#like mererid

[pasdetrois]

- Mererid Puw Davies, The Tale of Bluebeard in German Literature: From the Eighteenth Century to the Present

[otterintheflightdeck]

Emhyr/Mererid WIP

There were many among Emhyr var Emreis's detractors who thought him cold and unfeeling.

Mererid was now quite certain that none of those detractors had ever been subjected to his kisses.

Nor to the grasp of his hands at their waists, for that matter, or to the curl of his tongue, warm and gentle like candleflame. Mererid had to steady himself with one hand on his shoulder, hanging on for dear life as white heat bloomed within him, fanned hotter by every press of Emhyr's lips. There were countless tasks he needed to complete before the night, and countless orders he needed to give out, and he could remember none of them.

[ariesmusingz]

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ╱ WELSH NAMES MASTERLIST ( below the cut is #293 welsh first names. they are a mixture of feminine, masculine and neutral names, but please use as you see fit. please like / reblog if you found useful. )

feminine ;

addien

aderyn

adwen

aelwen

aeres

aerfen

aerona

aeronwen

aethwy

afanen

amser

anchoret

angharad

annwyl

anwen

aranrhod

arianrhod

arianwen

arlais

awen

awena

bethan

bethwyn

betrys

blodwedd

blodwen

blodwyn

braith

branwen

briallen

bronwen

bronwyn

brynn

buddug

caraf

cari

caron

carys

catrin

ceinwen

ceridewn

cerys

delyth

dilys

eilir

eira

eirlys

eirwen

eleri

eluned

enfys

enid

ffan

ffion

gaenor

gaynor

gladys

glain

glenda

glenys

glynis

glynnis

guenevere

guinevak

guinevere

gwawr

gwen

gwendolyn

gwenhwyfar

gwenifer

gwenllian

gwennan

gwenno

gwaldus

gwylan

gwyneria

gwyneth

haf

hafwen

heulwen

igraine

iorwen

kiah

lleucu

llinos

llywelya

lowri

lunet

mabli

maybn

madrona

madwen

mair

mairwen

mared

marged

medi

megan

meghan

melangell

menna

mererid

merlyn

morgana

morgause

morwen

myfanwy

nia

non

olwen

owena

raewyn

rhian

rhianna

rhiannon

rhianu

rhonda

rhoswen

seren

sian

sioned

siriol

sulwyn

talaith

tanwen

tegan

teleri

telyn

terrwyn

masculine ;

adda

aeron

aled

alun

andras

aneirin

arawn

arthur

baeddan

bedivere

bedwyr

berwyn

bevan

beynon

bleddyn

bowen

bran

broderick

brychan

brynmor

cadell

cadfael

cadfan

cadogan

caradoc

carwyn

ceron

cledwyn

collen

dafydd

dai

derwyn

dewey

dewi

dillan

dillon

dilwyn

eirwyn

elisedd

emrys

ercwlff

euros

gaerwn

gareth

geraint

gerallt

gethin

griffin

grittith

gruffudd

grugwyn

guto

gwalchmai

gwaltney

gwern

gwil

gwilym

gwydion

gwyn

hedd

heddwyn

howell

hywel

ianto

idwal

ieuan

ifan

ifor

illtyd

ioan

iolo

iorwerth

islwyn

kynan

lleu

llewellyn

lloyd

llyr

llywelyn

mabon

macsen

maddock

madoc

madog

meilyr

merewyn

meriadoc

mervin

mervyn

meurig

mihangel

mordred

myrddid

nye

owain

pasgen

peredur

powell

pritchard

pryderi

pwyll

rhodri

rhun

rhydian

rhys

romney

siarl

taffy

talan

taliesin

taran

trefor

tremain

trevelian

tudor

twm

urian

vaughn

yestin

ynyr

neutral ;

afon

avalon

avon

bricen

cadewyn

cadwalader

caerwyn

cai

cambrie

cariad

celyn

ceri

colwyn

crwys

dwyn

dylan

ebrill

eirian

elwyn

emlyn

evan

gaiwan

garan

glyn

glynn

gryffon

llar

meredith

morgan

mostyn

nesta

ninian

parry

pembroke

pugh

ragle

reese

rhoslyn

rice

sianai

tristan

uther

wynn

wynne

[laurikarauchscat]

Ohh please the give me a character ask for: Geralt, Emhyr, Morvran and Ciri ❤️

I just answered Geralt on my previous post, so imma start with...

Emhyr

How I feel about this character

Obsessed. Check out my drawing catalogue. If not for him, I'd not have done a single thing in June.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

otp - Geralt/Emhyr: but I've also enjoyed drawing Emhyr/Letho, and Emhyr/Pavetta.

Non romantic otp

Mererid and Peter, Ciri, Morvran, False Ciri, and the Impera (love fics where they are depicted as loyal and protective - @queenofyumcha 's "wont someone think of the Nilfgaardians" made me think of these fuckers as, ya know, actual people)

Unpopular opinion

This is fandom, so I totally am on board with people ignoring some of his uuuncomfortable actions, I do it myself sometimes... but I prefer engaging with the weight of all his terrible actions present. Makes things more spicy...

Thing that I wish would be canon

Nilfgaard winning the third northern war

Morvran

How I feel about this character

Love him! Even more after I read Eldritcher's fics on Ao3, and drew him pregnant twice ;-)

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Ciri and that baronness (love a man who appreciates milfs, just like me fr)

Non romantic otp

Emhyr, False Ciri and @bomberqueen17 's OC Lulliana (I love the "Fit for Pearls series!)

Unpopular opinion

Only way this man will ever make a kid sharing his and Ciri's DNA is if he carries it himself.

Thing that I wish would be canon

A non fucked up father-son relationship between him and Emhyr

Cirilla

How I feel about this character

LOVE HER! She and Emhyr are the only Witcher characters i actually full on "stan"

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Morvran, Cerys, False Ciri, Daenerys Targaryen

Non romantic otp

Geralt, Yennefer, Rhaegal (Dany's Green Dragon. That bby lizard is even colour coded to be hers)

Unpopular opinion

I tend to Ignore the "time travel" aspect of her powers. It makes her a touch overpowered. That's definately not an unpopular opinion, I see most people do that, but I thought I'd mention it.

