#also making him look like Ye Olde Peasant at the beginning lmao

[voluptuarian]

idk not even touching on the interpretation of, and historical inaccuracies in the new Napoleon biopic (and bypassing my infuriation over the de-milf-ication of Josephine and reversal of their real life age differences) the movie just seems... boring?? And the depiction of Napoleon himself also boring?? Like the man succeeded a republican revolution by declaring himself emperor and was successful doing so largely through personal charisma and a robust cult of personality and nothing about Scott/Phoenix Napoleon is giving me even a hint of that. Like occasionally through the glower and saturnine affect I got a glimpse of "crazy!!" but not even the right kind!! I would not be buying prints of this guy dressed up as Augustus to put in my house, you know??

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 6)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

CHAPTER 5

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: It seems as if a witcher came home after having his midnight pleasures from the brothels; leaving you in having a sleepless night. The witcher seemed to be distant after his argument with his child of surprise which left you completely confused because you’ve did nothing and have been anything but mean to him. Some questions were answered by a fortune teller as to why you came from another dimension; but the witcher was stubborn enough not to believe him and his intuitions. Leading to another event which would get everyone's life on edge, especially yours.

Warnings: Cuss words. Old times where men treat women like shit. Irked, frustrated, confused Geralt. Emotionally hurting reader. Naive reader about the whole medieval era. Jaskier finally being comfortable around the reader. (I don't know why this is a warning? 😂)

Words: 5,800+

A/N: AAAAAAAAHHHHH! I need me some actionnnnn! LMAO. XD This chapter was supposed to be posted on April 18 but I couldn't help it and I wanted to post it right now, So y'all can have something to read about. Heehee! THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT, TATERS! Btw, this is one of my favorite chapters and chapter 7 too which will be next to this. Ahonhonhon! Dang, I can feel we’ll reach 25 chapters before this ends. 😂😅 jkjk. I’M SO THIRSTY FOR GERALT, IS THIS NORMAL?

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren't from moi as well.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

You haven't seen the outside world; like you've been a cast in the 'Big Brother reality show'  that you were watching back at your apartment. It was a lot more different in their city; much more barbaric; lively but actually mirthful.

When you've arrived at the marketplace there where tons of people, absolutely crowded with all forms of life walking around. There were white tents where merchants have been selling their goods and a lot of buyers hollering for their attention.

You've remembered the night before when Cirilla has hugged the life out of you all night. She'd cried herself to sleep but eventually let the wrath fade away early in the morning; acting like nothing happened as she'd asked Geralt for her weekly training in swordplay before the morning comes.

Up all night and you couldn't sleep. Cirilla has offered her bed to keep you comfy rather than the table out in the kitchen. You've said your disagreement to the offer because of her status. She was a princess, so you've thought that sleeping beside her would not be possible. Though, she was persistent and asked you if it was okay to hug you while she sleeps even just for the night.

You've eventually said yes; but had to keep your eyes all open especially at the bothered feeling of your heart from the facts you've heard from Cirilla. Even adding more effect to your sleepless night was from a witcher who happened to went home before the morning twilight rises. His reasons were unsaid but the booming voice of Jaskier in the small living room was enough for you to know that he'd gone somewhere...fun, exciting and pleasurable.

Thus, that kept you up all night even more.

Your heart seemed to be a lot more bothered after he arrived maybe with a pang of a peculiar sting inside your chest that made you pout all through the night.

Nevertheless, you've ignored that feeling because maybe it was just a stomach bug that you've had since then. The morning after, you wore your winning smile as you've shown yourself to the men of the household with a beam you hoped that seemed to be convincing that you had a good night sleep.

But, Jaskier being Jaskier; he'd pointed out those horrid eyebags you've appeared to be nastily wearing. The Witcher had said nothing other than a wavering look which felt so different. So distant and withdrawn like he wasn't capable of smiling. Well, he had reasons not to after what has happened in his life and probably realizing how much of a baggage you are for even living in their home like you popped out of a chicken's bottom and gave them eggs to bear.

The connection lasted for two seconds as Geralt studied your face before breaking whatever overwhelming feeling that the butterflies in your stomach has been trying to say. He'd then avoided being in your presence and went out to feed his horse as he got ready for the morning activities.

Jaskier gave you both a look of wonder before you'd given him a reassuring smile like there was no uncomfortable feeling running in the veins of your heart. You were the best at it; faking a smile that is.

The way towards the marketplace was much farther than the way to Cuthbert's house. Obviously, because it was almost like a city or the center of the kingdom for the walk of life. You've walked alongside with Jaskier as Geralt had Cirilla on his horse.

It was the first time you've appreciated Jaskier's talkativeness because if he wasn't then the whole journey would've been serene and awkward by how the witcher was giving one word answers to anyone's questions or statements.

Well, he certainly slept on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Literally, because he'd slept on a different kind bed with a woman.

You've tried sparking up a conversation; tried saying your sweetest good mornings when he was outside and talking to his horse, but when he'd felt you were there. It was like the wind changed and he didn't want you to hear him talking to his horse nor even breathing.

A simple good morning and how he was were asked; but a simple, lackadaisical answer of the word 'fine' was given to you; not giving you those enchanting golden eyes and just the wide statuesque of his back were shown.

So much for going outside to try and talk to how he was because he seemed to be in need of more people who cared for him.

You've ignored the way your heart fell at how he was putting up; acting like he wasn't trying to comfort you the other day when you were having one of those panic attacks you have. Here you thought, he was actually starting to treat you as a friend even just for the time being but it was like the world shifted and he was treating you like a stranger.

Maybe, you were right. Your presence was beginning to become a burden of his surprise obligation for even paying for your clothes and letting you stay in their home. As much as you've remembered that night, you would only stay for a day and leave to find the airport. But, the airport was nowhere to be found as you've finally realized how you actually magically appeared on a different kind of earth and in a timeline you weren't accustomed to.

You didn't know what to do. No matter how much you wanted to go home and leave the family you were currently living with; it was like you were left with no choice but to stay because you didn't know how to come home.

There was no coming back, as of now.

"Why, who's this small lass?" The feebly, doddering woman croaked as she accepted coins from a Kaedwenian child before she'd finally turned to look at you from head to foot, her expressions unreadable when she'd noticed how you've looked more of a hobo then their peasants who lived anywhere and had no place to live. Though, you were cleaner than the rest.

It was like there was a garage sale in the marketplace; tons of stuff laid on the tables as you didn't knew what the uses of it were. Your eyes were scanning the things that laid on the table; one by one until your attention caught a silver necklace that had a leaf as a symbol and coral green stones wrapped around the linings of silver. You've picked it up and examined the jewelry; being charmed by the mere necklace and lately realizing that the stones were twinkling like no other; having no explanation at how it was twinkling or glittering against the sun like magic was consuming it.

"It's a fae," Babeth cut you off your reverie. You've snapped out from being enchanted by a simple necklace. It was a pretty one, definitely can be used everyday and the way it twinkled was strangely beautiful. You didn't expect for them to have these kind of necklaces, "---Serves as an amulet for bad luck that is bound to come. A sorceress has said her incantations to that necklace; keeping you away from ill-fate,"

Babeth gave a weak smile, the wrinkles on her face thoroughly evident as she continues to mindlessly fix her goods in front of you. You blinked back at her, a beam raising your lips as you tried to get a good look at her, "A fae, ma'am--??"

The woman has completed your sentence for you, raising her gaze to meet your eyes and noticed it was a beautiful, light forest green, "You can call me Babeth, Elfin!" she sweetly yelled over the loud chatters of the crowd.

She suddenly gestured behind you, nodding her head as her smile widened, eyes also twinkling like how bright her smile have been; like she was happy with her life and family, with no worries. "What's your connection in being a travel companion with a witcher, elfin?"

You blinked out of surprise, betwixt and between turning half your body around when you've felt Geralt's presence looming behind you. You've resisted the urge to face him and just stared at Babeth instead, ignoring the fact that he was already staring at your head; longer than he ever did since this morning. However, you didn't know he was even looking.

