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bloededhoine · 4 years

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world building cause twn doesn't pt. 1: the northern realms

okay i'm making this because 1 witcher netflix is the most convoluted and confusing thing i've ever seen and does literally no world building and 2 special interest make autism brain go brr.

basic info

this is gonna be a multi part series about the witcher universe but this is all about the northern realms!

ciri's timeline in twn encompasses the entirety of the first northern war, beginning with the attack on cintra and ending with the battle at sodden

this is just covering the human portions of the north. i'll talk about vergen, brokilon, and dol blathanna later

colour code cause i fucking love colour codes - already happened/introduced, probably s2, important background info, stuff that might be in the prequel, extras

general

so the entire witcher takes place on the continent

it's divided into multiple kingdoms, vassal states, and territories

now borders change a lot but this is the general idea before the first northern war (started 1263 with the invasion of cintra but we'll get more into that later)

also important to note that the show ends in 1264 with geralt meeting ciri in sodden

i'm sorry, i don't have quite enough spoons for an image discription for that map, but if someone wants to take over i'll link it here!

maps not mine, reddit link here

the continent is mainly divided between south and north, with nilfgaard and its dependencies and vassal states (including toussaint, mettina, vicovaro, nazair) in the south and the northern realms (redania, temeria, kaedwen, aedirn, lyria and rivia, cidaris, kovir and poviss, and creyden) in the north

aedirn

this is where yennefer is from! more specifically, it's capital vengerberg. as of twn, its king is virfuril. he's briefly name dropped in blood of elves and assassins of kings, you might remember him dancing with yennefer in the ball.

[I.D: picture of white man with a light brown beard and moustache. he is wearing a gold shirt and a gold crown. he is smiling slightly and has blue eyes. end I.D.]

that's him right there. for some extra trivia he's the 15th king of aedirn, his son is demavend III and his grandson is stennis

aedirn is mainly manufacturing. in the north (upper aedirn), dwarves control the continent's best mines. the south produces more finished goods like textiles, weapons, and dyes

for some notable aedirnians we have yennefer, saskia/saesenthessis (borch three jackdaws/villentretenmirth's daughter), letho, aplegatt, and seltkirk

aedirnian cities include vengerberg, gulet, and hagge

next up - redania!

as of the first northern war, redania's king was vizimir II. i don't think we saw him in twn, but i could be wrong. redania is known for having the best intelligence network on the continent, along with control of the best farmland

redania is a super important kingdom, and we've already met quite a few important redanians and will probably meet a lot more.

dandelion/jaskier, chireadan, shani, philippa eilhart, sigi dijkstra are all redanian

redanian cities - novigrad, oxenfurt (home of oxenfurt academy, dandelion's alma mater), tretogor (the capital), blaviken, and rinde

for temeria!

we briefly visited temeria in the episode with the striga (adda the white). as of the first northern war, the king is foltest. he lives in the capital vizima (controlled by nilfgaard in wild hunt). that's him right there

[I.D: photo of an older, overweight white man. he is wearing gold armour and a gold crown. he has a grey beard and is scowling. end I.D]

temeria (especially foltest) is notoriously xenophobic and racist. but, it is one of the best places for sorceresses as its home to thanedd isle and aretuza.

temeria controls the mahakaman mountains, and therefore some of the most prosperous mines in the continent. these mines, along with highly developed agricultural and trade systems, make temeria mad rich

a lot of my favourites are temerian we have keira metz, vernon roche, thaler, *barf* triss merigold, codringher and fenn, jan natalis, and ves

temeria has a lot of important cities like gors velen, vizima (also spelled wyzim or wyzima), and maribor. there's also some territories/provinces like brugge, ellander, maribor, sodden, and velen

kaedwen

kaedwen is in the far north west, and is where the witcher fortress of kaer morhen is located. kaedwen is always feuding with aedirn over control of the pontar valley, a profitable area on the kaedweni-aedirnian border. as of the first northern war, kaedwen is ruled by king henselt, who might have been name dropped once or twice in twn i dont really remember.

kaedwen is very cold, a large portion of it is the blue, kestrel, and fiery mountains. it's also home to ban aard, which is basically the aretuza for boys and where stregobor taught istredd

the only really notable kaedwenis are sabrina glevissig (that's her in twn) and cregennan of lod

[I.D: photo of a young white woman with blonde hair tied back. she is wearing a low cut blue dress and has a blank expression. end I.D]

some kaedweni cities are ban aard, ard carraigh, lod, and ban gleán

kaedwen, temeria, aedirn, and redania make up the four kingdoms, a group of human-majority states that nilfgaard really likes attacking. the northern wars are pretty much all nilfgaard vs the northern kingdoms, since most smaller realms are usually absorbed into either the north or south, but that doesn't mean they're not important!

cintra

twn gave us a solid introduction to cintra, which as you know was ruled by queen calanthe. her suicide after the nilfgaardian invasion was basically the first major casualty of the first northern war. cintra then became a nilfgaardian dependency, ruled by emperor emhyr var emreis

notable cintrians - princesses cirilla fiona elen rhiannon and pavetta fiona elen, angoulême, and the house of attre

cintra isn't very big, but does have the provence attre and cities like erlenwald and cintra (the capital)

cidaris

ruled by king ethain, one of the many people calanthe betrothed to ciri and then was like lol nevermind. also includes the province bremervoord, which is ruled by duke agloval and supported by the harvesting and trade of pearls

notable cidarians - dorregary, valdo marx, and vilgefortz (thats him there)

[ID: photo of a young south-asian man with black slicked back hair and a moustache. he is wearing medieval armour and i can't quite tell what his expression is. end ID]

cidarian cities include vole, roggeveen, and cidaris (the capital)

hengfors league

a group of 4 city states (caingorn, malleore, barefield, and cinfrid) that are ruled by king niedamir from the capital hengfors

notable residents include queen hedwig, boholt and the reavers, and deidre ademeyn

from what i've found all the city states have a capital of the same name

lyria and rivia

these are a little complicated, but basically lyria and rivia are the two main kingdoms of the confederation of realms in the dol angra valley. as of twn, queen meve of lyria and king reginald of rivia are married, therefore uniting the two realms

in the summer, the capital is lyria and in the winter it's rivia. lyria is also primarily agricultural while rivia is more industrial

queen meve is really the only important one here

kovir and poviss

kingdom in the far north that is responsible for the most exporting of minerals on the continent. as of the first northern war it is ruled by esterad thyssen

notable residents include stregobor, renfri, sheala de tancarville, coën, and istredd

important cities - creyden, tancarville, lan exeter, aedd gynvael, and thwyth

skellige

skellige is different from the other northern kingdoms in a few ways. one, it's not really a kingdom but a collection of 7 clans each led by a specific jarl. a clan is based on kinship, and the jarl rules them. what's confusing here is that there's also a jarl of skellige, who is in charge of the entire archipelago's armed forces. the king or queen of skellige is chosen by all of the jarls to help unify the clans against nilfgaard

skellige is also the only island kingdom. its an archipelago to the west of cintra, but is almost always allied to the north

the clans are brokvar, an craite, dimun, drummond, heymaey, tordarroch, and tuirseach, and they generally each occupy a specific island

the main islands are ard skellig (an craite and drummond), an skellig (tuirseach), faroe (dimun), hindarsfjall (heymaey), spikeroog (brokvar), and undvik (tordarroch)

some skelligers - crach an craite, eist tuirseach (that's him there), mousesack/ermion, draig bon-dhu, cerys and hjalmar an craite, and birna bran

[ID: photo of a middle-aged white man with dark brown hair and light stubble. he is wearing a gold doublet and has some sweat on his forehead. he appears slightly drunk. end ID]

tldr: as of the first northern war, the main northern kingdoms are virfuril's aedirn, vizimir's redania, foltest's temeria, and henselt's kaedwen

thank you so much for reading this! i'm definitely gonna make more parts and will link them here when i do!

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inmyfxith · 3 years

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Friends out of interest

Pairing: Dijkstra x OC!reader / Vizimir x OC!reader

OC: Seirsa of Ard Carraigh

Warnings: None

A/N: Sisters' thoughts // The Sisters of Ard Carraigh / The Wolf and The Griffin / Meet Again / The End of a Myth

Words: 1 498

Of all the girls of Ard Carraigh, Seirsa was the only one who ever attained a role as important as that of a queen. While visiting the court of King Radowit I of Kaedwen, she attracted the attention of his son, Henselt, who had become King of Kaedwen after his father's death. Being madly in love, he asked for her hand in marriage as soon as he was master of his destiny and she accepted. After her marriage, she became Queen of Kaedwen, Lady of Ard Carraigh, Archduchess of Ban Ard, a city mainly known for its magic academy and for its mines which made it a real jewel for the crown, and ruler of Vespaden, a duchy located in the North of the kingdom. A few years after she settled down, she gave him a son, who himself had time to have a son before mysteriously dying during a hunting trip. Seirsa never really got over it.

Even though her husband was the sole ruler of Kaedwen, the young woman almost always had a say in the decisions taken by King Henselt, but never in an official way so as not to make him look weak. A few weeks before the slaughter of Cintra, she sent a letter to Queen Calanthe proposing to strengthen the alliance already in force against Emhyr of Nilfgaard. She even went to the Court of the latter where she had the chance to meet the young princess that everyone called the Lion cub of Cintra, Cirilla. Seirsa knew how to talk to people, she was always very persuasive, and, like many of her sisters, like Cedrel or Celda, she was very eloquent.

Unfortunately, Kaedwen's forces did not have time to intervene at the time of the massacre, so the queen suggested to her husband that he send his troops to Sodden Hill, where she had heard that a battle was being prepared. Although they lost a large number of their warriors in this battle, they were victorious. Therefore, the alliance between the northern kingdoms was the most beneficial thing for Kaedwen. Having heard about the movements of the elven population in Cintra and their alliance with the Nilfgaardians, Seirsa received a letter from one of the advisors of King Vizimir II of Redania, Sigismund Dijkstra. The latter invited her to a meeting with the king to discuss a possible alliance in addition to the one already in place. Having small problems with a group of non-humans, she jumped at the chance to destroy all those who opposed her husband's power. So she went to Redania to meet the king.

"Ah, my dear friend, it is a pleasure to see you again at last." Rising from his seat, the Redanian king approached Seirsa to leave a kiss on her knuckles. He then invited her to sit on the seat opposite his desk so that they could talk in privacy.

"You look lovely, just like all the times we've crossed paths." Seirsa knew full well that Vizimir was a handsome speaker but that, just as in her kingdom, he was not the one making the decisions.

"We'd better get to the point, Vizimir, it's been a long road and I hope to get some rest before dinner." Standing upright in her chair, the young queen crossed her hands in her lap. Vizimir, for his part, settled back into his seat before leaning slightly over his desk to speak to her.