Thing that I wish would be canon

The Empress Ending!!!

[tigerlyla-of-metinna]

The Dutiful Chamberlain

Ciri: Chamberlain, is it true? Geralt is in there?

Mererid: That is true, Your Imperial Majesty. Master Geralt is having an important audience with your father, the Emperor.

Ciri: Let me in!

Outside...

Mererid: Apologies, Majesty, but no one is allowed to disturb them.

Ciri: Pleeeeease! Move out of the way!

Ciri: Ugh! Move old man! Dammit! You're like a statue! Come oooonnn!

Mererid: ....

Ciri: You know I could just use my powers and blink inside.

Mererid: If you do that, Majesty, I will be severely punished.

Ciri: *sigh* I can't let father punish you for doing your job. Very well, I will come back later. Send someone to inform me when the audience ends.

Mererid: As you wish, Your Imperial Majesty. And thank you.

Mererid, the dutiful and loyal chamberlain, ready to lay his life and limb to protect his master, even from Emhyr's own daughter.

Series of photos shot and given to me by ningomaningnong, my PS edits and captions. Hope you enjoyed this little tale!

[erinbeast]

What if Ciri goes against the will of her father-emperor, and secretly marries Roche in a church in a small village?

I think Emhyr won’t be as mad as everyone thinks. He knows his own strong will and his daughter definitely inherited it, he knew ultimately he couldn’t stop it no matter what he tried. He’ll definitely play it like he’s furious though. Ciri and Vernon chill at Regis’ place until they feel they can approach the emperor. Once they go back to Emhyr his demand is Vernon be a head General or some military high rank and Ciri continue being his heir. They will be moments of terror on Ciri’s part as Vernon continues to challenge Emhyr on anything. Vernon eventually chills out once he realizes just how clever and oddly caring the emperor is. Vernon thinks he’s died when he hears Emhyr actually laugh with Mererid over an old joke between the two.

Hope you like this. Might add more to it later.

[catgirlalchemist]

Mererid, daughter of Vanw, hails from the village of Root's Oath, in the Brecheliant Greenwood, in the land of Ynys Cantrevi. Root's Oath would be a fairly normal hunter-forager settlement, trading meat and skins for goods they can't produce themselves, were it not for that fact that it is solely home to the wolf-clothed, people with the ability to emerge in the form of a wolf while their human bodies sleep.

Mererid has always been one of her village's best hunters, and never so much as ventured to the nearest city, but when she's attacked by an unkillable beast out of a thousand-year-old legend, her search for answers leads her to leave everything she's ever known behind.

Note: name spellings are based on Middle Welsh, hence the non-standard orthography for Modern Welsh.

“And where might you be from, lass?” the innkeeper asked. “Don't see many womenfolk dressed like you in these parts.” Mererid shrugged. “I'm a hunter from Root's Oath, in the Greenwood. Everyone dresses like me there. No time to sit around sewing gowns.” A man's voice came from behind her. “The Greenwood? Heard there's an awful lot of wolf-clothed living there, outlaws and cattle thieves all.” Anest had warned her that cityfolk weren't nearly as friendly to the wolf-clothed as the villagers farther out from the great kingdoms, but Mererid hadn't quite expected to run into that so soon. She turned around, raising her arms in a gesture of innocence, and to show off the shearling lining of her wambais. “Only furs I'm wearing are sheep, sir,” she said, to a murmur of laughter from somewhere deeper into the common room. The man who had spoken up glowered at her, but turned back to his drink, and Mererid realized rather belatedly that she was lucky he hadn't made a crack about a wolf in sheep's clothing.

[eycsnow666]

Hey! You asked me, and I love these sort of games, so I'm paying it forward.

If you want to do the character aske, I'd ask for your take on Geralt of Rivia 🥰

ah Geralt, my beloved most neutral witcher and bestest monster killer in all the land (/s ^^)

Sexuality Headcanon: once upon a time, a young Geralt fancied himself strictly as a woman’s man, and that his same sex dalliances w other witchers were simply bc of lonely nights in Kaer Morhen. Until he left KM and found himself not averse to bedding women and men alike. Life is full of surprises and sometimes they are children, sometimes the discovery that cock is prettty good. And since life as a witcher is Toil and Labour, he wasn’t about to over-complicate smth he personally had no objections with just because some rando noble might be uncomfortable. Quite the useful attitude for a witcher living on the outskirts of civilisation, so that worked out for him.

This is just my hc for a TW3 timeline with overt homophobia, based on the encounter with Mislav. Because CDPR have proven themselves cowards by not showing a single dick in the entirety of the games and therefore cannot be 100% trusted with canon, I like to also imagine another where homophobia is less prominent (and non-existent in most regions) where geralt is…exactly the same. no fucks given except for in bed ;)

Gender Headcanon: a cis man, and pragmatic and doesn’t give a hoot if prudes shake their heads at his gender non-conforming habits. if a warm, comfy article of clothing in his possession happens to be a dress, it’s being worn, and how majestic. he knows how to braid hair, bc it doesn’t hurt to know how. Bonus: kid!Ciri adored him for it. Besides, gender-coding things sounds like an Other People kinda problem, and he is but a simple witcher with potions to brew and blades to oil, so…

A ship I have with said character: Geralt/Emhyr is my current obsession💖 Geralt/Regis and Geralt/Dettlaff are two close faves. All simultaneously within the same timeline bc my blorbos love to share

A BROTP I have with said character: a begrudging understanding between Geralt and Mererid, whose dislike of Geralt rose exponentially when he heard of Emhyr taking on Geralt as a lover. But Geralt worked some magic (read: really good sex and perhaps some axii for the nerves) to make emhyr’s mood do a 180 or maybe just a 90, he’s still a grump sometimes

and mererid was like, ‘you. you can stay.’

