#Tankred Thyssen

[codringher-and-fenn]

Ciri's empress ending with a twist - a middle finger to any of those who have tried to influence her future. This gem of a fic empowers a Witcher to see her full potential with endless book and game references and details that pull the reader into the plot of possibilities! Dip a toe into the waters of the rarepairs within this captivating storyline without fear - Ciri is true to her character in all her interactions.

Author Highlight: A book purist and game fan, @andordean handles the content of their fics with the upmost attention to canonical details and love for the characters! Check out the rest of their fic collection for more interesting reads, especially Ciri fans!

[andordean]

Re-reading Lady of the Lake (For Science), and

[thedeadthree]

if im not gazed at with a warm look of admiration that hasn’t wavered in the 29 years of being together like esterad thyssen looks at his wife zuleyka then i refuse to accept any romantic interest ✨😤✨😌

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"Didn't really think so. They aren't very good at hiding it... their feelings of superiority over everyone else. Usually know one when I see one. Wouldn't be caught in a village like this if they could help it either. Prefer luxury, in all things."

Eskel's deep, calm voice returned to her slowly, viper eyes looking back at her from where he stood, arms folded comfortably over his armor and cloak. So, she had untrained magical potential, it seemed. It popped up invariably among folk, usually younger than she was, but it wasn't unheard of in adults. While he had mastered all the Signs, their potential, and the art of boosting, combining and modifying them further, had vast knowledge of the occult, necromancy, demonology and curses... the rest of the arcane was another matter, one he couldn't teach her. With ancient Aretuza destroyed for good by Radovid's army, much to his own personal, private approval, the only magical schools in the Northern Realms were the Ban Ard Academy for males exclusively right there in Kaedwen under Rector Dorregaray of Vole, and the new school that had been recently built in Kovir and Poviss, mostly for females, under Rectoress Margarita Laux-Antille. A somewhat more tolerable Sorceress and former Lodge member than most of them, not that it was saying much. Considering who had comprised it, that was a low bar to clear.

The Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss was where Triss was mostly at these days as well, as a royal court Sorceress for King Tankred Thyssen and part time teacher at Margarita's school. Likely Rhaena would be better off there, under their tutelage than dwelling in villages, where the superstitious folk would be liable to turn against her if they found out that she had magic to her. Run her out of town or try burning her at the stake... especially if they were supporters of Radovid. While a hag of a witch like Sabrina Glevissig had more than earned such a grisly fate, this young woman had not. It stuck him as another bitterly amusing joke of destiny... that he of all people should have to deliver someone to become a Sorceress, after his unpleasant experiences with such types. He rubbed his marred cheek absently as he considered it all, before she spoke again, began to sob over what she had seen drawing the Witcher's attention back to her. He nodded, moving over closer to her and reaching up the eastern woman's tears, offering what silent comfort he could in his touch, and quiet verbal comfort, reassurance.

"Of course you couldn't stop it. It wasn't you, and it had already happened. Try not to beat yourself up over it. It was the father's doing, and he's paid the price. Nothing else to be done about it. No stranger to death on the Path, seen all manner of them. Grisly, usually. And it's always the innocents who suffer the most. Just gotta learn to live with it... do your best. Such is the world we're in. I can't teach you to control your powers. You're going to need help, but won't find it in this kingdom. You belong in Kovir and Poviss, far safer territory for those of magical potential. There's a school for it out there as well, would accept you in a heartbeat, I'm sure. Know one of the teachers."

@rhaenaofmyr

@wanderingwolfwitcher [as discussed]

She clutches the cloak tighter about her frame, drawing the hood up over her head to at least try to keep the snow out of her eyes.

Rhaena had thought she would grow used to the chills that winters on The Continent brought. It had been near four years since she had fled from Westeros, where she had been condemned to a life of poverty in King’s Landing. She’d had no clue where she would end up when she stole away into the belly of a merchant ship, and it would seem that had the crew- she would later learn that their original destination had been Essos, but wild storms had sent them adrift and now here she was.

She’d traversed her way through this strange new world, eventually settling in a small village close to the mountains of Kaedwen. Of course, without a coin to her name, she had had to find work quickly, but the village’s pleasure house had employed her the moment they had laid eyes upon her. It was not something she particularly enjoyed, but it earned her enough to purchase a small homestead on the outskirts of the village.

The storm had set in as she was returning home and quickly, she had lost her bearings in the blizzard. She’d ended up in the forest that circled the village, entirely blind to the true way home. She paused for a moment, dark eyes casting this way and that to look for something familiar. But so thick was the snow that she could scarcely see her hand in front of her face. And she did not see the creature until it had knocked her to the ground, sharp claws pressing into her chest as it pins her down. All she can see now is teeth, growing ever closer as it leans down to take the death bite-

Suddenly, she hears the swing of the sword through the icy air, the thud of the creatures head as it lands close to hers, and feels the warm spray of blood across her face. Eyes remain shut for several moments before she slowly opens them, gaze falling upon the man in the dark red cloak, who stands above her.

Eyes wide with fear, she scrambles to her feet. Beneath the hood, she can make out yellow eyes and a large scar that marrs his face. She’s seen him around the village from time to time- she cannot recall his name, but she knows he is one of the elusive Witchers who spend their winters nearby.

“Th-thank you, Ser…” she says with as much bravery as she can muster, words heavily accented. “Forgive me but…I have no coin for you…”

[geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde]

Non Geraskier Fic Masterlist

HELLO LOVELIES!

Due to the MASSIVE support and interest I’ve gotten on this post (and oh boy I did not expect it, sometimes I forget how big the fandom really is) I will be moving this post to a new blog that will be dedicated solely to non-Geraskier content! I’ll have some help keeping things updated over there so things should go more smoothly and maybe I won’t fuck up all the links/pairings lists anymore. Head on over to @morethangeraskier to continue submissions! And once I get this list up over there I’ll reblog it!  

The new list is now up and located >>H E R E<<

I WILL NO LONGER BE UPDATING THIS LIST!

