#half elf roche

[uniebog]

Came to conclusion that i should post my unfinished wips

[unknownmusing]

The Witcher Fanstory - Ioroche Fic: 'Will Always be there to Save One no Matter What Happens' - (Part 1 of ?)

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Notes:

A 'what if' fic where Vernon is captured before getting back to the Kaer Morhen Keep by Imlerith and taken back to Tir ná Lia (Aen Elle homeworld)

Vernon is a half-elf from the Royal Bloodline of Half-Elves

Iorveth/Roche relationship

CW: Slight dark themes in this with some mild references to gore and violence (Eredin forces Geralt to drink Unicorn blood), recovering from injuries ascertained and unwanted advances

For @chamotea, @apastandfuturenerd, @altebar and other Ioroche shippers out there

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PART 1 - 'Captured and in the Enemy's Grasp'

The clashing of steel against steel, the constant stream of the soldiers of the Wild Hunt attacking the keep of Kaer Morhen seems relentless as Vernon, scrambles his way through half-destroyed walls, broken crates and tears in the earth due to just the sheer power of the King of the Wild Hunt's powers, nearly reaching the gate of the fort when out of nowhere something slams into the side of him.

He goes flying hitting going through a gap in a stone-wall to hit another one where his head harshly smacks against it that slides down into crumpled heap to one side, heavily dazed by the impact with every sound around him muffling to a faint din.

Trying to lift himself, his elbows shake in the effort, Vernon collapses back down with vision fading in and out focus fast that the last sight he sees is off a large armoured elf bearing a mace approaching before sinks into unconcious state. Remembering nothing thereafter.

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It's a strange sense he's not in Kaer Morhen that makes Vernon flutter his eyes open weakly groaning in agony at the pain radiating still from the head-wound he ascertained - fragments of what happened come in, but quickly dissolve away like sand through one's fingertips before he can grasp and fully make sense of them.

He remembers running to the gate of the fort, but afterwards it was all a blurred jumble mess which he cannot make sense of then a large booming noise startles him into awareness with his vision fully clearing to reveal he's in large bedchamber placed on large bed with soft see-through drapes hanging down from the cieling over the bed. More booming, followed by orders being shouted in Elvish that his all body shudders immediatly - just the tone of it was overwhelming - that he finds himself letting out deep mewling noise - something he cannot stop from happening - rubbing himself into the sheets of the bed where a scent of....an Alpha.....Elf.....begins to make him move them with the pillows to create a Nest.

His rational human side is screaming at him to stop and realising what is doing goes to stop himself when a presance behind him makes him turn to look over his shoulder straight at one of the Wild Hunt, but their name he doesn't know just that the pheromones coming off them are so much he sways slightly because of them. "Little Omega..." they purr out to him, indicating with their gauntled hand for him to approach and gulping down saliva which has built up Vernon pads over to edge of the Nest he created using the large bed's sheets and pillows plus fur blankets to outline it.  Vernon keeps his head lowered down not wanting to look up at the large elf - Imlerith - he had found out when the memory of being knocked out by large mace had come flooding back, who stands near the edge of the bed sipping some wine, before places the goblet down on small circular table. "I see your confused." Imlerith says to Vernon, who flinches when gauntled hand reaches out for him - he can see it has specks of crimson flowers are still on it - that scrambles out of the makeshift Nest, grabbing a dagger placed on the table to hold it in front of him indicating to the large elf not come towards him.

"What do you want with me?!!!" He stammers out - his voice breaking with fear and horror, because he heard from Geralt the worst of the Wild Hunt was Eredin's Second-in-Command Imlerith, Slayer of Tulic - a Great Unicorn and the oldest of the Unicorn Clan who fought in vain to save his people only to be slain during the Battle of Frost and Horn as it was called in tales referring to how the unicorns gored the ranks of Eredin's Army and Eredin's Army used Frost against them. The large elf says nothing, just in few steps comes over to him to grab hold of his hand holding the dagger by the wrist tightening the gauntled hand around to make Vernon drop it then indicates to his other gauntled hand, forcing Vernon to look fearfully at it - Was he being asked to do what he think the large elf was asking him? - then shuddering leans forward to begin cleaning the gauntled hand of the crimson splatters and god knows what else.

"It's his blood you know. Manage to get me good for being a Leader of the Scoia'tael, but let's just say....he underestimated me. He will not be coming back, Vernon, my sweet little Omega." Imlerith smirks down at him, taking hold of Vernon's chin when he pulls back with widened eyes - the large elf had to be lying to him about Iorveth, there was no way he would go down like that.

"You're lying to me!!!? Iorveth would never.....!!!?" Vernon begins to argue back, only to cut himself off, trembling so much that he nearly revealed to the enemy how close he was to Iorveth beginning to mutter. "Iorveth.....would....he...."

A growl comes from Imlerith, indicating for him to stop muttering under his breath, where he knows the large elf will want out of his armour so moving his hands - his other which been holding the dagger which now lays on the floor - to start slipping the armour off the large elf, even though his hands are shaking and fumble slightly in the process.

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The corridors of King Eredin's palace are wide and vast, marble polished floors, tall spiralling pillars and gardens placed in different layered tiers where right in the centre is a large lake connecting to endless waterfall tumbling over the edge to the valley down below where large expanses of forest spread in all directions, mountainscapes towered above and yet, there is the strange stillness in the air that indicated the whole area had been once a happy place. Geralt, sitting kneeling on both knees beside Eredin - who is busy sitting at a table perusing some documents and occasionally taking sips of some deep rich wine or actually Unicorn blood - something so barbaric that he hated seeing the elf slaughtering remaining herds of Unicorns in the valley below for that sake. Vernon, he had overheard the other human Slaves had been taken as slave by Imlerith due to a certain reason that only Caranthir knew - and knowing that elf, it was no doubt due to Vernon's half-elf status and bloodline - when he been brought bound and gagged into the throne-room after having been captured. He had decided while Iorveth was in coma to try and rescue Vernon. Maybe been brash and too hot-headed rushing in on his own - but Vernon was his friend. So he could not abandon him to a fate of being slave for the rest of his life.

"You seem lost in thought, my White Wolf." Eredin saying, makes Geralt come back to the present moment at hand seeing the dark elf is looking down at him - those piercing, harsh cold eyes staring his - that he knows he must say something or will face intense punishment for not saying anything.

"A fleeting memory." Geralt tells Eredin, who he knows is not convinced by this. A hand comes up to turn his chin, followed the glass goblet filled with the unicorn blood to be placed against his lips, he knows he must drink it all - this was for the sake of not being harshly punished.

Opening his mouth, he allows the substance to be poured into it, with him gulping it down struggling when too much is poured it trickles down the sides of his lips until finally only few dregs remain in the glass which is taken away from his stained lips, while he wills himself not to sick it back up.

He must endure it.

"Good, White Wolf. No sicking it up, like before, remember." Eredin states, wiping a thumb over his lips to smear the unicorn blood over them smirking at how Geralt looks.

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"Come." Imlerith commands Vernon, checking the leather collar attached to a chain around his throat making him get up from his kneeling position on the floor to be lead out the large bed-chamber, passing by other servants who stop and bow their heads low - their frightened gazes telling him that the dark elf sent wave of terror through them that no-one dare disobey him.

Vernon, sticking close to his 'Master' or 'Alpha' shudders at the coldness radiating in the hallway of the palace and also the fact that he's wearing nothing but chemise-lace Slave clothing which did nothing to keep him warm or cover him that all he can do is bear being looked at by the dark elves' Lord and Ladies, who are either standing talking amongst themselves or heading to their own sleeping qaurters or other parts of the palace.

Reaching the gardens, he notices under a large stone-carved temple-like structure sits a figure in ornate throne near a circular table with another person kneeling beside them on a pillow - the silvery-white hair shaved slightly at the temples and short ponytail, minus his beard - that Vernon, lets out a gasp of his name when Imlerith, brings him up to the two people recognising Geralt, who looks equally shocked at his appearance.

"Oh, what's this. Does your Little Lily, now, my White Wolf, Imlerith?" the other dark elf purrs out, sending shivers up and down Vernon's body he immediatly grips the nearest thing closest to him - Imlerith's arm - trying to hide himself from the gaze, which feels like could render his soul in half. 

This elf was dangerous, highly dangerous that he worries if Iorveth - if he is still alive - were to fight them he might not survive at all. 

Imlerith gives out chuckle, moving to sit down across from the other dark elf indicating Vernon to kneel on the pillow beside it which at first because still frightened steps backwards shaking his head from side to side which makes a large hand grab his chin forcing him to look into Imlerith's amber eyes knowing he must obey that gulping down saliva moves to the pillow to kneel down in same position Geralt is in.

"Good, little Omega." Imlerith purrs out, settling in the other throne-like ornate chair to begin talking to the other dark elf, who he overhears is called Eredin, King of the Wild Hunt and can feel is paying particularly interest in him everytime Imlerith, discusses the results Caranthir Ar-Feiniel had made of him especially the fact Vernon Roche is a Half-elf Omega from a Royal Bloodline of Royal Half-Elves.

Vernon, flicks his gaze over to Geralt, who moves to crawl over to him on his hands and knees where remembers a servant Slave had told him that Slaves could greet each-other in the presance of their Masters.

But anything further like discussing escape or even trying to escape or even speaking without their Master's presance would result in punishment - with the Witcher, nuzzling his cheek to reassure him everythings going be alright he turns to nuzzle back to hide his tears forming in his eyes.

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[chicaneryatelier]

Half Elf Roche sketch

Some SPOILER thoughts inspired by Thronebreaker below

Finding out that Black Rayla is a half elf made me think of a scenario where all the leaders of the special forces of the North were lead by self hating Half-Elves, specifically hand picked by their Kings for this reason, to hunt down the Scoia'tael. Just giving Roche more reasons to be mean mugging all the time.

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 63

Masterlist

Chapter 62.5

Now we're gonna shift gears and focus on the Lady of Larks this chapter. It's a doozy.

"Oh, I don't recall walking through this part of town," Jaskier grimaces as he takes note of the more destitute of King's Landing's citizens walking passed the two of you as you make your way through Flea Bottom.

Some more people were out in droves begging for coin and food while others were selling meager trinkets to make a living.

"Some thing haven't changed, I suppose," you say, "it'll look a little nicer when we reach the Street of Silk and then towards the Red Keep." "Please tell me you weren't staying in around here prior to your time at court," Jaskier says, now spotting some shady looking characters giving them strange looks.

"No, I didn't," you assure, "but I would make frequent visits to the local taverns to perform. That was where the money was at for me. That and the brothels. Men are more apt to pay for drink and pleasure when there's good music to accompany such base activities." "Hmm, true enough," Jaskier says in agreement.

"I will say, something...does feel different," you admit. "How so?" "I don't know," you shrug, "something different in the air, I think."

"Well then, what exactly is the plan?" Jaskier inquires, "I imagine there are still contacts here in King's Landing you can reach out to if assistance is needed." "Not...well maybe," you say, remembering, "not exactly a contact that offer assistance, but maybe someone who can offer a place for us to lay low until sunset. That's when we infiltrate the Keep and look for Aemma."

"Uh huh, swell plan," Jaskier deadpans, "but how exactly do we get past the guards?" "The Holdfast is filled with secret passageways, remember?" you point out, "we took one of those passages in and out when we...tried to escape the first time around. I used them more than once when I needed to go into town without anyone knowing."

"Alright then," Jaskier concedes, "you know this place better than me. Lead the way."

Shockingly you remembered the way around better than you expected, having been gone for 16 years and all. You lead Jaskier to the Street of Silk. Given the time of day, not many people were out, most of the brothels weren't even open just yet in fact.

"Hey, look over there," Jaskier points to one side of the street towards a brothel that was just opening up. You look over, keeping your hood over. Indeed you see who it was that was walking in, a hood pulled over his head despite his headband concealed around the points of his ear. "Hey, it's the half-elf," you say, "I can't remember his name." "Ser Ivan," Jaskier tells you. "Oh right, Ivan," you say, remembering.

"I didn't know Westerosi allowed elves to become knights." "They don't," Jaskier deadpans, "that's why he keeps that headband on. Funny though, I don't recall him ever taking an interest in that kind of thing." "What?" "I mean it's just, when I first met him in Flotsam, when we went into that tavern with Ser Crishin Clot and Vernon Roche and the Blue Stripes, there was a time when women from the local brothel showed up to 'advertise' as it were, and Ivan just...really looked uncomfortable," Jaskier explains, "He wouldn't even look at the men trying to feel up the girls."

"Hey, isn't he in the Kingsguard, like Ser Criston Cole?" you realize, emphasizing Criston's correctly pronounced name. "Yeah. Why?" "Kingsguard oath forbids their knights from partaking in carnal pleasures," you explain, "If Ivan gets caught soiling his white cloak, he could be executed as punishment."

"...there must be an explanation," Jaskier leans in to whisper, "must be incredibly important if he would risk his neck to come all this way out here. I would say perhaps it's love but...Ivan didn't exactly strike me as the hopeless romantic type either."

"Well we better get moving," you say, "we'll leave Ivan to his antics and hope he doesn't get caught by the wrong people."

You and Jaskier continue your trek till you find the brothel you were looking for. To your surprise, when you and your brother went around back and knocked on the door, the madam Dinah was still working here, and she was quick to embrace you the moment she recognized you. After quickly explaining your predicament, she takes you and Jaskier to the secret room in the upstairs.

Unknown to either of you, someone in the brothel had gotten a good look at you and had stolen away back to the Red Keep to inform a certain Master of Whispers that the Lady of Larks had returned to King's Landing once again.

When word finally reached Lord Larys Strong's ears, he had decided it was in everyone's best interest that this piece of information not go public just yet, but to wait until you made the next move. 

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As dusk began to settle in, you and Jaskier took this as your cue to leave the brothel and make your way towards the Red Keep. The streets were a little more crowded at this point as more brothels opened up and more clients began to make their way for drinking and nightly pleasures.

Jaskier keeps the men at bay who would attempt to solicit you if they mistook you for one of the working girls.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Jaskier questions once the keep was in better sights, "I can always go in. You can go back. I'm sure I could find my way in." "It's a labyrinth in there," you point out, "it's easy to get lost." "But what if...you run into him?"

You feel your heart start to race at even the mere mention of the Rogue Prince. You pat your dagger, keeping it close, "...I'll cross that bridge when I get there."

You finally find the secret entrance and push it open. "Ooh, this place never ceases to amaze me," Jaskier states as you and him walk past the skull of Balerion the Black Dread, "this is a little more spooky then I remember. Though probably not quite as spooky as the one castle in Temeria Geralt had to spend the night in when he was dealing with that striga." "Yes, I remember that story all too well," you deadpan, "Right now, I'd rather take my chances with the striga." 

 "Why go through all this trouble to install so many passageways in the first place?" Jaskier inquires. "It was the work of King Maegor the Cruel," you explain, "legend has it that when the Holdfast was first constructed, he commissioned the best masons to build these secret passageways in case there was ever a need to flea this place in the say during an invasion or a coupe. Legend also has it that once the Red Keep was complete, Maegor had the masons executed along with anyone else who knew of these secret passageways for fear that they would reveal those same passageways."

"I'm beginning to see why he was called the Cruel then," Jaskier deadpans.

The two of you then hit an intersection of sorts. "Now what do we do?" your brother exasperates. You give him an incredulous look, "what do you think, Julian? What do people usually do when there is more than one route to take in a labyrinth of all places?"

"If you think I'm leaving you alone and you end up running into-" "Julian," you cross your arms, "I'll be alright. Don't worry about me, just choose a path and follow it. I'll go in the other direction and see where it leads."

"*sigh* fine," Jaskier concedes, "I'll go that way. But I still have a bad feeling about this."

You and Jaskier part ways. You follow the path to the end of a wall. Not sure what was on the other side, you carefully push it open and take a peak through the crack. It looked to be someone's chambers. No one was seen, but there were a couple dimly lit candles. Whoever was living in these chambers was probably asleep, so you carefully creak the secret door open a little more till you could squeeze through and close it behind you.

You turn and accidentally hit your shins against something wooden. You hold your sounds of pain, almost leaning over and losing your balance, but you keep steady. You look down to see it was a small cot you bumped into. A little child of four maybe five years stirred some but remained asleep.

You note the boy's silver blond hair, realizing he was a Targaryen. Part of you wondered who this boy was, or who were his parents. You look behind you to see another child sleeping next to him. It was a little girl who looked almost like the child sleeping close to you. They almost looked like twins.

Perhaps they were twins, they did run in the Targaryen family after all.

You take a few steps away from the bed to see the boy stir some more when one step made a creaking sound. You freeze in place, praying to whatever gods were up there that the boy, that the children would not wake up and start asking questions.

Sighing in relief, you see the exit was up ahead, and you walk towards it, completely oblivious that at this moment Prince Jaehaerys had opened his eyes to see your back as you walk down the steps. At first the boy thought it was a dream, but he rubbed his eyes and saw you were real, especially when you turned at an angle where he could see your face. Jaehaerys found himself growing excited, realizing you were the Lady of Larks his mother had told him about, and believed you had come to sing songs to him and his sister.

The young prince climbed out his bed, at first intending to wake Jaehaera and let her know of the Lady Lark's arrival, but saw you had disappeared, so he quickly changed his mind and ran after you. He would wake his twin later, after he caught up with you.

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Meanwhile, Jaskier had found the secret door at the end of his path. He carefully pushed it open and took a peak outside. He could see it was the throne room. There were no candles lit and the place was vacant.

Seeing the coast was clear, Jaskier pushed the door open a little more so he could walk out and close it behind him.

At this point, the Bard was beginning to wish he was making runs for the Temerian spy network then to play cat and mouse in the Red Keep of all places, especially with the risk of running into the man who caused his sister undo harm and trauma.

He walked across the throne room to the other side with hopes of finding another passageway. To his amazing luck he did, and he pushed it opened and walked inside. Jaskier made several random turns before he found another secret door.

He pushed it open slightly and took a peak inside. This time he found himself in someone's bed chambers. The room was dark so he slipped inside and made sure to close the door. No sign of Aemma so far.

Jaskier walked out of the room and down some steps in haste, really having no more desire to run into Daemon than you were. In his haste, Jaskier didn't notice the dimly lit candles in the solar of these apartments, and he found himself making surprised eye contact with a young woman with long silver blonde hair sitting on a couch in the solar.

"Ahh," Jaskier says in shock when he finally realized he'd just been compromised. He could hear Roche's voice in his head, calling him an idiot for getting caught so easily for a spy.

The young woman didn't say anything at first, just merely gave the Bard an initial shocked look.

"Uh...hello," Jaskier greets awkwardly, thinking up all kinds of half-ass excuses for why he just came down the step from this woman's bedroom.

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Jaehaerys opened the door to the nursery and looked out with hopes of finding you. You were nowhere in sight.

The young prince walked out and started looking for you, checking every corridor he came across. The boy was so excited at the prospect that the woman of his mother's stories was real, and she had come all this way to sing to him. He hoped her voice was as sweet and soothing as Aemma's was when she sang to him and his siblings.

In his eagerness to locate the Lady of Larks, Jaehaerys didn't see where he was walking ahead of him and bumped into someone.

Jaehaerys looked up to see who it was.

"Prince Jaehaerys?" Otto greets, confused as to why his great-grandson was awake at this, "whatever are you doing up? You should be in bed right now."

"I'm looking for the Lady of Larks," Jaehaerys answered innocently. Otto frowned a bit at the boy's explanation. The man knelt down so he would be at eye level with the boy, giving Jaehaerys a small smile, "it surely must've been a dream, young prince. Now let's get you back in bed."

"It wasn't a dream," Jaehaerys insists, "I saw the Lady of Larks. Mummy sent her. She's going to sing songs to me and Jaehaera and Maelor too."

Otto saw the look in the boy's eyes and realized Jaehaerys hadn't been dreaming. But at the same time, Otto was having trouble believing it was the Lady Lark his grandson saw, as the woman was reported to have died six years ago.

Concealing his surprise, he took Jaehaerys' hand in his, "of course, young prince. Let's go back to the nursery. The Lady of Larks is probably back there waiting for you."

With a blissful smile on his face, Jaehaerys nods and allows Otto to escort him back to the nursery. Otto made sure to have a solider standing guard to alert the others and inform them of the possibility that there were intruders in the Holdfast at this moment.

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"Uh...hello," Jaskier greets a wide eyed Helaena, "uh, you're probably wondering what I was doing up there...in your bedroom that is. Uh, you're probably wondering how I even got in there. Well...there is a perfectly good explanation for all that...I uh...I need to think about it."

"...you're not a rat," Helaena states, seemingly random, which took Jaskier aback somewhat. "Uh no...I'm a bard actually."

"I don't like rats," Helaena says, seemingly to no one, "they frighten me." "Yes, well, rats can be scary. I'm not overly fond of them either," Jaskier agrees, "mice on the other hand, that's a different story."

Helaena made eye contact with Jaskier once again, not as shocked or scared this time, "it's good to see you again."

That statement definitely took the Bard off guard. "Again? I'm sorry, I don't...I don't quite recognize you. You're...well the silver hair that's a Targaryen feature. The only Targaryen woman I remember is princess Rhaenyra, you don't quite look like her."

"People change over time," Helaena points out, "we start out as small helpless babies...and then we grow."

Jaskier's eyes practically bulged out when he finally put two and two together, "you're the little tot the queen used to carry around," he realized, "one of them anyway. What was her name, uh, Alicent. Queen Alicent. I'm sorry, I don't quite remember your name." "It's Helaena," the young woman tells him, small smile on her face.

"Princess Helaena," Jaskier says, finally remembering. "Princess...actually it's queen now...I think," Helaena says, "at least that's what everyone around me keep saying." "Who?" "Mother, grandsire...my brothers. If they say so, then perhaps that is so. I'm not sure I want to be queen though. I...I don't know how I feel about it."

"Sounds like something you still need to figure out," Jaskier states, "well princess, or uh Queen Helaena I should probably say, it was really nice to see you again, truly, but I must be going. So, ta ta."

"You're here for Aemma," Helaena says as a statement, causing Jaskier to stop in his tracks. "How do you know?" "She's not here," Helaena informs, standing up from where she sat.

