#time of contempt

[vulpinesaint]

can’t take this guy anywhere. the complainerrrrrrr

[deathcries]

Latin from The Witcher books translated

This took a bit longer than I expected, but I finished them :] Keep in mind that I've only been studying Latin for 3 years and that I've had to translate these into Finnish first (all my Latin dictionaries are in Finnish) so there might be some slight mistakes. I've sorted these by book and marked the page number (which might be slightly off due to translations and editions of the books). A few of the phrases are used multiple times in the books, I've only included the first page where the phrase was used for the first time in the book. Some of these have the translation right next to them in the books, but I've also included them here. Also some of these have multiple translations, but I've chosen the one that best fits the context in my opinion.

Blood of Elves

p. 209, ad valorem - according to value p. 309, casus belli - cause for war

Time of Contempt

p. 254, victoria - victory

Baptism of Fire

p. 34, persona non grata - person not welcome p. 35, quod attinet - which is related (to) p. 36, justitia fundamentum regnorum - justice is the foundation of kingdoms p. 36, crimen horribilis non potest non esse punible - a horrible crime can not be without punishment p. 36, lapis super lapidem - a stone on top of a stone p. 37, fundamentum regnorum - the foundation of kingdoms p. 37, primo - firstly p. 37, secundo - secondly p. 37, memoria fragilis est - (the) memory is fragile p. 37, raptus puellae - abduction of a girl p. 38, sempiternum meam* - forever mine p. 179, perpetuum mobile - perpetual motion machine (lit. perpetual motion) p. 186, vagina dentata - toothed vagina p. 344, summa cum laude - with highest praise

The Tower of the Swallow

p. 15, vulnus incivisum - incision wound p. 18, rubor, calor, tumor & dolor - redness, fever, swelling & pain p. 115, crimen - crime p. 204, delirium tremens - alcohol-induced delirium (lit. mental disturbance with shaking) p. 217, per fas et nefas - by right and wrong p. 230, cui bono? - to whose advantage? p. 340, de non preiudicando - without prejudgement p. 349, casus belli - cause for war p. 356, pacta sunt servanda - agreements must be kept p. 408, de profundis - from the depths p. 409, propria manu - with one's own hand p. 461, societas leonine - partnership with a lion

The Lady of the Lake

p. 27, ad usum delphini - for the use of Dauphin / for the use of the heir p. 27, summa summarum - all in all p. 77, pericolosus - dangerous p. 171, omnia mea mecum porto - I carry all my possessions with me p. 378, exitus - passed away p. 496, post factum - after the fact p. 497, per acclamationem - by acclamation p. 498, persona turpis - ugly/disgraceful person p. 502, ad futuram rei memoriam - for future reference p. 502, nihil ad rem - nothing to do with the matter p. 502, status quo - existing state (or just 'status quo') p. 503, pro publico bono - for the public good p. 503, salus publica lex suprema est - the health of the people is the supreme law p. 504, verba volant - words fly p. 504, non possumus - we can not p. 505, ad referendum - for referral p. 506, ultimus familiae - last of the family p. 537, vivant - long live p. 537, digitus infamis - infamous finger p. 539, perpetuum mobile - perpetual motion machine (lit. perpetual motion) p. 577, et cetera - and so forth (or just 'et cetera')