A NOTP I have with said character: none particularly? m8 if I encounter a ‘squick’ ship (think themes of incest for example) that’s also well-crafted, count me in for eating the dead dove

Random headcanons:

The only time he seriously reassessed his sex life was: 1) after falling for Regis, and even then it was more bc of the mental image of Papa Vesemir scolding him that he was meant to fight, not fuck this creature, and 2) falling for Emhyr, but then he seriously contemplated many other things too…

No way is he not a good cook what with those witcher-level potion brewing skills and olfactory senses

he has really nice hands! when they’re not encrusted with monster gore, anyway. and he takes good care of them too

General Opinion over said character: one of my fave things abt his character is that even though he’s pushing 100, he’s still a big awkward turtle. and also that his hero complex pulls him in directions he wouldn’t intentionally go makes him even more fun (see: every single bit of politics shenanigans his allegedly neutral arse gets swept into). I love him. my babygirl.

that was fun, thanks for the ask!!

[highqueenofprydain]

“It's always been you who wants a throne. I don’t want to be anything more than who I am.”

“You,” Achren said, stepping close to her again, eye to eye, “have no idea who you are.”

The voices rang in her head, insistent; she could barely think around them. “That’s not true.”

That blade-smile flashed in the dusk. “Eilonwy of Llyr.” How could her own name sound so much like a taunt? “Daughter of Angharad. Daughter of Regat. Daughter of Mererid. Daughter of Morgana...”

“Stop.”

“Daughter of Ceinwen. Daughter of Glesni. Daughter of Eleri...”

“Stop it!” She crushed her hands over her ears, but now the voices had taken up the recitation, chanting one name after another, names flowing like the blood in her veins passed down from this relentless line of queens, carved into her ears as though she were the monument upon which their memory depended.

Daughter of Rhiann, Daughter of Eurolwyn, Daughter of Creirwy, Daughter of Branwen, Daughter of Llyr, of Llyr, of Llyr... .

[wilczmin]

playing  tw3  .    that  one  part  when  mererid  comes  in  to  shave  geralt's  beard  and  mererid  comments  about  how  they  hate  beards  around  here  in  vizima  that  are    "infested  with  lice"    and  instead  of  geralt  denying  it  ,    he  just  goes    "been  on  the  road  a  while  .  "    like  ,    this  man  possibly  has  lice  in  his  beard  if  you  meet  him  and  he's  not  currently  shaved  .    just  thought  all  of  you  would  like  to  know  .  

[queenofyumcha]

modern au, stressed out businessman Emhyr finding out about essential oils and dumping them all over his bed because he does nothing by halves, do or do not, there is no try

ends up half drowning himself with essential oils and having a coughing fit, lavender searing the inside of his lungs, more stressed than ever before, frantically googling the side effects of inhaling a mist of herbal oils

Executive Assistant and lover mererid watching this happen like: 🕴️

[4e7her]

at this rate all the love interests for that manhwa inspired fic i was talking about are gonna have red eyes. who wants to hear me rant about fictional men that i’ve created

trick question i’m monologuing anyways. rambling under the cut

-

so we’ve got two mostly fleshed out love interests and ideas for about three more i think. i believe i’m going to have the two fleshed out ones be the main interests and the other three be secondary male leads but we’ll see as the story develops. i’ve only just finished the final draft of the first chapter and i’m still working out the complete outline so i’ll have to wait and see. please feel free to send asks about these characters i’m getting honestly pretty attached to them

the first main love interest is aeron euryn ingvar. he’s the crown prince of the realm, though an illegitimate child of the empress, which has caused him a lot of strife. the emperor has been trying to get rid of him since he was young, to no avail thanks to his older brother, who we’ll talk about next. his hair is blonde and he has red eyes, and his name roughly means ‘bloody golden warrior’.

he meets the mc, fenrir, briefly at a young age after the emperor staged for euryn to be kidnapped and fears fenrir to be dead after they separate. between this and the mistreatment from the emperor, his personality is seriously warped and he becomes very bloodthirsty. he’s incredibly hostile to everyone except fenrir, and very much abuses his position as crown prince. his middle name was originally caefael, but he demanded it be changed to euryn after meeting fenrir, as it’s the fake name he gave him and he wants to be recognized should they meet again. it also makes him feel connected to fenrir as at the time, he was going by arian, which means silver, and euryn means gold. he’s incredibly pathetic and weak towards fenrir, and often tries to use tears to get his way around him.

the second love interest is rhain madoc ingvar. he’s the eldest prince and eldest child to the emperor, but he absolutely hates the idea of taking the throne to the point he forces euryn into the position. they also have a sister, the middle sibling, who was born shortly after rhain and promised to an arranged marriage, eliminating her from candidacy for the throne, as the emperor thought he would have all he needed with rhain. that is not how it worked out. he has black hair and red eyes, and his name roughly means ‘blessed spearman’.

he has a bad habit of shirking his duties on literally anyone around him, and worse than that is his affinity for playing pranks. repeated occurrences of disrupting the emperor have him sent to the frontlines of a war at the border in attempts to discipline him, but rhain only seems to get a worse sense of humor afterwards, frequently sending the bodies of those who irritate him to the emperors room and outright disappearing from the palace whenever he feels like it. upon meeting fenrir, he tries to steal him away from euryn at first as a cruel joke, but quickly becomes infatuated with him.

the third love interest is a high priest type, named seren mererid sunniva. his appearance is not decided, but i just saw a hot manhwa man with white hair and red eyes and i’m tempted. but i might give him purple eyes instead? too many red eyes around already. his name roughly means ‘gift of the pearlescent stars’, and his last name is the name of an actual saint in real life. i haven’t thought about him too much so that’s all he’s got.

the fourth would be an information broker of sorts named talesin ciaran hemlock, appearance not decided, name roughly meaning ‘dark noble poison’. also nothing personality wise. neither the third or the fourth are decided to be actual love interests, though they will be featured in the story for sure.

and lastly we have the fifth, though his name isn’t decided as i first need to find a last name that’s opposite to fenrirs as he’ll be from a rivaling ducal family. there are four grand dukes in this world, fenrir belonging to the northern family and this character belonging to the southern. he’s the second character that fenrir will meet thanks to their families mostly friendly rivalry. he’s a knightly type that’s incredibly competitive and easily flustered. he becomes more of a tsundere after he realizes his feelings for fenrir, acting less as a rival and more as an easily embarrassed supporter.

that’s all i have for a summary on the love interests for now. i’ll probably post the story after i have the third or so chapter drafted, but please ask me about these guys (or fenrir! i’ve got a lot more developed for fenrir) if you’re interested. i’ve been blowing up my friends messages talking about all of them LMAO. i also need ideas for face claims for the last three (and any other side characters!) so if you know hot manhwa characters i will gladly accept suggestions

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

I know, I'm a little late for Emhyr's birthday, but it might just be a holiday of several days, right? So. Have another story for the Tales, in which Emhyr is forced to celebrate his birthday. Under the cut and on AO3. 4661 words, roughly rated M, I'd say.