"Ughm," you hesitatingly started, thinking of another statement other than saying that you were figuratively an alien in their world. The witcher wanted to save you from saying anything weird that can get them speculating that you weren't from their world and tried to butt in,  "She's---"

Jaskier came to your aid; despite of not asking any help because you certainly didn't need saving in anything. He'd slid beside you with a more added effect and subtly wrapped an arm around you, in between you and the witcher who was sky scraping from behind.

"Geralt's destiny," the bard confidently finished for you both with a dramatic gesture of his free hand; giving Babeth a smolder when he did open his mouth to utter lies at the sweet, old woman.

Geralt's attention went straight to Jaskier's arm wrapped around you; lately becoming aware of what he managed to tell the merchant. It made him growl beneath his chest, giving the bard a scowl from behind. But, it seems as if Jaskier's persistence didn't falter as he continued to smile at the seller before them.

"Bard," Geralt roughly scolded with his jaw tensing.

Babeth's facial expressions seemed to even be happier, if that was even possible. Finding the news thrilling and exciting for her to hear; her eyes lit up like fireworks in the sky, "Oh! A lover!" she gave a clap full of mirth, "---I didn't know when you'll become serious with yer' life and thought you just do yer' whores!"

Your smile wavered at the last mention of that word. So, he was also infamous for that. Probably always in brothels since Jaskier has always been saying. To make things straight to the point, Geralt was one of the fuck boys in earth. Typical men.

Well, he isn't a prince from the start so technically that explains it. Withal, there was no prince' and only in fairy tales despite that you were living in a fairy tale surprisingly.

You've felt Jaskier's hold on you grow tighter when you continued your explanation for the poor, old merchant who was smiling like she'd seen her favorite OTP finally be together, "Oh--Babeth--I'm not--" a loud cough erupted out of your throat as the bard scooted closer, his arm now around your neck as he added pressure like he was choking you, "Ja-Jaskier!" your eyes bulged out of your eye sockets, grabbing onto his arm and violently clawing them away.

The merchant went on with that adorable smile of hers, never guessing if you were both playing nor trying to kill each other already. Jaskier was smart enough to distract your loud huffs of breath through his fake laugh; topping those loud complaints of yours, "Oh! Hahaha! Aha! you know how tender...love...and care can change a person! Perhaps, got the witcher soft somehow!" he gestured with his thumb towards the Witcher who was throwing daggers behind his back.

"Is this your compensation because we've brought a Hirikka at home?!" you hoarsely whispered, struggling to get away from his hold.

The bard laughed louder before lowering his voice down and muttering in between his cackle, "I'm making it easier for everyone! Shh!"

You were close to biting his arm until it bleeds. But, you didn't want to ruin his very elegant and flamboyant clothing that you only see in the medieval period, "Well, you're not!"

Jaskier slanted his head to take a peek of your reddened face. Due to his arm choking and also probably the fact that he'd been trying to tell the merchant that you were Geralt's other half, "Then, why do I see a blush?"

The merchant waved her hand from the banters, giggling at the way you both looked like you were playing before giving her attention to a new customer who'd rudely demanded for her attention. Thus, it was the perfect time for Geralt to wrench Jaskier's arm around your shoulders, strongly pulling him from his back as the witcher sighed in frustration.

Jaskier tried to battle with his strength, though it was no use because apparently; the witcher was stronger. "Ge-Geralt! What?! I'm making everything easier by controlling your foolishness while you're being an utter boor!"

Their voices died down, constantly being covered by the lively noise of the marketplace. The boys were probably going to the Tavern they needed to visit as you were now left with Cirilla who was picking new dresses for her and for you.

She'd pick up a cute princess like strapless dress that will certainly reach above your ankles. Cirilla held onto the beautiful dress and showed it to you, her grin painted on her pretty face, "Say you didn't like dresses, Y/N?" you've blinked back at the dress like you couldn't believe it was real and actually cute. A satisfied nod was given to the child, "Well..That is certainly an exemption," you pointed out and excitedly grabbed onto the dress, placing the clothing in front of you to see if it would fit perfectly. It does and you couldn't help but think how it was normal to wear these kind of dresses without people looking at you weirdly like back in earth.

Cirilla continued her ransack through a hill full of different types of clothing and grabbed onto a red, sheepskin cloak that had the right length for you; adding it to the items that should be bought. She went on in finding more clothes that will fit you, "---Also, they have leather pants, boots of your size and half sleeved shirts you may want?"

You saw how concentrated she was with picking clothes for you to wear; like she was more excited to dress you up. However, no matter how much you wanted to buy those clothing, you understood and accepted the fact that you haven't brought your wallet with you and they probably had a different money currency as well.

"But, I don't have any coins for these..." your train of thought ceased; index finger pointing at the pile of clothes she was carrying on her child-like arms.

She gave all the clothes to an awaiting, smiling Babeth. The Ashen haired child patted herself as she was searching for something, "Cease the worry, Y/N!" the latter fished out a medium sized black bag full of coins, "---Geralt has it covered!"

You've had your face in a twist; screaming its negations over the fact that it was the witcher's money that was going to be used. Though, there was no use of a protest when she was determined and was a one word woman.

All the clothes that has been bought was inserted in Cirilla's beige ransack that was strapped on her back. You've offered to carry it for her as she'd seen Ethelia who hollered for her attention. She was also the same age as her; even as beautiful as the princess but she had brunette hair, hazel eyes with freckles all over her nose. Ethelia was as pretty as a picture; same goes for Cirilla.

One fact that you learned about their world was that it was full of lovely people and you were thinking that you were seeming to be out of place for it.

Cirilla informed you that she would be playing with her and the kids not far away from the tavern. You've given her a thumbs up but you were actually worried for leaving her in a place you didn't know and felt sketchy because of how it wasn't your ordinary; leaving you feeling anxious for her well-being.

Hence, the tavern didn't looked better as well. You were used to strobe lights, the smell of cigarette or sweat and the moribund heat that backs you away from stepping in a nightclub; never dreaming to come close to one ever again.

But, here you are; standing in the middle of an hostelry looking like the small elephant in the room as people who wore old-fashioned clothes and armor were staring at you like an alien. So far, they didn't know that you were actually one because you didn't belong to their world.

You were trying to find anyone you knew; even trying to look for a certain white haired man who seemed to be not in good terms with you for unknown reasons. There, you did saw him seated on the farthest end of the pub looking mighty with his sword laid beside him as he drank Ale,  listening to a man who appeared to be reaching his elderliness.

Geralt's whole being has ever been so ostentatious like you were watching a scene unfold from a television series. You didn't notice you were already observing him from afar until he'd blinked and slowly turned his head to you, eventually catching you gawking. But, being lucky at the most awkward scene of gaping at him over the other end of the roadhouse has saved you from your embarrassment when a well built villager wearing tons of heavy armor accidentally bumped into you; making you break away from watching the witcher. As the man bumped into you, his mouth was as nasty as he looked and tried to tell how peasants like you who had no crowns deserve to be sold to a brothel keeper because of how poorly you were dressed; also, probably because it was only your worth.

So, women were treated rather poorly in their era. Your consciousness talked back and gave you the reality of it all.

You were also lucky enough to catch Jaskier's attention and saved you from being sold anywhere.

As you sat down with Jaskier and his pixie friends that had elf ears; it was stunning to see a live fantasy gnomes sitting in front of you and drinking till their heart's content. You'd realize how survival was a difficult task in their world as the poor were treated like they were the lowest of the low and people with crowns were treated rather fairly.

Hence, living in their world can officially be a nightmare for you. A daydream of showing how much of a nightmare was to live back in the old times.

"So, this is what a bar looks like in the medieval period," you murmured to yourself as your eyes scanned the whole buzzing place. They were heathen people and there were loud chatters and laughter like there were tons of stories to tell; even the bard himself does as he was sat beside you; chattering with a man who weren't hobgoblins; but was sat around your table. "You sure Ciri is fine with the kids?"

Jaskier waved a hand to wash away your worries; giving you a once over as he smiled a big one, "Ow, shush. Yes she is. Stop being a mother hen and enjoy my singing out here with the lads," the bard grabbed onto his lute that was strapped behind him, swinging the instrument and actually hitting you on the shoulder before he apologized and started to strum a melody in which you've heard when he was trying to annoy the witcher who lived in the house you were in.

