose not to comment in favor of giving a serious nod in agreement.
The Djinn. A wish granting creature. It really was nothing short of the height of irony that that was their best bet curing Casca's madness. Ciri told him what the risks were -- Djinns were renowned for twisting the wishes of those that captured them in a way that usually ended with the wisher dead. That was a cold comfort to Guts. Especially when he saw first hand how terribly such wishes could go when they were made to the Godhand.
It was dangerous. And no wish came without a cost. There would be a price to pay, no matter how cleverly worded the wish was. All he could do was ensure that Casca wasn't the one that paid that price.
He swallowed his thoughts, pushing away his doubts. It was a lead on bringing Casca back from the confines of her own mind. Guts wasn't under the delusion that he was anything less than desperate to have her back.
"We know she's in Nilfgaard, but that's about it," Guts pointed out. He didn't even know how big Nilfgaard was.
To that, Ciri smirked. "My father wouldn't dare take his eyes off of Yen. Even if he does have her under guard, he would know that she'd slip out from underneath his thumb and run rings around him the moment he did." She said the words with pride before trailing off in a grimace, realizing that would make things more complicated. "So, she's likely in Vizima with him. The old capital of Temeria. Good news there is that I've been there before, so it shouldn't be any issue taking us there. Getting out is going to be an issue."
Ciri bit her lip, looking out at the city to see that the riot was still ongoing. And it likely would until they had a reason to stop or they burned themselves out. He could see that was weighing heavily on her out of a misplaced sense of guilt. If it was anyone's fault, it was their own. Or his, Guts supposed. Though, he didn't put much stock in that. He wasn't responsible for their reactions to their king dying or the massacre of the Witch Hunters. If someone was to blame for the damage, then it was the fools that were doing the damage.
A sigh escaped her, "Are you ready?" Ciri asked, earning a curt nod from him in response. "Alright. Here we go…" Ciri said, reaching out and placing a hand in his prosthetic arm.
Then they moved. Guts felt a pull, almost similar to what he felt when a horse went from stationary to a full gallop. His vision was washed with white, but when he blinked it away, he found himself standing in a completely different city. Smaller, for one. And parts of it currently weren't on fire. The buildings were of the same general make, telling Guts that construction methods didn't change a great deal across the North. However, the differences were still present.
Novigrad and Oxenfurt looked old. Weathered. The street would have cracked stones with weeds springing up between them, the paint on buildings might be faded or whitewash would be stained. Old junk and odds and ends gathered up in back alleys or corners of the streets, left there because no one bothered to remove it. None of that could be seen in Vizima. The opposite, really.
Everything seemed to be freshly painted, and the green that could be seen throughout the city was well-maintained. Guts could see a couple of elves and dwarves that were actively replacing the roads -- either removing the broken stone or paving over the dirt roads. The people themselves seemed to be the average peasants, but Guts did note that their clothing did seem a little finer, though that could just be because of a different styling. In short, compared to Novigrad, it was a large step up.
"It's to prevent rebellion," Ciri remarked, sensing his thoughts as they looked down at the city from atop of the walls that surrounded it. "No one really cares whose arse sits on the throne, but everyone notices when things become better or worse -- after an invasion, things are always bound to be worse. So, give people roads. Have kind and benevolent commanders in charge of territories. So on and so on. Those that lost are still going to be angry, but those that didn't lose anything? They'll just see how things are better under Nilfgaard's rule."
She shook he head in frustration, "Then those that like the way things are will turn on those that are angry. Turn them in. Kill them themselves, even. I've seen both."
"Clever," Guts summarized his thoughts on it. Ciri was a princess. A Witcher. She cared about people.
Guts could tell that wasn't what she wanted to hear -- she didn't want to hear a single redeeming thing about Nilfgaard, as far as he could tell. Or complete agreement that they were scum of the earth. If they were or weren't didn't matter. If their goal was to conquer the world, then they found a way to do it and minimize rebellions. If he was still a mercenary, then he would have joined them. The North might have paid more, but Nilfgaard seemed to be the winning side.
Instead, he inclined his head to the castle that was hidden by another set of walls, standing at the very top of a hill that overlooked the city. As far as castles went, it would be a tough nut to crack. Not impossible, just costly. "Don't suppose you know where she would be?" Guts questioned, his gaze flickering over it. It wasn't a question of how they were going to get in. Ciri's ability was incredibly useful for that. From a purely tactical standpoint, he got why the Wild Hunt wanted her.
It would be incredibly convenient to appear at the heart of a castle with an army. It was also part of the reason, Guts imagined, her father wanted her back.
Her lips thinned at that. "She could be in the dungeon," Ciri muttered darkly, a tone that promised blood would be shed if that were the case. "We should start there," she continued, also sounding like she thought it was likely. "We just have to find her. Once we do, we can get back to Novigrad in a blink of an eye."
Guts reached up to the hilt of Dragonslayer, but she shook her head. "Best not. At least not at the start. I don't want to give my father a chance to react and do something to her. There's a good chance that the reason he has her is to set a trap for me." Her jaw clenched as her hands curled into fists.
"Then lets take your father hostage. He's here too, right?" Guts questioned, catching Ciri by surprise. "It'd be worth doing anyway. Nothing causes disorder in the chain of command quite like cutting off the head of the snake," he added and he saw that Ciri hadn't even considered it. That told Guts that Ciri had tunnel vision. She just wanted to free Yennefer, get in and get out, without ever having to confront her father.
"That'd be one way to do it," Ciri agreed. "Suppose it comes down to whoever we find first. Let's head in," Ciri said, reaching out and teleporting them again. Guts felt the same pull in his gut, and his vision went white.
This time when he opened his eyes, he found himself standing inside of a hallway. The air was perfumed, carrying a sweet scent. The floor and walls seemed to be made with marble, paintings hanging off of the walls and Guts heard the faint sounds of music reaching them. Guts glanced over his shoulder to see that there was no one behind or in front of them. He glanced at Ciri, who set off in one direction. He followed behind her, heading to a door that she opened with a shove.
Standing on the other end of the door were guards, Guts noticed. Ciri strode right past them, barely giving them so much as a glance. Guts did as he stepped past them, seeing them look at him and Ciri before looking straight ahead. They didn't move to stop them.
"They're not going to assume we just teleported inside. They don't have any reason to be suspicious. So don't give them any," Ciri remarked to him as he followed her through the castle, speaking in a low voice once they were some distance away. Guts felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb, but true to Ciri's word, even as they passed by guards or servants, they hardly gave them a glance before moving on. "It's rude for servants to look their 'betters' in the face. It's an offense that's worth a caning in Nilfgaard." Her tone told him she found that disagreeable.
Ciri came to an abrupt stop at one of the hallways, however. Her attention snapped in one direction and she pivoted on a heel to approach a door. "I smell gooseberries," Ciri muttered, though Guts couldn't smell anything other than perfume. With little hesitation, she pushed the door open, entering an extravagant room that was larger than most peasant buildings. Guts entered, noting that it wasn't that dissimilar to Triss' apartment, but the amount of clutter wasn't as bad, possibly because three of Triss' apartment could have fit in the room.
His gaze was drawn to a painting that leaned against the wall. A painting of an ashen haired girl that was half buried in a frilly dress while wearing an expression that told the world exactly how unhappy she was with it. "Is that you?" Guts questioned, catching Ciri off guard.
"Ah. That. Yeah, it's me -- it was meant to be my portrait for Radovid way back when we were engaged. Wouldn't smile for the world. My grandmother thought it was so funny she kept the original and sent another with a fake smile to Redania," Ciri admitted, a slight smile tugging at her lips. "This is Yennefer's room. It has to be. Much better than a cell in the dungeon," Ciri remarked. "We just need to-"
Almost before the door had even closed, it was thrown open and a woman stepped through it. Guts looked at her, just as her eyes locked into him. She had deep violet eyes, raven black hair, and a black and white dress. More pressingly, however, was the magical fire that was costing a hand as she scowled at him. "Fool, you-" she started, and Guts supposed she had some magical trap that alerted her whenever entered uninvited.
However, the words died in Yennefer's throat when her gaze slid to Ciri. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. The scowl fell away and, for a split second, Guts saw the expression of a mother that saw her child returning home after a long campaign. "Ciri!"
"You look well," Ciri started, only for Yennefer to sweep across the room and grab Ciri in a hug, squeezing with all of her might. It was a moment of pure relief.
And one that was bound to be ruined by a second set of footsteps.
"Cirilla," a male voice interjected, making Yennefer and Ciri break the hug. He was a man in his forties to early fifties from the look of it, dressed in finery with his hair pushed back. His expression was as neutral as his tone as he entered the room.
Ciri's expression tightened. "Father," she replied in a curt tone.
Guts turned his attention to Emhyr. The Emperor of Nilfgaard. The emperor paid him no mind as he entered the room, "We have much to discuss-" he started, but whatever he was going to say was cut off when Guts' slugged him in the chin. He dropped to the floor with a grunt while Ciri sputtered.
Good. He didn't kill him this time.
"Come on," Guts said, grabbing Emhyr by the scruff of his neck and dragging him over to Ciri and Yennefer, who gaped at him while Ciri was burying her face into her palms. He wasn't sure why. Wasn't like this wasn't the plan in the first place.
"Let's go back to Novigrad," Guts urged, holding out his prosthetic for Ciri to touch.
Back to Casca.
"Fine… but seriously Guts, please stop punching royalty, would you?!"
Acheroraptor
Probably mortal
Guts: Oh boy Oh boy, time to deck royalty again
Selflessness
- Location
- USA
Her mother had died when she was just a baby, so Ciri held no memories of her. She knew what she looked like because of paintings, and she grew up hearing stories about her mother and the antics she got into. Before the Fall of Cintra, her marriage to her father -- a man cursed to be a porcupine until Geralt interfered -- was a popular tavern song. However, Ciri would be lying if she said that she felt any kind of connection to her mother. It felt like she should, but there wasn't anything there, and while that was sad in its own way, that role had been filled twice over.
First, with her grandmother, the Lioness of Cintra. She had raised her up during the early years of her childhood. A tough and strong woman that had moments of softness when you least expected it. She taught Ciri everything she knew about what it meant to be a ruler, even if it took more than a decade for those lessons to start to sink in or for Ciri to see the wisdom in them. Her spirit broke with her death -- throwing herself from the castle rather than letting herself be taken by Nilfgaard. By her father.
However, while her heart had wept for the loss, the void didn't remain empty for long. Yennefer became her mother in all but blood. It started out tense -- Yennefer had seemed so imposing and calculating. Ciri decided that she absolutely hated her even before they exchanged a single word. It also didn't help that she was demanding in lessons when she was absolutely rubbish when it came to magic. All the same, with a lot of patience from both sides, and some extenuating circumstances that forced Yennefer to show how much she cared, Ciri found herself proud to call Yennefer a mother to her.
Ciri knew she was one of the few people in this world that could claim that they knew the Witch of Vengerberg well. How driven she was was only matched by how much she cared. That as poised and composed as she could appear, at times, that only masked a woman that had no more idea what she was doing than Ciri did at generally any moment of her life. She was one of the few that truly knew Yennefer.
Which is why Ciri would forever remember this day as the day she saw Yennefer struck speechless.
"Is there something you would like to share, Guts? Maybe your feelings about monarchies?" Ciri questioned, looking at her father, who was unceremoniously being dragged by the scruff of his neck. The image was seared into her mind. Today really was a great day. It would be hard to top it, even if the Wild Hunt came crashing through the window.
"A crown isn't a shield for a glass jaw," Guts summarized. And that was a line she would be sure to feed to Dandelion. "Well? Let's go before the guards react."
"What- you-" Yennefer started to sputter, openly gaping at Guts with dumbfounded astonishment. Her violet gaze snapped to Ciri when she placed a hand on her shoulder. With the other, she placed it on Guts' prosthetic and she pulled up on the power that lurked in her veins. She had been using it more than she ever had in recent memory. It sang at her touch, begging to be used and eagerly obeyed her call upon it. The four of them were engulfed in a white flash, and a split second later, Ciri heard a clatter.
"Oh for- Ciri! And Yennefer… and Emhyr?" Dandelion started, a plate full of odds and ends falling to the floor as they appeared back in the heart of his tavern. Guts dropped her father on his face, his eyes searching the tavern but Ciri only looked at Yennefer.
"You've grown, Ciri," Yennefer said with a fierce but quiet pride in her voice, sweeping Ciri into another hug that Ciri melted into. "You've grown so much. You're a woman now. Geralt is going to be beside himself -- he's been chasing you across the North for more than a week now," Yennefer said, making Ciri stiffen.
"Geralt has been looking for me?" Ciri asked, and with the utmost reluctance, she stepped back, breaking the hug.
"We learned that you were back in this Sphere. Or, rather, your father did. He offered a place at his court, and I deigned to accept on account of the Wild Hunt pursuing me to become bait for you. I negotiated a better deal for myself than most mages manage," Yennefer remarked before glancing down at the unconscious Emperor. "He imagined you would come for me. Rightly so, but I imagine he thought things would go quite differently."
"And Geralt?" Ciri prompted.
"He agreed to track you. We had sightings of you -- and a mysterious Black Swordsman," she remarked and, surprisingly enough, Guts let out an amused grunt at the title. "A village where you got into an altercation with some soldiers before the entire place was haunted by spirits, then again at Oxenfurt. Geralt was hot on your heels, the last that I heard." The words were like a punch to the stomach. How close had she been to reuniting with Geralt? A day away? Less? More? Then she teleported right to Novigrad, so it would have been days more before there was word of a sighting of her again.
Guts, however, focused more on the practical issue. "Did he get out before the city was besieged?"
Yennefer ran her gaze over the length of Guts, sizing him up. "He didn't," Yennefer informed them. "He was sidetracked by some creature called Puck and who knows what else."
Fuck.
"Er…" Ciri heard Puck pipe up from the rafters, swinging from a cobweb hammock, and looking sufficiently guilty. He had likely been waiting for their return. Yennefer narrowed her eyes at Puck, likely recognizing him by description.
"I suppose introductions are in order. Yennefer -- this is Guts and Puck. They're friends. Puck is a wind spirit. Or a fairy. I'm not entirely sure. They're from another Sphere," Ciri introduced them lamely. Yennefer closed her eyes and Ciri felt compelled to continue, "Erm… long story short -- Guts was a little cursed, and it caused spirits to attack the living, so Puck covered for him."
"By playing the role of the most dastardly villain Evil-Puck," Pick declared, anything but helpful.
Yennefer's expression pinched, "I see Geralt's been left chasing his own tail again." Ciri winced, feeling more than a little guilty for that. More so since their reunion had been so close at hand. "Don't feel guilty, Ciri. Believe me, he's quite used to it by now. Now, we really should address the issue at hand. Ciri. Guts. We've just kidnapped the Emperor of Nilfgaard. Are you intending to hand him over to Radovid?"
Ciri scratched at her cheek while Dandelion made a choking sound that earned him a mild look from Yennefer before she looked back at Ciri with a questioning gaze. "Er… well, Radovid… is kind of dead. Guts punched him," she was quick to throw him under the bus. Even better, he'd have no idea that she was because he didn't know what a bus was.
She could see Yennefer processing that, looking to Guts like she wanted to say something. But, for the first time since Ciri had met her, Yennefer decided to think better of it. "I see. That complicates things a great deal. What-" she began, looking to Ciri, only for Guts to interrupt.
"I'm not going to explain everything twice. Ciri -- Oxenfurt. Are we lifting the siege, or are we going in just to grab Geralt and the kids?" He asked, ignoring the sharp look that he got from Yennefer. He had cut right to the heart of the matter. A question that she was hoping that someone else would answer for her.
Her thoughts were a jumbled mess and she was saved by Yennefer. "Geralt has been in this situation more often than not. I imagine he has his own ways to ensure that he escapes the city. There is no action needed. Especially for something so dangerous -- the Wild Hunt won't hesitate to attack this city, regardless of the numbers, if they know you are here." Another thing that Ciri would have to bring her up to speed on.
For now, her thoughts were stuck on the two courses that she was set up on. A fork in the road.
On one path, she remained as she was. A Witcher. She would continue to follow the Path, a lifetime of adventure and monster slaying. And, probably, a ignoble death at the hands of some creature that she, hopefully, would take with her in death. It was the Path that Geralt walked. That all the Witchers walked. It would have its hardships, that was undeniable, but it was a rewarding path. The people she would meet, the people she would help… it would make the low moments worth it.
On the other path was the road to the crown. A path of a different kind of hardship. Of thousands of boring meetings. Of tedious decorum and handling arrogant nobles that imagined slights for the most minor discourtesy. Of years and years of frustration as she tried to make a better world for the people in it because the people with power would fight the change every step of the way. At the end of the road, the reforms she made probably would end up dying with her. The most she could hope for is that the innovation she brought from other worlds would catch on and become a fact of life.
One way was a path of immense hardship but personal satisfaction.
The other was a path of immense suffering… and a better world for it.
What was it that Guts said? Pick the option she would regret the least? It was good advice. Solid, really. However, she knew exactly which one she should pick. She knew the one that she would regret the least… and… she was stalling. She was waiting for someone to talk her out of it.
Which is why she jumped onto what Guts said. "Geralt can handle himself, but better safe than sorry. We… we can pop into the city first. See what's going on. Then we can talk about what comes next," Ciri said, knowing that she was putting off giving an answer. If Guts noticed, then he didn't call her out on it. Thankfully. Yennefer seemed confused, and Ciri reached out to squeeze her hand. "We can explain everything once we're back. Shouldn't take long… and maybe we can figure out what we're going to do with Emhyr."
Yennefer clearly had questions. Ciri could see them in her eyes. "I should be coming with you, in that case."
Maybe, but… "Triss and Philippa are here," Ciri informed, making Yennefer's eyes narrow into slits. "Triss has an underground mage syndicate going on. And with Radovid dead along with the Witch Hunters-" Yennefer's eyebrows climbed high, glancing at Guts. "You're better off staying here. It's only going to take a moment. The Wild Hunt… well, I'll just say we don't have to worry about them for now."
Yennefer closed her eyes for a moment, taking in a sharp breath before letting it out. "Very well. If you're certain. Triss and I… have matters to discuss regardless," she said, a cold tone in her voice that brought Ciri up short. "It's nothing to concern yourself with Ciri. Go pull Geralt out of whatever trouble he's managed to land himself in." With how she said that, it sounded like something that Ciri should be concerning herself with, but when Dandelion caught her eye with a dramatic shake of his head…
"Right," Ciri responded lamely. "We'll be back in a flash," Ciri informed, reaching out to Guts' prosthetic, and then with another pull of her power, the run down tavern vanished in a flash of light.
As soon as they entered Oxenfurt, Ciri heard it. The sounds of combat. They appeared in a back alley that was, thankfully, empty. Echoing through the air were the sounds of screams and flashings of metal. A split second after they arrived, Ciri looked up to see a massive rock flying through the air that smashed right through a building across from them, sending up splinters and dust.
The Nilfgaardians were assaulting the city. Without letting go of Gut's arm, Ciri made them appear at the top of a building to get a better view and her stomach clenched at what she saw. The main gate was currently being assaulted, as well as the dock area. The Nilfgaardians were bombarding the walls with trebuchets, heavy stones slamming into the walls of the city but more than once, the stone slipped over them to tear through the city itself.
The streets were completely devoid of citizens, the only people out at the moment were soldiers. Everyone was either in their homes or by the temple and college by the looks of things. Her heart clenched at the sight-
"They're not going to get in," Guts voiced, making it sound like a fact. Her attention snapped to him, and she found him gazing out at the battle with a clinical gaze. "Even if they take down a wall, they're going to have to cross the river, march up the beaches, and then force their way through the defenders that would have had plenty of time to block it off. Their only hope is to force their way through the gate, or finding an alternate entrance into the city." It was a rather stark reminder that Guts was a mercenary.
She wondered if he had ever taken a city like this- no, that wasn't important. His words took the edge off of her nerves, but it was still daunting.
"Then why attack at all?" Ciri wondered, gazing out at the city and wondering where Geralt was. He wouldn't be on the walls. That wasn't like him. No, he would be looking for an alternative exit. A dangerous thing because any exit meant it could be used as an entrance into the city.