"Yes, I already figured that out," Jaskier deadpans, "which is why I have to leave and go find her."

"She's not here!" Helaena says a little louder, getting Jaskier's attention once again, "she's not in the Red Keep. Not in King's Landing." "What?" "She left on Cirillia the day of Aegon's coronation," Helaena explains, "I...I haven't seen her since."

"Where is she then?" Jaskier asks, almost fearing the worst.

"She's gone," Helaena simply answers, "She went up North. To the Wall I think." "Why would she do that?" Jaskier frowns a little. "The sage told her to," Helaena tells him, "the one who follows the Swallow. He told Aemma to go North. To stop the Wild Hunt."

Upon hearing of the Wild Hunt, Jaskier backs away, makes a 180, intending to go find you and damn being compromised. Before he could, however, the doors to Helaena's chambers were kicked wide opened as Kingsguard knights rushed in and surrounded Jaskier. "Protect the queen!" one shouts, backing Jaskier into a corner.

On cue, the newly appointed Lord Commander walks in, approaching Helaena, "are you alright, your Grace? Did he harm you?"

Helaena said nothing, but turned her gaze to the Bard. Criston approached, finally recognizing who the man was. "Hello Ser Cushion," Jaskier greets casually as if he weren't being threatened by armed guards at this moment, "nice to see you again. Did you get a new haircut?"

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Meanwhile you were running down the halls, realizing the guards were on the alert and had caught sight of you.

You make a couple sharp turns and hide in one corner. You peak from your hiding spot to see you lost the guards. Sighing in relief, you turn and fast walk down the hall, keeping your dagger close. It was clear you were compromised, and you hoped to the gods that Jaskier hadn't been caught. If he had, you were going to have worry about getting out the Keep and find some way to get the man out afterwards.

Hearing commotion of the guards searching for you, you hastily look back to see if they were on your trail again. You turn your gaze forward and practically collide with a soft body that was in your path.

"Ow," you moan in pain, rubbing your head where you made contact with whoever it was you ran into. Upon hearing the guards were in pursuit once again, you quickly pull out your dagger and yank the person on their feet, holding the dagger to the neck, not even knowing who it was, but you hoped having a hostage would give you some kind of leverage.

"Unhand me!" the individual demands, almost slurring his words, "unhand me at once! Do you have any idea who you are threatening, I could have you hanged for this!" 

Right on cue, the guards had finally caught sight of you, and have their swords pointed at you. "Hold!" the leading guard commands, "we can't risk the life of the king!"  "King?" you frown a little and look to see the young man you had hostage. Silver blonde Targaryen hair now becoming more apparent thanks to the torch light. 

"You're the king?"  Aegon gave you an incredulous look, "I was crowned shortly after my father's death. How can you possibly not know? Unless you support my traitor sister and have to come to assassinate me on her behalf" "I haven't been back to Westeros in 16 years," you state with a huff, as you slowly back away, with the young king still held hostage "so, I'm guessing YOU'RE Aegon than. You've really grown, though not quite as tall as your brother. Last I saw you, you were still a little tot. Your hair is a little greasier than I would've expected."

Aegon frowned as he turned as much as he could to get a better look at you, "you're Aemma's mother," he realized, "the Lady of Larks."

Before either of you could say anything else, you feel the heel of a boot make contact with your back, forcing you to drop the dagger and fall to the floor, freeing Aegon in the process. "Ow," you deadpan right as two of the regular guards apprehend you while the Kingsguard surround Aegon to protect him.

"Unhand me! Take your hands off me!" you demand, struggling to break free.

"That's quite enough...Lady Lark," you go still upon hearing that particular voice.

The guards turn you around so you could face the man. "Otto fucking Hightower," you deadpan, almost sneering, "what an unpleasant surprise."

Chapter 64

[bard-llama]

WiP Thursday AKA I was busy Weds: Petty Drama at Kaer Morhen

So I'm running out of things to post because I have been absorbed in this fic that has decided that it will both be very long and that it will not be separate chapters/the chapters will be massive. Like seriously, it's already 17.5k and we're in the first of 4 arcs/chapters. So figured I'd share a few scenes. (Warning for length 'cause I have no restraint.)

Summary: Before going to find Ciri, Geralt sought out allies to help him in the battle against the Wild Hunt, the battle to save his daughter. Unfortunately, he didn’t think to share the list of who all he was inviting with anyone – and it turns out, <i>many</i> of his friends actually hate each other. Nonetheless, they must work together to fight off the coming army.

(Apologies in advance for the formatting. Gods I hate how tumblr has changed.)

Arriving at Kaer Morhen

Now, finally, Roche and Ves were winding up the road to Kaer Morhen – and it turned out, they weren’t the only ones who had come to Geralt’s aid. In fact, quite a number of people seemed to have gathered in the keep to defend Geralt’s daughter – but neither Geralt nor his daughter were actually present yet. 

“Once they arrive, it’s go time,” Eskel, one of Geralt’s witcher brothers, explained. “The Wild Hunt won’t be far behind.”

“How does Pretty Boy know so many people, anyway?” Lambert, another witcher, groused. “Even witchers from other fucking schools!”

“Oh?” Roche asked, genuinely curious. 

It was at that moment that the fucking witcher who had killed Roche’s King walked in as if Geralt hadn’t said that he’d ‘dealt’ with the Kingslayer. Roche’s knives were in hand instantaneously, even though his odds of winning against a witcher weren’t great. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Eskel held his hand up. “We’re all here for the same purpose.”

The Kingslayer looked him over with little change in his expression, as though Roche had both gone unrecognized and been judged unimportant. 

Roche snarled. “He killed Foltest!”

Eskel and Lambert both blinked in surprise. “He did?”

The Kingslayer shrugged shoulders that were ridiculously thick with muscle and even without the witcher mutations, he could probably take Roche down easily. 

That didn’t mean Roche wasn’t ready to fight. 

Ves stood beside him, blades at the ready, prepared to back him. It made him hesitate, swallowing hard. He was willing to go down fighting – but he couldn’t bring Ves down with him. The Kingslayer could probably kill them both without breaking a sweat. 

Roche grit his teeth so hard his temple ached. This was Foltest’s killer. He couldn’t just let him get away.

But he also couldn’t get Ves killed. Not to mention, they were about to face an invasion by the Wild Hunt and the more bodies they had, the better.

Even if one of those bodies had murdered Foltest?

His hand was wrapped so tightly around his dagger that it was shaking, knuckles bloodless. 

“Vernon Roche,” said a voice behind him that he hadn’t expected to hear ever again.

He whirled around. “Iorveth!”

Sure enough, the elf who had long been his enemy stood in the doorway of the witchers’ keep, looking at him with an arched eyebrow and half a smirk. 

“Geralt invited you!?” Ves sneered in disbelief. 

Iorveth tilted his head in greeting. “He failed to mention who else he was asking.”

“Yeah,” Roche grunted, noticing suddenly that his heart was racing in his chest. Why? Because he was ready to fight the Kingslayer… right? It couldn’t be just because Iorveth had appeared. “You and the fucking Kingslayer,” Roche grit out, turning away from Iorveth to glare at the hulking witcher. 

It occurred to him that that meant turning his back on Iorveth, but he didn’t really think anything of it until Iorveth stepped up beside him, glare just as fierce as his own.

It was weird how standing shoulder to shoulder with Iorveth and Ves both just felt right.

“Letho,” Iorveth spat, hands on the hilts of his swords.

“Still alive, elf?” the Kingslayer greeted casually. 

“No thanks to you.”

The Kingslayer just shrugged.

“Okay,” Eskel began, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Clearly Geralt knows a lot of people who hate each other. But you came for a reason, and that reason isn’t to fight each other. So you can leave or you can stay, but there will be no fighting except against the Wild Hunt.”

Ves growled, low in her throat, gaze darting to Roche’s. Roche licked his lips, aware that she was asking for orders. Which option would they choose? Would they leave – leave Geralt in the lurch? Or would they stay – stay and fight alongside the man who had murdered King Foltest?

“Fine,” Iorveth agreed to the terms, and suddenly the decision was easy to make.

“We’re staying,” Roche confirmed, though he didn’t let up in glaring at the Kingslayer. 

Ves grumbled under her breath, fingers tight around the harpy talon she was wielding. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was one of the poisoned ones, too.

Would poison even work on a witcher?

“Great,” Eskel said tonelessly. “So let’s all lower our weapons, yeah?”

It was difficult to do so and it happened slowly. The whole while, the Kingslayer – who had never bothered to even reach for his weapons – looked unconcerned. 

“So, just to be clear,” Lambert said, “all of you are enemies? And yet also friends with Geralt? Seriously?”

“Fucking witcher neutrality,” Ves muttered.

“Well,” Eskel said, looking exasperated, “come in, I guess. We have no idea how many more people to expect, but there’s plenty of room. The others are around somewhere.”

“How many others, exactly?” Iorveth asked, tension in his shoulders.

“So far? Nine,” Lambert grunted. “Mostly annoying sorceresses.”

“Oh?” Roche perked up, stepping into the living area and wondering if–

“Roche!” Triss Merigold, King Foltest’s favorite Court Mage, beamed at him from the other side of the fire. “It’s good to see you alive,” she said, too genuinely.

“You too,” he murmured, stepping closer. 

Given permission, she lunged at him in a hug. “I’ve been hiding out in Novigrad,” she said. “It’s been awful.”

“Yeah,” Roche agreed. The way all their lives had gone since Foltest’s death was definitely awful. “We’ve been fighting Nilfgaard.”

“Of course you have,” Triss squeezed her arms around him and pulled back with a smile. “And – is that Iorveth?” she asked suddenly, looking past his shoulder.

Iorveth, the fucking bastard, waved. 

“Apparently Geralt has a lot of friends,” Roche huffed. “Including the fucking Kingslayer.”

Triss’ face was grim. “Yeah. But we need all the help we can get.”

Roche’s grunt of agreement was begrudging.

Keira, another of Foltest’s mages, wiggled her fingers in greeting. She was looking a little worse for wear, actually, and she must have been able to sense his thoughts, because she scowled at him.

“Triss chose Novigrad to hide in. I chose Velen.”

“Ah.” Roche, who had been fighting in Velen the past several months, understood immediately. Velen was a fucking shithole. And he should know – he’d been born there!

“Who else is here?” Ves asked.

“Oh, well, there’s Yenn, she’s another sorceress. Yennefer of Vengerberg,” Triss said. “And Vesemir. He’s an older Wolf Witcher. Then Zoltan and Dandelion, you’ve met them. Ermion is a druid from Skellige and he apparently came independently of the new Skelliger Queen’s brother and childhood friend, Hjalmar and Folan.”

“The – Skellige has a Queen?” Roche blinked. News had been a little slow out in Velen, but damn, how did he miss that?

“Cerys an Craite,” Keira nodded. “The jarls chose her as their Queen. She’s working to unite the Isles.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Yeah. Her brother brags about her a lot, even though he got passed over for King.”

“Huh.”

“It’s annoying,” Keira said, and Roche’s lips twitched. 

“That everyone?”

“Oh, and Avallac’h,” Lambert said. “He’s an elf, but not like a normal elf? I dunno, he’s very holier than thou about it.”

“Not like a normal elf?” Iorveth repeated, tone unimpressed.

“I am Aen Saevherne,” a voice said and Roche turned to see a tall silver-haired elf walking down the stairs that led into one of the towers. 

“What does that mean?” Roche asked with a frown. He’d researched a fair amount about elves during his former work as a Scoia’tael hunter, but he could recall nothing of an ‘Aen Saevherne’.

“The best translation would be ‘elven sage’,” Avallac’h said.

Iorveth’s eye narrowed. “You have magic?”

“Beyond what you are capable of understanding,” Avallac’h said, and his standoffishness turned off more than just Iorveth, who glared.

Iorveth’s hatred of all things magic was rather notorious, actually. And here they were, surrounded by magic users – sorceresses and sages.

“There are other elven mages,” Roche pointed out. “So what makes you different?”

“I am from the world of the Aen Elle,” Avallac’h said proudly. 

Roche, to whom that meant absolutely nothing, asked, “what are the Aen Elle? ‘Cause you’re Aen Seidhe, right?” he directed at Iorveth.

Iorveth hummed in agreement, watching Avallac’h carefully. 

“On my world,” Avallac’h said, “it is elves who are the conquerors. We have never been subjugated.”

Iorveth’s fingers curled around his swords again. 

“To be fair,” a new voice said, and Roche turned to see the dwarf he’d met in Flotsam when all the Kingslaying crap went down. Zoltan Chivay, standing next his ostentatious bard, looked them over with an arched eyebrow and continued, “elves were conquerors on this planet, too. Humans just did it better.”

“Chivay,” Iorveth spat with even more venom than the Kingslayer had gotten. Roche was surprised. 

“Iorveth,” Zoltan responded flatly, unimpressed. 

“You know each other?” Triss asked in surprise. 

“Unfortunately,” they both said.

“How?” Dandelion the Bard asked, seemingly just as surprised as all of them. 

Zoltan shrugged, “I’ve lived a long time.”

Iorveth scoffed softly, still glaring bloody murder. It was a glare that hadn’t been turned on Roche at all, Roche suddenly realized. The Kingslayer and Zoltan were openly hated, but the way Iorveth looked at Roche was different.

What did that mean?

“For fuck’s sake,” Eskel said, exasperated. “Does Geralt know anyone that doesn’t hate each other?” He shook his head. “Anyway, you guys can take any free room you come across. Make sure you check for cracks in the walls. We’re working on getting the keep patched up before the battle.”

“Great,” Roche said flatly. “Thanks.”

--

When Iorveth and Roche are catching up after ending up rooming together

“So you’re like… legit now? Except for the part where the rest of the North still considers you wanted?”

“The ‘rest of the North’ is basically just Redania now,” Iorveth pointed out, “and they have bigger concerns.”

Roche frowned. Iorveth wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Once, Temeria had been the forefront power in the North. And now…

“Why?” he found himself asking in a whisper.

“Mm?”

“Why did you help kill him?”

“Him – Foltest?” Iorveth checked, unconcerned.

Roche’s eyes narrowed. “Who else?” he bit out. “You helped the Kingslayer escape after killing my king.”

“And then got betrayed by him,” Iorveth pointed out.

“But before that betrayal, you were working together,” Roche said. “Why?”

Iorveth held his head high. “King Foltest was a threat to elves everywhere. Now he’s not.”

“Now Temeria is falling apart,” Roche snapped. 

“Boohoo,” Iorveth scoffed. “Temeria was built on the ruins of my country, dh’oine. But you don’t even know what we were called, do you?”

Roche blinked. “Uh. No?”

“Dùthaich,” Iorveth said. “My country lasted five millennia before humanity destroyed it. So forgive me if I’m hardly heartbroken that the kingdom that replaced us has fallen.”

“It hasn’t fallen!” Roche protested. “Not yet!”

“Because you and your men are fighting off Nilfgaard?” Iorveth’s arched eyebrow was dubious, and it made Roche scowl.

“Yes. We will do whatever we must to save Temeria.” Roche closed his eyes with a sigh, acknowledging, “who’d ever have thought that we’d change positions, huh? Me as the rebel fighting against the odds and you all official now, serving a human monarch and everything.”

Iorveth snorted. “Don’t think anyone saw that coming.”

“And yet, here we are.” Roche rubbed his face, tired and worn. It had been a long time since he’d had something as comfortable as a bed to sleep on, and weariness pulled at his body. 

“Here we are,” Iorveth echoed, and he could feel the weight of the elf’s gaze on him, though he couldn’t seem to manage opening his eyes to look. Iorveth huffed an amused breath. “Go to sleep, Vernon. I’ll wake you for dinner.”

If he had any sense, Roche would not decide to sleep with his enemy right there – but somehow, letting himself drift off to sleep was easy.

And Iorveth kept his word, though deciding to wake him up by playing a loud note on his flute right in Roche’s ear was entirely unnecessary.

“Dinnertime,” Iorveth smirked.

“Motherfucker,” Roche swore. 

Iorveth laughed, leading the way out of their room and back down towards the common area of the keep. 

Dinner was interesting. Roche chose to sit next to Triss and Keira, because he actually knew them, and they were sitting across from Dandelion and Zoltan, who he found acceptably friendly. So he didn’t think anything of it when he took his seat – except Iorveth sat next to him, glaring at Zoltan once more.

When Ves showed up, she leveled him with an unimpressed look and squeezed into the space between him and Triss when Iorveth refused to move. 

Roche rolled his eyes with a huff, shoving Iorveth over so that he could scooch aside and leave Ves more room. 

Iorveth grumbled, but moved closer to the Skelliger archer that was sitting across from what was apparently the brother of the Skelliger Queen. 

The witchers all sighed, taking their seats with the Kingslayer farthest from Roche. Thank fuck. The standoffish elf and a dark haired sorceress who must’ve been Yennefer of Vengerberg sat at the end of the table, and she waved her hand with a murmured spell until the stew started dishing itself out, bowls floating down the table to sit before each of them.

Roche thought it was pretty cool, honestly, but Iorveth had a sour look on his face, glaring at his food like it might bite him. 

The Skelliger Queen’s brother – what was his name again? Something with an H? – laughed. “Yeah, it’s weird,” he agreed. “But it tastes the same.”

“It’s a rather frivolous use of magic,” the druid sitting next to Dandelion sniffed. 

“Yeah, but it’s still cool,” the other Skelliger said. 

“It’s practical,” Yennefer of Vengerberg’s sharp voice corrected. 

Triss met Roche’s gaze and rolled her eyes, passing him some bread. He bit back a smile, amused. 

So this was who they would be fighting the Wild Hunt with. It should prove interesting.

The fact that a fight didn’t break out over dinner was, frankly, miraculous and entirely due to the oldest witcher’s fiercely disappointed gaze that made all of them falter. That probably said something deeply psychological about all of their relationships with father figures, but Roche decided it wasn’t worth dwelling on. 

They made polite conversation (stiffly, in some cases), and Roche paid attention to all of it, eager for information that could help him get a sense of his companions. 

He was already learning a few interesting things.

Dandelion and Zoltan had apparently been to this mythical land of equality that Iorveth was helping to build, and the way they talked about its Queen was eye-opening, though for Zoltan, his praise of the Dragonslayer was interspersed with snide remarks about the Scoia’tael. What was interesting was that Iorveth’s praise was just as open, even though this Dragonslayer was a human. 

How the fuck did this human woman convince Iorveth to not just unite his people and bring them to her aid, but actually build this country alongside her?

“Saskia is not like any dh’oine you’ve ever met,” Iorveth said easily. 

Roche crossed his arms. “Oh yeah? What makes her so special?”

“She has integrity,” Iorveth said, voice flat. “She actually lives by her values and respects all people as people.”

“So what’s she doing affiliating with you?” Ves asked sharply.

Iorveth’s spine went straight in offense, and Zoltan barking a laugh did not help. “She has a point.”

“Zoltan!” Dandelion hissed, shooting a glance at Iorveth, who looked ready to kill and was not faltering under Vesemir’s disappointment. “Vergen would have fallen without the Scoia’tael’s aid.”

Zoltan sniffed in disdain and Iorveth’s glare sharpened. “All we have ever fought for,” Iorveth bit out, “is the right to live in peace.”

“Ha! And what do you know of peace? You’ve been at war for two hundred years!”

“And you’ve colluded with murderers for two hundred years,” Iorveth spat, lips twisted with disgust.

“And what are you?” Zoltan snorted.

“Everyone here has killed,” Hjalmar, the Skelliger Queen’s brother, pointed out. “We’re literally here to fight a war.”

“Well,” Lambert said, “except the bard. Actually, why are you here again?”

“Excuse you,” Dandelion sniffed. “I am here for an even more important reason – to chronicle the fight against evil itself!”

“How much of this chronicle will be founded in fact?” Triss asked sardonically.

Hjalmar snorted. “Geralt insists half your songs are bullshit.”

“More than half,” Yennefer said.

Dandelion tutted. “It’s called creative liberty!”

Roche couldn’t help his smile, biting back a laugh. 

“So,” Triss began, looking between Zoltan and Iorveth, “you’ve known each other for two hundred years?”

“No,” Iorveth half-snarled, “it’s been two hundred years since we’ve spoken.” 

“I could have happily gone another 200,” Zoltan said. 

“Likewise,” Iorveth growled. 

“So you knew each other well, then,” Ves observed. She seemed intrigued by whatever was making Iorveth so stiff and combative and Roche internally groaned. This was definitely going to end badly.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Zoltan grunted. 

“It is only in fairly recent times that elves and dwarves have come to be allies,” the druid from Skellige observed. 

“Indeed,” Vesemir stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “I seem to recall that when I was young, there was a great kerfuffle over an elf and a dwarf daring to be together romantically. It was a big deal. Lotta people from both races disapproved.”

Iorveth cleared his throat, looking determinedly down at his stew, and Roche frowned. “Wait a minute.”

“No,” Triss breathed. “No way.”

Iorveth’s face and ears were slowly turning red, and Zoltan was also pointedly not looking at anyone.

“You and Iorveth!?” Dandelion shrieked. “Really!?”

Zoltan coughed, not answering. 

“Damn, never would’ve called that coming,” Keira laughed. 

“Huh,” Vesemir gazed contemplatively at both Iorveth and Zoltan. “If I remember correctly, both of those involved were said to be minor celebrities.”

“Oh?” Dandelion looked curious. “Well, Zoltan’s a very well known warrior, but Iorveth’s notoriety came later, didn’t it?”

Iorveth’s lips pressed together like he was resisting correcting them. Which kind of made Roche think that they weren’t completely off base.

“You’re a musician, aren’t you?” Roche asked, nudging Iorveth. “Ever get famous from that?”

A muscle in Iorveth’s jaw flexed.

“Damn, okay,” Lambert chuckled. “So how’d you end up hating each other?”

“None of your fucking business,” Iorveth snapped. 

“You’re the one airing out your drama,” Ves said. 

Iorveth’s growl was impressive enough to raise hackles around the table, but instead of attacking, he retreated, grabbing his bowl and pushing away from the table, stomping off. 

Zoltan very obviously rolled his eyes, muttering, “as dramatic as ever.”