@acemoppet​ AO3 Gen/No Pairing, Yennefer/Triss, Triss/OFC

@andordean AO3 Cahir/Ciri, Ciri/Regis, Ciri/Tankred Thyssen, Detlaff/Regis, Ciri/Cerys, Gen/No Pairing, Regis/Natanis the Succubus, Regis/Beauclair Succubus

@bard-llama AO3 Iorveth/Roche, Geralt/Yennefer/Jaskier, Calanthe/Eist

@bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher AO3 Triss/Yennefer

@brasskier AO3 Gen/No Pairing, Geralt/Yennefer/Jaskier, Yennefer/Jaskier

@childoffantasy AO3 Eskel/Geralt, Eskel/Triss, Eskel/Lambert, Eskel/Jaskier, Ciri/Cerys, Aiden/Lambert

@elliestormfound AO3 Lambert/Aiden, Yennefer/Jaskier, Eskel/Jaskier/Geralt

@fangirleaconmigo AO3 Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier, Eskel/Jaskier

@geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde AO3, Lambert/Aiden, Jaskier/Lambert, Jaskier/Eskel, Jaskier/Yennefer, Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer, Geralt/Jaskier/Eskel, Gen/No Pairing, Jaskier/Valdo Marx, Yennefer/Renfri, Vesemir/Guxart, Borch/Eskel

@geraskier-trashh AO3 Geralt/Eskel

@ghostinthelibrarywrites AO3 Yennefer/Triss, Aiden/Lambert, Yennefer/Renfri, Eskel/Jaskier, Geralt/Yennefer/Jaskier

@hailhailsatan AO3 Eskel/Lambert, Eskel/Jaskier, Eskel/Jaskier/Geralt, Yennefer/Jaskier

@handwrittenhello AO3 Yennefer/Jaskier, Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer, Geralt/Regis, Eskel/Jaskier

@herbalina-of-yesteryear AO3 Regis/Reader, Cerro/Lara Dorren, Regis/Natanis the Succubus, Regis/OC, Cregennan of Lod/Lara Dorren

@hoomhum AO3 Lambert/Eskel/Geralt

@hungarianbee AO3 Gen/No Pairing, Ivar Evil-Eye/Keldar, Erland of Larvik & Arnaghad 

@inexplicifics AO3 Gen/No Pairing, Lambert/Aiden, Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier, Eskel/Geralt, Eskel/Jaskier, Lambert/OFC, Gweld/Serrit (possibly more pairings? there were are a ton of amazing fics to look through)

@jaskiersvalley AO3 Aiden/Cahir/Lambert/Eskel, Lambert/Aiden, Eskel/Lambert, Cahir/Eskel/Lambert, Cahir/Eskel, Aiden/Eskel/Lambert

@jaskierswolf AO3 Lambert/Aiden, Jaskier/Dandelion, Dandelion/Priscilla

@jawanaka AO3 Gen/No Pairing

@kate-river AO3 Eskel/Geralt

@kueble AO3 Eskel/Jaskier, Lambert/Aiden, Jaskier/Dandelion

@leevila-today AO3 Eskel/Reader

@lovelyrita1967 AO3 Regis/Tissaia, Eskel/Lambert, Eskel/Letho

@lynge81 AO3 Lambert/Aiden (trans-masc Aiden)

@major-trouble AO3 Eskel/Jaskier, Jaskier/Lambert

@miahclone AO3 Gen/No Pairing, Eskel/Lambert, Vesemir/Monster

@namesonboats AO3 Ciaran/OFC, Iorveth/OFC, Detlaff/Syanna, Detlaff/OFC

@octinary AO3 Gen/No Pairing, Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer, Lambert/Aiden, Jaskier/Lambert, Lambert/Keira Metz, Lambert/Geralt (linking a fic I read yesterday or the day before that was so fucking good I rec’d it to all the goobs), Lambert/Eskel/Geralt, Yennefer/Geralt

@ohnomybreadsticks AO3 Aiden/Cahir/Eskel/Lambert, Eskel/Lambert, Aiden/Lambert, Cahir/Eskel, Calanthe/Eist, Cahir/Eskel/Lambert, Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer

@ooksaidthelibrarian AO3 Gen/No Pairing, Eskel/Geralt, Crossovers, Aiden/Lambert

@poledancingdinos AO3 Eskel/OFC

@queenmevesknickers AO3 Gen/No Pairing, Meve/Reynard Odo

@rawrkinjd AO3 Arnaghad/Erland of Larvik, Aiden/Lambert, Eskel/Lambert, Geralt/Lambert, Eskel/Geralt, Gaetan/Letho, Eskel/OC, Eskel/Jaskier, Eskel/Letho, Letho/Auckes/Serrit

@round--robin AO3 Eskel/Geralt, Jaskier/Lambert, Eskel/Geralt/Lambert, Lambert/Aiden, Gaetan/Letho (I’m 1000% positive I missed ships because there are a ton and they’re all great so just go and start reading)

@rubberduckiemel AO3 Iorveth/Roche, Filavandrel/Jaskier, Geralt/Iorveth/Roche, Elihal/Hattori, Dijkstra/Iorveth/Roche, Cedric/Iorveth/Roche, Avallac’h/Lara/Cregennan

@skai6 AO3 Jaskier/Dandelion

@sleepyxcoffee AO3 Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier/Lambert, Ciri/Cerys, Eskel/Geralt, Eskel/Geralt/Lambert 

@smmorewtchrstuff​ AO3 Lambert/Aiden

@sternenstaub28 AO3 Eskel/Jaskier, Letho/Jaskier, Geralt/Regis

@stinawrites AO3 Lambert/Aiden, Yennefer/Renfri, Eskel/Reader, Eskel/Succubus, Jaskier/Eskel/Geralt, Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer

@teamfreehoodies AO3 Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier, Yennefer/Jaskier, Yennefer/Renfri, Geralt/Yennefer/Jaskier

@thecomfortofoldstorries AO3 Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer, Triss/Eskel, Reader/Jaskier, Reader/Geralt

@thehornedwitch AO3 Geralt/Iorveth

@tumbleweedtech AO3 Aiden/Lambert, Eskel/Geralt, Gen/No Pairing, Jaskier/Vesemir, Gaetan/Letho, Eskel/Jaskier/Lambert

@unremarkablegirl AO3 Gen/No Pairing

@witchertrashbag AO3 Eskel/Geralt, Eskel/Yennefer, Geralt/Yennefer, Geralt/Yennefer/Jaskier, Eskel/Natanis the Succubus, Emhyr/Geralt, Geralt/Lambert, Jaskier/Yennefer, Geralt/OMC, Jaskier/Valdo Marx

@wordsablaze AO3 Eskel/Jaskier, Jaskier/Lambert, Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer, Yennefer/Jaskier, Geralt/Yennefer

@yenngeraskier AO3 Geralt/Yennefer, Gen/No Pairing, Eskel/Geralt, Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer 

@yoursummerfrost AO3 Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer, Yennefer/Renfri

I don’t have a tumblr for the following, if its you or anyone knows them please let me know! 