"Could be a bunch of reasons. They didn't have any luck finding another entrance, the general is a cocky shit that wants prestige because taking Oxenfurt means the war goes to Nilfgaard, regardless of anything we do. Or it could be a distraction because they found another entrance and they don't want the defenders to notice until it's too late," Guts ventured, offering a small uncaring shrug when she shot him a sharp look. That last one wasn't what she wanted to hear at all.
Was there anything that they could do?
The answer was yes.
Ciri bit her lip and looked away from it. "We- We should grab the kids and find Geralt before we do anything," Ciri decided. The kids would be back with the Witch Hunters. That sounded like it might be an awkward conversation. Though, considering their track record, Ciri harbored doubts that there would be a conversation at all.
"Easier said than done," Guts voiced, and that was probably true.
"Well… if you were going to escape a city under siege, how would you do it?" She asked, figuring that this was a time to leave it to the experts. Then she felt compelled to add on, "If you weren't going to leave through the front door, of course."
"Does the city have a sewer?" He asked, making Ciri tilt her head. "Most cities didn't in my Sphere, but the few that did, it was a pretty obvious weakness. Both sides knew it, so most attackers didn't try -- cramped spaces, easy to block up, and the enemy would be prepared for it. But, if you're trying to get out of a siege? It's a good place to start," he voiced, and that made enough sense to her.
She nodded. A trip through the sewers. Lovely. Descending to the ground, they walked the deserted streets. More than once, they saw people peeking out at them. Though, thankfully, none seemed to recognize them. They had made quite a scene when they last left. Though, because of that visit, Ciri knew where to find an entrance to the sewers since it was a possible location where Gael could have been hiding. Following the back paths, the sounds of combat still echoing in the air-
"Guts," Ciri began, catching the eye of an urchin that was hiding out in a back alley, completely filthy. He took off running the moment that he saw them and she watched him go, her stomach churning at his retreating back before he vanished around a corner. "Do you think they'll get in?"
Sometimes, she wished Guts was willing to lie to her.
"It's only a matter of time," Guts told her. "They're assaulting instead of just laying siege. They're confident. If they were desperate, then they'd move on or look for another way across the river. Assaults are costly."
Her lips thinned as she stalked through the streets. "It'll be a sack, won't it?"
"It always is," Guts answered, his tone flat. Damn it. Damn it all.
Ciri knew what she had to do. She resigned herself to it. Not for the future and everything this world could be. She knew what she had to do simply because she couldn't stand by and do nothing as this city was raised, it's citizens raped and murdered for no grander reason they happened to be behind the walls when the Nilfgaardians entered.
She was so distracted by her thoughts that she bumped into Guts when he came to an abrupt stop. Rubbing her nose, she peeked around him as he said, "Looks like we weren't the only ones to have the idea." The entrance to the sewers was under guard, but it wasn't by soldiers. A good half dozen Witch Hunters were guarding the entrance -- only they were positioned to make sure nothing came out rather than preventing anyone from coming in. That was the only reason their approach wasn't noticed.
A few of them were familiar faces, Ciri having seen them when they dropped the kids off here. However, they seemed agitated. Annoyed. Luckily enough, they were willing to complain about it to each other. "We should be down there instead of sitting up here with our thumbs up our arses."
"Orders are orders," another one replied, sounding disinterested.
"Our names being drug through the muck -- first a vampire, then those ghosts? A fucking monster in the sewers and a Witcher? We've been doing a bad job of protecting the people," one groused, a foot tapping impatiently as he gazed down the entrance like he was tempted to enter the sewer. Ciri zeroed in on one thing -- Witcher. Was he really down there?
"A squad is already down there to smoke the bastards out," the same Witch Hunter replied, seated at a table while he and a few others played Gwent or dice. He was older and scarred. Comparatively, the agitated one was young. Idealistic. Green. The kind that joined the Witch Hunters not out of hate of magic and all those different, but because he was genuinely misguided enough to think that by burning people at the stake, he was protecting people. "Leave it to them."
"The Witcher took hostages! Kids!" The young man blurted, making Ciri's eyebrows climb high. Slowly, she reached out to Guts, hearing enough. Geralt was down there. With kids? That sounded like a story worth hearing. "He's probably working with those damn Nilfgaardians. What if he's leading them into the city, right now? While we're up here doing nothing??"
The old man sighed, "Then feel free to head down there yourself. We was given orders to guard the entrance, so we're guarding the entrance." He said, gesturing for the young man to go for it. And, for a brief second, it looked like he might. But courage and valor was so much easier to muster when there were others at your back. He looked away, his expression shamed, and Ciri pulled up on the power in her veins. They teleported again, this time appearing in the tunnel that the Witch Hunters had been guarding, and quickly rounding a corner to vanish out of sight.
The sewer was well lit, likely because of the siege. Torches lined the walls in even spacing, casting away the shadows. It would be damn near impossible to sneak through the tunnels. They both strode forward, while Ciri closed her eyes. She didn't have a Witcher's enhanced senses, but she had spent years honing them and she knew how to focus on her hearing. In tunnels like these, sounds bounced around, and if you paid attention, you could hear it even as it became the faintest of echoes.
And she heard it. The sounds of combat. Following the sounds, they slowly got louder as they rapidly approached until they weren't echoes any longer. Ciri found herself speeding up into a dead sprint, rounding a last corner to see a large cavern that had some natural light filtering through it. Speeding forward she dropped down into the cavern, the ground covered by a wet slick material, but she paid it no mind as she found the source of the sounds of combat. There was so much going on that she didn't even know what to look at first.
The first thing that caught her attention was the utterly massive bullfrog that was covered in massive pustules that covered its back. It stood more than twice her height, and four times as wide, more akin to a small house in terms of size. Its three part jaw opened and a massive tongue lashed out, slamming into a Witch Hunter with bone shattering force, every rib that he had breaking like glass. With a heave, the tongue receded, pulling the screaming Witch Hunter into its mouth before the beast started chewing messily.
That wasn't a monster she recognized. And it was living under Oxenfurt? For how long?
There were a good thirty Witch Hunters scattered about, but more than half of them were dead. Crushed underneath the weight of the creature, which it proved by landing on another. It was like seeing a tomato being crushed by a brick. Her stomach clenched at the sight, but she was focused, taking it all in. Off in the corner, she saw familiar faces. Anne and the children. What were they- no. Not the time for questions. They were here, and they had to deal with the threat first and foremost.
And then she saw him. The purple glow of Yarden alerted Ciri to his presence first -- the rune circle placed on the ground activated when the toad moved into it, freezing it in place. He appeared on the creature's back, stabbing into a glowing pustule, spilling the contents before sending a blast of Igni into the wound that caused the creature to scream. His white hair pulled back, his golden eyes shining while dark veins stood out against his pale skin. He wielded a silver blade, his Wolf School armor standing out, and…
Geralt. It was Geralt. He looked a lot better than the last time she saw him -- having rescued him from the Wild Hunt. Healthier. And in his element.
A fierce smile found its way onto her face as she acted without care. In a blur of movement, she appeared at the monster's side, her weapon at the ready and thrusting it into its eye. It threw its head back and roared in agony, throwing them both away, but they landed on their feet.
"Ciri?" Geralt questioned, looking at her with faint surprise. Most wouldn't be able to see it, but she knew his microexpressions. Then his expression tightened. "It shoots bile globs -- it's poisonous. The tongue can reach anywhere in the cavern, and it uses it like a club. Yarden locks it down for five seconds. Hide is thick, but the pustules are vulnerable," he rattled off the useful information.
"Got it," Ciri said, feeling right at home. Fighting monsters with Geralt -- that's what she knew best. When she laid her head down and dreamed at night -- this is the future she wanted.
"Get right. I'll get left. And watch out for the Witch Hunters, they'll attack us as much as the toad." He added before a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, "It's good to see you again, Ciri."
It felt like she was coming home, "I'm telling Yennefer that all I had to do was find some trouble in the city and you were in the middle of it," she teased.
"Hm. It's less good to see you."
With a joyous laugh, Ciri threw herself forward, going right while Geralt went left. The monster swung out its tongue, bashing a Witch Hunter with enough force that he was ripped in two, while Ciri leaned underneath the offending appendage. She slashed at it, carving a deep groove, but the toad was unbothered. With a heave, it lept up into the air, determined to crush her, but flashing back a dozen feet, she easily dodged the toad when it landed. The entire cavern seemed to shake at the weight of the impact.
Yarden runes appeared underneath it, locking it down and Ciri appeared on top of it. She jabbed her sword into its remaining eye while Geralt slashed at the pustules and burned them with another Ignis. The creature roared in agony, now blinded, and lashed out the moment it was freed from the Yarden. It spat a massive blob of bile that splashed over the stone, some of it splashing onto a corpse of a Witch Hunter, and Ciri noticed how it sizzled. Already, the monster was in its death throes. It was blinded and in pain.
Meaning now, it was the most dangerous. Desperation made it impossible to predict.
Ciri backed off, taking a deep breath that became caught in her throat when the toad lashed out blindly with its tongue. It tore through a Witch Hunter, and onward to Anne, who was covering the children with her body. She started to move, intending to appear before then and teleport them out of harms way, but there wasn't a need. Guts seemed to just appear between them, using Dragonslayer as a shield to catch the blow.
Guts was knocked back a good half dozen feet, but incredibly, neither Dragonslayer nor he broke under the force. Guts' expression twisted, lashing out with a hand and grabbing hold of the offending tongue and with a heave, he yanked it back. The tongue, already weakened by the slash she had made, gave out. He ripped the tongue in half, making the monster scream in agony, the other half of the tongue lashing out and sending sprays of dark blood everywhere.
Guts moved forward, dashing directly to the monster, while she and Geralt moved as well, the two of them coming at its sides while Guts approached from the front. Ciri's blade pierced its already ruined eye, continuing forward until her wrist was enveloped in a slimy material, skewering its brain while Guts brought his sword down on its head, cleaving it in half. As if it wasn't dead enough already, Geralt slashed it's throat so deeply it was nearly beheaded.
With a crash, the toad collapsed in on itself, falling in a heap.
"Gross," Ciri noted, ripping her hand free and taking a step back. No sooner than she did, she found herself enveloped in a hug, Geralt holding her close.
She leaned into it and swallowed a breath of relief.
It would be nice while it lasted.
First, with her grandmother, the Lioness of Cintra. She had raised her up during the early years of her childhood. A tough and strong woman that had moments of softness when you least expected it. She taught Ciri everything she knew about what it meant to be a ruler, even if it took more than a decade for those lessons to start to sink in or for Ciri to see the wisdom in them. Her spirit broke with her death -- throwing herself from the castle rather than letting herself be taken by Nilfgaard. By her father.
However, while her heart had wept for the loss, the void didn't remain empty for long. Yennefer became her mother in all but blood. It started out tense -- Yennefer had seemed so imposing and calculating. Ciri decided that she absolutely hated her even before they exchanged a single word. It also didn't help that she was demanding in lessons when she was absolutely rubbish when it came to magic. All the same, with a lot of patience from both sides, and some extenuating circumstances that forced Yennefer to show how much she cared, Ciri found herself proud to call Yennefer a mother to her.
Ciri knew she was one of the few people in this world that could claim that they knew the Witch of Vengerberg well. How driven she was was only matched by how much she cared. That as poised and composed as she could appear, at times, that only masked a woman that had no more idea what she was doing than Ciri did at generally any moment of her life. She was one of the few that truly knew Yennefer.
Which is why Ciri would forever remember this day as the day she saw Yennefer struck speechless.
"Is there something you would like to share, Guts? Maybe your feelings about monarchies?" Ciri questioned, looking at her father, who was unceremoniously being dragged by the scruff of his neck. The image was seared into her mind. Today really was a great day. It would be hard to top it, even if the Wild Hunt came crashing through the window.
"A crown isn't a shield for a glass jaw," Guts summarized. And that was a line she would be sure to feed to Dandelion. "Well? Let's go before the guards react."
"What- you-" Yennefer started to sputter, openly gaping at Guts with dumbfounded astonishment. Her violet gaze snapped to Ciri when she placed a hand on her shoulder. With the other, she placed it on Guts' prosthetic and she pulled up on the power that lurked in her veins. She had been using it more than she ever had in recent memory. It sang at her touch, begging to be used and eagerly obeyed her call upon it. The four of them were engulfed in a white flash, and a split second later, Ciri heard a clatter.
"Oh for- Ciri! And Yennefer… and Emhyr?" Dandelion started, a plate full of odds and ends falling to the floor as they appeared back in the heart of his tavern. Guts dropped her father on his face, his eyes searching the tavern but Ciri only looked at Yennefer.
"You've grown, Ciri," Yennefer said with a fierce but quiet pride in her voice, sweeping Ciri into another hug that Ciri melted into. "You've grown so much. You're a woman now. Geralt is going to be beside himself -- he's been chasing you across the North for more than a week now," Yennefer said, making Ciri stiffen.
"Geralt has been looking for me?" Ciri asked, and with the utmost reluctance, she stepped back, breaking the hug.
"We learned that you were back in this Sphere. Or, rather, your father did. He offered a place at his court, and I deigned to accept on account of the Wild Hunt pursuing me to become bait for you. I negotiated a better deal for myself than most mages manage," Yennefer remarked before glancing down at the unconscious Emperor. "He imagined you would come for me. Rightly so, but I imagine he thought things would go quite differently."
"And Geralt?" Ciri prompted.
"He agreed to track you. We had sightings of you -- and a mysterious Black Swordsman," she remarked and, surprisingly enough, Guts let out an amused grunt at the title. "A village where you got into an altercation with some soldiers before the entire place was haunted by spirits, then again at Oxenfurt. Geralt was hot on your heels, the last that I heard." The words were like a punch to the stomach. How close had she been to reuniting with Geralt? A day away? Less? More? Then she teleported right to Novigrad, so it would have been days more before there was word of a sighting of her again.
Guts, however, focused more on the practical issue. "Did he get out before the city was besieged?"
Yennefer ran her gaze over the length of Guts, sizing him up. "He didn't," Yennefer informed them. "He was sidetracked by some creature called Puck and who knows what else."
Fuck.
"Er…" Ciri heard Puck pipe up from the rafters, swinging from a cobweb hammock, and looking sufficiently guilty. He had likely been waiting for their return. Yennefer narrowed her eyes at Puck, likely recognizing him by description.
"I suppose introductions are in order. Yennefer -- this is Guts and Puck. They're friends. Puck is a wind spirit. Or a fairy. I'm not entirely sure. They're from another Sphere," Ciri introduced them lamely. Yennefer closed her eyes and Ciri felt compelled to continue, "Erm… long story short -- Guts was a little cursed, and it caused spirits to attack the living, so Puck covered for him."
"By playing the role of the most dastardly villain Evil-Puck," Pick declared, anything but helpful.
Yennefer's expression pinched, "I see Geralt's been left chasing his own tail again." Ciri winced, feeling more than a little guilty for that. More so since their reunion had been so close at hand. "Don't feel guilty, Ciri. Believe me, he's quite used to it by now. Now, we really should address the issue at hand. Ciri. Guts. We've just kidnapped the Emperor of Nilfgaard. Are you intending to hand him over to Radovid?"
Ciri scratched at her cheek while Dandelion made a choking sound that earned him a mild look from Yennefer before she looked back at Ciri with a questioning gaze. "Er… well, Radovid… is kind of dead. Guts punched him," she was quick to throw him under the bus. Even better, he'd have no idea that she was because he didn't know what a bus was.
She could see Yennefer processing that, looking to Guts like she wanted to say something. But, for the first time since Ciri had met her, Yennefer decided to think better of it. "I see. That complicates things a great deal. What-" she began, looking to Ciri, only for Guts to interrupt.
"I'm not going to explain everything twice. Ciri -- Oxenfurt. Are we lifting the siege, or are we going in just to grab Geralt and the kids?" He asked, ignoring the sharp look that he got from Yennefer. He had cut right to the heart of the matter. A question that she was hoping that someone else would answer for her.
Her thoughts were a jumbled mess and she was saved by Yennefer. "Geralt has been in this situation more often than not. I imagine he has his own ways to ensure that he escapes the city. There is no action needed. Especially for something so dangerous -- the Wild Hunt won't hesitate to attack this city, regardless of the numbers, if they know you are here." Another thing that Ciri would have to bring her up to speed on.
For now, her thoughts were stuck on the two courses that she was set up on. A fork in the road.
On one path, she remained as she was. A Witcher. She would continue to follow the Path, a lifetime of adventure and monster slaying. And, probably, a ignoble death at the hands of some creature that she, hopefully, would take with her in death. It was the Path that Geralt walked. That all the Witchers walked. It would have its hardships, that was undeniable, but it was a rewarding path. The people she would meet, the people she would help… it would make the low moments worth it.
On the other path was the road to the crown. A path of a different kind of hardship. Of thousands of boring meetings. Of tedious decorum and handling arrogant nobles that imagined slights for the most minor discourtesy. Of years and years of frustration as she tried to make a better world for the people in it because the people with power would fight the change every step of the way. At the end of the road, the reforms she made probably would end up dying with her. The most she could hope for is that the innovation she brought from other worlds would catch on and become a fact of life.
One way was a path of immense hardship but personal satisfaction.
The other was a path of immense suffering… and a better world for it.
What was it that Guts said? Pick the option she would regret the least? It was good advice. Solid, really. However, she knew exactly which one she should pick. She knew the one that she would regret the least… and… she was stalling. She was waiting for someone to talk her out of it.
Which is why she jumped onto what Guts said. "Geralt can handle himself, but better safe than sorry. We… we can pop into the city first. See what's going on. Then we can talk about what comes next," Ciri said, knowing that she was putting off giving an answer. If Guts noticed, then he didn't call her out on it. Thankfully. Yennefer seemed confused, and Ciri reached out to squeeze her hand. "We can explain everything once we're back. Shouldn't take long… and maybe we can figure out what we're going to do with Emhyr."
Yennefer clearly had questions. Ciri could see them in her eyes. "I should be coming with you, in that case."
Maybe, but… "Triss and Philippa are here," Ciri informed, making Yennefer's eyes narrow into slits. "Triss has an underground mage syndicate going on. And with Radovid dead along with the Witch Hunters-" Yennefer's eyebrows climbed high, glancing at Guts. "You're better off staying here. It's only going to take a moment. The Wild Hunt… well, I'll just say we don't have to worry about them for now."
Yennefer closed her eyes for a moment, taking in a sharp breath before letting it out. "Very well. If you're certain. Triss and I… have matters to discuss regardless," she said, a cold tone in her voice that brought Ciri up short. "It's nothing to concern yourself with Ciri. Go pull Geralt out of whatever trouble he's managed to land himself in." With how she said that, it sounded like something that Ciri should be concerning herself with, but when Dandelion caught her eye with a dramatic shake of his head…
"Right," Ciri responded lamely. "We'll be back in a flash," Ciri informed, reaching out to Guts' prosthetic, and then with another pull of her power, the run down tavern vanished in a flash of light.
As soon as they entered Oxenfurt, Ciri heard it. The sounds of combat. They appeared in a back alley that was, thankfully, empty. Echoing through the air were the sounds of screams and flashings of metal. A split second after they arrived, Ciri looked up to see a massive rock flying through the air that smashed right through a building across from them, sending up splinters and dust.
The Nilfgaardians were assaulting the city. Without letting go of Gut's arm, Ciri made them appear at the top of a building to get a better view and her stomach clenched at what she saw. The main gate was currently being assaulted, as well as the dock area. The Nilfgaardians were bombarding the walls with trebuchets, heavy stones slamming into the walls of the city but more than once, the stone slipped over them to tear through the city itself.
The streets were completely devoid of citizens, the only people out at the moment were soldiers. Everyone was either in their homes or by the temple and college by the looks of things. Her heart clenched at the sight-
"They're not going to get in," Guts voiced, making it sound like a fact. Her attention snapped to him, and she found him gazing out at the battle with a clinical gaze. "Even if they take down a wall, they're going to have to cross the river, march up the beaches, and then force their way through the defenders that would have had plenty of time to block it off. Their only hope is to force their way through the gate, or finding an alternate entrance into the city." It was a rather stark reminder that Guts was a mercenary.
She wondered if he had ever taken a city like this- no, that wasn't important. His words took the edge off of her nerves, but it was still daunting.