He refused to say anything more on the topic and the conversation moved on without Iorveth, though Roche couldn’t help but dart looks at the door the elf had left through, feeling oddly worried. Not that Iorveth needed – nor wanted – his concern, but…

--

The next morning

By the time the sun rose, they felt it was safe to venture out in search of fresh food. Roche was sure they both had food supplies – but he, for one, was sick and tired of jerky. The prospect of even just leftover stew beat army ration packs. By a lot. 

They were in luck – not only was there leftover stew, but apparently the Skelliger druid was a fan of baking and there were fresh pastries, too.

“Help yourself,” he invited. 

“Thanks,” Roche murmured, biting into warm bread with a pleased little sigh. Yeah, he had missed real food.

Iorveth led the way to the dining hall, where they sat next to each other at the big empty table. Iorveth was more conservative in picking at his food – but Roche devoured it quickly and then was left debating if he could go back for seconds. 

“Here,” Iorveth grunted, holding out his bread. 

Roche blinked. “You sure?”

“Are you hungry or not?” Iorveth shrugged.

Roche was, so he took it – just as Dandelion and Zoltan walked into the dining hall with their own bowls of food. Dandelion didn’t seem to notice much – but the way that Zoltan looked at Iorveth and the way Iorveth’s ears turned red made Roche think there was something unspoken going on. 

“What?” he asked.

Zoltan just shook his head, taking a seat across from them. “So, what’ve you been up to since the whole Kingslayer business, lad?” he asked Roche.

Roche shrugged. “Fighting off Nilfgaard. Not terribly exciting.”

“Have you heard what I got up to?” Dandelion asked excitedly. “To help Ciri, I pulled off a heist!”

“You failed in pulling off a heist,” Zoltan clarified. “And Geralt and the rest of us had to save your ass from the Temple Guard.”

“Eh,” Dandelion dismissed. “Details.”

Zoltan rolled his eyes expressively. Roche couldn’t help his snicker. 

He’d finished his stew and his bread – and Iorveth’s bread, too – but honestly, he was still hungry, so he slipped back into the kitchen with a murmured explanation and got more food. When he returned, Iorveth and Dandelion were talking about music, and for some reason, Iorveth’s words stuttered when Roche plopped the bread he’d fetched for the elf on top of his bowl.

“All good?” he asked warily.

Iorveth flushed, nodding and picking up the thread of his statement – but again, the way Zoltan was looking at Iorveth and the way Iorveth continued to turn redder made Roche think there was something more going on.

“What?” he asked Zoltan.

Zoltan shrugged. “Good bread,” was all he said. But there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips and Iorveth cleared his throat, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

Roche frowned. “Uh. Yeah, it is.”

Dandelion didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss, enthusiastically greeting the witchers who filed in with their own bowls of food. Roche glared at the Kingslayer on principle, but was largely ignored. 

Lambert yawned widely as Eskel greeted the rest of them. “Good morning.”

They all mumbled greetings back, and in that time, Ves and the sorceresses appeared, looking far more put together than was reasonable for such an early hour.

“Saw someone approaching the keep,” Ves told the witchers. 

“Another one?” Eskel groaned. 

“Another blade at our backs is a good thing,” Vesemir reminded him, pushing up from the table to go open the gate.

“Who do you think it is?” Dandelion asked. “I mean, Geralt only knows so many people… right?”

“More people than I woulda thought,” Eskel mumbled and Lambert snickered.

Several minutes later, Vesemir returned, followed by another witcher, though this one had a cat medallion instead of a wolf. “This is Aiden,” Vesemir began. 

“Seriously!?” Eskel threw his hands in the air as Lambert straightened. “How does he know so many other witchers?”

Lambert coughed. “Um. Actually.”

“He said he was here for Lambert,” Vesemir said, leveling a raised eyebrow on the youngest witcher (who was probably still at least twice Roche’s age).

“Yeah,” Lambert agreed, explaining nothing. “Food’s through there.” He pointed at the kitchen and Aiden glanced at the rest of them, amusement on his face, before shrugging and going to grab a bowl.

“Since when do you have a friend?” Yennefer asked, not at all quietly.

“Rude!” Lambert huffed. “I have plenty of friends!”

“Yeah?” Eskel challenged. “Like who?”

“Like Aiden,” Lambert frowned at him, crossing his arms. “And Mathies of Novigrad and Alicia Typ and Tiphany Holga and–”

“Aren’t those all bartenders?” Dandelion asked. “I’m pretty sure Mathies of Novigrad works at the Golden Sturgeon.”

“And Alicia Typ is at the Seven Cats Inn,” Zoltan nodded.

“Oh fuck you,” Lambert scowled.

“Supplying alcohol is precisely what makes them friends,” Aiden said, reappearing in the dining hall and sliding into a seat next to Lambert.

“What about Tiphany Holga?” Vesemir asked, the look on his face like he was deciding how disappointed he should be in Lambert.

Roche could answer that one. “Might not be the same one,” he prefaced, though the name was fairly unusual, “but the only one I know is a whore in Murivel.”

There were some raised eyebrows around the table and he shrugged.

“Whores make the best spies.” That and his mother, Madame of the Clarabelle brothel in Vizima, liked to make Roche hand out pamphlets on worker’s rights when he traveled to other places.

“That is true,” Iorveth said. 

“Huh,” Zoltan said. “Noted.”

“See, I told you my patronage of the various pleasure houses across the continent is for a good cause!” Dandelion laughed. 

“Yes,” Triss said, a slightly patronizing smile on her face, “I’m sure the whores learn a great deal of intel from you.”

“Actually…” Roche had to say. 

“Yeah, see!” Dandelion pointed at him. “I totally supplied good intel for Roche in Flotsam!”

“You wrote your reports in iambic pentameter,” Roche said. “But the information was good.”

Iorveth tilted his head. “Dandelion spied for you?”

“Yeah, on Loredo, the shitstain who ruled Flotsam. He’s dead now.”

“Good riddance,” Dandelion and Zoltan both said. 

“Wait,” Triss said, “is that why Dandelion almost got hanged in Flotsam?”

“Absolutely,” Dandelion said far too quickly.

“Loredo said it was because you burned down a watchtower,” Roche said, lips twitching. 

“Seriously!?” Triss – and several others – groaned.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Dandelion insisted. “Honest!”

“So how did you burn down a watchtower?”

“Really, it was their fault for leaving a candle unattended!” 

“What, did you trip over it?” Iorveth asked sardonically.

Dandelion flushed. “No!”

“...seriously!?” half the room asked.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Dandelion said again.

“Wow,” Aiden laughed. “You’re Dandelion the Bard, right? I’d heard stories, but…”

“How does Geralt put up with you?” Lambert asked bluntly.

“To be fair,” Keira interjected, “does he?”

“Geralt always shows up just in the nick of time!” Dandelion enthused.

“In the nick of time to save this idiot’s ass,” Zoltan said.

“Yeah, sounds about right,” Yennefer snorted.

“Hey!” Dandelion pouted and the rest of them laughed.

“How do all of you know Geralt, anyway?” Eskel asked. “I mean, I know he’s got a thing for sorceresses, but what about the rest of you?”

Yennefer, Keira, and Triss all puffed up in offense. 

“Geralt’s an old friend of Clan an Craite,” Hjalmar, the Skelliger Queen’s brother, said, startling those who hadn’t noticed his arrival. His friend, Folan, waved tiredly to them. “And Ciri’s practically clan herself! We had to come!”

“Yes,” the Skelliger druid – what was his name? – agreed, coming into the dining hall with a final batch of pastries. Roche took several. “Cirilla was my ward as a child, but I have also known Geralt for a very long time. Since before he became a witcher.”

Everyone paused, staring at him. “Really?” someone asked, barely any breath to it.

The druid dipped his head. “We met when we were both very young. He stayed with the Druid Circle in Ard Skellig for a time. We became good friends. After he left, I did not see him again until after the Trials. After he had been changed.”

“Oh.”

An awkward silence fell for a moment and Ves broke it by loudly explaining, “we met Geralt when he saved King Foltest from an assassin.” She glared at the Kingslayer, who had no doubt been in league with the other witcher assassin.

“Oh, is that where the ‘Geralt killed a king’ story came from?” Eskel asked.

“No,” Roche scowled, “that happened when someone murdered the King and left Geralt to take the blame.”

“Hardly my fault he was the only witness,” the Kingslayer shrugged. “Was a surprise to see him again, though.”

“...you knew him before that?”

“We fought the Wild Hunt together.”

“You did?” Iorveth asked, clearly surprised. “You’ve fought the Wild Hunt before?”

“Yup,” the Kingslayer said casually. “The School of the Viper was founded to defeat the Hunt. It was lucky Geralt ran into us during his hunt.”

“...Geralt was hunting the Wild Hunt?” Vesemir asked.

“This was before his amnesia,” the Kingslayer said. “He was chasing the hunt to rescue Yennefer of Vengerberg, who had been taken.”

Yennefer grimaced.

“Does that have to do with how we saw you and Geralt die in Rivia?” Dandelion asked, voice unusually sombre. 

“Say what!?” Roche wasn’t alone in yelping.

“It was terrible,” Triss said quietly. “There was a pogrom. Yennefer and Geralt both – we were just in time to see it…”

“About six months later,” Eskel murmured, “we found him outside Kaer Morhen, with no memory of who he was or where he’d come from. Or that he’d died.”

“So… what happened?”

“Ciri,” Yennefer said. “I don’t know how she healed us, but she brought us to a kind of… pocket universe, almost? It was strange. Good, but strange. Until the Wild Hunt appeared.”

“They took her,” the Kingslayer filled in, “and Geralt followed. He found me, saved me from a slyzard attack. In return, I shared what I knew about the Hunt and joined him in his quest.”

“And then?” Keira asked.

“We found them,” the Kingslayer shrugged. “We fought them. They weren’t wraiths, as we’d always thought, but mortal beings who bled under our blades.”

“Oh, well that’s something at least,” Iorveth hummed, and Roche had to admit – he felt a little bit better about signing up to fight the Wild Hunt knowing that they could actually be killed.

“So what happened?” he asked.

“There were too many. Then Geralt made a deal with the leader of the Hunt – his soul in exchange for Yennefer’s.”

Triss inhaled sharply and Yennefer’s expression was almost pained.

“Indeed,” Avallac’h, the standoffish elf who had arrived at some point without any of them noticing, said. Roche was not the only person to jump. “Gwynbleidd rode with the Hunt for a time, though he does not remember it, nor is he likely to.”

“He said he’d recovered his memories!” Dandelion said.

“His memories, yes. But not memories of the Hunt.”

“So… how did he escape?”

“Zireael,” Avallac’h said simply, as though that meant anything to any of them.

“...Swallow?” Iorveth translated uncertainly.

“It’s what he calls Ciri,” Eskel explained.

“And who is Ciri, exactly?” Ves asked. “I mean, Geralt’s daughter, yes, but…?”

“Ciri is… special,” Yennefer said. “There is a power in her blood that is matchless amongst all others.”

“She is the Lady of Space and Time,” Avallac’h said.

“...and that means–?”

“The Elder Blood gives her the power to traverse the spheres,” Avallac’h said. 

“Like… she can travel through time!?”

“Theoretically, yes. She has certainly traveled to worlds at different points in their existence. Whether she has visited her own world’s past, I do not know.”

“Are you fucking for real?” Lambert sputtered.

“Zireael’s power is unlike anything you have ever seen before. It spans beyond your ability to comprehend. It is–”

“–exactly why the Wild Hunt is after her,” Yennefer interrupted. 

“Indeed,” Avallac’h agreed. “The damage they could do with her power at their disposal is far greater than you can imagine. Eredin intends to subjugate all living beings under his power.”

“Eredin. That’s someone in the Wild Hunt?”

“The leader, and King of the Aen Elle. Though he arrived at power through treachery and deceit. We cannot let him take Zireael.”

“Okay,” Roche agreed solemnly. They’d already been planning to protect her, because she was Geralt’s daughter – but if she was more than that, then that just gave them extra motivation.

“So the Wild Hunt are… elves?” Hjalmar asked.

“Aen Elle elves,” Avallac’h nodded primly. “Their purpose is to find and capture slaves to serve the Alder Folk. Now, though, they are interested only in Zireael. She would change everything for them.”

“How so?”

“The Wild Hunt travels to various worlds, and abducts its inhabitants. They do so through the power of their Navigator, Caranthir. He is able to create stable portals that a vanguard like the Wild Hunt can move through.”

“And Ciri changes that… how?”

“Zireael’s power more than outshines Caranthir’s. With her, they could portal entire armies at once, enough to conquer a world.”

“Wow,” Lambert said. “So what you’re saying is, Ciri is mad powerful.”

“That is correct.”

“Wild.”

“How did Geralt end up with a daughter like that?” Iorveth asked. 

“She’s his Child of Surprise,” Yennefer said with a small smile.

“Her mother had powers, too,” the druid said, “though not to such an extent, I do not believe.”

Roche blinked. “You knew her mother?”

“Indeed. I served her grandmother for a great many years.” Something sad crossed his face.

“...who’s her grandmother?” Ves dared to ask.

“Queen Calanthe of Cintra,” Hjalmar was the one to say. “Married to Eist Tuirseach, Jarl of Skellige. That’s how I know Ciri. When we were little, she used to spend the summers in Skellige.”

“Wait,” Roche said slowly, “Geralt’s daughter is Cintra’s Princess!?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“You think you know a guy,” Iorveth muttered under his breath and Roche had to bite back a snort.

“How do you know Ciri, then?” Vesemir asked Avallac’h.

“I have tried to teach Zireael how to harness her power,” he didn’t answer.

“...right,” Vesemir said eventually, the look on his face dubious. He wasn’t the only one.

“So how’d you get involved in this?” Eskel asked Iorveth. “Aside from apparently knowing and despising several other of Geralt’s friends.”

“Letho killed Foltest,” Iorveth said, glaring daggers at the witcher again, “and then went to ground with the Scoia’tael as we prepared to attack Henselt. Before Letho betrayed us and slew many Scoia’tael,” he growled, “Geralt accompanied Vernon to confront us.”

“And me,” Triss interjected, frowning at Iorveth. “I was there too. And stopped you from killing Geralt and all of us!”

Iorveth just shrugged. “Geralt eventually came to assist the Scoia’tael in our task, and fought at our side in Vergen.”

“‘Course,” Roche couldn’t help but say, “he also fought at our side, so really, that witcher neutrality is kinda bullshit.”

Eskel snorted.

“Some bullshit,” Lambert laughed. “You’re all here, aren’t you?” Roche did have to concede that. He was here – even though Geralt had also worked with Iorveth and the Kingslayer… he was here, because Geralt had asked him and defending Geralt’s daughter was worth it.

--

Later, in the famed Kaer Morhen hot springs from Iorveth's POV

Admittedly, Iorveth had been hoping to find Vernon in the hot springs at some point during this journey – but he hadn’t been expecting for that time to involve Vernon overheating and very clearly ignoring his health. 

Iorveth hadn’t thought about it before fussing over Vernon – but the way Vernon slapped his hands aside quickly reminded him of their proper dynamic. He was Vernon’s enemy. He wasn’t supposed to worry about the dh’oine.

Not even when it was clear that Vernon had lost a lot of weight from the last time Iorveth had seen him. 

Iorveth knew food was hard to come by while hiding out in the forest as an outlaw rebel – but he hadn’t really previously put together that that was what Vernon was doing. Their roles had solidly flipped – and now Vernon was the one starving in a fight against the odds while Iorveth was associating with human royalty.

It was weird.

Still, Vernon retreated quickly, making it clear he did not want Iorveth’s concern, and Iorveth drew back, trying to pretend that didn’t hurt.

Of course Vernon didn’t want his concern. Why would he? To him, Iorveth was just another enemy. One who he was sharing a room with, yes – but even that, Vernon seemed to attribute to Iorveth being weird more than anything else.

Iorveth could live with that. He knew he didn’t have a chance, after all. But seeing Vernon once more, when he’d truly thought he might never do so again…

“Oh,” Dandelion said, and Iorveth abruptly remembered that he was not alone. “He doesn’t think you’re together,” Dandelion said slowly, “but you want to be.”

Iorveth cringed, unable to protest, but also fully aware that his affection was hardly a good thing. 

“Hmm,” Dandelion hummed. “Well, at least now he knows it’s an option. But we can do better than that!”

Iorveth blinked. “What?”

“Well, obviously you need help wooing your man,” Dandelion flapped his hand, then brought it to his chest with a flourish, “and I am a connoisseur of wooing! So surely I can help!”

“I – what?”

“Well, he didn’t even realize that he was being wooed!”

Iorveth’s mouth opened to protest – and then he closed it, recognizing a losing battle. Instead, he sighed and asked, “why would you help me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Dandelion shrugged. “This romance has the makings of a marvelous ballad! But it must have a happy ending!”

“…is there any way I can convince you not to sing about my love life?” Iorveth asked, already despairing. 

“Nope!” Dandelion popped the ‘p’ enthusiastically. “So, let’s talk plans! What have you tried so far? Obviously you’re sharing a room – and you gave him food, which he reciprocated!”

Iorveth flushed, remembering that moment. He was positive it meant less to Vernon than it had to him – but having gone without enough food for so long, sharing it was a big deal. And for Vernon to fetch more food and offer him a roll back…

Well. To Vernon, it didn’t mean much. But to Iorveth, it kind of meant everything. And from the way Zoltan had looked at him and Dandelion’s words now, it was clear that had not gone unnoticed. 

Which was embarrassing as all hell, and Iorveth flushed darkly, sinking down to hide in the hot water. “I’m not – I’m not wooing him,” he felt the need to point out.

“You should be,” Dandelion replied easily. “We all might die soon. May as well shoot your shot, right?”

Iorveth frowned at him, but he was already enthusiastically coming up with ideas on how Iorveth could better show Vernon that he loved him. 

Sighing, Iorveth resigned himself to the loss of his dignity. 

Which was good, because Zoltan Chivay entering the hot springs definitely meant that his dignity would be dying a painful death. His relationship with Zoltan was… complicated, and there was a great deal of bitterness on his part due to the way they’d ended things last they’d spoken… but Zoltan also knew him better than most people alive could claim to, which meant he could see right through Iorveth’s attempts at maintaining poise. 

“What trouble are you getting into now?” Zoltan asked Dandelion with amusement on his face, only glancing at Iorveth in greeting. 

Iorveth internally groaned.

“Zoltan!” Dandelion grinned brightly. “You’ll join us, won’t you? We gotta help Iorveth win his man!”

The amusement on Zoltan’s face increased and Iorveth could feel his ears flushing. “You really don’t,” he tried to protest, but Dandelion ignored him.

“Vernon Roche, huh?” Zoltan asked. “Really!?”

“Shut up,” Iorveth grumbled, blushing brightly enough that now he was the one on the verge of overheating. 

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” Zoltan shrugged, unconcerned. “But he has no earthly idea that you’re interested.”

“He’s not supposed to,” Iorveth had to say. 

“Well, that’s dumb,” Dandelion said. “How can he respond if he doesn’t know?”

Iorveth opened his mouth to answer, but wasn’t sure how to point out that Vernon very likely wouldn’t respond positively to affection from his enemy. 

“What about Saskia?” Zoltan asked. “Does she know about him?”

Iorveth flushed darker, nodding jerkily. Yes, she did – and it had been embarrassing beyond belief for her to confront him over his ‘obvious crush’. Which, he contested, was not obvious at all – but she hadn’t been swayed.

“And?” Dandelion prompted.

Swallowing hard, Iorveth thought about how to answer. The actual truth was that Saskia, as a dragon, had no interest in monogamy with him. In fact, there were several other people she was interested in (including Zoltan, but for his own peace of mind, he ignored that), though she had minimal time to pursue anything at all. 

“Saskia is human,” he lied, picking his words carefully, “but she grew up in Vergen around primarily dwarves. Older dwarves, too,” he added, because while most of those in the Scoia’tael had been pretty young, Vergen was an old city and there were still some dwarves living there who had been at its founding. “Culturally, she shares more in common with dwarves than humans.” 

Not least because she’d actually spent relatively little time around an average human. Most of her exposure had been through joining the army and going through officer’s training under King Demavend of Aedirn. Which meant that occasionally, she did things that she thought was ‘normal human behavior’, but that actually gave everyone in the vicinity heart palpitations. Like that time she had walked through fire before Iorveth had known she was a dragon and was thereby largely impervious to fire (and, in fact, drew strength from it).

“Dwarves are great,” Dandelion agreed cheerily, “but what’s your point?”

“Dwarves are polyamorous,” Iorveth said bluntly. 

“Ooooooh,” Dandelion nodded while Zoltan hummed in agreement. “So there’s no expectation of exclusivity?”

Iorveth shook his head, flushing. It wasn’t like his regard for Saskia wasn’t commonly known – but it was still embarrassing for his love to be the topic of local gossip. His love for Saskia – and his love for Vernon. 

Most people were probably surprised he was even capable of such an emotion. He still kind of was, honestly. 

It was one thing for Saskia, who inspired him and brought out the best in him. But Vernon Roche? The man who had once been in charge of eliminating the Scoia’tael?

And yet, the same magnetic draw that Saskia held, Vernon had. He couldn’t ignore either one of them for a second. 

And not just because it might lead to missing the knife when it came to stab him in the back. With Saskia, he was confident there was no hidden knife at all. With Vernon… well, he wasn’t sure, but he kind of hoped that there wasn’t one. 

Vernon had willingly slept in his presence. Multiple times, even. And just as Iorveth hadn’t attacked Vernon while he’d been vulnerable – Vernon had not attacked him. That meant something… didn’t it?

“So what’s Saskia think of Roche?” Zoltan asked, lips twitching in what was definitely amusement at Iorveth’s plight.

Iorveth scowled at him. Truthfully, Saskia’s thoughts could be summed up as ‘if you think there’s something worth loving about him, Iorveth, then I’m sure there is’, but Iorveth was absolutely not admitting that. 

“Why do you even care?” he demanded.

Zoltan shrugged. “You and Roche aren’t that different,” was all he said. 

Iorveth’s eye narrowed into a glare. 

“Mortal enemies who succumb to their feelings of true love~” Dandelion’s voice was singsong. “Oh, it’s so romantic! Definitely has the makings of a hit!”

Iorveth was horrified. And mortified. “Please no.”