Bawdy Bean AO3 Hjalmar/Eskel, Eskel/Mislav, Gaetan/Letho, Gaunter O’Dimm/Geralt, Lambert/Keira Metz, Gen/No Pairing, Aiden/Aldith, Eskel/Geralt, Eskel/OFC, Eskel/OMC, Detlaff/Regis, Eskel/Gaetan, Eskel/Letho, Eskel/Lambert, Crossovers

Infinitefire AO3 Calanthe/Eist

Caelanmiriel AO3 Valdo Marx/Jaskier, Jaskier/Lambert

Lunacosas AO3 Eskel/Jaskier, Eskel/Geralt

Rutherbird AO3 Cahir/Ciri

[witcher-bullshit]

Hmm weirdly enough I kind of didn't have any emotional connection to The Lady of the Lake after the Battle of Brenna. I dived into Stygga, expecting to be greatly devastated, but meh. Not really anything at all. Then when I knew Rivia was drawing close nothing at all too, even less so than Stygga. I don't know if it was because I knew how it would end, but, all in all, it just felt hollow to me? I don't even mean the many perspective changes (I actually came to really like those, I think it's a cool way to explain the happenings in the world), but the main plotline didn't carry with it the energy and emotionality it did like in Baptism of Fire or Tower of the Swallow. I felt too detached from the characters, especially the hansa, I missed their perspectives. Also there wasn't seemingly a conclusion to Nimue's and Condwiramur's research, which as one of the frames of the books, should have been picked up again.

Also a point of critique: The Aen Elle (and to a certain extend Vilgefortz') plans for Ciri I could understand, but seeing that repeated in the Lodge didn't make sense to me? Like what good would Tankred Thyssen get them/a child. He's just another human, at best Ciri's abilities would be replicated, at worst the genes would have gotten fuddled as with Amavet and Fiona. Wouldn't it make more sense to develop her magic so she would be much longer lived and would be able to use her abilities better? Even them trying to hit up the Aen Elle into an unholy coalition would make more sense. I'm also irked by Yennefer's complicity in the matter, she just rode through half of the Empire laying waste to everyone who ever wronged Ciri and then she?? just?? hands?? her?? over???? I'm very tired so I might have missed or forgotten something that would help me make sense of this, so if you feel up to it please explain it. After Stygga their sense of defeat was understandable, but here uhm no.

Oh and talking about the direct aftermath of Stygga, I am appalled that they didn't even lift a finger for Ciri, not even psychologically. How they seemed just fine with her being hauled off?????? I think this is what gets me going most, just their pure resignation? What the fuck did they just bury four friends for? They didn't even make one single demand, one plan to disrupt it, a retreat and regroup move, just told her to behave??? Like no Ciri, baby, fuck his shit up and leave, you weaseled out of everything until now, escaped from fucking Tir ná Lia, you can put up your middle finger at one lousy human ruler too. Yennefer and Geralt's parenting rights have been REVOKED by me. Their little family road trip visiting graves and setting fire to infrastructure doesn't right those things.

I'm glad the games exist because damn are they better parents in them. I don't even care about them being "killed off" (whether or not this actually happens does not really matter to me as of now), it's just all those circumstances that give me one big question mark popping up over my head. It makes no sense, it's bad writing. Very disappointing.

[nieludzkii-blog]

                test characters -- plotting call

                Below the cut are the first ring of characters I’d like to test out -- a mixture of canon and original characters, some with ideas more fleshed out than others. Consider this a PLOTTING CALL for them, so you can either like for me to come to you or you can slide right into my IMs with who you’d like to plot with. More characters will be posted in about two weeks.

ADDA THE WHITE The daughter of King Foltest and his sister, Adda of Temeria thought to have died in childbirth before rising as a striga seven years later. She was cured of her affliction by Geralt of Rivia, though was left mentally impaired and with white hair (though would later take to dying it red). However, through experimental therapies utilising plant-based remedies and magic commissioned from Lamia de Bruyere, Adda’s mental functions were mostly rectified allowing her to mature normally and learn to communicate. However, despite her miraculous recovery, she still struggles with literacy being unable to perform extended or complicated readings and unable to put words to paper as easily as her teachers would hope, causing her to often dictate her thoughts and messages to trusted scribes rather than do so herself. Her curse was briefly brought back, though was once again cured of it and she would eventually went on to marry Radovid V. To prevent further attempts to revive her curse, Adda has taken to having folk healers, witches and pellars brought to her to learn non-standard wards and remedies.

FRANCESCA FINDABAIR / ENID AN GLEANNA The pure-blood elven sorceress and Duchess of Dol Blathanna (formerly queen before being annexed into the Nilfgaardian Empire), the Daisy of the Valleys is considered to be the most beautiful woman in the world. The daughter of an elven Sage, Enid an Gleanna was disowned by her father, though her knowledge of the Elder Blood would later help her in preserving Falka’s bloodline when tasked with determining which of the Houtborg triplets was hers. In 1267, now a member of the mages’ Chapter, Francesca sided with Emhyr var Emreis to participate in the Thanedd coup in exchange for Dol Blathanna as an elven state. With Vilgefortz, Francesca planned to kill Northern supporters during the conclave and brought in Scoia’tael to assist in this matter. The coup failed when the Northerner’s learned of the plan and struck first, and Francesca was arrested though swiftly escaped due to the actions of Tissaia de Vries allowing both sides to fight against each other. In the chaos, she captured Yennefer of Vengerburg and fled from the island. Taking her seat as queen as Dol Blathanna, Francesca was invited and accepted an invitation to join the Lodge of Sorceresses who would create a magocratic order through Cirilla of Fontaine and her Elder Blood. Following the Battle of Brenna, Francesca found herself having to accept Dol Blathanna’s continued existence as an elven state under the form of a duchy instead of a kingdom, and survived through the persecution of the Lodge after their plans fell threw, eventually leaving the world to another realm with the rest of elvenkind.

MERIDIANA / KUPALNITSA (SHE-OF-NIGHT) An incredibly social succubus, Meridiana could say she’s travelled the length of the continent three times over the course of her life. Often only staying in one place for a year at a time, Meridiana prefers to reside within the cities of the world, often cladding herself in gowns with sweeping skirts to hide her cloven hooves and headdresses to hide her horns when she isn’t wrapping them in her hair in elaborate hairstyles. For a time, Meridiana presented herself as a courtesan, providing company and entertainment for a fee, though sex was not always expected. She played many roles from hostess to lover to therapist, and even mistress to those seeking a sharp hand to keep them in line. When travelling through less built-up areas though, passing through farmland and hills and forests, Meridiana likes to gather friends around her, actively searching for other wanderers whether they be mortal travellers, members of other humanoid races seeking companionship, and even incubi when she desires her own kind -- or someone of equal stamina. More often than not, this often results in her as the head of an orgiastic cult, presiding over the sexual freedom of her followers by the name of Kupalnitsa, before she disperses them and reaches the next city. Because of this, she is well known and anticipated by those who’ve spent their time and money on her before -- even if being so widely praised places her at risk.

