#fetch with your witcher

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 114

Jaskier is sat at camp, DRENCHED. "You're lucky the drowners didn't start going for you!" Geralt was ranting at Jaskier, as he had been for quite a few minutes now. "How was I meant to know that the branch I was on was unsturdy?" "All the ways I've showed you how to check for that!" Geralt growls at him, which... Well, fair. "The worst part of it all is I lost one of my rings!" Jaskier whines, he glances a look at Geralt and sees a thunderous expression, thus he glances away again. "...I am sorry, Geralt. I didn't mean to get in the way." Geralt softens a bit and sighs. "Just... Don't do it again." The next morning, Geralt wakes Jaskier up by chucking a ring at his face. "Geralt! Oh thank you! However did you find it?" Geralt just grunts a bit but thankfully accepts Jaskier's praise and thanks for the rest of the day. "...Geralt-" "What? What is it?" "I- One of my rings is gone, I don't know what to do-" Geralt sighs. "Can't we just buy you another?" "No! This one was special!" It was one Geralt bought for him after all. Geralt slinks off and returns a few hours later, holding out the ring, much to Jaskier's delight. "You're so good at finding them!" "It's not that hard." Bullshit, Jaskier thinks. Jaskier is ripping his rings off in a rush in order to start tending Geralt, only to accidentally fling one toward the poor man. Geralt reaches up and catches the ring in mid-air, before grimacing as the movement had pulled at one of his wounds. "Oh, Thank you, Geralt!" Jaskier tosses a ring to Geralt one day and asks him to store it in a bag, safely. A few days afterward, Jaskier asks Geralt to find the ring in the bags and give it back. But then realizes Geralt is staring at his hands. He's waiting to be asked to get the other rings. With a look of... Excitement? Joy? "Geralt, do you really enjoy bringing my rings to me that much?" Jaskier asks, before cringing as it had clearly embarrassed Geralt. "It's not a bad thing! I think it's cute!" He says in a rush. It's official. Geralt loves to fetch. Like a dog. They now have a new routine at camp, that whenever they had nothing to do, Jaskier would toss some things, and Geralt would either catch them, or race after them as they soared through the air into the distance. Jaskier is bloodied and exhausted. His arms are tied in front of him, but he still can't seem to rip his gag off. His parents have sent for him, he just knows it. They probably have some noblewoman they want him to marry, or some relative died and they think it'll be a perfect segue into making him perform his duties. As if. Jaskier slips off one of his rings, and tosses it to the ground as the wagon pulling him starts riding off toward his birthplace. Hopefully Geralt is still just as determined to return the ring as usual.

[hanzajesthanza]

(Adam Dudaczyk) The fact that vampires drink blood to get that *meaningful hand-neck gesture* - you made that up? (Andrzej Sapkowski) Yes, I didn't model myself on anyone here, I don't know anyone who wrote before me about the fact that vampires drink blood not to satisfy their hunger, but to satisfy their thirst for… entertainment. Texts: the guys sent me to get blood, I was flying drunk… The fun was great.

as i reread this i couldn't stop thinking of this meme

[jules-writes-stories]

Stay

Azriel x Eris

I'm trying to get back into writing and what better way than to write a gift for @mistandmemories ?You're one in a million.

Eris needed Azriel’s attention. Yearned for it. Went mad if he did not have it. It was a weakness to be certain. And the Spymaster needed someone to rescue...

The fireling hummed at the spying shade. “You’d fetch your Singer for me wouldn’t you? If ever I was in need?”

The rogue shadow twined around his wrist, before slinking to the darkened corner.

Read entire story on AO3

Some Azris friends. Please let me know if you ever want on/ off the tag |

@the-darkestminds @fieldofdaisiies @mistandmemories @c-starstuff-man0 @molcat07 @chunkypossum @going-through-shit @talibunny30 @yanny-77 @lilah-asteria @amalhe-kofee @futurehunt @seihdacalling @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @unanswered-stars @that-girl-reading @christeareads @g00seg1rl @pippsmcgee @nus4y @astro-h0e-4azris @neciebee @makinglongwordsslutty @palomita-de-la-sangre @brunetterebel010 @aurorasleeps-27 @iftheshoef1tz @wovendreamscapes @bloodyplunder @catboyjamesbond @buffy-vanserra @thesourcabbage @fourteentrout @molcat07 @mudandmire @shadowsandlint @born-to-riot @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @climbthemountain2020 @witch-and-her-witcher

[thedemonofcat]

Knowing Geraskier, in the case of the masquerade challenge, Jaskier would probably end up getting kidnapped because Geralt isn't around to protect him. Meaning Geralt would have to go and rescue him, therefore accidentally exposing his identity and losing by default.

Geralt could hear Jaskier, even from a floor below. Distance didn’t matter—whenever Jaskier was in trouble, Geralt knew.

“Let me go,” Jaskier demanded, his voice strained with struggle.

“Calm down, little bird,” said one of the kidnappers, his voice muffled behind a red devil mask.

How original, Geralt thought dryly.

“We just need your witcher to come fetch you,” the second man sneered, this one hiding behind a Harlequin mask.

The plan wasn’t complicated. Two masked idiots, one bard as bait, and a trap meant for him. It wasn’t subtle—and it wasn’t smart.

“Shit,” Geralt muttered under his breath. He’d known this masquerade ball was a bad idea. He should’ve told Jaskier no.

This was exactly why Geralt couldn’t have nice things—especially not ones as loud and golden-hearted as Jaskier. Because people always tried to take them.

[memories-of-ancients]

I'm in the middle of a replay of Red Dead Redemption 2 and I just can't express how much of a masterpiece in storytelling, not only in video game history but the history of storytelling in general including cinema and literature. Between the plot and the characters it is perfection. The Witcher 3 and Baldurs Gate 3 comes fairly close but RDR2 is perfect in almost everyway. The characters feel real, your character feels real, and the whole story is driven through meaningful character arcs, and you are so immersed into the RDR2 world and plot that it feels real. Literally nothing in this game is wasted. There are some many games which are inundated with pointless boring fetch quests (cough cough Ubisoft). But in RDR2 even what seems like a mundane fetch quest ends up being an exciting adventure, a big surprise, a hilarious story, or an important piece of character development.

(spoilers) AND never in the history of video gaming has the death of a fictional character like Arthur Morgan creates such a cathartic release of emotions that caused me to break down balling. There's compilation videos on youtube of other players doing the same.

Never had I had such spiteful hatred of a fictional character like Micah Bell.

And then to just up the ante, you have Red Dead Redemption, which despite being an older game is actually a sequel, and it combined with RDR2 just wraps up the story with a nice big bow.

[contentloadingandstuff]

About Me

Hello there!

It's been three years, so it's high time to tell you guys something about myself.

Here I go by contentloadingandstuff - just 'content' for short. I'm male, straight, born on the same day as the world famous aquarelist - the 20th of April. I have a younger sister and a cat, named Kota (she-cat in Polish, sort of). I'm studying law, but I'm unhappy with it and waiting to jump over to psychology.

I'm from Poland, the land over the Vistula, of the blooming onion, the eternal occupation/invasion joke. While Poland isn't in the top echelons of the world, I'm still proud of our history and happy to see my nation develop. I'm fluent in English, but I can also understand German on a basic level, read the cyrilic alphabet and speak a tiny bit of Japanese.

I've been playing Genshin Impact since Shinobu's release in 2.2. AR 50, did most things you could do in the game. My favorite character is and was always Ganyu. I've started writing for the game for two reasons - first, my dusty old Necro AU and the lack of male reader content in terms of fics. I'm quite happy to have this blog. You can find me under Polski_Cynamon on the Europe server.

Although my interests are very broad, my hobbies focus primarily on gaming, cultural analysis and writing. I'm a big World War II buff, but the history of warfare in general also catches my fancy. Truth be told, I could get into and talk about any topic really. Except politics - at least not on the blog. I'm not afraid to argue my points, just not here. Thanks for understanding.

Now for some quick trivia. Here are some...

Games I like: Genshin Impact (obviously), Company of Heroes 2, FnaF 1 - 6, Dungeon Keeper, Payday 2, The Forest, Witcher 3, Vermintide 2, Hotline Miami 1 & 2, Battlefield V, Helldivers 2, Warlords Battlecry 3, Dark Omen, Shadow of the Horned Rat, the Myth series, Papers Please.

Youtubers I watch: The Little Platoon, Horses, Despot of Antrim, Saveafox, TheBones5, Chickeninja42, Junkzero, ZERO, Fingees, AstralSpiff, big boss, Shrouded Hand.

Books, stories and Authors I like: "Ferdydurke", "Hauptstellung Moskau", H.P. Lovecraft, V. Suvorov, "The Red Hunger", The "Fazbear Frights" series, Tadeusz Borowski, The "Abandoned by Disney" series, "1999", "Dziady III", SCP-5000, SCP-1730, The Spiral Path.

Movies and Shows that I like: Downfall, Stalingrad (1993), Warsaw 44, Burnt by the Sun 2, The Pacific, Letters from Iwo Jima, El Alamein: La Linea Del Fuoco, Barefoot Gen, Hacksaw Ridge, The 800, Das Boot, Black Adder, Monthy Python - Holy Grail and Life of Brian, The Pianist, Asterix and Obelix: Mission Cleopathra (if you know why, you know), American Psycho, Halloween (2018 and only this part of the new thrillogy), Hellraiser I and II.

Music that I like: All over the place. Includes the remix of Perfect Girl, Freaks, Cheri Cheri Lady, Gimme Gimme Gimme, Everybody Wants to Rule the World (both og and remix), Brainiac Mainiac, Operation Blacklight, Confirmed Thrills, Another Round for Everyone, Miami Disco, The Forest: Main Theme, Friday Night Fire Night, I Really Wanna Stay At Your House, Addict, Do Prostego Człowieka - Akurat, Czerwona Zaraza, Encounter Z Mixed, Maradona - smkkpm.

DEDICATED FELINE SECTION

Behold, Kota. I got her four years ago from my uncle; her mother was a very wounded stray named Anka (Annie, yes a human name) that had four kittens - two of them died thanks to my uncle's horde of basset hounds (to quote my grandmother, they are big and heavy like swine). From there on she leads a happy life being what most cats are - spoiled, antitled and loving in her own way.

She might look cute (she is), but don't be mistaken - she's a little devil. She relentlessly hunts the feet of my sister, chewing and kicking them for fun; she generally likes to wrestle with lots of teeth, but she also fetches when she wants. My mother is the unfortunate favorite person of my cat, and as a result she is followed at all times, woken up at dawn to feed the feline and constantly pestered for raw meat or treats. Kota is quite talkative and often holds conversations with me.