“Yeah,” Zoltan sighed, patting him on the shoulder with a large hand. It was the most they had touched since their last fight 200 years ago. “That ship has sailed. There’s no reining him in now.”

“Oh gods,” Iorveth muttered, sinking deeper into the water to hide his red ears.

Zoltan laughed and Iorveth would be lying if he said the sound didn’t make something in his chest hitch – but it also, 100%, made him hate Zoltan even more. Asshole.

“It’ll be beautiful!” Dandelion insisted. “I already have the beginning melody. And a strong chorus shouldn’t be hard. Hmm, something about the journey from hate to love.”

Iorveth’s groan was despairing. There was no way this would end well. But what the fuck – they were probably going to die in a few days anyway when the Wild Hunt came. And… it was kind of nice that they were helping him. Annoying and embarrassing and obnoxious, definitely – but also nice.

--

Dandelion had the perfect plan for how to woo Roche. It was a subtle plan, one that could be built upon – but it was perfect!

What was it? Well, everyone knew there was nothing more romantic than the dulcet tones of his voice in a sweet love ballad. As such, any time Iorveth and Roche were in the vicinity together, Dandelion broke out his best love songs.

“Seriously?” Lambert burst out after a full day of this. “We’re about to fight for our lives against some weird fucking elves and you’re singing about true love? Really!?”

“Lambert doesn’t believe in true love,” Aiden added in an undertone, earning himself an elbow in the gut. He didn’t seem to notice. 

“What?” Dandelion shrugged, tuning his lute. It was just the slightest bit off. “Do you want something more upbeat? I can do that.”

“That is so not the issue,” Keira muttered, but her lips were twitching with amusement. 

“No, no, it is an understandable criticism,” Dandelion said generously. He thought about his options, humming a few lines before hitting on the right one. “All right, let’s go energetic!” He strummed his lute hard, opening with a long vocalization.

“Ugh,” Lambert groaned, and Dandelion was above pettiness, but he made a note to get back at Lambert for that at some point. Maybe a White Wolf ballad with a cameo?

“So,” Triss said loudly before any of the witchers could get violent, “why are you singing love songs?”

“Why, my dear Mage Merigold,” Dandelion said grandly, “because love is in the air tonight!” He paused thoughtfully. That had the makings of a good lyric.

“Where?” Lambert grumbled.

In the corner, trying to avoid drawing attention to himself, Iorveth was blushing darkly – and also keeping his own attention focused on Roche, who was bobbing his head absently as he cleaned several knives, Ves sitting next to him. 

“Everywhere,” Dandelion answered Lambert with a bright grin. “For in the face of almost certain death, there can be no force more powerful than love!”

Eskel snorted. “That sounded almost profound.”

“Because it was!” Dandelion pouted. 

Zoltan snickered. “What’s everyone’s favorite love song, then?” he asked.

Lambert’s scoff was disbelieving, but Keira appeared amused and answered. “I always liked The Power of Love,” she said, and Dandelion was delighted to take the prompt and dive into the song.

Keira laughed, singing along with the upbeat melody. Lambert’s emphatic groan just made Dandelion grow louder. 

“What about songs from different areas?” Roche asked when they finished. “Know any good Temerian songs?”

“Of course!”

“I was always a fan of La Vie en Rose,” Ves said, meeting Dandelion’s eye with a smirk like she knew exactly how much he hated playing horn. The song could be played on lute… but it had been made famous on trumpet. The people expected a trumpet. 

“That really needs a piano accompaniment,” he hedged. 

“I think we have a very old piano in storage somewhere,” Vesemir mused. 

Internally panicking, Dandelion searched for a distraction. (He had a trumpet and could play the song, of course… but trumpets sucked. They always made his lips hurt.)

“You know that was originally an elven song,” Iorveth said haughtily.

“Nu uh,” Ves frowned.

“But it’s French,” Roche said, head tilted in consideration. “French was the first language of the human settlers of Temeria, I thought. Not Elder Speech.”

“True,” Iorveth nodded, and Dandelion was hit with the sudden thought that he had been there when all this had happened. Weird. “It was adapted from a song in Elder. Beatha an Ròs.”

“Huh. Are the lyrics very different?” Dandelion couldn’t help but be curious. 

He knew he’d walked into a trap the moment Iorveth met his eye. “Not sure,” Iorveth said casually, “haven’t heard the human version in a lot of years.”

Ugh. Now he was going to have to play it, wasn’t he?

The others seemed to have picked up on Dandelion’s reluctance and Triss encouraged, “why don’t you play it, Dandelion? Then Iorveth can compare.”

Her words were innocent, but the twitching at the corner of her mouth proved that she knew exactly what she was doing.

Dandelion pouted.

“Are we having a concert?” Hjalmar wandered in and asked, looking enthused. “I play some mean drums!”

“Yes! Let’s have a concert!” Dandelion jumped on the excuse. “We can showcase hits from different areas! What’s Skellige’s best love song?”

“Hmm,” Hjalmar actually stopped to consider it.

“Red is the Rose, for sure,” Folan, his friend, said instantly. He began a soft melody, voice surprisingly nice. 

Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows, Fair is the lily of the valley; Clear is the water that flows from the Boyne But my love is fairer than any.

“Eh,” Hjalmar interrupted. “I mean, it’s good, but is it the best Skelliger love song?”

Folan frowned, and Dandelion sensed an argument on the horizon. Usually he would disrupt such a thing – but if it could get him out of playing trumpet…

“Maybe Galway Girl?” Hjalmar suggested.

“Red is the Rose is way better!” Folan insisted. “It’s soft and romantic and slow enough to dance to.”

“You can’t dance to that!” Hjalmar put his hands on his hips. “The most you could do is sway awkwardly and that’s boring!”

Triss and Keira both bit back snorts at that. 

“Plus, the song is sad! It’s about two lovers being unable to be together!”

“To be fair,” Folan said calmly, unbothered by how worked up Hjalmar was, “most Skelliger love songs are actually tragedies.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Folan nodded. “There’s a lot of going off to war and being separated and stuff. At least, that’s most of what Draig Bon-Dhu sings.”

Dandelion tried not to scowl at the mention of the Skelliger bard that totally hadn’t beaten him in a competition. 

“What about Aedirnian love songs?” Zoltan asked Yennefer, who looked up from the book she’d been examining.

“What?”

“Know any good Aedirnian love songs?” Dandelion pounced on the opening Zoltan had provided. 

“Mostly boring court songs,” Yennefer said dismissively. “Or your ridiculous twaddle,” she aimed that remark at Dandelion and he sent her a shitfaced grin.

“I believe you mean my incredibly moving and talented compositions, thank you very much.”

Yennefer snorted derisively. 

“Where else do we have people from?” Triss asked, looking around. “Letho, you’re originally from Nilfgaard, aren’t you?”

“Technically,” Letho the Kingslayer drawled, “the School of the Viper is located in the Tir Tochair mountains on the border of Geso.”

“Aren’t the people of Geso known for being particularly… barbaric?” Iorveth asked sardonically.

Letho’s smile was all teeth. “That’s Gemmera, actually. Famed for the ferocity and strength of their warriors.”

“It’s all Nilfgaard,” Keira dismissed with a sniff.

“So’s half the North,” Letho said genially. 

That made everyone scowl, arguments breaking out, and all in all, while they had undoubtedly learned more about each other, very little wooing actually happened that night. 

Dandelion sighed and strummed a forlorn melody. Several people were shouting at each other, so there was little point in gracing them with his wondrous voice. 

Hmm. That gave him an idea for a ballad about the woes of having one’s voice ignored. The tragedy of it was downright heartbreaking, and the crowds of Novigrad would love it, he just knew.

Distracted from his quest to help Iorveth woo his man, Dandelion pulled out his notebook and began to compose, to the background of loud yelling about where Nilfgaard could stick it.

--

Ves' POV of soaking in the hot springs with the other women

“So, Ves,” Triss said eventually as they soaked. “What’s going in with Roche and Iorveth?”

“What do you mean?” Ves asked, playing dumb mostly because she had no idea how to answer. 

“Well, they’re supposed to be enemies, right?” Keira arched an eyebrow. “And yet, they’re sharing a room? And they bicker like an old married couple.”

Ves grunted. She couldn’t deny that, unfortunately. She sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t know what Roche is thinking,” she said, “letting that viper so close.”

“I think Letho is the viper,” Triss joked. “But it’s certainly odd. I’ve barely seen them apart from each other since they arrived!”

“Ugh,” Ves agreed. The Scoia’tael scum had certainly been sticking too close for her tastes. She didn’t know how Roche stood it. 

“Pretty sure the ridiculous bard has interpreted their enmity as love,” Yennefer said. 

“Ooooh, is that what the love songs were about?” Triss shook her head with a laugh. “Dandelion truly is ridiculous.”

“I mean, I can’t blame him,” Keira said. “They act like they’re in love or something, don’t they?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Ves dismissed. “Roche could never love an elf.”

“Well, he sure acts like it,” Yennefer replied, voice cool. Weren’t there rumors that she was part elf?

“Okay, but what about Iorveth and Zoltan? No one saw that coming, right?” Triss arched an eyebrow. “If an elf and a dwarf can have so much history…”

Ves frowned, the thought settling uncomfortably. “Technically, they never actually confirmed everyone’s assumptions,” she pointed out, but it was a weak defense. 

Keira snorted. “Never would’ve thought a killer with Iorveth’s reputation could turn so red.”

They all chortled at that, recalling the way the elf’s ears and face had flushed a dark scarlet. 

“Zoltan, of all people, too!” Triss giggled. “I mean, he hates the Scoia’tael! His type is – is Dandelion, for fuck’s sake!”

“Well, we don’t know what Iorveth was like before fighting humanity,” Yennefer pointed out. “Maybe he was like the bard.”

“No way! Iorveth!?”

Yennefer just shrugged. “He was, apparently, a famous musician. From what I’ve seen, Dandelion is rather representative of such a career and the type it draws.”

“Well,” Triss said slowly, “you’re not wrong. But… really!?”

“What I wanna know,” Keira said, “is what’s up with Lambert and Aiden?”

“Oh?”

“I mean – Lambert isn’t exactly the friendliest guy around. And this guy appears, the only one that Geralt didn’t invite? That says something.”

Ves’ lips twitched, grateful to be off the subject of Roche. “What about Aiden’s response to Lambert complaining about love songs? He ‘doesn’t believe in true love’? That says something.”

“It does!” Keira agreed emphatically. “But what is the question.”

As they began to theorize, Ves couldn’t help but think about their implications about Roche. It couldn’t be true. Surely it couldn’t be true.

How could Roche love an elf? A Scoia’tael elf, no less!

He couldn’t, was the answer. He knew what they’d done to her. He could never sympathize with them.

Nonetheless, she had to admit that Iorveth’s behavior did kind of point to being interested in Roche, even if Roche could never reciprocate. 

“Ves?” Triss called and she realized that she’d zoned out. “You okay?”

She nodded, flushing slightly – but most of her brain was still distracted with the question before her. “Why doesn’t Roche tell Iorveth to fuck off?”

Keira laughed. “If anything, he probably wants to tell Iorveth to fuck him.”

“You take that back!” Ves snarled.

“Whoa, whoa,” Triss held up her hands placatingly. After a moment, she added, “Keira has a point, though. I mean, I don’t think Roche would actually go for Iorveth… but him and Iorveth acting like an old married couple is very much mutual.”

“You don’t think he would?” Yennefer asked. “Because Iorveth is an elf?”

“A Scoia’tael elf!” Ves spat. 

“He doesn’t seem like he minds,” Keira shrugged, and Ves scowled heavily at her. 

“The Scoia’tael are nothing but disgusting barbarians,” Ves snarled. “Roche would never sully himself with their ilk.”

“Wouldn’t he?” Yennefer asked.

“How about a bet?” Keira proposed.

“What?”

“You’re certain Roche could never go for Iorveth,” Keira said simply, “we disagree. So… how about a bet to see who’s right?”

“I’m not gonna bet on Roche’s love life!”

“But you don’t think there’s anything going on there anyway,” Triss pointed out. “So why not find out for certain?”

Ves’ lips pursed. “You do remember we’re here for an actual purpose, right?”

“Yes,” Yennefer said primly, “and when the Wild Hunt comes, we will be ready. But in the meantime, we may as well entertain ourselves.”

“...what would this bet look like exactly?” Ves hedged.

Keira shrugged. “We could help Dandelion’s ridiculous matchmaking attempts and see if it works?”

“It won’t,” Ves said firmly.

“Then there’s no harm in trying, right?”

Ves frowned, disliking the idea, but not really having a good reason to disagree. They didn’t really need her agreement anyway.

“Fine,” she spat. Then she decided that she’d soaked for long enough and rather wanted to be away from these people now. Maybe sorceresses weren’t that bad – but they had to be wrong about Roche. They had to be.

--

Later, from Triss' POV as she and Keira conspire on how to set Iorveth and Roche up. Also, there are some notes where I haven't got the words quite right. Please ignore. (and suggestions welcome)

It was really silly, but right now, what Triss missed more than anything was Foltest’s wine collection. She’d become accustomed to enjoying drinks that actually tasted good. 

Witchers, it would seem, did not care if it tasted good or not. They did not invest in high quality liquor. 

So when Keira suggested a drinking game to loosen Roche and Iorveth’s tongues, Triss didn’t exactly leap at the idea. But it would be nice to have an evening of fun, even if she would have to scrape all of her tastebuds off come morning. 

“Yeah, all right,” she agreed. 

If they were going to die soon, they deserved to cut loose for a little bit beforehand.

Vesemir declined with a heavy sigh. “I’ll start brewing a hangover cure,” he said, longsuffering.

“You could participate,” Triss offered.

He chuckled. “No, I think I shall avoid admitting to all the folly of my youth.”

“Indeed,” Ermion, the Skelliger druid, said when asked. “I believe I am too old to relive those days.”

Avallac’h said nothing, ignoring her when she’d tried to invite him. She didn’t feel the need to try too terribly hard. 

Hjalmar and Folan were positively delighted at the opportunity to get shitfaced, and they eagerly gathered everyone up to play, letting the witchers sort out what alcohol they had available. 

It was fairly late by the time they finally settled down, sitting around the fire with their drinks of choice. Not that there had been much choice, but at least shitty wine was better than Lambert’s home-brewed pepper vodka. Even if Dandelion and Zoltan were both drinking it without a change in expression.

It was still better than Lambert’s other concoction – the gauntlet, equal parts spirit and White Gull. It could get even a witcher wasted and would likely kill an ordinary human. It was for that reason that only the witchers elected that one.

Roche and Ves, predictably, were drinking Temerian rye. Keira sipped the same wine Triss was drinking and was managing a better job of not showing her disgust than she was. Hjalmar and Folan had brought some kind of Skelliger mead, and they were generously sharing with Iorveth, who passed around a pipe in return. Elves were always said to have good weed, and she could now confirm it.

It had been a long time since Triss had gotten high. Much less cross-faded. 

The stresses of preparing for a battle they were likely to lose bled off her with each hit, and she was the one to actually start the game.

“Never have I ever,” she began with deep gravitas. The others fell silent in response, waiting to see if they would need to drink. “Streaked naked through a crowd.”

Dandelion huffed, as she knew he would, but obediently took a shot. Hjalmar did too, grinning and looking prepared to regale them with the story. 

Wanting to avoid that, she nudged the person next to her – who just so happened to be Iorveth, because he was always next to Roche these days. He was sitting a little too close now, even, and Triss held back a smirk. 

“Name something you haven’t done,” she prompted the elf.

“Uh. Never have I ever…” he paused to think and Triss elbowed him again, for extra motivation. He grunted, shifting away from her, but did finally finish, “slept with a sorceress. With good reason.”

Triss scoffed, taking a large gulp of her wine. She wondered if he realized who else would drink at that. Keira, Dandelion, and Roche were the only other ones, and Roche’s face was a little red as several people turned surprised looks on him. 

Triss watched Iorveth’s face as he put the dots together and turned a scowl on her. It was actually mildly terrifying, but she refused to be cowed, smirking instead.

“Never have I ever,” Roche said loudly, and from the look on his face, she knew this one would be targeted to try to divert attention from himself. “Had a wanted poster issued for myself.”

Iorveth rolled his eyes, drinking his mead. Lambert and Aiden also drank, which successfully drew attention away from Roche. 

“Why aren’t you drinking, Kingslayer?” Ves barked.

Letho smiled genially. “I was never caught. There were no wanted posters for me.”

“What about now?” Roche asked, eyes narrowed.

“The Emperor don’t bother with writing down his enemies’ names,” Letho said, entirely casual. 

On the sidelines, Yennefer snorted. She wasn’t part of the game, instead preferring to read what she was pretending was some old archaic text but what Triss was pretty sure was actually erotic love poetry. 

It earned Yenn some glares, and she shrugged, not bothering to look up from her book. “He’s right. Wanted posters indicate that you can’t keep order on your own. Nilfgaard does not use them often. They simply pay the right people and make the problem disappear.”

“Charming,” Lambert said. “Next.”

Ves pursed her lips, glaring at Letho. “Never have I ever been paid to kill a monster.”

The witchers all drank, and then it was Dandelion’s turn. He nudged Zoltan. “Never have I ever lost all my money in a gwent game and had to auction off my trousers.”

Zoltan laughed, taking a long swig. Lambert also took a drink, which earned him a few looks.

“I remember that,” Aiden chuckled. 

Zoltan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shot a grin at Dandelion, words clearly designed to target the bard. “Never have I ever [something absurd Dandy has done].”

Dandelion drank – but so did Lambert, and several people arched their eyebrows.

“I was very drunk,” Lambert shrugged. 

“When was that?” Aiden asked.

“Remember? That time outside Mirt.”

“Oooh,” Aiden laughed after a moment, “yeah, you were shitfaced.”

“Exactly how often do you two work together?” Eskel asked, frowning at them.

Lambert shrugged, not answering. “You’re up, Skelliger,” he said to Hjalmar.

“Never have I ever slept with anyone not human,” Hjalmar said. The nonhumans in the room, predictably, drank. So did all the witchers, which brought up the question…

“...do witchers count as human?” Triss reluctantly asked. 

“I say no,” Aiden shrugged.

Triss took a sip of her wine. Dandelion, Keira, Roche, and Ves also had to drink, though the look on Ves’ face indicated she wasn’t happy about it. It was probably best not to ask. 

“That was a good one,” Folan said cheerily. “Got almost everyone!”

“So what’s yours?” Hjalmar’s grin showed off a gap in his teeth. 

“Hmm. Never challenged my sister to a race in front of everyone – and then lost.”

They all laughed as Hjalmar drank with a grumble.

“You’re up, Letho,” Eskel prompted.

“Hmm…” Letho’s smile was sweet and Triss didn’t trust it for a second. “They say you’re a whoreson, don’t they?” he said conversationally. Roche’s spine snapped straight. “Never have I ever had sex for money.”

Roche’s fingers curled into a fist, but he took a drink, and Triss noticed that Iorveth actually looked surprised. 

“What if it wasn’t for money, per say?” Dandelion asked loudly, and Triss was pretty sure he was intentionally drawing attention away from Roche’s clear discomfort.

“I did once sleep with a woman to steal her necklace,” Aiden said contemplatively.

“Ooh, was that the sapphire one?” Lambert’s laugh was more of a cackle than was probably appropriate. “That one sold for a lot.”

“Mmhm,” Aiden hummed, grin turning wicked. “Never have I ever jumped off a roof for a bet.”

Lambert rolled his eyes and drank. Dandelion also drank, and was entirely shameless about it. 

“All right,” Lambert cracked his knuckles, waggling his eyebrows at Eskel as he said, “never have I ever slept with a succubus.”

Eskel flushed lightly, grumbling as he downed his drink. Dandelion and Zoltan also drinking wasn’t really a shock, honestly – Geralt almost certainly would have, too, were he here – but Letho was a surprise.

He just smiled, saying nothing in the face of their curiosity. 

Eskel glared narrowly at Lambert. “Never have I ever [something ridiculous Lambert did in a fit of anger or something].”

Lambert scowled, taking a drink. 

“My turn,” Keira said, looking each of them over contemplatively. Triss hoped she was thinking of how to target Iorveth and Roche, because that was supposed to be the whole point of this.

Plus, it was fun.

“Never have I ever written a poem or song,” Keira said. Dandelion drank, of course, but Iorveth did too, and the look Roche cast his way was curious.

And then Lambert surprised all of them by taking another shot.

“...really?” Eskel asked, dumbfounded.

“I was super drunk,” Lambert defended. “It wasn’t very coherent.”

Aiden didn’t say anything, but the way he bit his lip against a smile made Triss wonder.

It was her turn again and she thought about what to say. The whole point of this was to help push Iorveth and Roche together, so…

“Never have I ever,” she hiccuped, “had sex in a tree.”

“Really?” Iorveth scoffed. He drank – and so did Zoltan.

“Seriously!?” Dandelion’s voice was a little too high pitched. 

Neither of them met anyone’s gaze. 

Iorveth cleared his throat. “Never have I ever had a business venture fail in less than a day.”

Zoltan scowled, drinking. 

Roche looked between them, something odd in his expression. But when he spoke, it was clear who he was targeting. “Never have I ever,” he said, voice a tad mischievous, “worn a fancy ball gown and spilled wine all over it.”

Triss’ frown may have more resembled a pout as she drank. What was interesting was that Lambert also drank – and at this rate, the witcher was going to end up the first one wasted. Him or Dandelion, who drank as well.

“Really?”

“It was a lovely dress!” Dandelion said. “Shame the wine couldn’t wash out.”

Zoltan laughed. “You looked stunning, as I recall. Until you tripped and fell out the window after spilling the wine all down your front, anyway.”

“Lies,” Dandelion said easily. “I still looked smashing even then!”

Now they all laughed, turning to Ves for her turn. 

“Never have I ever,” Ves began, glaring at Iorveth, “been chased out of town under threat of death.”

Iorveth’s look was cool as he drank, accompanied by all the witchers – oof, Triss maybe should have guessed that – and Dandelion and Zoltan, who, honestly, she had expected. 

“What about you, Dandelion?” she asked, trying to move them on.

“Hmm.” Dandelion shot what he probably thought was a sly look at Iorveth and Roche. “Never have I ever shared a room with my sworn enemy.”