ORIANNA DE BIANCHI Known in Toussaint as a wealthy philanthropist of some operatic talent, Orianna de Bianchi is a patron to artists, orphans and the theatre and more than sufficiently praised as a good woman of high standing among Toussaintois society. Despite this, she is somewhat of a recluse, only ever seen during the night at the lavish parties she throws, or when attending performances held within the duchy, not even participating in festivals or attending tourneys, and only rarely glimpsed within the duchess’s court. Despite her outward altruism, however, Orianna utilises her position and reputation to hide in plain sight as a bruxa, feeding from the children of her orphanage and leaving one to wonder what other dark dealings she partakes in.

PHILIPPA EILHART The Jewel of Tretogor, Philippa was the court sorceress under King Vizimir II and remained within the Redanian court until after his death. A talented mage, Philippa is noted for her power of shapeshifting, able to take the form of an owl, but also for her cold charm and keen political mind. With the Lodge of Sorceresses, Philippa sought to create a magocratic kingdom where sorcerers would rule, specifically utilising Cirilla of Fontaine as a puppet monarch after marrying her to Tankred Thyssen who would inherit Kovir and Povis. Her original plans failed however, and resulted in her being blinded, and despite escaping regardless of this debilitation she was later marked for persecution. During her time in hiding, Philippa planned to restore her eyesight and revive the Lodge of Sorceresses with a new plan, though was tricked into taking her owl form and becoming trapped in it for a long period. She was later freed from this, and brought on to assist in stopping the Wild Hunt by Geralt of Rivia, and offer Cirilla of Fontaine a partnership instead of being a pawn.

[andordean]

Beidak's side blog got deleted, so here's the art that I'm still so in love with:

⭐ Go, Dor, GO!!

So I was asked about Cahir and Ciri, so it's time to unleash all the background of Tankred Thyssen of Kovir on you all.

Back in 2015 when Ciri invaded my brain and demanded to rule over independent Cintra, I had to figure out a way for her to not only reclaim her country, but also to keep it, which, in the current political landscape after TW3 was not an easy task AT ALL. (Not that she cared.)

The only clear thing in that huge political mess of a puzzle that I had to solve was that she needed powerful allies if she was to challenge the current status quo, and not many of those remained in the North after the devastating war. 

Kovir came into the picture very early on, courtesy of none other than Philippa for there's nothing better than using canon and twisting it to your needs:

"If you were still Cirilla of Cintra," Philippa continued after a long pause, "still the daughter of Pavetta and granddaughter of Calanthe, you’d become Prince Tankred’s legal wife. You’d be the princess, and later the queen of Poviss and Kovir. Unfortunately, and I tell you this with genuine regret, fate has deprived you of everything. Including your future. You will only be his mistress. His favorite."

[…]

"That ugly scar on your face," Sheala said indifferently, "we will magically remove or disguise. You will be a mysterious and beautiful woman, and I guarantee that Tankred Thyssen will go crazy for you."

(...and boy he did.)

There’s very little in both book and game canon about Tankred; books give us hints of his past as a womanizing party boy, and a disappointment to Esterad:

‘This is Guiscard,’ Esterad explained, nodding towards the boy. ‘My grandson, the son of Gaudemunda and that ne’er-do-well, Duke Vermuellen. But that little boy is Kovir’s only hope, should Tankred Thyssen turn out to be... Should anything happened to Tankred…’

Dijkstra was aware of Kovir’s problem. And Esterad’s personal problem. He knew that something had already happened to Tankred. The lad, if he had any makings of a king, would only be a bad one.

There are a few more details, but still vague, in the conversation between Sheala and Zuleyka:

‘Prince Tankred will bid farewell to that bad company. He will not linger at the  Baron of Surcratasse’s castle. Nor at the Lady de Lisemore’s residence. Nor at the Redanian ambassador’s wife’s.’

‘He will no longer visit those personages? Never?’

‘Those personages,’ Sheala de Tansarville’s dark eyes lit up with a strange glint, ‘will no longer dare to trifle with Prince Tankred, for they shall be made aware of the consequences. I vouch for what I say. I vouch for the fact that Prince Tankred will take up his studies again and be a diligent scholar, a serious and level-headed young man. He shall also stop chasing skirts. He shall lose is ardour...until the moment we introduce to him Cirilla, Princess or Cintra.’

All we are told in the game is that he granted mages a safe haven in Kovir, and offered Triss a position of his advisor.

Based on those crumbles of data I wrote him as a spoilt royal brat who had to grow up fast after Esterad’s assassination; an incompetent princeling who had to endure a few painful lessons before eventually growing into a capable ruler; a decent strategist, but lacking his father’s flair--and while competent, he still retained a hedonist streak of his youth, and is ready to indulge himself at every opportunity.

The next question I had to figure out was: what would make him abandon Kovir’s neutrality that’s stressed time and again in the books, and agree to help Ciri (other than being susceptible to her charm).

Esterad’s musings were a great inspiration for the strategic values of an union with Cintra:

‘You know, Zuleyka,’ he confided. ‘lately I've been having queer dreams. I’ve dreamt of that witch, my mother, I don’t know how many times. She stands over me and repeats: ‘I have a wife for Tankred, I have a wife for Tankred’. And she shows me a pretty, but very young girl. And you know, Zuleyka, who that girl is? It’s Ciri, Calanthe’s granddaughter. Remember Calanthe, Zuleyka?’

‘I do, my husband.’

‘Cirilla of Cintra,’ Esterad went on, playing with the sceptre, ‘is the one Emhyr var Emreis reputedly wants to marry. A bizarre marriage, astonishing... How, damn it, ought she to be a wife for Tankred?’

‘Tankred--’ Zuleyka’s voice faintly altered, as it did whenever she spoke of her son ‘--could do with a wife. Perhaps he would settle down...’

‘Perhaps,’ Esterad sighed. ‘Though I doubt it, but perhaps. In any case, matrimony is some sort of chance. Hmmm… Ciri… Ha! Kovir and Cintra. The Yaruga estuary! Doesn’t sound at all bad, not at all bad An alliance would be fine... A nice little coalition...’