"Then why attack at all?" Ciri wondered, gazing out at the city and wondering where Geralt was. He wouldn't be on the walls. That wasn't like him. No, he would be looking for an alternative exit. A dangerous thing because any exit meant it could be used as an entrance into the city.
"Could be a bunch of reasons. They didn't have any luck finding another entrance, the general is a cocky shit that wants prestige because taking Oxenfurt means the war goes to Nilfgaard, regardless of anything we do. Or it could be a distraction because they found another entrance and they don't want the defenders to notice until it's too late," Guts ventured, offering a small uncaring shrug when she shot him a sharp look. That last one wasn't what she wanted to hear at all.
Was there anything that they could do?
The answer was yes.
Ciri bit her lip and looked away from it. "We- We should grab the kids and find Geralt before we do anything," Ciri decided. The kids would be back with the Witch Hunters. That sounded like it might be an awkward conversation. Though, considering their track record, Ciri harbored doubts that there would be a conversation at all.
"Easier said than done," Guts voiced, and that was probably true.
"Well… if you were going to escape a city under siege, how would you do it?" She asked, figuring that this was a time to leave it to the experts. Then she felt compelled to add on, "If you weren't going to leave through the front door, of course."
"Does the city have a sewer?" He asked, making Ciri tilt her head. "Most cities didn't in my Sphere, but the few that did, it was a pretty obvious weakness. Both sides knew it, so most attackers didn't try -- cramped spaces, easy to block up, and the enemy would be prepared for it. But, if you're trying to get out of a siege? It's a good place to start," he voiced, and that made enough sense to her.
She nodded. A trip through the sewers. Lovely. Descending to the ground, they walked the deserted streets. More than once, they saw people peeking out at them. Though, thankfully, none seemed to recognize them. They had made quite a scene when they last left. Though, because of that visit, Ciri knew where to find an entrance to the sewers since it was a possible location where Gael could have been hiding. Following the back paths, the sounds of combat still echoing in the air-
"Guts," Ciri began, catching the eye of an urchin that was hiding out in a back alley, completely filthy. He took off running the moment that he saw them and she watched him go, her stomach churning at his retreating back before he vanished around a corner. "Do you think they'll get in?"
Sometimes, she wished Guts was willing to lie to her.
"It's only a matter of time," Guts told her. "They're assaulting instead of just laying siege. They're confident. If they were desperate, then they'd move on or look for another way across the river. Assaults are costly."
Her lips thinned as she stalked through the streets. "It'll be a sack, won't it?"
"It always is," Guts answered, his tone flat. Damn it. Damn it all.
Ciri knew what she had to do. She resigned herself to it. Not for the future and everything this world could be. She knew what she had to do simply because she couldn't stand by and do nothing as this city was raised, it's citizens raped and murdered for no grander reason they happened to be behind the walls when the Nilfgaardians entered.
She was so distracted by her thoughts that she bumped into Guts when he came to an abrupt stop. Rubbing her nose, she peeked around him as he said, "Looks like we weren't the only ones to have the idea." The entrance to the sewers was under guard, but it wasn't by soldiers. A good half dozen Witch Hunters were guarding the entrance -- only they were positioned to make sure nothing came out rather than preventing anyone from coming in. That was the only reason their approach wasn't noticed.
A few of them were familiar faces, Ciri having seen them when they dropped the kids off here. However, they seemed agitated. Annoyed. Luckily enough, they were willing to complain about it to each other. "We should be down there instead of sitting up here with our thumbs up our arses."
"Orders are orders," another one replied, sounding disinterested.
"Our names being drug through the muck -- first a vampire, then those ghosts? A fucking monster in the sewers and a Witcher? We've been doing a bad job of protecting the people," one groused, a foot tapping impatiently as he gazed down the entrance like he was tempted to enter the sewer. Ciri zeroed in on one thing -- Witcher. Was he really down there?
"A squad is already down there to smoke the bastards out," the same Witch Hunter replied, seated at a table while he and a few others played Gwent or dice. He was older and scarred. Comparatively, the agitated one was young. Idealistic. Green. The kind that joined the Witch Hunters not out of hate of magic and all those different, but because he was genuinely misguided enough to think that by burning people at the stake, he was protecting people. "Leave it to them."
"The Witcher took hostages! Kids!" The young man blurted, making Ciri's eyebrows climb high. Slowly, she reached out to Guts, hearing enough. Geralt was down there. With kids? That sounded like a story worth hearing. "He's probably working with those damn Nilfgaardians. What if he's leading them into the city, right now? While we're up here doing nothing??"
The old man sighed, "Then feel free to head down there yourself. We was given orders to guard the entrance, so we're guarding the entrance." He said, gesturing for the young man to go for it. And, for a brief second, it looked like he might. But courage and valor was so much easier to muster when there were others at your back. He looked away, his expression shamed, and Ciri pulled up on the power in her veins. They teleported again, this time appearing in the tunnel that the Witch Hunters had been guarding, and quickly rounding a corner to vanish out of sight.
The sewer was well lit, likely because of the siege. Torches lined the walls in even spacing, casting away the shadows. It would be damn near impossible to sneak through the tunnels. They both strode forward, while Ciri closed her eyes. She didn't have a Witcher's enhanced senses, but she had spent years honing them and she knew how to focus on her hearing. In tunnels like these, sounds bounced around, and if you paid attention, you could hear it even as it became the faintest of echoes.
And she heard it. The sounds of combat. Following the sounds, they slowly got louder as they rapidly approached until they weren't echoes any longer. Ciri found herself speeding up into a dead sprint, rounding a last corner to see a large cavern that had some natural light filtering through it. Speeding forward she dropped down into the cavern, the ground covered by a wet slick material, but she paid it no mind as she found the source of the sounds of combat. There was so much going on that she didn't even know what to look at first.
The first thing that caught her attention was the utterly massive bullfrog that was covered in massive pustules that covered its back. It stood more than twice her height, and four times as wide, more akin to a small house in terms of size. Its three part jaw opened and a massive tongue lashed out, slamming into a Witch Hunter with bone shattering force, every rib that he had breaking like glass. With a heave, the tongue receded, pulling the screaming Witch Hunter into its mouth before the beast started chewing messily.
That wasn't a monster she recognized. And it was living under Oxenfurt? For how long?
There were a good thirty Witch Hunters scattered about, but more than half of them were dead. Crushed underneath the weight of the creature, which it proved by landing on another. It was like seeing a tomato being crushed by a brick. Her stomach clenched at the sight, but she was focused, taking it all in. Off in the corner, she saw familiar faces. Anne and the children. What were they- no. Not the time for questions. They were here, and they had to deal with the threat first and foremost.
And then she saw him. The purple glow of Yarden alerted Ciri to his presence first -- the rune circle placed on the ground activated when the toad moved into it, freezing it in place. He appeared on the creature's back, stabbing into a glowing pustule, spilling the contents before sending a blast of Igni into the wound that caused the creature to scream. His white hair pulled back, his golden eyes shining while dark veins stood out against his pale skin. He wielded a silver blade, his Wolf School armor standing out, and…
Geralt. It was Geralt. He looked a lot better than the last time she saw him -- having rescued him from the Wild Hunt. Healthier. And in his element.
A fierce smile found its way onto her face as she acted without care. In a blur of movement, she appeared at the monster's side, her weapon at the ready and thrusting it into its eye. It threw its head back and roared in agony, throwing them both away, but they landed on their feet.
"Ciri?" Geralt questioned, looking at her with faint surprise. Most wouldn't be able to see it, but she knew his microexpressions. Then his expression tightened. "It shoots bile globs -- it's poisonous. The tongue can reach anywhere in the cavern, and it uses it like a club. Yarden locks it down for five seconds. Hide is thick, but the pustules are vulnerable," he rattled off the useful information.
"Got it," Ciri said, feeling right at home. Fighting monsters with Geralt -- that's what she knew best. When she laid her head down and dreamed at night -- this is the future she wanted.
"Get right. I'll get left. And watch out for the Witch Hunters, they'll attack us as much as the toad." He added before a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, "It's good to see you again, Ciri."
It felt like she was coming home, "I'm telling Yennefer that all I had to do was find some trouble in the city and you were in the middle of it," she teased.
"Hm. It's less good to see you."
With a joyous laugh, Ciri threw herself forward, going right while Geralt went left. The monster swung out its tongue, bashing a Witch Hunter with enough force that he was ripped in two, while Ciri leaned underneath the offending appendage. She slashed at it, carving a deep groove, but the toad was unbothered. With a heave, it lept up into the air, determined to crush her, but flashing back a dozen feet, she easily dodged the toad when it landed. The entire cavern seemed to shake at the weight of the impact.
Yarden runes appeared underneath it, locking it down and Ciri appeared on top of it. She jabbed her sword into its remaining eye while Geralt slashed at the pustules and burned them with another Ignis. The creature roared in agony, now blinded, and lashed out the moment it was freed from the Yarden. It spat a massive blob of bile that splashed over the stone, some of it splashing onto a corpse of a Witch Hunter, and Ciri noticed how it sizzled. Already, the monster was in its death throes. It was blinded and in pain.
Meaning now, it was the most dangerous. Desperation made it impossible to predict.
Ciri backed off, taking a deep breath that became caught in her throat when the toad lashed out blindly with its tongue. It tore through a Witch Hunter, and onward to Anne, who was covering the children with her body. She started to move, intending to appear before then and teleport them out of harms way, but there wasn't a need. Guts seemed to just appear between them, using Dragonslayer as a shield to catch the blow.
Guts was knocked back a good half dozen feet, but incredibly, neither Dragonslayer nor he broke under the force. Guts' expression twisted, lashing out with a hand and grabbing hold of the offending tongue and with a heave, he yanked it back. The tongue, already weakened by the slash she had made, gave out. He ripped the tongue in half, making the monster scream in agony, the other half of the tongue lashing out and sending sprays of dark blood everywhere.
Guts moved forward, dashing directly to the monster, while she and Geralt moved as well, the two of them coming at its sides while Guts approached from the front. Ciri's blade pierced its already ruined eye, continuing forward until her wrist was enveloped in a slimy material, skewering its brain while Guts brought his sword down on its head, cleaving it in half. As if it wasn't dead enough already, Geralt slashed it's throat so deeply it was nearly beheaded.
With a crash, the toad collapsed in on itself, falling in a heap.
"Gross," Ciri noted, ripping her hand free and taking a step back. No sooner than she did, she found herself enveloped in a hug, Geralt holding her close.
She leaned into it and swallowed a breath of relief.
It would be nice while it lasted.
Awkward Reunions
- Location
- USA
"What are you doing here, Ciri?" Geralt questioned, pulling away from her. He took a step back, and Ciri saw him searching her face. There was a subtle and quiet exhaustion in his features that told Ciri that he had been pushing himself too hard for too long. She felt more than a few pangs of guilt for that. They had been so close to a reunion already, and they went right by each other. It seemed like she put him through some unnecessary trouble.
"I was looking for you," Ciri confessed. That got a faint smile from Geralt, amused by the irony. "It's… it's a long story, but I ended up finding Yennefer first. And she told me that you would be here, so… here I am," Ciri finished lamely, feeling like she should have a better explanation prepared than that.
"Hm. You found me," Geralt replied with evident relief. He turned his attention to the massive toad that laid on the ground and seemed to be… shrinking? Ciri watched in dull amazement as the corpse began to recede, pulling in on itself until human flesh began to take shape. Within thirty seconds, the toad was gone entirely, replaced with a naked man that was laying face first into squishy wet moss.
"A curse?" Ciri questioned, curious. That was a first for her. Usually, even after killing something like a werewolf, the body remained transformed. And… "Is he still breathing?"
"Doesn't look like it," Geralt remarked, "Would have been good to know at the start. He's been poisoning the drinking water. Important during a siege. Enough soldiers are ill enough that command decided to kill the toad rather than use it to kill any Nilfgaardians sneaking through." Geralt explained, and that could explain why Nilfgaard was bothering to attack the walls, regardless of how costly it was. Soldiers were sick.
"Wonder who cursed him?" Ciri muttered, looking at his features after Geralt flipped him over. Youngish. Late twenties to early thirties, naturally tanned skin that told her that he wasn't a native of the north. Short beard and dark hair cut short. Nothing noteworthy beyond that, though.
"No idea," Geralt admitted, glancing around at the fallen Witch Hunters. Ciri's gaze found Guts, who was under siege himself by the children. They clung to him, thanking him and demanding to see Puck again. Without the fairy to cover for his awkwardness, Guts was pretty helpless with kids, she noticed. A fond smile found its way on her face, tugging at her lips. "I was just going to kill it and escape through the sewers. Ran into them down here."
It was a stroke of luck that Ciri couldn't complain about. Things would have gotten a whole lot more complicated if they had to rescue the kids from the Witch Hunters.
"If you found Yennefer, then you've been to Nilfgaard?" Geralt asked her, deciding that the de-cursified man was fine. His tone was guarded. Most people wouldn't have noticed it, but Ciri learned how to read Geralt's tone.
To that, Ciri scratched at the back of her neck. "Sort of. It's… kind of a long story. I can tell it when we're out of Oxenfurt. But everyone is in Novigrad -- Yennefer, Triss, Dandelion, and Zoltan." That got a reaction out of Geralt, his eyes narrowing a fraction as the darkened veins started to fade as his potions began to wear off. She deliberately didn't mention Emhyr, because she wanted to see Geralt's reaction when he saw her father laid out. She was expecting extreme jealousy towards Guts.
Geralt inclined his head to Guts, who had kids hanging off of him now while he wore an expression of long-standing suffering. Anna was talking to him in a worried tone while her daughter had a hand on her blade, watching Guts as if he might gobble one of the children right up. There was tension there. It seemed unlikely that a message had managed to arrive here about Guts' activities already, through a siege. Which told Ciri that it was either something else entirely or the Witch Hunters were using something to communicate despite the distance. "He part of that story?"
"Big part," Ciri admitted. "You'll like him. He only communicates through grunts and scowls too."
"Hm. Man after my own heart," came Geralt's dry retort. He shifted his head to the side. "We have people coming."
"Witch Hunters?" Ciri questioned, looking at the tunnel they entered from. She focused on her hearing and it took a few seconds to find the sound of footsteps and the jostling of chainmail. "Sounds like… a dozen of them," she observed, opening her eyes.
"We should make ourselves scarce," Geralt decided, giving a small nod in Ciri's direction.
"Guts! Everyone! We're leaving," Ciri called out to them. The kids clung to Guts, trying to drag him down as he approached. Anna was in his shadow, and her daughter hesitated to follow. Ciri spared a glance down at the corpse, idly wondering if they should take it with them. He was dead, but Witch Hunters weren't the type to care about the nature of curses. Nor were they above desecrating a body to make themselves feel better about the situation.
Anna approached, "Thank you, Ciri." She voiced, her tone tired. It hadn't been that long since they last saw each other, but Anna was looking radiant in comparison to how she was before. A byproduct of living in a swamp, Ciri suspected. "We were trying to escape -- the Witch Hunters were trying to use the children against you both, so I thought…" she trailed off and Ciri understood. She was trying to protect the kids by escaping. Ciri just reached out, giving a hand a squeeze…
But it seemed that they delayed for too long. Rounding the same corner that they did, the dozen people Ciri expected appeared. Only they weren't Witch Hunters, Ciri swiftly noticed. They weren't dressed for it, for starters. Ciri recognized the scimitar sabers and the garb that they wore -- they were from Ofir. A land beyond the sea. They had little interaction with the main continent, to Ciri's knowledge, which raised a number of questions.
"Unhand the prince!" One of them shouted in stilted common. Their swords were out and their expressions twisted and it was very clear that they overstayed their welcome.
A prince? Ciri glanced down at the body of the Prince, his head hanging on by a thread. Did they just kill the prince of Ofir? She glanced at Guts, who seemed indifferent until their eyes met. "Don't say it," he sighed, expecting a jest at his expense. And it would have come if they hadn't accidently killed the guy. Though, as she looked down at Guts, she saw a daisy chain of contact. Anna was holding her daughter, and one of the children was holding her other hand while hanging off of Guts.
If they overstayed their welcome then that meant they simply needed to leave.
Reaching out with a hand to grab hold of Geralt, Ciri pulled up on the power in her blood. She felt space warp around her, though with so many people, Ciri had expected it to be more taxing. It wasn't. It was as easy as it was teleporting alone. However, as space began to warp, Ciri felt a shiver raced down her spine. Time seemed to stretch onward, a single second becoming a minute… and in that minute…
Ciri's gaze met someone's. Someone that was watching her between the fabric of space.
Then, time resumed as normal and they were back in the Rosemary and Thyme. The children were panicking, not expecting the sudden shift in location while Ciri's heart pounded in her chest. That had been a first. Someone had been watching her? Waiting for her to jump? She hadn't seen anything -- not enough to say who it was, at least. It was like locking eyes with someone when you were in the bath, and all you could see was an eye through a peephole. Ciri had guesses, and at the top of the list was the Wild Hunt.
They had to know that she was jumping around. They had always been able to track her. Were they waiting for an opportunity to grab her? Were they waiting until Guts wasn't around?
Ciri was so distracted and concerned that she hardly noticed Dandelion escorting Anna and the children out of the main dining room, Puck calming the kids down and promising to play with them. Her thoughts were only broken when Ciri found herself swept up in a hug by Yennefer and Geralt. With it, Ciri felt her tension and concern bleed away from her.
"I knew I'd see you again, Ciri. I never imagined the circumstances," Geralt told her in a low voice, stepping back and breaking the hug. He glanced down at her father, who was tied to a chair with one side of his face swelling up. Guts had punched him in the chin, but his fist was so big that it gave her father a shiner anyway. He seemed to still be unconscious, at least. "Or who would be joining us in the reunion."
Ciri let out a small laugh. "Yeah… you can thank Guts for that," Ciri said, her gaze sliding to Guts, who stood off to the side, his expression indifferent. "For a lot of things, really. He's why I'm able to use my power. The Wild Hunt… well, after I rescued you from them, they've been chasing me around dozens of spheres. I ended up picking Guts up along the way, and he's scared them off." A vast understatement and a far too simple explanation.
Yennefer's attention snapped to Guts, "Scared them off?" She echoed, sounding more than a little suspicious. "You scared off the Wild Hunt?" She didn't believe it, but Ciri was quick to try to convince her.
"It's true! They managed to track me down in the bog after I arrived, and he killed more than a few of them. Tell them, Guts," she said, looking to him. Ciri wasn't a little girl that needed permission to do anything, but she knew for a fact that both Geralt and Yennefer would be more than a little wary of her using her powers because they knew what it would lead to. Convincing them opened up a lot of possibilities if they understood that they wouldn't come near while Guts was around.
"Hn," Guts grunted, offering nothing else. Ciri closed her eyes, idly realizing that she should have expected that. She had no one to blame but herself for that one.
Opening her eyes after swallowing a sigh, she saw that Geralt was amused. "They're scared enough that I'm willing to teleport here," Ciri offered lamely, defeat in her tone. Yennefer met her gaze, her eyebrows drawing together as she looked at Guts in a new light.
"Dandelion did inform me of your recent activities. I assumed that they were his traditional bardic exaggerations," Yennefer remarked idly.
"I wouldn't mind hearing those tales," Geralt added, looking at Emhyr. "Are you holding him captive for Radovid?"
Ciri chuckled weakly, "Well… about that… Radovid is kind of dead. Guts punched his head off," Ciri said, shamelessly throwing Guts under the bus. Guts sent her a look of mild annoyance and even Geralt blinked in surprise. Then she saw him quickly sort through the implications.
"I think," Geralt began, "We should probably start from the very beginning of this is going to make any sense." He was probably right about that one, Ciri admitted. The three of them took a seat at a counter while Guts leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, keeping an ear on the ongoing riot in Novigrad.
It wasn't until Ciri began her tale that she realized how much had transpired in the past year. It all seemed to start after she rescued Geralt from the Wild Hunt, slipping from the trap that they had laid for her. From there, it was constant adventures across dozens of spheres before hiding out in Night City for about a year. After not seeing a hair of the Wild Hunt in that time, she thought it was safe to poke her head out. Her and Avallac'h. Only for that to be a trap in itself.