"Your Majesty, the minstrels are here."

Emhyr glanced over the rim of his cup in displeasure at his chamberlain, who in turn looked back at him with his usual stoic composure. Although Emhyr was a notorious early riser, getting up was not always easy, and breakfast was sacred to him. On many days, it was the only occasion for him to see his husband, not to mention his daughter, who was very idiosyncratic about her duties as a future empress.

"The what now?" he asked gruffly.

"The bards, Your Majesty, and a troupe of jugglers."

The way Mererid pronounced jugglers suggested that he didn't think they were appropriate to even set foot over the threshold of the palace. Geralt looked up with interest. He knew that tone; the valet had once used it on him, too – sort of like there was a wet dog seeking entrance. Even today, he sometimes wondered whether he had actually risen in Mererid's eyes by marrying the emperor. Probably not, only it was the man’s duty to state his disgust more politely now. The fact that Emhyr had given him the title of an Earl did not make Geralt a Nilfgaardian, after all. 

"What makes you think I would be interested in these kind of visitors?" asked Emhyr, setting his cup down on the table so violently that everyone present knew by now, at the latest, he thought Mererid was completely out of his mind. 

Geralt leaned back and bit into the apple he had just grabbed from the fruit bowl. This promised to be interesting. 

"It certainly sounds fun," Ciri chimed in, leaning forward and propping her head in her hands, which meant her elbows on the table, earning her a stern look from her father. 

"Your Majesty," Mererid replied with the first sign of doubt in his voice, "it is tradition..."

"Tradition?"

Emhyr sounded as if he had been told it was tradition to dissect a live bear on his breakfast table. 

"It is the birthday of Your Majesty…"

As Mererid’s voice trailed off, Geralt and Ciri gave Emhyr bewildered looks. The apple Geralt had just bitten into rolled across the table, where a servant hurriedly disposed of it with little disgust. 

"Really?" asked Ciri, eyes wide, and Geralt muttered, "That explains all the boxes and stacks of letters."

Ciri pointed almost accusingly at Emhyr and added, "It explains the tailor who threw fabric at me profusely the other day."

"I had nothing to do with it," Emhyr replied stiffly.

"Why the hell didn't you tell us?" asked Geralt. "When this is apparently such a big deal. First of all, to celebrate birthdays, probably a Nilfgaard thing. Second, your birthday – that's downright got to be a holiday."

"It is indeed a public holiday in Nilfgaard," Mererid helpfully interjected, "with celebrations in the capital."

"Oh, hence the jugglers," Ciri exclaimed cheerfully. 

"Wait," Geralt said, glaring mischievously at Emhyr, "you forgot, didn't you?"

Ciri gaped at them both.

"What kind of… I mean, who would forget their own birthday?“ 

"It's not like everyone is lucky enough to be born on Belleteyn," Geralt returned. "However, I wonder why we haven't heard about this oh-so-important day until now."

Emhyr cleared his throat and pretentiously wiped invisible stains from the corners of his mouth. 

"Perhaps you can recall where you were this time last year. Same goes for you, dear daughter."

"Oh," Geralt said slowly as he fished in the fruit bowl again, for all that thinking was making him hungry, "in bed, I think."

"Geralt!" squeaked Ciri. 

"I had an accident!"

"That's one way of putting it," Emhyr muttered. 

"Oh, you mean the injury you guys told me about days later. I was in Brugge, I think. Yes, I remember. I was pissed."

"Cirilla, please."

Ciri shrugged. 

"In the year prior" Emhyr continued, "there was something similar, and the year before that we were still busy in Visima."

Then he glanced at his chamberlain with a look that could be considered hostile at best, if not a direct declaration of war.

"It escaped me, however, that you have planned this... festivity without my involvement."

Mererid blinked and replied, "Your Majesty, this is..."

"... not necessary," Geralt completed the sentence with satisfaction. "Isn't it? It's a public holiday, you're in Nilfgaard, people would probably go on the warpath if you cancelled this."

"You mean they're celebrating for the sake of celebrating? So I would have to ban this, one day, if I didn't want to?" Ciri asked with interest. 

"Tradition," Emhyr scoffed, tossing his napkin on the table. "Probably one that will cost me dearly, and yes, you're right, I actually forgot. And I can't cancel it now, my valet has obviously seen to that."

Mererid’s face was smooth with innocence.

"All right, let’s have a solemnity," Geralt said with a grin. "What's the plan?"

"A banquet," Mererid replied stiffly, "with the aforementioned entertainment. Well, and the usual: selected guests, amnesties, pardons, possibly a public execution."

"We'll dispense with that," Emhyr said sharply. 

"What about a dance?" asked Geralt without batting an eye.

"Inappropriate, I'm afraid, Sir Geralt."

Geralt grinned even more. Leaning back, he said, "That's wonderful. You don't have to do anything, just sit there and look grim. Although, maybe a little honored, too."

"Shut up."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

If Emhyr found it embarrassing that he had forgotten his own birthday, he covered it up brilliantly with his sour expression. According to Mererid's statement, work would be suspended until the evening banquet. Supposedly, in earlier times, there had also been a tradition of the emperor having himself carted around the capital, meanwhile being pelted with flowers and cheered, but Emhyr flatly refused. 

What he couldn't escape, however, was the pile of letters and boxes mentioned by Geralt that had been delivered in the last few days but not brought to his study – apparently he was supposed to look through them all and express some pleasure or even gratitude. He didn't, though it might have something to do with Geralt and Ciri insisting on looking at the stuff. The gifts were... interesting, to say the least, and the best part was that an official protocol officer was assigned to catalog them all. They were all lying in a specially emptied room, and a court mage was busy magically checking each one of them – after all, a dangerous delivery would have been a feast for assassins. Someone – Geralt secretly suspected that it was Mererid – had even sent two Impera to make sure that no one touched the things that had not been checked yet. 