So, that's what its called. Toss a coin to your witcher. The bard already forcefully let you hear the song and you were pondering if people really toss coins to a witcher who slays beasts, like literally.

You playfully rolled your eyes at his attempt on entertaining people in the tavern, "Your singing sucks ass, Jaskier." But, it was actually just a playful banter because his voice was amazing, believe it or not. However, you weren't there to give him compliments and shower his ego after calling you rat for so many times.

The bard gave you a look of curiosity, his blue eyes sparkling like how the sun cascades through the oceans, "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

You tried the Ale that Jaskier has given you. You've smacked your lips a lot of times to taste it better and subtly noticed the bitter taste that it had more than a typical beer. It definitely had more alcohol content than a Heineken, "Bad as how Geralt calls your singing like a pie with no filling,"

Jaskier faked a surprise, stopping from warming up before he starts singing epics, giving you his war face and a coltish glare as he humorously spat, "You are certainly the living nightmare in my life for saying that!"

Jaskier's singing grabbed all of your attention. Thus, you were oblivious of a particular individual who was lurking behind you as he seated and talked to Durriken who continued to ran his mouth on the heed-detached witcher.

Durriken's ginger hair was shiny against the light of the sun that reflects from the windows, the elderly man shakily continued his story as he studied who the witcher was gazing at that even got him giving a damn when he ever does not, "---The villagers had seen the beast on the swamps in the south! Had my lads killed as they've stabbed it with their swords! It was a poisonous monster and wounded my people with a burn that could let ye' see their bones!"

The witcher gave a disgruntled hum, his jaw clenching like he'd seen something awful.

Durriken ceased his stories; sipping on his ale as he bluntly asked and ripped his eyes away from him with a knowing smile, "The trouble and strife, witcher?"

Geralt couldn't help but want to roll his eyes at the incessant accusations they had between the two of you; giving abrupt malice to your presence as you tagged along with them, "Why do people always tell me this," he gruffly mumbled to himself, finishing his shot of Ale in one gulp as he dropped the cup with a thud.

"Have ye' seen the way you look at er'?" Durriken's smile was unwavering as he could remember you from his dreams; like the whole scene was dejavu.

The witcher gave him a tight-lipped frown, sitting completely composed; but with his blood boiling for whatever reasons he doesn't understand, "She's been dragging me in to more horseshit than I can ever get involved,"

Durriken heedlessly caressed his goatee; seeming to be in deep thought to what his next words would sound like and if it will be better to be said rather than keep it to himself and watch the future unfold without alarming the other, "Ye' wouldn't be complaining if you realize that she's actually your destiny, Witcher."

Jaskier stopped strumming his lute after finishing one song; planting his ass on his seat as he laughed out loud with the villagers of Kaedwen. The adorable hobgoblins lending their elfin ears at the bard who had memorable tales to tell, "I've been the witcher's travel companion decades ago!"

You were unaware of somebody patting your hand like he was consoling you because of your consciousness was solely on the bard who kept on getting everybody's attention. That being so, you jumped on your seat as Jaskier hurriedly slapped the man's hands that rested on top of yours as it was laid on the table, "And---Hands off, Belerick! You don't want to vex off a witcher and have your adorable little body thrown in the swamps,"

The dark eyed gnome raised his voice to groan out his frustrations, caressing the hand that Jaskier has attacked; eyes exclusively on yours alone, "She's just so cute and my type!" Belerick mirthfully announced with his eyes giving you the hearts. You kindly smiled back at little guy, "Say, munchkin; wanna spend the night with I?"

A soft giggle was sent to the latter and it was enough for him to sigh like a man in love, "You're a cute one, Belerick." your smile softened as you saw him grin like a cutie pie and tried to reject his offer in a very nice way, "---But, I'm good for the night. There are other women out there who would want to,"

Everybody who sat on the table in a circle cooed. The spot light suddenly on you, "Aww! She's a kind one!"

The little guy irritatingly huffed, growling at his companions who kept on teasing him that he was rejected, "Nobody does, Y/N!" Belerick snapped with a bitter tone as Merek hopped off his chair and leaned his short elbows on the table; giving you a kissy face, "Aye! Maybe Y/N would want to spend the night with me a lots more than ye', Belerick!" Merek teased the other little guy who kept making a fuss, "---Cause ya' got a small dick!"

Both gnomes had their hands choking each other as they fought for your unavailable hand. You couldn't help but chortle from their sudden fight; entirely unaware of their intoxicated self controlling their minds.

Jaskier emitted a loud sigh beside you; dramatically rolling his eyes at the scene, "Oh gods, you are all signing your death wishes,"

Another giggle was sent to the people surrounding you, trying to infect them with your naivety, positivity and kindness; "You guys are cuties! Thank you for finding me...nice-looking, though I don't actually," you started again, looking at the set of barbaric men seated around you and Jaskier, "I look like a potato, boys. You need to get your eyes checked by an ophthalmologist,"

"A what?" Now was the time for Jaskier's brows to tighten.

"Ye', don't look like a potato!" Belerick and Merek uttered all together in chorus, giving you the heart eyes.

"Yet, you look a little different!" another leprechaun crowed named Carac. He had his medium length hair tied on the back in a makeshift ponytail. Carac paused for more added mysterious effect. Both you and Jaskier blinked back at him; unnerved because of how the lad was scrutinizing back at you like there was something wrong.

Until such time, he'd open his mouth and vaingloriously claimed that made everybody groan out in exasperation and utter cheesiness, "Ye' look like my future missus, Elfin!"

You and Jaskier blew out a breath you were holding; the thought of finding out you weren't from their dimension now disregarded. You've apprehensively giggled and pointed a finger at the little man giving you a smolder, "Oh, that was smooth." Carac pouted his lips more, wiggling his eyebrows in a frisky way, "Do I deserve a kiss?"

A nod of fascination was given to the latter. You've given him a grin and shook your head at his sudden twentieth century kind of flirting, "Very smooth,"

"You know, he can hear you right? He's a witcher, you oaf!" Jaskier gave the dwarf a look of disbelief before you'd suddenly stood up out of nowhere and drank the last of your ale. "I'll check Ciri outside," you declared and put down the empty cup after burping in a low tone and it was enough for Carac, Belerick and Merek to sigh like a boy in love as their eyes were trying to melt you down. Jaskier scoffed at how they looked and nodded with a smile as he waved you off, "Alright, try to keep out of trouble, rat. I'll follow you soon,"

Moments have passed and stories were told, Geralt has understood Durriken's offer as he tossed a bag of coins to the witcher in which he caught it with his bare hand, his expressions twisted in a way that can tell people he wasn't in a good mood. The real question here is; when did he ever looked like he was?

The bard was already off his seat, Geralt saw you went out minutes ago and Jaskier began to tail like a cat to the rat; even began to feel a little comfortable with you since this morning and it was slightly bothering him to no reason.

Thus, Durriken even had the chance to tell him things about destiny that even rattled him more.

"I don't believe in utter bullshit," the witcher spat to his utmost discontent, sighing as he does so. He was tired of hearing it over and over again. It even lead to having Cirilla in his life; he wouldn't want to include you as well. Especially that everybody who gets involved with him; enters demise without him knowing. It was like a link to death when one person even tries to want to know him better.

He was already having a difficult time protecting Cirilla and Jaskier from harm; it would kill him more if you had the plausibility to meet death without even coming home to your homeland.

"Destiny will always come to you, Witcher," Durriken cheerfully muttered in spite of Geralt's gloomy state; his smile never faltering, "---As much as the princess did,"

The witcher languidly closed his eyes; asking himself what he has done to receive all kind of destiny thay gives him a rough time. "Once...is enough," he seethed through gritted teeth. Annoyance ticking his features, "Twice is destiny playing fucking tricks on me,"

"It's been two years, Witcher. The elvens; they will never cease." Durriken announced as a matter of fact, trying to remember his dreams that he wanted to forget because it never fails to happen. "---Say, that elfin of yours isn't from our world, aye?" the latter added with a cunning smirk, "---She has created more chaos to our dimension. Opening a door to the continent which has never been seen before,"

Geralt's forehead creased a lot more to what he was saying, looking completely at loss. Never trying to look guilty that you actually really didn't come from their world. He didn't know if Durriken was just guessing or not and he didn't want to be cocksure.