Iorveth and Roche both rolled their eyes, drinking. Surprisingly, Keira also took a sip and Triss looked to her friend in surprise.

“At Aretuza, remember?” Keira said. “Way back.”

“Ooooh, yeah. Whatever happened to that girl?”

“Nothing interesting, I’m sure,” Keira said tartly.

“All right,” Zoltan hummed, considering his words. Then he smirked slightly and said, “never have I ever kissed a royal.”

From the way he was smirking at Iorveth and how Iorveth rolled his eye in response, Triss figured that was targeted at the elf – but it had some other casualties. Slinging back her own drink, she caught the look on Ves’ face as she glared down at her shot glass – and saw the way her fingers shook as she reached for it.

Roche stole it out from under her, downing her shot and his own. The set of his jaw very clearly dared anyone to make anything of it. 

There was surprise on several faces, including Iorveth and Zoltan’s. Dandelion, who had also taken a shot, swayed into Zoltan’s shoulder, barely held up.

Folan coughed loudly. “Does kissing Hjalmar’s sister as a kid count? She is Queen now.”

“It counts!” Hjalmar said immediately, and something loosened in Triss’ shoulders as their collective attention turned the Skelligers.

“My turn!” Hjalmar's voice was gleefully. “Never have I ever… had an orgy with more than five people.”

There were some laughs in response as Dandelion, Zoltan, Roche, Ves, Keira, and Triss all drank.

“You lucky bastards,” Lambert muttered. 

“Hmm,” Folan chewed on his lip for a moment. “Never have I ever fallen in love with someone I shouldn’t,” he said, and Triss wondered if he’d caught on to their attempts at getting Iorveth and Roche to loosen up.

Iorveth glared at everyone as he drank, much to Roche’s clear surprise. Dandelion let out a exaggeratedly lovestruck sigh, as if fondly remembering the one that was prompting him to drink.

“What kind of question is that?” Hjalmar scoffed. “Bro, you’re totally in love with my sister!”

Folan flushed red. “There’s nothing wrong with that! We grew up together!”

Triss giggled.

“Your turn, Viper,” Keira prompted.

Letho’s smile was slow and cold. “Never have I ever,” he drawled, “gotten my second killed.”

This time, Iorveth’s scowl was murderous and Triss winced, remembering the beaten form of the elf who had pleaded with her and Geralt to warn Iorveth of the way Letho had doublecrossed him. Ciaran hadn’t lasted long enough to see the Scoia’tael reclaim the prison barge he’d been on.

“Hey,” she snapped, “let’s keep it friendly, guys, come on.”

Letho just shrugged.

Aiden cleared his throat a little too loudly and obligingly moved the game along, targeting Lambert as he said something about drunkenly falling out of a tree. Lambert retaliated, but next was Eskel, who seemed delighted to poke fun at Lambert. 

At this rate, Lambert was likely to be the first to drop out, and he clearly knew it from the way he half-pouted, grumbling under his breath.

Keira and Triss both designed their questions to highlight the way Iorveth and Roche were sitting with their shoulders pressed together, helping keep the other upright. They were all more than slightly soused at this point, though the Skelligers had drank less than the rest of them.

“Man, our lives are clearly not interesting enough!” Hjalmar lamented before adding, “never have I ever lived more than 30 years.”

“Oh come on,” everyone except Ves and Folan grumbled, taking their shots. 

“All right,” Zoltan said, “Dandelion’s done.”

“What?” Dandelion protested. “I’m fiiiiiiiine,” he slurred. “I could do thish all niiiiiight.” He tried to stand and promptly collapsed onto the floor in a sprawl. “Or not.”

“Should we help him up?” Keira asked uncertainly.

“Nah,” Zoltan said.

“I like the floor,” Dandelion giggled. He then began to drunkenly hum various melodies, actually providing kind of a nice backdrop for the game.

Lambert was the next one to drop out, slumping heavily onto Aiden. Aiden laughed and bowed out, dragging the no doubt heavy carcass of the drunken Wolf upstairs.

Keira’s eyes followed them curiously, but Triss was distracted by Roche getting her with ‘never been seasick’. Vision going double, she decided maybe it was time for her to concede as well. 

Iorveth and Roche dropped out after the same statement – never been knocked out, of all things. They stayed in place, holding each other up and giggling stupidly at the rest of them. 

The look on Ves’ face clearly showed her displeasure with this, but she didn’t seem to know what to do. She’d drunk a fair amount, but still seemed surprisingly stable, words not slurring at all when it was her turn. 

It only took a few more questions to knock out Keira and Eskel both, leaving the Skelligers, Ves, Zoltan, and Letho as the last ones standing.

--

And that's all!

You know, I was gonna talk about the plan for where the fic is going, but this is already super long oops. It's gonna be fun, though. I'm approaching the end of the 1st arc, then we have the Battle of Kaer Morhen and its aftermath, which includes Roche receiving a message from Dijkstra about the opportunity for a 'Free' Temeria. Since several of those present have kingslaying experience, this leads to Vernon Roche, Ves, Iorveth, Letho, Zoltan, and Dandelion all going on a road trip to Novigrad together 😂😂😂 I'm looking forward to it. There's going to be much drama and some angst and some eventual reconciliation and making out lol

[secondhandspacewanderer]

"Vernon Roche a half-elf ostracized for his mixed heritage discovers his father is a rider of the Wild Hunt and his life takes a tumultuous turn. Enduring prejudice, Vernon forms a secret bond with Iorveth, soon to join the Hunt. However, as Iorveth's descent into madness accelerates, Vernon plans his escape with the help of Avallac'h. Bound by a magical tether, their journey tests their limits, as Vernon strives to reclaim his freedom amidst the darkness of fate."

[blackberrywars]

Requests for Witcher Ficlets!

What: Me taking requests for 500-1000 word witcher ficlets because I’m home for the holidays and I need something to do!

When: 12/27-1/10

Rules:

Most game/show characters and ships  are welcome! As a fair warning, I don’t know a lot about book canon, but I will do my best to research and deliver on any requests from that angle

Modern/Alternate AUs are accepted and appreciated!

I will take up to 3 requests per person! Please flood my ask box, for it is barren as a desert and dry as my mouth at 3am.

NSFW requests are welcome! I will write a wide variety of kinks, but it is case-by-case, and there are some I won’t do. Still, don’t be shy, my anon is available, and I will answer any respectful questions via ask/PM

Limited Dead Dove. Acceptance will be case-by-case, but I will do canon-typical types of violence, whump, and taboos. Rape is off the table as far as an actual scene, but references are allowed

Recommendations: I am very excited to branch out of my comfort zone with this, so feel free to go buckwild, but if you want recommendations of stuff I’m more practiced at, I have a masterpost over on my page. The following is a list of stuff I’ve posted, drafted, or am otherwise really into.

Fem!Lambert x Fem!Aiden (it’s my brand and my specialty)

School of the Cat/Dyn Marv (group dynamics + partners)

School of the Wolf (both brotherly and romantic)

School of the Bear (particularly Arnaghad, Ivo, and Junod)

Nenneke (bamf and milf supreme)

Witchers & Whores (as allies)

Iorveth x Roche (I’ve seen a lot of content for them recently, and go absolutely wild over the fics/art where Roche is revealed as a half-elf)

Ves (she’s so hot and she loves knives and I wanna be her)

Previous Fills: I’ve done this thing exactly once before, and it was a blast, so if you want to check out what you can expect, these are the two prompts I received last time

Waltzing Wolves: a Super-soldier Spy AU for Gereskel + Jaskier, where Geralt drools over Eskel waltzing like a suave gentlemen, with ART by the amazing original requester, @whyzowl!

Kitten Shenanigans: Guxart learns a way to manage his unruly kittens while also developing their skills. Vesemir is only a little horrified. Done for my dear @halehathnofury.

I will accept requests from now until midnight on January 10th, 2023! Ficlets will be posted as soon as I get them done because I have zero self-control.

[limerental]

fanfic end of year asks: 14, 15

14. a fic you didn’t expect to write

lmao most of them, especially toward the latter half of the year. if you'd told me even a year ago i'd be largely writing fic for the tw3 spinoff gwent spinoff prequel, tw2 game canon, and elf rarepairs, I would have laughed very heartily.

my iorveth/roche fic the lines grow faint (it fades in the sun) was maybe the least expected, given I had all permutations of the ship and both characters blacklisted on tumblr up until this summer (not out of hostility, just out of indifference). something happened to me man idk.

also maybe the thronebreaker piss fic, though that at least is on brand.

15. something you learned this year

probably just somehow acquiring way more niche and useless knowledge about the witcher canons than ever before, especially the politics. i did a lot of weird research for Aen Elle focused fic that involved thinking a lot about unicorn symbolism and the alder king and arthurian legend.

[gigi-does-art]

Him and Iorveth are some of my favorite characters in the games. I just find him so intriguing, the little war criminal that he is. Not really little, he’s just surrounded by tall people mostly. (Also if anyone wants to hear me ramble about my half-elf Roche headcanon/ideas…)

[arse-blathanna]

roche anon again! honestly i'm all down for a scene by scene analysis, maybe i'll learn something new about him but if you don't want to that's completely fine!! there's honestly a lot to unpack there and not particularly about his relationship with the non-humans and the scoia'tael, because the man have some regrets/doubts about his deeds and what he's doing in general. in tw3 in kaer morhen roche tells geralt about all the horrible things he's done in the past and how he wishes to undo them (maybe he even doubts his loyalty!!). i wish that certain part was explored more but oh well...also forgot to add, but i feel like in the scene with moril roche wasn't that apathetic, because...he was kind of right about the baby. no one would ever take a half-breed due to rhe extreme racism in flotsam. that's why roche didn't want to even try dealing with him, because everyone are to bigoted to care about a half-elf baby (the only option was moril's husband). he gets it how people treat non-humans in that shithole, it shows that he does actually pays attention to what's going on with them, but again it's not in his priority so he just tends to do nothing, which is sad. he's too preoccupied thinking about temeria...my interpretation could be wrong but this's what it looks like to me </3

The problem with scene by scene analysis would be that the best way to approach that would be a very in-depth playthrough of Witcher 2 that also attempts to explore all possibilities. I'm not wholly opposed, but it'd be time consuming and would probably suck some of the fun out of playing and vibing. Plus I'd also have to do similar to get to the same stuff in Witcher 3. Very time consuming. There are fairly complete transcripts of Roche's path in Witcher 2 but it's not really the same as looking at it yourself at your own pace with the power to save scum until the game decides to break.

I'm in no way claiming to have the only correct read on Roche, and there were definitely scenes I've left out (the KM conversation I forgot existed entirely, my bad) or may not have remembered entirely correctly. I am made of meat and thus prone to mistakes.

Though I will point out with Moril's baby it doesn't exactly occur to Vernon that Lobinden exists just outside the city walls where the elves might want the baby. It's a blind spot of his. He has a one track mind and the only track is Temeria.

[unknownmusing]

The Witcher Fanstory - Ioroche Fic: ‘When Something Between Two People Becomes Something More' (Revised Version)- (Parts 1 to 4)

Summary:

After Vernon Roche and Iorveth share a drunken moment together, Iorveth doesn't know that Vernon is hiding the fact he has become pregnant with the elf's child/children so both them have to learn how to cope with the fact it is time to raise a baby when Iorveth discovers that Vernon is bearing his child/children when is told by Vernon's closest second-in-command Ves - who is concerned about Roche - that her commander has been acting extremely odd ever since coming back from Flotsam.

So what is going on with Vernon Roche? And can Iorveth discover what his sworn enemy is hiding from him?

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

PART 1 -  Prologue - "It all starts with...some words"

Location - Flotsam, Cáelmewedd - Approaching Late Evening

"You are a bastard....Pointy eared bastards...."

Vernon Roche - Commander of the Blue Stripes and King Foltest's lackey - mutters under his breath, speech slurring so much it indicates to Iorveth - Leader of the Scoia'tael - who sits next to the man - who's face is flushed with a distinct blush on his cheeks - holding in one hand a bottle of wine, while the other rests on his thigh holding his kneecap.

"Old man...."

Hearing this comment, makes his cheek twitch slightly at the audacity of being called 'Old man' by a drunken Dh'oine who is also his closest enemy and long-term rival in life, but here the both of them are seating together in the Elvish ruins of Cáelmewedd - drinking over bottle of very strong Elvish wine which to any human could easily make them drunk - close by to a statue of the Elvish male and his female Human lover, covered in what were called the Roses of Remembrance.

"Iorveth...." He hears Vernon starting to say to him, making him look down still irritated though at being called by Vernon 'Old man' because he resented being called it by anyone, it was one thing which irked him and reminded him of conservations which he would have with his men who would ask him why hadn't he found a...Mate...yet - because in Elvish Culture, a male produced eggs - actual eggs - which a female elf would take and fertilise over time through continuous mating with their bonded Mate, until finally a child or children was born.

But sometimes the rare case would happen where an elven male would impregnate a male human, sadly Iorveth though knew that those elves who had mated with the male humans were soon harshly murdered or made to disappear or become banished by the Elder Elvish Council who  decreed that Elf had in their own fault violated the Elvish Culture Rules - that any Elvish male would be punished if caught mating with human male.

"Huh?"

Looking down at the other man, he sees that the Dh'oine has decided to slip half of his body onto his lap, a strange smile on his face and such a cute blush it makes Iorveth's heart skip a beat at it then says the next words which nearly short-circuit or feel like it does his brain-cells.

"I really want to be pregnant with an elf baby.....Would you want it too?"

Iorveth finds himself starting to internally panic, the situation them just sharing a mutual drink before going back being enemies is getting out of hand and goes to bring up the bottle of nearly finished wine to his lips, hoping Vernon Roche will realise what he is saying and what he is wanting Iorveth to do and go back to his normal self - them avoiding each-other, before clashing again with swords or fists, while their men confronted each-other around them.

This man was his enemy - a Dh'oine - who he hated for killing quite a lot of his men, including other Elvish groups who been fighting the humans who had encroached on their territories.

"Fuck.....you are a handsome...elf....Iorveth..."

The man continues, making Iorveth lower the bottle back down from touching his lips when he hears this - maybe it was a good thing he was hearing this, because if were someone else they might just wave it off and tell Roche he was drunk and should go and sober up.

"If your cock would be inside of me.....should be...great..."

Placing the bottle of the unfinished wine down onto the ground, Iorveth turns slightly to face Vernon Roche taking hold of the other man's chin to tilt it up so he can stare into the gentle hazel-brown eyes, stroking a thumb over those fine, kissable lips seeing how they quiver under the touch with quite, yet audible to his hearing a small breathless gasp escaping from the other man.

He knew that the both of them may regret this decision, but part of him had always wanted Vernon Roche - have him as a Mate, someone to kiss, hug and laugh with at mundane things - and before he even is having second thoughts about maybe he should pull back - tell Roche it is time to sober up and go their separate ways - he bends his head down to cover the other man's lips with his.

Not knowing at the time, he is setting something in motion between them both.

Something which would change both their lives forever.

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

PART 2  - 'Memory of an Intimate Moment, First Signs and Tension in the Camp'

Past: Location - Flotsam, Cáelmewedd - Late Evening

The ruined Elvish baths, which are hidden underground beneath the statue of Eldan and Cymoril - a male elf and his human female lover - have never had for generations any disturbance, until now.

Clothing lays close to a stone-carved bench, while close to what had been a blocked of entrance to the baths there is rock-face where a large bunch of crimson roses grows on it and water trickles down into large half arch-way shaped bath where placed up against the rim of the bath, Vernon Roche without his chaperon on mewls and moans breathlessly when the other person - he doesn't know who it is, the wine he had having been strong it is difficult to concentrate fully - undulates their hips back and forth into his from behind.

One of their hands rest on his abdomen and their free hand on his hip gripping it tightly, with the water of the Elvish bath sloshing around both their bodies, while he feels them slip in and out of his moist, wet petals of his flower.

He never called it 'cunt' or 'pussy' like some people would call it, when he had a brief fumble with them - but never allow them to penetrate him at all - because it felt degrading to even call it that.

Turning his head he looks over his shoulder at the person pounding into him, seeing the smirking grin showing on their face when he starts to undulate his own hips back into their thrusts spreading pleasure sparking throughout his body each-time they give a intense thrust.

Never has he felt this way before, not even with his own toys he would use to satisfy himself when alone. It is so intense, wonderful and tempting to just have it not stop.

They soon lift him to hold against their chest, their hand which been resting on his hip to come up to cup his chin where they bend down to cover his lips in a devouring kiss it makes him respond back with equal enthusiasm and other moving down to between his thighs to rub his flower's petals in such a way it makes him release a spurt of his dew onto the fingers pleasuring him.

They continue to move within him, pleasuring him now from both ends sliding their cock harder and faster in and out of his wet, moist petals and sliding their fingers up and down his petals from the front.

Slapping of skin against skin, the slick squelch each-time his dew from his petals continuously - never has ever Vernon been this wet before for anyone, even when they touched him - and the breathless mewls, gasp and pants begin to fill the Elvish bath ruins.

"Haa haaa.....Don't stop.....please don't stop....haa haa."

He pants out to them, knowing he is coming close to a climax which has started to build up when he pulls his lips back to rest his forehead against their own.

Only just before it hits, they pull away from him turning him around to face them pushing him to lay half on the pattern tiled floor with his legs hanging over the edge into the water then they push back into him in one single thrust.

Hands grab hold of his legs to hold in the crook of their elbows, spreading him apart as they continue to pound into him shoving his body up and down he finds himself writhing heavily, hands unclenching and clenching and head turned to one side with his mouth agape.

The climax builds up again, finally reaching in blinding whiteness which blossoms outwards all over his body at the sametime hearing a grunt above him, a rush of something round-shaped filling him, alongside a gush of his dew spurting between their conjoined bodies.

"Vernon....."

He hears a breathless whisper, a large hand reaching up to cup his cheek - a thumb stroking his cheekbone lightly - and a single, emerald eye coloured like the leaves of the forest looking down at him.

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

Present: Location - Toussaint, Corvo Bianco - Early Morning

Ves - second-in-command of the Blue Stripes - finds her stopping on the crest of hill close by to where the Witcher - Geralt of Rivia, who she been introduced through a series of events after the death of King Foltest - lived, seeing down below the workers going about doing their daily jobs in the vegetable and herb patch; the vineyard and the stable where she knew Roach - Geralt's faithful horse was housed.

Soon spotting coming up from the wine cellar, which also housed an laboratory for Witcher Potions, is the white-haired man closely followed by another man with silvery-white hair, a satchel over their shoulder and fingerless gloves laughing at something Geralt tells them.

Deciding to head down the path which leads down to Corvo Bianco, she wonders if her Commander - Vernon Roche - has come back from Flotsam - where he told Ves that he needed to wrap up some things before coming to Toussaint which she knew involved trying to find out whether the rebel Scoia'tael leader Iorveth - no last name as far as she knew - had arrived yet.

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

Vernon Roche finds himself splashing his face with water, trying to calm his heart which pounds against his rib-cage the conversation which him and Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy  - or Regis as he was known by closest friends and Geralt, who he had noticed seemed to more than friends with the man but he was not going to pry into Geralt's private life as it was none of his business - had, after he been found by the man being violently sick in way which reminded him of morning sickness.

"Have you realised you are pregnant."

"You're.....lying....I'm.....just sick.."

"Look at me, you know.....that not to be true, Vernon Roche."

"I....can't....can't.....be..."

At the time during their conversation, Vernon had realisation that ultimately he must have become pregnant during what he began to remember what had been a strange, drunken and intimate moment with his sworn enemy - the Scoia'tael leader Iorveth.

Followed by  few days, feeling feverishly sick and extremely drained of all energy to move, that he had huddled up in a Nest of blankets trying to keep warm.

Coming out the memory of it, he raises himself up to look in the bath-chamber mirror, embarrassment flooding onto his face when he remembers the drunken words he said to the Aen Seidhe elf:

"I really want to be pregnant with an elf baby.....Would you want it too?......Fuck.....you are a handsome...elf....Iorveth.........If your cock would be inside of me.....should be...great."

Moving his hand down to his slightly swollen abdomen - which is starting to show through his clothing - he rests it where a child or children are starting to grow within his womb - like the seed of a flower starting to grow in the ground - making him happy, pleased and yet, very afraid he was bearing for the very first time.

He always wanted a child or children, but knew would be ostracized because of that fact he was male with a female sex if had asked his past partners that wanted to start a family so never revealed that to them, just allowed them to pleasure him - though no penetration ever would happen.

"....Fuck it...." He swears under his breath, realising he has done something his mother before she had disappeared that he should never allow to happen - which was become pregnant. "...What do I do?"

The thought even aborting the child or children makes Vernon sick at the thought, having been told of cases of poor women who not being able to cope with having another child or had been forced to have another by husband who they been married off to by their family would go somewhere - an island or forest or a abandoned hut - to abort the child.

But would Iorveth want the child or children?

How far could he go without telling other people before it was too late?

Hearing voices speaking coming from downstairs, he walks over to the  balcony of the bed-chamber to look down into the main hallway where he sees it is Ves - his second-in-command - standing with Regis and Geralt nearby the open front door, until finally she spots him looking down at them all.

"There you are. Was wondering if you had fallen asleep or something else." Ves says up to him, indicating he is not wearing is chaperon and his hair all untidy and mussed up. His clothing looks rumpled like he had slepted in it.

"Vernon, come on down and get something to eat." Geralt indicates to him, making him move to head down the stair, briefly sorting his clothes - which were starting to fray in certain areas, the dull white and blue colour fading and the fingerless gloves needing to be changed - before he does so.

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

Location - Toussaint, Caed Myrkvid - still Early Morning

The mist-shrouded forest of Caed Myrkvid which is located within the borders of Toussaint reminds Iorveth, while he walks to the makeshift Scoia'tael camp which had been set up in clearing in the middle of the forest by remnants of his men - most of them having come from Flotsam, after what had happened there.

Isengrim Faoiltiarna - another Aen Seidhe, who was known as the Iron Wolf and known as one of the most experienced members of the Scoia'tael commanders - is standing talking to his own group of men - so different from Iorveth's men, being more violent towards any humans they confronted who were against non-humans - then having must have sensed him approaching the camp, the scarred elf commander turns to look over his shoulder at him.

