#arian vaneharr oc

[hottpinkpenguin]

I need #4 for either Geralt or darkling. Also side note- I think the Darkling and Geralt would be so cool in a story together. Like im not normally huge on love triangles but one between them? Uh hells yeah sign me up😂 anyway though pleaase #4 for either of them🥰

A/N: ask and you shall receive!! two of my fav fantasy men? in a love triangle? fandom crossovers? sign me up! this is going to be a multi chapter work

Characters: Darkling X Fem!OC and Geralt of Rivia X Fem!OC (OC = Lieutenant Arian Vaneharr) Summary: During the Battle of Sodden, Arian is separated from her King and betrothed Aleksander Morozova, the Black Flame of Nilfgaard. In an effort to hide her connection to the Black Flame, she conceals her identity from her rescuer, a Witcher named Geralt of Rivia. Her efforts to return to Nilfgaard and to her husband-to-be are thwarted at every turn by circumstance, tragedy, and bad luck. Or is it fate telling her that her destiny lies in a different direction? Warnings: Canon-typical violence; depictions of blood and gore

Black and White - Series Masterlist

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

**to be continued

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Black and White - Chapter 1

“Shit, Witcher, that hurts!” Arian cursed, wincing at the sting of the damp rag. He shot Arian an impatient look as he continued to dab at the gash on her shoulder.

“It’ll hurt worse if it festers.” He continued to wipe away the dried blood and pus from the gash with a feathery touch. Despite the sarcastic bite in his words, she was surprised to receive such tender care from a Witcher. Arian had always heard tales of their famed swordsmanship and brute strength, never of their gentleness.

She took another brazen swig of the whiskey the Witcher named Geralt had given her to help numb the pain. It burned going down her throat, but it was a welcome distraction from the pain of the infected wound.

Arian had received the wound in battle some three weeks ago at Sodden and it hadn’t healed properly. It certainly hadn’t helped that she’d been forced to hide from the Redanians tasked with clearing the field by lying buried under the corpses of her fallen comrades for four days. The wound had desperately needed dressing then, but instead it had stayed in the bloody muck until she’d been able to slip away quietly by cover of darkness.

Despite being on the brink of starvation and weakness from blood loss, she’d had the good sense to shed her Nilfgaardian armor prior to meeting Geralt in the woods. Arian’s time spent as a diplomat in King Foltest’s court had served her well, and her Nilfgaardian accent had all but disappeared. Geralt didn’t seem to suspect her Nilfgaardian roots, and Arian intended to keep it that way. Although he’d so far not given any indication that he was invested in the quarrel between Nilfgaard and the Northern Kingdoms, Arian couldn’t be too sure. If Geralt – or anyone with a vested interest in the conflict – discovered who she was, who her betrothed was, there’d be no escape for Arian except through death.

Arian took another long drag from the whiskey, hoping to numb not only the pain in her shoulder but also the pain in her chest. Thinking too long on her life before Sodden threatened to split her open from stem to stern in grief.

“Save some for me,” Geralt growled from behind Arian. He’d stopped dabbing at her wound with the whiskey-soaked rag and had begun stitching the ragged edges of her flesh together. Thankfully, the liquor had begun to do its work, and the sharp pricks of the needle were dull enough that Arian could almost ignore them.

Arian offered the bottle to the Witcher behind her. He took a break from sewing her back together to take a deep sip of his own, handing it back to her.

Emboldened by the liquor, Arian decided to press her gruff traveling companion for information.

“Where are you taking me, Witcher?”

“Somewhere safe,” he replied curtly. He was a man of few words, that much Arian had learned in their short time together. Arian knew he didn’t trust her, although she doubted he trusted anyone, but he seemed particularly keen on keeping her close by. At first, she’d thought he – like most men – had dark intentions towards her. But as hours turned into days and multiple opportunities for the Witcher to overpower Arian passed by uneventfully, she began to realize that there was something more he was looking for from her. And he sensed that she, as much as she hated to admit it, was dependent on him. Although he didn’t know her background, he could sense that she was a stranger in these lands and hiding from something. Traveling with a Witcher was a convenient way to avoid being asked difficult questions; most people found Witchers vile and untrustworthy, and that distaste extended to their traveling companions. Arian was content to let Geralt’s unwelcome presence cloak her own identity in secrecy. Although she wasn’t convinced that many common villagers in these parts would recognize her, there were plenty of noblemen and women who would know the bride of the Black Flame, even if she was a little worse for wear…

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Black and White - Chapter 3

“I plan to part ways with you, Geralt of Rivia, at the next village.”