Oh, and vet visits are a nightmare. She's always given gabapentine to be less of a threat to doctors when trimming her nails. She once swiped the facemask of a vet tech clean off their face, but luckily the woman was okay. So yeah - an imp, adorable, but hellish.

Now, enjoy picures of my bejbe.

I'll be adding on to this page as time goes on. But for now, it's gonna be all.

Curious about something? Don't hesitate to ask!

[askaalaska-vdeppressed]

Eskel X Reader Kinktober: Squirting

The small cracks and pops from the fire mixed with the serene babbles and splashed from the river as Eskel and Y/n set up camp for the night. The two danced around each other fluidly, in the type of manner that only comes from motions practiced over and over with one another. Eskel would set up a fire and count supplies while Y/n unpacked the bed rolls and tent. Eskel would tend to Scorpion while Y/n cleaned weapons and tack. Eskel would fetch water as Y/n started dinner. On and on this dance would move till the pair were tucked away, asleep. 

“Alright” Y/n stood up, riffling through bags and pulling out various pieces of clothing. “I’m going to go do some washing. As she made her way out Eskel couldn’t help but watch her back as she left. A mix of love and lust mixed in his gaze. Y/n had been an unexpected in his life for sure. A young traveling woman, an herbalist by trade, she had quite literally stumbled into his camp and just never left. Her unorthodox lifestyle led her to being not only tolerant of witchers but enthusiastic about them.  Things had turned intimate recently between them.The tension of being around one another constantly had finally snapped. Ending up in a completely ruined night's sleep for every unfortunate soul who was staying in the same inn as them that night. 

Eskel busied himself around camp, before the boredom set in. He didn’t want to eat without Y/n and the two of them had already prepped everything for the night. After impatiently tapping his feet for a minute or so Eskel rose to join Y/n by the river. Many hands make light work after all. And if the hole he felt in his chest everytime y/n wasn’t near him was an indication of any deeper feelings, he was certainly going to ignore them. 

As Eskel got closer his hearing picked up on the slight splashes and ripples in the water caused by Y/n. He could hear her humming a small tune while the dripping of a wrung out shirt hit the moving water of the stream. He finally cleared the brush of the forest, coming out into the clearing of the stream and his mouth went dry. There you were, perched in the center of the stream, shirt wet and now see through clinging to your breasts. It appears you had decided to forgo pants, the shirt just long enough when pulled by the weight of the damp fabric to cover your front. Emphasis on front as the sight of your bare ass peaked out from the bottom, the water of the stream running around it. 

Eskel wasn’t aware you knew he was there as he sat and gawked at you for several moments. You focused your eyes ahead of you, counting your breathing to make sure he wasn’t broken from his trance. Then as a sock drifting away from you, snagging on a rock you got a sinister idea. You turned away from the witcher, standing up and positioning yourself perfectly in his eye line. Then you slowly bent over at the waist, going lower and lower to reach the sock. 

Eskel could feel his pulse quicken and palms sweat as you rose. The water cascading off of you. His heart just about stopped as you turned from him and began to bend. He flexed his hands at his sides. Swallowing loudly. Your pussy slowly unfurled before him. Lips glistening, pulsing as you took your sweet time retrieving you lost item and wringing it out. 

You stood up, still going slowly and measuring your movements. You bit your lip as you heard his ragged breathing behind you. 

“Are you going to come join me or?” You let the question die off as the connection clicked in Eskel’s mind that you did that on purpose. Your question was not answered with words but with the splashing of feet as they crossed over. You felt his presence at your back as he swiftly picked you up and took you to the bank, pressing your back against a tree. You looked up at his disheveled appearance, a smirk on your lips and devilish intent in your eyes. 

“Oh you don’t know what you’re playing with” Eskel growled. Before you could respond his lips were on yours, domineering and powerful. The rough skin, worn between worried teeth, dragged deliciously over yours. A moan escaping your mouth as you felt his hands caress your sides. He seized this opportunity to breach your mouth with his tongue. Licking up into you as he began fiddling with the clasp of his belt. Just as you were about to open your eyes to see what he was doing he grabbed your legs. Yanking them up and pinning your back against the tree. He slotted his hips into yours, you could feel the heat of his member sitting at your entrance. 

Still your cocky smile didn’t waver as you pulled away from the kiss, looking at him from your perch against the tree.

“Really couldn’t go an hour without me could you hmm?” you looked coyly at him as his gaze turned flustered and sinister. He didn’t say anything which struck you as odd before he began breaching into your walls with his cock. 

You kept eye contact with him instead of throwing your head back, bit your lip instead of moaning, you really wanted to play this game. 

And who was Eskel to deny you a good challenge? 

He pulled out almost completely before thrusting back in brutally. His pace was blinding, The bark of the tree dug into your back, the pressure of his legs bounced yours, his head was tucked into your shoulder. You felt ecstasy building in your core from his blistering pace and the friction from the course hair at the base of his cock rubbing your clit. Your arms came up to wrap around Eskel’s shoulders, gripping onto him for support. You could feel his smirk against your skin and you fought further and further to keep your noises and reactions at bay. 

Your nails began to dig as you wound tighter and tighter. 

“Esk” You all but whispered, but your low town was no match for witcher hearing as Eskel heard you changing the angle of his thrusts to hit that sweet spot in you. 

That sent you over the edge, a high pitched whine escaping your pursed lips as you felt your walls pulsate around him. Eskel did not stop though. As you felt yourself become overstimulated you felt Eskel smirk into your skin once more, somehow picking up the pace even further. You came again in record time, and again, and again. 

Despite your moans turning into whines Eskel was on a mission. Thrusts still as hard and fast as when he started, sweating forming on his brow but just barely. You both evenvied and cursed his genetically enhanced stamina in that moment, wanting him to keep going but also stop at the same time. 

“Eskel I don’t think I can-” 

“One more baby-girl, you can give me one more” His voice graveled in your ears. 

“Esk I can’t I, I can’t I” You felt your end build up once more, but this time a second pressure built with it. Eskel bit down on your shoulder as you grew tighter and tighter. Finally your felt the coil snap in you once more, the pressure releasing with it  as it soaked the ground below you and Eskel’s pants. Eskel gave a handful more thrust into the wet mess that was your heat before spilling, a groan pressed into your neck. 

You both sat there a moment, catching your breath. You willing your legs to turn from there jelly state back to bone and skin. You looked into his yellow eyes after a beat. 

“I should tease you more often”.

[acornerofnowhere]

Have finished the first Witcher game and realised that systemic RPGs give me anxiety.

More thoughts below the cut (spoilers ahoy):

1. It's taken until this moment for my opinion on the matter to fully crystallise but I just can't with systemic games. People look at me as if I've grown a second head whenever I say I prefer JRPGs but the appeal is very simple: A-to-B, straight line, emotional teen, magical airship adventure, kill god, bish bash bosh and you're done. I'm a doctrinaire completionist, I want to absorb everything a piece of media has to offer, complete every quest, trigger every cutscene, max every relationship, and my trouble with systemic games is that this mindset guarantees an utterly miserable time. You're supposed to go with your gut, let the chips land where they may and reconcile yourself with the game's circadian rhythms, and I'm just not built like that, it gives me anxiety that I'm missing content if I don't have a walkthrough next to me at all times, spoiling myself on every twist just to make sure I reach the point where there even is a twist.

2. There are very occasional glimmers of brilliance in the game's writing that make its frequent atonal clangers all the more inexcusable, like a drunken conversation between Geralt, Dandelion and Zoltan about what the witcher really wants out of a relationship with some genuine humour and pathos sandwiched between fetch quests that are constantly about to fall apart at the coding level. Line delivery is universally flat but that may just be the translation, and you're never sure whether the moments of levity are genuine or the result of engine limitations whacking all gravity out of a scene with a lump of plywood. You can just about spy the potential buried under layers of stitch work and technical compromise but the team's bizarre priorities make them very hard to extract.

3. I haven't investigated how involved Sapkowski was in the development of this game. I got the impression from the famous bad blood between him and CD Projekt Red that he signed off the name and pretty much left them to it, but there's various elements from the game that crop up five years later in his follow-up Witcher book Season of Storms (like the Golden Oriole elixir, the prophet Lebioda, the vodyanoi, even the ongoing sorcerer project to create "superhumans" that Sapkowski proceeds to take the piss out of), which suggests he either was involved and contributed ideas, that CD Projekt Red had access to his notes, or that Sapkowski had played the game much like everyone else and felt entitled to filch whatever he pleased as the whole shebang was ultimately his idea. We may never know.

4. The sexual escapades that Geralt IF/THEN logic puzzle's into are about as titillating as a cheese grater and I kinda love how awful they are? While he does get around a bit in the books he isn't nearly as big a man-whore as the game makes him out to be. But a larger incongruity between book!Geralt and game!Geralt is the inevitable product of being assigned the protagonist role in a tale where his decisions shape the world around him in major ways while in the books he is much more a passive observer of human behaviour and a point-of-view character for the real protagonist of the Witcher saga, Ciri. Incidentally, Yennefer and Ciri are completely absent from this game, and Triss (if you so choose) seems to take advantage of Geralt's amnesia to insert herself as the love of his life. One hopes future games will explore this tension but for now the mere existence of a personality beneath Triss's polygonal exterior requires layering a whole lot of book knowledge atop a very skeletal collection of jittering animations.

Onto The Witcher 2!

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

The crowd in the stadium held their breath as the prince-consort-to-be was unseated in the joust. His opponent dismounted their destrier, put up a hand to halt his aides from coming to his side.

Roche had removed his helmet by the time the unknown knight had swung over the tilt barrier in an uncommon show of agility for someone burdened with armor. Closer, he could see how the knight managed - they didn't wear every piece as intended and had opted only for mail wherever a vital organ didn't need protection from the lance.

A slight gauntlet reached out and working together they hefted the much heavier Roche to his boots.

"Thank you, good knight. I'm still unsure how you even managed to unseat me - "

The knight lifted their visor. Ciri grinned back at him around sweat and dirt tracks.

"I cheated with a bit of magic. Will you turn me in?"

Emotion constricted Roche's chest. The duels were apart of a series of events to commemorate right to the princess's hand - of course she would take to proving the only living soul that could determine such a thing.

"That depends. May I kiss you, Your Grace?"

Ciri's eyes widened with brief surprise that gave way to amusement. "I'll allow it."

The crowd gasped as the prince-consort-to-be tilted his face just so to kiss the helmed knight. The shock broke into cheers when CIri pushed her helmet off to deepen the kiss, revealing her well known ashen hair, grabbing hold of Roche's face and taking control.

In the emperor's viewing box, Mererid was being fetched his smelling salts.

My brief googling shows me you stole this one from @witch-and-her-witcher - at least, that appears to be the case? Sorry OP!