But as good an alliance as it may have been in theory, it still wasn’t enough for Tankred to officially lend Ciri his support against Nilfgaard and Redania, not with the current balance of power. I needed a stronger argument in her favour. I spent good few weeks trying to figure it out, until I had an idea to check the Polish version of the Witcher Wiki on the country. There I saw a mention on the mounting issues with food shipments, mainly from Nilfgaard--and that solved my main political plot puzzle.

The last puzzle was Tankred and Ciri’s dynamics and relationship. Ciri’s love of freedom is something I both adore about her and very much share, therefore locking her in a cage of a political marriage was the last thing I wanted for her. Since I headcanon her in an established relationship with Cerys in this verse, I had an idea to write the marriage as an open arrangement.

Another argument for an open marriage was the well established within canon fact that Esterad and Zuleyka loved each other. Messed up as Tankred was as a teenager, he grew up in a loving family; to know his own future marriage would likely be an empty, meaningless union to cement some alliance or another likely wasn't a particularly cheerful concept. Meeting Ciri changes his perspective; he recognises a potential valuable partner in her, and suggests the arrangement based on trust, honesty and open communication that allows both of them to enjoy certain freedoms, and keep the people they love in their lives.

Obviously, this being me, I only write happy endings for Ciri, so their relationship starts as politics with benefits, to grow into genuine respect, trust, and eventually, love.

I’ve never written a poly story before, so it was ever so slightly daunting--I’ve been told I managed to pull it off. 💜

Lastly, for visuals, we have one official art of Esterad, his Gwent card; and we also have canon:

“The king was wearing a crimson ermine-trimmed cape and a matching velvet chapeau. Like all the men of the Thyssen clan he was tall, powerfully built and devilishly handsome.

Which is to say it wasn’t pure thirst on my part to make Tankred hot. Behold:

Tankred the smug bastard by beidak

Tankred after Esterad’s assassination, a wonderful piece by @nikita-not-nikola

(I hope you wanted an essay when you sent me that ask, dear! 💜 Thank you for indulging me.)

Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut ask

[thedeadthree]

martyna ryzeck of lan exeter - witch queen of kovir, wife of tankred thyssen, the koviri wraith.

senne sophrevia ere aep xalvir - witch empress of nilfgaard, wife of jan calveit, the star of nazair.

the witch queens of the continent, may the gods spare thee should they ever go to war

picrew [x]

[andordean]

Lost Scenes Thursday! Get to know your favourite authors better. Show five scenes from either abandoned fics where you regret they will never see the light of day, or five scenes from WIPs where you are impatient to see them out there. Long, short, one-liner... it's all good reading. Tag five other authors where you are curious.

@regis-favorite-raven tagged me in this too, and @valandhirwriter had the misfortune of reblogging it, so they're being dragged into the response here too. :D Fair warning: it's a long one. Thanks as always for thinking of me! <3

(1) This fic has no title, and it's my take on the empress ending, with my personal favourite pairing for Ciri as a ruler.

Her first instinct was to burn the letter. 

It wasn’t signed; it didn’t need to be. She had no idea how it even made its way to her--one day she just found a folded piece of fine paper in her saddle bag. The tone of the letter was official, detached. Cold. She didn’t burn it in the end, but she ignored it altogether.

The second letter was a shade softer. She ignored that one too.

The third one was apologetic.

---

The barge left them on a narrow sidewalk surrounded by grey walls, leading towards a single door at the back of a nondescript building.

"Please follow me," her companion said amicably.

Ciri looked around, trying to get her bearings, but the place was utterly indescribable. 

The man stopped before the door and turned to her with the same polite smile. "Before we go in, I am afraid I have to ask you to leave your weapons with me."

Ciri eyed him with suspicion. "Look around, good sir. You've led me to a place with no way out, and now you're asking me to give up my sword?"

"I was led to believe 'no way out' does not apply to you," the man said, stretching out his hand, waiting. 

Ciri frowned. The circumstances were looking less and less like a delicate Witcher matter. She did not like it one bit.

Obediently, she unclipped her sword and handed it to the man; he took it, but did not move even by an inch. Ciri sighed in irritation, fished out the dagger from her shoe and pushed it into the man's outstretched hand.

"There," she snapped. The man bowed–bowed–and without another word opened the door for her.

Behind it was a short corridor leading to a staircase, lit up by torches. Ciri followed the stairs up to the next level; the level of dust suggested they haven't been used in a while. They ended at a small landing and another door. She pushed it open and entered the room.

The man standing by the only window turned around to face her as she walked in. She glanced around the room first–empty, but for a small table with a bottle of wine and glasses on it–then she focused her attention on the man, and her heart sank.

He seemed a few years older than her; his clothes were of excellent quality, but with no visible signs of affiliation or rank. Dark hair in waves down to his shoulders, dark eyes studying her with open curiosity, a perfectly trimmed beard, his lips quirked in a small smirk that seemed like a permanent feature. 

Two things were obvious: he was devilishly handsome—and she was fucked.

"Thank you for coming," he said, and even his damn voice was attractive.

"Did I have a choice? Your Grace?" Ciri retorted and his smile only deepened.

"You always have a choice," Tankred Thyssen, the king of Kovir, Poviss and a few other places, replied smoothly. "You can turn around and leave right now; you have my word you shall not be bothered. But I believe it is in your interest to hear me out."

Ciri crossed her arms on her chest, and waited.

"Very well." The king gestured to the table. "Please, have a seat."

"I'd rather not," Ciri said through clenched teeth.

The only effect it had was to seemingly amuse him further. He sat down, opened the bottle, filled both cups, and offered her one. "If nothing else, this wine is worth your time."

Ciri studied him for another heartbeat before reluctantly taking the seat and accepting the glass. She took a sip for courage and had to admit he was right: it was the most delicate, beautiful red she has ever had.

"What's the occasion?" She pushed. "Is there a witcher contract that's too delicate to be made public?"

"Not quite," he said and her heart sank at the confirmation. "Thank you for dealing with the foglets, by the way. Unsurprisingly, none of the mages were willing to get their hands dirty."

"How—" Ciri shook her head. "No, nevermind."

"The guard at the market's southern gate," Tankred said, unbothered. "His job was to keep an eye on you–and to step in should you need assistance." He gave her a small nod. "Which obviously turned out to be an abundance of caution."

"I'm deeply touched by your care." Ciri took another sip of wine, when a thought hit her. "Wait—the contract—it was your doing, wasn't it? I knew the money was too good."