Season of Storms

p. 15, status quo - existing state (or just 'status quo') p. 16, ipso facto - by the fact itself p. 35, primo - firstly p. 35, secundo - secondly p. 35, tertio - thirdly p. 37, notitia criminis - notice of a crime p. 38, probatio de relato - proof concerning the telling of events p. 39, praeiudicium - prejudgement p. 39, Testimonium unius non valet. Testis unus, testis nullus. - One testimony is not strong. One witness is a worthless witness. p. 39, ergo - therefore p. 39, praesumptio - presumption p. 39, in dubio pro reo - in doubt, on behalf of the accused -> in doubt, favour the accused p. 42, cautio pro expensis - security for expenses p. 81, nil admirari - don't be surprised / let nothing surprise you p. 102, summa cum laude - with highest praise p. 102, quadrivium - 2nd group of 7 liberal arts (arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, music) p. 102, Sphera Mundi subdividitur - The sphere of the world is subdivided p. 102, aer - air p. 102, aether - aether/sky p. 102, firmamentum - support p. 102, erratica sydera** - roving stars p. 102, fixa sydera** - fixed stars p. 102, sydera cadens** - falling stars p. 103, quod erat demonstrandum - which had to be proved p. 109, causa finita - (the) case ended p. 125, unguentum ortolani*** - ortolan ointment p. 133, sine ira et studio - without anger and enthusiasm p. 137, bene vale - be well -> goodbye p. 172, fulmen sphaericus, sagitta aurea - lightning ball, golden arrow p. 193, ad rem - to the matter p. 196, tapetum lucidum - a layer of tissue in the eye (lit. bright tapestry) p. 238, post Resurrectionem**** - after the Resurrection p. 309, Illustrissimus et Reverendissimus - Most illustrious and Most venerable p. 309, Magnus Magister - Great Teacher/Master p. 309, Honoratissime - Most honored p. 309, anno currente - during this year p. 310, non compos mentis, eo ipso - not in control of his mind / not of sound mind, thereby p. 310, impune est admittendum quod per furorem alicuius accidit***** - it must be admitted with impunity that something happened out of anger p. 310, ad interim - temporarily p. 311, item - also p. 311, non sufficit - not enough p. 312, bene valere optamus - I wish you good health p. 312, semper fidelis vestrarum bona amica - always faithful to you, good friend p. 312, manu propria - with one's own hand p. 345, ad libitum - to please p. 351, deus ex machina - god from the machine p. 359, crescite et multiplinicamini****** - increase and multiply p. 393, quarto - fourthly p. 393, quinto - fifthly p. 394, persona non grata - person not welcome

Latin that I can’t find the page for or isn't in my books (trans. Tapani Kärkkäinen), but are in other versions

Baptism of Fire, incognito - unknown

Bonus

Regis - genitive singular of rex, regis m.: king

-

*I have no idea how this fits into the context **I have no idea what Sydera is, since astrum, astri n. is 'star' in Latin ***ortolani might be a latinisation of ortolan, not sure though ****probably talking about the conjunction of the spheres and not a resurrection *****I spent so long trying to crack this one, but I'm not sure the translation I decided to go with is correct (I might ask my Latin teacher about this sentence) ******should be crescite et multiplicamini

I might've missed a few, if so, do tell me!! I'll gladly discuss and read your thoughts about these, especially if you have differing translations!! :]

[zishiyao]

Ciri and Ihuarraquax cross the desert

[realkaijuhavecurves]

I love them your honour

[istaprqsamarmay]

“Once they had left, Emhyr var Emreis slung a leg over the armrest of his throne.”

Yeah remember that? after an audience where he sent away the nobles? that was crazy of him to do. did we need to know that he slung his leg over the armrest of his throne? What the hell sure! (absolutely yes).

Sapkowski!😩 he knew what he was doing when he wrote that.

[hanzajesthanza]

vilgefortz t-posing to assert dominance over geralt

[andreai04]

‘The pathetic — ridiculous — attempts which people undertake to try to understand nature are typically termed philosophy. The results of such attempts are also considered philosophy. It's as though a cabbage tried to investigate the causes and effects of its existence, called the result of these reflections "an eternal and mysterious conflict between head and root", and considered rain an unfathomable causative power.’

'Set out on your chessboard,' said Geralt, 'the kings, queens, elephants and rooks, and don't worry about me, because I mean as much on your chessboard as the dust on it. It's not my game. You say I'll have to choose? I say you're wrong. I won't choose. I'll respond to events. I'll adapt to what others choose. That's what I've always done.'

'You're a fatalist.'

[rondinella]

The more I read the witchers books the more I am livid by how we were robbed of geralts funny side and witty banter.

All that fucking grumpy grunts for a man that thinks sentences like "from the heart of his bottom" bffr

[tiredmoonslut]

The way HC's exit has overshadowed what was the most accurately adapted, and in my opinion most compelling and dramatic season of the show is gonna piss me off for the next several years, I feel it.

Okay I was gonna keep these in the tags but actually nevermind, salt post inbound

Henry Cavill is a good actor and a good Geralt, I'll never deny this, but the revisionist history that's going on because of his leaving the series is a bunch of nonsense being puppeted by his dudebro gamer fanbase that wants to keep holding him up as the Witcher god.