He knew the look he is being given is a familiar one - one which implied Isengrim was angry about something that had happened and wanted him to come over. Willing his heart to thudding against his rib-cage, he walks up to the other Aen Seidhe placing the deer which he hunted down on the ground close to the fire.

"I heard a very interesting rumour...Iorveth....which would like you to confirm for me." Isengrim says, shooting out a hand to jerk him flush against the other elf's chest it makes Iorveth try to get free from the strong grip, only for sharp Elven fangs to bite down into his neck - where his intricate leaf tattoo spread downwards under his makeshift armour - forcing to his shame and horror a whimper to escape him.

This stops his struggling, followed by one his hands which he been gripping tightly the other elf's arm loosening to fall to his side limp, feeling the venom - as all elf's had in in the fangs which was used for either biting or used in the Bonding Process between Mates - starting to make him feel sluggish, that when Isengrim pulls off his neck all he can do his moan weakly at it.

"Fuck....you...." He grunts out, hearing his own men behind him begin to confront Isengrim's men managing to get free to stumble into the arms of his men, who catch him when his legs nearly collapse from underneath him. "....I told you....I don't belong to you, Isengrim. What we had is over between us and I meant it at the time and still mean it."

"Oh, you....really think that." Isengrim purrs out, coming up to pull him out of his men arms and flings him to his own men who grab hold of Iorveth - chuckling among themselves - to hold back, while Isengrim looks at him then grabs the youngest of Iorveth's men - a young elf who had joined him after losing his family to the Witch Hunters, who also in the spare time hunted elves for sport - to bring him front of Iorveth, who is now being forced to kneel on the ground.

"What is your name, young'un?" He hears Isengrim asking them, seeing how the young elf is starting to quiver with fear at the intimidation of the elder elf and tries to communicate silently to them not to reveal their name but it is to no avail.

"Isi.." they shakily reply, watching Isengrim walk around them - inspecting them - and back around to stand in front of them, flicking his gaze to Iorveth who sees the other elf has moved his hand to place on his sheathed knife.

"Isengrim, don't...please..." Iorveth says, trying in vain to stop Isengrim from doing what he is about to do. "He's....not part of this. He doesn't know anything."

"Oh...are you saying something, Iorveth." Isengrim mocks him, bringing out the knife from the sheathe starting to play with it, the sunlight glinting off of it. "Should we see what, Isi, knows then."

Iorveth cannot let this happen. Bringing one elbow up, he slams it into the face of one of the elf's - breaking their nose in the process, hearing the crunch of bone under his elbow and their pained cry - and kicking the other one away in the stomach, scrambling upwards onto his feet.

Isengrim has not been fazed by this, just grabs hold of the young elf placing them in front of him to face Iorveth immediately slashing the throat in one single fluid movement, sending crimson petals up into the air.

"Isi..." Iorveth cries out, taking hold of him when Isengrim pushes the young elf with the bleeding neck wound into his arms and lowering him to the ground gets a piece of fabric - ripping it to make two pieces  - then wraps it around the young elf's neck tightly to staunch the flow of blood, only for Isengrim to come up behind placing the bloodied knife against his throat.

Flicking his single gaze to the other elf, he removes his hands from finishing tying the makeshift bandage - which thankfully has staunched the flow of blood - and getting up, allows him to be lead away to Isengrim's large tent.

Behind him, his men pick up their fallen comrade to take him their side of the camp making Iorveth pray to Melitele that Isi will survive.

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

Location - Toussaint, Corvo Bianco - still Early Morning

Marlene de Trastamara - a former baroness - or Marlene as she was called by Geralt is busy in the kitchen preparing breakfast, while Roche sits outside on a bench - one hand resting on his abdomen - watching Ves doing some sword-fighting training with Geralt in the courtyard, while Regis sits beside him quietly reading a book flipping the pages silently.

"Regis, do you happen to know of any good tailors in Toussaint?" Roche asks the other man, seeing Regis flick his gaze to him still in reading the Horticultural chapter on very important medicinal herbs. "One....who can be discrete enough not to talk about their customers to other people."

"Hmm, I know of an elf called Elihal who lives actually relatively close by to Corvo Bianco. They moved here after things started to get a bit intense in Novigrad." Regis replies, bringing a hand up to tap his chin in thought. "I can take you to see them if you wish."

Roche at first wonders if it is good idea - knowing of course among the Elvish community Vernon Roche was known as the killer of elves; Foltest's Lackey and other names which were just as damming and slanderous - and second, the possibility this elf Elihal may not know of his dark past could be to his advantage.

"When do we leave?"

"Now if you want to."

"I think that's....a good idea."

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

PART 3 -  Questions Answered, Finding Out One is a Father and Sharing an Intimate Moment

Location - Toussaint, Elihal's New Residence - Approaching Mid-Morning

"Regis....my friend. What brings you here?"

"I brought with me a friend who is in need of some discretion, while their clothes are tailored."

"I see. May I ask who they are?"

Standing behind the lattice arched doorframe, Roche, takes into account the area which leads into main area of Elihal's Residence where the elf show-cases their designs - tailored to all needs - with the other portion of the shop, been created into living quarters with a large sitting area, kitchen and double doors allowing access to a substantial garden.

The former abandoned cottage feels almost homely, comfortable and filled with warmth thanks to it's new owner bringing life into it: there are various coloured flowers placed in the vases, mixed with some types of grasses and herbs giving an aesthetic style to them; fine-woven carpets with such intricate details they are feat in themselves and finally above there is an alcove where some makeshift wooden steps lead to the sleeping quarters.

Regis - the other man - finishes talking with the effeminate male elf, before coming around the lattice arched doorframe to collect Roche, gently taking hold his arm to lead him into the main area where most of the tailoring happened.

"Vernon Roche, scourge of the Scoia'tael and slayer of Elves." they state when seeing him, while Roche keeps his head down to stare at the carpet when a delicate hand reaches to his chin to tilt it up gently so he looks at the elf. "Don't worry, that is your past and something to move on from. What your concern was you need a tailor with discretion, sweetie, and I'm always discrete about my customers."

"I was afraid....because of..." Roche begins to say, only for finger to placed on lips shushing him indicating for him to speak no more and let Elihal get on with the task of tailoring to his needs.

                                                        -----------

Standing in front of the four mirrors angled at certain degrees, so that Elihal can see what they are doing Roche in his white undershirt and braies allows himself to be quietly measured.

Regis has left, after stating he needed to run some errands and will be back to come and collect him by mid-morning. This was so, both of them could walk back together to Corvo Bianco for lunch which Marlene - Geralt's cook - would be preparing right at this very moment.

"You seem lost in thought. Is something troubling you?" Elihal asks him, standing up to go other to where his clothing lays and a notepad where they jot down his measurements into it.

"I....Is it wrong to have been intimate with an elf if their part of a certain group?" Roche asks, forcing Elihal to still in finishing off jotting down the notes and turn to face him, flicking their gaze to his abdomen making him consciously put his both his hands over it to cover it from their gaze.

"Among the Scoia'tael, if your asking about that particular group, they have rules which decree that any elf who lays with human will be banished or made to disappear or the worse scenario murdered by order of the Elvish Elders." Elihal replies, going over where the fabrics and other necessary equipment are stored to choose what they need.

"And....if the human is male?" Roche asks, his mind flashing back to when after the intimate moment which had happened, Iorveth had cupped his cheek stroking his cheekbone lightly whispering something in Elvish which sounded like 'My darling, Mate' but at the time had been difficult to tell.

"Then....this may complicate matters." Elihal replies, setting up their sewing machine and getting spool of thread from a drawer. "You....might want to confer with them if they wish to keep the child or children starting to grow within you."

Looking down at his slightly swollen abdomen covered by his white undershirt still finds himself silently agreeing that at some point he would have to tell the Scoia'tael leader about the pregnancy.

                                                       -----------

Location - Toussaint, Corvo Bianco - Approaching Mid-Morning

Iorveth can feel the looks of the workers among the vineyards, vegetable and herb and in the courtyard of Corvo Bianco when he approaches the residence of Gwynbleidd - or Geralt of Rivia - seeing the white-haired man is finishing off some sword-fighting training with short-haired blonde female, who he recognises as Vernon Roche's second-in-command called Ves.

"Gwynbleidd." He calls out, making Geralt who had been going to head up to the home turn to see who had called him followed by smile appearing on the Witcher's face.

"Iorveth, I didn't know you were in the area." Geralt says, pulling him into a greeting embrace seeing over the Witcher's shoulder Ves is giving a particular look to him "I would like to talk to you in private." which makes Iorveth wonder what the human female was wanted to say to him that she didn't want Gwynbleidd overhearing.

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

Ves admits to herself that she feels only slightly intimidated by the presence of the Scoia'tael Leader Iorveth who has arrived at Corvo Bianco, surprising Geralt's own workers - who probably never seen an elf being so brazen to approach their own Master who had given them jobs, when other richer Lords or Ladies would shun them due to their disabilities; sexuality or their mental state wasn't to their par.

"You wished to talk, female Dh'oine." the elf says, walking up to a viewing area which overlooked Corvo Bianco and going up to large oak tree to lean against it, while getting out a pipe from his pouch to quietly smoke.

"It's about....my Commander - Roche." Ves tells Iorveth, who raises an eyebrow at her, probably expecting the conversation to be about someone they both know. "Ever since he came back from....Flotsam....he's been well acting odd."

"How....odd....precisely?" Iorveth asks her, taking a drag of his pipe and blowing out wreathes of smoke up into the air where spirals upwards until dissipating away.

Ves, finds herself thinking back to after Roche had returned from Flotsam he started acting self-conscious around even the rest of the Blue Stripes - or even different types of people in places they stopped by before heading onto Toussaint - flinching when someone brushed up against him or tried to flirt with him, their hand reaching to his hip or close to his lower half making him push them away with the words "I'm not in the mood."

"Flinching at touch, is avoiding talking to me and the rest of the Blue Stripes then of course, he was very sick this morning." She replies to Iorveth, then continues. "Strange, though it reminded me of when a woman realises she is...No...he probably is just not feeling well."

Lifting her head, she notices the Scoia'tael Leader has gone very pale in the face - like they have just realised something which she didn't know about - and a faint blush is showing - implying it was an intimate moment he was remembering.

"Well, that's.....thank you for telling me, Ves." Iorveth says to her, indicating he needs to have some time alone to think.

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

Iorveth feels like his mind is whirling at what he has just been told by Roche's second-in-command leaning his head back against the tree-trunk of the large oak tree realising there was only one thing which was why Roche would be acting odd.

His enemy, now permanent mate was bearing his child or children.

"I'm a...Father.....a Father...." He mutters under his breath, happy and elated at the thought of it, but at the sametime if Isengrim - his jealous ex-lover - got wind that he managed to impregnate a human male Dh'oine then Roche and their unborn child or children could be slaughtered by the other elf.

His body still ached from when Isengrim had forced himself on him, fangs sinking into his nape to subdue him and bruises on his hips where he had been gripped tightly while he had been shoved back and forth over the sleeping bed in Isengrim's tent, until finally he had felt the sickly warmth of the other's elf seed being released within him.

It taken using a waterfall to scrub the feeling away afterwards, the evidence of what had transpired.

Iorveth decides not to dwell on that particular memory, taking another drag of his pipe to calm himself - the herbs in the pipe batch being ones which gave a relaxing feeling to one - and blowing it into the air, when he senses something behind him.

Flicking his gaze up, he sees a person wearing black with well-manicured hands and intense blues, before they silently indicate to him to look at the courtyard which does so, seeing down below Roche arriving with another person - their strange scent making Iorveth curious about them - then goes to look back to see about the other person who had been behind him, only seeing no-one is now there.

Muttering an Elvish swear under his breath he heads down to the courtyard, deciding to greet Roche and this mysterious person who may know who he had briefly just seen before they had vanished into thin air.

Returning back to Corvo Bianco, Roche feels far more comfortable in his altered clothing - the blue more distinct with he had noticed had faint emerald ferns sewn into it which only showed when he turned a certain way in the light, while the white was no longer dirty looking but clean white and the red laces re-threaded.

His fingerless gloves had been fixed as well, while he finds himself stopping by the archway which lead into the courtyard of Corvo Bianco to just take a breather, seeing Regis has gone up ahead to greet Geralt and another male with short-cut black hair.

"Vernon...." someone says from behind him, making him look over his shoulder to see that who is standing close behind him is Iorveth. "....May we talk?"

"About what?" Roche asks, evading the question when he fully turns to face the elf - the elf he had laid with during a drunken moment, which part of him regretted shouldn't had happened but the other side - a motherly side of him - had wanted it - who steps up to him, taking hold of his arm flicking his gaze to up to where Geralt and Regis, plus the third person are.

"Not here. I rather talk where we not be overheard." Iorveth says, placing a hand around his hip to lead him away from Corvo Bianco to somewhere the elf wishes to discusses something of importance.

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

Location - Toussaint, Corvo Bianco - Abandoned Farmstead - Approaching Mid-Morning

"How did you find out?"

"Ves, gave subtle hints you were acting odd."

"Dammit, I....should have known she would notice."

"Vernon, look at me..."

Lifting his head up to look into the single emerald eye, he feels Iorveth, who has pushed him back to place up against the brick-wall of a abandoned farmstead, slipping a flower behind his ear, covered by his chaperon.

The gentle act of the action, makes him lean up pressing a kiss to Iorveth's lips to test the elf's reaction - finding none, not pulling away from him or even shoving him off - where Iorveth moves a hand around his waist to pull him flush against his chest starting to kiss him back.

Bringing his hand up he rests it lightly on Iorveth's arm, melting into the kissing where their lips move against each-other's until a tongue flicks over them begging admittance which he allows.

This sparks something, where he is lifted up away from the wall and laid down on a bed of moss close by to some small white flowers, ferns and tall grasses with Iorveth, devouring his lips as their tongues entwine with his now lover changing position each-time to deepen it.

Until finally both of them release their lips to look at each-other, both their chests rising and falling heavily under their armour with a strand of glistening saliva connecting their swollen lips, while Roche lifts his hand up to reach for the bandanna which covers Iorveth's right eye.

Only for a gloved hand taking hold of his wrist, before his fingers even touch the bandanna, pinning it down onto the ground, moving to interlace their fingers together when Iorveth bends his head back down to kiss him on the neck - trailing his lips up and down, giving soft kitten licks and nips.

Tilting his head backwards to expose his throat more, Roche finds himself gasping breathlessly, squeezing back with his own fingers when his lover finds a sensitive spot on his neck which when his past flings would caress it with their lips it made his body melt into mind-numbing pleasure - but here with Iorveth now, it is wave after wave of it.

"Haaa....I want you."

"Patience.....let me savour this. I wish to get to know your body before becoming fully intimate with you, Vernon."

"Then your a first....previous flings..."

"Don't mention them...I'm here now."

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

Unlacing his fingers from Vernon's, Iorveth begins to peel of his lover's gambeson taking great care not to ruin it - seeing it has been adjusted and re-tailored since he last saw it, followed by when moving the outer layer the emerald ferns which glint briefly in the sunlight - a signature he recognised that of which Elihal, who was considered an outcast by the Elvish Elders, created only for people they considered special costumers - to place to one side.

Underneath the white tunic, he sees the slightly swollen abdomen where his child or children are starting to grow within making him bunch up the tunic to kiss it lightly with his lips noticing Vernon biting his bottom lip with a full blush forming on his cheeks when he does so and covering his face with one arm.

It is adorable.

"Don't hide your face from me." Iorveth says, slipping up to look down at the man who has rolled onto his side and taking hold of Vernon's chin to turn his face so the other man looks at him. "If your afraid, we can stop now and....continue some other time."

"I....No....I don't want you to stop. I....want you now. Not later or another time." Vernon tells him, one hand reaching up to take hold of the back of his head, fisting into his bandanna and lips pressing up against his.

Reassured he moves his hand to slip it down Vernon's waist to slip the black braies down that the other man takes hold of his hand to slip it between his thighs where Iorveth feels the petals covered in dew which is starting to trickle down the inside of his lover's thighs.

--------

Being touched intimately by Iorveth was something Roche would never imagined happening even though he fantasised what it would be like to have the elf kiss, hold or caress him in such a way he would be physically sated afterwards.

Now it was happening, with a hand between his thighs moving in such a way he breathlessly mewls at the feeling of Iorveth's fingers which been caressing his outer petals delve into his inner petals to slide in and out Roche begins to rock his hips into it.

Licking his lips to wet them, when he pulls back to look at Iorveth  noticing the elf's face has become intensely flushed with his lips  swollen from their kissing and watches when his lover brings the hand which between up to his lips, lapping the dew coating them.

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

"Fuck.....Vernon.....you....your taste.." Iorveth pants out, placing his hand back down between his lover thighs to thoroughly feel Vernon's gushing flower sliding his fingers in and out as between his own thighs his arousal is becoming so painful and persistent he removes his hand to start to remove his armour.

Once he has done so, he sees Vernon has slipped off a boot to slip one leg out of his braies allowing him to hook his lover's thigh up in the crook of his elbow indicating to the other man to keep it up then pushes his hips upwards, sliding his cock into the moist petals of Vernon's flower in one single thrust.

A soft breathless cry reaches his ears, causing a hand shooting to grip his hip tightly until relaxing when both of them take in being intimate after so long.

"Vernon..."

"Iorveth....kiss me."

A kiss is given, followed by a scarlet bandanna joining a black chaperon on top of the piles of clothes, a mixture of gasps, moans and mewling filling the abandoned farmstead until finally both of them lay there beside eachother catching their breaths, sweat which had formed trickling down both their bodies and foreheads resting against each-other's.

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

PART 4 -  Aftermath of Intimate Moment, Alone Once More, Captured Ves and Concern arising for the Safety of One's Unborn Child or Children

Location - Toussaint - Abandoned Farmstead close to Corvo Bianco - after Mid-Morning

"How does it feel to be pregnant with an elf child, Vernon?"

Feeling Iorveth who stands just beside him slip a hand around his waist to rest on his slightly swollen abdomen, Roche finds himself pausing in lacing up his unlaced white tunic and gambeson with his black braies hanging around his thighs waiting to be pulled up, making him place a hand on the elf's shoulder.

"S...Screw...you...Haa.."

He pants out, not meaning to say it, still himself recovering from the aftershock of multiple orgasms which Iorveth made him experience, until finally overstimulation had made him indicate to his elf lover they needed to stop which they had done so.

There was also the fact the elf had released so much into him, it is beginning to trickle down the inside of his thighs and dripping into the inside of his black braies alongside the fact he been filled with what Iorveth had stated during their Mating  were some more 'eggs' to help with the fertilisation process causing his already slightly swollen abdomen to swell more because of it.

Part of him feels embaressed at feel of the elf's seed trickling down the inside of his thighs, while the other half a perverse joy at being filled or claimed by his...lover....in this way.

"Don't deny you thought of being filled by me this way." Iorveth says, breath hot against Roche's ear it makes his cheeks flush again at the words. "Feel....me release into you, until finally pulling out to..."

"I need to get back to Corvo Bianco. The others will be wondering where we are and..." Roche says, evading in even saying something which admits to Iorveth that he had thought what it would be like and slipping away from the man, shrugs his black braies back up where sorting them goes to lace his white tunic and gambeson when Iorveth does it for him.

"I know..." Iorveth tells him, turning Roche around so he faces the elf helping him to lace up the gambeson stilling though when he goes to the final laces giving a heavy sigh which means he wishes to say something else but doesn't know if it is a good idea or not. "....I cannot return with you. I need to get back to...the camp."

"Iorveth...this....if we're discovered..." Roche begins to say, trying not think of the consequences if they are both found out. "I could be banished and you alongside our unborn child or children could be slaughtered." Iorveth continues for him, cupping both of his cheeks with both of his hands to kiss him on the forehead lightly it makes him close his eyes at the gentleness of it.

When he re-opens them Iorveth is gone, leaving him standing there in the abandoned farmstead.

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

Location - Toussaint - Forest Path back to Corvo Bianco - still after Mid-Morning

Sunlight is filtering through the canopy of trees, illuminating different spots in the small forest which is close by to Corvo Bianco where Roche stops to lean against a tree, where he finds himself shifting his thighs in discomfort due to his soaked braies making themselves known.

He not expected Iorveth to release so much....seed...within him, it would gush down the inside of his thighs afterwards, while biting his bottom lip moves his gambeson to one side and reaching his black braies unlaces them to push slightly down to expose himself.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he slides a hand between his thighs. His breath hitches slightly when he touches himself - rubbing at first one finger over his moist, wet petals still coated in his elf's lover seed, until pushing it slowly within it makes him place one hand over his mouth to silence himself as he does so.

He is still wet within himself with his Iorveth's release, forcing him to spread his legs apart more in his black braies when he begins to finger himself - sliding the finger in and out of his moist, wet petals rubbing up the against the wee bud - until finally he can feel the tingling feeling begin to sneak it's way up his thighs.

Roche wants to be able to continue, but he pulls his hand away denying his climax knowing he must really get back to Corvo Bianco and slipping his black braies back up re-laces them.

Not knowing hidden the shadows a figure who been watching him, give a subtle smirk and their eyes gleam briefly with otherworldly light before heading off on their own way.

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

Location - Toussaint, Caed Myrkvid - still after Mid-Morning

"How's Isi?"

"He's....slowly recovering. Where have you been?"

Ciaran aep Easnillen - Iorveth's second-on-command - asks him, when Iorveth pours some water into the wash-basin from a jug placed beside it then slipping his scarlet bandanna off, cups the water in his hands to splash his face noticing when he lowers his hands reflected in the mirror is Isengrim who immediately comes up to him.

This makes him turn, only to be harshly pinned up against the dresser by the other elf who looks at him with a glare which he responds with his own, while Isengrim bends his head down to his inhaling deeply.

Iorveth just prays he doesn't pick up the scent of Vernon on his skin, but it seems there is enough for the other elf to bare his fangs in displeasure he is coated in another scent - and not his own.

"Why do you smell of a human Dh'oine, Iorveth?!!" Isengrim asks, growling out the words - which tells Iorveth he only picked up that, but not who it is which is a good sign.

"Why would I want to smell like a filthy Dh'oine." Iorveth evades the question, managing to slip away, only for a hand to grab hold of him by his hair giving opportunity for the other elf to smash his lips into his or would have if weren't for Iorveth shouting at him. "NO!!!"