"The contract wasn't," Tankred said. "The fee, however—I hoped it would catch your eye."

Ciri downed the rest of the wine and put the glass on the table. "I have places to be, so if you could just tell me what this dance is about, I'll be on my way."

He studied her with this smirk of his that had already become infuriating. "Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon; Queen of Cintra, Princess of Brugge and Duchess of Sodden, heiress to Inis Ard Skellig and Inis An Skellig, and suzeraine of Attre and Abb Yarra. I hope I didn't forget anything?"

There it was: all the cards laid neatly on the table, with no lies left to hide behind. Ciri took a careful breath. "You forgot a few things, actually. Queen of Cintra is no more, for Cintra is no more. Cirilla Fiona died five years ago; reasons for her death have not been made public. And you're talking to the Witcher from the school of the Wolf."

"Tell me, then, Witcher," Tankred managed to not make it sound like a mockery—no small feat considering the circumstances, "why are you exchanging correspondence with the emperor of Nilfgaard?"

That came as a surprise. Ciri glared at him for a moment in silence, mulling over her options—which weren't many. Not with him clearly knowing bloody everything. 

With limited alternatives, she settled on the truth. "If you know so much, then surely you know I told him to go and fuck himself."

(2) Most recent WIP - Ghost sequel, Cahir/Ciri

"I did not realise the tincture calls for myrrh powder." 

Cahir nearly jumps at the vampire's voice, and looks down at the contents of the mortar. The resin he's been working on is indeed ground to a fine ash. So much for escaping Regis' scrutiny.

"Sorry." He grimaces. "Got lost in thought."

"This much is obvious." Regis studies him with a slight frown. "Anything of concern?"

Cahir can't decide whether it's a blessing or a curse to have someone as inquisitive as Regis privy to his deepest regrets. 

"Not really.”

"So Ciri doesn’t seem to be in mortal danger?”

"Not as far as I can tell," Cahir says. 

Regis studies him for a heartbeat, but Cahir doesn’t elaborate; there are limits to which he’s willing to embarrass himself, and his last dream definitely falls into that category. After what feels like an age, the vampire nods and moves past him to rummage through a box on the floor, fishing out a glass vial. He takes the mortar from Cahir, transfers the ground resin into a vial and carries it over to a little stove in the far corner; atop it, a bowl sits, surrounded by a metal frame. Regis attaches the vial to the frame, fills the bowl with water and lights the fire in the stove. 

Cahir watches him in silence, waiting. The resin needs an hour or so of steeping in boiling water; he has a distinct feeling Regis isn’t planning to go anywhere in the meantime.

"That reminds me," Regis says offhandedly, his tone confirming Cahir’s worst suspicions. "Whatever happened to that delightful young woman whose grandmother you helped? Mila, was it? I have not seen her around in a while.”

Cahir sighs, resigned. “And you probably won’t.” 

“Shame. I liked her wit.”

The water in the bowl is bubbling happily; Regis readjusts the vial to make sure the resin in it is fully submerged, then leans against the work table facing Cahir and studies him intently. “You do realise clinging to the past is no way to live?”

“It's the past that is clinging to me,” Cahir retorts, his voice a little too sharp. He takes a breath. “And it’s what I deserve.”

“Nonsense,” Regis huffs. “What you deserve is to move on. To be happy.”

“But I am happy.” Cahir makes a sweeping gesture, encompassing the workshop. “What you taught me—helping people—makes life worth living. And I have you and Dettlaff. What else could I want?”

“Companionship. Friendships other than with two aging vampires,” Regis counters. “I hate to see you cutting yourself off from others your own age—your own kind.”

“My kind wants me dead,” Cahir points out. “I’m a wanted fugitive. I can’t—I can’t trust just anyone with the truth. You of all people should know that.”

“It may be time to trust someone with your story.”

Cahir rubs his forehead. It’s not the first discussion they’ve had on the subject. “What we went through… It’s hard to explain to someone who hasn’t seen what we saw. Someone who’s not—broken.”

“This world has been broken in more ways than one,” Regis says patiently. “It may be time to take a risk and crawl out of your shell. War has scarred this land deeply; you may find that you are not an exception.”

“Maybe one day,” Cahir says dismissively, keen to change the subject. “For now I am content with the friends I have.”

Regis studies him for a moment in silence. “In this case,” he says, and Cahir has an eerie feeling he’s walked into something he may regret, “what would you say to a break?”

“A break?” Cahir repeats.

“There’s a selection of rare manuscripts I have sought for a while. I just received a letter from an antique dealer in Novigrad that he came into possession of one. Besides, some of our supplies are thinning out. And you could do with a break. A change of scenery.”

“You wrote to Dandelion.”

Regis is a picture of innocence. “I may have told him you’d be there before the month is out.”

Cahir shakes his head with a soft laugh. “If you want me out of the house to give Dettlaff a break, you can just say so. No need to interrogate me beforehand.”

“Nonsense,” Regis scoffs. “Dettlaff enjoys your company. And I enjoy interrogating you.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Cahir says with a fake scorn. “Maybe I do need new friends.”

“Being right is a privilege of age. I’ll arrange for your horse to be ready.”

(3) Bodyguard!AU, Cahir/Ciri. A fully plotted one that I'll probably never actually write.

Agreeing to this was a mistake, Cahir thought as soon as Princess Cirilla marched into the room, her whole posture an eponym of contempt--whether for the arrangement, or for him, Cahir had no way of knowing. 

"Sit down."

"I'd rather not." Her voice was ice cold, but Cahir didn't let that fool him; there was simmering rage just underneath the surface.

The emperor regarded her for a heartbeat, then nodded. "Very well. This man here," he gestured at Cahir, "has been assigned as your personal bodyguard. He will accompany you everywhere from now on until I say otherwise. Am I making myself clear?"

"I don't remember agreeing to this," Cirilla spat.

"I have reasonable grounds to suspect people in my circle are in danger," var Emreis said, his voice softening just a fraction. "I ask you to trust me, and my sources."

"Trust you?" Cirilla's composure was gone in a blink, replaced by such fury that Cahir had to rethink his earlier assessment. Perhaps all that contempt was reserved for the Emperor, after all. "Trust you to do what exactly?"

"To act before I am faced with an impossible choice."

"Impossible choice," Cirilla repeated, venom dropping off every syllable. "Heartwarming. When does this dog of yours start his assignment?"

"Immediately."