From her seat, the young queen could hear the great city of Tretogor, the capital of the kingdom, living through the small window. The air rushing into the room blew a few strands of her dark hair. Seirsa's face remained impassive, she rarely showed her feelings, even with her family. Vizimir took a deep breath before beginning her speech.

"My sweet queen Seirsa, as you know, the elven people have allied themselves with the Nilfgaardians..." Questioning his guest with his eyes, the latter shook her head in response "...they have settled in the city of Cintra, held by Emhyr's troops, with the sole purpose of reviving Xin'trea." He paused afterward to pour himself a glass of Redanian lager.

Knowing his game perfectly, Seirsa let out an annoyed sigh.

"So what? What does that have to do with me? Vizimir, I don't have your time." Raising his eyebrows, the king finished his drink before continuing.

"Very well, very well, I wish to recover Cintra. Cleanse it of non-human vermin..."

"And make it part of your kingdom, what business is it of mine?"

"Like yours, my troops suffered many losses after Sodden. We are allies, I have not betrayed you, so yes I have come to ask for your help in liberating the city from the late great Queen Calanthe."

Seirsa took a few minutes to think about his proposal. She had met Vizimir before, most notably at the signing of the alliance between the northern kingdoms and the last time when the black knight was not executed by the mage council.

"And, may I ask, who gave you this idea?" The young woman was no fool, unlike the king in front of her, it was almost obvious that Vizimir was not entirely the sole brain behind this desire to dominate Cintra.

Seirsa had a small idea of who might be behind it, but she wanted to be sure.

"It's me." A voice rose behind her, a male voice. The man approached her before bowing, placing a kiss on the back of her hand, and introducing himself.

"Sigismund Dijkstra my queen, at your service." Frowning, Seirsa carefully examined her new interlocutor. A tall, bald man, who nonetheless seemed incredibly strong, and yet, as he was approached, the young woman had felt uncomfortable. Trying to regain her composure, the young woman refused the glass the counselor handed her for fear of finding poison in it.

After several minutes, the young woman finally spoke.

"And how does taking over Cintra benefit me? What's in it for me?" Questioning his master with his eyes to see if he could speak, the counselor set out to coax the young queen.

"Imagine a world where you were both Queen of Kaedwen and co-ruler of Cintra. The money from your mines could help rebuild what was destroyed during the capture of the city into a city of great exception. You, Queen Seirsa of Kaedwen, would become one of the most powerful women in the whole world and everyone would bow down to you. This can only happen if you help us if we go. Otherwise, King Vizimir would take Cintra alone and wipe out all traces of your lineage from history." Not accepting the threats, Seirsa stood up, her eyebrows furrowed as if ready to fight. She turned to the king, glaring at him, waiting for him to rebuke his advisor for his bad behavior.

Suppressing her anger so as not to make the situation worse, her hands tightened. It was obvious that King Vizimir was controlled by his advisor, which was why he had not been indignant about Dijkstra's threats. She couldn't help but think of her son, it was obvious from his physical form and demeanor that he had not lost his life simply by accident. As she sat back down, the young woman turned solely to the king.

"Let's say I manage to convince my husband to participate in your... reconquest of Cintra. That he agrees, and we win this battle, what guarantees do I have that you will not turn against the Kaedwen?" Dijkstra placed one of his hands on the back of the chair the young queen was sitting in while the second was resting on the king's desk, preventing Seirsa from leaving the room.

"You will have to trust us. But think how sad it would be if your grandson ended up like his father."

[Cedrel] - Seirsa, stay strong. Don't let him get to you, you know he won't. Accept his proposal, in case it's a trap, you know perfectly well that we have the means to intervene.

[Nareth] - Even if he doesn't betray us, and I doubt it, we will take Cintra... and Redania.

Contrary to what the counselor expected to see on the face of the young queen he liked to threaten, Seirsa smiled a little at what Nareth had just suggested to her. Kaedwen could certainly not claim to be invading Redania, but with the necessary forces, anything becomes possible.

"I promise you to tell King Henselt of your proposal, he will make the decision himself..."

"On your wise advice I hope so." Vizimir spoke, at last, rising to offer his guest his hand and escorting her to the door "...He only listens to me anyway. I'll let him think about it and we'll talk about it again over a map of the territories." Placing a kiss on the back of her hand again, the king smiled at her, pleased with the encounter before his advisor faced a curtsy in thanks and farewell.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #vizimir II #sigismund dijkstra #the witcher imagine #the witcher imagines

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warsofasoiaf · 4 years

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I've got a video game suggestion-you've mentioned that your favorite quest in Witcher 3 is Reason of State, and I would like to hear your analysis of that quest.

This is truly a god-tier quest, a very good example of well-done quest design, that culminates a world’s worth of quest-building and features some exceptional character work. Since we’re going to be up to our necks in spoilers, there’s a cut here.

Reason of State might be the grand climax and resolution of the quest arc, but context in this is critical and that goes. The northern wars between Nilfgaard and the Northern Kingdoms is all over the games. Nilfgaard’s plan to assassinate Northern kings using Letho of Gulet is the entire plot of Witcher 2, and the war between Radovid and Emhyr forms the backdrop for Witcher 3. The Northern Kingdoms are almost all broken by the time of the Witcher 3. Temeria is occupied, Foltest was murdered in the Witcher 2. Natalis missing from the Witcher 3, and Vernon Roche forced to fight a guerilla war in caves. Velen is a broken land thanks to this war and under the absentee rule of the Bloody Baron. Aedirn is a non-entity, Stennis is absent no matter what happened in Witcher 2. Kaedwyn is gone, Henselt either being killed by Roche or Radovid and forcibly integrated into Redania. Only Redania remains, forcibly integrating Kaedwyn, but it is run by Radovid V. By the third game, Radovid is a cruel, psychotic king, but has a solid understanding of tactics enough to fight the Nilfgaardians to a stalemate (and he will win, without player intervention). Nilfgaard is responsible for a lot of Northern disorder, their campaign to use Letho to kill Northern kings successfully rid themselves of Demavend III and Foltest, the first of whom was able to successfully predict Emhyr’s movements while the latter is the leader of the most powerful kingdom and successfully defeats Nilfgaard’s invasion. But it’s not all Nilfgaard, Philipa Eilhart murdered King Vizimir II, Radovid’s father and one of the chief architects of the First Northern War victory, largely out of a bid for personal power. This paragraph shows that things are bad all around. Emhyr is a blatant expansionist responsible for a great deal of suffering, and the only man capable of resisting him is an open sadist relentlessly persecuting mages, which might be the only hope for the North to remain independent (it won’t be, but you have no way of knowing that at present)

When the player begins to be introduced to the characters, they’re framed as desperate men on the fringe. Roche is waging a crusade with his Blue Stripes, but the Nilfgaardian advance has been stymied largely by Redania and the two sides attempting to compete for the fleets and treasures of Novigrad. He’s forced to working with Radovid, who he openly doesn’t like, out of a practical need to do something. Ves is even throwing herself into suicide missions against Mulbrydale, out of a desire to do something worthwhile, a far cry from the man who was such a major mover of the plot in Witcher 2. King Radovid does not present well, acting psychotic in his introductory scene with the chessmen, and acting poorly toward Geralt, the player character and thus the vector for exploring the game world even if he is an established character (it’s worth noting that one of the best ways to get a player to dislike a character is to have them be rude to the PC, no matter how justified it may be in-universe). His mage hunts are also not likely to endear themselves to the player; the two primary love interests to Geralt and friends to Ciri are mages, and the witch hunters attempt to bilk Geralt of his reward by demanding the megascope crystal in Redania’s Most Wanted. Djikstra is helpful enough to Geralt during his hunt for Dandelion, but the two end on a bad note which isn’t entirely Djikstra’s fault since Geralt did lie to him; he’s notably nicer if you secure him his vault key, but that requires botching a quest and ends up causing Triss to commit torture to progress the storyline. The player character inclined to be friendly to Roche, if only because he tends to be straight and polite with you. Sure enough, Roche and Ves help out during the climatic fight in Kaer Morhen. Radovid isn’t even an option (and will kill Kiera Metz, further engendering hatred from the player since she’s another character Geralt can shack up with and Kiera’s absence means fellow Wolf School witcher Lambert dies). Djikstra doesn’t help you at all if you don’t get his key back, and if you do he gives you gold, which isn’t likely to be very significant since you’re likely swimming in coin by that point in the game.

One of the things I like in this questline is that this is a big and monumental quest, but you will lose it if you don’t take the time to get in good with the plotters, you’ll simply miss this quest. If you don’t get in good with the plotters, they won’t trust you. And if you beat down Djikstra instead of giving him information, he despises you and won’t bring you in on the plot, Geralt’s effectiveness as a Witcher and as a protagonist be damned. That’s something that more games need to be doing, rewarding players for investing themselves in the game with content. A lot of Triple-A games these days are so scared of players missing or cutting themselves out of content that they refuse to do this, which makes a lot of RPG’s feel far more shallow. I’m sympathetic to a point to game developers, content is expensive. Graphics and voice acting are expensive and losing content means spending money on content that’s not going to hit 100% of the audience. Thing is though, the same argument can be made for sidequests, or even for alternative conversation paths, so I don’t consider it a good enough excuse on its own. Avoiding this is as brainless as it is lazy.

When the game circles back after the Isle of the Mists, things are clearly reaching a breaking point. Djikstra has recruited like-minded conspirators to his cause to kill Radovid, each of whom have their own reasons. Djikstra, who worked with Radovid’s father, finds him a poor king unlikely to continue Vizimir’s great reign. Gregor the Redanian guard sees the devastation wrought by Radovid’s lynchings and persecutions and despises it, his loyalty to his country is too high to desert but he feels he needs to do something. Thaler and Roche are devoted to the idea of a free Temeria that they’re willing to back Djikstra’s play to bring an end to the Third Northern War. The player is likely to support the conspirators, Radovid’s support of the witch hunters has led to the deaths of non-humans since you need to complete Now or Never and save the mages; pogroms aren’t a great way to endear a player character to Radovid, especially since Zoltan the dwarf has been nothing but a straight-up pal to Geralt. This is a good tactic in RPG quest design, by making the least appealing result the default, it encourages the player to do the quests. As any GM can tell you, you have to make your players want to do the quests, otherwise they’ll do something else. Games are not able to just make up a new quest off the cuff like an improvisational tabletop GM can (this was one of my strengths as a GM, if you trust my players’ judgment), so they must heavily rely on getting the player to do quests. Some are mechanical, do this quest for XP and loot that makes you better at the game. The Witcher excelled though, at getting people invested in characters.