Did you send me a snippet that's kinda similar to the literal book i just published on purpose or is that just a happy accident lmao

[lucigoo]

Fanfiction Author Interview Game

Thank you so much @loopyloo2610 for the tag, sorry it took so loing to get round too, holidays are so busy lol. (clean copy of the questions under the read more)

How many works do you have on AO3?

219 (though I still have three unrevealed ones in collections)

What's your total AO3 word count?

904,129 words

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

Defying Death (or at least the ones in charge) Summary: Bilbo has finally died, and now Lord Mandos wants to shove him away to Lady Yavanna's Green Gardens. Well that wont do. After all, Thorin wont be in Yavanna's gardens and Bilbo wont stay where Thorin isnt. He's a burglar, and if he can smuggle his dwarves out from under Thranduil's nose, he can smuggle himself into Mahal's Halls under the Valar's noses, right?

Stop me Fading Summary: It is a few weeks after the battle, Thorin, Fili and Kili are still in danger from their wounds. Bilbo has been shunned by all, including the Company, as such there is a sad, lonely, hobbit wandering around the camps, trying to help everyone but himself.

Where in Arda is Frodo Baggins? Summary: Frodo is missing and Bilbo must go and fetch him, whilst he does that, the King under the mountain is going to get a suprise during open council.

Breeding my B.... Summary: Sirius is in heat, ready and waiting for his Alpha, so why isnt he here? Remus Lupin better hurry up.

Who's is the tie Harry? Summary: Harry was late to lesson, it was ok though. Well, until someone else realised that he didnt have a red tie, but a green one ....

Do you respond to comments?

I do, I try to respond in a timely manner, but sometimes I dnt, but I try to respind to all comments eventually.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Ohh, theres a few. I'm not always a HEA writer. Amd I'm am going to go with one of my Dis-centric fics. She is such a tragic character who deserves all the love but gets ignored because she is so tragic and often isn't the main focus of a ship.

Mahal, Why Have you Forsaken Me? Summary: Dis is packing up the things of her children's that she will take to Erebor with her. Things they will never need again. Things that are all she has left of them.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Ohh, I have lots of those too, but maybe this one, its just 900 words of pure fluff and happines and love!

After a hard day, there is always you to come home to Summry: Thorin has had hard day, being king can be tiresome. It's a good job he has a loving hobbit back in ther chambers with a suprise for him.

Do you write crossovers?

I do, I currently have a Witcher/Sweet Tooth fic up - Of Witcher's and Songbirds and their wings A Hobbit/Harry Potter wip up - I want you right here, where you belong:Home with us A completed Harry Potter/Alien fic - Moonlit Terror: Xenomorphs in the Wizarding World A Gigolas/Deep Rock Galactica fic - In the Darkness, You are My Shining Star And a Wolfster/Judge Judy fic (dont judge me, ha) - Judge Judy: Wolfstar edition

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I have, or at least comments that just upset or annoyed me. But im a firm believer that the block button is my friend and I will press it happily!

Do you write smut?

Yes, but not well and not comfortably. I have a few smut fics (mostly Harry Potter) and well, they are not my favourite of my own fics, thats the sad truth of it.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No, not that I know of.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have, 2 of them, Breeding my B…. - ShalalaBlack (a Russian translation) The wolf and the bard, caged - Cactus (Nozumire), Lavabo (Nozumire) (A French translation)

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have, I just finished my THAUC fic Selling Yourself Short - Lucigoo89, a_boar_named_barry Baggins' Beans - DrakeShadeDShadowheart, Lucigoo89, shantismurf The Unexpected Raisin - DrakeShadeDShadowheart, Lucigoo89, lisellelascelles, shantismurf Im also adding this one, written with the amazing @hobbityalse for last years TSF Everything I need is in this Armchair

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Its a tie between Bagginshield and Wolfstar

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I don't think I have one. I plan t finsh ALL my wips, its just some are taking longer than others

What are your writing strengths?

I'm good at angst and feels I think.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Editing, editing sucks!

I am a dyslexic, ADHD Roma writer (a language that has NO written form so thats fun) and you should see my drafts. it takes me hours (often days) to edit and I know there are still issues, but what can you do?

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I love t, give me all the endearments, all the swearing, all the rants! (especially if people use the underline thingy and i dont have toscroll to the bottom of the chap for the translation)

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I really want to write a Redwall fic, or a Ardeth Bay/Jonathan from The Mummy fic, I might even get round to it on 2025

What's your favorite fic you've written?

This will come as no suprise to those who know me but ...

It Was Never What It Seemed Summary: It has been 8 years since Bilbo has lest stepped foot in Erebor. He needs to talk to his husband, especially as he is now about to marry another. Another who is not Bilbo.

Bilbo left and when he did he left Thorin broken hearted. Now he is to marry a Blacklock Princess, consequences be damned.

Follow along with our favourite dwarf and hobbit as they find their way back to one another, No matter how painful the journey is. This fic also gets another huge thank you to @sunnyrosewritesstuff, not just for the title help, but the support and help she provided whilt I was writting this overly emotional and very personal fic. SO thank you Sunny, I appreciate it so much!

Also, big shout out to @lisellelascelles for helping me answer the questions, I have so many fics I was a bit ... umm ... lol. No pressure tags (ofc) for @lisellelascelles, @littleoldrachel, @shipper47, @shantismurf, @sunnyrosewritesstuff, @winn-wynn

How many works do you have on AO3?

What's your total AO3 word count?

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

Do you respond to comments?

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Do you write crossovers?

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Do you write smut?

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[catscraftsandcommentary]

I had an idea a while back for @inexplicifics Accidental Warlord AU, where sweet little old ladies beg a passing witcher (or patrol of witchers) for help with idk, spring cleaning. Rearranging their furniture and cleaning out the garage. Yard work. All the stuff that a young, strong person is VERY HELPFUL for, but if you don't live near family, you may have to hire someone.

So a patrol is walking along one day, passing a small cottage just outside town, and a tiny old lady bustles out and calls "oh young men! Young men! Could I trouble one of you to help me a moment?"

There are raised eyebrows and a few grins at being called "young" by someone who's probably half their age - even if she does have white hair and wrinkled skin, but they all trot closer. She seems friendly, and one old woman can't be a danger to four witchers.

(Let's say the patrol is...hm...Aiden, Roland, a Gerd, and an OC crane Nacek. A charming, acrobatic cat, a polite and sign-strong griffin, a gruff heavyweight bear, and a reserved tinkering crane. A good mix.)

Aiden and Roland are immediately like "what do you need, how can we help, etc" while Gerd and Nacek - as the less social witchers - hang back a little. Maybe it's fall, so Gerd wanders over to check her store of firewood and chop down another tree for her. Mostly to avoid people crowding into her tiny home.

Nacek gets drafted as soon as they find anything that needs fixed - you cannot convince me that cranes don't carry a little bag of tools with them wherever they go. Just wait until someone invents pocket-sized multitools. (If they haven't already...) Pretty sure a crane rite of passage will be designing and crafting your own unique multitool.

So he's happily fiddling away, fixing her spinning wheel or wobbly table or some such, which leaves Aiden and Roland to do any heavy lifting or fetch-and-carry work. While, of course, charming her to no end. (Look, diplomacy is an explicit goal of the new patrols, okay? They're supposed to!)

And when her house is reorganized, restocked (Gerd 100% brings back any human-edible forage or game while he's out chopping wood. The granny is tiny and too thin and probably can't easily do her own gathering), and repaired within an inch of its life, she happily toddles into her kitchen and starts feeding them.

Because after all, they spent half a day working for her, it'd just be rude not to offer them anything!

So they get homemade dumplings and pies and roasted veggies and all manner of good things, and she refuses - simply refuses - to bid them goodbye until they all insist they're too full for another bite.

By the time they all four waddle down the road, they've agreed that she is their new favorite villager and they will ABSOLUTELY visit her again.

[endiness]

i still think it makes so much sense if radovid in the show is actually based off of (or at least more off of) radovid the bold/red rather than radovid the stern.

like, first off, it's still never actually been stated which radovid exactly that the show has based its character off of and the only thing that has been said about him officially is this:

“Jaskier falls in love,” Schmidt Hissrich reveals. “And it’s with a character who fans will know [and] continues showing up in the books. So what happens this season between them will have ripple effects for a very long time.”

but that's a statement that fits radovid the great, radovid the bold/red, and radovid the stern as all three of them are mentioned in multiple books throughout the series.

the show has also actually made a reference to "the stern" already and it was with hedwig. at her funeral.

VIZIMIR: We are gathered here today to honor the memory of my beloved Queen Hedwig. To many, Queen Hedwig was a stern and distant figure.

the first time radovid the bold is mentioned in the books is in blood of elves and it mentions him being at least tolerant of witchers and more concerned with matters of money than anything else.

"I have nothing against witchers. Let them hunt vampires. As long as they pay taxes." — Radovid III the Bold, King of Redania

and, well, radovid in the show doesn't seem to have any problem with witchers.

RADOVID: Pick your favorite. Please. They'd love a song about your white-haired witcher.

and money is very much a running theme with his character.

JASKIER: (to Radovid) Geralt is determined to solve it in his Geralt way, because he didn't have enough money to pry their lips apart, but… you do, I assume.

RADOVID: I've got an annuity. I'll bring all I can.

RADOVID: Find my cloaks, anything with fur, take them to the haberdasher, fetch as high a price as you can and bring the coin back to me.

in the books, radovid the bold started a war with kovir due to his greed and it all went very poorly for him. but! he was smart enough to realize that and calm down the tempers of everyone else involved who wanted the war to continue and initiated peace talks instead:

Red was no fool, he was able to learn from his mistakes. He calmed the agitated generals demanding a crusade; he did not listen to the merchants, who demanded an economic blockade, to appease Benda of Kaedwen, who wanted revenge for the destruction of his elite units. Subsequently, he initiated peace talks. Even the humiliation did not deter him, a bitter pill that he had to swallow - Kovir agreed to the negotiations but in its own territory, Lan Exeter. The mountain had come to the prophet.

which imo is very reminiscent of radovid's personality on the show as he's much more willing to try appeal to people in some way and placate them as opposed to using threats and aggressive tactics:

PHILIPPA: But nothing, Sandpiper— RADOVID: If I may offer a thought. Ah, this poor Cirilla girl has enemies everywhere, and, truth be told, Redania's not a bad place. Bit cold in the winter and humid in the summer, but the food is spectacular. And my brother's not bad. As monarchs go. Redania may not be perfect, but it's her least bad option.