Predictably, everything went right to shit. They were ambushed in Skellige, and she teleported to the swamp. The fight with the Crones was glossed over, focusing more on Guts. Since Guts wasn't willing to share, she made sure it was clear what he could do. Geralt looked particularly interested when she mentioned him killing a fiend in two sword swipes. From there, it was about escorting the kids to safety. Then trying to find Triss. The madness of the night before, and now… their reunion.
They saved most of their questions until towards the end, and true to form, Geralt zeroed in on the problem at hand. "A Djinn is a bad idea," he ventured, earning a slight agreeing nod from Yennefer.
Ciri glanced at Guts to see his lips thinning, but Yennefer continued. "They are exceedingly dangerous and often not worth the wish they grant-"
"Do you know of another way to cure madness then?" Guts interjected, his tone gruff. To that, Yennefer narrowed her eyes. Ciri glanced between them, feeling a little apprehension. Ciri loved Yen. She was the mother that she chose. She just wasn't under any delusions about who she was. Yennefer was someone that demanded respect, regardless of anyone in the room. And Guts…
Well, he was three for three on hitting people of authority. Killing two of them.
"Without examination, I cannot say." Yennefer admitted, and for her, that was a large allowance. Yennefer didn't admit that she didn't know things. The common trick was to make people feel stupid for asking or dodge the question entirely.
"Then tell me where to find it," Guts demanded, his tone unyielding.
"I'm unaccustomed to being spoken to like that," Yennefer warned.
"Then get used to it," Guts replied without hesitation. Ciri could see Yennefer's annoyance growing while Geralt seemed more amused than anything. He knew exactly how prickly Yennefer could be. Ciri thought he was enjoying not being on the receiving end of it as much as he was seeing Guts carelessly dismiss the power and prestige that Yennefer commanded.
Honestly, this was going about as well as Curi had dared to hope.
"It's important, Yennefer. Do you know where we can find one?" She asked, and based on how her expression pinched, Ciri knew that she did. So much for Djinn being too dangerous and more trouble than they were worth. Yennefer's gaze snapped to Geralt to see what he thought of the demand.
He offered a small indifferent shrug. "Know the wish that you want, and be able to handle the Djinn if it gets rowdy. You should be fine," he voiced his opinion, annoying Yennefer, who wanted agreement. "Do you know how you're going to word the wish?"
"Revert Casca's mind, memories, and body to the day of the Eclipse but before Griffith's betrayal," Guts stated, making the wish sound a lot like a demand with an 'or else' attached to the end that went unspoken. It was… pretty ironclad, in Ciri's opinion. There didn't seem to be any real avenue for the Djinn to twist the wish. Specifying exactly when to revert her body and mind prevented the Djinn from turning her into a baby, and specifying memories meant that it couldn't revert her body but leave her mad.
Geralt seemed to approve of it based on his small nod. "They know the risks. It's their decision."
Yennefer seemed to disagree but held her tongue. Instead, she let out a silent breath. "I've been tracking one. Or, rather, I know someone that has one. I have it on good authority that they're dead, likely due to a wish made, but if it is so important, then I can take you to it. However, there do seem to be far more pressing issues at the moment. Such as dear Emperor Emhyr pretending to still be unconscious," Yennefer remarked, bringing Ciri's attention to her father.
During their short conversation, his eye had finished swelling up to the point that he couldn't look through it. Still, he attempted to appear dignified by sitting up straight in his rickety chair once called out. Ciri's blood froze in her veins as his lone eye landed on her, their eyes meeting. This was a moment that she had dreaded for years now. When he entered Yennefer's room, it was like a scene ripped right out of a nightmare.
Her father has always been an absente figure in her life. In truth, she only learned that he wasn't dead along with her mother relatively recently. She spent most of her life without him, unknowingly running from him because he happened to find a prophecy that he was trying to fulfill. If she never saw him again it would be too soon. But, never in a million years would she had anticipated this reunion. With him tied to a chair and one eye swollen shut.
"Hm. You do fine work," Geralt remarked to Guts as both loomed over her father.
There was something dangerously close to a smile on Guts' face. "Thanks."
Well, at least they were getting along. Ciri turned to face her father, unwilling to be cowed by his presence. Her jaw clenched when she saw him working his jaw to loosen it up so he could speak. But, when he did, it was directed to her. "Daughter. Do you have any idea what you have done?"
"I've kidnapped the Emperor of Nilfgaard. But don't worry about us giving you over to Radovid so he can burn you at the stake. He's dead," Ciri informed.
Her father was a guarded man. As guarded as Geralt was, only she had far less experience reading his expressions. It was impossible to tell what he thought of that. Or if he was even surprised. "Is that so?" Ciri had no idea if he was genuinely surprised or if he was faking it to pretend ignorance for one reason or another. "Then why am I here?" He questioned, his tone light. As if they were in his castle and that chair he sat on was a throne.
Ciri worked her jaw, glancing at Yennefer and Geralt. Half hoping that one of them would take point in this, but even if they wanted to, they couldn't. They had no idea why he was here in the first place.
Now she really wished she went into more detail about the whole… solidifying the North and Nilfgaard plan. Just to give them a heads up. "To end the war between you and the North," Ciri began, trying to appear comfortable in her seat. She had the leg up on her father, but how he looked at her made her feel small.
"If Radovid truly is dead, then the war is already over. I have won," he replied, his tone flat and unyielding.
Ciri couldn't help herself. "Do you feel like a winner?" To that, he narrowed his eyes at her.
"Before your… companion assaulted me," he began, turning a glare on Guts' direction. "I said that there was much to discuss. You are my heir. It is time that you returned to me to take your place, so you may learn what you need to become Empress of Nilfgaard after I pass." He spoke the words with a sense of finality but there was a hard edge in his tone. "Now, I have been disgraced with this."
Ciri fought the urge to glance at Yennefer and Geralt, who both stiffened at the words. Neither of them seemed surprised by the news itself, but hearing the words aloud. Ciri took a bracing breath, "I intend to unify the North. Against you." She should have had a speech prepared. Or had Dandelion prepare one for her. The declaration felt lame and stilted. If Geralt and Yennefer weren't surprised before, then they sure were now. "The plan is already in place and I know how much control you need over your Empire and armies. They can't wipe their own arses without your approval. Keep you here, and I imagine we'll make quick work of Nilfgaard."
Her parents -- her true family -- had about the reaction that she expected. Geralt went expressionless, telling Ciri that he was uncomfortable and uncertain. Yennefer was calculating -- the odds of things working, how it would change things, the pros and the cons. All at once. The reaction she was most nervous about was her father, and he merely tilted his head. "Why?"
Fuck. Why did he have to ask that? "Nilfgaard can't become what I want it to be. I… would have to be like you to lead Nilfgaard well, and I have no interest in that." It was more of a lack of ability, but that was neither here nor there. "We'll rebuff your army at Oxenfurt. Unify the North around the victory and defeat Nilfgaard in one fell swoop." And she just told him the strategy. The words tumbled from her mouth and she desperately wished she could pull them back. No such luck.
"I see," Emhyr replied, his tone even. "That is quite an optimistic point of view," he remarked. When her eyes narrowed into a glare, he continued, "It's not a poor plan. You have the blood, and I thoroughly purged the nobility of the north. What is optimistic about it is that you believe that a single battle is all that it shall take. Rebuffing my army at Oxenfurt is not the same thing as defeating Nilfgaard. To defeat us, you would need to reclaim territory and pose a direct threat to the Empire itself."
That… made more sense than Ciri wanted to admit.
"It sounds like you have a suggestion, Emhyr," Yennefer observed, making Ciri's attention snap to her.
"Emperor Emhyr," her father corrected drily. Was he… was he helping her? That had to be a trap, right? "Nilfgaard is yours by birthright, my daughter. What I suggest is merely an expansion of what you already intend -- purge Nilfgaard of its nobility," he said like he wasn't the bloody fucking Emperor of the nation he was talking about.
Ciri couldn't help it. She tried. She did. "What?" She blurted, her jaw dropping a fraction.
"Nilfgaard values competence and results, my daughter. If you believe that Nilfgaard can not become what you wish it to be, then break it with the armies of the North until it can be. In doing so, you will unite the North around you. They will show you true devotion for you will not only be the one that stopped the invasion, but bled the Empire in turn. Those victories should be used to butcher the nobility -- men, women, children. Uplift people that support you within the Empire to replace them to ensure a smooth transition of power. Between the support of the North and the support you create within Nilfgaard, you can turn the Empire into whatever you wish as if it were clay in your hands."
Ciri heard him. She understood the words, but they felt like a foreign language that she couldn't make any sense of. "I can't imagine that the people of Nilfgaard would be too pleased," Ciri forced out, knowing that she couldn't just gale at him.
"There will be dissenters, naturally. However, with the peace deal that is struck, within the treaty, I shall reaffirm you to be my heir. I shall have men create rebellious factions to suss out the traitors, and it will be a simple matter of murdering them before they can do anything," her father continued in a dispassionate voice. It was all numbers to him. Ruthless actions without anything resembling remorse. "However, all of this hinges on you, my daughter. Can you wage war for ambition?"
The question bounced in her skull for a moment and…
Ciri knew the answer.
"I was looking for you," Ciri confessed. That got a faint smile from Geralt, amused by the irony. "It's… it's a long story, but I ended up finding Yennefer first. And she told me that you would be here, so… here I am," Ciri finished lamely, feeling like she should have a better explanation prepared than that.
"Hm. You found me," Geralt replied with evident relief. He turned his attention to the massive toad that laid on the ground and seemed to be… shrinking? Ciri watched in dull amazement as the corpse began to recede, pulling in on itself until human flesh began to take shape. Within thirty seconds, the toad was gone entirely, replaced with a naked man that was laying face first into squishy wet moss.
"A curse?" Ciri questioned, curious. That was a first for her. Usually, even after killing something like a werewolf, the body remained transformed. And… "Is he still breathing?"
"Doesn't look like it," Geralt remarked, "Would have been good to know at the start. He's been poisoning the drinking water. Important during a siege. Enough soldiers are ill enough that command decided to kill the toad rather than use it to kill any Nilfgaardians sneaking through." Geralt explained, and that could explain why Nilfgaard was bothering to attack the walls, regardless of how costly it was. Soldiers were sick.
"Wonder who cursed him?" Ciri muttered, looking at his features after Geralt flipped him over. Youngish. Late twenties to early thirties, naturally tanned skin that told her that he wasn't a native of the north. Short beard and dark hair cut short. Nothing noteworthy beyond that, though.
"No idea," Geralt admitted, glancing around at the fallen Witch Hunters. Ciri's gaze found Guts, who was under siege himself by the children. They clung to him, thanking him and demanding to see Puck again. Without the fairy to cover for his awkwardness, Guts was pretty helpless with kids, she noticed. A fond smile found its way on her face, tugging at her lips. "I was just going to kill it and escape through the sewers. Ran into them down here."
It was a stroke of luck that Ciri couldn't complain about. Things would have gotten a whole lot more complicated if they had to rescue the kids from the Witch Hunters.
"If you found Yennefer, then you've been to Nilfgaard?" Geralt asked her, deciding that the de-cursified man was fine. His tone was guarded. Most people wouldn't have noticed it, but Ciri learned how to read Geralt's tone.
To that, Ciri scratched at the back of her neck. "Sort of. It's… kind of a long story. I can tell it when we're out of Oxenfurt. But everyone is in Novigrad -- Yennefer, Triss, Dandelion, and Zoltan." That got a reaction out of Geralt, his eyes narrowing a fraction as the darkened veins started to fade as his potions began to wear off. She deliberately didn't mention Emhyr, because she wanted to see Geralt's reaction when he saw her father laid out. She was expecting extreme jealousy towards Guts.
Geralt inclined his head to Guts, who had kids hanging off of him now while he wore an expression of long-standing suffering. Anna was talking to him in a worried tone while her daughter had a hand on her blade, watching Guts as if he might gobble one of the children right up. There was tension there. It seemed unlikely that a message had managed to arrive here about Guts' activities already, through a siege. Which told Ciri that it was either something else entirely or the Witch Hunters were using something to communicate despite the distance. "He part of that story?"
"Big part," Ciri admitted. "You'll like him. He only communicates through grunts and scowls too."
"Hm. Man after my own heart," came Geralt's dry retort. He shifted his head to the side. "We have people coming."
"Witch Hunters?" Ciri questioned, looking at the tunnel they entered from. She focused on her hearing and it took a few seconds to find the sound of footsteps and the jostling of chainmail. "Sounds like… a dozen of them," she observed, opening her eyes.
"We should make ourselves scarce," Geralt decided, giving a small nod in Ciri's direction.
"Guts! Everyone! We're leaving," Ciri called out to them. The kids clung to Guts, trying to drag him down as he approached. Anna was in his shadow, and her daughter hesitated to follow. Ciri spared a glance down at the corpse, idly wondering if they should take it with them. He was dead, but Witch Hunters weren't the type to care about the nature of curses. Nor were they above desecrating a body to make themselves feel better about the situation.
Anna approached, "Thank you, Ciri." She voiced, her tone tired. It hadn't been that long since they last saw each other, but Anna was looking radiant in comparison to how she was before. A byproduct of living in a swamp, Ciri suspected. "We were trying to escape -- the Witch Hunters were trying to use the children against you both, so I thought…" she trailed off and Ciri understood. She was trying to protect the kids by escaping. Ciri just reached out, giving a hand a squeeze…
But it seemed that they delayed for too long. Rounding the same corner that they did, the dozen people Ciri expected appeared. Only they weren't Witch Hunters, Ciri swiftly noticed. They weren't dressed for it, for starters. Ciri recognized the scimitar sabers and the garb that they wore -- they were from Ofir. A land beyond the sea. They had little interaction with the main continent, to Ciri's knowledge, which raised a number of questions.
"Unhand the prince!" One of them shouted in stilted common. Their swords were out and their expressions twisted and it was very clear that they overstayed their welcome.
A prince? Ciri glanced down at the body of the Prince, his head hanging on by a thread. Did they just kill the prince of Ofir? She glanced at Guts, who seemed indifferent until their eyes met. "Don't say it," he sighed, expecting a jest at his expense. And it would have come if they hadn't accidently killed the guy. Though, as she looked down at Guts, she saw a daisy chain of contact. Anna was holding her daughter, and one of the children was holding her other hand while hanging off of Guts.
If they overstayed their welcome then that meant they simply needed to leave.
Reaching out with a hand to grab hold of Geralt, Ciri pulled up on the power in her blood. She felt space warp around her, though with so many people, Ciri had expected it to be more taxing. It wasn't. It was as easy as it was teleporting alone. However, as space began to warp, Ciri felt a shiver raced down her spine. Time seemed to stretch onward, a single second becoming a minute… and in that minute…
Ciri's gaze met someone's. Someone that was watching her between the fabric of space.
Then, time resumed as normal and they were back in the Rosemary and Thyme. The children were panicking, not expecting the sudden shift in location while Ciri's heart pounded in her chest. That had been a first. Someone had been watching her? Waiting for her to jump? She hadn't seen anything -- not enough to say who it was, at least. It was like locking eyes with someone when you were in the bath, and all you could see was an eye through a peephole. Ciri had guesses, and at the top of the list was the Wild Hunt.
They had to know that she was jumping around. They had always been able to track her. Were they waiting for an opportunity to grab her? Were they waiting until Guts wasn't around?
Ciri was so distracted and concerned that she hardly noticed Dandelion escorting Anna and the children out of the main dining room, Puck calming the kids down and promising to play with them. Her thoughts were only broken when Ciri found herself swept up in a hug by Yennefer and Geralt. With it, Ciri felt her tension and concern bleed away from her.
"I knew I'd see you again, Ciri. I never imagined the circumstances," Geralt told her in a low voice, stepping back and breaking the hug. He glanced down at her father, who was tied to a chair with one side of his face swelling up. Guts had punched him in the chin, but his fist was so big that it gave her father a shiner anyway. He seemed to still be unconscious, at least. "Or who would be joining us in the reunion."
Ciri let out a small laugh. "Yeah… you can thank Guts for that," Ciri said, her gaze sliding to Guts, who stood off to the side, his expression indifferent. "For a lot of things, really. He's why I'm able to use my power. The Wild Hunt… well, after I rescued you from them, they've been chasing me around dozens of spheres. I ended up picking Guts up along the way, and he's scared them off." A vast understatement and a far too simple explanation.
Yennefer's attention snapped to Guts, "Scared them off?" She echoed, sounding more than a little suspicious. "You scared off the Wild Hunt?" She didn't believe it, but Ciri was quick to try to convince her.
"It's true! They managed to track me down in the bog after I arrived, and he killed more than a few of them. Tell them, Guts," she said, looking to him. Ciri wasn't a little girl that needed permission to do anything, but she knew for a fact that both Geralt and Yennefer would be more than a little wary of her using her powers because they knew what it would lead to. Convincing them opened up a lot of possibilities if they understood that they wouldn't come near while Guts was around.
"Hn," Guts grunted, offering nothing else. Ciri closed her eyes, idly realizing that she should have expected that. She had no one to blame but herself for that one.
Opening her eyes after swallowing a sigh, she saw that Geralt was amused. "They're scared enough that I'm willing to teleport here," Ciri offered lamely, defeat in her tone. Yennefer met her gaze, her eyebrows drawing together as she looked at Guts in a new light.
"Dandelion did inform me of your recent activities. I assumed that they were his traditional bardic exaggerations," Yennefer remarked idly.
"I wouldn't mind hearing those tales," Geralt added, looking at Emhyr. "Are you holding him captive for Radovid?"
Ciri chuckled weakly, "Well… about that… Radovid is kind of dead. Guts punched his head off," Ciri said, shamelessly throwing Guts under the bus. Guts sent her a look of mild annoyance and even Geralt blinked in surprise. Then she saw him quickly sort through the implications.
"I think," Geralt began, "We should probably start from the very beginning of this is going to make any sense." He was probably right about that one, Ciri admitted. The three of them took a seat at a counter while Guts leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, keeping an ear on the ongoing riot in Novigrad.
It wasn't until Ciri began her tale that she realized how much had transpired in the past year. It all seemed to start after she rescued Geralt from the Wild Hunt, slipping from the trap that they had laid for her. From there, it was constant adventures across dozens of spheres before hiding out in Night City for about a year. After not seeing a hair of the Wild Hunt in that time, she thought it was safe to poke her head out. Her and Avallac'h. Only for that to be a trap in itself.
Predictably, everything went right to shit. They were ambushed in Skellige, and she teleported to the swamp. The fight with the Crones was glossed over, focusing more on Guts. Since Guts wasn't willing to share, she made sure it was clear what he could do. Geralt looked particularly interested when she mentioned him killing a fiend in two sword swipes. From there, it was about escorting the kids to safety. Then trying to find Triss. The madness of the night before, and now… their reunion.
They saved most of their questions until towards the end, and true to form, Geralt zeroed in on the problem at hand. "A Djinn is a bad idea," he ventured, earning a slight agreeing nod from Yennefer.
Ciri glanced at Guts to see his lips thinning, but Yennefer continued. "They are exceedingly dangerous and often not worth the wish they grant-"
"Do you know of another way to cure madness then?" Guts interjected, his tone gruff. To that, Yennefer narrowed her eyes. Ciri glanced between them, feeling a little apprehension. Ciri loved Yen. She was the mother that she chose. She just wasn't under any delusions about who she was. Yennefer was someone that demanded respect, regardless of anyone in the room. And Guts…
Well, he was three for three on hitting people of authority. Killing two of them.
"Without examination, I cannot say." Yennefer admitted, and for her, that was a large allowance. Yennefer didn't admit that she didn't know things. The common trick was to make people feel stupid for asking or dodge the question entirely.
"Then tell me where to find it," Guts demanded, his tone unyielding.
"I'm unaccustomed to being spoken to like that," Yennefer warned.
"Then get used to it," Guts replied without hesitation. Ciri could see Yennefer's annoyance growing while Geralt seemed more amused than anything. He knew exactly how prickly Yennefer could be. Ciri thought he was enjoying not being on the receiving end of it as much as he was seeing Guts carelessly dismiss the power and prestige that Yennefer commanded.
Honestly, this was going about as well as Curi had dared to hope.
"It's important, Yennefer. Do you know where we can find one?" She asked, and based on how her expression pinched, Ciri knew that she did. So much for Djinn being too dangerous and more trouble than they were worth. Yennefer's gaze snapped to Geralt to see what he thought of the demand.