"Those are some pretty wild security measures," Ciri remarked as she peered into a box. Her facial expression revealed that she wasn't particularly fond of what was inside. 

Emhyr, who looked like he would even have preferred to actually dissect a bear at that moment, sighed, causing both Geralt and Ciri to look up in surprise. He nearly never sighed, it must mean that he was quite stressed. On his own birthday. It was actually sad, Geralt thought. 

"I think there was a year when a harmless-looking piece of jewelry came along that was magically charged so it exploded after a few hours," he said thoughtfully.

Mererid – the guy was apparently all over the place today – added, "Once something came wrapped in paper coated with poison. Actually, that kind of incident happened two or three times, I think, sire."

"Don't forget the poisoned razor," Geralt interjected.

"That was for the wedding."

"Oh, right."

"So far, nothing has been found," the protocol officer ventured. 

Emhyr didn't seem to find that particularly reassuring. Geralt flipped through the pile of letters and finally began to grin so broadly for Emhyr to raise his eyebrows. 

"What, did they write some funny insults to enlarge your vocabulary?"

"Why would I ever insult you, dear husband? You know what, you might just need a break from all this."

To the surprise of the rest of the people present, he suddenly grabbed Emhyr's hand, told Mererid, Ciri and the Impera not to follow them, and pulled the stunned Emhyr out of the room. 

The man was very obviously not in his right mind, because he actually didn't resist being pushed emphatically through the corridors. When the door of their shared bedroom finally closed behind them, laugh lines appeared next to his eyes despite his somehow defiantly puckered mouth. 

"Oh, you like that," Geralt noted quietly. "Of course. I'm doing you a favor."

"Well, if your point was to make the day more unpleasant than it already was, you have indeed failed."

"You know we have to go back."

"And that coming from you? Interesting. But first I want to see why you dragged me halfway across the palace. And please, I hope it's not another lesson in meditation."

"The opposite, I think," Geralt replied with an insolent grin. "Because these letters..." he waved a bunch of writings he still held in his hands, to Emhyr's surprise, "... are not likely to ease the mind, to put it mildly."

He pushed Emhyr against the wall next to the door with one hand and waved the letters in front of his face. 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You do remember how jealous you were.... yes, don't screw up your face, there's no use denying it, how jealous you were when you found out that the tournament winner of Toussaint was getting letters from suitors?"

"Cute, how you have to keep pointing out that you won that silly fairy tale tournament, Geralt."

"Don't deflect."

"Are you trying to tell me I've been sent love letters?" asked Emhyr, sounding curious. 

"Hmm, and they're much more imaginative than the ones I got."

Pressing himself closer to Emhyr, who did nothing about it, and slipping a leg between his legs, Geralt lifted one of the letters and read, "Oh venerable sire, sun of my heart, I wish I could see just once if you are mighty in every respect."

"You're making this up," Emhyr said, stunned.

"Not at all."

"Then I hope that person didn't sign it."

"Why, is that similar to blasphemy? But wait, this one says your strong thighs could bless you with many more children, thanks to me." 

"If she believes that's coming from my thighs, she won't have that many children," Emhyr said with amusement. 

"Hmm," Geralt went again and began to rub against Emhyr as he continued to read. "This one talks about how your white stallion – I think that's me – is nothing compared to the racehorse of my loins. Oh, and this one says.... wait... Oh noble ruler, your privates must be as big as Saint Lebioda's if even witchers fall for you."

"No way does it say that."

"Oh, sure it does," Geralt muttered, dropping the letters and beginning to nibble on Emhyr's earlobe. 

"I don't understand," Emhyr breathed, obviously not entirely unimpressed, "how this nonsense turns you on so much."

"You don't? Maybe it's not so much the letters as you. For the rest, I think you're quite glad we escaped the commotion, at least for a while."

Already his hands were going under Emhyr's tunic while his lips continued to nibble on his neck. 

"Besides," he continued, and Emhyr let out an impatient growl, "you needed distraction. We'll talk about it later."

"Oh, will we?"

Emhyr reached for Geralt's shoulders, pulled him close, and pressed his lips to Geralt's insolent mouth. They remained like this for a while, one alternately pressing against the wall and himself against the other, and their kisses were marked as much by hunger as by the sheer joy of each other. Now Emhyr's fingers also traveled under Geralt's clothes, tugging the shirt out of his pants, scratching over his exposed back. His deft hands knew exactly how to open the pant’s strings – they were nilfgaardian after all – and quickly embraced the curves of a warm butt.  

 "We don't have to talk, of course," Geralt returned a little breathlessly, staring spellbound at Emhyr's lips. 

"There's still time before the banquet," Emhyr murmured, gently stroking Geralt's lower lip with his tongue, eliciting a delicate groan from the latter.

However, he was wrong, because at that moment there was an energetic knock at the door, and the two of them startled.

"Let's play dead," Geralt groaned. 

"Your Majesty, you are expected in the ceremonial room," a voice sounded from outside.

"This is Mererid," Emhyr ran a hand through his disheveled hair, "I'm afraid I can't ignore this."

"But..."

"I am the High Priest, Geralt, my birthday is also a religious event. You don't have to come. I'm afraid Cirilla has to, though… Perhaps you would seek her out and send her to me?"

A quick kiss goodbye, a trimming of clothes, and the Emperor was back, and then he was out the door. 

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

At the hour of the banquet, he had long since returned, sitting majestically – though also gruffly – next to Geralt at the head of a long table adorned with high-ranking nobles. Most of them were delighted to be here and suitably dressed up, though Geralt also spotted one or two less-than-satisfied expressions. This had nothing to do with the food, because the seven courses were excellent, if a bit lavish. Ciri sat to Emhyr's other side, decked out in reams of black silk so that she was barely recognizable, filling Geralt's heart with pride and melancholy in equal measure. 