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he shoves Isengrim off of him hissing with fangs bared and claws lengthening to indicate to the other elf leader he will not be controlled this way.

"So, that's your answer." Isengrim says, just as one of his men steps within the tent, handing over to Isengrim what Iorveth sees is Vernon's Temerian Lilies badge which means Vernon had either dropped it or had come off his gambeson. "Well....here is mine."

Isengrim steps out of the tent, closely followed by muffled shouting when he comes back in dragging in the tied up figure of Vernon's second-in-command - Ves - who hissing and spitting every curse she knows at Isengrim, until she is flung down in front of Iorveth.

A pained cry comes from the female Dh'oine, making Iorveth heavily resist in moving to help her up, knowing it is just what Isengrim wants him to do - to acknowledge she was the one he had lain with - seeing Ves, sit up glaring at everyone in the tent.

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

Location - Toussaint, Corvo Bianco - still after Mid-Morning

"Sir...Sir!!!?"

"Easy....calm down, what's happened?"

One of the many Vineyard workers who Roche, before Iorveth had led him away to the abandoned farmstead, had seen working away in the vineyards comes running up to Roche as soon as they see him, heading to the front door which opens to reveal Geralt - all kitted out in his Witcher gear, busy sorting the sword straps before - who lifts his head up to see what the fuss is all about.

"Roche, your just in time." Geralt says, confusing Roche even further when the Witcher heads down to the stables where his trusted mare Roach is housed. " Ves, went to go and look for you and Iorveth when you didn't return at mid-morning. She's not come back and rumours have spread about in the rural areas among farmers and travelling merchants a rogue band of Scoia'tael are attacking humans - not giving any mercy."

"I....didn't mean to be gone so long." Roche says, swearing heavily that his second-in-command would of course get suspicious in why he was not back yet and the fact Iorveth had been the one to take him elsewhere. "I'm coming with you. Who knows what mess she has gotten into."

"I would advise against that." He hears the soothing, calm dulcet tones of Regis making him turn to glare at the other man, who somehow has silently sneaked up behind him without Roche even hearing any sound of his footfalls, who has joined them.

"Dammit to hell, Regis!!! She's my second-in-command and the best of the Blue Stripes who has been with me since the beginning!!! I cannot just abandon her to...being....killed!!!" Roche finds himself shouting, nearly swaying when light-headedness settles in because of his shouting, he feels Regis taking hold of him.

"Vernon, let me deal with this." Geralt tells him, making him shake his head - even though part of him knows he is being irrational in the situation. "Think, would Ves want you to get hurt saving her."

"I....She....No, of course not." He tells Geralt, turning his face to one side - embaressed he is acting rashly in front of his friend. "She's.....always held her ground even when the worst has happened to myself or any other member of the Blue Stripes."

"You do know she thinks of you as almost motherly-figure, Vernon." Regis tells him, letting go of his arms and come around to stand close to Geralt, who is busy getting Roach ready. "Sometimes....you just got to learn to let yourself have others help you."

Roche doesn't know how to respond to that, but knows he in the past kept others who wished to help away from him and only allowed Ves to give help, risking in the process nearly both their lives more than once.

"Just....bring her back safely."

"Of course, Vernon. Friends never abandon their allies."

Regis must have sensed he is getting tired because the other man - after quietly whispering something to Geralt, his hand squeezing the Witcher's arm lightly to reassure the white-haired man about something - comes up to lead Roche up into the house, where inside just near the stairs leading up to the quest bedroom he indicates to the other man he can head up himself.

"I'm fine. I...just to be alone for wee while if you don't mind, Regis." Roche says, heading upstairs when he nearly slumps against the wall just before reaching the landing feeling like his chest has become tight - like it is difficult to breathe all of a sudden - making him fist his hand into his gambeson.

"You overexerted yourself, Vernon." Regis says, catching him when Roche nearly slides down the wall and lifts him up - so easily, it is surprise the other man hides this kind of hidden strength - to carry him further up the stairs to the quest bedroom, where he is laid down on the bed.

Rolling to lay on his side, he listens to Regis pottering about in getting stuff out of his satchel, followed by the clinking of flasks, until finally a soft exclamation of "Ahh, there is it."  comes from the other man, meaning he found what he been looking for.

"What is that?" He asks Regis, eyes flicking to the flask being held by the other man who comes around the bed placing it down on the bedside table.

"A herbal remedy to help pregnant women." Regis replies, taking out the stopper. "My own concoction though, due to the original remedy which had been created by a very unscrupulous un-named fake-herbalist doing far more harm than good from what I have gleaned from records on them."

"Regis, will it harm..." Roche begins to ask, placing a hand to his slightly swollen abdomen where Iorveth's eggs rest within forming their child or children - part of him hoped it wasn't just one child, because then she or he would have siblings to play with when older. "...Will it harm the....eggs?"

"I see." Regis complements this information, going back over to his satchel placed on the edge of the bed to get a leather-bound notebook - dog-eared and pages looking like have been re-sewed back into the binding so they don't fall apart or become loose - opening it, flicking through the pages until he comes to a paragraph which must be connected to another page in the notebook. "I had not thought about how the Elvish species mate and have their young."

Roche flushes heavily at the memory of the feel of Iorveth when he been within him - the steady throb and pulsating, followed by rush of warmth and the eggs filling him - with the elf, trembling over him with his tattooed chest rising and falling heavily, until kissing him before Roche could ask if he was alright.

"I....don't much about it either. Only what Iorveth has told me, but even that is sparse in details." He says, lying back down to place his head on the pillow, resting one hand on his slightly swollen abdomen. "Would you mind? I like to...."

"...Sleep. I perfectly understand." Regis says, placing the flask and notebook back into the satchel and coming over to slip a blanket over him before heading to the flight of steps. "I will see if can find any Elvish tomes, which may help us both."

He goes to thank the other man, only to see Regis has already headed off so settles back down even though deep concern is rising with him - the fact there might be a point where Iorveth might not be able to protect him and their unborn child or children.

At some point he was probably going be called to the court of Emperor Emhyr vat Emreis - *Deithwen Addan yn Carn aep Morvudd - to discuss about events of what had happened at Loc Muinne where a peace summit of the Northern Kingdoms had meant to take place.

He also knew how powerful the man was - having spread over the lands of his enemies, swallowing everything up but leaving only certain regions to fight amongst themselves.

The problem was Nilfgaardian's views on certain things, meant if Iorveth ever followed him to the palace they would have to be careful they weren't found out.

He didn't know what they thought about the Elvish community, whether they hated them or lived in equal truce with them.

Plus if the Emperor got wind about his 'condition' he could find himself locked away in the deepest dungeon never to see the light of day again or Iorveth for that matter.

For the safety of their unborn child or children he prays deeply to Melitele it will never happen, before tiredness overcomes him pulling him soon into deep restful and undisturbed sleep.

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

Notes: 

Inspired by fan-art of the characters Vernon Roche and Iorveth by the artist  @chamotea , who has such wonderful pieces of fan-art in their collection of posts that just love the design of them.

Sequel to the fic will deal fully with a Geralt/Regis/Dettlaff relationship, set after Blood and Wine DLC while there is brief reference to it in this fic hence the relationship tag.

Ves, second-in-command of the Blue Stripes begins to realise while visiting Toussaint to meet Geralt of Rivia at his home of Corvo Bianco (Elder Speech: Gwyn Cerbin) that something is wrong with Vernon Roche, who has arrived back from sorting out things in Flotsam. - 'Memory of an Intimate Moment and First Signs refer to Vernon, while 'Tension in the Camp' refers to Iorveth and Isengrim - Vernon doesn't want to reveal he is with child to those closest to him, after being told by Regis he is pregnant and swears the man into secrecy - CW: References to thoughts about abortion and mentions of abortion and mild Isengrim Faoiltiarna/Iorveth relationship which involves a possessive Isengrim not wanting to let go of Iorveth and elf interracial moments involving Isengrim and Iorveth's group fighting due to tension among both groups not liking each-other

Cáelmewedd (meaning Quiet Child in Elder Speech) - Caed Myrkvid is Elder Speech: Myrkvid Forest or Grove ("Myrkvid" itself deriving from Old Norse "myrkviðr" and meaning "dark wood", while "caed" comes from Welsh "coed" which means forest). - "Faoiltiarna" is broken Irish for "Wolf Lord", while "Isegrimm" (without the n) is a German poetic word for "Wolf".- Vernon's genitalia is considered as flower and petals, instead of cunt or pussy in this fic - Mention of Vernon having relationships in the past before he met Iorveth - Vernon doesn't know Regis is a vampire

They/Them/Their pronouns for Elihal - Roche asks about the Elvish Culture and Rules on being intimate with a Human - Iorveth meets with Ves when visiting Geralt at Corvo Bianco, where they discuss Roche and why the man is acting so odd- In Elder Speech Geralt is called "Gwynbleidd" (close to the Welsh translation "Blaidd Gwyn"), meaning the White Wolf - CW: References to non-consensual sex between Isengrim and Iorveth - Iorveth briefly meets Dettlaff - Chapter titles refer to 'Questions Answered' is Roche and 'Finding out One is a Father' is Iorveth, followed 'Sharing an Intimate Moment' is both Iorveth and Roche

Chapter titles refer to 'Aftermath of an Intimate Moment' is Iorveth and Roche, 'Alone Once More' is Roche and 'Captured Ves' is Iorveth, Ves and Roche and 'Concern arising for the Safety of One's Unborn Child or Children' is Regis and Roche- Vernon nearly overexerts himself when shouting at Regis - Isengrim thinks Ves is the human Iorveth mated with, so has captured her to try and force Iorveth to confess - Vernon is concerned about Ves and her safety - Regis is interested in Elvish Mating Rituals, only because he wishes to learn about other species and not for nefarious purposes- Definition of potter around/about: to spend time in a relaxed way doing small jobs and other things that are not very important

Emhyr var Emries also called in the Nilfgaardian language: *The White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of his Enemies), while known to a few under his alias as Duny, the Urcheon of Erlenwald (Polish: Jeż z Erlenwaldu)

Rest of chapters on Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/40704318/chapters/101991279 if readers want to read ahead

Parts 1 to 4

Parts 5 to ? will be posted soon

For @chamotea, @apastandfuturenerd and other Ioroche Shippers out there

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

[fictionplumis]

I see your “Roche is secretly a half-elf” and raise you “Shrodingers Roche”. 

Half the things he does is just so Aen Seidhe that when it gets to the point where he’s forced to cooperate with the Socia’tael for the benefit of everyone, like we all want to happen, the elves are just like, “Okay, he has to have Elder Blood. Humans aren’t normally like that, especially humans like him, who revel in violence, murder, and bloodshed. I mean, he doesn’t know who his father is, so...” 

And then Roche turns around and says or does something that contradicts the theory completely and all the elves throw their hands up like, “Nope, he’s a dh’oine.”

-- Roche likes being up high places, both because there’s a tactical advantage but also because he just does. He’s a Blue Stripe, he knows how to climb a tree like a Squirrel, and yes, sometimes he will do it just to sit in the damn tree because at least there he has some peace and quiet sometimes and can observe the surrounding area better. 

-- He hates jumping through the branches chasing down some Socia’tael member who won’t do the decent thing and just let themselves be shot from the trees by a crossbow or come down themselves to get their asses handed to them in a proper fight. Fuck that. He will drag that elf from the tree by their ankle on sheer principal to kill them on the ground. You know, the only sensible place to fight. 

-- He’s really good with a bow. Ves is better than him with a crossbow and is quickly catching up to his skill with a regular bow, but for the moment he can still outshoot her if they’re both using traditional bows. His aim is also damn good with a crossbow for a human, Ves is just better. 

-- Hates using a bow. Just fucking hates it. Iorveth or someone will preach about the benefits a bow has over a crossbow and Roche will go, “Oh yes, well my opionion is,” then he flips the bird and leaves to go shoot shit with his crossbow. But of course he would rather use a sword, or a knife, or just straight up start fucking people up with his mace because who needs poise or grace when you can just bust their skull in with a mace? 

-- When he explained how the Blue Stripes were so hard to ambush without Roche figuring out their location seconds before the ambush, what he describes sounds oddly like he’s tuning into the feeling of the forest. He claims it’s a feeling, like the trees are holding their breath, like there’s a charge in the atmosphere, a drop of pressure on a beautiful sunny day before a bad storm. And what human can feel the natural world around them that strongly and not have a drop of Elder Blood there? 

--Then they watch him pass up five different medicinal herbs on his way to pick some poison mushrooms that aren’t deadly if cooked, but will cause mild stomach pains nonetheless. And Roche is like, “It’s fine, because it’s food that doesn’t kill anyone and doesn’t cut into our rations. Who cares about some mild abdominal cramping? Ves goes through that once a cycle and she’s fine. My unit never complained about them before besides the one person who died before we realized we needed to cook them, but no one liked him anyway.” 

-- He likes looking up at the stars, which Iorveth found particularly endearing. Of course, as a Commander and someone who travels a lot, Roche would need to know how to navigate by them, but laying on his back at night looking up at them twinkling overhead isn’t navigating, and Roche even knows some of the lore behind the constellations, even if the lore he knows is heavily changed to fit human beliefs when they had once been elven stories. 

-- Roche can identify the Guiding Star and knows that it’s part of a ladle, but he doesn’t get how it’s a ladle. He can’t see the ladle. He finds the star because he recognizes the pattern of the other stars around it but they don’t look like a fucking ladle. And he knows those three stars over there are the belt of a hunter but that does NOT look like a hunter with a bow. He cannot for the life of him understand how some people saw those dots in the sky and went, “Ah yes, that looks like an archneas.” Don’t try to show him and point it out star by star, don’t try to draw him a picture and explain it, he won’t get it. He doesn’t see it. He thinks people that do are a little touched in the head. 

-- His ears are sensitive. 

-- He claims that’s pretty normal for humans and they aren’t even slightly pointy.

-- When he wants to, he can move incredibly silent and blend in well with the forest despite being bright fucking blue. There is a kind of grace about him, too. All of those things are too well done for most skilled humans.

-- He’s big. He’s bulky. He has to try at being silent. Body hair. Also he would rather not fight with grace, he’d rather just wail on someone with his fists and taste blood in his mouth.

-- He rarely dreams, and when he does, they’re intense. 

-- All the dreams he has can easily be explained by PTSD. 

-- Roche does actually find peace in being in nature. When he’s alone. When he’s not looking over his shoulder for threats. And he’s very good at just being in the middle of the woods and doing things. It’s something he never admits to anyone because it just never really comes up. 

-- If given the choice between being in the middle of the woods, or in a city with a fucking bed and roof over his head, he’ll pick the bed ANY DAY. 

-- He’s actually a very clean person if given the choice. He likes baths, especially hot baths because they ease his aching muscles. And he prefers his clothing looking nice and neat, like he just stepped out of the Vizima palace. 

-- He doesn’t complain about going weeks covered in blood, sweat, dirt, shit, and gods only know what else. He’ll complain about having to scrub it off his clothes, though. 

-- He’s fucking TOUGH. For a human, he’s survived some extreme shit and kept on trucking. He can take a fall, he can take a hit, he can nearly be burned alive by a dragon and then buried under half a foot of rubble and get up and be pissed off that his uniform is scorched and he broke three ribs. Socia’tael have seen him take arrows and just keep coming. 

--  He aches a lot. Muscles, joints, especially his wrists from using a sword. All that jumping after the Socia’tael and fighting his way out of every situation has taken a real toll on his body. He often wears compression gloves under his studded ones to help with the pain. He claims that age is a factor because he’s not a young man anymore, but Elder Blood would staved that off for a bit longer. Time will tell on that one, whether is pain his lifestyle or age, and if he lives long enough for his age to give much of a hint.

-- And a random thing that screws up the whole idea he might have Elder Blood, this poor man can’t carry tune for shit. Can’t even hum on key. He’s fucking awful and so he just WON’T because his biggest weakness is doing something minorly embarrassing. 

So the question becomes, is Roche a half-elf, a weird human, or are humans just sometimes like that? Until they know for sure, all are equally likely and valid.

[ainti-pretty]

vernon roches self loathing v geralts self loathing: fight

[bard-llama]

WiP Wednesday: Future Side Story from You and Me and the Baby Makes Three

Okay, so since getting back into the Witcher again, I've been reviewing my billions of WiPs and I wanted to share this bit from the future of You and Me and the Baby Makes Three. This comes after Roche decides to keep the half-elf baby and raise him together with Iorveth - and of course, the Stripes and the Scoia'tael gotta get in on that. But this story is actually from Cedric's POV (Iorveth's former lover who lives in Lobinden outside Flotsam).

(putting under a cut because tumblr fucked up formatting and I can't indent anymore and I'm still mad about it)

When Cedric had first learned that Iorveth had brought his Scoia’tael to the aid of some human woman, he’d almost walked into a tree, so shocked was he. He had known Iorveth a long, long time and if ever there had been a time Iorveth had looked kindly upon humans, it had long since past. 

So why would he have brought his men to serve this human? Why would they have agreed to go?

Once upon a time, Cedric had been able to figure out what Iorveth was thinking. But that too was long ago now, and Cedric hadn’t a clue. 

Then he started hearing rumors about this Free Pontar Valley, this supposed land of equality where elves and dwarves and humans lived peacefully alongside each other. This land that apparently, Iorveth now protected. Even against Kaedwen’s army!

In all his life, Cedric never would’ve called that. He’d sooner believe Iorveth had married a dwarf than that he might willingly follow a human. 

Cedric was curious, he could admit to that. He wanted to know what could have prompted such a change in his one time friend. One time lover. Gods, but Cedric missed Iorveth sometimes, with a ferocity that took him off guard even after all these years. But who he really missed was the Iorveth he had known before hatred had twisted him into something unrecognizable. 

He’d assumed that Iorveth was gone forever, drowned under the blood on Iorveth’s hands – but perhaps he had been wrong, because if Iorveth could set aside his hatred to work alongside humans, then anything could be possible. 

Cedric wanted to find out, wanted to discover if the man he knew was still in there somewhere. 

So when a few of the elves and dwarves in Lobinden started talking about potentially going to this Free Pontar Valley…

Things were better in Lobinden since Moril had been recovered and Loredo had been killed. But ‘better’ was still a life lived in fear of the next riot, of the next mob. Cedric couldn’t blame them for wanting to leave, though whether this fabled land would be better or not…

It grieved Cedric, to leave his forest. But he’d been here a long time now and perhaps it was time to move on. Perhaps there was a chance he could reclaim a friend of old and a life he’d thought forever lost.

He had to find out. He had to.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t a tad nervous over how Iorveth would receive him. They hadn’t exactly ended on the best terms, after all. And Iorveth could hold a grudge like no one else Cedric had ever seen. 

He still held a grudge against his own mother for a slight during his first century of life, even though she was long dead. Honestly, Cedric was pretty sure the concept of forgiveness was entirely foreign to Iorveth. 

Which might be a problem for him, Cedric was learning. Because he’d made it to Vergen and he’d gone straight to the tavern, getting thoroughly sloshed as he listened to all the gossip about Iorveth.

Then he decided it was time to go find Iorveth, and therein lay the problem. Because before he found Iorveth, he found Iorveth’s second. Once upon a time, Cedric and Ciaran had actually gotten along quite well. But from the look on Ciaran’s face, those times were long gone, because it was as though a stormcloud descended over his previously pleasant expression.

“You,” Ciaran growled. “What do you want?”

“To see Iorveth,” Cedric answered simply, honestly kind of reeling at the leashed anger on Ciaran’s face. 

“No,” Ciaran said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“No. You won’t hurt him again.” Ciaran’s voice was firm and unyielding. 

Cedric blinked. He’d hurt Iorveth? He’d been the one breaking his own heart, because he could see the monster Iorveth was becoming and he could see how easily Iorveth could drag him down just as low. It had scared him, those vision – scared him enough that he’d been forced to look at who Iorveth had become and how much of the Iorveth that he loved was left. 

There hadn’t been much. Honestly, he’d half-thought that there hadn’t been enough for Iorveth to even care when he left.

Ciaran scoffed in disbelief. “Of course he fucking cared,” Ciaran snapped. “You’d been together for a fucking century until you broke his heart.”

“Oh,” Cedric said dumbly. He – somehow that had never occurred to him, that Iorveth’s heart might’ve been breaking right alongside his. 

“He was a mess after that,” Ciaran bit out. “Still healing from losing his fucking eye and then someone he trusted stabbed him in the back and through the heart.”

Cedric flinched. At the time, he’d been so certain that he had to leave, certain that the Iorveth he wanted was gone. But if that Iorveth was still in there somewhere… then that meant that Cedric had soundly rejected him.

Swallowing hard, Cedric murmured, “it would seem I owe him an apology.”

“No,” Ciaran crossed his arms. “You don’t get to ruin his life here just to soothe your guilty conscious.”

“That’s not–!”

“No,” Ciaran repeated. “Leave Iorveth alone. He deserves better than to be jerked around by an asshole like you.”

The words hit hard and Cedric turned blindly, marching away from Ciaran – and back towards the inn. He needed a drink. Or twelve.

The next day, he decided he would need to take a different approach to finding Iorveth. Iorveth was said to be enamored with the leader of the Free Pontar Valley, a leader who claimed to have slain a dragon. If Iorveth was truly so taken with her for some reason, then surely she would know where Cedric could find him. 

Getting in to see the new ruler of this realm was surprisingly easy. All he’d had to do was add his name to a list and then wait – and every single person on the list got one on one time with Saskia the Dragonslayer. 

It was absurd and must’ve been extremely time consuming, but it was convenient for Cedric’s purposes, so he waited and waited and finally, when his flask was nearly empty, he was called in to see the Dragonslayer.

“Cedric aep Cyran,” Saskia greeted. “I understand you come from Lobinden. Welcome to Vergen.”

“Thank you,” he said, shifting awkwardly. Should he just ask her straight out?

“How may I be of service?” Saskia asked as though that was the sort of question a ruler should ever ask of a petitioner. 

“I’m looking for Iorveth,” he said bluntly. 

“Oh,” she blinked. “May I ask why?”

“He’s an old friend,” Cedric said, not entirely sure if he was lying or not. Was that Iorveth still alive? 