The conspirators’ play won’t work though, not without help from Phillipa; the hated mage is the bait that they need for the trap to work (and coincidentally, it won’t work without Geralt as well both because Phillipa won’t give her ring to any of the other plotters and by virtue of Geralt as the protagonist in the RPG). The trap is laid for Radovid, and if the player goes through with it, Radovid is executed by Phillipa, who flies off into the night having murdered yet another Redanian king.

Then, after the conspirators escape, the stage is set for Geralt to make a moral choice when Djikstra betrays the conspiracy. It’s a wonderfully set and acted scene, from Djikstra quoting a Macbeth stand-in to the patriots’ giddy excitement at the future. Then, the shoe drops and the conspiracy falls apart. Djikstra plans to become the next Vizimir, taking Radovid’s consolidated northern kingdom of Redania and Kaedwyn and fighting Emhyr to a standstill. Temeria would be subsumed into that, ceasing to exist. Naturally, this enrages the Temerian patriots, who refuse to go along with that scheme. It leaves Geralt with a choice, leave and allow Djikstra to murder Roche, Ves, and Thaler, or stay and defend them, resulting in a fight that will end in Djisktra’s death. This is often the case in partisan movements throughout history, where a power struggle over the shape of the victory to come causes disunity and strife, ending with one faction murdering the other ones, so points for historical and thematic elements being on point for the gritty fantasy. Similarly, by making the choice being the resolution of a conspiracy, it threads the needle between the protagonist doing everything and solely resolving the ending for one faction, which often feels shallow, and giving the player no agency which robs investment in the ending. By allowing the conspirators their machinations and taking advantage of others already in place, it allows the player to feel a meaningful impact that has wide implications. Fallout’s ending slides could be hit or miss, though the small scale of post-apocalyptica does make it more relevant. It hits a nice sweet spot, where it’s probably a bit too much to be realistic in a straight history but works just nicely for the scope of fantasy fiction. By forcing the player to do the quests for these people, not only does it meet the threshold of believability by explaining why they would bring Geralt on the quest save that he’s the protagonist, but it invests the player in the characters. Of course, this can only be done because the game did such wonders with its character work. Even if you don’t play Witcher 2, you see Roche love his country, you see Ves try to defend Mulbrydale, and they both can contribute meaningfully in the Battle at Kaer Morhen. Djikstra does influence the main plot and he can be funny with his sarcastic quips delivered by excellent voice acting. Thaler is less of a presence, but he’s also side-splittingly hilarious when he taught the trolls to swear, the player likes these characters and so likes the quest they’re in, and picking between them does actually cut deep in a way that Telltale Games “pick which character you want” drama can only hope to achieve in its wildest dreams. It’s political game storytelling at it’s best, using character work which is easier for players to identify with as I mentioned in my geopolitics essay.

Backing Djikstra is tough in the short run, because you lose three characters that you probably like. Roche and Ves, after all, did join you in Kaer Morhen and it seems cold for them to help and then betray them, unless of course, you didn’t ask for their help. Djikstra rules and reforms the North on a program of modernization, often contrary to the wishes of his subjects. Plenty might think that to be a path of success for the North, since Djikstra will build a military that will defend them and ensure a general level of prosperity. You just have to turn a blind eye to the Temerian patriots being slaughtered by Djikstra.

The alternative, backing Roche and Thaler isn’t a pure win either. Temeria becomes a province of Nilfgaard, but Emhyr gets Aedirn and Lyria. Emhyr finally wins his war and isn’t likely to stop his expansionist ways unless Ciri becomes Empress. Even then, he’s a senior statesman and can exert influence if he wants, Ciri even says so. We can get Roche’s perspective, and we like Roche. After all, he (probably) helps us out in the grand fight at Kaer Morhen, but he’s not an unbiased observer. He’s a Temerian partisan happy to sell out the other Northern Realms for a dubious pretense at some internal autonomy for Temeria alone. In plenty of ways, the Roche path is a collaborationist success story, selling out the North for Temeria alone.

The choice is yours to take and to make what you will. Plenty of folks might hope for a change in direction if they put Ciri on the Nilfgaardian Throne, but they might instead desire for her to adventure on her own as a de facto Witcher. In that case, Emhyr fails, is killed, and who knows what happens next? Could more provinces break away, might there be further wars in Nilfgaard, or power struggles, or something else. It could go a lot of different ways and it’s up to the player to decide. In a way, that’s amazing in its own right, because it’s actually what the real world is like. The absence of a golden ending is standard fare for grimdark, but that so much is left open shows a level of restraint and trust in the player that I admire in a developer.

Thanks for the question, Anon. Hope you liked it.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

#witcher #witcher 3 #video game reviews

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garmonboziasworld · 3 years

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So here it is, my first fanfiction ever. Centred around my OC Mari and our favourite Temerian, Vernon Roche (because I love that grumpy old man).

As to right now, there will be three parts and I have 100k words ready and I am nowhere near finished. So we will see.

After the second northern war redanian court sorceress Mari Molinar has a fateful encounter with King Foltest's newest member of the temerian intelligence, Vernon Roche. An encounter destined to be. A story about two souls holding on to each other while the North falls apart and both lose the things they hold dearest.

(A multi-part, OC-centred Witcher fanfiction. Part 1 will take place from 1263 to 1275, so there will be spoilers for the books and games)

Chapter 1: Nice To Know You

~1263~

Pompous, colourful banners were hanging from the high ceiling of the royal hall. The redanian silver eagle on a red field, silver temerian lilies on a black field, a black unicorn on gold for Kaedwen and Aedirn’s chevron of gold and red in black. Mari’s sight left the coat of arms, watching some servants taking down the chandeliers to replace the burned down candles. In the background, the royal chamberlain was instructing the servant staff. Her thoughts were wandering off until happy laughter and screams brought her back to reality. She tilted her head only to see the royal couple’s children, Dalimira, Melina and Radovid, running past the entrance.

“Hey!” she called out after them. “No running in the hallway!” But the three had already left around the next corner.

“Don’t be so harsh on them, Mari. At least not today.” Queen Hedwig of Malleore, King Vizimir’s wife, stepped besides her. “They are just excited about the banquet tomorrow. The whole city of Tretogor is. Except one individual, I suppose.”

Mari said nothing, her lips twitched in an almost unnoticeable way.

“Seriously. Enjoy yourself for once.”

“A bunch of loud and drunk northern war heroes. I cannot imagine anything more enjoyable.”

“Do not be so ironic.”

“And I do enjoy myself quite often.”

“Then enjoy yourself once without burying your nose in some old poetry book.”

“Is that my Queen’s royal order?”

“Do I have to make it one?”

“Fine,” she sighed. “If that’s what my Queen commands.”

Mari Molinar was sitting at the dressing table in her room, combing her long, wavy mahogany hair. She laid down the brush and contemplated herself in the mirror. Grey eyes were looking back at her. Looking at her high cheekbones, her averaged nose and lips. For a sorceress she was quite ordinary. Not one of those stunning, out-of-this-world-beautiful sorceresses who were just breathtaking. She never cared for beauty, she always wanted to stand out because of knowledge and magical skills. Being born as the only child to a married couple of millers in 1120, her magical talent manifested quickly. Despite the humble job and the money it brought to the family, her parents paid the fee for the magical academy of Aretuza so she could study there. And after her studying was finished, she was assigned to the redanian royal family in Tretogor since the king reigning at that time was displeased with the already assigned sorceress, Philippa Eilhart. And, to no one’s surprise, Philippa was not pleased about a second sorceress. She never liked her since the beginning. And the fact, that Mari became an appreciated and respected advisor and diplomat not only within the royal family but also outside of Tretogor’s walls did not improve the relationship between Philippa and her.

And now here she was. 1263. The northern war with Nilfgaard just ended after the battle of Sodden Hill, where she and 22 other mages fought alongside the northern armies, united by the king of Redania, King Vizimir II. The battle ended in a disgraceful defeat of the nilfgaardian Army. And to celebrate the end of the war, King Vizimir was holding a great banquet at Tretogor. And she had to participate. Of course she had to. If it wasn’t because of her status as royal advisor then because of her participation in the battle.

She opened a glass vial and used the stopper to apply the perfume oil on her wrists, her neck and behind her earlobes. The scent of sweet vanilla mixed with earthy patchouli reached her nostrils as she stood up from the dressing table. She walked through the room and stepped towards her bed where she laid out her dress. A long dress made out of red velvet fabric with long sleeves which became wide from the elbows and almost fell to the floor. The hems were decorated with silver braid. The belt made out of beautiful woven ribbon in red and silver, hanging down decoratively long in the front. She slipped out of her dressing gown and got dressed.

“If you will excuse me?” With a courteous smile Mari left the conversation she was just having. She was trying to get only one minute of not having to talk to aristocrats, nobles or military leadership ranks. But those plans were suddenly interrupted by Queen Hedwig who appeared by her side.

“So? How is it going?”

“Just a lot of talking and listening.” She sensed Hedwig’s telling gaze and kept on. “I know, usually I don’t mind at all. That’s what you do at banquets like this one. But I miss the subtle political tension. Everyone is just so …”

“Happy? Relieved?”

Mari sighed. “I’m sorry, my Queen, that was an unrefracting thing to say.”

“Well …” Queen Hedwig looked at the hall’s entrance as loud cheers echoed through the hall. “There you have your political tension.”

She followed her Queen’s glance and caught sight of King Foltest, the king of Temeria, entering the room.

“Come on, go over there and talk to him.”

“Me?”

“Of course, sweetheart. You know his relationship with Vizimir has grown quite cold since he rejected the marriage proposal. And he adores you. Now, come on.”

She knew, her queen was right. The relations between Redania and Temeria have not been the best those last years. The rejection of Vizimir’s marriage proposal by King Foltest nearly caused a war between Temeria and Redania. But King Foltest was a mighty ruler of a powerful kingdom. It would not be wise to let such an important ally become a strong enemy. With a last approving nod from Hedwig, Mari started moving through the hall until she reached him.

“Lady Molinar!” he greeted her with spread out arms.

“Your Majesty?” Following the court etiquette, she made a low bow in front of him.

“We haven’t seen each other in a while but as I can see you are still as beautiful as you have ever been,” he said while reaching out his hand.

Straightening up again she laid her hand in his and received a kiss on the hand, although it was rather his lips touching her knuckles than a real kiss. That would have been rather inappropriate in the formal environment. “You flatter me, your Highness.”

Foltest released her hand again and gestured beside him. “May I acquaint you with Vernon Roche, my new and very promising member of the temerian intelligence.”

She looked at the man standing beside the king. A man probably around his thirties, his physique rather lean. He wore a chaperon on his head, emphasizing his chiselled features. And he met her glance with fiery brown eyes.