He offered a small indifferent shrug. "Know the wish that you want, and be able to handle the Djinn if it gets rowdy. You should be fine," he voiced his opinion, annoying Yennefer, who wanted agreement. "Do you know how you're going to word the wish?"
"Revert Casca's mind, memories, and body to the day of the Eclipse but before Griffith's betrayal," Guts stated, making the wish sound a lot like a demand with an 'or else' attached to the end that went unspoken. It was… pretty ironclad, in Ciri's opinion. There didn't seem to be any real avenue for the Djinn to twist the wish. Specifying exactly when to revert her body and mind prevented the Djinn from turning her into a baby, and specifying memories meant that it couldn't revert her body but leave her mad.
Geralt seemed to approve of it based on his small nod. "They know the risks. It's their decision."
Yennefer seemed to disagree but held her tongue. Instead, she let out a silent breath. "I've been tracking one. Or, rather, I know someone that has one. I have it on good authority that they're dead, likely due to a wish made, but if it is so important, then I can take you to it. However, there do seem to be far more pressing issues at the moment. Such as dear Emperor Emhyr pretending to still be unconscious," Yennefer remarked, bringing Ciri's attention to her father.
During their short conversation, his eye had finished swelling up to the point that he couldn't look through it. Still, he attempted to appear dignified by sitting up straight in his rickety chair once called out. Ciri's blood froze in her veins as his lone eye landed on her, their eyes meeting. This was a moment that she had dreaded for years now. When he entered Yennefer's room, it was like a scene ripped right out of a nightmare.
Her father has always been an absente figure in her life. In truth, she only learned that he wasn't dead along with her mother relatively recently. She spent most of her life without him, unknowingly running from him because he happened to find a prophecy that he was trying to fulfill. If she never saw him again it would be too soon. But, never in a million years would she had anticipated this reunion. With him tied to a chair and one eye swollen shut.
"Hm. You do fine work," Geralt remarked to Guts as both loomed over her father.
There was something dangerously close to a smile on Guts' face. "Thanks."
Well, at least they were getting along. Ciri turned to face her father, unwilling to be cowed by his presence. Her jaw clenched when she saw him working his jaw to loosen it up so he could speak. But, when he did, it was directed to her. "Daughter. Do you have any idea what you have done?"
"I've kidnapped the Emperor of Nilfgaard. But don't worry about us giving you over to Radovid so he can burn you at the stake. He's dead," Ciri informed.
Her father was a guarded man. As guarded as Geralt was, only she had far less experience reading his expressions. It was impossible to tell what he thought of that. Or if he was even surprised. "Is that so?" Ciri had no idea if he was genuinely surprised or if he was faking it to pretend ignorance for one reason or another. "Then why am I here?" He questioned, his tone light. As if they were in his castle and that chair he sat on was a throne.
Ciri worked her jaw, glancing at Yennefer and Geralt. Half hoping that one of them would take point in this, but even if they wanted to, they couldn't. They had no idea why he was here in the first place.
Now she really wished she went into more detail about the whole… solidifying the North and Nilfgaard plan. Just to give them a heads up. "To end the war between you and the North," Ciri began, trying to appear comfortable in her seat. She had the leg up on her father, but how he looked at her made her feel small.
"If Radovid truly is dead, then the war is already over. I have won," he replied, his tone flat and unyielding.
Ciri couldn't help herself. "Do you feel like a winner?" To that, he narrowed his eyes at her.
"Before your… companion assaulted me," he began, turning a glare on Guts' direction. "I said that there was much to discuss. You are my heir. It is time that you returned to me to take your place, so you may learn what you need to become Empress of Nilfgaard after I pass." He spoke the words with a sense of finality but there was a hard edge in his tone. "Now, I have been disgraced with this."
Ciri fought the urge to glance at Yennefer and Geralt, who both stiffened at the words. Neither of them seemed surprised by the news itself, but hearing the words aloud. Ciri took a bracing breath, "I intend to unify the North. Against you." She should have had a speech prepared. Or had Dandelion prepare one for her. The declaration felt lame and stilted. If Geralt and Yennefer weren't surprised before, then they sure were now. "The plan is already in place and I know how much control you need over your Empire and armies. They can't wipe their own arses without your approval. Keep you here, and I imagine we'll make quick work of Nilfgaard."
Her parents -- her true family -- had about the reaction that she expected. Geralt went expressionless, telling Ciri that he was uncomfortable and uncertain. Yennefer was calculating -- the odds of things working, how it would change things, the pros and the cons. All at once. The reaction she was most nervous about was her father, and he merely tilted his head. "Why?"
Fuck. Why did he have to ask that? "Nilfgaard can't become what I want it to be. I… would have to be like you to lead Nilfgaard well, and I have no interest in that." It was more of a lack of ability, but that was neither here nor there. "We'll rebuff your army at Oxenfurt. Unify the North around the victory and defeat Nilfgaard in one fell swoop." And she just told him the strategy. The words tumbled from her mouth and she desperately wished she could pull them back. No such luck.
"I see," Emhyr replied, his tone even. "That is quite an optimistic point of view," he remarked. When her eyes narrowed into a glare, he continued, "It's not a poor plan. You have the blood, and I thoroughly purged the nobility of the north. What is optimistic about it is that you believe that a single battle is all that it shall take. Rebuffing my army at Oxenfurt is not the same thing as defeating Nilfgaard. To defeat us, you would need to reclaim territory and pose a direct threat to the Empire itself."
That… made more sense than Ciri wanted to admit.
"It sounds like you have a suggestion, Emhyr," Yennefer observed, making Ciri's attention snap to her.
"Emperor Emhyr," her father corrected drily. Was he… was he helping her? That had to be a trap, right? "Nilfgaard is yours by birthright, my daughter. What I suggest is merely an expansion of what you already intend -- purge Nilfgaard of its nobility," he said like he wasn't the bloody fucking Emperor of the nation he was talking about.
Ciri couldn't help it. She tried. She did. "What?" She blurted, her jaw dropping a fraction.
"Nilfgaard values competence and results, my daughter. If you believe that Nilfgaard can not become what you wish it to be, then break it with the armies of the North until it can be. In doing so, you will unite the North around you. They will show you true devotion for you will not only be the one that stopped the invasion, but bled the Empire in turn. Those victories should be used to butcher the nobility -- men, women, children. Uplift people that support you within the Empire to replace them to ensure a smooth transition of power. Between the support of the North and the support you create within Nilfgaard, you can turn the Empire into whatever you wish as if it were clay in your hands."
Ciri heard him. She understood the words, but they felt like a foreign language that she couldn't make any sense of. "I can't imagine that the people of Nilfgaard would be too pleased," Ciri forced out, knowing that she couldn't just gale at him.
"There will be dissenters, naturally. However, with the peace deal that is struck, within the treaty, I shall reaffirm you to be my heir. I shall have men create rebellious factions to suss out the traitors, and it will be a simple matter of murdering them before they can do anything," her father continued in a dispassionate voice. It was all numbers to him. Ruthless actions without anything resembling remorse. "However, all of this hinges on you, my daughter. Can you wage war for ambition?"
The question bounced in her skull for a moment and…
Ciri knew the answer.
Bad Blood
- Location
- USA
The more Guts heard Emhyr talk, the less that he liked him. He was made of sterner stuff than Guts initially gave him credit for though. The king that he had fought for was a petty coward -- absolutely everything that Guts imagined a king would be. Weak. Waifish. Afraid. Radovid had been an improvement, but in the end, he wasn't smart enough to get out of his own way. Emhyr was…
Emhyr reminded him of Griffith in the worst possible ways. He was composed, for one thing. Even when he was tied to a chair, one eye swollen shut and lockjaw setting in, he was down right regal. He acted like he was exactly where he wanted to be and like he was in total control of the situation. It was exactly what Griffith would do. It was exactly what Griffith would act like. He… acted like a king, more or less. What a king should be.
Then he began to speak and it was like Griffith was tied to the chair. Hate swelled in Guts chest. Rage surged through his veins like blood. His teeth ground against themselves, his fingers digging into his flesh as he crossed his arms. Guts wanted to kill him. He wanted to cross the room and smash his head in. It wasn't about what he should do, or cost and benefits. Guts wanted him dead because he couldn't kill Griffith.
"Can you wage a war of ambition?" Emhyr asked, his tone light as he planned to betray his empire. No. Betrayal implied that he had ever been a friend to the empire in the first place. To Emhyr, the Nilfgaardian Empire was the same as the Band of the Hawk had been to Griffith -- a means to an end. A way to accrue influence and power for his true intentions. For Griffith, it was a utopia. Not for the sake of the people that would inhabit it, but for his own ego. To prove to the nobility that he hated that he was better than them. That he should have been king all along.
He didn't know Emhyr's true intentions, but it couldn't be much different. He was making it sound like he was on Ciri's side. That he was doing his duty as a father. It was a lie. People like Griffith -- like Emhyr -- were only capable of helping themselves.
Worse…
There was a long pause after Emhyr asked his question. A telling pause. Geralt and Yennefer traded a look. Dandelion, who was eavesdropping on the conversation from upstairs, also made a face with his lips thinning. The silence was deafening in the wake of the question.
What was he doing? What was he thinking? Did he really learn nothing? Absolutely nothing? He agreed to help Triss because she helped Casca. She helped him. The outcome of the war meant nothing to him. Nilfgaard, the Northern Kingdoms -- world peace? He couldn't care less.
But it was becoming something else. Something very different.
He was helping to create another Griffith. They even had the same damn hair color.
"No," Ciri said after a tellingly long minute of silence. "You and Phillipa aren't half as clever as you like to act. There are a lot more options on the table than you're trying to show me. I'm sure I could find a back alley conman that could pull that trick off better than you."
Emhyr didn't so much as blink. "Oh?"
"You hunted me like an animal for years. Because of my blood. Seems pretty convenient for you that you forgot all about it just now," Ciri accused.
"I'm betraying my empire. I would hardly call that convenient," came the dry response. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Guts almost regretted punching him because the swelling made it that much harder to read his expression. He also noticed that Emhyr didn't deny the accusation.
"That implies the empire means anything to you. We both know that it doesn't," Ciri said, echoing his own thoughts. Guts felt conflicted for a moment. Part of him felt guilty for doubting her so easily. The rest of him still doubted her. "I'm not sure what you're trying to gain here, but I'm not one of your puppets that you can make dance by pulling a few strings." There was a flash of anger in her voice and he saw her glare, her expression twisting.
To that, Emhyr inclined his head. "What I hope to gain is peace. With the North, as well as with you, my daughter. The Nilfgaardian Empire is yours by right."
"I don't believe you," Ciri responded with more anger in her voice. She was losing her temper, spitting the words out like an accusation. "You don't do things for other people. You never have."
"That, my daughter, is untrue. Is it so difficult to believe that I love you? That I want the best for you?" He questioned, his voice so neutral and even that it was telling.
"Franky? Yes," Ciri spat the words out, openly glaring at him. "I don't know what you feel for me, but I wouldn't ever call it love. You hid yourself away in Nilfgaard after mother died. When you did come back to Cintra, it was at the head of an army. You butchered the people I cared about and you hunted me for most of my life because of some prophecy. I've never been your daughter. At best, I was a tool for you to use."
"Not just a prophecy. The prophecy. The destruction of our world is our fate -- just as it is for the Wild Hunt. Together, we shall avert this catastrophe, but there will always be collateral. In such an event, chaos and ruin will destabilize the planet. The Nilfgaardian Empire will be in a position to endure the chaos and bring stability in the aftermath." He spoke coldly, as if all of it was certain.
He was dodging the accusations, Guts noticed. Every time Ciri got personal, he would switch tracks to the bigger picture. The end of the world, or some such. Guts didn't put much stock into it. People had been predicting the destruction of the world since the very first day on it. Maybe they would be right, inevitably, but until that day the 'end if the world' would just be a pretty convenient catch-all justification to do anything. Because no matter how terrible and vile the act, surely it must be better than the destruction of the world, right? Evil done in the name of good couldn't truly be evil.
What a fucking joke.
"You-" Ciri looked like she was about to strike him, but lowered the fist. "Fine. Whatever. You want to help? Then I'll let you prove it to me. I happen to have a very small army that I can teleport into any fortress or stronghold in the world. You can give me a list of names of all the upper nobility, where to find them, and who would support my claim to the throne and who would resist it." Ciri refuted, revealing her plan.
Emhyr narrowed his eyes, "It will be less effective-"
"I don't care. I'm not going to slaughter thousands of people whose only crime is answering the call to arms of their lords. If I have to kill anyone, it's going to be the people that actually make the decisions." Idealistic. If Guts had to say anything about the plan, then it was idealistic. Emhyr wasn't wrong. People didn't follow blood or legacy. They followed winners. So long as you kept winning -- so long as they felt like they would keep winning -- people would follow anyone.
Targeted attacks across a nation… maybe it wouldn't inspire the same amount of faith, but that was a special type of power. It was just a question if people would fear her more than they wanted to win. Being called a sorcerer king was an insult, after all.
"And if I don't?" Emhyr questioned, his tone flat.
"Then I'll blacken your other eye. And let Guts try out his left hook if that doesn't beat some sense into your thick head," Ciri replied. Emhyr's gaze flickered to him -- or, rather, his metal prosthetic. His gaze flickered up to his face, measuring him.
"Forgive me for not thanking you for your help fracturing the North. Any gratitude I might have held had been spent," he said.
"Keep dodging questions and Ciri won't have to ask me to punch you," Guts growled at him. He was trying to take control over the conversation again. Any time Ciri got a foot up, he picked out a single sentence of a statement or changed subjects. It was annoying to listen to.
To that, Emhyr was silent. His lips thinned and displeasure was clearly written on his face. His lone eye went to Geralt and Yennefer, who had otherwise been silent during the exchange. "Yennefer. You understand the nature of power. Better than most, I will admit. Most mages are completely reliant on their innate powers and think themselves clever. It was how I used the Lodge's interest against itself. But you don't. Which is how I know you understand the foolishness of this plan."
He was digging his heels in. What Ciri suggested wasn't unthinkable. His plan was better all around, but still, it was an odd hill to die on.
Yennefer offered a smile that could be mistaken for kind. "Flattery when desperate does ring awfully hollow," she remarked, sounding like she was taking the compliments anyway. She did seem amused with his predicament, even if she did give Ciri a lingering glance. Emhyr frowned before looking back at Ciri.
"No compliments for me?" Geralt remarked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I'd think on it quickly, father. Who knows how long it'll be until everyone hears that you've been kidnapped?" Ciri said, deciding that the conversation was over. For better or for worse. Emhyr's expression tightened but he pointedly said nothing. Dandelion took that as his cue to descend the steps.
There was a wide smile on his face, "A room, fit for an Emperor. Street kings and now royalty -- my tavern is already off to a great success!" He said, grabbing Emhyr by the back of the chair and starting to drag him down to the cellar with the help of Zoltan. Emhyr tried to seem dignified as he was lowered down, but everyone could see the fury simmering underneath at the blatant disrespect. So, he wasn't just a cold fish. Good to know.
As soon as he was gone, Yennefer rounded on Ciri. "What are you thinking?" Yennefer asked, and there wasn't any anger or confusion in the question. Just curiosity and a faint echo of approval.
"It's… a long story, but… Guts -- what do you think? Could my plan work?" She asked, clearly trying to avoid the conversation. She bit her lip, chewing on it nervously.
Guts had to close his eyes for a second. She wasn't Griffith. She wasn't. They seemed so damn similar, but the clear uncertainty that she wore on her face was a stark reminder that she wasn't Griffith. Griffith never let anyone see him nervous. Or angry. Or even sad. He would laugh and cheer with everyone else, but the messier emotions? The ones that conflicted with his image of the perfect leader? Those he hid.
"His plan is better," Guts told her, opening his eyes to see an expression close to betrayal flickering across her face.
She glared at him, "It'll be a slaughter. Thousands of people are going to die."
"Soldiers. Thousands of soldiers will die," Guts corrected. "Armies rampage and rape through the country side because it's easier to gain supplies that way. Keep a tight leash and most of the dead will just be soldiers." It was a lot easier said than done. Looting was how most soldiers made their pay. Their lord might give them a tax break for military service during a war, but it was looting that made a random peasant a rich man. It didn't have to be gold or silver -- a good plow? Seeds or grain?
War was the chance to take the things that you could never afford in a lifetime. A way to save costs for the year ahead. And everyone knew it.
"Peasants who were given an order to march," Ciri shot back, her tone bitter that he wasn't agreeing with her. Her ideals were nice, but ideals had little in common with reality. "They didn't have a choice in fighting."
"That's where you're wrong," Guts told her, his voice stern. "They have plenty of options-"
"Dissention? That'd make them an outlaw or see them killed if they're caught. It could cost people their homes and livelihoods," Ciri interjected, but she swallowed the rest of what she had to say when he leveled a look at her.
"It's still a choice. When they pick up a spear or a sword and march off to war, they make a choice. They decide that they're willing to fight and kill to secure their quality of life or enrich it," Guts told her, trying to get her to see that. Being a soldier was a choice. It was a series of choices and decisions. It was a statement that they were putting their self interest over the lives of people that they have never met.
As well they should.
"I don't know if it's different in the wider universe or some other Sphere, but that's how it was in my Sphere. And it's how it is in this one," Guts continued. "Your plan could work, but Radovid made sure that everyone in the North is terrified of magic. To the point they're burning their neighbors at the stake." To that, Ciri winced. She was so focused on defying her father, she didn't seem to consider that. The truth was often ugly, and she had to face it. "Sometimes all you have is shit choices. You'll never change anything if you keep thinking that you can always make a better option."
She was annoyed. Visibly frustrated that he had poked a hole in her plan.
"He's not wrong," Yennefer pitched in, though she sounded reluctant to admit that fact. "It merely means that the magic involved will need a feather touch," she added, her gaze sliding to him and narrowing ever so slightly. Hm. She noticed.
How badly did Ciri want this utopia that she talked about?
How many corpses was she willing to pile up to create it?
Guts had to know.
He didn't think Ciri had it in her to add Geralt and Yennefer's corpses to the pile. Or Dandelion, Zoltan, and whoever. But, at the same time, before the Eclipse Guts had never imagined that Griffith would have done what he did.
"I-" Ciri began, her lips thinning.
"I think we better get some fresh air," Geralt decided, sending Yennefer a look. Her expression pinched, but she said nothing as Geralt started to head up to the rooftop. Ciri offered a hesitant nod before following him up, casting a glance at him before they disappeared up the stairs. Geralt seemed clever. Clever enough to tell Ciri what she needed to hear rather than what she wanted.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Yennefer turned her focus to him. "Guts was it? What exactly are your intentions towards Ciri?" She asked, looking at him with a reproachful gaze that told him that there was a correct answer to that question -- that he had no intentions.
"She's my ride back to my Sphere," Guts told her, his tone blunt. The way she carried herself reminded Guts of high nobility -- how they expected their orders to be obeyed without question. At the very least, she wasn't a useless blue blood that couldn't do anything on her own. She had her magic. She was just mistaken to think that would change anything for him. "Something brought me here. Me and another."
"Casca," Yennefer ventured, making Guts narrow his eyes.
Did anyone say Casca's name?
He grunted, "The wish is to restore her mind, and helping defeat the army at Oxenfurt is repaying a favor. After that, I'm going back to my Sphere. Something Ciri said you could help with. On both accounts."
Yennefer tilted her head ever so slightly, her violet eyes burning a hole through him. "I can. I suppose I do owe you for protecting Ciri from the Wild Hunt. And perhaps I can tempt you into continuing to protect her?" She asked, and the tone she used told Guts that there was a correct answer to that question too.
"I have business to settle in my Sphere," Guts deflected the question. It didn't sit well with him, he could admit quietly to himself. Ciri was a… friend, sort of. She was someone that he could tolerate. Most of the time. It didn't at all settle well with him to leave her being hunted like a rabid dog for that power of hers.
"Truly? What is it exactly that ties you back there?" Yennefer questioned and his lips thinned at the probing question. Before finding her, Guts would have said Casca. Now…
"That's not your concern," Guts responded, his tone terse. He didn't care about the probing. "Can you help or not?"