At the end of the third course, however, he felt sorry for himself above all, because the minstrels were horrible and the lady next to him hard of hearing. Protocol required Emhyr to give a speech, yet he held it extremely short and gruff, and Ciri whispered to Geralt across the table that she would definitely overrule that tradition. 

After dessert, which to Geralt's delight was a multi-tiered cake, but to his horror tasted awful because it was dyed black with squid ink, the jugglers and bards disappeared for the time being. It was time for the proclamation of amnesties and pardons, and since Emhyr renounced the executions, all this could take place in the dining room. A few confused people were led in, Emhyr read scrolls of sometimes ridiculous offenses, forgave them for all their terrible sins, and sent them out again. He absently pardoned a few Scoia'tael, which visibly shocked some of the nobles present, and when all this was done, the jugglers and carnies returned. 

Geralt feared that Emhyr would fall off his chair from stiffness, and quite obviously the play performed was an affront, to say the least. Mischief was foreshadowing when one of the jugglers stepped forward to announce that they would now perform, with the best of greetings of the Viscount de Lettenhove, a play devised by Master Dandelion himself for the occasion, called The King and His White Knight. Emhyr's complexion visibly discolored, though not into a distinguished pallor, but a blush of anger. He was forced, however, to put a good face on the matter, especially since some of the noble ladies present sighed excitedly at the name of Dandelion and, moreover, congratulated Emhyr either on his good taste or on having received such a wonderful gift.

However, there was nothing wonderful about this performance, and even Geralt hoped that the abundant wine served and the advanced hour, but also the cluelessness of most of those present, ensured that no one would understood what the play was about. It was comparatively harmless, but a clear jab, because Emhyr had rudely admonished Dandelion to stop producing sultry erotic novels that all too obviously took him and Geralt as inspiration. The play was just extremely corny and maudlin, and it had thirteen acts. In each of them, the king assured his knight of his undying love, while half the time the latter lay in bed, fatigued, ill or terribly wounded. It was embarrassing, to say the least, and in Geralt's opinion did not come close to reality. 

After the fifth act, Geralt felt almost sick, and Emhyr's little finger twitched uncontrollably on his chair’s armrest. Geralt leaned toward him, whispering, "Follow me to the balcony, two minutes."

He tilted his head slightly to the side. Indeed, this was the most beautiful of the palace's manifold dining rooms, with three small balconies facing the garden, the doors slightly open to let in a light breeze. Once out there, Geralt greedily sucked in the fresh air, almost clinging to the balustrade. The din from inside sounded only muffled, he could hardly hear the verses that were chanted down. However, some of the suggestions therein as to what the king wanted to do with his stallion fired his mind, and he waited impatiently for Emhyr to break away.In fact, he did not have to wait long. 

It shouldn't have even surprised him, because first of all, Emhyr was the host, and even if he always clung to court protocol on such occasions, he was notorious for his mood swings. Second, as it would turn out, his spouse was extremely grateful for the interruption.He vehemently closed the double doors of the balcony, drew the small discreet curtain above it, and pulled Geralt to him as if to save himself from drowning – even though the sea in which he was sinking was made of people.

Letting his tongue suck on the sensitive spot on Geralt's carotid artery, he muttered, "I'm going to kill him. Have him killed. Or I'll do it myself."

"You can’t," Geralt returned, as his fingers stole beneath Emhyr's shirt – black silk was obviously the dress code for tonight, he himself not standing back. "The gift came officially from the Viscount. Quite clever of him."

"For all I care… how tight are these pants?"

Emhyr fiddled impatiently with the fastenings of Geralt's actually rather tight suede pants, to which the latter commented, "It is nilfgaardian fashion, after all. And if you undress me right here you might cause quite the scandal."

He gestured with a curt nod of his head down to the semi-dark gardens, where some of the numerous lesser nobles invited had evidently stolen away to pursue similar pleasures. The balmy evening air held an occasional giggle, now and then a sigh and even a groan. Emhyr sighed impatiently against Geralt's hastily half-exposed shoulder blade. 

"You're warm," he said unusually gently, while slowly rubbing against him, as Geralt had done hours before. "Warm and beautiful and very seductive. Sometime tonight..."

He faltered briefly, while his fingers deliberately slowly ran up and down Geralt's thighs, and a flash of this honey-colored eyes made Geralt’s pants miraculously even tighter. 

"Sometime tonight we'll see what the white stallion has to offer, won't we?"

"Are you drunk?" asked Geralt with amusement, but he fell silent when Emhyr finally put his hand on the spot that bulged those damn tight pants. He just left it there, his big, warm hand that Geralt wanted to snuggle up to, but the lights that kept flickering on down in the garden and all the noise around kept him from doing so.

"Didn't you count how much of the wine I ingested?"

Geralt blinked as Emhyr closed his hand tighter around him. His mind screamed at him that there was too much fabric, but it didn't help. 

"I was busy watching the play," he muttered as he simultaneously urged himself toward Emhyr's hand and mouth. The latter, however, kept evading his lips, preferring to stroke his neck.

"Yeah, the play," breathed this dark voice, which actually had a lot of the wine in it, "where the two of them, wrapped up in pretty words, basically tup like rabbits the whole time."

"You'd like that."

"I would."

They exchanged smiles borne equally of longing and greed, and Emhyr's grip tightened once more as someone knocked on the balcony's double doors. An outline could be vaguely seen through the curtains.

"Mererid," Emhyr moaned disappointed against Geralt's neck. 

"Tuck in your shirt, and give me two more minutes, or it might get embarrassing," Geralt replied with a wry grin.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The thirteen acts of the play were as gruesome as expected. The only person who was amused by it was Ciri, who apparently thought the performance was a veritable knee-slapper. And she was attentive.

"Listen," she whispered to Geralt at one point, when he was on the verge of falling asleep,  "I know that Mererid is acting as your chaperone today is annoying, but actually meant to be. I've read through the rules, you know."

"Oh, come now," Geralt whispered back, "did your father's ancestors often skip their own celebrations?"

"To make out in the alcoves, yes."

"You're making that up!"

"In fact, I'm not. Mererid is quite the blabbermouth when it comes to courtly gossip, and he's well versed in the history of the palace. So if you want to do it, you have to play by the official rules."