RADOVID: I just had the most intriguing visit from the witcher's friend. He seems to think those old farts Codringher and Fenn might have some info about Rience. DIJKSTRA: And? RADOVID: And I'm wondering if perhaps our methods of obtaining the girl would be more easily achieved with a carrot than a stick.

and as far the plot side of things go with the books and the show, i think it'd make sense for the show to use radovid the bold as inspiration for radovid's character given the overlap between the two.

like, radovid the bold was at war with kovir in the books and meanwhile radovid in the show will be at war with nilfgaard in subsequent seasons. in the books, radovid the bold went to kovir for peace talks and a hundred or so years later, dijkstra also went to kovir to beg for money to help defeat nilfgaard. the show could easily use radovid either in place of dijkstra or alongside him to go to kovir for help with the war like dijkstra did in the books which would also be a reference to the bold. and when — spoiler alert — the north does eventually defeat nilfgaard, the show could also use radovid to be the one sort of advocating for or heading the peace talks as another reference to the bold especially as that's just something that would naturally fit radovid's characterization anyway. also something something the lodge and philippa and radovid very likely being her puppet king, too.

and just to mention, and ymmv on how much this constitutes as canon given that afaik it is not officially in the books, but! in the family tree sapkowski created for the books, radovid the bold did have a brother named vizimir. so, y'know, there is also that to add to this theory.

[astaldis]

Issue no 39 - Hanged: Who'll save you when you fall?

@whumpers-monthly

Fandom: The Witcher TV

Whumpee: Young Cahir

Caretaker: Emhyr var Emreis

Summary: It is the reign of the Usurper and today justice is to be served. A hanging. Only, things do not go as smoothly as they are supposed to go.

Or: Emhyr meets Cahir for the very first time.

Excerpt from Chapter 1: Falling

"Any last words?"

"Death to the Usurper!" the boy shouts loud and clear and with utmost loathing, his voice cracking slightly. Then he spits the executioner in the face. Emhyr raises an eyebrow in approval. That kid has spirit! A pity that he is going to die shortly.

"You'll pay for that," the hangman growls under his breath, wiping the spittle off his dark red, almost purple face. "I'll make sure you dance for us, gutter scum!"

Hmm, it might not be the smartest move to anger your executioner right before you are hanged, Emhyr suspects, the contrary. Still, he appreciates bravery when he sees it. A lot. What a waste. He sighs, awaiting the inevitable.

The livid executioner grabs the rope and pulls at it to place the noose around the boy's scrawny neck. However, it does not work. The boy is too short. Or the rope is. Or both. Furious, he goes even darker in the face, looking close to exploding any moment. It is almost funny. Some people in the crowd point and laugh at the man. The boy has clearly won some sympathy among the spectators. It will not save his neck, but it makes for a good tale. And that is what people want. Finally, a soldier fetches a wooden crate for him to climb on. Although he has gone even paler than before, he steps onto the box without hesitation, head held high. The executioner lays the noose around the boy's neck and moves toward the lever that activates the mechanism for the drop.

"I want that boy," Emhyr suddenly whispers to the hooded man standing next to him. A spur of the moment, a rash decision, probably more than stupid, but he has to try.

"What about the count?" his follower asks doubtfully. Still, he reaches for the arbalest hidden beneath his cloak.

"Change of plans. We'll do without him. Quick now, and don't miss!"

While the crossbowman takes aim, Emhyr blows into his horn. The signal for the horsemen. It has begun. Only, the arbalester does not release the missile. It is too late. The hangman has already pulled the lever. Together with the box, the boy falls. 

The crowd gasps as the rope straightens with a jerk.

[climbthemountain2020]

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 6

Ch. 6/? | Ao3

As always, thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher and @cauldronblssd without whom this story would not exist. Love you guys <3

“You look like shit, Tiny,” Andras said earnestly as he and Lucien walked past her on the way to the training fields.

Feyre propped herself up on her elbows to scowl at them as they smiled back. She hated the nickname he’d bestowed upon her almost immediately, and she hated even more that it had stuck. She fought back the urge to throw him a vulgar gesture as his towering frame blocked the sun.

“Thanks so much, Andras. Now, go be a good boy and find someone to play fetch with.” They cackled as she lobbed the insult back.

She’d been laying on a blanket stretched across the grass near the rings as she did every afternoon, lazing in the sun and reading her newest finds from the library. The two males took a seat on her blanket, causing Feyre to grumble as she made space for them. Andras bumped her with his hip, so casually friendly that she had no choice sometimes but to smile at him through her irritation. He was exactly what she'd imagine having a rather large younger brother might be like– annoying in a charming sort of way. He always made a point to ask her questions, seeming genuinely interested in her answers.

“Seriously, though. Is everything okay?” His eyes did turn serious then, despite the smile still pulling across his lips. She sighed. She hadn’t been sleeping.

Three weeks had passed in Spring in the blink of an eye, and Feyre’s dreams had changed.

She hadn’t seen Rhys a single time since the dream of them by the lake, and she was beginning to worry. Her dreams weren’t stories anymore, but dark flashes and images, more feelings and emotions than any real story or conversation. Occasionally, she could hear voices, but everything was blurry and fuzzy, almost as though she were listening from underwater.

She’d experienced dark, silken sheets and the smell of oranges, a deep sadness covering the two. Another was an endless well of hopelessness so deep and fathomless that it had threatened to swallow her whole, paired with a dark stone wall and the salty tang of tears. She felt worry and rage and sympathy all mixed into one as she looked at a handsome man with beautifully dark skin and equally dark hair kneeling before her. He held his shoulders back and his expression firm, despite the trembling of his body, and then his eyes rolled back and he fell.

“Gods, you’re nosy.” She paused momentarily. She’d caught herself using the colloquialisms of Prythian more often than not now. Gods, not God–her tongue had fallen into it as easily as if she’d spoken that way her whole life. “Just not sleeping super well. I’m alright.”

She rolled onto her stomach to look at them. “Where’s Tamlin?” Tamlin was always cordial and kind with her, but she hadn’t grown quite as close with him. He didn’t make her feel any lesser, even going so far as to encourage her to regularly sit on the back deck with them as night fell, but something about Tamlin kept her at arm’s length. It was all the same to her, she knew he had more pressing matters on his mind, and so did she.

“Patrolling again,” Lucien scoffed.

Lucien was still all sass and quirked eyebrows, but she’d begun to feel less like it was his personality and more a mask he wore. She could see, despite his endless banter, a pull to his brows, something worrying him always just at the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t given her a reason to not trust him, and she genuinely enjoyed the banter they shared, feeling for the first time perhaps ever that she didn’t have to hide that sharpened, witty edge to her humor in proper society.

“He was out last night, too. What was he looking for?”

“There was another sighting in one of the villages. Naga this time.” Andras cringed and the blood froze in Feyre’s veins.

Nagas. Like the ones in Vincent’s books. Real, dangerous, and nearby.

They must have caught the look on her face. “Don’t worry, Feyre. You’re safe here.” Andras shoved lightly at her shoulder and she scrunched her nose at him, pushing him back as he feigned being wounded and toppled over.

Feyre had been surprised how easily she’d slotted into the males’ routine in Spring, and she’d been even more surprised at how much she’d enjoyed being around them. In truth, she’d never spent this much time with the opposite sex in her life, and though she wasn’t sure if it had more to do with gender or simply the fae world at large, she’d never felt so free. There weren’t the same expectations of being ladylike here for her. She could speak her mind around them and know that mostly she’d find amusement over agitation. In fact, they seemed to find her funny more than anything else. With the exception of Vincent and Rhys, she wasn’t used to anyone finding her particularly interesting, and it was a nice change.

“Speaking of beating Andras into the ground, is today the day you finally fight us, Feyre?” She rolled her eyes again, turning back to her back and raising her arm to block the sun from her eyes. She’d been coming out to sit while they trained nearly every afternoon, paying close attention to their maneuvers despite never answering their taunts about joining in.

“I’m not sure your fragile ego could handle it, Lucien.”

His responding smile was dangerous. “We’ll see, Feyre. One day, you’ll cave, and we’ll see.”

The two got up and marched on to the training rings, and Feyre couldn’t help but watch as they began to spar. The visual was terrifying and impressive in its own right, their bodies moving so quickly that they blurred in front of her very eyes. While objectively she could find the males here attractive, more often than not, watching them just made her thoughts wander to Rhys.

She thought about him so frequently here that he might as well have been in Spring with them. When they sparred, she imagined what that hard chest she’d remembered feeling beneath his clothes might look like glistening with sweat beneath the hot sun. She thought about how it might affect her to see him slam another male to the ground beneath his hand as she watched Lucien do it. She laid in bed at night, her hand twitching to move between her legs and thinking a little longer and more specifically about what it might be like for such strong arms to hold her, touch her, push her up against the wall and lift her up from beneath her thighs.

She closed her eyes against the sun, willing the shade from the nearby tree to shift her way soon so she wouldn’t need to get up and move. She opened the book she’d held in her lap and draped it across her face, sighing at the relief from the heat. The sounds of the nearby training were still audible, but the calm around her and the exhaustion from not sleeping kept her still, enjoying the gentle breeze that skirted over her skin. It would be starting to get hot as it approached summer in the Human Lands, and she found herself very thankful for seasonal courts.

“Relaxing, Feyre darling?” She startled at the voice, so close to her ear that his breath tickled the hairs on the nape of her neck.

“Rhys!” Her voice was embarrassingly hoarse, the breathlessness echoing beneath the arch of the book she’d draped over her face.

She moved to sit up and remove it, but a strong, gentle hand rested on her sternum, pressing her to the ground. That voice rang out again in her ear.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he all but purred.

“I was worried. I hadn’t seen you.” She could still hear the males sparring in the fields nearby. How had they not spotted him here?

He didn’t answer her, instead letting those warm, wandering fingers dance across her collarbones. Every graze felt like sparkling magic across her skin, and she was so responsive to his touch she arched at every pass they made.

“Did you miss me, Feyre?” The voice rumbled straight from his lips down her spine as the low timbre of it surrounded her ear, his soft breath puffing against her as he let his lips brush against it.

“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate, the word more an exhale than anything else. His fingers made a lazy loop back, traveling beneath the untied top of her tunic and trailing between her breasts.

Beautiful, she heard him say. She didn’t feel the words in her ear this time, but in her mind, rolling around her head like beautiful music.

“What if they see?”

Who will see, Feyre? No one is here but you and me. Do you like it when I touch you?

She was wild with the need to respond in the affirmative, her frantic nodding shaking the book still covering her eyes. His responding chuckle was dark and low.

His fingers withdrew from her shirt and she let go of an embarrassing noise from her throat, glad for the cover of her book as she blushed a variety of scarlet.

Do you want me to touch you again, love?