“Around now, he’s probably teaching,” Saskia said and threw him for another loop.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh, Iorveth has been hosting classes for those interested to learn about elven cultural practices that have been lost to time. He has quite a gaggle of adoring students, in fact.”

The words did not quite compute. “He’s – what, is he teaching them music?”

“Yes, music of course, but also other things. Courting rituals, for instance.” She looked thoroughly amused as she spoke. 

“He’s teaching… elves?”

“And half-elves and humans and dwarves, too. Anyone interested,” she shrugged. “I can show you where, if you like. I’m sure his students would appreciate hearing from another elf who recalls a wholly different time.”

“Uh. Yeah,” Cedric cleared his throat. The more he learned about Iorveth, the more he felt like the one he remembered was close by and yet entirely out of reach. “I – I would like to see him.”

“Come with me, then,” Saskia smiled at him and led him through a confusing twisting and turning route before stopping near a waterfall. In front of the water, Iorveth sat on a stone, facing a group of twenty or so people of all species, and bouncing a baby on his knee.

Cedric’s brain flatlined. Iorveth and children had never gone together before, even when Iorveth had been untainted by his hatred and need for revenge. Even before his hands had been stained with the blood of children.

“–that’s why hair is sacred to elves,” Iorveth was saying, looking down at the baby as he played with it, even as he continued his lesson. In front of him, eight elves, five dwarves, and ten humans stared attentively up at him. “It’s the only hair we grow and it was gifted to us by the goddess Navé. That’s also why it’s very personal. When young, friends might be permitted to touch, but for grown elves, only family and lovers are appropriate. Anyone else touching is considered quite offensive and scandalous.”

“Is that why you hide yours?” a human child asked.

Iorveth hesitated. “It’s one reason.” His mouth twisted, “I’ve had enough encounters with forced haircuts to know better than to leave an opening.”

Several of the elves Cedric recognized as Iorveth’s Scoia’tael grimaced, muttering disparaging remarks about those who would dare defile an elf so. But Cedric was more astonished that Iorveth had actually willingly shared that shame.

Cedric had found him, that first time, after humans had held down the musician and shorn off his hair. He’d seen how ashamed Iorveth had felt, hiding the evidence of what humans had taken from him. He’d seen the first signs of the hatred that would eventually consume Iorveth.

Saskia coughed, drawing attention to them, and Cedric saw the exact moment Iorveth saw him. Iorveth’s face went blank, emotions hidden behind a mask Cedric couldn’t read. It didn’t bode well for him.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Saskia said, looking mildly concerned. “He said he was an old friend.”

“Ha!” Sylvar scoffed loudly. “Some friend.”

Again, Cedric was taken off guard by the fierce glares Iorveth’s Scoia’tael leveled at him. He swallowed hard, greeting Iorveth.

“Can we talk?” he asked, clearing his throat.

Iorveth’s hands froze momentarily around the baby’s middle, but after a moment, he nodded, passing the baby to a human who, on second glance, appeared to be Vernon Roche. As in, the head of the Scoia’tael hunters Vernon Roche. What the fuck? Was that the same baby from Flotsam!? Why was Iorveth playing with it?

Amongst the discontent grumbling of his men, Iorveth rose, walking some distance away before jerking his head to indicate that Cedric should follow. Finally, Iorveth stopped beside a door and held it open for Cedric, waving him inside a small office. 

“What do you want?” Iorveth asked, voice cold. 

Cedric shivered, trying to figure out what to say. “How!?” he finally landed on. “How the hell did you end up here?”

“What do you care?” Iorveth spat. “You made it pretty damn clear that you were done with me.”

“You’d started killing children!” Cedric retorted. 

“So why do you care?” Iorveth crossed his arms, glaring at him. 

“Because you’re… you,” Cedric shrugged helplessly.

Iorveth did not look impressed and Cedric swallowed. 

“How did you come to be following a human?” he asked softly.

Iorveth frowned. “Saskia is not like any dh’oine you’ve ever met.”

“Oh?”

“She has the charisma to hold together all the disparate factions in Vergen and she has the steely resolve needed to ensure that equality is enforced.”

“Equality,” Cedric repeated. “You’re okay with living on equal ground with humans?”

“I’m okay with my Scoia’tael getting to choose not to fight. All I ever wanted was a future for our people.”

Cedric gaped at him. “You – but – you would gladly kill any human to so much as look at you wrong.”

“Sure,” Iorveth shrugged as if that was no big deal. “Doesn’t mean acting on that desire would do any good.”

Cedric stared. “I… have no idea what to say to that. Your past actions completely contradict it?”

Iorveth shrugged again. “Eminent extinction forces one to make compromises they wouldn’t usually. Do I want to live amongst humans? Not particularly. But humans aren’t going anywhere. Even if I killed every single one here in the mountain, more would come flooding in. They’re endless – and we aren’t. So,” his shoulder rose in a half-shrug. “A future amongst humans is better than no future at all.”

Cedric couldn’t help the way he boggled at Iorveth. That – how were those words coming from the same man who decided that killing human adults wasn’t enough, that they had to kill human children in order to be heard?

“How,” Cedric started slowly, “how did you come to arrive at that conclusion? ‘Cause I would have never thought–”

“I know what you thought,” Iorveth snapped. “You made it quite clear how monstrous you found me.”

“You were killing children,” Cedric emphasized. “And now you teach human children about elves?”

“Yes,” Iorveth said simply as though there wasn’t a contradiction there.

“I don’t understand,” Cedric shook his head.

“No, you don’t,” Iorveth answered, something sharp in his tone. 

“What is it about this Saskia that prompted such a change in your thinking!?”

“She believes in a better world,” Iorveth said. “One in which Aen Seidhe are respected and honored, rather than murdered en masse.”

“Yeah, but… she’s human?”

Iorveth was silent for a long moment. Then he finally said, “she sees more than the monster I’ve become.”

Cedric blinked. “You are more,” he said without thinking.

Iorveth’s snort sounded painful. “And what the fuck would you know of it?”

“I’ve known you most of your life,” Cedric pointed out, something uncomfortable wriggling in this belly. “I know you.”

“You did know me,” Iorveth corrected. “Then I – how did you put it? ‘Changed, and not for the better’?”

Cedric flinched. “I was wrong,” he admitted. “I thought – I thought that the Iorveth I knew had died under your hatred for humanity. But I was wrong. You’re here.”

Iorveth’s lips twisted and Cedric got the sense that he disagreed, but before he could say anything, there was a soft knock on the door. Iorveth turned away from Cedric easily, and the heavy sensation in his gut grew.

He just – he just wanted to find his friend again. But even though he was pretty sure that Iorveth was still alive, he wasn’t so sure his friend would want anything to do with him ever again.

Iorveth opened the door to reveal Vernon Roche, carrying a baby with pointed ears against his hip.

“Hey,” Roche greeted softly, eyes darting to Cedric and back. “Uh, just wanted to check on you.”

Iorveth huffed, an oddly amused sound. “I’m fine,” he answered, reaching out to take the baby and hugging it close.

Roche’s lips twitched. Then he cleared his throat, looked back over at Cedric, and dipped his head. “Hello again.”

Cedric frowned at him in consternation. Why would Vernon Roche check on Iorveth? And if Roche was raising that same baby from Flotsam, why was Iorveth involved at all? Weren’t they supposed to hate each other?

Iorveth acted as though nothing out of the usual was happening. “C’mon,” he jerked his head, “let’s head back.”

Still holding the baby, he walked out of the office. Roche followed after him immediately and strode by his side, but Cedric was more delayed in moving. It would seem their conversation was over.

He frowned, wondering where exactly he stood with his old friend now. He still didn’t really know how Iorveth had come to be here – but he wanted to learn, wanted to understand. 

Belatedly, he scrambled to catch up. “Iorveth,” he called, seeing the way Iorveth stiffened. “Would you have time to talk later?” he tried, desperate not to lose this opportunity. “Perhaps dinner?”

A muscle in Iorveth’s jaw flexed. But instead of the outright rejection Cedric half expected, Iorveth turned to Roche, explaining, “Vernon’s the one cooking.”

Roche seemed surprised to have the decision left in his hands and Cedric couldn’t say he felt differently. What the fuck was the relationship between these two? Weren’t they supposed to be enemies?

“Uh,” Roche coughed. “I mean… sure? There’s room.”

Cedric attempted a smile, mostly just confused.

When they returned to the waterfall, most of Iorveth’s students had left, but Saskia sat where Iorveth once had and was talking animatedly with two human children and two young elves that Cedric had seen amongst Iorveth’s Scoia’tael, but must have been new enough that he didn’t recognize them.

Iorveth walked right up to them, bouncing the baby in his arms slightly. “Cedric will be joining us for dinner,” he announced, voice flat.

Cedric blinked. Us?

“Oh good, I’m hungry,” the young human boy said, stretching. Then he waved at Cedric, “I’m Boussy. That’s my sister, Anais.”

“Uh. Hi? I’m Cedric.”

“That Cedric?” one of the elves wearing red and green armor asked, eyebrow arching high.

Iorveth rolled his eye. “Yes,” he answered her. “Let’s go.”

He started walking back towards the city and everyone followed him. Were they all joining them for dinner? Why was Iorveth having dinner with Vernon Roche and the other humans!?

“‘That Cedric’?” Roche asked the elf in an undertone.

“The one who messed Iorveth up real bad,” she murmured and Cedric swallowed hard, pretending he couldn’t hear her. “That was before I joined up, but it took Iorveth a long time to recover.”

Iorveth cleared his throat loudly, which meant that he had also heard her words – and he didn’t refute them. Cedric’s heart sank. Had he really done so much damage?

Had he been wrong to leave?

How could he have been, though? Iorveth – Iorveth may not be as consumed by hate as Cedric had thought… but he’d still killed children. He’d still gone far too extreme and forgotten what it meant to be an elf with honor.

If Cedric had stayed, he would have fallen too. And maybe his life wasn’t much, but at least he could say with honesty that there were depths he would not sink to.

So he hadn’t been wrong, leaving. But he had hurt Iorveth, and he wondered if he could ever make up for that.

“So,” Saskia said some minutes later as they all sat down at a huge dining room table in someone’s house. Cedric wasn’t certain whose house, but the possibility that it was Iorveth’s made his stomach flip. 

Even before Iorveth had begun to fight humanity, he’d never been terribly domestic. His feet had always itched for the road, and Cedric had enjoyed trekking beside him many a time. They’d explored the continent that way, years and years ago before humanity had doomed them all.

“So?”

“You’ve known each other a long time? You and Iorveth?”

“Oh,” Cedric’s surprise melted into a fond smile. “Yes, we’ve known each other for centuries. Since before humans came to this sphere.”

“Really? What was the world like then?” the elf who’d judged him asked eagerly. “Oh, uh, I’m Ky, by the way. Nice to meet you, I guess.”

The girl beside Ky nudged her with an elbow, signing something in a language Cedric had half-forgotten.

“And this is Rinn,” Ky said. “We’re here for Papa Iorveth.” Her grin was cheeky as she said that, but even so, Cedric choked at the very idea of Iorveth as a father figure. 

Iorveth rolled his eye. “What they mean is that they’re nosy gossips.”

“Rude!” Ky scoffed. “It’s not nosy when it’s out of love.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Roche chuckled. 

The little human girl, Anais, giggled silently, signing something back at Rinn. Signing something in Elder sign language.

Had Iorveth taught a human child how to speak their language!? Why?

“So,” Roche cleared his throat, “what was the world like then?”

Cedric debated how to answer. “Bigger,” he said. “The whole world was open to us. And we traveled most of it.” His lips pulled into a slightly wicked smile as he turned to Iorveth. “Remember that time in Xin’trea?”

Iorveth snorted, genuine amusement passing over his face. “Vividly.”

Several people’s eyebrows rose, but Cedric was too busy remembering what Iorveth had looked like, ravisheded and satisfied. Remembering how Iorveth had gone on stage not moments later, looking exactly as if he’d just been fucked within an inch of his life. He’d positively thrived on being scandalous back then, and Cedric had been more than delighted to oblige.

Back then, Cedric had been the bad influence. 

“What happened in Xin-Xin’trea?” Boussy stumbled over the pronunciation. “Where is that?”

“Cintra,” Roche of all people answered. “Xin’trea was the elven name for what’s now Cintra. South of Temeria, along the coast.”

Boussy nodded slowly, “where the Blackclad army came from.”

Roche froze for a moment, mouth opening soundlessly. 

“Yes,” Iorveth answered, voice surprisingly soft. “Cintra is the northern tip of Nilfgaard’s sovereign territory.” 

That that their contested territory stretched up to Vizima was not mentioned. 

“So what happened in Xin’trea?” Ky asked.

Iorveth flushed lightly. “This was – oh, 50 years before the Conjunction?”

Cedric nodded.

“I was a concert musician, so I traveled around doing shows in different cities. And I wasn’t terribly well-known, but I was, um.”

“He always sold out,” Cedric supplied.

“Mostly because I was very good at getting people talking about me,” Iorveth admitted, cheeks pink. 

“Scandals sold tickets,” Cedric laughed. “And Iorveth excelled at being scandalous.”

The surprise from several people was palpable, but Iorveth just grinned, even as his ears turned red. “It was fun.”

“I’m trying to imagine it,” Ky said quietly, sharing a wide-eyed and gleeful look with Rinn. “What kind of scandals did our dear Iorveth cause?”

“Any kind,” Iorveth said, accepting a plate from Roche. 

Cedric took his a moment later. “What you should know,” he said, “is that elven society at the time was very traditionalist. And Iorveth is… not.”

Iorveth snorted. “Thanks.” He shook his head and answered Ky, “I did a lot of outrageous things to get tongues wagging.”

Cedric bit his lip against a lewd remark. There were children present, after all. Including the half-elf baby, who Roche was attempting to feed. 

“So you’ve always been a drama queen,” Roche summarized, smirking mischievously.

Iorveth opened his mouth to object, but Cedric had to set the record straight. “Absolutely.”

That set multiple people giggling and Iorveth’s blush darkened, but he was smiling. 

“I’m an artiste,” he sniffed. That just made Ky and Rinn giggle harder.

“So you’ve known each other a long time,” Roche said, an odd look on his face. “Were you always, uh–”

“Involved?” Saskia provided.

If Iorveth’s blush had gone away at all, it immediately darkened. “Not always,” he murmured.

“But often. And we were always friends.”

Iorveth stiffened at those words and Cedric could practically hear him thinking, until…

An awkward silence settled over the group for a moment, then Cedric asked, “do you all eat dinner together regularly?”

“It’s a family dinner,” Ky shrugged. “So of course the whole family is here.”

Cedric blinked. Family!? As in, Iorveth considered multiple humans to be family!? The concept didn’t compute.

Iorveth surely must have been able to feel his incredulous stare, but the musician refused to acknowledge him, instead focusing on his food.

“So,” Cedric cleared his throat, turning to Roche, who might actually give him an answer. Maybe. “Is that the same baby from Flotsam?”

“The same one none of your elves would take,” Roche said stiffly. “His name is Sallah. We’re raising him.”

“We?”

“We,” Roche confirmed, gesturing vaguely around the table. “He’s half-human and half-elven, and deserves to know both sides of his heritage, so…”

Cedric just stared. Iorveth was raising a baby with a human!? With this human!? Why!?

“Why not?” Saskia smiled at him. 

He looked at Iorveth, who was still avoiding his gaze. He had about a billion questions, but whether he could get answers…

Before he could try, there was a knock on the door. Saskia rose to answer – maybe that meant this was her house? – and when Saskia returned to the dining room, there was another woman behind her, a human with light hair and vividly bright lipstick.

“Mom,” Roche said in surprise, “you didn’t tell me you were coming!”

“Mom!?” Cedric was not the only person whose incredulous voice echoed around the room.

“Hello,” she smiled at all of them, waggling her fingers in a wave. “My name is Eliza. Yes, Vernon is my son – who apparently acquired three children since last we saw each other.”

There was a gentle rebuke in her tone, but Roche just shrugged. “I wrote you about them.”

“And then I decided to come see them for myself,” Eliza shrugged. She looked over the group and her eyebrow rose high, but all she did was introduce herself to the human children. “Anais and Boussy, right? And the baby is Sallah?”

“Yep,” Roche said.

“You’re Papa Roche’s mama?” Boussy asked curiously.

“I am,” she grinned at them. 

“Well, I’m Ky and this is Rinn and the grumpy one is Iorveth and that’s Saskia and that one is Cedric,” Ky went around the table. 

Cedric inclined his head respectfully towards her. 

“You Vernon didn’t write about,” Eliza said. “Nice to meet you.”

Cedric cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. “Yeah, I’m – just visiting.” It was sort of true, even if he’d initially planned to stay in Vergen long term.

“Oh lovely,” Eliza grinned. “So, may I join you for dinner?”

Roche rolled his eyes, getting up and fetching another plate as Saskia moved to make room for her next to Roche. 

“How was the trip from Vizima? Well, actually, from Flotsam too, I guess?”

Part of Cedric wanted to object to Lobinden being lumped in with Flotsam, but it wasn’t really worth getting upset about. Still, he would at least use the right name. “Lobinden is far enough from the front that we had no trouble,” he answered. “We were even able to pass through the Gleanna forest.” Without anyone getting shot, he didn’t need to say. Being nonhuman had not always been enough to protect people from the Scoia’tael in the past.

That had been another sign of how far Iorveth had fallen. Killing humans indiscriminately was bad enough – but slaughtering elves? He’d half wondered if Iorveth would come after him when the Scoia’tael started harassing ‘collaborators’.

How could the Iorveth who would kill an elf over associating too closely with humanity be the same Iorveth that sat here at a family dinner with four humans?

“Vizima remains Temerian for the moment,” Eliza said seriously, “so heading north wasn’t too bad. But I do worry what might happen if the tides shift during the return journey. Still, nothing I can’t handle.” She knocked her shoulder against her sons and he smiled, exasperation on his face.

“Leave Beatrice in charge at the Clarabelle?”

“Mm, with the help of a few of the others.”

“The Clarabelle?” Saskia asked.

“My brothel,” Eliza answered so easily that it took Cedric a moment to truly process her words.

“You own a brothel?”

Well, Vernon Roche was rumored to be a whoreson, he supposed. He’d always figured that was euphemistic, because really, how did a whoreson end up leading the king’s special forces?

How did the commander of the king’s special forces end up raising a baby with Iorveth!?

“The best brothel in Vizima,” Eliza said proudly. “Located in the Temple District. Come by, if you’re ever in the area.” She winked at him and he blinked owlishly at her. “The invitation extends to all of you, of course. The workers love meeting anyone important to Vernon.”

“Mostly ‘cause it rarely happens,” Roche pointed out.

“And because some of them remember when you were Anais and Boussy’s age,” Eliza laughed.

Iorveth tilted his head. “Your workers have stayed with you for so long? I’d have thought turnover would be pretty high in a brothel.”

“Oh, it is in most,” Eliza said. “There’s a reason I say the Clarabelle is the best.”

Roche snorted. “What she means is openings at the Clarabelle are highly coveted. Everyone wants to work there. Uh, everyone in the business, I mean.”

“What’s a brothel?” the human boy – what had he said his name was? Boussy? – asked.

“It’s a place where customers come to experience pleasure,” Eliza answered easily. “The issue is, a great number of brothels are run by businessmen rather than sex workers. It would be like… hmm. Like if you had to take military orders from someone who has never been in combat. There’s a fundamental lack of understanding that comes from never having experienced what their subordinates have.”

“Plus half of them are pimps who couldn’t give two shits about their workers,” Roche added. “Mom, on the other hand, is very big on worker’s rights. As in, she makes me pass out pamphlets in the local brothels when I travel.”

Rinn signed, I always wondered why you went to so many brothels when I spied on you.

Roche snorted like he understood Elder sign language. Perhaps even more astonishingly, Eliza seemed to understand the Elder signs because she tilted her head and asked, “spied?”

Cedric was not the only one surprised by her question, at least. Iorveth narrowed eye glared suspiciously at her.

“You know Elder sign?”

“Not fluently,” Eliza said. “Eva, one of my workers, taught me. Her wife acts as an interpreter with customers, but most of us know at least some sign language.”

“You never mentioned that,” Iorveth arched an eyebrow at Roche.

“Yeah, ‘cause the signs I know are not the ones you teach an eight year old. Kinda like the Elder I knew before you started teaching me.” Roche shrugged, “growing up in a brothel gives you a unique and limited vocabulary.”

Saskia and Eliza both laughed, though the children just looked confused. 

Before they could ask the details of exactly how unique Roche’s vocabulary was, Cedric decided to ask, “Eva’s an elf?”

“Half-elf,” Eliza corrected, “though some of my other workers are full blooded elves. And dwarves, and halflings.” She hitched one shoulder in a shrug, “actually had a doppler worker for a while, but they got out of the biz.”

“Oh, I remember them,” Roche nodded. “Taught me how to pick a pocket. I was – what? Eleven or twelve?”

“Twelve, I think,” Eliza said. 

“...you pick pockets?” Cedric’s eyebrow rose steadily.

“Sometimes,” Roche said casually, “‘s a useful skill.”

The human girl – Anais? – tapped the table, then signed, can I learn?

“Sure,” Roche shrugged, “with conditions.”

Awesome.

Several people chuckled, Iorveth among them. “Rinn could probably give you tips, too,” he said fondly.

Rinn grinned widely. Definitely. Never seen anyone else manage to pick your pocket.

“That sounds like a challenge,” Roche smirked.

Iorveth rolled his eye but didn’t actually object, and Cedric felt more confused than ever.

--

Sallah is an Arabic name, but also salah means to pray in Elder. As Roche says in a different part of this fic, "he’s sort of our prayer for a new world, one where humans and elves live alongside each other in peace and half-elves are accepted by both sides."

[darkemkast]

А в ВК сейчас раздевашки Роше-полуэльфа! Ещё там есть версия с длинноволосым Роше и полное описание этого хэда. Очень советую заглянуть :’>

In VK Roche’s undressing now! And not just Roche — a half-elf Roche!😍

[laurelnose]

i really feel that if you are all going to be Like That about a perpetrator of racialized state violence against elves being part elf themselves, you could at LEAST have the decency to give me Rayla content