"I can. And I shall," Yennefer admitted with a noticeable amount of reluctance. "However, Ciri trusts you. A great deal," she continued, sounding like she'd rather be pulling teeth than to admit as much. "The Wild Hunt has been after her since she was but a girl. They've targeted her relentlessly, often dragging those close to her into the mess to become targets. This is the very first time I've heard of them abandoning the chase. She trusts you and values your opinion because you are strong enough to endure those that come after her, if not drive them away."
Guts wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. It felt like he was hearing something that he shouldn't be. It made old memories start to surface despite his attempts to shove them down. His Raiders -- they had that same type of trust. No matter how dangerous or outright overwhelming the odds were, they trusted him -- their leader -- to cut a path open for them. And he did. Every single time. Until the Eclipse.
How many had searched for him that night? Shouting for him? Begging him to appear to carve through the hell that surrounded them? Only for their prayers to go unheard as they were damned to an eternity of suffering… all because he abandoned them to rescue Griffith. The perpetrator of that night. The one that brought them to that hell and inflicted it upon them.
Yennefer's lips twisted into a small frown as she regarded him. "Will you consider it? You seem to have some concerns with this plan of hers. And you aren't afraid to tell her the truth. If she is intent on doing this, I would prefer it done with you at her side." How annoyed she seemed with the admission convinced Guts that she was being genuine.
"That's a lot of trust to offer a stranger," Guts pointed out, trying to see what her game was. But the only answer that revealed itself was the one that she admitted to. She wanted to protect Ciri.
"Perhaps," Yennefer replied. "But you have earned a degree of it. Should you ever betray it in any form, I'll make sure that you don't live to regret it." She warned, standing tall, completely unafraid of him. Which was a great deal more than most could claim.
Guts saw where Ciri got it from.
The impromptu stare down was interrupted by the door opening. Guts' hand went to Dragonslayer, glancing at it before letting go when he saw it was Triss. Unlike last time, she didn't hide who she was underneath a cowl or sturdy but forgettable clothing. She stood in a fine gown of deep green with gold accents, but far more importantly, she was leading Casca into the tavern by the hand.
Her hair had been trimmed, Guts quickly noticed. Her untamable locks were smoothed out and cut shorter, though not so short that Casca couldn't chew on the end of a lock of hair. Her gaze was vacant as her gaze landed on him, the sheet that she wore was replaced with a blouse and some trousers. It looked like it was a fight to get them on. "Beeh!" Casca greeted him, crossing the distance. She offered a lock of hair for him to chew on, a clumsy attempt to share. Like a child.
"What is she doing here?" Guts asked, looking to Triss, who seemed half frozen at the doorway. Not because of him. Because of Yennefer. The two women locked eyes and the tension swelled in the tavern until Guts was sure he could cut it.
"Wheah?" Casca questioned, also sensing it. That brought Triss' attention to her and she carefully, almost regretfully, closed the door behind her.
"It didn't seem wise to leave her alone at the villa between the riots and my ingredients. My highly poisonous ingredients that she insists on eating," Triss said, keeping an eye on Yennefer as she spoke to him.
Hm. They had both fucked Geralt. Or Geralt fucked both of them.
He might be a stranger to romance, but he saw this often enough. A man with a wife and lover who then goes off to war, but upon his return, he discovers that the two had spoken to one another. Only this tension was laced with a sharp anger -- the two were both friends, if he had to guess. At the very least, they both meant something to Ciri. And one of them had fucked Geralt behind the other's back.
And given how Triss looked like she was in a room with a hungry lion, it was pretty easy to guess who was who.
He didn't particularly care. It was a family squabble and he wasn't family.
"Triss," Yennefer greeted after a very long delay.
Triss tried not to flinch, but she winced. "Yennefer. How was Nilfgaard?" She questioned, sounding like she was trying to break the tension. There was a telling pause.
"Acceptable, for the most part. I doubt many of your compatriots would feel the same," Yennefer admitted. "How was the North?"
"Fine. Until Nilfgaard started assassinating kings," Triss responded, finding her spine. There were the barest hints of an accusation in her voice. "A warning would have been nice."
"I do believe I gave you several. The Lodge was always going to collapse underneath its own arrogance. Too many large egos for anything else. Though, perhaps you are right. I should have at least extended you a warning about what was going to happen. To help you escape." Yennefer offered and Triss picked at her fingernails.
A habit that Guts recognized from someone that had them ripped out at some point. A reassurance that they were still there.
Both of them were avoiding the subject, Guts saw. They were tip-toeing around it.
At least they were until Geralt began to descend down the stairs. He didn't seem surprised to see Triss downstairs, but he did have the look about him of a rookie stepping foot on his first battlefield. Both women looked to him with sharp gazes and if the tension had been thick before, it was damn near suffocating now. All three of them were silent as Geralt reached the bottom of the stairs, and a heavy silence fell over the ground floor. Until the squeaking of the steps revealed Ciri, who seemed much happier after a short conversation with Geralt.
Her eyes lit up when she saw Triss. "Triss! You're here!" She said, quickly hopping down the steps and sweeping Triss up in a hug, completely oblivious to the tension in the room.
This… was annoying, Guts decided. "Vyesh," Casca muttered, looking up to him. Guts met her gaze and his scowl softened.
Now wasn't the time to deal with this. He was so close. So very close to getting her back. So, he swallowed a sigh. "The Djinn. You know where it is?" He asked, making everyone look at him. Yennefer paused before offering a shallow nod.
"Then let's go," he decided.
Today would be the day that he got Casca back.
Emhyr reminded him of Griffith in the worst possible ways. He was composed, for one thing. Even when he was tied to a chair, one eye swollen shut and lockjaw setting in, he was down right regal. He acted like he was exactly where he wanted to be and like he was in total control of the situation. It was exactly what Griffith would do. It was exactly what Griffith would act like. He… acted like a king, more or less. What a king should be.
Then he began to speak and it was like Griffith was tied to the chair. Hate swelled in Guts chest. Rage surged through his veins like blood. His teeth ground against themselves, his fingers digging into his flesh as he crossed his arms. Guts wanted to kill him. He wanted to cross the room and smash his head in. It wasn't about what he should do, or cost and benefits. Guts wanted him dead because he couldn't kill Griffith.
"Can you wage a war of ambition?" Emhyr asked, his tone light as he planned to betray his empire. No. Betrayal implied that he had ever been a friend to the empire in the first place. To Emhyr, the Nilfgaardian Empire was the same as the Band of the Hawk had been to Griffith -- a means to an end. A way to accrue influence and power for his true intentions. For Griffith, it was a utopia. Not for the sake of the people that would inhabit it, but for his own ego. To prove to the nobility that he hated that he was better than them. That he should have been king all along.
He didn't know Emhyr's true intentions, but it couldn't be much different. He was making it sound like he was on Ciri's side. That he was doing his duty as a father. It was a lie. People like Griffith -- like Emhyr -- were only capable of helping themselves.
Worse…
There was a long pause after Emhyr asked his question. A telling pause. Geralt and Yennefer traded a look. Dandelion, who was eavesdropping on the conversation from upstairs, also made a face with his lips thinning. The silence was deafening in the wake of the question.
What was he doing? What was he thinking? Did he really learn nothing? Absolutely nothing? He agreed to help Triss because she helped Casca. She helped him. The outcome of the war meant nothing to him. Nilfgaard, the Northern Kingdoms -- world peace? He couldn't care less.
But it was becoming something else. Something very different.
He was helping to create another Griffith. They even had the same damn hair color.
"No," Ciri said after a tellingly long minute of silence. "You and Phillipa aren't half as clever as you like to act. There are a lot more options on the table than you're trying to show me. I'm sure I could find a back alley conman that could pull that trick off better than you."
Emhyr didn't so much as blink. "Oh?"
"You hunted me like an animal for years. Because of my blood. Seems pretty convenient for you that you forgot all about it just now," Ciri accused.
"I'm betraying my empire. I would hardly call that convenient," came the dry response. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Guts almost regretted punching him because the swelling made it that much harder to read his expression. He also noticed that Emhyr didn't deny the accusation.
"That implies the empire means anything to you. We both know that it doesn't," Ciri said, echoing his own thoughts. Guts felt conflicted for a moment. Part of him felt guilty for doubting her so easily. The rest of him still doubted her. "I'm not sure what you're trying to gain here, but I'm not one of your puppets that you can make dance by pulling a few strings." There was a flash of anger in her voice and he saw her glare, her expression twisting.
To that, Emhyr inclined his head. "What I hope to gain is peace. With the North, as well as with you, my daughter. The Nilfgaardian Empire is yours by right."
"I don't believe you," Ciri responded with more anger in her voice. She was losing her temper, spitting the words out like an accusation. "You don't do things for other people. You never have."
"That, my daughter, is untrue. Is it so difficult to believe that I love you? That I want the best for you?" He questioned, his voice so neutral and even that it was telling.
"Franky? Yes," Ciri spat the words out, openly glaring at him. "I don't know what you feel for me, but I wouldn't ever call it love. You hid yourself away in Nilfgaard after mother died. When you did come back to Cintra, it was at the head of an army. You butchered the people I cared about and you hunted me for most of my life because of some prophecy. I've never been your daughter. At best, I was a tool for you to use."
"Not just a prophecy. The prophecy. The destruction of our world is our fate -- just as it is for the Wild Hunt. Together, we shall avert this catastrophe, but there will always be collateral. In such an event, chaos and ruin will destabilize the planet. The Nilfgaardian Empire will be in a position to endure the chaos and bring stability in the aftermath." He spoke coldly, as if all of it was certain.
He was dodging the accusations, Guts noticed. Every time Ciri got personal, he would switch tracks to the bigger picture. The end of the world, or some such. Guts didn't put much stock into it. People had been predicting the destruction of the world since the very first day on it. Maybe they would be right, inevitably, but until that day the 'end if the world' would just be a pretty convenient catch-all justification to do anything. Because no matter how terrible and vile the act, surely it must be better than the destruction of the world, right? Evil done in the name of good couldn't truly be evil.
What a fucking joke.
"You-" Ciri looked like she was about to strike him, but lowered the fist. "Fine. Whatever. You want to help? Then I'll let you prove it to me. I happen to have a very small army that I can teleport into any fortress or stronghold in the world. You can give me a list of names of all the upper nobility, where to find them, and who would support my claim to the throne and who would resist it." Ciri refuted, revealing her plan.
Emhyr narrowed his eyes, "It will be less effective-"
"I don't care. I'm not going to slaughter thousands of people whose only crime is answering the call to arms of their lords. If I have to kill anyone, it's going to be the people that actually make the decisions." Idealistic. If Guts had to say anything about the plan, then it was idealistic. Emhyr wasn't wrong. People didn't follow blood or legacy. They followed winners. So long as you kept winning -- so long as they felt like they would keep winning -- people would follow anyone.
Targeted attacks across a nation… maybe it wouldn't inspire the same amount of faith, but that was a special type of power. It was just a question if people would fear her more than they wanted to win. Being called a sorcerer king was an insult, after all.
"And if I don't?" Emhyr questioned, his tone flat.
"Then I'll blacken your other eye. And let Guts try out his left hook if that doesn't beat some sense into your thick head," Ciri replied. Emhyr's gaze flickered to him -- or, rather, his metal prosthetic. His gaze flickered up to his face, measuring him.
"Forgive me for not thanking you for your help fracturing the North. Any gratitude I might have held had been spent," he said.
"Keep dodging questions and Ciri won't have to ask me to punch you," Guts growled at him. He was trying to take control over the conversation again. Any time Ciri got a foot up, he picked out a single sentence of a statement or changed subjects. It was annoying to listen to.
To that, Emhyr was silent. His lips thinned and displeasure was clearly written on his face. His lone eye went to Geralt and Yennefer, who had otherwise been silent during the exchange. "Yennefer. You understand the nature of power. Better than most, I will admit. Most mages are completely reliant on their innate powers and think themselves clever. It was how I used the Lodge's interest against itself. But you don't. Which is how I know you understand the foolishness of this plan."
He was digging his heels in. What Ciri suggested wasn't unthinkable. His plan was better all around, but still, it was an odd hill to die on.
Yennefer offered a smile that could be mistaken for kind. "Flattery when desperate does ring awfully hollow," she remarked, sounding like she was taking the compliments anyway. She did seem amused with his predicament, even if she did give Ciri a lingering glance. Emhyr frowned before looking back at Ciri.
"No compliments for me?" Geralt remarked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I'd think on it quickly, father. Who knows how long it'll be until everyone hears that you've been kidnapped?" Ciri said, deciding that the conversation was over. For better or for worse. Emhyr's expression tightened but he pointedly said nothing. Dandelion took that as his cue to descend the steps.
There was a wide smile on his face, "A room, fit for an Emperor. Street kings and now royalty -- my tavern is already off to a great success!" He said, grabbing Emhyr by the back of the chair and starting to drag him down to the cellar with the help of Zoltan. Emhyr tried to seem dignified as he was lowered down, but everyone could see the fury simmering underneath at the blatant disrespect. So, he wasn't just a cold fish. Good to know.
As soon as he was gone, Yennefer rounded on Ciri. "What are you thinking?" Yennefer asked, and there wasn't any anger or confusion in the question. Just curiosity and a faint echo of approval.
"It's… a long story, but… Guts -- what do you think? Could my plan work?" She asked, clearly trying to avoid the conversation. She bit her lip, chewing on it nervously.
Guts had to close his eyes for a second. She wasn't Griffith. She wasn't. They seemed so damn similar, but the clear uncertainty that she wore on her face was a stark reminder that she wasn't Griffith. Griffith never let anyone see him nervous. Or angry. Or even sad. He would laugh and cheer with everyone else, but the messier emotions? The ones that conflicted with his image of the perfect leader? Those he hid.
"His plan is better," Guts told her, opening his eyes to see an expression close to betrayal flickering across her face.
She glared at him, "It'll be a slaughter. Thousands of people are going to die."
"Soldiers. Thousands of soldiers will die," Guts corrected. "Armies rampage and rape through the country side because it's easier to gain supplies that way. Keep a tight leash and most of the dead will just be soldiers." It was a lot easier said than done. Looting was how most soldiers made their pay. Their lord might give them a tax break for military service during a war, but it was looting that made a random peasant a rich man. It didn't have to be gold or silver -- a good plow? Seeds or grain?
War was the chance to take the things that you could never afford in a lifetime. A way to save costs for the year ahead. And everyone knew it.
"Peasants who were given an order to march," Ciri shot back, her tone bitter that he wasn't agreeing with her. Her ideals were nice, but ideals had little in common with reality. "They didn't have a choice in fighting."
"That's where you're wrong," Guts told her, his voice stern. "They have plenty of options-"
"Dissention? That'd make them an outlaw or see them killed if they're caught. It could cost people their homes and livelihoods," Ciri interjected, but she swallowed the rest of what she had to say when he leveled a look at her.
"It's still a choice. When they pick up a spear or a sword and march off to war, they make a choice. They decide that they're willing to fight and kill to secure their quality of life or enrich it," Guts told her, trying to get her to see that. Being a soldier was a choice. It was a series of choices and decisions. It was a statement that they were putting their self interest over the lives of people that they have never met.
As well they should.
"I don't know if it's different in the wider universe or some other Sphere, but that's how it was in my Sphere. And it's how it is in this one," Guts continued. "Your plan could work, but Radovid made sure that everyone in the North is terrified of magic. To the point they're burning their neighbors at the stake." To that, Ciri winced. She was so focused on defying her father, she didn't seem to consider that. The truth was often ugly, and she had to face it. "Sometimes all you have is shit choices. You'll never change anything if you keep thinking that you can always make a better option."
She was annoyed. Visibly frustrated that he had poked a hole in her plan.
"He's not wrong," Yennefer pitched in, though she sounded reluctant to admit that fact. "It merely means that the magic involved will need a feather touch," she added, her gaze sliding to him and narrowing ever so slightly. Hm. She noticed.
How badly did Ciri want this utopia that she talked about?
How many corpses was she willing to pile up to create it?
Guts had to know.
He didn't think Ciri had it in her to add Geralt and Yennefer's corpses to the pile. Or Dandelion, Zoltan, and whoever. But, at the same time, before the Eclipse Guts had never imagined that Griffith would have done what he did.
"I-" Ciri began, her lips thinning.
"I think we better get some fresh air," Geralt decided, sending Yennefer a look. Her expression pinched, but she said nothing as Geralt started to head up to the rooftop. Ciri offered a hesitant nod before following him up, casting a glance at him before they disappeared up the stairs. Geralt seemed clever. Clever enough to tell Ciri what she needed to hear rather than what she wanted.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Yennefer turned her focus to him. "Guts was it? What exactly are your intentions towards Ciri?" She asked, looking at him with a reproachful gaze that told him that there was a correct answer to that question -- that he had no intentions.
"She's my ride back to my Sphere," Guts told her, his tone blunt. The way she carried herself reminded Guts of high nobility -- how they expected their orders to be obeyed without question. At the very least, she wasn't a useless blue blood that couldn't do anything on her own. She had her magic. She was just mistaken to think that would change anything for him. "Something brought me here. Me and another."
"Casca," Yennefer ventured, making Guts narrow his eyes.
Did anyone say Casca's name?
He grunted, "The wish is to restore her mind, and helping defeat the army at Oxenfurt is repaying a favor. After that, I'm going back to my Sphere. Something Ciri said you could help with. On both accounts."
Yennefer tilted her head ever so slightly, her violet eyes burning a hole through him. "I can. I suppose I do owe you for protecting Ciri from the Wild Hunt. And perhaps I can tempt you into continuing to protect her?" She asked, and the tone she used told Guts that there was a correct answer to that question too.
"I have business to settle in my Sphere," Guts deflected the question. It didn't sit well with him, he could admit quietly to himself. Ciri was a… friend, sort of. She was someone that he could tolerate. Most of the time. It didn't at all settle well with him to leave her being hunted like a rabid dog for that power of hers.
"Truly? What is it exactly that ties you back there?" Yennefer questioned and his lips thinned at the probing question. Before finding her, Guts would have said Casca. Now…
"That's not your concern," Guts responded, his tone terse. He didn't care about the probing. "Can you help or not?"
"I can. And I shall," Yennefer admitted with a noticeable amount of reluctance. "However, Ciri trusts you. A great deal," she continued, sounding like she'd rather be pulling teeth than to admit as much. "The Wild Hunt has been after her since she was but a girl. They've targeted her relentlessly, often dragging those close to her into the mess to become targets. This is the very first time I've heard of them abandoning the chase. She trusts you and values your opinion because you are strong enough to endure those that come after her, if not drive them away."
Guts wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. It felt like he was hearing something that he shouldn't be. It made old memories start to surface despite his attempts to shove them down. His Raiders -- they had that same type of trust. No matter how dangerous or outright overwhelming the odds were, they trusted him -- their leader -- to cut a path open for them. And he did. Every single time. Until the Eclipse.
How many had searched for him that night? Shouting for him? Begging him to appear to carve through the hell that surrounded them? Only for their prayers to go unheard as they were damned to an eternity of suffering… all because he abandoned them to rescue Griffith. The perpetrator of that night. The one that brought them to that hell and inflicted it upon them.
Yennefer's lips twisted into a small frown as she regarded him. "Will you consider it? You seem to have some concerns with this plan of hers. And you aren't afraid to tell her the truth. If she is intent on doing this, I would prefer it done with you at her side." How annoyed she seemed with the admission convinced Guts that she was being genuine.
"That's a lot of trust to offer a stranger," Guts pointed out, trying to see what her game was. But the only answer that revealed itself was the one that she admitted to. She wanted to protect Ciri.
"Perhaps," Yennefer replied. "But you have earned a degree of it. Should you ever betray it in any form, I'll make sure that you don't live to regret it." She warned, standing tall, completely unafraid of him. Which was a great deal more than most could claim.
Guts saw where Ciri got it from.
The impromptu stare down was interrupted by the door opening. Guts' hand went to Dragonslayer, glancing at it before letting go when he saw it was Triss. Unlike last time, she didn't hide who she was underneath a cowl or sturdy but forgettable clothing. She stood in a fine gown of deep green with gold accents, but far more importantly, she was leading Casca into the tavern by the hand.