Durriken continued, his voice lowering a pitch as he whispered; "---It is like a whole new era to the conjunction of spheres. Revealing unaccustomed beasts you haven't seen nor fought with, but has all been taught back in Kaer Morhen," he leaned his elbows on the table, pursing his lips as he eyed the witcher who gave him his unconcerned attention.

"---Her existence has created more beasts that cannot be slayed nor controlled. Warning mages, elders and sorceresses from other peculiar changes," pause. "---She shouldn't be here. But, your future has made everything possible, Witcher."

On the spur of the moment, the grandsire looked around as he was trying to find someone. Also, getting a gist of an uncomfortable feeling and a blurry image of his future. His ability already has certain limitations he couldn't control rather than years ago when he was younger.

"---Only one wish shall be required for it to be permanent," he suddenly blurted out of nowhere, eyes falling at the scowling, confused, ivory haired witcher.

"Durriken, you are talking shit," Geralt grumbled beneath his armored chest, a brow raising for the incredulity slipping through the man's words.

"I am a fortune teller, am I not?" Durriken boastfully affirmed with a shaky chuckle, "---When do I fail at reading the future?"

"Today, you are." the witcher mumbled beneath his deep breath, shaking his head at the fortune teller's intuitions.

Durriken was tapping on the table with his index finger as he looked away; like he was lost in his own world. The old man breathed a deep one as he closed his eyes and felt his temples twitching; trying to remember his dreams despite of how blurry in ended, leaving answers to himself that he couldn't quite understand, "Keep her away from a cunning queen and a greedy sorceress," he admitted with a whisper, "They'll know her existence and it'll bring you a much more unfortunate fate, Geralt of Rivia,"

The witcher studied him, waiting for him to laugh out loud for all the lies he had said. However, he received none and only a smile that tells him that Durriken was never lying from the start. His statements were processing inside his head; thinking so hard on how it was possible. You, a mere human who suddenly popped out of nowhere now had a destiny linked to his.

Impossible.

"Witchers are known to have no emotions," the ginger head, old bloke shared with no shame, "---Yet, I never believed that. You have been capable of achieving more, Geralt." he'd snapped his head to look out the door as a barbaric combatant or considering a root of the kingdom's military forces sauntered in; they were some of the people doing the dirty work and Durriken knew what was happening like he had seen this already, "---She is about to be taken as a strumpet right now by the Kaedwenias," he continued to fixate his eyes on the gallant who loudly demanded for Ale towards his older daughter at the bar.

Fate moves in mysterious ways. He'd believed that when he'd seen the witcher's future turn exactly the way he saw it; seeing how it molded and bended his beliefs like no other was a miracle. Durriken subtly pointed at the door with his thumb as he saw Geralt's face mask with aggravation, shock and disbelief. "---With your Cirilla outside. Yet, she has been saved by the purity and selflessness of your woman's heart. You owe her your life because your Cirilla was close to being captured,"

The witcher hurriedly stood up in a trice at the aforementioned warning; heedless of Durriken's smile that was filled with felicity and mischief; a mix of both when he noticed how Geralt grew tense; letting the fortune naturally go like he eventually does.

"---You will love her like no other," the fortune teller promptly delievered with sincerity. Geralt halted from drifting away, his wide-width shoulders on display as he never saw how the witcher's face was now filled with bother and perplexity.

"---Nevertheless, your beautiful destiny is always masked with an unbearable truth and thus waiting for a price to pay, Witcher."

PLEASE DON’T BE SHY AND SCREAM YOUR FEEDBACKS TO ME, TATER TOTS! HEEHEE! THANK YOU! I JUST WANNA BE Y/N SO BAD. 😂😥😣

Taglist: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog​ @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer​ @marvelousell​​ @kingniazx​

[varricmancer]

Lost And Found  | 4

Also available on AO3

Pairing: Varric Tethras x OC

Summary: Instead of the nothingness she had craved, Crystal woke up in the world of Thedas. What had once been merely a story that she loved now seemed very real and she was right in the heart of it all. She soon finds a reason to live again and a love in the arms of someone as quietly broken as her.

A/N: Okay, a million years later and here is Varric's POV. It's a bit choppy, but I meant for it to be like that because it's, ya know, from his POV. It's not a retelling of events but simply a glance into his mind. Also, he's a man - and a horny bastard at that - so there's a bit of nsfw thoughts going on in this chapter. Lots of body appreciation. I love writing characters that are already whipped and can't figure out what that means lmao. You poor sod, you had no chance.I'll try to be faster with the next chapter, because I'm just as excited as you guys to see what's happening

A wave of relief spread through the party as the clanging of swords and crinkle of lightning were silenced. As one, they holstered their weapons and strode back to the waiting wagon and the rest of their traveling companions.

Varric spared a glance for one of the bodies lying still as he passed - an unfortunate young apostate sporting one of his arrows in his chest.

Killing never got easier, never mind what kind of bullshit he spouted. No matter that it was his life or theirs - he’d still be seeing the startled green lifeless eyes of a boy barely reaching adulthood in his dreams, along with all of the countless others that already haunted him.

He sighed wearily and climbed back onto his pony, adjusting his saddle sore ass as well as he could while he waited for the party to get back into position. The wagon of supplies and it’s guards were back into place behind him soon enough, with the Seeker and “The Herald” leading in the front.

The group of fighting Templars and Apostates were cleared from the road ahead which lead to their destination of a little hamlet called the Crossroads. By all reports, it was a tiny village barely worthy of even being called that, but due to its position (and that fact that Redcliffe was unreachable at the moment), it had become a sanctuary for refugees and the wounded.

A chantry mother had sent word to Haven asking for help with protection and supplies. Apparently, she’d even asked for the Herald to come himself. They’d all agreed it was an excellent chance to get word out about their newly formed band of do-gooders and let the people get a look at Maxwell Trevalyn, the freshly dubbed Herald of Andraste.

Varric wasn’t too sure if it was true, but he’d also seen too much shit throughout the years to rule it out completely. Regardless of whatever lofty title they were trying to burden him with, Maxwell still looked like a scared kid who just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. However, the way he worked hard and silently accepted leadership despite being completely out of his element reminded Varric of Hawke in their early days - if he were tamer and had been raised as a pampered nobleman, that is.

The point was, Varric had taken one look at the kid and known he wasn’t going to be going home anytime soon. This Maxwell was going to make a name for himself and spawn a tale for the ages, he was sure - if he had the right kind of people watching out for him. He was getting too old for this shit and wanted to go home, but he felt like this kid was going to need someone in his corner. And this whole situation felt off in so many ways that he’d probably feel guilty if he did try to leave.

So that's how he found himself traveling around the godforsaken Hinterlands -  saddle sore, sunburnt and with a newfound hatred of bears - towards the beginning of their adventure. At first glance, this was simply a goodwill quest - show up and shake some hands, pass out food, kiss a few babies - but that group of apostates and templars that had been blocking the road were troubling. Sadly, he knew who to blame for it.

When the Crossroads came into view, he finally realized how much they were needed here. The chantry mother hadn’t mentioned how dire it really was or he suspected they would have sent help earlier. The people walking around were gaunt and dirty, many of them sporting bruises or missing limbs. They all looked severely malnourished, more so than the usual peasant. The moans and screams from the wounded were near-constant, adding to the practically visible cloud of desperation over the village. Add a bit more sewage stench and some unreasonably large rats and it would be just like good old Darktown.

They were able to spot the bright plumage of the chantry members working with the wounded and quickly made their way over to them. Villagers watched them with dawning hope in their eyes. A few of them started to cry and some of the children had even begun to cheer.

This. This was why Varric kept putting his own ass on the line all the time.

While Maxwell and Cassandra spoke to the chantry mother, Varric and Solas helped pass out the goods to the villagers. Soon enough, the pain in the ass bear that had attacked them earlier was chopped to bits and passed out among everyone to be cooked for the evening meal. Blankets and soaps, grain, and potions were all tearfully accepted by the people he handed them to. He may not be a very good man, but the joy he found in helping these people assured him that at least he wasn’t a bad one.