“Please.” She could feel the barest ghost of his fingers over her shirt, grazing along the seams of her breast band. She gasped and arched, but he pulled away again.

Ah, ah. I want to hear you say you want it.

“I want it. Please, I want it.” She couldn't believe how brazen she was being, but she couldn’t care–couldn’t see anything past her need to have his hands on her again.

She nearly combusted as she felt the featherlight touch of his hands across her chest, unfastening the band and sneaking his hand below the now loose fabric. She bit back a near-animal noise as she felt the calloused pads of his fingers brush across her nipples.

You’re exquisite, Feyre.

The words ignited a fire within her. “Touch me. Please, touch me.” She felt his lips press to her neck, and the chirping of the birds and smell of Spring fell away, leaving nothing but that lovely, consuming scent of him as his teeth ran along her throat.

To her surprise, he let out a low and feral groan as his tongue trailed across her pulse point, causing a rush of goosebumps to erupt across her skin as she arched her back, forcing her chest more firmly into his hands.

I wish you could know what you do to me. Where else would you like me to touch you, darling?

“Everywhere…” The word left her unbidden, no sense left to hold her back now. She’d let him ravage her entirely right here on this blanket in Spring in clear sight of others.

He hummed in approval, hands moving lower down her torso, his thumbs lightly caressing her ribs as she sighed.

I’ll never tire of touching you, Feyre.

Feyre.

Feyre.

“Feyre!”

She shot up, the book falling to her lap with a thunk and her hands coming up by instinct to cover her chest, only to find her breast band tightly wound around her. Her head whipped to the sides, seeking him, grasping on to the threads of him blindly. She thought she could still smell the faintest whiffs of him on the wind, but she was there on the blanket alone.

Rhys.

She had called it out in her mind, she realized with a jolt. Still she tried again.

Rhys.

Rhys!

“Feyre!” Lucien called from the rings, leaning against the wall and drinking water. “You didn’t fall asleep did you?”

A dream. Another bloody dream.

She could almost taste the disappointment on her tongue. It had felt so real, so lucid.

“If I had, Lucien, you yelling wouldn’t exactly help me along, now would it?” He smiled again. The breeze kicked up, cooling the sweat that had spread along her back and, along with it, the sharp smell of something different in the air. She had smelled this only a few times before, usually on nights when she left the windows to her room open. It smelled light and airy like jasmine, but with an earthen scent accompanying it. She turned, sniffing the air to see if she could find the source, and as she did it dawned on her that she was the source.

Feyre hadn’t realized how strong fae magic made your sense of smell, and she was mortified to find out that she, along with everyone else, could smell so well that they could detect emotions. Surely, if smelling her annoyance or fear had embarrassed her, this would send her spiraling until she managed to bury herself in the earth. She gathered her book and blanket as quickly as possible to return to the manor before, gods forbid, Lucien or Andras smelled anything.

“I’m going in! I’ll see you both at dinner!” She cursed herself for how frantic her words had sounded and refused to look back at them as she jogged back into the house, wrapping the blanket around her waist and sprinting up the stairs to her room, all but slamming her door closed behind her.

Just a dream. It had only been a dream.

She slumped to the floor, chest still heaving as her heart thrummed near painfully against her ribs.

Only a dream.

This time, the thought made her want to cry.

Feyre had roused herself for dinner, leaving the confines of her pillow-soft bed and moping to join the three males conversing and waiting for her as she came through the doors. Her heart still felt sunken low, but she knew there was no use sulking over dreams.

“Feyre, we were beginning to worry you’d grown tired of us.” She intentionally bumped into Andras as she sat, making him slosh his wine.

“Oh, me? Never.” The grin she gave was mocking, but the laugh genuine. She looked at Tamlin sitting at the head of the table. He seemed grim, but felt her eyes on him and tried a small smile, raising his glass.

“Let’s eat, then.”

Feyre wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to adjust to the food in Prythian, but she’d never tire of trying. Every bit of it was like magic on her tongue, and part of her ached to find a way for her sisters to try it, too. Elain, especially, who loved to help with recipes and planning of meals for parties, would tip head over heels for the foods here. She missed them–mostly at night when everything got quiet–more than she’d imagined she would.

After dinner, as they did most nights, the four made their way out to the porch, their chairs positioned just so around the great fire pit, a member of the staff bringing out a rather large bucket with bottles of a bubbling mead. Feyre didn’t love the feeling that too many drinks gave her, not unlike the sparkling flutes of champagne back at home that had tickled her nose until she felt dizzy. She usually kept to one bottle, but she enjoyed being out there with them. For the first time in her entire life, she felt like she had true friends. Not sisters, not guards, not mentors, but real, true friends who enjoyed her exactly the way she was.

Of course, she still remembered in the back of her mind that they wanted her here for a purpose. She also remembered that she was still keeping things from them and that sharp guilt coiled in her gut like a writhing creature. She shoved it out of her head as they all sat, Tamlin nearly throwing himself back into the chair.

So dramatic.

It was a lovely night, the air warm and heavy and filled with the sounds of the wild around them. Some nights, she’d crack open her window to sleep, letting the cicadas sing her to sleep while she watched the lightning bugs zip past. It was truly the most beautiful place she’d ever been.

She was ripped from her thoughts by a flash of flame blasting past her face as she scowled.

“Foul play, Lucien,” she snarled at him playfully, holding her hand up and lobbing a ball of fire back at him that he barely dodged.

“Tiny, you’re getting faster!” Andras exclaimed from nearby as he relaxed into his chair with his drink. He and Tamlin liked to watch Lucien and Feyre practice as though it were a sporting event, and they’d made a habit of doing it most evenings now.

“You’d never know she was new to it,” Tamlin said. “That fire is powerful.”

It was true. In the time she’d been in Spring, her fire had become nearly second nature to her. She could call it to her hands with nearly no thought or effort, though she struggled to contain it when her emotions were heightened.

“Do I need to taunt you again so you can use it, or do you think you can make shapes on your own this time?” He’d been trying to get her to coax the flames into shapes a few days ago, getting a flare in his face when he’d told her that her rabbit looked like a potato.

She growled again. “What shape tonight?”

Lucien just laughed while Andras yelled, “Try writing something. Perhaps an F for Feyre.”

She started on the F, willing the flames into a specific shape.

“Perhaps F for failing at flame work.” Lucien’s laughter turned into a yelp when her fire turned a bright blue and shot at his face. She hadn’t made it blue before, and she marveled at the sight as he ran a few feet away.

“You almost got my hair!”

“Good, I was aiming for that,” she deadpanned.

“Maybe that’s enough for tonight, children.” Tamlin’s voice was powerful but filled with amusement. Feyre dusted her hands on her pants, walking over to her normal seat and easing into it with a deep sigh, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. Lucien sat beside her warily.

“You are getting better. You sure you don’t know who your father is?”

“Why, Lucien? Do you think it’s you? Do you make a habit of entering the Human Lands and seducing the women there?”

“Why? Should I? Would they be interested in that?”

She scoffed at him. “Unbelievable.” She turned to Tamlin instead. “So, the naga?”

He shook his head. “No luck. I found traces, but they had long since moved on.”

“They keep turning up,” said Lucien. “She is getting bolder.” Tamlin nodded, and Andras looked at him. They all knew the she to which he referred.

“Only a few months left now.” They all quieted after the admission, the crickets’ and cicadas�� songs the only noise in the temperate night.

A question occurred to Feyre, and before she could think better of it, she spoke it quietly. “Tamlin, do you even want to fall in love?”

He seemed startled at the question, emerald eyes growing wide as he gaped.

Had no one ever asked him before? Everyone knew of the curse, but had anyone ever checked how he felt about his part in it?

His voice was quieter than she’d ever heard it when he answered, and he sounded centuries younger than he was. “Of course I do. Who doesn't want that? But not like this.”

Lucien raised his bottle to him. “Love is pain, my dear friend.”

Tamlin forced a chuckle. “Yes, yes, Lucien. My heart of stone and I are well versed in your feelings on love.”

Andras, already on his third bottle and not showing signs of slowing down, chimed in, “I rather think I would like to be in love.” Tamlin and Lucien both scoffed and Feyre looked between them.

“The only ones you love are the ones in your bedroll for the night. You’re a dog.” Lucien shoved him from his chair, nearly knocking him backwards as he stood, tipping his head back to the moon and howling.

Feyre tried to shove past him to grab a drink, and he gripped her with a single sweep in his massive arm, ruffling her hair as she struggled against him.

“Tiny is in love. I can tell.”

“Mmph–Get off!” She shoved him, hair now a tangled mess in her face as she scowled. “Who says I’m in love anyway?”

“You live with three of the most handsome males in Prythian and yet you haven’t tried to warm any of our beds. Clearly, there’s someone special.”

“Gods, you’re all egomaniacs. You know that?”

Lucien passed her the bottle she’d been trying to grab and narrowed his eyes at her appraisingly as he leaned forward. “Maybe, but my money’s on him being right. I think you’ve got a lover, perhaps someone you gave your heart to and never got back.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you’re all actually hideous, no one has the courage to tell you, and your personalities are even worse.”

The males’ laughter cracked across the night sky, filling the space with a mirth that Feyre wondered if she’d ever really been a part of before. They enjoyed teasing her, but she felt a sense of belonging that warmed her heart more than she’d ever thought possible. Not for the first time, she was glad she’d started in Spring. If she needed to bide her time somewhere, she felt lucky that it was in a place she could easily learn to love.

Feyre slept horribly once again, despite the alcohol she’d unwisely chosen to partake in numbing her senses. She’d desperately hoped to pick up where she’d left off earlier by the fields now that she was alone, but instead she’d been plagued with horrific nightmares all night long. It was nothing but darkness and pain and fear, culminating in being held down by a horrid winged creature with breath that smelled of death. For all her struggling, she couldn’t break free of its grasp, and her magic hadn’t worked no matter how she’d tried. She’d woken covered in a cold sweat, trembling and panting in fear. It had felt so real, and she had been absolutely helpless beneath the monster.

After taking a long bath to rinse off the sweat and shake the horrors of the creatures gnarled and rough hands on her arms, dawn was breaking over the horizon. She went ahead and got dressed and decided to start off in the library early. Eventually, one of the staff would find her there and bring her some tea and breakfast, but she was in no hurry. Often, if she awoke early or if sleep evaded her, she’d spend time there before the rest of the manor was pulsing to life for the day.

She loved the library, set apart from the rest of the house, the lighting low and lovely and a massive fireplace overlooking a sitting area she could lounge in if she wanted a break to simply read. The walls were covered in paintings and tapestries, Feyre’s eyes immediately drawn to the colors and skill. Above the enormous fireplace and mantle was a map of Prythian that Feyre had spent what felt like countless hours looking at, memorizing the layout in case she ever needed it. She’d tried to track her eyes to where her home had been, but the human lands were marked insignificantly, so she'd only had a vague guess. Spring, Autumn, Summer, Winter, Dawn, Day, and Night–all beautifully depicted on the brightly illuminated wall.