“It’s an honour to meet you,” he said with a slightly raspy voice, reaching out his hand just like his king did just a few moments ago. She laid her hand in Roche’s too and as he repeated Foltest’s gesture. His hands were rougher than Foltest’s but not in an unpleasant way. For not even the second the hand-kissing took she could feel his breath tickling her skin. When he let go of her hand, those piercing brown eyes looked at her again.

“New to the job and already thrown in at the deep end by your king.”

“The sooner he learns the better,” Foltest replied.

“If that’s the case then you should talk to the head of the redanian secret service, Sigismund Dijkstra. He is a valuable conversationalist in that field of work.”

“I will.” Roche nodded in agreement.

“What about you?” Foltest intervened. “I bet you could give some excellent advice, too.”

Mari looked at the king, a smile curled her lips. “I appreciate your unquestioning trust, your Majesty, but I am no expert in the matter of spying and sabotage”

“But you are when it comes to tactics and strategy of war. The victory in the battle of Sodden Hill showed that once again.”

“That was not my doing.”

“Modest as always.”

“I did not defeat the nilfgaardian troops alone, King Foltest, there where twenty-two other mages and every one of them contributed to our victory. Speaking of, I am sorry for your loss of the Lady Triss Merigold.”

“Thank you for your condolences. At least I still have Keira Metz and Fercart.”

“They are both capable and good advisors.”

“They are indeed. Yet, I’d dismiss them from their royal service immediately if you’d agree to take Merigold’s place.”

Mari couldn’t help but chuckle. “You did not want his daughter but you do want his advisor. I do not think King Vizimir would be delighted about that.”

“He still has Philippa Eilhart to advise him, doesn’t he?”

“I would rather not leave the duty of royal advice to Lady Eilhart.” The displeasure in her voice was impossible to ignore.

“You still don’t like each other.”

“Not to like someone and not to trust someone are two very distinctive matters.”

“And why do you not trust her?”

She took a deep breath and ground her teeth imperceptible. As much as she wished she could vent her fury, she pulled herself together. After all, it was the King of Temeria she was talking to. “To talk badly about Miss Eilhart in your majesty’s presence would be rude.”

"And I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t, your Majesty, I shouldn’t have brought up the topic.”

“Alright, I will forgive you if you promise me a dance later.”

She smiled at him and nodded. “I promise.” From the corner of her eye she saw King Vizimir standing next to Queen Meve and her general and advisor, Reynard Odo. Vizimir beckoned her over and she looked at Foltest again. “I am sorry, your Majesty, but my king requests my presence.”

“And you don’t keep a king waiting. I have to know. So don’t keep me waiting for the dance you promised me.”

“I won’t,” she said with a faint smile. “It was a pleasure seeing you again, King Foltest.” She slightly bowed down in front of him before she turned her eyes to the man beside him. “Vernon Roche.” Politely, she tilted her head, then she walked by the two men and headed for King Vizimir.

As she walked past Roche couldn’t help but follow her with his gaze. And he wasn’t the only one doing so. Her hair falling down her back like a waterfall, her motion elegant and self‑assured. His nose still had a hint of her scent and he could still feel the soft skin of her hand in his. And on his lips. Roche didn’t even know where the thought came from but he wondered whether the rest of her skin felt so soft, too. And how the rest of it would feel on his lips.

“Impressive, isn’t she?” Foltest voice interrupted Roche’s digressive thoughts. “Nothing like the other sorceresses. Different from them she is not interested in power and influence. She has devoted her life to the Northern Realms, has sworn to serve it and to do everything in her power to its peace. She is said to be one of the most intelligent people in the North, a master in the fields of politics and diplomacy. With a woman like her by your side you could achieve anything.”

Roche swallowed. His throat was dry. He didn’t even notice until now. He desperately needed some ale to wet his whistle. ”Is that why you asked her to join the temerian court, my Majesty?”

“I saw an opportunity and I took it. I could make better use of her in Temeria than Vizimir is doing here in Redania. Not to mention his only considerable heir. Rumour has it the boy has his head in the clouds. Nowhere near being the future leader of this kingdom.”

“He’s a kid of eight years.”

“Still he will be king someday. There is nothing wrong about learning the hard and ugly ways of life at an early stage. You know that better than anyone else.”

He gritted his teeth. Foltest was right, he did know better. But in contrast to the young prince of Redania, Roche didn’t have much a choice.

“Alright, enough of that. Let’s get you to meet some people, shall we?”

Later that evening when the moon was already shining bright, Mari stood on the terrace, taking a short break from the banquet. She could still hear the laughters, the lively conversations and the clinking mugs over a toast. Torches lightened the terrace and the bordering gardens. She leaned on the marble balustrade, watching the fountain centred in the garden in front of her eyes. When she heard someone stepping out on the terrace, she peered over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know this place was already occupied.”

And there he was. Vernon Roche. Pretending like he did not know. There was no chance he did not know she was here. Question was, why did he come? Was it genuinely interest or royal instruction?

“No, it’s fine. Please …” She gestured to the spot beside her and he took that offer by stepping up. As soon as he stood beside her, that beguiling sweet-woody scent reached his nostrils.

“Do you mind?” He pulled out a wooden pipe. Mari shook her head in response. “I don’t. Go ahead.” In fact, she always liked the smell of a smoked pipe. So she inhaled with relish when he lightened his pipe and dragged on it.

“So,” she started. “How are you holding up between all those high born nobles and flamboyant personalities?”

He huffed and nibbled on his pipe “I am not comfortable in situations like these. I just don’t like the way I am eyed by people like those inside.”

“You mean how they are condescending towards you because unlike them you are a simple man?”

Surprised by her words, he looked at her. “How did you…?”

“Figured that out? I’m dealing with the best of circles since decades. So I do recognise one who doesn’t.”

“So why don’t you treat me like the dog from the streets I am?”

“You think I was born as a child from a rich and respectable noble family? I wasn’t. And besides, why should I care about where you come from when the more important question is where you want to be.”

Roche let those words sink in. He never thought about it. He always lived from one day to the next, never cared about the big picture. Not until Foltest gave him this life changing opportunity. But still, he didn’t know if he ever was capable on living up to his king’s expectations. To what he saw in him. Resigning, he shook his head. “There would have been a lot more suitable people for the king of Temeria to bring along. Not me.”

Mari watched him as he slowly exhaled the smoke of his pipe. In that moment she realised that he looked older than he probably was. Probably he did see and experienced a lot of things that caused it. A troubled, maybe even torn mind. Full of self-doubt and the feeling of never being good enough. “You really don’t see why he did that, do you?”

He turned his head towards her and looked at her. “… I guess not?”

“He is testing you. To see if you can blend in, make contacts, have your eyes and ears where he needs them to be. If you have what it takes to become whatever he wants you to.”

“Then I hope I didn’t fail his trust miserably.”

“King Foltest has knowledge of human nature. He would not have picked you if he didn’t.”

“I think I understand it now. Why King Foltest speaks nothing but very highly of you.”

With a soft smile on her face she looked at him. “May I give you an advice, Vernon Roche?”

“Of course, Lady Molinar.”

“Kings come and go, as so do their morals, ideals and opinions. You better start quickly having your own.”

“You want me to start with my opinion about you?”

For a short moment, she was caught off guard. Was he … flirting? “Whatever pleases you.” Wait. Was she flirting?

And then they just stood there, side by side, looking into each other’s eyes, studying their faces. She tried to get any hint from his facial expression, but she couldn’t. She simply couldn’t read his face. No hint of any emotion. He’d really make a good spy. He carried it off well. But she really did want to know what was going on in his mind right now. What he was thinking about her while he watched her. But then, on the other hand, what could it possibly be he was thinking? Apart from the conversation they just had he hardly spoke to her. He didn’t know anything about her so how was he supposed to have any opinion on her?

She was broken in her thoughts when someone passed by in the gardens. She had a look, as so did Roche, and they spotted a couple taking a walk. They walked past the fountain, arms wrapped around each other’s waist. The man whispered something in the woman’s ear that made her giggle like being a young girl being in love for the first time again. “Oh stop it,” she laughed and playfully put her hand on the man’s chest. “Something you’re not going to say to me again for the rest of the evening …” he answered and with more giggles and laughter they wandered off again.

Somewhat embarrassed, Mari looked to the ground. How stupid of her not to consider the option him having a lover. Maybe he was already married? And had kids? He was about the right age and he was an attractive man, so why shouldn’t he. And why was she thinking about something like this anyway? Why did she even care? She hardly knew him, met him just a few hours ago. If, at all, they were supposed to work together. She was supposed to keep this strictly professional. So what has gotten into her? Realising how close she was standing to him, feeling the warmth radiating from his body, she took a step away from him. He seemed to notice since he cleared his throat.

“So, I … I got the chance to talk to Dijkstra. And to Philippa Eilhart.”

“And how did it go?”

Roche shrugged with his shoulders. “Depends on what her intention was. Since she was the one busting into my conversation I was having with Dijkstra.”

“To see how much of an ally or enemy you make.”

“Then I guess I disappointed her either way.”

Mari huffed and slightly shook her head. “Nothing to be sad about.”

Roche took a pull on his pipe. “So … why don’t you like Lady Eilhart?”

Feeling like finally having her senses back, Mari looked at him and paused before she continued speaking. “As a future spy you should work on your subtlety.”

He met her eyes and exhaled the smoke. “So now you do give me advices.”

And that was when Mari realised. “Because you were sloppy on purpose. Because you knew I’d tell you so. Getting the truth from the opposite be telling a lie yourself. You’re good, Vernon Roche, I give you that.”

“Foltest knew I couldn’t fool you.”

So it has been a test after all. Of course it had been. How could she even consider something different? She should have known better than that. Her lack of instinct disappointed her. “… Okay, what were you supposed to draw out of me?”

“Nothing special. He just wanted you not to recognise my questioning.”

“We already talked about that,” she answered. “What was on the line? What did you bet for?”

“That dance you promised him.”

“And you didn’t even make an effort. Hurtful.” Okay, now she was being sarcastic.

“Not as hurtful as when you found out I lied to you later. And a quiet, private talk away from the crowd is worth much more to me than some ballroom dance with hundred eyes watching.”

“Alright, then have your talk. You’re right, lying to me right from the beginning is not the smartest idea. But you will work for Temeria’s secret service. I will question everything you say from now on. I know the type of people working in secret service, I dealt with them enough throughout my time as advisor. Maybe I will never know if you tell the truth or not. Or what you really want.”

He looked her straight in the eyes when he answered. “I want to serve Temeria and King Foltest. He did a lot for me. I owe him my life and service. That’s it. Simple as that.”