The whole "he left because of inaccurate adaptation" argument really falls apart when so much of season 3 was pace-for-pace with Time of Contempt...and Henry didn't leave the show until after production on it had wrapped, as confirmed by both Anya and Freya. It loses even more weight when Henry has gone on record more than once that he hadn't even read the books or known they existed before pursuing the role of Geralt in S1.

Also, it literally cannot be denied that this same group of people who ride-or-die for him go completely silent about Freya, Anya, and Joey---or worse, become misogynistic and racist, when what makes the story of The Witcher great is Geralt's relationships to these people and the way he acts as a catalyst in their journeys.

It's just so annoying. Be upset that he's leaving all you want, but don't make shit up and don't be a fucking dick to everyone else who works on that show as if one of them is the imposter who's responsible for his exit---when the much more likely truth is that Warner Bros. was gonna pay big bucks to have him back as Superman.

[acornerofnowhere]

The Heavy Mantle of True Neutrality.

Reached the halfway point of the Witcher series, "Time of Contempt", exemplified by a tired old grouch's quest to scoff as many vol-au-vents as he can before his hosts murder each other.

[drowningparty]

“[D]o you know when stories stop being stories? The moment someone begins to believe in them.”

Andrzej Sapkowski, Time of Contempt.

[vulpinesaint]

his extreme failboy swag

[justaferalguy]

💫

[stromuprisahat]

This is how you ruin another character upon their introduction.

‘Why aren’t you in school, student?’ she asked coldly, glaring at Ciri.

‘Wait, Tissaia,’ said the other woman, younger, tall and blond, in a green dress with a considerable neckline. ‘I don’t recognize her. I don’t think she’s…’

‘She is.’ Cut the dark-haired one. ‘I’m certain that she’s one of your girls, Rita. You can’t possibly know them all. She must be one of those who sneaked out through Loxia during the chaos when the students changed quarters. And now we shall wait for her explanation. Well, student?’

...

The woman raised her hand and Ciri immediately understood the seriousness of her mistake. Yennefer had demonstrated to her paralysing spells only once, tired with her long whining. The feeling had been considerably unpleasant. It was the same now.

Fabio cried terrified and leaped towards her but the other woman, the blond one, caught him by the collar and forced him to stay in place. The boy jerked his arm but the woman had an iron grip. Ciri couldn’t move. The dark-haired one bent down and glared at her.

‘I am not in favour of corporal punishment,’ she drawled her words coldly, evening her cuffs yet again, ‘But I will ensure that you’re whipped, student. Not for misbehaviour, not for the theft or elopement. Not even for wearing illicit clothes, walking out with a boy and telling him about things you were forbidden from discussing. No, you will be whipped for being unable to recognize an Archmistress.’

Rita starts with stating she doesn’t recognize Ciri, meaning she's probably familiar enough with her students to be able to. It’s Tissaia, who grabs the girl, and Tissaia, who threatens her. She also paralyzes Ciri, when she believes her to be insolent. Rita catches Fabio- still with Ciri- and lets him speak once he starts to explain.

Compare to:

“Mistress Laux-Antille”: *catches running Ciri* “Another runaway. You've had your fun, novice. Back to the dorms.”

Ciri: “Get your hands off me!”

“Mistress Laux-Antille”:  *hard slap* “You will address me as Mistress Laux-Antille. And you'll clean the toilets for your impertinence.”

...

“Mistress Laux-Antille”, between drunken laughter: “Here, girl! Novices these days are useless. Not like when we were girls. I told you to bring the wine. ... I wanted red! ... Damned Cintran princess. What's so special about her, anyway? ... Girl, the wine! Now.”

In books, it’s Ciri’s pride injured. Her main issue’s the sorceresses dealt with Yennefer- as her guardian- instead of treating her like an independent person. She wasn’t abused by some cruel, sadistic bitch only because she’s younger and “only a student”. Rita’s even kind to her!

‘Hey, girl,’ she nodded at Ciri, ‘be so good and pass me a towel. Come on, stop pouting.’