Geralt shot his traveling companion a sideways glance, intrigued that she felt the need to announce her departure as if seeking his blessing.

“I see,” he replied gruffly, his eyes returning to the trail in front of his horse. “Should be a day’s ride due west of here. Blaviken.”

Arian nodded. She remembered Blaviken from the map of the Northern Kingdoms that Aleksander had poured over in their chambers for hours at night in advance of the invasion. It hadn’t attracted Arian or Aleksander’s attention, but it was a port town. Arian’s heart leapt at the knowledge that it should be relatively easy to buy her way onto a ship headed for Nilfgaard. It would be costly, she knew, especially in light of Nilfgaard’s recent attack on the Northern Kingdoms, but Arian knew enough of money to know that war wouldn’t shut down lucrative trade routes, especially ones controlled by the nobility.

“You’ll be able to catch a ship back to Nilfgaard from there.”

Geralt’s words froze Arian’s heart. He knew? She tried to quell the tidal wave of panic threatening to overtake her. Her muscles tensed, readying for a fight. She felt a surge of electric energy surge through her body, her senses heightening ahead of conflict.

“I know you’re Nilfgaardian,” Geralt continued. He’d brought his horse, Roach, to a full stop and was, searching her features for confirmation. Arian lifted her eyes to meet his, softly moving her right leg to give her better access to the small dagger she kept sheathed on her calf. Geralt’s golden eyes bored into her. He was confident in his statement, but relaxed. She let out a shaky breath of relief at the realization that – for now, at least – he wasn’t going to attack her.

“What makes you think that, Witcher?” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Geralt chuckled, a knowing smile spreading across his lips. Arian relaxed slightly, although her body still tingled with anticipation.

“For one, I’ve never met a kitchen maid who can ride a stallion like you.” Arian winced internally. She’d told Geralt she was a kitchen maid in Sodden when he’d first found her, but she had quickly realized that she should have picked a lie closer to the truth. Fourteen years of soldiering was too much to hide, even if she were trying.

“I also don’t know many kitchen maids who travel with a dagger strapped to their leg.” Geralt cocked his head towards her right leg. The amusement was unmistakable in his voice now.

“Lastly, only Nilfgaard lets women serve in their army. Plus, you can’t cook worth a damn.” Arian let out a barking laugh against herself, clamping a hand over her mouth in surprise at the outburst. Geralt was right, she couldn’t cook to save her life. That had become abundantly clear in the last few days when Geralt had tasked her with cooking the hares he’d caught. The meat had been under-cooked and over-salted.

Geralt laughed, urging Roach back into an ambling walk as they continued down the trail. Arian let her horse fall into step next to him.

“I know why you lied,” Geralt continued, shooting her a knowing sideways glance. His voice darkened considerably. “Being Nilfgaardian has become a dangerous occupation in these parts ever since your king decided to invade.” Arian stayed quiet, trying not to let herself relax too much into the sense of relief that flooded her veins. She felt quite certain that Geralt of Rivia was not going to kill her just on account of her being Nilfgaardian, but if he knew the whole truth of her identity and her proximity to Aleksander, the king he so disparagingly referenced, it might be a different story.

“Your secret is safe with me, Arian of Nilfgaard.”

Arian nodded gratefully at the stoic Witcher. The few moments of shared conviviality had dissolved back into silence.

“Thank you, Geralt,” she replied gratefully. He grunted by way of response.

“Something tells me I’ll regret it,” he mumbled under his breath, so softly that Arian didn’t hear him…

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Black and White - Chapter 2

Eleven Months Ago

Arian sucked in her breath as she watched Aleksander sink to a knee in front of her. In his fingers, he clasped a delicate white-gold band encrusted with diamonds and a black opal at the center. The stones caught the morning sunlight, sending prisms of light dancing across Arian’s delighted face.

“Marriage, Aleksi?” Arian whispered, barely able to breath. She’d never thought this were possible. She had known the risks when she’d fallen in love with the Black Flame, after all. The most powerful sorcerer in the realm, the mercurial and mystic king of Nilfgaard. She loved him regardless, not because of who he was but because of how he was: loyal, protective, thoughtful, ingenious, passionate. Arian had met him almost four years ago, serving as an ambitious and quickly rising commander in his army. For both of them, the connection had been instant and intense.