Her hair had been trimmed, Guts quickly noticed. Her untamable locks were smoothed out and cut shorter, though not so short that Casca couldn't chew on the end of a lock of hair. Her gaze was vacant as her gaze landed on him, the sheet that she wore was replaced with a blouse and some trousers. It looked like it was a fight to get them on. "Beeh!" Casca greeted him, crossing the distance. She offered a lock of hair for him to chew on, a clumsy attempt to share. Like a child.
"What is she doing here?" Guts asked, looking to Triss, who seemed half frozen at the doorway. Not because of him. Because of Yennefer. The two women locked eyes and the tension swelled in the tavern until Guts was sure he could cut it.
"Wheah?" Casca questioned, also sensing it. That brought Triss' attention to her and she carefully, almost regretfully, closed the door behind her.
"It didn't seem wise to leave her alone at the villa between the riots and my ingredients. My highly poisonous ingredients that she insists on eating," Triss said, keeping an eye on Yennefer as she spoke to him.
Hm. They had both fucked Geralt. Or Geralt fucked both of them.
He might be a stranger to romance, but he saw this often enough. A man with a wife and lover who then goes off to war, but upon his return, he discovers that the two had spoken to one another. Only this tension was laced with a sharp anger -- the two were both friends, if he had to guess. At the very least, they both meant something to Ciri. And one of them had fucked Geralt behind the other's back.
And given how Triss looked like she was in a room with a hungry lion, it was pretty easy to guess who was who.
He didn't particularly care. It was a family squabble and he wasn't family.
"Triss," Yennefer greeted after a very long delay.
Triss tried not to flinch, but she winced. "Yennefer. How was Nilfgaard?" She questioned, sounding like she was trying to break the tension. There was a telling pause.
"Acceptable, for the most part. I doubt many of your compatriots would feel the same," Yennefer admitted. "How was the North?"
"Fine. Until Nilfgaard started assassinating kings," Triss responded, finding her spine. There were the barest hints of an accusation in her voice. "A warning would have been nice."
"I do believe I gave you several. The Lodge was always going to collapse underneath its own arrogance. Too many large egos for anything else. Though, perhaps you are right. I should have at least extended you a warning about what was going to happen. To help you escape." Yennefer offered and Triss picked at her fingernails.
A habit that Guts recognized from someone that had them ripped out at some point. A reassurance that they were still there.
Both of them were avoiding the subject, Guts saw. They were tip-toeing around it.
At least they were until Geralt began to descend down the stairs. He didn't seem surprised to see Triss downstairs, but he did have the look about him of a rookie stepping foot on his first battlefield. Both women looked to him with sharp gazes and if the tension had been thick before, it was damn near suffocating now. All three of them were silent as Geralt reached the bottom of the stairs, and a heavy silence fell over the ground floor. Until the squeaking of the steps revealed Ciri, who seemed much happier after a short conversation with Geralt.
Her eyes lit up when she saw Triss. "Triss! You're here!" She said, quickly hopping down the steps and sweeping Triss up in a hug, completely oblivious to the tension in the room.
This… was annoying, Guts decided. "Vyesh," Casca muttered, looking up to him. Guts met her gaze and his scowl softened.
Now wasn't the time to deal with this. He was so close. So very close to getting her back. So, he swallowed a sigh. "The Djinn. You know where it is?" He asked, making everyone look at him. Yennefer paused before offering a shallow nod.
"Then let's go," he decided.
Today would be the day that he got Casca back.
Family
- Location
- USA
It was an odd sight, Guts had to admit as he gazed up at half of a ship that was perfectly posed directly on top of a mountain. The air felt thin to him, telling him that they were rather far up. The other half of the ship was at the bottom of some ocean, just off an island that Guts couldn't be bothered to remember the name of. Geralt and Yennefer had found what remained of the ship that some wizard had used to leave that island, only to get caught up in a storm.
When they returned to shore, explaining what had happened, the tension between them was extremely evident based on their pinched expressions. Triss wasn't much better. Ciri was doing her absolute best to move things along, but it was only a matter of time before something had to give. Guts was personally hoping they held out until after Casca had her mind restored. Then it wouldn't be his problem.
From there, Yennefer opened a portal and now here they stood. At the top of some mountain.
"Brrrr…" Casca muttered, grabbing his cloak and wrapping herself in it to ward off the chill. In response, Guts unhooked his cloak entirely, letting her warm herself while he was exposed to the sharp cold. Casca seemed to enjoy the added warmth, so he didn't mind it.
"This Djinn. What were you hunting it down for, Yen?" Geralt questioned, glancing at Yennefer, who scowled in his general direction .
"Nothing of importance," she replied, her tone borderline scathing. Ciri winced at that, sparing the two a glance before she sighed, releasing a cloud of fog. Then she caught his gaze and pointedly looked away from him. As if the silent treatment was somehow supposed to be a punishment.
The truth didn't change just because you didn't like what you heard. Her plan to be the witch queen of the bigoted North was stupidity at its finest. She didn't have to like it. The truth didn't care if you liked it or not.
Swallowing a sigh of his own, he began to trudge upward towards the ship with Casca in tow. All the while, Geralt and Yennefer began to bicker. "You know the dangers of a Djinn better than anyone. Me included. You wouldn't be hunting for it unless it was important."
"Priorities change. As you so have adequately proven," Yennefer rebuked, her tone colder than the mountain itself. Guts rolled his eyes up to the sky, seeing that the sun was in a different position. They had traveled a long way, it would seem. With all the teleporting, it felt like they had traveled every corner of this realm, and between all of the reunions and revelations… it had already been a long day.
If he had to listen to them sort of their relationship problems, it would be longer still.
"I lost my memories. All of them. It was only dumb luck that I stumbled across Kaer Morhen. And Triss," Geralt argued, his voice even but his tone betrayed his annoyance.
"None of whom saw fit to mention my existence, it would seem." There was some definite bitterness there. Thank fuck they had left Triss and Puck behind. Guts didn't know if he had it in him to suffer through that.
"They thought you were dead. That's what happens when you vanish off the face of the planet from everyone you know," Geralt, at the very least, wasn't taking it sitting down. Guts was missing a lot of context behind the conversation but the gist of it seemed to be that Geralt and Triss fucked while Geralt had memory loss. Guts had seen that excuse used before by soldiers when their woman at home found out about their proclivities on the march, but it seemed to actually be true in Geralt's case. Or he was good at sticking to a story. "They only knew I was alive when I showed up with hellhounds on my tail."
"I see. So, not only was my best friend fucking you behind my back, she also vastly underestimated me," Yennefer replied, her tone cutting. Guts recognized it, even if he had little experience with it. It was the tone of a woman that decided whatever you had to say was wrong and she was going to take it as an insult, so your best bet was to stop digging your grave. "Do save your excuses, Geralt. I have grown weary of hearing them."
Perfect. If he had to listen to any more of that, he was going to start swinging.
Geralt was obviously less than pleased with how the conversation ended, but there was an easy distraction when they reached the ship itself. Guts hadn't seen the half at the bottom of an ocean, but now he saw how clean the cut was on the ship. A cut that couldn't have been made with a saw or blade. It was difficult to tell how old it was, but the ocean water that had been pulled with it froze the ship into place with thick icicles hanging off of it. Getting up to it was tricky, but simple enough.
Reaching the deck, Guts quickly delved deeper into the ship, mostly to avoid the sniping between Yennefer and Geralt that had started up again. The ship was well stocked, but he didn't see any people. Either they had been in the back half of the ship… or they had survived the journey, and most likely died on the climb down. Everyone except for Amos var Ypsis, Guts learned when he found a body underneath a bookshelf.
Given that he was clutching half of a seal, Guts was confident in his guess despite the fact that the man's head had been crushed. Breaking some stiff fingers, Guts pried the seal from the corpse. "What wish did you make?" Guts wondered, reminded of the potential consequences of failure. A wish made in a panic -- 'get us away from here, as far as possible?' The Djinn fulfilled the wish, but it extracted its vengeance all the same.
He glanced over his shoulder to see Casca was ripping up sheets and sacks to make another cloak for herself. A lump formed in his throat, his mind leaping to the worst case scenarios. Was it really worth the risk? Was he being selfish to try to bring her back? Would Casca want this?
There was more than one reason why Guts was glad Puck wasn't here. He would be able to sense the doubt in Guts. Sense his fear and uncertainty.
Guts forced himself to take a deep breath and let it out, standing up to stop Casca from breaking her teeth on a frozen potato. He knew Casca. He had to believe that this was what she would want. "I found the seal," Guts announced, leading Casca back up onto the deck, the potato still clutched in her hands as she beat it against every available surface.
That caught Yennefer's attention, "And Amos?"
"Dead," Guts answered, handing it to her. Her lips tugged down into a frown, accepting the other half of the seal and producing the one that Geralt had found at the bottom of the ocean. She placed them together and Guts looked at the symbol on top of it -- it looked vaguely familiar to him, he thought with some discomfort.
It was different from the Brand on his neck, but not so dissimilar.
"How unfortunate," Yennefer said, sounding ambivalent and unsurprised. "That complicates things. It would seem that Amos var Ypsis didn't complete his three wishes, meaning that we cannot bind the Djinn. It can only possess one master, in life or death, at a time. Meaning that we will need to be… creative." Yennefer explained, walking up to the top deck of the ship. "I can summon the Djinn using this as a catalyst. You, however, will need to beat the Djinn into submission until I can capture it."
Ciri immediately looked a great deal more nervous, "That's… it's one thing to bind it, but doing it like that… the Djinn is going to make the worst interpretation of the wish that it can." She said the words, glancing at him.
Restore Casca's body and mind to how she was after Griffith's rescue but before the Eclipse. If he was going to be an arse about it, how would he twist that wish? Would it inflict the memories of what happened on her again?
Restore Casca's body and mind to how she was after Griffith's rescue but before the Eclipse while erasing the memories of the Eclipse? That felt… solid. Concise and simple. Even if it took the worst interpretation, it wasn't anything that couldn't be resolved with a simple conversation. And how his heart ached to have a conversation with her again.
"It'll be fine," Guts dismissed, glancing at Ciri. "Keep her safe," he asked, and despite the tension between them, Ciri nodded. Leaving him and Geralt to face the Djinn. They traded a small nod while Guts drew Dragonslayer and Geralt his silver sword.
"Very well. I shall begin," Yennefer stated before she started to intone words of magic. Guts felt a stir in the air but it wasn't the air itself. He didn't know how to describe the sensation other than power, which seemed to radiate from Yennefer, the two halves of the seal slamming together. It didn't take long for the signs of whatever she was doing to start having an effect. The first thing that Guts noticed was the smell of ozone -- the smell of lightning.
A second later, he felt a hum on his skin, and that was his warning to move because a split second later, the mast to the ship was reduced to splitters when a massive lightning bolt slammed into it. Shards of frozen wood slammed into him, but he positioned Dragonslayer to take the worst of it. The mast itself began to fall and he sprung into action, leaping towards it and running up it as it fell. It gave him a point of vantage to see what he was fighting.
The Djinn was more of a cloud of fog than flesh and blood. Lightning crackled in and around it, two eyes that flowed within the stormy gray fog but that seemed to be the extent of its face. Its eyes darted up as Guts felt something catch the mast that he ran on. Just before it was flung to the side with incredible force, Guts flung Dragonslayer forward as he jumped off of it. Just as he expected, a powerful bolt of lightning was flung at him, but it was drawn to the spinning Dragonslayer instead.
Guts didn't buy into the stock that lightning was somehow magical or the instrument of the gods' will. He had seen plenty of it. Enough to get an idea of the rules it followed -- it tended to strike something rather than hit flat ground, and it preferred to strike metal. Guts learned that by various fools waving a sword in the air during a storm getting struck.
The lightning bolt slammed into Dragonslayer, but the blade was too heavy and dense to be easily thrown off its target. The blade spun through the air while Geralt surged forward. Using the distraction, he threw down a purple magic circle, and for his efforts, he caught a bolt of lightning to his chest. He was saved by a shimmering golden aura shattering, revealing that he was fine.
The Djinn, less so when Dragonslayer skewered it, the magic circle preventing its escape. The blade punched through the center of it, and while there was no splash of gore or blood, Guts knew that the Djinn was injured. The creature roared wordlessly, a howl of agony that made the ship vibrate hard enough that the ice cracked dangerously. He landed on the ship's deck, seeing the mast as it was flung down the mountain. Slamming his crossbow in place on his prosthetic, he began to fire arrows at the Djinn.
"Silver or magic," Geralt called out when the arrows started to pass through when the purple circle was shattered. The Djinn hummed with power, the scent of ozone appearing again. Guts flung two throwing knives and a moment later, two blasts of lightning struck them, sending them flying off into the air. Geralt took point, his silver blade lashing out in a dizzying display of swordsmanship. It was something very different than his own, Guts noted, pulling Dragonslayer from the deck.
It was a style that was designed to take full advantage of his inhuman strength and speed. He had seen the bones of the style with Ciri's swordsmanship, but now he was seeing it in the hands of a master. It wasn't meant to be used by regular humans. That much was clear. That, and it was effective, as seen when the Djinn roared at the blows. Geralt made a sign, a shimmering shield of energy protecting him from another blast of lightning, and the distraction was enough to let Guts close in.
He intended to give Geralt a moment to put down another one of those circles, but when he lashed out at the Djinn, he felt contact. Which shouldn't be possible -- Dragonslayer was a massive slab of steel and it wasn't magical in nature. However, the creature recoiled more from his blows than it did Geralt's. The why could be dealt with later, instead Guts focused on pressing the attack. He slashed at the Djinn, driving it to the bow of the ship. A low growl echoed in the air, and on instinct, he slammed Dragonslayer into the wood and ducked behind it.
A split second later, a massive surge of lightning lashed out in every single direction. Geralt was pushed back, his shield protecting him as far as Guts could tell. The sound that ripped through the air reminded Guts of the sound Rosine made when she raced by him -- an explosion of some kind that left his ears ringing.
A massive shifting under his feet told Guts something was happening -- but what he didn't expect for it to be was the ship rising up from the top of the mountain. There was a fatal crack as the ice lost its grip on the ship which shuddered and groaned underneath the invisible force that lifted it into the air. When the barrage of lightning was done, he ripped the blade free to find that Dragonslayer was red hot and scorched. Ignoring the searing pain in his palm, Guts raced forward towards the Djinn as he shouted out, "Ciri! Get ready to get us out of here! It's going to drop us!"
"I only need a little more time!" Yennefer yelled out. Maybe they should have brought Triss with them. Surely it would have been better to have two witches than one. Even if they were in the middle of the most mundane catfight that Guts had seen.
Easier said than done, Guts reflected. The Djinn reminded him of an Apostle, which made the fight feel familiar to him. The flow of it was the same -- the monster thinking it was untouchable because it sold its soul for power, and he was just a human. Then when they tasted the edge of Dragonslayer, that attitude started to change. But, it was when they felt like they were in danger that they became their most dangerous. It was why Guts preferred ambushes where he could.
The Djinn felt like it was trapped, because it was. Whatever Yennefer was doing stopped it from fleeing, and lightning wasn't doing much. But dropping them off a mountain probably would. And it only had eyes for him because it charged up another blast of lightning as he darted forward. He had to end this now, before things got more out of hand. Meaning…
Dragonslayer thrust forward, a bolt of lightning impacted the tip of the blade and Guts' world became fire. A change in tactics. It expected him to dodge and block by now. What it wouldn't be prepared for was for him to take the hit in exchange for dealing damage to it. Guts didn't know what to compare it to as he pierced the Djinn, skewering it to the bow of the ship as lightning arced across his body. He had been burned with fire and acid, he had been cut, stabbed, his bones shattered, and more -- but nothing like this.
It felt like his body was vibrating yet perfectly still, his lungs unable to even breathe. He couldn't tell if the shock had lasted a second or a minute. What he did feel was a burning sensation, but he couldn't tell where it was coming from. That, and the stench of cooked meat and burnt hair.
Then, as soon as it began, it was over and Guts collapsed to his knees, legs giving out from underneath him involuntary. The Djinn was in some kind of bubble, Dragonslayer still punched through the center of it, and it was lashing out at the bubble. Guts took a moment to gather himself, steam rising off of his body. He was alive. That much he was sure of. Everything else, though… he let out a breath and steam erupted from his mouth, his heart pounding at his ribs. He was only distantly aware of Ciri appearing beside him, saying something but the words sounded distant.
"-Okay?!" Ciri started to shout and his hearing was starting to come back. That was good. It would be a pain to lose it again. Guts managed to nod his head, every muscle feeling torn and overstressed. He was at his limit. A fine thing that he was used to ignoring that. His limbs fought against his control, but he forced himself to stand all the same, Ciri holding her hands out to catch him if he fell.
"Phew!" Guts heard, and he glanced over at Casca. He thought the words might have been directed at him, but his heart sank like a stone.
They weren't directed at him.
They were directed to the Djinn.
"Phew ah beby," Casca exclaimed, placing her hands on her stomach. Guts tried to speak, but his tongue was clumsy and stupid. He managed a grunt at best. The others were so focused on him, they completely ignored Casca's approach. He tried to take a step forward, only for his leg to give out from underneath him.
Then, without any warning, the Djinn was gone. And he took Gut's heart with it. He looked at Casca, whose brow was shifting into one of confusion, her hands grasping for something that wasn't there so she started to look around for it. Then her gaze landed on him.
Vacant. Her gaze was still vacant.
She wasn't there. She-
Guts heard the sound of clapping coming from behind him. He looked over to see an unfamiliar face -- an average looking man with a shaved head, and thin scruff around his jaw. He wasn't handsome nor ugly. His clothing was simple -- yellows and blues, that seemed to suit him. He probably wouldn't look out of place in any tavern or inn. Here, now, he stuck out like a sore thumb as he sat on the edge of the ship, holding the Djinn with two fingers while he politely clapped with the other.
Every single hair stood on end, and he ripped Dragonslayer out of the bow and used it to push himself up.
"Who are you," Guys growled, everyone on guard. Yennefer had mystic energy swirling around her hands, but her face was bloodless. Geralt and Ciri had their blades out, but they were every bit as cautious. A hand from Ciri was the only thing stopping Casca from charging the man to take the Djinn from his fingers. Guts wasn't a fool. He understood the implications quite well.
They just didn't matter to him. Not now. Not when he was so close.
"The name is Gaunter O'Dimm, Struggler. A fine purveyor of things of interest and your lady love just tried to nick something that belonged to me," Gaunter informed, his tone decidedly friendly with an easy smile on his face.
Guts' heart clenched. What? "The wish -- she didn't use-" he started to argue, but he was silenced with a finger. It was instinctual. The same way it has been when Gambino has told him to shut up as a kid.
"All words are gibberish, Struggler. There's only one true language and a little bit of it's been branded on your neck," he informed. He was being friendly. Amusement danced in his eyes, but everything about him put Guts at unease -- his presence, his mannerisms… "Words are important, but a wish is something that comes from the heart. However -- I do understand that she had no intentions of claiming what is mine. She was ignorant of the crime. Thus, it does seem a bit petty to punish her for it… not to mention that it would interfere with another pact made."
What? Guts' jaw clenched and his grip tightened on Dragonslayer. "What are you?" He growled the words out, knowing that this was no mere man. He felt it deep in his gut. He had no idea what he was talking about -- any of it. Maybe he would learn, maybe he wouldn't but what mattered right now was knowing what he was dealing with. He was dangerous, that was clear enough by the Djinn clutched between two fingers like a marble.
"I am but a humble merchant, dear Struggler. Of whose wares might be of interest to you," Gaunter stated, before he looked up at the marble in his hands. "This one here reached into my pocket. A desperate little thing," he mused before he squeezed down.
The marble shattered, sending out a wave of… something that Guts felt travel through him. Fine mist emerged from the broken marble that then faded into nothingness. Along with the Djinn. Guts glanced at Yennefer, hoping that she would have a portal ready, only to see that she was frozen stiff. The mystical energy around her hands similarly so. Ciri and Geralt looked at Gaunter with their swords drawn, but they were unmoving.
"Figured that would give us a little bit of privacy," Gaunter informed, hopping off of the ship edge and striding towards him. The Djinn was dead. He did more than just freeze the others, it was as if he had paused time. No. That was exactly what happened.
