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the-doctor-3000 · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 {The Witcher x F!Reader}

1: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 (pt. 1)

The chirping of birds woke the nineteen-year-old y/n up. She cracked her eyes open, having a difficulty to do so due to the light of the sun, and found herself laying in a forest. She sat up slowly, clenching the pendant that was hanging around her neck tightly and looked around in sheer confusion.

How did she even end up here? She was on a mission with her siblings. Knowing that it didn't include the woods. She quickly searched around for her stuff. She had her seraph blade, her stele was on her jacket's pocket along with a sensor and her witchlight stone. She stood up on her feet with a small stumble and continued to look at her surroundings confused.

The air was clearer, deprived of pollution. It was nice but scary too.

Where was she? Had she been teleported there and how?

Not expecting to get any answers from just standing there and staring, she walked her way out of the forest. Or at least tried to. No sign of a city but a small village. Too medieval-like for her own liking.

Hopefully the mundanes were just filming a movie with that theme. As she approached, her nostrils picked up some unpleasant smells which caused her to gag in disgust.

It smelled worse than a farm or litter boxes. She had been to villages before but none of them smelled like that.

She went pass a few locals, all of them dressed in medieval styled peasant clothing, and some gave her some odd looks while others minded their own business. Y/n's brows furrowed. She looked around, expecting to see some cameramen filming the entire thing or the staff.

She saw none.

What she did see was a cart, drawn by two piebald mares. She tilted her head to the side as she cautiously followed and examined the people on it.

Three. The driver. Nothing too unusual for the theme of the movie - if it was a movie; he was wearing sheepskin over his bare skin and his hair reached his brows. Next to him sat another man; that one was slim, he was wearing a fancy bonnet with a heron's feather decorating it. She noticed that he was holding a lute. A troubadour, she mentally noted.

Her eyes trailed to the man next to him. He was skinny, unhealthy pale and had milky loose hair. What she could make of his appearance from the far back was that he was a warrior of sorts.

She didn't know what but there was something about that man that piqued her interest. If her brothers were there they would be able to restrain her from going off to satisfy her curiosity. Her sister, though, would go along with her.

The white haired male spoke to the driver and he brought the horses to a halt. Y/n didn't know why but she felt like the white haired man could tell that she was following them.

Her suspicion was confirmed as he jumped out of the cart, daggers on each side and a steel sword on the back, and approached her.

She came to a halt as she gasped instinctively. His face. She had seen worse but there was something unsettling about him. His eyes were frightening and cat-like and there was something about him. . . Cold and threatening.

Her fingers tried to reach for her blades but he spoke. "Why are you following us?"

His voice was just as unsettling as the rest of his appearance. It was very unpleasant and hoarse. Y/n never had encountered anyone like him. She had seen things and yet this man made her feel afraid.

Why? She had killed demons, a man with a disturbing appearance should be nothing compared to her previous encounters.

He asked her again. More demanding but still calm. "Well?"

She flinched but finally found her voice. "I am sorry." She apologised and thought that the truth would be the best answer. "I am new around. . . . here and you three looked like an interesting bunch. Would it, ah, be alright to tag along until I find a way back?"

He seemed to think about it. His inhuman eyes stared into hers as if he were examining her. "Where are you from?"

"Manhattan, New York."

He arched a white brow. "Come again? Is this a new kind of joke?"

"Why would---? Listen, if you don't know where it is then just say so." She said, irritation building its way to her chest. "Don't have to act as if it doesn't exist."

"That's because it doesn't. Never heard of such place."

The seriousness in his tone made it difficult for y/n to tell whether he was messing with her or not. She crossed her arms over her torso, trying to keep a straight face and mask her worry. "Then where exactly am I?"

"Near Lower Posada, Dol Blathanna."

She barked a laugh. "Okay okay! That's creative but, for real, where am I?"

"Do I look like someone who is joking?"

Her hair went up like wires and a chill went down her spine. She croaked nervously, "Probably not."

There was a long silence between. The man's travelling companions were observing this interraction from afar, seeming quite interested to see how this would evolve. The bard was the most intrigued by it out of the two. Y/n avoided making eye contact with the man standing in front of her, her gaze was fixated on the medallion around his neck. It was made out of silver and had the shape of a wolf's head.