And she recognised that this was the truth. She could see it in his eyes. And she heard it in his voice. The way he talked about King Foltest assured her that the man in front of her would do anything his King asked for. Anything. And she knew, Foltest wouldn't hesitate to ask for everything. That she was sure of. “Foltest trusts you. If you play your cards right, you could become his right hand man.”

“And how do I do that? Play my cards right?”

“You’ll find out. You are an intelligent man.” She pushed herself of the balustrade and turned away from him to go back inside.

“Wait!” She stopped when she heard his call and turned around again to look at him. “Can I … reach out to you? Or write you?”

“Why would you want that?”

“Well, I … in case I don’t know what to do.”

She looked at him and thought about her answer. After a few seconds, she nodded in response. “Of course you may.”

#fanfic #own work #also on ao3 #archive of our own #ao3 #vernon roche #original character #vernon roche x OC #roche x OC #No one is going to read it anyway

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aenwoedbeannaa · 5 years

Text

Stone Hearts | Geralt x Reader | Parts I - III

Summary: A/U(ish). When fate landed you at Kaer Morhen, you were mostly just happy to have meals to eat and a place to sleep. But, as it turns out, fate may have led you to much, much more. (Basically, you and Geralt are students at Kaer Morhen together. These stories chronicle your lives together.)

Word Count: 7k+

Warnings: Violence, smut, the usual.

A/N: I originally planned on posting this as a series of short stories all at once, but as it is such a long story, I decided I’d split it up into groups of stories instead. So, this one is Part I, II, and III. Let me know what you think – and thank you, as always, for taking time to read my work 😊.

Thank you so much to @jesseswartzwelder for the request/amazing idea!

If you enjoy my work, consider reblogging this post following me for more Witcher fics here and on my personal/original writing blog here. You can also check out my masterlist!

Part I

The sun is hot, bearing down on the crowded courtyard and making you sweat through your leathers even more than you usually do. Still, you refuse to give any inkling of the fact that your blood is absolutely boiling, like your body is burning itself away. You know that it is more than the hot sun—you’ve started taking a new elixir, and ever since, you’ve been aching with fever. One moment, you are burning out of your skin, the next, you are shivering and sweating at the same time.

Your feet move of their own accord, purely out of instinct, as you dodge and parry, pirouette and deflect. You try as hard as you possibly can to breathe deeply and slowly, so as not to exert yourself even more. And yet, the sharp sound of dulled iron striking dulled iron reverberates you your head, loud enough to make you want to flinch.

But flinching is not an option. Not with Geralt, anyways. You don’t like losing, especially to your de facto partner. As usual, the two of you are the last pair left sparring, the others standing around drinking deeply from waterskins or laying on unclaimed ground nursing whatever wounds they incurred over the course of the day. You wish you were one of them, but only a little. If you are honest, you love being the center of attention; you love being one of Kaer Morhen’s Golden Children. You thrive one it.

“Getting tired, Witcher?” you quip, avoiding a slash of his blade with a rolling dodge, landing on your feet in a flash and only just missing him with your next attack.

“Not a chance, Witcher Girl,” he responds with a parry leading to an attack of his own. You manage to block him with the flat of your blade, but you can tell that you are off – not enough for an ordinary eye to see, but Geralt does not have the eyes of an ordinary man.

He’s got you backed up nearly to the wall, leaving you less room than you’d like, and distracting you enough with his smile, a dangerous flash of white, that you nearly lose your footing. But after another turn and other quick flurry of attacks and counterattacks, you do lose your footing – but it has nothing to do with Geralt’s smile and everything to do with a sudden blinding pain that seems to start in your head and travel down your body at lighting speed. You crumple to the ground.

Geralt drops his sword before you even hit the dirt, rushing to you side and placing a calloused hand gently on your shoulder, speaking urgently, “Y/N,” he says as he gently pushes against your shoulder to turn you over, “Are you alright? What happened?” What has him so worried is not that you fell – the two of you never went easy on one another, and each took your share of tumbles. No, he is worried because you had been steady on two feet one moment and wincing, dropping your sword, and thudding to the ground after it the next.

You have, of course, told him nothing about the extra elixir. You’d tried so many at this point that you’d grown into a sense of security, like something that couldn’t possibly harm you. After all, the really deadly shit was saved for the Trial of the Grasses – but even then, the strong ones usually made it, and you are one of the strong ones. But, no matter how many times you tell him not to worry – he always, always does. The same way that you worry about him every time you learn they’re giving him new mysterious concoctions to try.

He is you closest friend, and he has been since the moment you walked onto the grounds of Kaer Morhen and he punched Eskel in the face for lobbing an ill-timed joke at the very timid new arrival and making you cry.

Vizimir was not happy with any of you, and all three of you managed to earn yourselves extra cleaning duties that week. Geralt for punching Eskel, Eskel for making ‘unnecessary remarks,’ and you for crying. Coincidentally, that week was also the week that the three of you began a friendship that spanned even to this day.

You blink up at him, unable to speak, though you want to. Something is wrong, you want to say, Get Vizimir. But, try as you might, you aren’t able to make your mouth form the words. Instead, you just stare up at him with wide eyes. His brown curls are stuck to his brow with sweat, and his eyes are searching your eyes for an answer you can’t give him. You are also vaguely aware of other students abandoning their carefully staked out plots of grass to come and see what the fuss is about.

The only other girl, Estra of Ard Caraigh, chews her lip nervously as she looks on, though you can’t see her. The two of you aren’t particularly close, mostly because she is two years older, so you are surprised when you hear her voice from the growing crowd of onlookers, “They gave you that elixir, didn’t they? The one that’s to make sure you can train every day of the month?”

In your bleary half-consciousness, you see a flash of long auburn hair as she rushes to your side, pressing a hand to your forehead. Her face blanches and she turns back to shout to no one in particular, “Get Vizimir, NOW.”

You try once more to make some sort of sound, but all that comes out is a choked sob. You had not cried since your first day here, and the fact that tears were streaming down your face seemingly of their own accord was mortifying. The only thing that kept your from screaming in pain was Geralt as he took your hand in his own and held on tightly, leaning down to whisper that it was all going to be ok in a voice surprisingly calm given the red-hot fire burning in his eyes and his tightly clenched jaw.

Part II

Your fingers tap the glass impatiently as you peer out the window, checking for signs of life on the road that winds from the gate of the Keep out into the forests surrounding Kaer Morhen, twisting its way through the wilderness surrounding the Snow Pine Mountains. If you’ve calculated correctly, Geralt should be returning today. He left nearly two weeks before with one of the Witchers to help with a contract on a Drowner infestation plaguing a nearby town on the banks of some manmade lake.

Leave it to Kaedwen. Perhaps the people of Kaedwen had grown too comfortable. With Witchers nearby, there wasn’t much to fear from monsters, was there?

This particular excursion was his reward for being the first to return from the Trial of the Medallion – the chance to muck around in the swamps for a few days, cutting down drowners at thirty crowns a head.

Thirty crowns a head.

You still remember a time when thirty crowns seemed an unobtainable amount of money; money that could have lasted your family near a month if it had to. To think that once this was all over, you would be able to fulfill contracts earning multiples of that for each monster slain. Being considered at once a poor victim of a stolen childhood and a mutant freak who had no place existing was a small price to pay for such a steady income.

“Show me a lake, and I’ll show you the drowners,” as Vizimir would say.

Pulling yourself back from the objectively horrifying daydreams of hacking drowners to shreds in return for a sack full of coin, you resume your vigilance.

Accounting for the four days ride from Kaer Morhen, maybe five if any monsters appeared on The Path, and then three days at most to deal with the drowners, and then another four to five days ride back accounting for the supplies they’d be carrying back from the village, he should be arriving back today. Unless of course… No. You cannot allow yourself to even consider the possibility that anything had gone wrong.

You tell yourself you that the nervous energy that has you buzzing is simply born of boredom, or maybe out of frustration that you’d have to spar with Eskel today. After nearly two weeks pouring over books, Vizimir had finally determined that it was time to get back to swordsmanship and, most importantly, sparring. It was about the only thing that broke the general dullness of school.

And without Geralt, you tell yourself, sparring will be just as dull as the bloody books. You determine that this is at least a half-truth. Geralt was the only sparring partner quite at your level. So, it went without saying that sparring with anyone else was dull, mostly a waste of time. In your opinion, fighting an easy fight is not fun. And that’s not even your ego talking; it is purely factual.

And a bit of ego.

And then there is the separate issue; the fact that you hadn’t exactly realized – or had at least pretended not to realize – just how much time you spent with Geralt until he was gone. You’d been happy for him when he won the Trial of the Medallion, of course, but you hadn’t been quite as thrilled when you learned what the prize was. Sure – it was a chance for him to escape form the stone fortress for two weeks, a chance to get out and see the world. But drowners, no matter how easy to kill, could always be dangerous. Or maybe you were just upset that the second place winner – that just so happened to be you – didn’t get to go along as well. You’d finished only second behind him; it seemed unfair.

Despite its unfairness, it was reality. So, instead of out hunting monsters, you were stuck here while time dragged on at an excruciating crawl.

You’ve got other students with whom to pass the time, but to be honest, exploring the grounds of Kaer Morhen Of course, you still have your other fellow students to pass the time with – which you do – but it’s not the same. There is a bond between the two of you that far surpasses your bond with anyone else. No matter how adamantly you try to ignore it, there’s just no way around it.

You sigh in frustration and turn away from the window; you have too many things to do, regardless of how absolutely tedious everything is. Studying with Vizimir, of course. And you’ve got to spar today. At least that is somewhat interesting – even if none of the other students can quite match you; with the exception of Geralt. It is a convenient way for you to explain away any feelings. Perhaps sparring with people who cannot keep up is just boring. As much as you enjoy winning, there’s no excitement winning against people you could probably best in your sleep.

You pull on your last bits of armor – a belt with a small sheath for your dagger, and of course your leather jerkin. Your dulled iron and silver are slung over your back. You won’t receive your silver – a real silver sword – until you pass the trial of the grasses. It would, of course, be a waste to supply every one of Kaer Morhen’s students with new silver swords, considering the unfortunate reality that a majority would never need one.

Gods, you hope you need one.

You move silently through the ancient hallways, bracing yourself for the certain boredom that will greet you in the keep’s library. It is a large room full of old books, most of which are yellowed with age and feel as if they might fall apart beneath your fingertips. Vizimir explains that new books are not necessary, because monsters never change.

“Wonderful of you to finally join us, Little Vampire,” Vizimir says as you push open the wooden door to see several students sitting at the old tables all in various states of half-sleep. You just shrug in response and make your way to an empty chair. You earned the nickname Little Vampire after, during the week you spent delirious with fever, you apparently bit Vizimir’s hand hard enough to leave a scar when he tried to force a potion down your throat.