Geralt stared at Ciri. Emhyr gave them a brief, glazed look, but was apparently too indolent to join the conversation or even care further. Wine, warmth, and the yowling of the jesters had completely enveloped him. 

"First, inappropriate. You're talking about... well, your parents, sort of."

Geralt squirmed in his chair as he realized the implications of that remark. Ciri just laughed softly, tapping his shoulder lightly. 

"You and Yen will always be my parents, whether you like it or not. Don't look so tormented, it'll work itself out. Papa is my biological father, yes, and I like him, in a twisted way. But I don't think of you two in that terribly close-knit, family way. We are family, yes, but completely different from those people there."

She pointed curtly at the wine-swilling nobles at the table, who were still following the play more or less spellbound.

"So much for your first, remember, I'm an adult. For the rest… you're pretty loud, Geralt. Don't look so horrified. You seem to be having fun. Besides, I brought you two together, more or less, don’t forget that. So what's your second?"

"What?" asked Geralt, confused.

"You said first, it's usually followed by a second."

"You sound an awful lot like your father," Geralt muttered.

"Is the old man trying to tell me he's lost his train of thought?"

"He’s not," Geralt sighed. 

The jugglers now performed a ballad, which essentially culminated in the white stallion wanting to show the king the stables of his chivalrous estate, and the words "he rides on special saddle" occurred, and the guests giggled. Geralt glanced at Emhyr. He had his elbow leaning on the armrest, propping his edgy chin on his fist. His slightly flushed cheeks probably had more to do with the wine than with the fact that he might have remembered one of the presents at that moment – it had indeed been a saddle among them.

"Second," Geralt continued, staring at Ciri with a look that had had no effect even when she was a child, "what do you mean by official rules?"

Ciri grinned, and in it there was indeed something of the unruly little girl she had once been. 

"While the banquet is the highlight of the evening, the emperor is expected to address select guests in person. Another one of those rules I'm going to do away with, believe me."

"In addition to the amnesties, pardons and executions?"

"Yes. His birthday is a holiday, and Nilfgaard knows very few holidays – and those few are sacred. Something you know from Toussaint, I think, only it’s done here with considerably more seriousness and religious zeal. Everything works according to special rules. For most things that take place that day, his presence is mandatory."

"Wait, if you're planning on doing away with these things in the future, that must mean he could do it today," Geralt interjected.

"Theoretically, but papa clings to the rules of his ancestors with sentimental devotion. See, that's what I meant. We are family, but I miss all the baggage of his ancestry. He can't get out of his skin."

"That is," Geralt said with twinkling eyes, "you have to beat him, and especially Mererid, with their own weapons."

"Now you're thinking like a Nilfgaardian."

"Fine, but how?"

Ciri leaned forward and whispered something in Geralt's ear. His eyes widened.

"Seriously?"

"That's how it's done," she said, shrugging. 

Geralt very gently lifted the corners of his mouth in a hint of a smile – a pretty good imitation of Emhyr, but for valid reason. Then he rose abruptly, propping his hands on the tabletop, and said, "Oh dear, I'm afraid the wine has gone to my head."

He felt Ciri's suppressed giggle more than he heard it. Geralt clung to the table with a dramatic sigh.

"What are you doing?" muttered Emhyr. 

 "Oh no, I have to... I'm going to...," Geralt stammered, then he dropped to the ground, being careful to knock over the chair.

It had the desired effect. A few of the ladies sitting closest shrieked, others clasped their hands over their mouths in horror, and one knocked over her cup of wine in shock. Mererid, who served not only as Emhyr's valet this evening, but also the master of ceremonies, hurried over and beckoned the faltering jugglers to continue in their play. Emhyr sat there confused for a moment, as if his mind was having trouble keeping up with what was happening. Then he seemed to notice the looks of the others and leaned down to pat Geralt's cheek. 

"What happened?" asked Mererid.

"I'm afraid he's having a fainting spell," Ciri chirped.

Under his half-closed lids, Geralt guessed that Emhyr was giving his daughter a sharp look. However, it was impossible for him to make a scene in public. And finally, he seemed to realize.

"An overload of his witcher senses," he interjected. 

"What shall we do?" asked his valet.

"But you know the protocols," Ciri said admonishingly.

"But... this is... he is..."

"My husband," Emhyr replied with relish. "The imperial consort has the right to withdraw. I will accompany him."

"But that only applies to..." Mererid wanted to interject, but Ciri clicked her tongue. 

"You see how he is, surely you don't want to argue about letters. Go ahead, papa, I'll keep people happy."

Emhyr slapped Geralt's cheeks a little too hard, and he opened his eyes.

"Let me help you up, my love," he said aloud.

Geralt heard one of the ladies at the table sigh, and he could have sworn that another whispered, "He's so gallant. Like in the play."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," he replied, and that finally made even some of the gentlemen present sigh. 

He allowed himself to be pulled up, deliberately swayed a little, and then hooked up with Emhyr, who apologized in curt terms to the table company. Geralt imagined that some of the looks he felt at his back were definitely envious, but Emhyr didn't say a word until they reached their bedroom. He actually kept up his facade until he got Geralt to sit down on the bed, then he sat down next to it and started laughing hoarsely. It was a rare sound and a rare sight, and Geralt feasted on the marvel.

"How did you come up with that?" Emhyr finally asked. "Wait... Cirilla was actually looking into the court protocols, wasn't she?"

Nodding, Geralt replied, "She said the wording might certainly be interpreted suggesting the imperial consort to be a man."

"My grandfather definitely knew what he was doing when he made that rule," Emhyr murmured with a satisfied expression. "Although, as far as I know, my father insisted that this rule only applied to pregnant women. Mererid will surely point it out to me."

"Well," Geralt replied, stretching as he fell backwards onto the bed, "tell him you have your own interpretation. After all, you’re the emperor."

"I am, aren't I? Do you want proof?"

"Proof of your strong thighs or powerful privates? With pleasure."

Emhyr pulled the bed curtains closed, smiling smugly.

[tigerlyla-of-metinna]

Fic Update: The Roles We Play (Ch 9) Borrowed Time

Summary:

Sarah struggles with an unexpected complication while time is running out. Meanwhile at the palace, Geralt comes face to face with the emperor of Nilfgaard and learns the true nature of his contract.