He was just handing off the last of the goods when Maxwell strides over, the weathered mother walking behind him imperiously.

“Everyone, this is Mother Giselle. She has some interesting news,” Maxwell grins, practically bouncing on his heels.

“Is it that everyone here is standing on death's doorstep? Because we noticed,” Varric drawled.

He was technically Andrastean, but that didn’t mean he let corrupt clergy off easy.

Her only tell that the words hit was a slight tick in her jaw as she nodded once.

“The situation here is deplorable, however, with the status of things we were unsure of where to ask for aid. I took a chance when I heard the hands of the Divine were involved in your “Inquisition.”

“And we are happy to help,” Cassandra stated as she rejoined the party. Her raised eyebrow towards Varric was something he’d long ago interpreted to mean behave .

“Yes, well,” Maxwell cleared his throat. “Mother Giselle says that another fell from a rift. A woman, no visible marks though.”

“An abomination perhaps?” Cassandra muses, standing straighter and placing a light hand on her sword.

“She appears to be a regular woman, free of magic or any signs of corruption. She fell from the rift and beyond a few broken bones and a few odd quirks here and there, nothing seems off about her,” Mother Giselle answers with a weary sigh. The way that she’d said ‘odd quirks’ like just mentioning them gave her a headache made Varric want to meet this woman very much.

The mother waved them away like annoying gnats soon after, with instructions to ask around for information on the area and what they could do to help. He supposed it was too much to expect her to already know that kind of (extremely important) information.

Thankfully, they found a soldier called Corporal Vale that seemed more informed and actually cared about taking care of the people there. Between him and a few others that piped in their opinions, the party discovered that what the people of the crossroads needed most right now was food and protection from the increasingly cold nights. They’d get a nice reprieve with the supplies that they’d brought from Haven, but that still wouldn’t be enough.

“I heard ye’re wanting to be put to work. I reckon I have a thing or two for ya,” a man called out as he strode towards them. They had just been discussing where to go from here, so anything was helpful.

“Of course, good sir. How may we assist you?” Maxwell plastered on his charming court smile, which seemed to have little effect on the man. Not that surprising considering the fellow looked as rugged and of the land as they come, and Maxwell reeked of privilege.

He grunts and looks over their little band as though he found them wanting, but good enough for now. His gaze only showed a sliver of appreciation when they landed on Cassadra (how original), then he seemed to meet Varric’s eyes straight on as though he assumed that he was really in charge.

“The goods that you brought us will help for a few days, but we’ll need more if we’re to recover enough to get back on our feet. Our lass Crystal says there’s a flock of rams over the hill. We’ve been unable to do any hunting what with the fighting all about so we’d appreciate if you brought in a few.”

“Of course,” Maxwell nods. “And you seem to know Crystal well?”

“Aye, I’m the mayor of this little corner. Know all my people. Whatever that daft old mother has been filling your head with needs to be ignored. Crystal is just a sweet and quiet lassie doing her best.”

“Oh, yes of course. We simply wanted to meet her.”

“After the hunting, if you please. She’s one of the ones that's been giving her rations to the little ones and I’ll not have her interrogated on an empty stomach.”

This Crystal must be quite the woman to inspire such loyalty despite her origins, Varric muses.

He can tell Maxwell has more questions, but with a few whispered words (orders) from Cassandra, they head off to hunt.

****

It was dark by the time they made it back and The Crossroads already appeared refreshed. There was a massive bonfire in the middle of the road where numerous pots and spits were working overtime to prepare the food they’d brought earlier. Kids were running around screaming and laughing as their parents watched with obvious relief. A few had even set up some rickety old instruments nearby to liven the place as they celebrated their newfound hope.

Several villagers rushed to greet their wagon and relieve them of the burden. They’d easily hunted down ten whole rams, stopping when it seemed like it would be enough to feed them for a few days and have enough left to preserve.

Varric wished there was more he could do at the moment, but he promised himself he’d write a few letters once they got back to Haven. A few favors called in and a bit of coin spread around and he’d have this little Hamlet healed in no time. And best of all, if he did it using the right channels, no one would know that Varric and his cursed bleeding heart was responsible for it.

Cassandra and Maxwell got pulled into a conversation with the Mother and the mayor (who had finally introduced himself as Giles) that Varric ignored as unimportant while he observed everyone else instead.

They already seemed in awe of Maxwell, sneaking glances his way with eyes shining with admiration. A few whispered words here and there would make today’s rescue seem more romantic than passing out a few slabs of dead sheep. It was always amazing watching the beginning of a legend be born.

His eyes flitted from one person to the next, all of them looking fairly similar as lower class humans tend to do. The sun-burnt skin, hunched backs, callused hands. The men smiling with three teeth left and the women looking haggard and drained after at least fifteen pregnancies.

It wasn’t until a couple of men moved to the side that he noticed the lone figure in the back.

At first glance, she was just as average as the rest. Peasant clothing without a shred of adornment anywhere. Injured somehow, as she had her left arm in a linen sling.  Normal brown hair and eyes, pale skin, thin lips. But something was telling him to take a second look, so he did. And then he began to observe the little things. The way that her skin was free of marks except for a few freckles, no sun-burnt patches, and semi-clean like she at least made an attempt to wash up here in the wilderness.

Her hair was basically average brown and pulled into a no-nonsense braid, but it was so long it reached her waist and when it caught the light of the fire it shone with a fiery copper highlight, as though to hint at hidden depths. Her eyes glinted like amber, big and trained on his party with just as much wonder as the rest of them. He thought they rather reminded him of Halla eyes. He didn’t believe a woman would find that complimentary though, so he’d try to think of something else.

Her lips were thin but appeared soft and kissable (where the fuck did that thought come from?). She smiled a little when she looked at Cassandra, and he noticed she had some of the whitest teeth he’d ever seen, bright and straight. A full set, too. Even he was missing one after a brawl a few years ago.

And that body! Andraste’s ass, he hadn’t seen a body like that on a human female outside of brothels. He’d bet that before she’d been forced to essentially starve she’d been voluptuous , but even now she was a good handful. Peasants never had this much meat on their bones, so that was his first hint that she was not like the rest. She was short, boasting only an inch or two above him, but he thought that maybe added to the appeal.

Those tits looked like they were trying their best to burst out of that ill-fitting dress, and the backside wasn’t faring much better. And the way that her waist curved in before flaring out into hips made for a man to grab onto.

Shit.

He glanced down at his pants, grateful that between the darkness of night and the constriction of the leather, his growing problem shouldn’t be too obvious. He shook his head and went back to studying her.

Her most damning feature, however, was her hands. You could tell a lot about a person by their hands. His were callused and scarred, with ink permanently staining his nails. The average human peasant’s hands were even worse, usually the color of leather from their life working outdoors and short jagged nails were practical.

Hers were so tiny he could easily fit them both in one of his hands and have room to spare. He could tell how soft they were even from here. Pink and not a spot in sight, with nails that were long and rounded, with flecks of pink on them like they’d once been painted (something he’d only seen done in Orlais).

A lady. And despite her small stature, definitely a human. Why was she here?

He crept through the crowd, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible until he made his way to her side.

“It’s always us short ones that get stuck in the back, huh?”

He patted himself on the back mentally for such a smooth intro. She turned to him and he was struck by the emotion in her eyes. She was excited to see him ? She could be a fan, he supposed, but not many actually knew his face.

Up close, she was even more intriguing. He stood close enough for her breath to touch his cheek, and was amazed to smell clove and peppermint. Third hint that she wasn’t from around here, as human peasants always smelled like mead and rotting teeth.

He let his gaze travel over her, mostly to gauge her reaction and slightly because he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the massive mounds of flesh trying to burst from her borrowed dress. She blushed sweetly, making him feel like a lecher for a moment, but she didn’t seem to mind him looking.

Interesting.

Just as he was about to lay it on thick, Maxwell found them and drew her into a conversation. It turned out that his hunch was right and she wasn’t from around here. In fact, she was the one they’d been told about. The other “Fade Walker.” She didn’t seem to be touched by the experience like Maxwell had been, but the fall from the rift had been what injured her.