“Probably off waiting for Geralt,” you hear Stefan say under his breath to Eskel, who is sitting in the chair next to him. You pretend not to hear him; you’ve given up on trying to explain your relationship with Geralt to your peers. And anyway, it would be impossible to explain even if you tried – you cannot even explain it to yourself.

But then, you hear Eskel mutter, even quieter – “He probably won’t be back until tomorrow. Off spending that hard-earned coin the right way.” You know that it shouldn’t bother you; Geralt can do whatever he’d like. And what you’d learned from hearing Eskel and the others when they spoke about their time outside of Kaer Morhen, there was a very specific way they tended to celebrate. It wasn’t your place to be upset about it. And, yet, here you were.

Whatever, you tell yourself. He’s only following the Code. That fucking Code.

* * *

“Fucking hell,” Eskel spits, pushing himself up from the ground, heavily favoring his left ankle. You smirk, sheathing the blunted blade. You don’t need to say anything – knocking him out of the fight as quickly as you had spoke volumes.

“And all this time, we thought Geralt was just letting her win, eh, Eskel?”

You turn and narrow your eyes at Stefan, their dark amber burning like coals as you bore into him. You aren’t daft – you are fully aware of this particular rumor, as ridiculous of a rumor as it is.

“Would have been quite the charade to have been pulling off all these years.”

You have a hard time suppressing your smile at the familiar baritone, but you turn around with witcherlike reflexes regardless. And Code be damned, for all the elixirs they’d given you, emotion flooded you. You refuse to call it love; to be a Witcher and admit to such a feeling would be laughable. But you will call it joy – joy at seeing your absolute closest friend in the world after all this time.

A whole two weeks.

Not wanting to make yourself, and Geralt by extension, the butt of jokes for the next month, you stop yourself from barreling toward him and throwing your arms around his neck like you want to, you settle for smiling instead.

“Finally,” you drawl, “A real challenge.”

Your friend smirks, arms crossing over his chest.

“I’ve just returned, and the first thing you want to do is cross swords?” he fakes offense.

“Of course,” you retort, “This is Kaer Morhen, after all.”

“Damn,” Geralt responds, “Thought it was Ban Aard.”

Several others who had abandoned their activities to listen laughed at that one – you included. Fucking mages and their fancy schools, preaching about the importance of magic Witchers’ reliance on it. Ban Aard and Aretuza were the butt of a good number of jokes at Kaer Morhen, like Kaer Morhen certainly was to them.

“Enough standing around and talking,” you goad, “Grab your sword, Witcher.”

You ignore the hushed conversations around you as Geralt replaces the silver sword slung over his back with a dull iron one. The usual nonsense – something about the two of you thriving on attention and showing off and something else about the two of you needing to “just fuck already.”

He seems to be ignoring the group just as you are, reading himself as you do the same.

“Alright, Witcher,” you smile dangerously, “Let’s see if those Drowners sharpened your skills."

Part III

“It just doesn’t feel real,” you muse, turning over your shoulder to glance at Geralt who sits with his back flush against yours, “Only two days until the Trials.”

“Mhm,” he answers from deep in his chest. While you have chosen to cover up your panic and fear with excitement and fierce pride, Geralt has turned to philosophizing – existentialism and cynicism being his philosophies of choice.

“Geralt…” you mutter, wishing that you could get more than a syllable or two out of him. “It’s going to be ok.”

You are trying to convince yourself just as much as you are trying to convince him. And, given your tendency to turn everything into a game of logic – very useful in calculating opponents next moves – chances are high that you are correct.

“We’ve both responded well to all of the elixirs they’ve given us, hardly any negative reactions at all,” you expound, but Geralt scoffs, making your mouth snap shut.

“Yes, except that one time two years back when you almost died.” His voice is laced with worry, and though you are facing opposite directions, you know exactly what his expression by his tone alone. His eyebrows are knitted together, and his amber eyes are narrowed such that from a distance, someone might not notice that he was undergoing mutations at all. His lips are pressed into a tight line, and his curls fall into his face. That, combined with his bulky form, would make anyone stay away. Anyone except for you.

“That was one time,” you press, “One elixir out of hundreds. It’s a better record than most people.” Kaer Morhen was your home and you truly wanted to become a Witcher. If you’d been left alone in Crookback Bog, you would have died years ago. And if you’d grown up in some backwater village or in the poor district of a city, plague or pox could’ve taken you. For you, the potions and elixirs and the mutations they induced were just the inevitable tradeoffs to life here. If you couldn’t survive the trials, you couldn’t be a Witcher, and if you couldn’t become a Witcher, you’d be on your own with no skills to speak of, no way to make a living. At least Kaer Morhen gave you something akin to a family – it had given you Geralt.

“I don’t care to remember any details of that week,” he mutters, looking at the ground and shaking his head, “But I… I can’t stop thinking about it. About you laying there burning with fever, calling out in your sleep.”

You are stunned. Geralt, while not as closed off as the other students and Witchers liked to say, was not apt to speak with such emotion. You can’t remember the last time you heard him stumble over his words like that – or if you ever had, for that matter. You open your mouth to speak, about how that was quite a regular occurrence for Kaer Morhen’s students as they underwent mutations, but he is already speaking again before you can get a word out.

“You kept saying that you were on fire, your bones were on fire,” you pick at the grass as he continues, “And the elixirs to help the pain only made it worse.”

Truth be told, you don’t have much memory of that week of your life. You were delirious with fever, and only remember brief moments that you could not definitively place in the “real” category or mark them off as hallucinations. But, as he speaks, some memories do pop into your mind. One in particular where it took three grown men to hold you down and force one of the elixir’s down your throat. Vizimir started calling you Little Vampire after that, thanks to the fact that your perfectly average canines managed to dig so deep into his hand that he still had a scar. Now, you supposed, you understood why Geralt didn’t like that one.

“I just… I can’t…” as Geralt stumbles over his words, you cannot tell if you are hearing his heart hammering or yours. You follow your immediate urge and turn around to sit next to him, both of you now looking out towards the grounds of Kaer Morhen through the trees. You’ve had this secret meeting place for years – a place where the two of you would go to talk or just to sit. A peaceful place, away from the constant chaos behind the castle walls.

“Geralt,” you say, placing a hand on his shoulder and shifting so that he is facing you, “You’re the strongest of all of us. Even Vizimir said…well, you remember!” You are referring to a conversation you overheard one evening when you were prowling around places you shouldn’t be. He was talking to one of the other instructors, the two of them comparing notes.

“Geralt, Y/N, and Eskel will be this year’s Three, mark my words.”

“There’s no need to be scared,” you add after a moment, voice quiet. You hadn’t known he was so scared to undergo the mutations. He was always the best in your training exercises, always the strongest, the fastest, the one getting all the special elixirs. You hadn’t even thought that he might still be worried.

Quite suddenly, he turns, placing his hand over the one of yours that is resting in your lap, “I’m not worried for myself. I just… I can’t… It makes me so angry to think of them putting you through that again.”

You look down, staring at his hand on top of yours, which is suddenly the only thing that you can focus on. Relationships at Kaer Morhen aren’t forbidden, but they aren’t common. There had been a handful of moments like these – none of them that went farther than stolen glances and they always left you feeling somehow empty, aching for what you couldn’t have.

Silence stretches between you. The only sound either of you make are the thundering of our hearts and carefully controlled breathing. Though, you notice, each time Geralt breathes in, there is a slight unsteadiness to it, a shakiness, as if he is trying as hard as you are to keep your breathing in check.

Finally, you draw a breath that would be noticeably shaky, even for a person who hadn’t undergone all of the mutations that the two of you had. You tear your eyes from your hand to look up at him and say, “I’m an adult, Geralt. I’m going through the trials willingly.”

Geralt doesn’t respond, just clenches his jaw and lets out a huff, so you continue, “We’ve always known about the Trials, I agreed to it when I came here, and I’ve continued to agree to it every time that I’ve taken any of their elixirs. I’ve...We’ve been training for this for our whole lives. Without Vizimir I would have died without getting a chance to experience real life.”

“I know the speech,” Geralt shoots back almost immediately, pulling his hand away and leaving you feeling hurt.

“Geralt.” You are struggling to keep your voice steady. You can’t decide if you feel like screaming or crying, so you keep to the Code and shove both of those urges down as deep as is possible given the situation. “It’s not my fault we have to undergo the mutations, so don’t fucking snap at me.”

“Fuck,” Geralt says, shaking his head and burying it in his hands, “Y/N, I’m sorry. I know.”

He is silent for another moment before he finally lowers his hands and looks up at you. You realize in that moment how close you are, your faces only inches apart. You can see the gold flecks in his amber eyes and the stubble on his cheeks and have to fight to ignore the urge to reach out and see how his skin feels beneath your hands, and what his eyes would look like if you did.

But then, he reaches out with one hand, hesitantly and ever so gently, to cup your face. You shiver as the pad of his thumb brushes just beneath your lower lip and the very corner of your mouth. Time feels suspended, as if the two of you are floating on some separate plane where the day of the Trials will never come and the two of you can just stay right here, just as you are, forever.

“I hate the idea of you undergoing the Trial because I can’t stomach the thought of losing you, Y/N.” The words are like a punch to the stomach that is somehow pleasant, knocking all the breath out of your lungs.

He leans even closer, until your foreheads are touching. “I know the Code, and I know I’m not supposed to, but I love you.”

You breathe in, memorizing the smell of him. You’ve only ever been this close during sparring exercises. You decide you like this a lot better.

“When I had the fever… The one thing that kept me, you know, here was you, you know,” you breathe. You’ve never told him because you know that no matter how much he had pretended to hate it as of late, he sticks to the Code. The Code, which doesn’t look highly on Witchers being in relationships – especially with one another. “And that’s why—and you’re the reason I know that I’ll survive the Trial.” Your eyes have drifted down, unable to meet his as you confess this – the secret you have been hiding from him for so long.

He is silent for a moment, frozen there with his deliciously warm hand on your face before finally letting his and slip lower, resting under your chin and gently tilting your head up so that he can meet your eyes. “Fuck the Code,” he says, eyes flashing before pressing his lips to yours.

It is your first kiss, and it is pure bliss. Your lips fit together like pieces of a puzzle and the sensation has you drunk with pleasure before he even deepens the kiss. And, when he does, you are ready. You part your lips for him, and he greedily explores your mouth. You keep thinking that it can’t get any better, but yet it does. You moan involuntarily as his hand slips from your chin, ghosting along the curve of your neck and coming to rest on your shoulder, calloused thumb sweeping across your collar bone.

His touch is electric, leaving your skin feeling hot and charged, and longing for more. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling yourself flush against him. He responds with an appreciative grunt, moving his hands to explore your body, starting by sweeping down your sides, just barely grazing the sides of your breasts in the process.