Ciri hissed quietly, still offended. When Fabio let out who Ciri was, the sorceresses dragged her through half of the city, exposing her to public mockery. In Giancardi's bank the whole incident was immediately explained. The Sorceresses apologized to Yennefer, explaining their behaviour. ... Alarmed by the activation of Ciri’s amulet, Margarita Laux-Antille and Tissaia de Vries mistook her for one [of the sudents].

The sorcerers’ apologized to Yennefer, but none of them thought of apologizing to Ciri. ...

Ciri gave the towel to the Sorceress. Margarita patted her gently on the cheek. Ciri snorted and jumped and splashed into the pool of scented rosemary water.

‘Floats like a little leaf’, smiled Margarita as she lay down next to Yennefer on a wooden couch. ‘And she is as well formed as a nymph. You’re giving her to me, Yenna?’

Margarita Laux-Antille is one of those teachers, whose job is truly their life’s mission. She knows her students, she cares about them, she risks her life for them. Even as a member of the Lodge, her focus is education, not power. She doesn’t beat random girls on the street, because they possess magical amulet.

Fuck you Netflix, for ruining another one of my favourite minor characters! On such a deep, fundamental. level!

‘Ciri, serve us. Damn this carafe is almost empty. Come on, be good and bring us another.’

‘Bring two,’ smiled Margarita ‘As a reward you will get a sip and sit down with us, you will no longer have to strain your ears from a distance. Your education starts here, now, from me before you reach Arethusa.’

[inlovewithquotes]

"I love you, Yen."

"Geralt! It's the first time you've ever said that!"

"It can't be. You're making fun of me."

"No, no I'm not. You used to think it, but today you said it."

"Is there such a difference?"

"A huge one."

-Time Of Contempt

[booklover41802]

Fields of Gold

Summary: Essi Daven did not deserve to die in the books nor did she deserve only a few lines of dialogue about her death. I wrote this a few years ago but never posted. This is my attempt at imagining what might have been and expanding upon those few lines in Sword of Destiny.

Note: *This differs from the Netflix movie Sires of the Deep and Essi does not have a happy ending*

The city of Vizima was filled with the stinking rot of bodies and the moans of those dying from smallpox. Smoke seemed to permanently stain the sky a slate grey as the number of bodies grew each day, as there were constant pyre’s burning under the sun. The heat from the flames and the rays of the sun pressed down upon Dandelion’s skin, sending a rivulet of sweat to trail it’s way down his purple bonnet, landing on the collar of a jacket borrowed from Geralt. He would apologize to him later, but Dandelion had a mission; one not even Geralt was willing to take up.

Dandelion made it his destiny to retrieve Essi Davon’s body from being burned on a funeral pyre surrounded by unfamiliar strangers who had no idea of the beautiful soul she was in life. He wound his way through the throng of people with red rashes, and bumps filled with pus spread all across their skin, skirting around those who tried to grab him in hopes of begging to be saved somehow. But this was the Temple Quarter, where the poorest victims were placed, with no medicine to save them from their fate. Not even God himself would have mercy on these poor souls.

But Dandelion would save Essi. From the moment they were small, he had taken it upon himself to take her under his wing, guiding her towards her future. She was one of his closest friends, no, friend was too small of a word for what she was to him. Essi was his sister and he’d be damned if she didn’t get to rest under the open sky.

There were carts stacked with bodies that stretched as tall as the castle, teetering dangerously as the wind threatened to bring them crashing down. He searched as carefully as he could, looking for a woman with long, golden hair that covered half her face.

“Poet!” A blister filled hand snaked around an alleyway, grasping onto his ankle. The figure was shrouded in the darkness, so he could not see the rest of them, only hearing a wheeze exhaling itself. “Your melodious voice will cure my sickness, I’m sure of it! Sing me a ballad of your choosing!”

Dandelion tried in vain to free himself from their hold, glancing around anxiously for someone to save him, but everyone in the square was either dead or dying. So, looking into the patch of darkness, he cleared his throat. “My apologies, but I’m in a bit of a hurry. Perhaps next time you’re dying from smallpox, I’ll stop by and play a few chords.”