Her voice when she talked to Maxwell was quiet and shy like she wasn’t sure they wanted to hear what she had to say. Her body language was like she was primed for flight the moment one of them made a wrong step, even as she practically begged for their help. In fact, she reminded him of the injured dove that Fenris had rescued once. Dog had injured the bird’s wing and Fenris had taken it in and patched it up. It had been a timid little thing, jumping over every sound. But it was sweet and would trill and coo whenever Fenris spoke to it.

Varric frowned as he listened to them talk and stood at her side as Solas healed her fractured wrist, feeling a strange sort of protectiveness well up inside him. The feeling itself wasn’t unfamiliar - he was protective of his friends, of his dumbass brother, of Bia - her . But he barely knew this woman.

Maybe it was just that she seemed so...vulnerable. So soft. Every emotion played out on her face like she just wore her heart out for everyone to see. Anyone with decent skill in observation could tell this was the sort of woman that you protect from the world. That you keep safe behind walls filled with love and laughter, flowers in her hair and children at her feet.

It had been a long time since Varric had ever seen such a woman. Had he ever?

Even with the reveal of her “knowledge,” he could tell that she’d only held the rest back out of fear. Either that or she was literally the best spy in all of Thedas.

When they’d finally left that evening, he’d thrown her the sending crystal on a whim. He’d been holding onto that to give to Maxwell, and they were not cheap or easy to come by. However, he’d noticed her anxious gaze following him as they walked away and had again felt that urge to protect. Anything could happen and they’d be gone for an entire week. He sincerely doubted she knew how to even hold a knife, let alone protect herself with one.

The nightly storytelling was to reassure himself as well as her. He was sure letting Crystal hear them talk would ease any worries she might have about traveling with strangers. And when she silently answered and let him talk, he knew it was still in her possession and everything seemed fine. If something happened, he hoped that she’d be able to figure out how to use it and alert him. He’d have the apostate elf figure some way to get back quickly since he had the look of someone who knew more than he let on.

****

A week flew by and their party was growing increasingly hopeful about Crystal’s “usefulness” to the inquisition. Varric had to grit his teeth and clench his fist to keep from hitting Solas every time he used that word in conjunction with her. “Useful.” Like she was an item instead of one those that they were meant to protect.

Her notes that she’d shared had been really good, however. They’d managed to close down the rebel camps and clear the roads, took down a creepy green demon thing, and gotten a decent amount of horses to tide them over until they completed Master Dennett’s tasks.

Maxwell had declared the night before that they would take Crystal with them when they left for Haven. Varric knew that once they got there he’d have to watch out for the Nightingale, but at least he felt better about leaving her in a place surrounded by people he semi-trusted while he fought the good fight. Why he felt like that was his responsibility to worry about, he still hadn’t quite figured out.

It had become a little clearer, however, when they’d finally reached the Crossroads again and there’d she’d been like a ray of sunshine waiting for him. Maybe this protectiveness over her was 85% his cock’s fault, he thought, his pants tightening as she neared.

She looked a lot healthier since their last visit, obviously having made good use of the rations they’d left. Her eyes were bright and full of genuine happiness, smiling up at him. She’d let her hair free today, and it fell in luscious waves to her waist. Her clothes were once again borrowed and ill-fitting, but obviously the nicest she had. If it was possible, it seemed even tighter than the last dress, her modesty being miraculously saved by a worn strip of leather around the bodice.

It was strange how he felt like he could breathe properly now that she was in his sight. Had he been that stressed before? What was it about this damned woman? There hadn’t been anyone that had stirred him this much since...her .

And she was so easy to talk to. She spoke mostly only after someone else had spoken first, but she took his flirting in stride and offered witty responses. But every reaction to his touch and heated gaze seemed genuine and refreshingly honest. No practiced teasing he was used to.

And much later that evening was when he realized he was in trouble.

With a capital fucking T.

Because he’d been teasing her with the shirtlessness and letting his hair down, he’d admit it. If he was going to share a room with her for the night he wanted to play a little. Her reaction to him was flattering. So no one could blame her if she’d been trying to tease him back.

And that had been his first instinct when he’d turned to face her standing in front of the fire. That she’d finally shown her true colors and was asking for it. Begging for it. He’d been one step away from throwing her onto the bed and making her scream.

Until he’d looked at her face and seen the genuine innocent embarrassment of a lady. It had taken everything in him to calm down and let her run past him towards the bed. The damage had already been done to his mind, though, as everything the chemise had revealed to him was imprinted there like a tattoo. The dusky rose nipples firmed by cold, every inch of unblemished skin begging for his mouth, the strange nakedness of her mound.

He was sure if he played his cards right he could have her. Say a few things that women like to hear, promise a bauble or two, and she would let him fuck her. He wasn’t a saint and he’d done it before.

But there was something about the way she looked at him with such...admiration. Maybe even a little wonder and, yes, even a little attraction. He’s seen it all before, of course. He’s Varric Tethras - famous author, the right hand of the Champion, and heavy player in the underworld. Having people offer themselves for a night was a regular occurrence, and he was silver-tongued enough to get anyone else he might want.

With her, he just couldn’t do that. Couldn’t watch the trust and admiration fade from her eyes. She probably wasn’t as “innocent” as she seemed, but she certainly wasn’t one of his usual types of paramours. She was the type you kept, the kind that could wrap themselves around your heart so tight you couldn’t exist without them. He’d been there before and didn’t think he could survive that again.

****

Varric couldn’t seem to stop his gaze from straying to the newest member of their crew as he spun a (only slightly embellished) tale to entertain them for the evening. He was used to his audiences gasping in shock or staring raptly with excitement. Instead, she was watching him with a smirk that tilted her pretty lips, like she knew he was full of crap and was letting him spew it all anyway. But even more captivating was the look in her eyes - warm and fond, dangerously so. Like all he had to do was say the right words for her to tumble into his arms.

It was a look that he was growing increasingly familiar with over the past few days as they traveled back to Haven. And the idea of talking her into his bed was also becoming a regular thing. No matter how many times he told himself no, how often he argued with his own damn self explaining all the perfectly sensible reasons he shouldn’t, it still floated around in there.

Three days of taking up the rear of the party so she and her giant nug would be protected in the middle were beginning to take its toll. Because back there he had a perfect view of her.

He could see when she was amazed and cooing over some new sight. When she giggled because her stupid nug stopped in the middle of a trail to eat a flower. When she and Maxwell would chat about art, something she seemed educated on. When she tried so hard to fight off her exhaustion, yawning and stretching her arms until he thought her shirt would finally pop open.

And that damned shirt. It was his , and she had no right to look so appealing in it. She hadn’t had enough clothing with her so he’d tossed some spares to her and he’s regretted it ever since. The pants stretched over her legs like a second skin, cupping her ass and luscious thighs. The shirt was made with a purposely low v on the front since that’s how he liked them. On her, it was damn near scandalous. Her cleavage was out there for everyone to see. She looked incredible . And he was suffering .

“I said what do you think, Varric ?”

The louder than necessary yell near his ear jolted him from his thoughts. He turned towards Cassandra, the annoyance on her face comfortingly familiar.

“Pardon, Seeker. I got lost in the story. Did you need something?”

“You finished the story at least ten minutes ago. We were now discussing arming Crystal,” Cassandra scoffed, her disgust with Varric’s apparent lack of awareness evident.

“Arming? What for?” He tried for nonchalance, the thought of sending her into battle raising his hackles.

“Protection, dwarf. I only have so many eyes and if we get ambushed there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to protect her completely. She says she’s never handled a weapon before. What should we start her with? A dagger, perhaps?” Cassandra stares at Crystal in thought.

The woman in question scrunches her nose. “I suppose so. It’s small enough that I could handle it, I guess. But actually stabbing someone?” she shivers.

“A dagger is handy to have on hand, of course. I’d prefer you to be farther away from any combat, though. Take up the rear with me,” he suggests. He'd rather her be somewhere he could keep an eye on her, and right at his side seemed like the best idea.

“Like a bow and arrow? I know for a fact I can’t pick up that monster of a crossbow.”

Varric chuckles, suddenly warming up to the topic. He didn’t want her fighting, true, but it would be good for her to be prepared.

“I have a regular bow I’ve been holding onto. I was going to see if someone back in Haven wanted it since it’s decent. Hold on.”