With his hands now firmly wrapped around your sides, he breaks the kiss, leaving you in a huff of frustration and disappointment – you hadn’t had nearly enough of him. But before you can get too out of sorts, his lips touch your neck and you moan, tipping your head back to grant him complete access. You don’t even have time to worry about the fact that you have no idea what you’re doing – that you have never done this before – because Geralt is so thorough, so in control of the situation. It’s like he knows all the right places to touch, and exactly what to do with his mouth to have you breathing heavily, small sounds of pleasure slipping through your lips.

Tentatively, you begin exploring his body with your hands. You love the way that his muscled form feels beneath your fingers, and it makes you want to explore every inch. As your hands move down his chest, you find yourself tugging at his shirt. You don’t know if it is an involuntary reaction to his teeth grazing your neck as his lips continue down to your collarbone or whether it is simply a feeble attempt to pull the fabric away because you would very much like to know what his sculpted abdomen feels like beneath your fingers without the offending material in the way.

Geralt’s hands, on the other hand, have gripped your white linen shirt, identical to his own, and already began pulling it over your head. You raise your arms to make it easier for him, and the moment it is off, you greedily reach for his own tugging the material up and over his head. For a moment, you just stare at him, drinking in the sight of him shirtless before you. It wasn’t as if you had never seen him this way – but you had always done your best not to look too long, afraid that he would notice as question why.

However, he interrupts your moment of slightly embarrassing admiration when he wraps his arms around you, hands grazing your hyper-sensitive skin. You sigh, content to let him touch every inch of you. Encouraged by this, his hands wander up to unlace your bra and you bite your lip in anticipation. You cannot wait to feel his hands on them, arching your back, willing him to make faster work of it.

He grins as he slips the material off your shoulders, grin turning into more of a smirk as he sees you staring back at him with wide, expectant eyes. He slides one hand up your back, easing you down so you are laying beneath him, eyes drinking in the sight of you naked form and making your feel suddenly exposed. But, given the way his pupils dilate, he likes what he sees as much as you do.

He leans over you, lowering himself so that he can bring his lips to yours once more. You greedily bite his lower lip, hands back to their game of exploring as much of his body as you can reach. And then all of a sudden, you feel his stubbled cheek graze against yours as he leans to growl in your ear, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this to you, Witcheress.”

His words add fuel to the fire burning in your core, and you whimper as his fingers brush your nipple. It feels so delicious it is almost painful. You’ve never even allowed yourself to fantasize about this scenario, as much as you may have wanted to. You never thought it would happen – and you weren’t one to dream of impossible things. And yet, here you both were.

“Geralt,” you breathe, completely lost I the feeling as he kneads and pinches your breasts. And then… his lips. The feeling of them against your breast and his tongue flattening against your nipple is warm and soft and better than you could have ever imagined it feeling. Your eyes roll up into your head as he makes use of his free hand to gently twist and pinch the bud not currently receiving the attention of his tongue.

Heat pools in your core, twisting and tightening and aching for his touch, and, oh gods, for his tongue. Any nerves you thought you would have doing this for the first time have evaporated. There is no room in your pleasure-drunk mind for nervous thoughts.

Once again, seemingly able to read your thoughts, he slips a hand between the two of you, unfastening your belt and unlacing your trousers. For a brief moment, your mind blinks to a thought of just how practiced his hands are – but you don’t dwell on it for more than a split second. You are burning with need, and you could care less how many women Geralt has had before you – if the stories of the young man’s exploits on those rare occasions when Kaer Morhen’s young Witchers in training were given leave to take on smaller contracts here and there under supervision of elders – it doesn’t matter to you right now.

It matters even less when his hand slips into your waistband, expert fingers finding their way to where you need him most. His finger dips between your folds, gathering the wet heat pooled there for him, humming appreciatively against your chest as he lets his finger trail back up to the little bundle of nerves. His touch is perfect parts gentle and firm as he circles the small bud, making you cry out into the open air.

“You like that, Witcheress?” he asks gruffly, swirling his finger again and making you buck your hips against his hand. Making yourself form words is pretty much hopeless at this point, with his finger dancing over the hard little nub that no one save yourself has ever touched before, but your pleasured cries are more than enough answer for him.

He loves watching you like this – writhing beneath him, hips moving of their own accord, eyes blinking open and closed again. He especially loves your little gasps; the way your pretty mouth stays open in a constant ‘oh’ as he works you with his fingers. Your ragged breathing turns him on even more; your breasts rising and falling at uneven intervals as he increases his pace and pressure. And, oh gods, he loves the groan that escapes your lips when he does.

“Gods,” you say with a great deal of effort, “That feels… G-geralt!”

He watches you as your body tenses for a moment, amber eyes fixed on you as he watches you fall apart, already committing this image to memory; the first time you’d come for him. You are still twitching as the aftershocks of your orgasm wrack your body when he grabs your waistband and tugs your pants off roughly, breathing in your scent and greedily taking in the sight of you.

Your thighs tremble as he presses his lips to the inside of your calf, peppering the soft skin with kisses as he moves his way up your leg. You are still reeling from your orgasm, but already you need more. His hands follow his lips, massaging the seemingly always sore muscles of your legs and making you sigh with pleasure.

You reach down to run a hand through his hair, and he lifts his amber eyes to meet yours as he moves to your other leg, pressing kisses across ever inch of your skin. His tongue traces the crease between your thigh and your most intimate area, and your hips thrust towards his face of their own accord. But then a thought enters your mind, and you tug at his hair, “Geralt.”

“Yes, Witcheress?” he says, locking you in his intense gaze.

“I should… Shouldn’t I? You know…?” You can feel his bulge through his pants, and you are eager to touch him, to feel his hardness with your fingers, your tongue, and inside of you. But for now, Geralt clearly has other plans.

“Shh, Witcheress,” he says, nipping gently at your inner thigh with his teeth, “I’m not done with you yet.” His words send your mind into a whirl as his hands slip under your thighs to your ass, letting his shoulders hold your already quivering legs apart so that you are completely exposed to him. You whimper as he blows cool air on your heat, making you shiver.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he says gruffly, eyes locked on yours once again, “But first I want to taste you.” He lets his tongue just barely graze your clit, and you whimper again, on the verge of begging. “I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Y/N?”

You can only whimper in response, your need for him an almost painful ache in your core.

“Hmm?” he rumbles, looking up at you with an impish grin, “Didn’t hear you.” You cannot think of a more beautiful sight than Geralt – the boy who was your first friend and the man who you fell in love with little by little until you were mad with it – looking up at you as if you are the only person in the world.

“Y-yes,” you whimper, voice laced with need.

“Mhm,” he growls, finally running his tongue from your opening to the little bundle of nerves. The feeling of his tongue touching you there has you seeing stars. It feels even better than his fingers as he explores you, paying particular attention to the places that make you gasp and tighten your grip on his hair.

He takes his time, savoring the way you taste, better even then he imagined – which he often had despite his efforts not to think of you that way. He’d tried to stick to the Code, he’d tried everything to keep his mind busy – every time he made a trip out of Kaer Morhen, he’d tried to distract himself, but now, as he explores you with his tongue, breathes your scent, feels your soft skin beneath his fingertips, and hears your soft gasps and moans, all he can think is that he has abided by the Code for way too fucking long.

You are absolutely lost in the feeling of his mouth on you. And, when his lips close around your clit, sucking it into his mouth and attacking it with his tongue, you cry out so loud you are almost convinced everyone back in the Keep can hear you, not that you care. He moans against you, delicious vibrations making you cry out again.

His hand has been traveling closer and closer to your entrance, and you find yourself desperately moving your hips, urging him on. This time, he obliges without teasing, seeming as if he couldn’t pull away from you if he wanted to.

He groans along with you as he slips a finger inside of you, stretching you gently. He takes his time here, too, slowly pumping his finger in and out, committing to memory every place that makes you gasp and writhe until he finds that spot. He adds another finger, focusing on the sensitive place inside of you. Your eyes screw shut as he curls his fingers in time with his tongue; he has turned you into a senseless mess.

The pleasure is too much. Every muscle in your body tenses before finally, you release. Your back arches as you cry out, thighs trapping Geralt in place as you ride out wave after wave of pleasure until finally your body goes slack and you fall back against the grass, breathing heavily.

For a moment, Geralt doesn’t move, yellow eyes drinking in the sight of you lying there slowly coming back to your senses. When your breathing has somewhat returned to normal, he slowly kisses up your body until he reaches your lips, capturing you in a kiss that seems to last forever, but still not long enough. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it drives you mad.

You are already reaching down, desperately and clumsily attempting to yank off his pants, wanting there to be nothing between the two of you. He helps you with the task, kicking off his boots and tossing his remaining clothing to the side. You watch him, eyes committing every muscle and every scar to memory, and finally you allow yourself to look lower.

It takes you a moment to realize that you’re staring, eyes wide as you consider the size of him. Not that you have anything to compare it to, but he is huge, and, considering the only thing that had been inside you before this day are your own fingers, you shiver at the thought of it. He lowers himself back onto his elbows, eyes finding yours as he brushes stray strands of hair from your sweat-soaked forehead as you blink up at him through your lashes, chewing your lower lip, feeling equal parts nervous and impatient.

As your heart hammers in your chest, he leans down to press his lips against the sensitive spot at the crook of your neck, positioning himself between your legs. You whimper as he teases you with the head of his large cock, sliding it from your entrance to your clit and back again, pausing there when all you wanted was for him to push himself inside you.

And all at once, he does. You draw in a sharp breath at the mix of pain and pleasure. He holds still for a moment, letting you adjust to the size of him. You hadn’t thought it’d feel this good. You’d not had much in the way of women to tell you about things like this here at Kaer Morhen. Most of what you learned, you learned from the boys – and you’d learn to take anything you heard from them with a grain of salt. But this – gods. It felt like pure bliss.

Finally, he slowly drew out and thrust back in again, groaning into the space between your neck and shoulder. By his third thrust, you were already raising your hips to meet his, wanting more, faster, harder. But Geralt was taking his time, despite your fingers raking his back, leaving red marks that could be mistaken for claw marks, in all honesty.

“Geralt,” his name spills from your lips in something between a sigh and a moan. He responds by kissing your neck, then moving up to kiss your lips, the two of you lying there, drinking each other in, hips moving harder and faster as he fills you up over and over again, somehow hitting every single spot inside of you, making you whimper beneath him.

You are both sweating, breathing heavily, and clawing at each other as if your lives depend on exploring every part of one another. His thrusts are even, though. A perfect rhythm that has you repeating his name over and over like a prayer. Each time, he hits that spot, and you feel that tightening in your belly, like a coil. And then, all of a sudden, it snaps, and you are lost in a sea of pleasure.

He finishes almost immediately after you, thrusts growing more and more sporadic as he finishes inside you.