The longer she thought about it the more scared she became that maybe she was indeed in another universe and/or time period. Everything looked far too real, they smelled like it too, to be just a film production and the actors decided to mess with her.

Then it hit her. How could he, a mundane, see her? The glamour should have made it impossible unless, of course, he wasn't human himself but he didn't look like any of the Downworlders she had known of. The only distinct feature about him which only fit the warlocks' was his eyes, which were cat-like, but she could tell that he wasn't one. Mostly due to the fact that he was carrying weapons and, as far as she knew, warlocks needn't any of those. Not when they had their magic.

She gathered up some courage and spoke, "Do you---" She cut herself, thinking carefully of her next words and tried to make eye contact without flinching. Her mother and father always told her to stare someone in the eyes when speaking or else it would make her seem like a fool. "Is it alright to stay with you until I figure a way to return to my home? I promise that I won't get in the way of whatever it is that you are doing."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "And what is that you think I'm doing?"

Y/n shrugged. "Don't know and don't care. It's not my business either way as long as you don't cause any trouble that is."

"Hm."

He just hummed. No comment or any reply, just a hum. Y/n didn't know what to make of that guy but she followed him when he nodded for her to do so. They went to the cart and there was yet again an uneasy silence.

"I'm y/n Lightwood, by the way." She introduced herself to him, with a smile, hoping to at least learn his name. When he didn't respond, she quickly added. "Sorry if I crossed over any boundaries. It's just that people usually tell their names when they make an acquaintance." No response still. "So, ah, what's your name?"

"Geralt of Rivia."

"Geralt of Rivia." She tested his name, mispronouncing it completely, sounding like 'Jerald'. She noticed from the corner of her eye, his scarred eye twitching a little.

At least she got a reaction.

Not wanting to make things worse, she decided not to speak any further. When they reached the cart, the troubadour was the first one to acknowledge her.

"Ah! And who is your feminine friend, Geralt?" The bard asked, his cornflower blue eyes though were fixated on her.

He seemed pleasant, he looked like it too. His attitude so far was also friendly. She gave him a small smile, "I'm y/n. Y/n Lightwood."

As Geralt climbed on the cart, the bard hopped out. He took her hand and gingerly planted a kiss on the back of. "Charmed. I am Master Dandilion! A poet, a minstrel and a bard."

She chuckled, her cheeks flushing red a little. "Yeah, I got that. The lute gave it away."

"Would you be interested in hearing one of my ballads, my fair lady?"

An exasperated groan came from Geralt. Y/n was yet again curious but also bored.

"Music is the perfect way to pass the time while driving, so yeah!" She said with a warm smile gracing her features.

Dandilion beamed with joy.

She climbed the cart, Dandilion followed, and she was inbetween him and Geralt. The driver did not question her and continued. Y/n continued paying attention to Dandilion, too scared or uncomfortable to look at Geralt.

Disclaimer: I don't own the The Witcher nor the pictures/gifs, all credit goes to the original creators. This is a crossover between the Witcher and the Shadowhunter Chronicles. This will be based on the books and *not* the Netflix series and the story will be according to the books (though I'll add some scenes of my own and/or change some things in order for the mc to fit in the story).

This fanfiction will be also published on quotev.

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raivenreine · 1 month ago

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Blond and black, good and evil

Ciri, Avallac’h, and Eredin: a tangled web of who liked whom and whose destiny belonged to whom.

Let’s unpack this drama step by step. What follows is a rough translation of my short essay in Russian, which wouldn’t have been possible without the tireless efforts of my dear friend Livingonmyown. Her mastery of Polish and saintly patience helped us dive into the Aen Elle chapters together, meticulously comparing the original text to the Russian translation. And let me tell you, the Russian version took more creative liberties than an amateur bard after a few pints.

In this version, I’ll focus on the English translation, which, surprisingly, seems to have done a little less butchering than its Russian counterpart. Progress!