A hiss erupted, followed by the sound of a body dragging itself across cobblestone. They were a hideous sight to behold. Gushing, blood-red blisters had formed near their left eye, causing a blindness, while the other was a pale, milky blue, accentuated by red spiderwebs flaring out from the pupil. Their greying hair fell to the middle of their back, crusted with flakes from the blisters. Their only protection from the world was a worn out cloak that covered nothing, exposing everything to the passerby. From the neck down their entire body was a mess of raised bumps and rashes that had burst, leaving brutal scars in their wake. “Please,” she moaned, her good eye rolling back into her head.

Dandelion fell backwards from shock, his boot leaving the claw of the woman who had grabbed him. “My-my apologies, madam, but I-I really must be going. Good day.” And with that Dandelion sprinted away as fast as could, trying to forget the wails of the woman in the alleyway.

He was so lost to his terror that he almost missed a girl lying comatose on the ground with a long spill of golden hair, and the blue pearl that lay against her collarbone. He slowed his pace, cautiously approaching her as her chest heaved, a rattle sounding in the depths of her throat. It was the death rattle, a sound he’d heard too many times to count while on the road with Geralt. 

“Poppet? Is that you?” He asked tentatively.

With her gaze roving him for a few moments, she weakly grinned, splitting open the pulsating blisters by her mouth. White pus leaked out onto her pale skin.

“How many times have I told you not to call me that, Dandelion.”

“Too many to count.”

Dandelion opened his mouth to say something witty, but he was overshadowed when Essi heaved up the contents of her stomach all over the cobblestone road. With a shaky hand, she swiped at her mouth, barely seeming to notice as more blisters popped open.

Her eyes looked too exhausted for how young she was, her gaze penetrated him, as if seeing straight to his soul. “I know what you’re thinking, you can’t save me. Leave me to my fate to die amongst all of these heathens.”

“My dearest poppet, I can’t do that. I refuse to let you perish alone.”

Her brow crinkled in exasperation. “And I refuse to be the reason you die. Get out of here while you still can.”

“No,” his answer came, barely above a whisper. 

Finding nothing but determination in his stance, Essi’s shoulders slumped forward in defeat as another round of bodies was brought into the square, sending a new wave of rot wafting over to them. Soon that would be her, as she was close to death. “If you’re going to bury me outside of these walls, I request that my necklace and lute come with me. I shall write many ballads when I’m no longer on this Earth. You’ll be annoyed with how much I sing.”

“Your wish is my command. I shall not deny you your last request, though you could never annoy me.”

Nodding faintly, Essi closed her eyes with a peaceful smile on her face. “Take me far from this place, Dandelion.”

Though it pained him to do so, Dandelion carefully scooped up Essi’s body, cradling her close to his, pretending as if she didn’t smell of stink and rot. But underneath it all, she still smelled of verbana, as if the scent was forever etched into her skin. He placed her lute on her stomach and she immediately grasped onto it as if it were a lifeline.

“He’s never forgotten you,” Dandelion said, not knowing if Essi was already gone and he was talking to a ghost.

But she cracked open her eye, still bright with all the stars in the sky, and smiled, creating a crease at the corner. “I’ve never forgotten him either. All my ballads have been dedicated to him, the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia. Make sure to tell him.”

Then Essi took her final breath in Dandelion’s arms, at peace to know that she had not been forgotten after all these years. As her chest exhaled once more, hot air escaped from her mouth, lingering on Dandelion’s skin, creating a feeling that was entirely unpleasant, though he tried not to dwell on it and focus solely on his task.

“May you compose many ballads in death, Poppet,” Dandelion whispered over Essi’s corpse as hot tears pricked his eyes. “Compose so many I’ll be the one using your songs for a change.”

Here in the Temple Quarter was not the place to cry or mourn. So, gathering his bravado, he put a smile, adding a spring to his steps. Those he met along the way waved cheerily at him, pointedly ignoring the corpse in his arms.

Through the screams of the damned, and the fires of hell, he walked with Essi in his arms, her limbs dangling at an awkward angle, still clutching the lute, with her head tilted back and her hair draped over his arm. Each step he took rocked her, sending a jolt through her, making it look as though she were sleeping, though he knew no one would be fooled by that as she was clearly infected by smallpox. Most perished once they were infected by the disease. 