Tamlin truly had the most lovely collection of books, however dusty and unorganized they’d been. Once the actual cleaning and dusting and moving of furniture had been completed, Feyre had truly enjoyed sorting the books by category and shelving them alphabetically. Of course, she’d made a frequent habit of borrowing any that struck her interest, setting them to the side as she went and ferrying them dutifully along with her after finished for the day.

She’d never had access to this many books in her life, the pitiful library in her home not even coming close. These books were all like the lovely works Vincent had always been hard at work finding for her, and so far she’d enjoyed each thoroughly. While her preference was always the tales of adventures and dragons and romance, she was finding she enjoyed learning more about the history of Prythian too without the confines of human sway changing the facts.

She spent the first few hours continuing to sort on the large tables in the room, placing books in their assigned piles before cataloging each and placing them in their newly assigned and labeled shelves. The work was a bit tedious, but she enjoyed the routine of it. Eventually, as the sun was peeking broadly over the distant rolling hills and illuminating the bright windows, a servant brought her a tea tray while she worked. Certainly, this was not the lifestyle she’d been expecting when Vilja had told her she’d be staying in Spring, but the predictability of it soothed a rough corner for Feyre, and she genuinely did enjoy it.

In her sorting, she’d found a well-maintained but dusty collection on the written histories of each court, apparently kept up-to-date by magic as each cover had the most recent date of change on them, and some dates were as recently as the past year. She was certain Tamlin hadn’t bothered to do it. She’d set the stack of seven books to the side and decided to make her way through them one by one so that she could familiarize herself with not only the territories and customs, but also the magic of the High Lords that she had running through her veins. Perhaps, with more recognition, she might be more easily able to control them.

After she’d done her sorting for the day, pushing the final group of books up onto the shelf she’d designated, she slouched down on the plush couch, tossing her hand towards the fire and igniting it brightly. She tucked her toes beneath the blanket strewn across the cushions, grabbing the top tome from the stack of books. She’d decided to read her way up the map, skimming Spring since she could just discuss any questions with Tamlin in real time, and moving all the way up until she ended with the Night Court.

She was currently on the Summer Court, flipping through pages until she reached the section on the High Lord. It had been updated fairly recently, a large picture of a very handsome male named Tarquin on the page. She spent the next few hours learning about the High Lord’s powers and the court’s customs, military, and history.

When she could no longer ignore the growling in her stomach, she tucked a slip of ribbon she’d plucked from the drawers of her room into the book, marking her place, and set it carefully back in the stack. As she eased into the hall, pulling the door shut behind her, Lucien’s voice behind her nearly had her jumping out of her skin.

“Hello, Feyre.”

“Gods, but must you always sneak up on people?” she spit out. Her hand found her chest as her heart threatened to beat out of it. Lucien simply laughed.

“It’s not my fault you aren’t observant. Going to take a nap while we train again?” Feyre was tempted to shoot another retort back, but memories of her dream stopped her. Lucien frowned at the contemplative look on her face.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could take you up on your offer?”

“Our offer to train you?””

Feyre flushed. “Just some self defense.” She hated how his eyes softened at the words. “I just want to be able to fight for myself, should I ever have to.”

“Sure, Feyre.” She didn’t want his pity, so she shot him a look. Lucien, ever the observer, picked up on it and changed his expression to a grin. “If you’re sure you can keep up with us.” She smiled, letting loose a puff of breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding.

“I’m going to grab some lunch, then I can change and meet you both out there?” He sketched a mocking bow to her while she rolled her eyes, then he sauntered off back down the hallway towards the rooms.

At least, perhaps, she could work out some of her frustration in the rings. Perhaps she’d even be exhausted enough to sleep tonight.

Feyre was not especially skilled in self-defense, a truth that was especially apparent to her as she laid flat out on the ground for what felt like the hundredth time since she joined them in the rings. Andras reached a hand down to pull her back up.

“You almost had it that time. Make sure you plant that back foot so it’s harder to lose your balance.” She nodded, wiping her hands on her trousers and sinking down into the stance they’d shown her. “You are very small, Tiny. You will need to use your wit and wiles in fighting more than just brute strength.” She was sweating, panting, and exhausted after only an hour of this, but for the first time in maybe her entire life, Feyre really felt that she could be powerful. She would need so much more practice, but she could see herself holding her own.

Andras struck out again, his hand barely grazing her as she pulled back just in time. His smirk widened into a smile, but before she could even feel pride at her success, he was dropping down to swipe her feet. She jumped out of the way with yet another second to spare, nearly losing her balance again, but holding her back foot in place this time.

“Good, now try to hit me.”

“Andras, I said I only wanted to learn defensive–”

“And sometimes, to defend yourself, you need to move on the offensive. Now hit me.” She sighed loudly, blowing the sweaty hair from her eyes. She circled him as she planned her attack, him moving as her mirror image.

“Your eyes are giving you away, Tiny!” Lucien called from where he was lounging on the wall, and she growled at him.

She shook her head, trying to clear the doubt and remember all they’d taught her so far. She remembered what he’d said about using wisdom over strength. Andras always favored his right side when he went to strike, perhaps she could use it to her advantage. She moved in.

He’d be expecting her to use her hands, would be expecting her to go for the face. She could see with great clarity that he’d explicitly lowered his arms to tempt her into it. She fought the instinct to smile before she lunged. She pulled her right arm back in a dramatic show, pretending to aim for his face, Andras grinning. The second his arm shot out to block, she ducked and threw the entirety of her body weight at his now unprotected center. She caught the moment his eyes widened right as she tackled him, catching him off balance and taking them both to the ground. They hit hard and inelegantly, the air whooshing from his lungs and turning into a wheeze as she looked up. He had his hands out at his sides, flat on the ground, and his chest was shaking with laughter as he cackled wildly.

“Tiny, you tackled me.” Meanwhile, Lucien was about to fall off the wall from laughing so hard, gripping his sides as he howled. Feyre couldn’t help but laugh at herself, the adrenaline wearing off and the exhaustion seeping into her bones. “We’ll make a warrior out of you yet.”

“Maybe you can join us on patrol. If I was a naga, I wouldn’t want to cross paths with you.”

“Oh, shut up.” And the laughter began anew as she rolled off Andras to lay on the ground.

“Truly, Feyre, it was good. If you keep practicing, between that and your magic, you’re much stronger than I think people would give you credit for. You could use that to your advantage.”

Her breath evened out and she took in the words. Lucien’s shadow blocked the sun as he held out a hand to her.

“Thank you both. Will Tamlin be cross with you for showing me?” He hadn’t seemed happy with the idea when she’d come to find the three out in the rings earlier, asking more than once if she was absolutely certain that she wanted to learn something like fighting.

Lucien scoffed. “Tamlin will be fine. He’ll come around. His family was traditional in every sense of the word–overtly proper. It’s hard for him to step into the way things are now sometimes, but he won’t hold it against you that you want to be able to protect yourself in a new place.”

“Even if he did, it’s a worthy endeavor to learn,” Andras added.

“It’s worth it to watch Andras fall on his big ass.” Lucien grunted as Andras shoved him to the ground, and Feyre couldn’t help but laugh along with them. She was losing count of the moments where she realized how happy she actually was, finding this sense of friendship. It was foreign and she often felt it hard to let her guard down entirely, the feeling itself of belonging here was so welcome. She hoped, even after they found out that she’d lied, that they would forgive her. It was getting harder and harder to imagine giving these friendships up.

They grabbed their water skins and gear and began the trek back to the manor.

“I’ve got to go clean and drop off my weapons in the barracks. See you both at dinner?” Lucien asked casually before splitting off.

“Sorry, patrol tonight. Soon though?” Andras was up for his rotation in the Human Lands. It was just as well, Feyre wanted to practice her other magic this evening and for that, she’d need privacy.

“Tomorrow, then.” Lucien tossed over his shoulder as he walked towards the barracks.

“Truly, Feyre, you did well today. You’ve improved so much in your magic since you came, and the stronger you get, the more your confidence will grow.” He smiled down at her as they walked.

“Why bother training me? Especially if it makes Tamlin uncomfortable.”

“You remind me a lot of my older sister. She passed a long, long time ago, but she had the same spirit you do– the same determination behind her eyes. If someone had taken the time to show her how to fight, she might still be here now.” They’d reached the manor, but Feyre hated to part on such a dour note.

“I am sorry about your sister. Women are not taught where I’m from either. I can’t tell you what it means to me that you and Lucien have been so accommodating.” Andras smiled, clamping a great hand on her shoulder.

“It’s been a nice change of pace. I like having you around. Stay awhile, hmm?” He squeezed and turned to go.

The guilt bit at her as she moved to climb the stairs, but a voice ringing out through the foyer pulled her from her thoughts. “Maybe just beat Lucien’s ass next time, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, Andras. I’ll be gentle with your pride!” She chuckled as she made her way to her room.

Alis had already had a bath running for Feyre by the time she returned, the lovely fae seemingly always knew when she would need one.

“I’ve rung for your dinner, so it should be up in just a few moments. Everyone seems to have plans tonight, so I imagined that would be simpler.”

“That’s perfect. I got a bit filthy today, so I’ll be looking forward to eating in my nightclothes.” She smiled conspiratorially at Alis, who only shook her head amusedly in response.

“Speaking of clothes, I was in town today and grabbed you a few more things, dear. I put some of those muslin trousers you like so much in your wardrobe.” Feyre’s heart lit up. She’d had lady’s maids and governesses throughout her life, but never a single one she felt had genuinely cared for her or thought of anything but their expectations from her parents. Alis truly seemed to care for Feyre, despite her repeated protestations that while she loved her company, she didn’t really need the help.

“You’re so kind, Alis, thank you. They certainly make it easier to get around.” Alis had only laughed, shaking her head as she folded the towels on the sink and left Feyre to bathe. Feyre stripped in front of the mirror, chuffing lowly at her sweaty and disheveled appearance. She loved to embrace the wildness within her here in Prythian–she liked that, mostly, it was celebrated. She let the glamour she held over her shoulder drop, running her fingers over those three lovely stars that she had hidden during the waking hours. She couldn’t help but associate the stars with Rhys now, even though they symbolized her bargain with Vilja. The ring that she never took off the chain around her neck only reinforced the thought.

She sighed, removing everything but the necklace and listening closely at the door. Once she was sure she was alone, she locked the bathroom door, scampered back towards the steaming tub, and sank deeply into it, closing her eyes.