“Speak.”

“You had your men parade me on the streets on my way here” he growled. There was a silent “why” added to that statement.

Emhyr did not smile, but was nevertheless pleased. The witcher did not waste time pondering why the emperor went back on his desire not to see him, ever again. He’d hate repeating what he instructed Voorhis to say to him.

“I see the wines in Toussaint has not dulled your perception” Emhyr leaned back on his seat, familiar imperial frown on his powerful feature. “The appearance of this basilisk, this descendant of the Great White Terror, has taken residence in one of the lesser traveled but safe trade routes, rending it no longer safe, and attacked a well-known merchant along with his retinue of guards. Past experience in White Orchard taught my men that even the strongest armor is no match for draconids. Better hire a professional. A witcher. Not just any witcher, but the famous White Wolf who is, fortunately, given residence in Toussaint.”

A corner of the emperor’s lips spasmed.

Geralt crossed his arms. His reputation, fame and infamy, as always gets ahead of him. The entire time he had to listen to the crowd whisper his name, in Common and Nilfgaardian, as the soldiers flanking him on all sides cleared the way. Roach, normally skittish and wary, enjoyed the adoration and was enthusiastically prancing every now and then.

“Oooohh vatt’ghern!”

“Nein! A vedymin est Butcher aep Blaviken!”

“Geralt aep Rivia! Gwynbleidd!”

“Hael vatt’ghern Geralt!”

Geralt felt more like an exotic Zerrikanian animal displayed for the masses to gawk and admire in equal measure.

Geralt twisted his lips. “Wise. Hiring a known witcher makes for excellent PR to please the Guild of Merchants, prioritizing the safety of your subject especially those that pays the most taxes.”

Emhyr scoffed. “You surmised correctly, but not all.”

“Hiring me to kill the monster rendering the route safe for passage on the surface, but you really wanted something more that its head hanging on my saddle.”

“Excellent deduction.” Emhyr replied with a thinly veiled sarcasm. “The caravan is on a covert mission, if successful, will bring about economic changes that will blunt the influence of the Guild on the empire, which in turn, benefits all down to the least fortunate of my subjects and vassals. No one knows this except Vattier, Mererid, myself and the recently slain merchant Franz of Gemmera and his entourage.”

“Sound like the basilisk did the work for you. With them dead, they take their secret dealings to their graves and you can deny any involvement given the lack of proof.”

Emhyr’s grip on his chair tightened and Geralt realized he unexpectedly struck a sensitive nerve.

[laurikarauchscat]

Your gender headcanon for Emhyr inspired me. Imagine, Emhyr talking about ways to relax with Ciri. She expects him to say something like "executions" or "plotting" or, at best/worst/most normal "no strings attached sex". But no. He explains to her in detail how great Mererid is at pampering him while he gets a shave. With details like "my skin feels and looks so much better thanks to the hot towel". Emhyr also has bubble bath recommendations for her. She decides to go as ANYONE BUT HIM.

😂

About a week later she attends a banquet and gets drawn in to a conversation with a couple of noble men. They seem to really like her. They talk about horses, and the best horse breeders in the capital, and she finds out about a gambling circle she can partake in (filed away mentally, to be addressed later).

Then one of the older ones makes a comment. It's a throw-away comment, but as she keeps digging she realizes the man really does not like Emhyr.

Not unreasonable, of course. But of the myriad of things the guy could pick from as Emhyr's biggest crime....? He paints his nails sometimes 😱.

After that Ciri makes a point of drawing attention to her own feminine (what is societally attributed the feminine tag) interests. Because these are really not the type of friends she wants to attract.

[erinbeast]

ciri as empress of nilfgaard and roche as her loyal vassal and them dating...

Ciri being Emhyr’s Heir while Vernon was her lover and vassal would include:

-Poor, poor Mererid

-Man has to somehow train Vernon Roche to be a vassal while also serving Emhyr and seeing to Ciri and help her with training to be an Empress.

-Vernon Roche is so stubborn and it causes Ciri both amusement and horror, sometimes at the same time.

-Vernon Roche fights Emhyr every step of the way, this was Emhyr’s idea and Vernon is not going to let him forget it.

-Emhyr thought if Vernon Roche was made Vassal to Ciri then their love could be continued and everything would go smoothly

-Nope

-Vernon has to be a butt about everything, the clothes, the manners, the training in etiquette, the training in dancing (Honestly it’s ridiculous, how can someone memorize all these steps)

-The only part Vernon doesn’t fight is the military help he can provide to Emhyr and Ciri, though he does make small quips about the emperor under his breath much to Emhyr’s chagrin.

-Emhyr actually likes Vernon and his challenges though he makes to sure everyone thinks he despises the man and his Northnerness.

-Emhyr is thrilled Ciri took to being his heir even if it meant Vernon Roche would be close

-Little tiffs between Vernon and Emhyr that leave Ciri surely thinking Vernon will meet the hang man’s noose

-“NO! I will NOT be dancing during this event!” “You and Ciri are expected to dance as the main event for the ball, yes you will!” and so on. The tiffs leave Vernon irritable and grouchy while Emhyr is nothing if but amused and tickled someone would actually challenge him. Ciri wants to cuff them both over the head.

-Eventually Emhyr retires and chuckles as Vernon barely scrapes through Ciri’s coronation.

-Emhyr is his retirement comes over to the palace so often and loves to pick little fights with Vernon over stupid little things just to get a rise out of Vernon. Vernon takes a LONG time to catch on that this is a game to Emhyr.

-Vernon actually thought Emhyr HATES him, which he did at first to be fair. Takes a while for him to come around and openly admit that maybe Emhyr isn’t THAT bad. Maybe… Possibly..

-Mererid is glad when Emhyr retires, as he ‘retires’ with Emhyr and continues to serve him.

-Mererid does NOT like the tiffs, the are unprofessional and Sir would you please be mindful of what Vernon’s temper does to the court…

-Ciri takes to the throne beautifully and enjoys visits from Emhyr every now and again, though if you would please stop making my vassal slightly intimidated and irritable that would be great, thanks.