He grunts and stands up, walking over to his pony to rifle around the packs. He pulls out a medium-sized bundle in leather, unwrapping it as he walks back to her. He pulls out a bow and hands it to her to look at.

“Its a Dalish hunting bow. I think it was made for a kid. Compact enough for you, though. Woods sturdy. I restrung it myself. And I think the carvings are just birds, nothing religious,” Varric explains, hovering by her shoulder as she looks it over.

“You’ll teach me?” she asks softly, the beginnings of a smile tilting her lips.

“Anything you want, little dove.”

The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them, his eyes meeting her’s as they wore matching shocked expressions.

She stared at him and he felt not for the first time that she could see every inch of his tarred soul...and somehow still felt like smiling at him?

Her grin was tiny and shy, but it was there, making him puff out his chest like a fool for pleasing her.

“You’re the best,” she said softly then turned back to coo more at her new bow.

He wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t the best. He wasn’t even good.

But she made him want to try.

****

Some questions you probably have now:

1. Why do you keep writing Giles like he's from Scotland? - I dunno either, bruh. He writes himself and he decided he liked the word lassie. But notice that he can sometimes string a whole sentance together perfectly normal. It's like that on purpose. He's hiding something, I'm sure of it. Who stands in the middle of the road all day long and just watches people. Suspicious.

2. Why is Varric always talking about tits and ass - he's a dude. 97% of their thought process comes from their dick. Real science numbers. Totally didn't make that up.

3. It doesn't make sense. How can he like her this much already? - You're seeing into Varric's confused brain right now. He doesn't know what's going on either. Sometimes it be like that.

4. I thought you weren't going to make Crystal some bad ass warrior chick? - I'm not. But it's also unrealistic to not be able to arm yourself somewhat in such a wild land. Varric's watching out, don't worry.

5. Why does he keep calling Bianca "Her"? - I think there's a lot of stuff that's going on in Varric's giant noggin. For him, the bow is a safe way to say the name. Keep her in his thoughts without really thinking of her. But thinking of her name when it applies to her the person makes him think of...well, her. Does that make sense? It's a mental health protection thing, because minds are curious and we all have strange quirks up there. Separating the two in his mind helps keep him sane.

ANYWAY, I hope you all enjoyed! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment! Even just a couple words. I need to know how I'm doing so I can improve future chapters. I can't wait to delve more into these two.

[writingthrones]

the northern dragon- part 3.

PART 3: INDEPENDENCE.

TAGS: @psychosupernatural , @xleviiiix , @ashtronomyyyy , @starkbelova , @5aftermidnight , @makapaka11 , @mxxkscreate-write , @scorpiosmalfoy , @harrison-shot-first (feel free to shoot me a message if you’d also like to be tagged!)

DESCRIPTION: the world thought that just 2 dragons survived, that house targaryen was missing its third head. but there was another– the youngest, the final child of the mad king and queen rhaella. of course, she was almost part of the near extermination of her house. but the honorable ned stark, unable to watch a babe be murdered for crimes she did not commit, rescued her from an awful fate. instead, she grew up amongst wolves within the walls of winterfell.

NOTES: things are really beginning to take off in this part! it’s only gonna get more intense from here so i hope y’all are ready. thanks so much for being patient with me! i really want to get these parts out as fast as i can because i know how much waiting sucks when you’re really invested in a story but i also wanna make sure that it feels like the story is furthering itself along rather than just mindless filler before things suddenly take a turn. also i know i’ve messed with the timeline a bit but try not to think about it too much please lmao. it’s been a little confusing going back and forth between episodes and writing but it should all still make sense. any kind of feedback is welcome and thank you to everyone who has given some so far!

WARNINGS: ned’s death :( so angst, naturally. 

When Lady Stark learned of what you had done, she was reasonably upset. You were someone who she cared for, a woman and someone not meant for battle. She did scold you, saying that what you had done was foolish before becoming softer and explaining that she just worried and needed you around while they sought to reunite their family. She helped you tend to your wound and when the next battle came, she was sure to keep you close to her to make sure that you didn’t sneak off again. You understood, of course, but it didn’t make it any less disappointing. The thrill of battle was like a drug and you couldn’t help but to seek more. Who knows what kind of action Robb would have to take if you continually disobeyed him, though.

After finishing tending to what wounds you could, you were headed back for your tent. As you did, though, you had to pass the cage that was housing The Kingslayer. The man who murdered your father, breaking his oath and driving a sword through his back. You knew he was a truly evil man but it didn’t stop the feeling of anger that swelled in your chest. Clenching your jaw and fists, you picked up your pace.

“Hey, girl!” he called. It caused you to jump slightly, then stop dead in your tracks. Why would he be calling to you, a random peasant girl who just so happened to be taken along with the Northern army. You had half a mind to keep walking and act as if you’d never heard him but instead you swallowed hard and turned to face him. Stepping close-- but not too close-- to the bars, you stared down at him. “What?” you questioned simply.

“I.. remember you,” he said with sudden realization as the light of the torch lit your face. “Yes... you’re the Stark’s pet!” he said, smirking, clearly pleased with the way it had obviously gotten under your skin. It certainly wasn’t the first time you’d heard something like that. You stepped back, ready to walk away and never look back. “Wait!” he called again. Cursing the curiosity you felt, you stepped forward again. “What do you want?” you asked through gritted teeth. 

“You’re actually quite pretty, do you know that?” he tilted his head, the pleased smirk never wavering. He knew exactly what he was doing. “It’s a shame they keep you all covered up like an old hag.” It was easy to see through the game he was playing but that didn’t make it hurt any less. You had to remind yourself, though, that it wasn’t their fault. Had it not been for all this, you’d be dead. Was beauty really worth risking your life? Opening your mouth to speak, he cut you off. “Anyways, I’m sure you’ve heard...” his voice trailed off and you waited for his next words with bated breath. “A Lannister always pays his debts. And if you freed me now, my father would grant you riches you couldn’t possibly imagine. You’d finally be out from underneath their thumb. Do you really want to shrivel up and die in that freezing and quite frankly, depressing place? Of course not. So let me go right now and we will both escape. Nothing and no one will be able to touch you so long as you’re by my side and once you’ve been repaid, you’ll be free to go wherever you like.” Speechless, all you could do was stare.

“So what do you say?” he finally asks, obviously annoyed by your silence. Swallowing hard, you responded, “No.” Turning around without looking back, you walked away. You could hear him call out again, but that only made you quicken your pace. After making it into your tent, you fell to your bed and began to hyperventilate. Tears pricked at your eyes as you put your hands over your face. You hated yourself for considering the offer, even if it was only a split second. You loved the Starks, you wanted nothing more than to bring Ned and the girls home but... there was a longing to be more than a peasant girl. Being a noble, a royal, it meant you could... but you shoved away the thoughts. It didn’t matter because it could never happen. All that could be done was to accept the life you were given. It was a good one, even if it was not the one that had been originally laid out for you.

You woke up to the sound of your tent’s entrance being thrown open harshly. Startled, you pulled the covers up over yourself. Thankfully, it was Lady Stark. But she was disheveled; swollen, red eyes and visibly shaking. “Y/N...” her voice broke. “Lord Stark, he’s...” You felt your heart sink into your stomach as you waited for her to finish the sentence. “He’s gone. Joffrey beheaded him for treason.” Just saying the words out loud caused her pain. Hurrying out of bed, you threw your arms around her. She squeezed you for a moment before backing up to look at you. “Cover yourself, quickly,” she said while sniffling. Her tone was that of worry. Nodding, you hurried over to your trunk completed the wrap. Walking back to her, your eyes grew wide and watery. “And Sansa? Arya?” you questioned, voice shaking. “We know that they are holding Sansa. Arya..” she broke, tears trailing down her cheeks as she screwed her eyes shut. Opening them and trying to calm her breathing, “No one is quite sure where she is.”