He would burn these clothes the second he got the chance. He did not want to be reminded of the way Essi’s corpse clung to the leather fabric each time he put it on. Nor did he want Geralt to drown in his memories.

Some of the townsfolk looked as though they wanted to stop him, and ask just what he was doing with a body, and a smallpox victim no less. But no one did, though their mouths puckered at the corner in disgust at Essi. He might be spreading the disease further, but at the moment Dandelion couldn’t find in himself to care.

Through every alleyway and road, people jumped out of his way and rushed to the opposite end, some even making a sign to keep demons away.

Dandelion couldn’t be bothered to give them a charming grin, not as he held his dead sister in his arms. 

When he had gotten out of the slums, the air began to clear, and the smoke did not tinge the sky so darkly. Through the haze of the fires, Dandelion could make out the pale blue sky, the exact color of Essi’s eyes. His eyes began to water again, though he rapidly blinked them away, wanting to mourn when the scent of corpses did not permeate the air.

When he reached the gate of the city, the guards didn’t even try to stop him or ask for his reason for leaving the city. They merely stepped away and let him pass without comment, as if they knew the bard was in mourning. 

As soon as he had gotten out of the city limits, he headed for the forest surrounding Vizima, a place he knew Essi would have liked. The ground was soft under his gait, perfect for a burial. The scent of fresh flowers tickled his nose, taking away some of the aroma of decay. Even the animals had gone silent, not even a bug buzzed around his ear, nor did any creature slither across his boot. 

He made his way peacefully towards where Geralt waited, the witcher having already dug the grave with a shovel he had acquired from somewhere in the city.

When Geralt came into view, his forearms were resting across the top of the shovel and his legs were in a crouch as he gazed deep into the dirt filled hole. “I found her,” Dandelion said, making his presence known, though he knew Geralt heard him approach.

Geralt didn’t move, only taking a shuddering breath, preparing himself for the sight he was about to behold. It seemed to take every muscle in the Witcher’s body to rise up, letting the shovel fall into the grass beside him. When he turned to face Dandelion, his eyes were closed. The moment the golden eyes took in Essi, he lurched forward and snatched her from Dandelion’s arms. 

He gently brushed back her hair from her face and closed her eyes that were still open toward the heavens. “She deserved a better ending than what she was given. If only she had stayed with us on our journey.”

Dandelion didn’t move any closer, wanting to give Geralt his time to cope with the loss. “You can’t blame yourself for her death, Geralt. We all made our own choices, and what’s done is done. I’ve made my peace with it, now it is time for you to do the same.”

“She still smells of verbana,” Geralt muttered under his breath, as if talking to himself.

“Eh?”

“Essi always carried a fragrance of verbana on her skin and even in death the scent clings to her.” Geralt sounded amazed at this revelation, absolutely in awe.

“Ah, that. Yes, I made that observation myself when I first found her in Vizima.”

They were silent for a few moments, letting the wind howl its agony through the trees, demanding justice for a girl barely grown into her womanhood. Then, without prompting, Geralt gingerly placed Essi’s body in the grave that seemed all too small for who she had been. Her personality had been bigger than the sun, yet all she was given was a tiny grave in the middle of a forest. Perhaps Essi didn’t mind where she was buried, but Dandelion did.

As Geralt stooped over to add Essi’s lute to her grave, his eye caught the pearl resting on Essi’s motionless chest. He fingered the blue pearl for a moment, waves of memories crashing over him as he remembered everything that she was. 

“Let her go, Geralt.”

“It is… difficult. I do not feel things as others do, but when I look at her, I see all that she could have been. Her life was stolen from her when it had barely begun. I would happily trade places with her if it meant she got to live to see another day. I have lived this life for so long I forget, sometimes, the fragility of humans.”

“It is but an occurrence every one of us knows looms in the future. Our death could be tomorrow, the next day, the same month, or within a year, but that’s the beauty of being human. You don’t know when the end will come, so you live and breathe in every scrap of goodness as though you will never experience it again.”

Geralt was silent. He began shoveling dirt into the grave with methodical care, each thump hitting the ground with a loud thwack. 

Dandelion took off his purple bonnet and took a seat under a willow tree, resting his head against its bark while Geralt finished his work. The forest was alive with life, yet so still, as if it were holding its breath as the pair of them grieved. He twisted his bonnet in his hands, listening to the sounds of the forest.