She’d read about the powers of the High Lord of Summer earlier in the day, but this was her first attempt at practicing. Remembering the way she’d summoned her fire that first time in the woods, she tried to call the water around her in the bath. She focused on it, thinking of it forming into a small ball she might hold in her hands. When she opened her eyes, there was a ball of water. Feyre would have smiled had it not been enormous, half the bathwater now hovering above her.

“Uhhh, not quite that much.” She tried to coax it down with her hands, but like popping a bubble, it burst all over her, soaking her and sloshing over the sides of the tub wildly as she laughed and shoved the soaked hair from her eyes.

“Perhaps that will require a bit more practice.” But she grinned at the attempt. It had worked, technically. She spent the rest of the bath trying to communicate with the magic, feeling how it moved within her and beckoning it to move in smaller increments. By the time she got out, pruned and waterlogged, she could send out small ripples in the water and make small bubbles of water dance along her hands with great control. They were baby steps, but progress was progress.

She pulled the towel around herself, anxious to crawl into bed. Though the magic was still only able to perform small feats, she had to work it like a muscle. It exhausted her to use even the smallest amounts of it still, and she resolved to practice every single day here going forward.

She wrung out her hair, braiding it back for the night and slipping into her robe before she sat down to eat at the small table in front of the windows as the twilight grew darker and the stars emerged.

Would Rhys have magic, too?

She wasn't entirely sure how magic doled itself out amongst the high fae here. Tamlin of course had all the powers of a High Lord, Lucien had the fire power of Autumn, and Andras seemed to favor the shifting of Spring.

If Rhys was of Night, what gifts might he possess, if any at all? Would he be impressed with the magic she had?

She finished eating and changed into her nightclothes, tucking herself snugly under the soft covers. She hoped tonight Rhys might find her in her dreams. She ached to touch him, to talk to him, and she wanted to finish what they’d started yesterday, her thighs clenching at the mere thought of it.

Feyre hadn’t been asleep long when something woke her, the stars sparkling in the deep, black sky.

What had woken her?

She listened carefully and nearly jumped when she heard the slamming of a door and a great clatter from outside the doors. Without thinking twice, she jumped from the bed, grabbing her robe from the chair by the door and throwing it on. She could hear yelling as she skidded into the hall, running for the stairs with the deep, gnawing feeling that something was truly wrong.

When she rounded the corner, taking the stairs two at a time, she found the front doors slung wide open, the staff gathered in the open doors to the kitchens in their nightclothes watching the scene in the foyer unfold.

Tamlin was on all fours, half-shifted from a great beast, panting and heaving while Lucien bent over him with a hand on his back.

“What’s happened, Tamlin? Tell us what’s happened.” Lucien’s voice was a frantic pitch that Feyre hadn’t heard before, and the moment seemed to freeze her very soul to the spot she stood while Tamlin raised his face. She could see the tracks of dirt down his cheeks where he’d clearly shed tears, his eyes wild and panicked.

No, this was not good.

“Andras.” He gasped. “A human killed Andras.”

Taglist: @witch-and-her-witcher @cauldronblssd @buttercupcookies-blog

[zoeysdamn]

||The Witcher tarot | King of Swords | Eskel||

[Other cards of the Witcher tarot can be found here and on my Instagram art account]

[DO NOT REPOST OR REUSE WITHOUT LEGAL AND EXPLICIT AUTHORIZATION]

If I was extra careful of the meaning and symbolism of each card for the major arcanas, I have been more flexible on the figures cards. So the character associations might be a little far-fetched sometimes. Also, I truly did stick to my choice of only drawing book/canon characters for the major arcanas. Even if I tried to do the same for the figures cards, I ultimately was tempted to draw a few game characters I like. There are also more women in those cards, given I prefer drawing them and I decided to draw the entire Lodge of sorceresses. 

The significance of each figure is more vague than the major arcanas, that’s why I mostly picked the character based on the meaning of the four families (cups, pentacles, wands, swords). Even then, you sometimes have to squint your eyes a little to see the link between the card and the character. Honestly, I just wanted to draw more characters and have fun with the designs. 

I absolutely love Eskel, and not drawing him in the major arcanas saddened me a little. So he was obviously the very first character I put on my list when planning the figures cards. I really wanted to highlight his scars, which I found most interesting in his character even if we know only a little about him. I really enjoyed the scenes he had in The Witcher 3, and I really hope we’ll get to see him again somehow. 

[wolves-and-dragons]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 22.5

Main Masterlist

Chapter 22

Synopsis: the Lady of Larks along with her daughter, Jaskier, and Geralt sneak out of the Red Keep with hopes of sailing out of King's Landing and getting away from the family of dragons.

While intending to celebrate the troubaritz's second pregnancy, Daemon discovers a plot that will see his second wife taken away from him. The Rogue Prince is determined to ensure that plan never comes to fruition.

Another unexpected ally arrives in the nick of time to aid in the Lady Lark's escape.

CW: gendered power dynamics, swearing, violence/death, child-parent separation, trauma-induced pregnancy complications. MINORS DNI

You lead Geralt and Jaskier down the secret passageway towards the outside. You take a look out, making sure the coast was clear. Confirmation on Geralt's part was more than enough to signal that it was safe to venture out of the keep.

Meanwhile Daemon walked out of the Red Keep with plans to celebrate him becoming a father once again. The prince had also been over how he was going to break the news to Viserys, both that you were carrying his child again and that you have been his second wife for the last three years. Daemon would need to be strategic about it, no doubt; he would need to fetch the Septon who performed the marriage. Even so, the prince did have some doubts, reluctant as he was to admit; historically, the concept of plural marriage was time and time again condemned by the dominant Westerosi faith, the Faith of the Seven. 

Aegon the Conqueror had been condemned doubly so when his wives had also been his sisters; Maegor the Cruel had taken two more wives when his first could not give him children. When two of his wives passed and still had not given him the heirs he desired, he married three more with hopes of increasing his chances. Obviously that never came to pass.

Both times, the High Septon of the Faith always condemned such unions, regardless if incest was involved, loudly declaring them abominations in the sight of gods and men, and the children born of these unions as bastards. 

In the end, Daemon merely shrugged off these doubts; ultimately the opinions of old stuffy cunts in heavy robes meant nothing to dragons who did as they pleased and followed their own customs. He may have made vows before the Seven to honor his marriage, both of them, but the Seven were never his gods, they had no hold over him. 

Maybe if he was lucky, Daemon could petition the king to annual his marriage to his Bronze Bitch both on the grounds that it was never consummated, and that his new wife had given him what his first wife could not even bother to give.

His contemplation was interrupted when he ran into Ser Harwin. The knight begged pardon from the prince in a hasty apology. Daemon had taken noticed of the man's agitated state, like something was wrong.

Upon closer interrogation, Daemon had discovered your habit of sneaking out of the keep; the last time sneaking back involved a man. The hair on said man's head could not be described, but the moment Ser Harwin spoke of the unnatural gold eyes that resembled those of a cat, Daemon knew.

He knew you were planning to escape yet again, and with the help of that fucking mutant.

------------------------

The three of you weren't even halfway to Flea Bottom when you were stopped by men of the City Watch.

Geralt was quick to draw his sword, "get out of here!" he tells you and Jaskier, and the two of leave with Aemma still in Jaskier's arms.

Some of the guards try and stop you, but Geralt either slices of their arms or flat out cuts off their heads. The witcher pointed his sword at the rest of the guards, "if you know what is good for you, leave us be," he warns.

Of course the guards did not listen and charge at the witcher, and of course, he cut them down, in spite of his pain coming and going throughout the battle.

You and Jaskier keep running, pushing past local folk who cursed at the both of you as you ran.

More City Watch guards stop the two of you. You feel yourself start to hyperventilate when you see Daemon approach, hood over his head, Dark Sister unsheathed and held in his hand, and currently pointed at you.

Daemon turned his head towards Jaskier, looking to see his daughter was still snoozing away, "if you know what is good for you and your sister, you will take my daughter back to the keep," he says in a dark, warning tone.

At this point, Geralt had now engaged in one-on-one combat against Ser Harwin, who understandably wasn't too happy that the witcher had manipulated him with Axii. Also at this moment as Geralt started fighting against Harwin, the pain from his injuries was becoming too much to bear, and the witcher was starting to know Harwin Strong's title 'Breakbones'.

Geralt and Harwin locked swords. Geralt could feel himself start to falter, and he casts the Aard sign to push Harwin away. Since Harwin was a rather large man, he didn't get too far. 

"Witcher!"

Geralt turns around, sword in hand, ready to face whoever was daring to challenge him. His eyes widen when he sees Daemon's own sword in one hand, and you wrapped around the other. Daemon had his sword pointed at you, ready to slice you in half should either of you try anything.

You try to keep your breaths even, but you did not bother to hide the fear in your eyes. "I should've known you would return," Daemon sneers, "I should have killed you at those ruins when I had the chance."

"Let her go," Geralt warns in a low tone, hatred for this man starting to grow.

Drop your sword," Daemon warns back, holding his sword closer to you, "if you care for (y/n), you'll do as I say."

Geralt initially refused to back down, but as Daemon pressed Dark Sister closer against you, the witcher's resolve started to falter, "is this truly how you treat the mother of your child?" he asks, "this is how you treat the woman you claim to love?" "I will do whatever it takes to protect my family," Daemon insists.

"Geralt, don't listen to him" you say, "take Aemma and get out of here, go without me." "Shut up!" Daemon hisses, before addressing the witcher again, "you should have stayed on the Continent. You have allies to help you out of this mess." "And you don't have your dragon," Geralt sneers back, "I would've stayed, if only you had no taken the two people in my life who mean the most to me." 

"Geralt!"

Jaskier's voice forces everyone involved to face the Bard who was apprehended by the Kingsguard.

Leading the charge was Ser Harrold Westerling, "We are going to speak to His Grace about this," the man speaks after taking the scene before him.

-------the Throne Room-------------

Viserys, who had just retired for the evening and had been contemplating paying a visit to Alicent's chambers to perform his marital duties when a guard had entered his chambers and explained there had been a commotion near Flea Bottom this evening, that involved Daemon with allegations that you and Jaskier had tried to steal Aemma away from the Red Keep...with the help of a strange looking man that was known as a witcher.

Upon hearing those words, Viserys had the Ser Harold and the Kingsguard sent to break up the fight; the king got dressed into something a little more decent and donned the crown with the intent of having this matter resolved in the Throne Room.

In said room, Viserys sat the Iron Throne in a similar manner to when Daemon first returned from the Stepstones.

Otto Hightower, who had also just retired for the evening before he was summoned to the throne room, stood on the king's right side while the Kingsguard surrounded the king to protect him if need be.