Grief began to intertwine with rage as you thought about that sick bastard who beheaded the man who risked everything to save your life. He would pay-- no matter what it cost you-- you would make sure that he paid with his mistake in blood. “We’re going to get them back,” you said, trying to keep yourself from completely breaking. “I know we are. We’re going to get them back and-- and Joffrey will pay!” All she could do was nod. “I’ll leave now,” she said quietly then exited without another word. You quickly dressed and when you left your tent, you could feel the difference in the air. The tension was thick. The Northerners were truly bloodthirsty now, if they hadn’t been before. Taking note of his absence, you began to search for Robb. It didn’t matter that you two weren’t on great terms (and hadn’t truly been in years, frankly), you needed to see him in a time like this. You needed him to know that you were ready to do anything and everything to make sure that Ned’s death was avenged.

After some searching, you followed the sound of grunting. Lifting your light skirts, you made your way through the wood until you saw him-- striking a tree in a clearing. He hadn’t noticed you at first and you watched him, eyes watering as you did so. Not once did you flinch, instead feeling the tears streak down the fair skin of your cheeks. He finally turned to you and you quickly wiped them away. “Robb..” you said as you inched closer, noticing the wetness of his cheeks, the glassy look and red nose. His breathing was heavy and it seemed as if he stared right through you. Carefully, you made your way closer. He dropped his weapon and, taking this as a good sign, you finally got within arm’s length of him. “They killed him,” was all he managed to get out. Nodding, you reached for his hand, causing him to recoil. “No, I...” he couldn’t complete his sentence but he just looked to you, eyes wide. “We’ll make him pay. Every last one of them, they’ll all pay for what they’ve done. I’ll-- I’ll make sure of it.” You didn’t sound nearly as strong as you had with Catelyn.

His expression hardened slightly, while yours did the opposite. “Please,” you said, your indigo eyes pleading. He said nothing, instead just reaching out to touch your hand as you had his. You looked down at them and took a risk as you inched closer, drawing a deep breath before wrapping your arms gently around his neck and embracing him. He was as stiff and still as could be before finally allowing himself to wrap his arms just as gently, if not more so, around your waist. It felt like you were children again. The tender moment was over just as quickly as it began, though. Neither of you said a word as you broke apart. “We will,” he nodded before walking past you. He hadn’t elaborated on the extent to which he would allow you participate. Nonetheless, you were happy to get some cooperation finally. You absolutely refused to stand aside as a pathetic excuse for a medic but now had not been the time to fight him on it. Maybe it was just in the moment but you wouldn’t push any further on the subject.

It was impossible to sleep that night. All you could think about was the final moments of Ned’s life and wondering what Sansa was doing and what they could be doing to her to make the Starks suffer even more. And Arya, where could she possibly be? Had she escaped or was she just dead somewhere? The thoughts were racing and endless, nearly sending you into a panic attack just lying there in your bed. So you shot up, panting and hurried over to your trunk and threw on the wrap. You exited the tent, the brisk air giving you a sense of relief. Men could be heard recounting their experiences in the battles and discussing what the next move would be or what they thought it should be. Walking through, you kept from making eye contact with any of them. All you needed was just a moment to breathe without being disturbed. That’s when you felt a hand on your shoulder. Jumping, you turned around quickly and took several steps back. Eyes adjusting to the low light, you saw that it was Theon. A sigh of relief fell from your full lips.

“Sorry...” his normal tone was understandably gone. No one could manage their usual act today. “I want you to know that it’s clear you know what you’re doing and you deserve to be out there with us. I know what Lord Stark meant to you, you deserve to fight for him, too.” You didn’t know what to say but it really didn’t matter, because he turned and walked away immediately. Sighing, ventured to the edge of camp and leaned on a tree, staring up at the moon. After calming yourself as much as possible, you returned to your bed and succumbed to pure exhaustion.

The air felt different again the next morning. It was less melancholic. Everyone was ready to continue the advance, to cut down every Lannister that came their way. But there was no battle to be had today, only gaining ground and planning the next move. Riding beside Lady Catelyn, you stole a glance at Robb every so often. You wanted to be beside him, to join in the planning and fight together.

When you finally set up camp, there was really nothing to do. Robb had been cooped up since you stopped with all his advisors and the rest of the men polished their weapons, drank and ate. With the lack of action, all you could do was find whatever mundane chores would be useful. Nightfall came and there was a more formal dinner to which you had been invited. It was a time to raise the morale and prepare the men for the hardships to come. You didn’t have anything to say and instead watched the others, finally being able to smile after the news had hit. Your eyes always seemed to find their way to Robb but you tried to keep them away. The men eventually directed the conversation to the growing conflict, discussing this issue with the Iron Throne. Ned had died trying to reveal the truth about Joffrey and the true heir. Robb clearly wanted to honor his father’s wishes, but the men wondered why they should bother themselves with what these Southerners did.

“Why shouldn’t we rule ourselves again?” said Lord Karstark, looking out to each and every lord. “It was the dragons we bowed to and now the dragons are dead!” Your eyes went wide for a moment as you remembered it was your ancestors who took their independence. Your namesake had been the one to take the Vale, a land thought to be impenetrable. “There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to-- the King in the North!” he exclaimed, unsheathing his sword as he got down on one knee. Robb rose from his seat and the other lords began to join in. Theon pledged himself to the man who he called a brother and then the chants began. Surely it could’ve been heard for a ways away. Your eyes fell on Robb’s shocked face as you felt yourself truly smile. For a second, his eyes fell on you and you swore you could see a smile. Just as quickly, though, they flicked away and moved back and forth to watch all the men.

You returned to your bed that night with a smile on your face you’d thought impossible after all that had happened. So Robb Stark, the boy you’d grown up alongside, was a now a king. The King in the North, they had cheered, who would deliver revenge and take back their independence. You felt happy for him and yet.. there something else, a feeling you couldn’t quite explain. Deciding not to dwell on it, you threw the furs over yourself and drifted off to sleep.

The dream tonight, a memory of your past, was not so pleasant. You were 13 at the time, same as Jon, with Robb and Theon newly 14. They were all starting to truly pay attention to girls, though Jon was not nearly as obvious as the previously mentioned two. This all meant that they paid less attention to you, save for Jon. The once sweet relationship between you and Robb was all but forgotten. He was growing into a man now and he had no time for you. It was about the time for Lord and Lady Stark to start considering marriage prospects, which meant for lots of feasts inviting the various noble houses of the North. You were lucky enough to be included in such occasions though you never really wanted to be there. Often, you would sneak away to keep Jon company. He had never been allowed to attend such events, breaking your tiny heart. This particular night, though, you happened to stick around when young Sansa insisted you should. Unable to refuse the girl, you nodded with a forced smile and sat beside her. She told you all about the family who had been invited this time. You nodded every so often to let her know you were listening when you heard snickering. Your brow furrowed in confusion and that’s when you began to hear whispers coming from somewhere behind you. “Why does your father even let her come to these anymore? The girl’s an eyesore.” The voice was unmistakably Theon’s, followed by nothing but a chuckle from Robb. You felt your heartbeat quicken and your face flush with embarrassment. Sansa clearly took note of the way your demeanor changed but by the look on her face, she hadn’t heard what you did. “Y/N...?” she asked, though she sounded so far away. As the tears started to well in your eyes, you hurried to pick up your skirts and slip out of the Great Hall without causing any kind of scene. As soon as you were out of there, you began to wail. Dashing down a quiet hall, you tried to lower yourself to a silent sob as you sat leaning up against a wall.

The next morning you were dressing when you had been disturbed by someone barging in. You pulled the top half of your dress tight to your chest, leaving your back exposed to whoever had come without knocking. “Y/N--oh!” said Theon. Your face was red but luckily he was unable to see. “I’m sorry, Y/N...” his voice sounded distracted and you didn’t even want to imagine what his thoughts might be. “We are leaving soon but, uh, Robb wanted to speak to you first.” You nodded, “I need to dress first, obviously.” He didn’t give a response, though you noticed there was a few moments before he finally stepped out.

You pulled up the top and zipped yourself in before smoothing out the skirts. Why would Robb need to speak to you privately? Swallowing the lump in your throat, the heart in your chest thudding at an unnatural pace. You took a deep breath before holding your head up high. He may be a king now but you would not cower subserviently. Making your way quickly through camp, your hand reached out to grab hold on the fabric that acted as an entrance to his quarters. You were no longer facing Robb Stark, the acting Lord of Winterfell but King in the North Robb of House Stark.