(4) Blood Ties sequel that has a solid plot and some 40% written. Regis returns to Cintra as things go to shit, yet again

Absence was what shook him out of the slumber. He didn’t recognise it for what it was; not initially. The pull of the Unseen Elder that came right after–and the animalistic fear that always accompanied his summons–tuned out any subtler sensations. It wasn’t until the Elder’s claws were at his throat that Regis understood what had happened. 

The space in his mind that belonged to Ciri ever since their bond formed, the space that had echoed so brilliantly with her presence, that had shimmered with vivid colours at the edge of his consciousness even during his hibernation–that space was now deadly silent. 

He set off immediately, the Elder’s threats and demands irrelevant in the face of his own dread.

Vampires did not recognise gods, nor had a need for them–yet Regis found himself fervently praying that he wasn’t too late.

---

“You love her,” Tankred said. It wasn’t a question - not with the way the man was holding Ciri’s hand, his lips a pale line, his attention entirely focused on her shallow breathing.

Regis turned to him with a frown, but his expression immediately softened.

“I believe you can answer that yourself, Your Majesty,” he said gently, “if it’s possible to see her for who she is, and not love her.”

Tankred was silent for a heartbeat, bracing himself.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Regis’ eyes narrowed, his face hardening.

“Is it important?”

“Any moment now my children will be here. I nearly lost them once already,” Tankred said with a forced calm. “Yes, it’s important.”

The barber-surgeon looked at him for a long moment in complete silence.

“A monster,” he said eventually, his voice carefully level and cold as ice. “A blood-sucking beast. Have I adequately satisfied Your Majesty's curiosity? Should I remove myself now to ensure the heirs' safety?”

Tankred couldn’t help casting a glance at Ciri, looking for bloodied marks on her neck. Regis grimaced and pointedly took Ciri’s hand, showing him a single needle puncture on her finger, already healed.

Tankred’s mind was rushing. When Ciri had told him about Regis, he hadn't paid much attention to her story. But later, when he had gotten the reports about the man’s role in the uprising, a few details were strange enough to inspire a more in-depth research. He never arrived at any resolution, and most definitely not at the one the man had just offered him, but then again, he wasn’t particularly surprised either.

After all, a close relationship with a vampire was exactly Ciri's style.

“Thank you for your honesty,” he said. 

Regis raised his eyebrows.

“That’s it?” he mocked. “No guards, no garlic, no blessed water to repel evil?”

“When it comes to topics one is unfamiliar with, it's prudent to look to the experts in the field.” Tankred shrugged. “Of the two monster experts I know personally, Geralt calls you a friend, and Ciri's trust in you is boundless. Besides, you may have just saved her life.” Tankred broke off for a moment, and added with a forced smile. “And none of these protective measures would have worked on you anyway, would they?”

(5) One of some three hundred scenes covering the next thirty years of Ciri's rule, a few years after the previous snippet

Damian walked in, and stopped at the door. He had expected to find Ciri alone, but both Tankred and Regis were there, sitting at the table. It was the first time he met both of them since–

Well. Since circumstances changed. Since everything changed.

As if sensing his discomfort, Ciri sent him a warm smile. "It's time you joined our little circle of conspirators."

"Such an unbecoming word," Regis said. "We hardly ever conspire."

"Once a quarter at the most," Tankred added, as he beckoned him closer. "Wine?"

"I'd rather not," Damian said carefully; Tankred smirked and gestured to the chair beside him.

"Now, now," Ciri cut in. "He's still mine."

"You have the vampire, don't be greedy," Tankred shot back, and Damian's confusion grew tenfold.

"The vampire?"

For the first time that Damian knew him, Tankred looked…chagrined. The silence that followed was broken by Regis, clearing his throat.

"Our King means me," he said gently, looking at Damian. 

Damian just stared at him, trying to wrap his mind around this new revelation. He was vaguely aware of Ciri, studying him with an inscrutable expression from across the table. Through his shock, he felt the missing pieces slot into place as the full picture finally unraveled before his eyes.

"That's how you were able to save Ciri," he breathed. "Both then–and now?"

Regis gave him an appreciative smile. "Indeed. My nature does have its uses." 

"You understand, naturally, how this has to remain a secret," Tankred cut in. "And for that, I do apologize, Regis; I was way out of line to reveal it so casually."

Regis noded. "Thank you, but you were also not wrong. The situation does call for the truth, and we all know our General is worthy of the trust put in him."

For the third time Damian felt as if the rug was pulled from under him. "General?" 

"You bloodsucking bastard," Tankred offered pleasantly at the same time. Regis shot him his most serene smile, and Ciri–Ciri burst out laughing.

[andordean]

“This was one of the reasons I didn't want to go back to this life; I hate the idea of being somebody's tool—” Ciri broke off noticing Tankred's raised eyebrows. “What?” she grimaced.

“Not five months ago you showed up in Pont Vanis, terrorised my chamberlain, and demanded my help. Then, in no uncertain terms, you implied that if I knew what was good for me, I should have proposed to you,” he said dryly. “Afterwards, you went off and pushed Nilfgaard back behind Amell mountains. I don't know what your definition of a tool is, but in this story it's me who looks remarkably like one.”

“That is a gross exaggeration,” she scoffed, but had to smile.

“Really.” He retorted. “Which part?”

“I didn't terrorise your chamberlain.”

***

LOOK LOOK LOOK AT MY BOI

Thank you, @calyxestra​! This is everything, and more.

[andordean]

Just spent an hour googling dark haired actors looking for my headcanon cast.

For science!

[andordean]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski Rating: Explicit Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Tankred Thyssen Summary:

“Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon,” Tankred said, his voice low and full of authority, and to her growing irritation, Ciri found it just a little difficult to focus on what was being said. “Thou have come to this house upon my word. Upon my word and henceforth to this house thy blood belongs. Be welcomed to Ensenada Palace; be welcomed to house Thyssen.”

***

Queen of Cintra’s first official visit to Kovir goes as planned.

Almost.

So I went and wrote some smut (GASP), with some politics, angst, and banter, because hey, it’s me. Come and feast on Smug Boi being himself, and on our brat finally having some fun. I love these two too much for words, and developing their relationship was (and continues to be) a JOY.

Happens after the events of Blood Ties (obviously).

Beta by @merulanoir. ❤️ (And I feel like I should tag astolat as an inspiration for certain scenes…)

[andordean]

Chapters: 7/9

People of Cintra, most honourable guests! I here present unto you Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon of house Cerebin, daughter of Pavetta, blood of Ard Rhena, Calanthe Elen Riannon, by the rights of gods and the laws of men our undoubted Queen. Wherefore all you who are come this day to do your homage and service, are you willing to do the same? ***

It’s here. It’s happening. ❤️❤️❤️

@merulanoir and @kaeltale are as essential to this story as my own two hands. Thank you birbs, for pushing me, and for listening to me screaming. ❤️

[andordean]

(Fine, fine, have some more.)