But there was a bittersweet edge to her affection. She’d realized almost immediately that loving him meant letting go of certain aspirations for her future. A quiet life of peace, retirement from the army, a small countryside wedding, children one day. None of that would be possible – at least not with the same level of privacy and freedom – if she loved the Black Flame.

Or so she’d thought.

He looked up at Arian with his dark eyes awash with a vulnerability she rarely saw in him. He smiled at her, a full and unrestrained smile – another rare sight from Aleksander Morozova, the Black Flame of Nilfgaard.

“Tell me that’s a yes, my dear,” he chuckled. Arian laughed, caught off guard by the sincere note of worry in his voice.

Arian sank to her knees in front of him, cradling his handsome face between her hands. Arian couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him so relaxed. The pressures of ruling a kingdom, coordinating an invasion, and commanding an army had blackened his mood and his thoughts recently. But here, in the beautiful early morning sunlight, here was her true Aleksander.

Arian pressed her lips against his, relaxing into his kiss. She continued to giggle happily against his mouth as his lips moved with hers.

“My love, the answer was yes before you even asked,” Arian replied, earning another dazzling smile from him before he wrapped his strong arms around her, pulling her down into the dew-soaked grass.

*****

Ten Months Later Nilfgaard Army Camp Outside Sodden

“General.”

Aleksander looked up from the map spread out across the table in his tent. His advisors fell silent around him at Commander Cahir’s intrusion. Aleksander studied Cahir’s face carefully, trying to decipher the man’s thoughts behind his eyes. Cahir was one of his best commanders – a true soldier, loyal without being obsequious, and a gifted tactician and battle strategist. He was also near impossible to read, a quality Aleksander usually respected immensely. But tonight, given the gravity of the mission Aleksander had assigned to Cahir, it was an unwelcome trait.

“Leave us,” Aleksander ordered. His advisors shot him quizzical looks, some even opening their mouths to argue. The Battle of Sodden was less than a week past, and it had dealt a devastating blow to the armies of Nilfgaard. Aleksander knew that his focus should be entirely on recouping and reorganizing, but his mind was crowded by thoughts of Arian. He’d lost her during the battle, something he’d always known was theoretically possible; but when she hadn’t returned from the field, or shown up in any of the medical tents, or been among the list of confirmed captured, his mind raced to dark possibilities. He had put off acknowledging Arian’s death as an option at first, but as hours stretched into days, his restlessness had reached a fever pitch. Despite the icy coil of fear around his heart, he’d entrusted the mission of searching for her body to Commander Cahir, who’d proven himself tenfold on the field of Sodden.

“Your Highness, surely Commander Cahir can wai-“

Aleksander turned his gaze to the source of the objection: a paunchy lord who’d been in charge of defending the army’s left flank during the battle, and had failed miserably, in no small part due to his cowardice in refusing to command from the front of the ranks as Aleksander instructed. At the sight of Aleksander’s barely controlled rage, the man fell silent, bowing slightly.

Sensing their King’s rapidly vanishing patience, his advisors hastily made their exits, most bowing deferentially in his direction but avoiding direct eye contact. Cahir remained at the entrance to the King’s tent, his helmet in one hand, the other tucked behind his back at attention.

Once the tent had emptied, Aleksander motioned him forward.

“What news, Commander?” Aleksander asked, trying to control his voice. He hadn’t been entirely forthright with Cahir when he had assigned him the mission. Keeping Arian’s attachment to him a secret was paramount to prevent her from having a target on her back. He’d told Commander Cahir only that she carried certain personal effects of his, including dispatches and notes on the positions and movements of other army units, that were not easily replaced. Whether Cahir had believed the Black Flame’s lies or not, he had accepted the mission gracefully and without question. Aleksander suspected Cahir had his own theories about why he was being tasked with a search and rescue operation, something far beneath his station in Nilfgaad’s army, but Aleksander was content to leave the topic unaddressed as long as Cahir was.

Cahir stepped forward, his expression unreadable. Aleksander stifled the impulse to reach out with his powers and crack the man’s head open like a book to get to the information inside. Struggling to maintain composure, Aleksander looked down at his maps, feigning distraction with the military matters at hand.

“No sign of Lieutenant Vaneharr, General,” Cahir stated. His voice had a studied neutrality to it.

Aleksander let what he hoped was an undetectable sigh of relief escape his lips. The news left him with only more questions, but at least Commander Cahir hadn’t brought back her body.