Birds hummed overhead, leaves dropped onto the ground, and squirrels scampered across the grass before being snatched up by a predator. The world was continuing on without Essi, as if she had never existed. Dandelion would never forget her. He would make sure of it.

Surrounding Dandelion was a patch of daisies, a brilliant, dewy white, glowing under the sun. An idea struck him. He got to his feet, abandoned his bonnet, and began gathering flowers to decorate Essi’s grave.

Under his breath he softly began to sing a song he had composed for Essi. A song spun from the sea, of wildflowers, of Vizmia, of rainbows, of stones, of monsters and everything in between, for Essi was everything in this world that was good. Even Geralt stopped what he was doing to listen to Dandelion’s song. It was a song that would never be heard by anyone outside this forest. A song that would only exist in his mind, though it was one of his better rhymes.

Dandelion inhaled the scent of daisies as thoughts of Essi overwhelmed his brain. Fat tears formed in his eyes, blurring his vision from seeing farther than five feet ahead of him. Nonetheless he continued to gather, and gather and gather until he could carry no more.

He scooted over to her final resting place and began to strategically decorate the dirt so that it would be presentable for years to come. He started at the head of the grave and worked his way down, creating a crown for the girl who wore her melodies like a queen. That’s what she was. A queen of music and laughter. A queen who bowed before no man.

Geralt wandered away for a moment before coming back with four large, smooth stones, clutching two in each hand. “Four stones for each year we were parted from one another. Four stones for each year I could have written to her, asking her to join me. Four years of mistakes.”

“Oh, Geralt.”

Kneeling down in the dirt, Geralt lay one stone at her feet, one on her left side, one on her right side, and one at her head. The grave would forever be marked for anyone who ventured into the forest. 

Essi would not be forgotten.

The only two people who cared she had perished, mourned over the girl struck by disease, going into an early grave, but forever buried under the endless sky. Here she would forever be free, her spirit no longer tormented by the other lost souls trapped within the city. Here she could dance and sing and do whatever she wished.

Essi was home, as long as she had her lute and pearl, she would be happy anywhere.

Dandelion began to sing his song as he sat beside her newly decorated grave, watching the sun set below the horizon, setting the world on fire in a mixture of reds, oranges, and yellows underneath the smoke of the pyres. Geralt sat beside him, saying nothing, but merely remembering his time spent with her.

“How do you do it?” Geralt softly asked, breaking the silence that stretched out between them.

“Do what?” Dandelion turned to face the Witcher, though his companion still gazed towards the city with a pained expression on his face.

“Live without the fear of death.”

Ah. Dandelion understood what Geralt meant. The bard placed a hand on Geralt’s shoulder, ignoring the way he tensed for a moment before relaxing. “Death is a fact of life many of us have accustomed ourselves to so that we are not afraid. We see beyond the end, and live in the moment. We feel everything, do everything, because we might not get to see the sun rise again. We burn brightly before we are snuffed out like a candle. Only cowards fear death because they do not know how to live. They do not know what it is like to be free.”

Geralt contemplated this. “What is it like to feel everything?”

Dandelion knew he should pity Geralt for his circumstances, but he did not. He admired the Witcher for voicing his deepest thoughts. “It is both a blessing and a curse. Everything we feel drives our life. We find our passions through our heart, leaning on our emotions to guide us towards the light. We know the world will continue on without us, but it doesn’t stop us from breathing in every bit of goodness life has to offer, enjoying the bliss of being human.”

Geralt nodded, his eyes gently moving across the horizon, searching for something, or someone to walk across the fields.

The wind wrapped around their hearts, a warm breeze that felt like a hug. An embrace from Essi beyond the grave. 

I miss you, Poppet. Dandelion thought. So much that I fear my heart will burst. You’d laugh at that wouldn’t you? You’d giggle until I joined in because you couldn’t bear my sadness. I miss you so very much.

The Witcher and the Bard stayed side by side for some time, not speaking, eventually falling asleep under the stars, wondering how their life would ever be the same again. Just before Dandelion drifted off, he heard Geralt whisper, “I love you too, Essi.”