"Thank you for coming," he said, and even his damn voice was attractive.

"Did I have a choice? Your Grace?" Ciri retorted and his smile only deepened.

"You always have a choice," Tankred Thyssen, the king of Kovir, Poviss and a few other places, replied smoothly. "You can turn around and leave right now; you have my word you shall not be bothered. But I believe it is in your interest to hear me out."

Ciri crossed her arms on her chest, and waited.

"Very well." The king gestured to the table. "Please, have a seat."

"I'd rather not," Ciri said through clenched teeth.

The only effect it had was to seemingly amuse him further. He sat down, opened the bottle, filled both cups, and offered her one. "If nothing else, this wine is worth your time."

Ciri studied him for another heartbeat before reluctantly taking the seat and accepting the glass. She took a sip for courage and had to admit he was right: it was the most delicate, beautiful red she has ever had.

"What's the occasion?" She pushed. "Is there a witcher contract that's too delicate to be made public?"

"Not quite," he said and her heart sank at the confirmation. "Thank you for dealing with the foglets, by the way. Unsurprisingly, none of the mages were willing to get their hands dirty."

"How—" Ciri shook her head. "No, nevermind."

"The guard at the market's southern gate," Tankred said, unbothered. "His job was to keep an eye on you–and to step in should you need assistance." He gave her a small nod. "Which obviously turned out to be an abundance of caution."

"I'm deeply touched by your care." Ciri took another sip of wine, when a thought hit her. "Wait—the contract—it was your doing, wasn't it? I bloody knew the money was too good."

"The contract wasn't," Tankred said. "The fee, however—I hoped it would catch your eye."

Ciri downed the rest of the wine and put the glass on the table. "I have places to be, so if you could just tell me what this dance is about, I'll be on my way."

He studied her with this smirk of his that was quickly becoming infuriating. "Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon; Queen of Cintra, Princess of Brugge and Duchess of Sodden, heiress to Inis Ard Skellig and Inis An Skellig, and suzeraine of Attre and Abb Yarra. Did I forget anything?"

There it was: all the cards laid neatly on the table. Ciri took a careful breath. "A few things, actually. Queen of Cintra is no more, for Cintra is no more. Cirilla Fiona died five years ago; reasons for her death have not been made public. And you're talking to the Witcher from the school of the Wolf."

"Tell me, then, Witcher," he somehow managed to not make it sound mocking—no small feat considering the circumstances, "why are you exchanging correspondence with the emperor of Nilfgaard?"

That came as a surprise. Ciri glared at him for a moment in silence, mulling over her options—which weren't many. Not with him clearly knowing bloody everything.

With limited alternatives, she settled on the truth. "If you know so much, then surely you know I told him to go and fuck himself."

WIP WorstDay

Hey I'm getting the hang of it!

Tagged by @noetikat and assaulted by BB as he approaches his DILF phase, so have something that's been brewing on low for a while (and will be brewing a while still).

I've recently tagged a handful of friends... @keyrousse do you have any edited bits you want to share? 💜

***

The barge left them on a narrow sidewalk surrounded by grey walls, leading towards a single door at the back of a nondescript building.

"Please follow me," her companion said amicably.

Ciri looked around, trying to get her bearings, but the place was utterly indescribable. 

The man stopped before the door and turned to her with the same polite smile. "Before we go in, I am afraid I have to ask you to leave your weapons with me."

Ciri eyed him with suspicion. "Look around, good sir. You've led me to a place with no way out, and now you're asking me to give up my sword?"

"I was led to believe 'no way out' does not apply to you," the man said, stretching out his hand, waiting. 

Ciri frowned. The circumstances were looking less and less like a sensitive witcher matter. She did not like it one bit.

Obediently, she unclipped her sword belt and handed it to the man; he took it, but did not move even by an inch. Ciri sighed in irritation, fished out the dagger from her shoe and pushed it into the man's outstretched hand.

"There," she snapped. The man bowed—bowed—and without another word opened the door for her.

Behind it was a short corridor leading to a staircase, lit up by torches. Ciri followed the stairs up to the next level; the level of dust suggested they haven't been used in a while. They ended at a small landing and another door. She pushed it open and entered the room.

The man standing by the only window turned around to face her as she walked in. She glanced around the room first—empty, but for a small table with a bottle of wine and two glasses—then she focused her attention on the man, and her heart sank.

He seemed a few years older than her; his clothes were of excellent quality, but with no visible signs of affiliation or rank. Dark hair in waves down to his shoulders, dark eyes studying her with open curiosity, a perfectly trimmed beard, his lips quirked in a small smirk that seemed like a permanent feature. 

Two things were obvious: he was devilishly handsome—which meant she was fucked.

[namesonboats]

Chapters: 24/24 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Dettlaff van der Eretein/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Triss Merigold, Dettlaff van der Eretein & Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy Characters: Original Female Character(s), Dettlaff van der Eretein, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Triss Merigold, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Original Characters, Sigrdrifa, Syanna | Rhenawedd, Cerys an Craite, Hjalmar an Craite, Tankred Thyssen, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Philippa Eilhart, Orianna (The Witcher) Additional Tags: Adventure & Romance, Searching for a legacy, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, The Force Ships It, Unplanned Pregnancy, Childbirth, Friendship, Character Death, Cult of Freya, Druidic circle, All Magic Comes With a Price, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), POV Alternating, dragon - Freeform, DaddyDettlaff, Possessive Behavior, Atonement - Freeform, The smut is mostly vanilla but with occasional biting, Abduction, Assault, Canon Divergence Summary:

She walked up to the bow of the ship and grasped the gunnel. The wind caught the strands of hair that escaped her braid near the ears and temples. She clasped the pendant on her chest.

He could only imagine what she felt as they neared the isles of her ancestors.

Dettlaff stood with his arms folded and gaze fixed on her. He directed his eyes to the ring on his finger.

“Regis, I need to ask your permission for something.” --- A journey towards Skellige to find out more about an ancient sisterhood of sorceresses, the main characters of this story; Rennaugh, Regis and Dettlaff, each drawn to the islands in their own way. A fic about attempting to understand one's heritage and at the same time leading a family life, inspired by Norse mythic sagas.

Sequel to Resonance .

The fic is finished! 

Thank you, all of you who have read, left kudos, bookmarked and commented. You didn’t have to do that. *mascara smudges everywhere*