“There was something else,” Cahir continued hesitantly. Aleksander looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. Cahir’s grey eyes remained unreadable, but Aleksander sensed that Cahir was testing him in a way.

“Out with it, Commander.” Aleksander hoped that he could override Cahir’s assumptions by playing the part of the Black Flame, a role he had grown into nicely in the last several years of his reign. He kept his voice cold and his commands short.

Cahir straightened slightly in response. “We found a suit of armor, sir, discarded in the woods not far from where the lieutenant’s unit was last seen.”

Aleksander considered this. Normally, a suit of armor would be indistinguishable from one soldier to the next; the Nilfgaardian army was issued the same standard iron breast plate, vambrace, gauntlets, and cuisses. Her suit, however, was not the standard army issue, Aleksander had seen to that as soon as the two had become involved. He’d been careful to have the custom-made suit disguised to look like the rest of his soldiers’, but he’d had it reinforced with an extra layer of chain mail on the interior and had his armourer forge it precisely to Arian’s frame for a more secure fit.

Perhaps Cahir had noticed these small adjustments, indicating to him that this lieutenant was more than just a trusted advisor to the Black Flame. Or perhaps he was simply tirelessly diligent in his job. Either way, Aleksander couldn’t help but feel a small jolt of hope. If the armor was hers, then it meant she had taken it off. For what reason, Aleksander couldn’t hazard a guess. But it was certainly a clue.

“I see, Commander,” Aleksander replied, trying to appear distracted by the map in front of him and not overplay his hand. “Why would you feel a suit of armor is significant?”

“Sir, this armor was not standard issue,” Cahir replied, keeping his voice even. “It appeared custom-made. One of my men recognized it as Lieutenant Vaneharr’s armor from an inscription on the left vambrace.”

Aleksander winced slightly. He’d forgotten that he’d had her initials forged into the metal. Although he loathed to admit it, he’d done so in case he ever needed to identify her body.

“I see,” Aleksander replied, meeting Cahir’s gaze. This game of chess was becoming exhausting, and combined with his underlying fears about Arian’s well-being and the general disarray of his army, Aleksander could feel a headache beginning to pound at his temples. He noticed similar signs of exhaustion in Commander Cahir’s gaunt face. There were dark circles under his eyes, and it appeared to be several days since he’d last washed.

“Commander,” Aleksander began, motioning to a chair across the table from him as he sat down himself. Knowing who to trust and with how much information was a delicate game as the Black Flame of Nilfgaard. Aleksander had learned that quickly, and as much as he liked to think of himself as a good judge of character, he had made missteps in the past. One particularly grave error in trusting a certain Witcher had nearly cost him his life, and Arian’s. The cold spike of terror that Aleksander had felt the night he’d almost lost her to the Witcher’s blade seized his chest again. He tried mightily to combat it as he studied the man seated across from him. After a few moments of weighty silence, he inhaled sharply and began to speak.

“Commander, I was not entirely forthcoming in our earlier discussion about Lieutenant Vaneharr and why I asked you to find her.” Cahir’s expression barely changed, although Aleksander thought he could see a small flicker of interest in the man’s slate grey eyes. “Lieutenant Vaneharr is known to me. A close associate of mine, you might say.” He opted to leave out the precise nature of his relationship with Arian.

Cahir nodded placidly. “I assumed as much, General.”

“I thought you might have. I appreciate you keeping this between us. As you may imagine, my close associates have a way of being targeted by our enemies. With Lieutenant Vaneharr still at large, possibly a prisoner of the north Kingdoms, I want to do what I can to ensure she does not fall to injury on my account.”

Cahir nodded knowingly. “Of course, General.” Sensing that the conversation had ended, Cahir rose from his seat and saluted Aleksander with a crisp, precise movement. Aleksander decided he liked Commander Cahir. He was a skilled swordsman, a competent battlefield commander, and he knew the value of discretion. All rare and valuable qualities in a soldier.

Aleksander nodded, dismissing Cahir with a wave of his hand. As the man left the Black Flame alone with his thoughts, Aleksander let his mind wander, the dull ache in his head urging him towards sleep. He had scarcely allowed himself to sleep since Sodden, staying up all hours of the night to coordinate the scattered return of his broken army and fretting over Arian’s disappearance. Although there was much left to be done, he allowed himself to sink under the surface of exhaustion, hoping that he would be granted a dreamless sleep.