Daemon stood further from throne, anger in his eyes as two of the guards held Geralt at the center of the room. You stood at the other side with Jaskier, both of you surrounded by two guards.

Viserys said nothing as he examined Geralt, eyeing the witcher up and down. Otto had a look of contempt on his own face, disgust even, as he observed Geralt with his own eyes. The Hand had not forgotten what he had learned of Geralt all those years ago when you first mentioned the White Wolf in your songs; the most memorable thing being the events that led to Geralt being known as the Butcher of Blaviken.

Geralt formed his own opinions as he stared at Viserys. This was the king of Westeros, brother to the man who had stolen you and Ciri from Kaer Morhen. In Geralt's opinion, Viserys seemed to be Daemon's polar opposite; where the prince was a burning raging fire, the king in his stoic demeanor resembled more like smoldering embers, not quite as dangerous, but could still burn your hands if you keep them over said embers for too long. 

However more even tempered he is compared to his brother, Viserys is a dragon like Daemon, and like a dragon, the king could strike if provoked enough times (and this in spite of the fact that Viserys is currently not in the best health, something that has not gone unnoticed by the witcher). 

"This is him?" Viserys inquires, "this is one of those mutants from the Continent? A witcher?" "It would appear to be so, your Grace," Otto answers, "it can be the only explanation for those unnatural eyes of his. Even in his own lands, the people know him as an abomination."

"I have been called much worse by lesser men," Geralt snorts in a humorless chuckle.

"I will have the truth of what has happened," the king speaks, eyes trained on Geralt, "you have caused a commotion in King's Landing this night, Master witcher. You slaughtered my knights, butchered men of the City Watch, and you were seen sneaking into the Red Keep with the Lady (y/n), only to leave with both her and the princess Aemma. You will explain yourself of these charges."

"What is there to explain, your Grace?" Daemon sneers, eyes also focused on the witcher, "this man is a mutant, it is in his nature. He is one of the many who had abducted Lady (y/n) when she was still with child, he had clearly come back to do so again-"

"Oh, shut up you fucking piece of shit!" Geralt growls at Daemon, causing the Kingsguard to draw their swords in case they need to protect the prince.

Geralt had a dangerous smile on his face as he turned back to address the king, "if you must know, your Grace, the charges are mostly true. I killed the guards, but only because they came after me. Had I not defended myself, they would have killed me." "And the charges my brother had made?" Viserys further inquires, "the ones that you and your...brethren had abducted the Lady (y/n). Do you deny them?"

"I do," Geralt simply states, "only because before this, I had never once in my many years of living my unnatural life set foot on this side of the world. As you can see, your Grace, I stand out quite well in a crowd, both in part because of my hair...and my eyes, and of course this," he gestures to his silver wolf medallion, "this may not mean anything to you or your subjects, but this is what sets my kind apart from the rest of the human population. Surely if I had ever been here before, someone who have noticed and said something about it. How could I have possibly done what this sack of horse manure," he glares at Daemon, "claims I have done if it was not true?"

"The witcher speaks the truth, your Grace," you speak up, pushing one of the guards aside so you could step forth, "he never abducted me...I came to him."

The knights, and anyone else who was present in the room exchanged looks, clearly shocked by this revelation.

There was no going back now, but you could not let this lie continue anymore.

"When I found out I was carrying prince Daemon's daughter, I left Westeros on a ship that took me to Oxenfurt," you explain, ignoring the dangerous look Daemon was giving you, "I met my brother there and he directed me towards Kaer Morhen, where the witchers stay during the winter. I've known Geralt of Rivia prior to my time in King's Landing we had...a special relationship in the past," you notice in the corner of your eye the look of disgust Otto was given you in particular,  "That's right, I've laid with a deviant mutant, I'm not ashamed of it. I had hoped Geralt would be at the witcher's keep...and I was right. He and his brothers took me in after I explained my predicament. They allowed me to stay even after I had given birth to Aemma. Geralt helped where he could, and had sworn to protect the both of us...even from her own father."

"...if that is the truth, why did you not dispute my brother's claims before?" Viserys asks. "...because if I didn't, Daemon would've had his dragon burn Kaer Morhen to the ground," you honestly answer, "along with Geralt and the rest of his brothers. They never abducted me or hurt me in anyway. They were good, innocent men that your brother had threatened to slaughter if I did not come back to King's Landing with him." 

"I did what I had to bring my daughter back to where she belongs," Daemon insists, turning to Viserys, who was conflicted at this point, "you are a father, brother, you have a daughter you love dearly, you would do anything to bring her back to your family, nothing would get in your way. I have only done what any reasonably loving father would do to protect his daughter. I have done what needed to be done to ensure my offspring was not deprived her birthright."

"You didn't need to bring me back," you sneer, "and you did not have to bring Ciri here either." "You honestly believe a crumbling shit hole like that was suitable for a princess?"

"It was far more suitable then this place ever will be!" you shout, "I will take Aemma from this place, I will never stop trying to leave no matter what to do to me, I won't stop escaping this cage. You can't stop me!"

Daemon rushes at you, dangerous look on his face, "We'll see about that," he then turns to face the king, "your Grace, my dear brother, in light of, I have some news I have been meaning to share with the court as of late. Since finding out that the lady Lark is once again carrying my child inside her womb."

Before Daemon could finish his announcement, one that you have been dreading he would make, a portal appeared towards the end of the throne room, gaining everyone's attention. Out of said portal came a woman with long dark hair and violet eyes. She shouted incantations in the Elder Speech, freezing everyone where they stood except for you, Geralt, and Jaskier.

The three of you recognized immediately who the sorceress was, "Yennefer!" you exclaim, rushing up to the woman and pulling her into a hug. "I've never seen this excited to see me before," the mage jokes. "Well I had only heard just recently that you were not dead," you joke back.

"Your timing was perfect, Yen," Geralt compliments. "How did you even know we were here of all places?" Jaskier asks.

"I'll explain that later," Yennefer answers, "but this spell won't last," she places a hand on your shoulder, "collect your daughter. I'll get another portal open."

You run down the hall towards Aemma's room when you run into a man in robes. You recognized him to be the Septon who had married you and Daemon. He must've been summoned by the prince to confirm the marriage as legitimate.

You feel panic start to rise. If this man opened his mouth, you would never be able to hide from Daemon or anyone who would be more then willing to bring you back to the royal family. In a fit of semi-irrationality, you take your dagger out and stab the man in the gut, multiple times. The first stab took the Septon by surprise, and as much as it disgusted you, you plunged the dagger in again and again until you felt certain he would not survive his wounds.

When you looked down and realized what you had done, you felt sick to your stomach and ran to vomit. This was not caused by morning sickness, but by the fact you had just killed a man in order to cover your own tracks and break the chains that kept you with Daemon. You tried to justify to yourself it had to be done to protect both yourself and Aemma, but this man was still innocent, he didn't deserve to die like that.

"(y/n)?" you hear Geralt's voice and he and Jaskier looked down to see the dead Septon, blood spilling out from his guts, and he sees you trembling with blood on your hands and on the dagger you were still holding.

"Oh my gods, (y/n), what did you do?" Jaskier exasperates. 

You shake your head, unable to answer.

Geralt holds on to you, trying to get you back on your feet, "go get Aemma," he tells Jaskier.

"(y/n), look at me," you hear Geralt tell you. You shake your head again, starting to cry and hyperventilate, "(y/n), (y/n), I need you to look at me," Geralt insists, grabbing your face so you could. "Geralt," you sob, "I...I just killed a man. I've never done that before. I...I feel sick."

Geralt sighed, feeling pity at this moment; he knew that feeling, it was something he felt once before when he made his first kill against a human, though it had been different for him as he this was something he had been trained to do. You haven't...you were not a killer like he is. "Hey, it's going to be okay," you feel Geralt hug you. "I had to," you sob some more, "I couldn't let him talk to the king, I couldn't. He was the Septon that married me and Daemon, he was the one who would've confirmed our marriage was real, I had to stop him, I didn't know what else to do!"

"I know...I know," Geralt nods, "(y/n), listen, I know this is upsetting, but we need to go now. You need to keep going just a little longer, if not for yourself, then for Aemma."

You nod, and allow the witcher to lead the way.

The two of you meet up with Yennefer and Jaskier, who had Aemma in his arms. Yennefer was gathering what strength she still had to open up another portal.

"Can't you do this any quicker?" Jaskier exasperates. "I am going as fast as I can!" Yennefer exasperates back, "Magic works a little differently in this part of the world, I can't quite seem to bend chaos to my will like I could on the Continent. Also it took a great deal of Chaos to open a portal here from where I was."

Right then, Yennefer had succeeded in opening the portal, "Shall we?" You take Aemma from Jaskier and place a kiss to her head as Yennefer and your brother go through first.

Geralt follows, stopping briefly for a bit, "I hate portals," he mutters. You laugh a little, fixing to push him in (not really) when you feel someone, grab Aemma, trying to take her from your arms. 

It had all happened so fast, but Daemon had somehow been able to break away from the spell Yennefer had cast over him and everyone else in the Throne Room, and once he did, he had every intention to pull the two of you away from the portal, and you could see the fiery rage in his eyes as he did so. Geralt grabs onto you, trying to bring you and Aemma towards the portal. The witcher had thought to use Aard to push Daemon away but he couldn't risk hurting Aemma.

In the end, Geralt had succeeded in getting you through the portal, but not before Daemon had succeeded in taking Aemma out of your arms and then pushed you away.

"AEMMA!" You cry out as you feel yourself get sucked into the portal.

The portal had taken you and Geralt back to the Continent where Yennefer and Jaskier were waiting for the two of you.

You land on belly and quickly get back on your feet, despite the nausea, "AEMMA!" you cry out, running back to the portal, only to have it close at the last minute.

You fall to your knees, tears in your eyes, "No....NO!" You sob out. You couldn't believe it. You were finally free, but at the cost of losing your daughter and leaving her behind in his hand of her father and his family.

"(y/n)?" Jaskier places a cautious hand on your shoulder. You stand up and approach Yennefer, "Make another portal," you insist, "bring her back!"

"(y/n) I...I'm sorry," Yennefer says with a sad look on her face, "it took so much out of me the first time I've done this, and it may not take you back to King's Landing where Aemma is, it might-" "I don't care!" you sob out at her, "Get another fucking portal open, we need to go back for Aemma!"

At that moment, you feel a pain in your belly. It vanished, but then came again. You fell to your knees, but Geralt catches you. "What's wrong?" he asks with concern in his voice. This pain was familiar as it had been similar to when you were in labor with Aemma.

But it couldn't be...this babe inside you was nowhere near ready to come out,

"Geralt," you say weakly, "I think there's something wrong with this baby."

Chapter 23