Guts didn't know what he was, but Gaunter was powerful. Extremely powerful. "What pact could you be talking about? I never entered into any pact with you," Guts growled, his mind racing. Casca had managed to pry herself from Ciri's unyielding grip, and she was none too pleased with him when he stopped her from approaching Gaunter. What could he possibly be talking about? Could he…?
"Ah, I see you suspect already. But no, it is not what you think. You never made a deal with me. Neither you, or dear Casca here," he answered, a smile in his voice. "You are correct in your assumption -- I am the one that brought you to this Sphere. I am the one that undid what those foul Apostles and Godhand inflicted upon you. Well, except for the Brand. That, I'm afraid, is beyond even my power." Gaunter explained, holding his hands out wide as if he were expecting a thank you. He would be kept waiting.
That answered that question, Guts supposed. It merely left him with a far more pressing one. "Why?" He asked, standing taller with his lips pressed into a thin line.
"Because of a deal made," Gaunter answered, as if it should be obvious. That much was, but what wasn't was who could have made such a deal? "You wouldn't think so, but you're quite similar in nature. For years, he taxed himself protecting her from every vile creature that goes bump in the night -- well past the point that it should have killed him, his strength spent. Even then, it wasn't enough and he knew he had to turn to you to help protect her -- but when he found you? A man that hadn't eaten or slept in days, exhausted from constant battles, more bones broken than not, and poison on top of that? No. He knew you had reached the end of your strength as well."
Guts' heart went still in his chest. No. That wasn't possible.
Gaunter smiled. It was a mockery of a kind one. "Indeed. There are many types of love in this world, Struggler. Some might say that a mother's love is the purest of them all, but I would argue otherwise. There are many things that taint that love -- expectations, desires, ego, and more. No, I say it is the opposite." He continued and Guts already knew what he was going to say before he said it. All the same, the words were a punch to the stomach, driving the air from his lungs.
"After all, what love is more blind than the love a child has for his parents?"
When they returned to shore, explaining what had happened, the tension between them was extremely evident based on their pinched expressions. Triss wasn't much better. Ciri was doing her absolute best to move things along, but it was only a matter of time before something had to give. Guts was personally hoping they held out until after Casca had her mind restored. Then it wouldn't be his problem.
From there, Yennefer opened a portal and now here they stood. At the top of some mountain.
"Brrrr…" Casca muttered, grabbing his cloak and wrapping herself in it to ward off the chill. In response, Guts unhooked his cloak entirely, letting her warm herself while he was exposed to the sharp cold. Casca seemed to enjoy the added warmth, so he didn't mind it.
"This Djinn. What were you hunting it down for, Yen?" Geralt questioned, glancing at Yennefer, who scowled in his general direction .
"Nothing of importance," she replied, her tone borderline scathing. Ciri winced at that, sparing the two a glance before she sighed, releasing a cloud of fog. Then she caught his gaze and pointedly looked away from him. As if the silent treatment was somehow supposed to be a punishment.
The truth didn't change just because you didn't like what you heard. Her plan to be the witch queen of the bigoted North was stupidity at its finest. She didn't have to like it. The truth didn't care if you liked it or not.
Swallowing a sigh of his own, he began to trudge upward towards the ship with Casca in tow. All the while, Geralt and Yennefer began to bicker. "You know the dangers of a Djinn better than anyone. Me included. You wouldn't be hunting for it unless it was important."
"Priorities change. As you so have adequately proven," Yennefer rebuked, her tone colder than the mountain itself. Guts rolled his eyes up to the sky, seeing that the sun was in a different position. They had traveled a long way, it would seem. With all the teleporting, it felt like they had traveled every corner of this realm, and between all of the reunions and revelations… it had already been a long day.
If he had to listen to them sort of their relationship problems, it would be longer still.
"I lost my memories. All of them. It was only dumb luck that I stumbled across Kaer Morhen. And Triss," Geralt argued, his voice even but his tone betrayed his annoyance.
"None of whom saw fit to mention my existence, it would seem." There was some definite bitterness there. Thank fuck they had left Triss and Puck behind. Guts didn't know if he had it in him to suffer through that.
"They thought you were dead. That's what happens when you vanish off the face of the planet from everyone you know," Geralt, at the very least, wasn't taking it sitting down. Guts was missing a lot of context behind the conversation but the gist of it seemed to be that Geralt and Triss fucked while Geralt had memory loss. Guts had seen that excuse used before by soldiers when their woman at home found out about their proclivities on the march, but it seemed to actually be true in Geralt's case. Or he was good at sticking to a story. "They only knew I was alive when I showed up with hellhounds on my tail."
"I see. So, not only was my best friend fucking you behind my back, she also vastly underestimated me," Yennefer replied, her tone cutting. Guts recognized it, even if he had little experience with it. It was the tone of a woman that decided whatever you had to say was wrong and she was going to take it as an insult, so your best bet was to stop digging your grave. "Do save your excuses, Geralt. I have grown weary of hearing them."
Perfect. If he had to listen to any more of that, he was going to start swinging.
Geralt was obviously less than pleased with how the conversation ended, but there was an easy distraction when they reached the ship itself. Guts hadn't seen the half at the bottom of an ocean, but now he saw how clean the cut was on the ship. A cut that couldn't have been made with a saw or blade. It was difficult to tell how old it was, but the ocean water that had been pulled with it froze the ship into place with thick icicles hanging off of it. Getting up to it was tricky, but simple enough.
Reaching the deck, Guts quickly delved deeper into the ship, mostly to avoid the sniping between Yennefer and Geralt that had started up again. The ship was well stocked, but he didn't see any people. Either they had been in the back half of the ship… or they had survived the journey, and most likely died on the climb down. Everyone except for Amos var Ypsis, Guts learned when he found a body underneath a bookshelf.
Given that he was clutching half of a seal, Guts was confident in his guess despite the fact that the man's head had been crushed. Breaking some stiff fingers, Guts pried the seal from the corpse. "What wish did you make?" Guts wondered, reminded of the potential consequences of failure. A wish made in a panic -- 'get us away from here, as far as possible?' The Djinn fulfilled the wish, but it extracted its vengeance all the same.
He glanced over his shoulder to see Casca was ripping up sheets and sacks to make another cloak for herself. A lump formed in his throat, his mind leaping to the worst case scenarios. Was it really worth the risk? Was he being selfish to try to bring her back? Would Casca want this?
There was more than one reason why Guts was glad Puck wasn't here. He would be able to sense the doubt in Guts. Sense his fear and uncertainty.
Guts forced himself to take a deep breath and let it out, standing up to stop Casca from breaking her teeth on a frozen potato. He knew Casca. He had to believe that this was what she would want. "I found the seal," Guts announced, leading Casca back up onto the deck, the potato still clutched in her hands as she beat it against every available surface.
That caught Yennefer's attention, "And Amos?"
"Dead," Guts answered, handing it to her. Her lips tugged down into a frown, accepting the other half of the seal and producing the one that Geralt had found at the bottom of the ocean. She placed them together and Guts looked at the symbol on top of it -- it looked vaguely familiar to him, he thought with some discomfort.
It was different from the Brand on his neck, but not so dissimilar.
"How unfortunate," Yennefer said, sounding ambivalent and unsurprised. "That complicates things. It would seem that Amos var Ypsis didn't complete his three wishes, meaning that we cannot bind the Djinn. It can only possess one master, in life or death, at a time. Meaning that we will need to be… creative." Yennefer explained, walking up to the top deck of the ship. "I can summon the Djinn using this as a catalyst. You, however, will need to beat the Djinn into submission until I can capture it."
Ciri immediately looked a great deal more nervous, "That's… it's one thing to bind it, but doing it like that… the Djinn is going to make the worst interpretation of the wish that it can." She said the words, glancing at him.
Restore Casca's body and mind to how she was after Griffith's rescue but before the Eclipse. If he was going to be an arse about it, how would he twist that wish? Would it inflict the memories of what happened on her again?
Restore Casca's body and mind to how she was after Griffith's rescue but before the Eclipse while erasing the memories of the Eclipse? That felt… solid. Concise and simple. Even if it took the worst interpretation, it wasn't anything that couldn't be resolved with a simple conversation. And how his heart ached to have a conversation with her again.
"It'll be fine," Guts dismissed, glancing at Ciri. "Keep her safe," he asked, and despite the tension between them, Ciri nodded. Leaving him and Geralt to face the Djinn. They traded a small nod while Guts drew Dragonslayer and Geralt his silver sword.
"Very well. I shall begin," Yennefer stated before she started to intone words of magic. Guts felt a stir in the air but it wasn't the air itself. He didn't know how to describe the sensation other than power, which seemed to radiate from Yennefer, the two halves of the seal slamming together. It didn't take long for the signs of whatever she was doing to start having an effect. The first thing that Guts noticed was the smell of ozone -- the smell of lightning.
A second later, he felt a hum on his skin, and that was his warning to move because a split second later, the mast to the ship was reduced to splitters when a massive lightning bolt slammed into it. Shards of frozen wood slammed into him, but he positioned Dragonslayer to take the worst of it. The mast itself began to fall and he sprung into action, leaping towards it and running up it as it fell. It gave him a point of vantage to see what he was fighting.
The Djinn was more of a cloud of fog than flesh and blood. Lightning crackled in and around it, two eyes that flowed within the stormy gray fog but that seemed to be the extent of its face. Its eyes darted up as Guts felt something catch the mast that he ran on. Just before it was flung to the side with incredible force, Guts flung Dragonslayer forward as he jumped off of it. Just as he expected, a powerful bolt of lightning was flung at him, but it was drawn to the spinning Dragonslayer instead.
Guts didn't buy into the stock that lightning was somehow magical or the instrument of the gods' will. He had seen plenty of it. Enough to get an idea of the rules it followed -- it tended to strike something rather than hit flat ground, and it preferred to strike metal. Guts learned that by various fools waving a sword in the air during a storm getting struck.
The lightning bolt slammed into Dragonslayer, but the blade was too heavy and dense to be easily thrown off its target. The blade spun through the air while Geralt surged forward. Using the distraction, he threw down a purple magic circle, and for his efforts, he caught a bolt of lightning to his chest. He was saved by a shimmering golden aura shattering, revealing that he was fine.
The Djinn, less so when Dragonslayer skewered it, the magic circle preventing its escape. The blade punched through the center of it, and while there was no splash of gore or blood, Guts knew that the Djinn was injured. The creature roared wordlessly, a howl of agony that made the ship vibrate hard enough that the ice cracked dangerously. He landed on the ship's deck, seeing the mast as it was flung down the mountain. Slamming his crossbow in place on his prosthetic, he began to fire arrows at the Djinn.
"Silver or magic," Geralt called out when the arrows started to pass through when the purple circle was shattered. The Djinn hummed with power, the scent of ozone appearing again. Guts flung two throwing knives and a moment later, two blasts of lightning struck them, sending them flying off into the air. Geralt took point, his silver blade lashing out in a dizzying display of swordsmanship. It was something very different than his own, Guts noted, pulling Dragonslayer from the deck.
It was a style that was designed to take full advantage of his inhuman strength and speed. He had seen the bones of the style with Ciri's swordsmanship, but now he was seeing it in the hands of a master. It wasn't meant to be used by regular humans. That much was clear. That, and it was effective, as seen when the Djinn roared at the blows. Geralt made a sign, a shimmering shield of energy protecting him from another blast of lightning, and the distraction was enough to let Guts close in.
He intended to give Geralt a moment to put down another one of those circles, but when he lashed out at the Djinn, he felt contact. Which shouldn't be possible -- Dragonslayer was a massive slab of steel and it wasn't magical in nature. However, the creature recoiled more from his blows than it did Geralt's. The why could be dealt with later, instead Guts focused on pressing the attack. He slashed at the Djinn, driving it to the bow of the ship. A low growl echoed in the air, and on instinct, he slammed Dragonslayer into the wood and ducked behind it.
A split second later, a massive surge of lightning lashed out in every single direction. Geralt was pushed back, his shield protecting him as far as Guts could tell. The sound that ripped through the air reminded Guts of the sound Rosine made when she raced by him -- an explosion of some kind that left his ears ringing.
A massive shifting under his feet told Guts something was happening -- but what he didn't expect for it to be was the ship rising up from the top of the mountain. There was a fatal crack as the ice lost its grip on the ship which shuddered and groaned underneath the invisible force that lifted it into the air. When the barrage of lightning was done, he ripped the blade free to find that Dragonslayer was red hot and scorched. Ignoring the searing pain in his palm, Guts raced forward towards the Djinn as he shouted out, "Ciri! Get ready to get us out of here! It's going to drop us!"
"I only need a little more time!" Yennefer yelled out. Maybe they should have brought Triss with them. Surely it would have been better to have two witches than one. Even if they were in the middle of the most mundane catfight that Guts had seen.
Easier said than done, Guts reflected. The Djinn reminded him of an Apostle, which made the fight feel familiar to him. The flow of it was the same -- the monster thinking it was untouchable because it sold its soul for power, and he was just a human. Then when they tasted the edge of Dragonslayer, that attitude started to change. But, it was when they felt like they were in danger that they became their most dangerous. It was why Guts preferred ambushes where he could.
The Djinn felt like it was trapped, because it was. Whatever Yennefer was doing stopped it from fleeing, and lightning wasn't doing much. But dropping them off a mountain probably would. And it only had eyes for him because it charged up another blast of lightning as he darted forward. He had to end this now, before things got more out of hand. Meaning…
Dragonslayer thrust forward, a bolt of lightning impacted the tip of the blade and Guts' world became fire. A change in tactics. It expected him to dodge and block by now. What it wouldn't be prepared for was for him to take the hit in exchange for dealing damage to it. Guts didn't know what to compare it to as he pierced the Djinn, skewering it to the bow of the ship as lightning arced across his body. He had been burned with fire and acid, he had been cut, stabbed, his bones shattered, and more -- but nothing like this.
It felt like his body was vibrating yet perfectly still, his lungs unable to even breathe. He couldn't tell if the shock had lasted a second or a minute. What he did feel was a burning sensation, but he couldn't tell where it was coming from. That, and the stench of cooked meat and burnt hair.
Then, as soon as it began, it was over and Guts collapsed to his knees, legs giving out from underneath him involuntary. The Djinn was in some kind of bubble, Dragonslayer still punched through the center of it, and it was lashing out at the bubble. Guts took a moment to gather himself, steam rising off of his body. He was alive. That much he was sure of. Everything else, though… he let out a breath and steam erupted from his mouth, his heart pounding at his ribs. He was only distantly aware of Ciri appearing beside him, saying something but the words sounded distant.
"-Okay?!" Ciri started to shout and his hearing was starting to come back. That was good. It would be a pain to lose it again. Guts managed to nod his head, every muscle feeling torn and overstressed. He was at his limit. A fine thing that he was used to ignoring that. His limbs fought against his control, but he forced himself to stand all the same, Ciri holding her hands out to catch him if he fell.
"Phew!" Guts heard, and he glanced over at Casca. He thought the words might have been directed at him, but his heart sank like a stone.
They weren't directed at him.
They were directed to the Djinn.
"Phew ah beby," Casca exclaimed, placing her hands on her stomach. Guts tried to speak, but his tongue was clumsy and stupid. He managed a grunt at best. The others were so focused on him, they completely ignored Casca's approach. He tried to take a step forward, only for his leg to give out from underneath him.
Then, without any warning, the Djinn was gone. And he took Gut's heart with it. He looked at Casca, whose brow was shifting into one of confusion, her hands grasping for something that wasn't there so she started to look around for it. Then her gaze landed on him.
Vacant. Her gaze was still vacant.
She wasn't there. She-
Guts heard the sound of clapping coming from behind him. He looked over to see an unfamiliar face -- an average looking man with a shaved head, and thin scruff around his jaw. He wasn't handsome nor ugly. His clothing was simple -- yellows and blues, that seemed to suit him. He probably wouldn't look out of place in any tavern or inn. Here, now, he stuck out like a sore thumb as he sat on the edge of the ship, holding the Djinn with two fingers while he politely clapped with the other.
Every single hair stood on end, and he ripped Dragonslayer out of the bow and used it to push himself up.
"Who are you," Guys growled, everyone on guard. Yennefer had mystic energy swirling around her hands, but her face was bloodless. Geralt and Ciri had their blades out, but they were every bit as cautious. A hand from Ciri was the only thing stopping Casca from charging the man to take the Djinn from his fingers. Guts wasn't a fool. He understood the implications quite well.
They just didn't matter to him. Not now. Not when he was so close.
"The name is Gaunter O'Dimm, Struggler. A fine purveyor of things of interest and your lady love just tried to nick something that belonged to me," Gaunter informed, his tone decidedly friendly with an easy smile on his face.
Guts' heart clenched. What? "The wish -- she didn't use-" he started to argue, but he was silenced with a finger. It was instinctual. The same way it has been when Gambino has told him to shut up as a kid.
"All words are gibberish, Struggler. There's only one true language and a little bit of it's been branded on your neck," he informed. He was being friendly. Amusement danced in his eyes, but everything about him put Guts at unease -- his presence, his mannerisms… "Words are important, but a wish is something that comes from the heart. However -- I do understand that she had no intentions of claiming what is mine. She was ignorant of the crime. Thus, it does seem a bit petty to punish her for it… not to mention that it would interfere with another pact made."
What? Guts' jaw clenched and his grip tightened on Dragonslayer. "What are you?" He growled the words out, knowing that this was no mere man. He felt it deep in his gut. He had no idea what he was talking about -- any of it. Maybe he would learn, maybe he wouldn't but what mattered right now was knowing what he was dealing with. He was dangerous, that was clear enough by the Djinn clutched between two fingers like a marble.
"I am but a humble merchant, dear Struggler. Of whose wares might be of interest to you," Gaunter stated, before he looked up at the marble in his hands. "This one here reached into my pocket. A desperate little thing," he mused before he squeezed down.
The marble shattered, sending out a wave of… something that Guts felt travel through him. Fine mist emerged from the broken marble that then faded into nothingness. Along with the Djinn. Guts glanced at Yennefer, hoping that she would have a portal ready, only to see that she was frozen stiff. The mystical energy around her hands similarly so. Ciri and Geralt looked at Gaunter with their swords drawn, but they were unmoving.
"Figured that would give us a little bit of privacy," Gaunter informed, hopping off of the ship edge and striding towards him. The Djinn was dead. He did more than just freeze the others, it was as if he had paused time. No. That was exactly what happened.
Guts didn't know what he was, but Gaunter was powerful. Extremely powerful. "What pact could you be talking about? I never entered into any pact with you," Guts growled, his mind racing. Casca had managed to pry herself from Ciri's unyielding grip, and she was none too pleased with him when he stopped her from approaching Gaunter. What could he possibly be talking about? Could he…?
"Ah, I see you suspect already. But no, it is not what you think. You never made a deal with me. Neither you, or dear Casca here," he answered, a smile in his voice. "You are correct in your assumption -- I am the one that brought you to this Sphere. I am the one that undid what those foul Apostles and Godhand inflicted upon you. Well, except for the Brand. That, I'm afraid, is beyond even my power." Gaunter explained, holding his hands out wide as if he were expecting a thank you. He would be kept waiting.
That answered that question, Guts supposed. It merely left him with a far more pressing one. "Why?" He asked, standing taller with his lips pressed into a thin line.
"Because of a deal made," Gaunter answered, as if it should be obvious. That much was, but what wasn't was who could have made such a deal? "You wouldn't think so, but you're quite similar in nature. For years, he taxed himself protecting her from every vile creature that goes bump in the night -- well past the point that it should have killed him, his strength spent. Even then, it wasn't enough and he knew he had to turn to you to help protect her -- but when he found you? A man that hadn't eaten or slept in days, exhausted from constant battles, more bones broken than not, and poison on top of that? No. He knew you had reached the end of your strength as well."
Guts' heart went still in his chest. No. That wasn't possible.
Gaunter smiled. It was a mockery of a kind one. "Indeed. There are many types of love in this world, Struggler. Some might say that a mother's love is the purest of them all, but I would argue otherwise. There are many things that taint that love -- expectations, desires, ego, and more. No, I say it is the opposite." He continued and Guts already knew what he was going to say before he said it. All the same, the words were a punch to the stomach, driving the air from his lungs.
"After all, what love is more blind than the love a child has for his parents?"