The two of you lay there, half-clothed but unworried. No one will stumble upon you out here. Code be damned, you are in love. And for tonight, you are just that – not two people about to undergo the Trials, not a future Witcher and Witcheress – just two young lovers, all tangled up together, staring up at a sky fully of stars, watching the moon rise over the Snow Pine Mountains.

Taglist: @fairytale07, @geeksareunique, @jesseswartzwelder, @haru-ririchiyo, @unnamedmaincharacter, @lazilyscentedwerewolf, @stretchkingblog97, @curlyhairedandconfused, @valkyriepuff, @comicbeginning, @alwayshave-faith, @hp-hogwartsexpress, @angelic-kisses13, @holyhumorliteraturelight, @nogitsunelichen

(Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

#geralt x reader #geralt imagines #geralt of rivia #reader insert #witcher reader #geralt of rivia x reader #story: stone hearts #series #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #fanfiction #geralt fanfiction #the witcher au #au #witcher school au #fanfiction series

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stromuprisahat · 3 years

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' ... Sorcerers in Nilfgaard are treated about the same as, let's say, stablemen. And they have no more power than stablemen either. Would any of our headstrong mages choose to fight for an emperor who would treat them as a stable boy? Philippa Eilhart, who dictates addresses and edicts to Vizimir of Redania? Sabrina Glevissig, who interrupts the speeches of Henselt of Kaedwen, banging her fist on the table and ordering the king to be silent and listen? Vilgefortz of Roggeveen, who recently told Demavend of Aedirn that, for the moment, he has no time for him?'

Codringher; Time of Contempt (Andrzej Sapkowski)

#Time of Contempt #Andrzej Sapkowski #books #quotes #V #Zaklínač #Codringher #Philippa Eilhart #Vizimir II the Just #Sabrina Glevissig #Henselt of Kaedwen #Vilgefortz of Roggeveen #Demavend III of Aedirn #Sabrina: Shut up and listen!#me after reading the books and playing TW2:AoK:#Yeah shut up and listen dickhead!#I can't wait for Vernon to kill that prick.

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veralevina15 · 2 years

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I want to put more emphasis on Radovid's relationship with his parents. Despite the fact that Radovid learned a lot from Philippa and Dijkstra, who became mentors for him and played a huge part on Radovid's path to becoming "the Stern", Vizimir and Hedwig were those who truly loved Radovid.

Although "Though rumor has it father and son barely knew one another" (Radovid V the Stern - The Hard Slog to Greatness) these words should be treated as rumors, not facts, that is, having only a piece of the truth. The fact that Radovid avenges the death of his father, that when he remembers his dad, he is very worried about Vizimir's death and that his father's merits were forgotten at the end of the war, indicates that Radovid loved Vizimir. So you can love and respect your father, as a rule, when your father also loves you. I have no doubt that Vizimir loved his son. However, Vizimir, apparently, was very busy with royal affairs, which is not at all surprising, and could not devote enough time to his son. I think he, out of good intentions, instructed Philippa to educate Radovid, because he trusted her.

But Philippa's harsh lessons clearly left a lasting mark. Where did the boy look for love and support? At his mother Hedwig. I also think it was Hedwig who taught Radovid to play chess. The closeness of mother and son is especially visible during the time of the Regency Council, when Radovid and Hedwig were together insulted from the members of the council. And Radovid paid back the offenders not only for himself, but also for his mother. "A king, who – after paying back all the insults borne by himself and his mother – would pass into the history as Radovid V the Stern" (The Lady of Lake)

The Gwent says that Radovid was a gentle and friendly boy, as rambunctious as other child, before Philippa became his tutor (btw this is a clear indication that she did not become his mentor immediately after birth and Vizimir and Hedwig did not push all care of their son onto her). I believe that prince grew up as a joyful child, because he felt the love and care of his parents, especially from his mother. But unfortunately at some point almost all of his time was devoted to study, and then he inherited the throne at such an early age due to the death of his father. It is not surprising that Philippa and Dijkstra had more influence on the young king.

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veralevina15 · 2 years

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Summary of Witchertober2022

This year I have chosen four topics for witchertober

Day 1 - the Mentor ( young prince Radovid and Philippa);

Day 8 - the Heir ( young prince Radovid and his father king Vizimir);

Day 25 - the Eternal Flame ( Dalimira, Radovid's older sister);

Day 27 - the Lesser Evil ( young Cyprian Wiley aka Whoreson Junior) .

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veralevina15 · 1 year

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Радовид и Адда белая из книг, что вы о них думаете и есть ли у вас хэдканоны на внешность, поведение, хобби, отношение с семьёй/друзьями и отношения Адды с её мужем (она вроде вышла замуж в книге, поправьте меня если это не так)?

I have left English translation below Russian text

Адда Белая в книгах не замужем, она появляется лишь в самой первой книге "Последнее желание", где ей 14 лет) Она выходит замуж за Радовида в первой части игры, никаких других браков у обоих нет. Что касается самого Радовида, то на момент книги "Владычица Озера" ему 12-13 лет.

Если я правильно понимаю, то Вы спрашиваете про мои хедканоны на Радовида и Адду книжного периода? Тогда начну с внешности. Я хедканоню, что у Ради никогда не было пышной шевелюры в силу наследственности (вспомним его прадеда Радовида IV Лысого) и стресса от занятий с Филиппой. Мальчик довольствовался коротким "ёжиком".

Что касается Адды, то поскольку её волосы побелели ( не сразу), где-то в возрасте 14-15 лет она ходила беловолосой и очень из-за этого переживала. Позднее цвет её волос частично восстановился, но частично ей приходится подкрашивать белёсые пряди.

Поведение:

Радовид по канону был жизнерадостным и озорным ребёнком, добрым и весёлым. К этому я могу добавить, что он, безусловно, очень умный, старательный, с детства проявлял лидерские качества. При этом он нетерпелив, порывист, иногда действует в порыве эмоций, не подумав.

Адда лишь в 14 лет освободилась от проклятья, и уровень её развития поначалу был как у ребёнка 4-5 лет. Девочка из-за остатков проклятья склонна к агрессии, её часто захлёстывают эмоции, которые она пока не может контролировать, ей тяжело даётся учёба...Ей одиноко, она чувствует, что почти все вокруг её боятся и сторонятся, несмотря на увещевания её отца Фольтеста.

Хобби:

Радя с 9 лет играет в шахматы, его научила мама Гедвига. Позднее уже Филиппа стала на занятиях с мальчиком давать ему различные шахматные задачки и была очень довольна его успехами. Также юный королевич умеет вырезать по дереву фигурки, обожает читать в тишине библиотеки и разгадывать какие-нибудь сложные головоломки.

Адда любит петь и танцевать. А ещё она научилась очень хорошо ткать полотна и гобелены, вышивать замечательные узоры ( впоследствии она и Радовиду будет украшать сорочки :))

Отношения с семьёй и друзьями:

Радя очень сильно любит своих родителей, это канон. С матерью Гедвигой у них более тесная связь, чем с отцом, потому что Визимир часто бывает занят. Старшая сестра Милена покинула Третогор, когда Раде было 4 года, но к тому времени сестра и брат успели крепко подружиться. Со второй сестрой, Далимирой, Радовид тоже не мог особо видеться, потому что она стала монахиней. Зато он всегда с удовольствием изучал рукописи, которые сестра оставила в замке, и, вообще, Радя восхищается умом и эрудицией Дальки. У Радовида есть несколько друзей из знати, но у мальчика не так много свободного времени на игры. Самая любимая их ребяческая забава - нарядиться в рыцарей и отыскивать духов в какой-нибудь дальней башне.

Адда, с одной стороны, любит отца, но с другой - обижена на него, поскольку он косвенно виновен в ей проклятье. К тому же Фольтест тоже не в силах уделять Адде достаточно времени. Девочка очень расстраивается из-за того, что никогда не видела маму. К единокровным брату и сестре - Анаис и Бусси Адда чувствует ревность и обиду, ведь те "здоровые" и именно их Фольтест собирается сделать темерскими наследниками вместо Адды.

Ну и бонус. Краткое описание отношений Радовида и Адды (РадоАдды) в браке: они во всех смыслах огненная парочка))

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The question about headcanons of Radovid and Adda from books.

Adda the White is not married in the books, she appears only in the first book "The Last Wish", where she is 14 years old. She marries Radovid in the first part of "The Witcher", neither of them has any other marriages. As for Radovid , at the time of the book "The Lady of the Lake" he is 12-13 years old.

I'll start with the looks. I have headcanon that Radya never had a lush head of hair due to heredity (remember his great-grandfather Radovid IV the Bald) and the stress because of Philippa's lessons. The boy has a really short haircut. Adda's hair turned white (not immediately), then somewhere at the age of 14-15 she went white-haired and was very worried about this. Later, the color of her hair was partially restored, but in part she has to touch up whitish strands.

Behavior. According to the canon, Radovid was a kind, joyful and mischievous child. I can add that he is, of course, very smart, diligent, from childhood he showed leadership qualities. At the same time, he is impatient, impulsive, sometimes acts in a fit of emotions without thinking. Adda was freed from the curse only at the age of 14, and mentally she was like a 4-5 years old child . Because of the curse, the girl is prone to aggression, she is often overwhelmed by emotions that she still cannot control, she has a hard time studying ...She is lonely, she feels that almost everyone around her is afraid and shunned, despite the admonitions of her father Foltest.

Hobbies. Radya has been playing chess since the age of 9, he was taught by his mother Hedwig. Later, Philippa began to give him various chess problems in class with the boy and was very pleased with his success. Also, the young prince knows how to carve figures on wood, loves to read in the silence of the library and solve some difficult puzzles. Adda loves to sing and dance. And she also learned how to weave canvases and tapestries very well, embroider wonderful patterns (later she will decorate shirts for Radovid) :D

Relationships with family and friends. Radovid loves his parents very much, this is a canon. He has a closer bond with his mother Hedwig than with his father, because Vizimir is often busy. The older sister Milena left Tretogor when Radya was 4 years old, but by that time the sister and brother managed to become close friends. With the other sister, Dalimira, Radovid also could not see much, because she became a nun. Nevertheless, he always studied with pleasure the manuscripts that his sister left in the castle, and, in general, Radya admires Dalka's intelligence and erudition. Adda, on the one hand, loves her father, but on the other hand, she is offended by him, since he is indirectly guilty of her curse. In addition, Foltest is also unable to devote enough time to Adda. The girl is very upset because she has never seen her mother. To half-brother and sister - Anais and Bussi Adda feels jealousy and resentment, because they are "healthy" and Foltest is going to make them heirs of Temeria instead of Adda. A bonus. RadoAdda are a fiery couple in every sense!

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