Let’s kick things off from the beginning. Avallac’h genuinely believed he was Ciri’s destiny—just like Geralt once did. Except Ava seemed to think he was even destinier. (Yes, that’s totally a word now.) How else can we explain his borderline giddy reaction, practically leaping for joy, when he said this?

No one could ever convince me that our dear sage meant anyone other than his all-knowing, ever-scheming self.

Could he have meant Auberon? Not a chance. Ava worked far too hard to bring Ciri to the world of the Aen Elle for it to be about anyone else. He even moonlighted as a tour guide for dh’oine visitors, proudly leading them to the Tower of the Swallow. And why? So some Buyvid fellow could scribble together a manual for Ciri, just so she’d read about the Tower and march straight to it.

And what was supposed to happen next? Naturally, the legendary elven guide Avallac’h would materialize before her eyes like some glowing vision from destiny itself.

But alas, Ciri didn’t even remember Ava’s name from the manual. Ouch. Ava must have been crushed—so crushed, in fact, that he vanished for a full eight days after finally meeting her. A dramatic exit, if ever there was one.

Another important thing that we know about Ava is that he really saw the future.

Avallac’h was right—Ciri escaped the Aen Elle and found her way back to Geralt. Not for long, mind you, but still, a win’s a win. Interestingly, it seems Ava knew from the very start that Ciri would bolt. Which, if you think about it, means he probably also knew his grand plan with Auberon was doomed from the get-go. But hey, I’m getting ahead of myself.

After Lara’s death, Ava had plenty of time to prepare for Ciri’s arrival. Decades, really. He could have planned every tiny detail down to the last ceremonial ribbon. The Aen Elle could have been running dress rehearsals weekly: parades, songs, inspirational speeches—you name it. Picture the scene: the entire Aen Elle court, decked out and joyous, gathering to welcome the Elder Blood’s triumphant return. And at the center of it all, Ava emerges—an elf from the legends, flute in hand, practically radiating destiny itself.

Except... reality had other plans. Ava did emerge, yes, but he forgot to introduce himself. And then, in peak Ava fashion, he vanished for eight entire days. Way to make an impression.

(Admiration, mind you ;)

That was a bizarre move on Ava's part. If he’d been planning to dazzle Ciri with his legendary charm and make a great first impression, well... epic fail. Disappearing for eight days? Lame, Ava. Super lame.

So, what was he doing during all that time? Plotting? Pouting? Perfecting his flute skills? Who knows. But don’t worry, I’ll try to dig into that mystery a bit later. For now, let’s keep plowing through the text and unraveling this saga.

Ava isn’t in any rush. Why would he be? He’s the very picture of elven patience. But not everyone shares his laid-back attitude. Enter Eredin, who clearly can’t wait.

Now, let me remind you: after eight whole days in the Aen Elle world, Ciri still has no clue what these elves actually want from her.

They meet Eredin on their way to Tir na lia.

The second impatient elf is waiting back at the palace, but we’ll get to him in just a moment.

Now, onto my favorite part: the infamous flower scene—the very cornerstone of the Ciredin ship. Let’s dive back into it and take a closer look, shall we? Specifically, let’s focus on Ciri’s body language. Because, as we all know, our bodies have a way of betraying our emotions. Fear, excitement, arousal—whatever it is, the signs come fast. Blushing, sweating, turning pale—it’s all there, happening in a split second.

So, as we re-read this passage, pay close attention to the timing of her reactions. It’s all in the details. Now, here’s the scene:

Now, close your eyes and imagine you’re Ciri. Suppose you fancy Eredin. He picks up a flower and hands it to you. Maybe your fingers brush—just for a moment—you feel the warmth of his hand, maybe even his breath. And if you do like him, this is the moment when you’d blush. It’s instinctive. You’d probably lift the flower to your face—not just to smell it but also to hide how flustered you are. Classic move, right?

Then Eredin leaves, and you turn to Avallac’h with the question: “Is it him? Is Eredin supposed to be the father of my child?” And Ava, in his ever-dramatic wisdom, says, “Nope.” If you were into Eredin, you’d probably feel disappointment. Frustration, even. Totally normal human reactions. At least, that’s how I imagine it.

But now, let’s revisit the actual text. When Eredin gives Ciri the flower, there’s no mention of her immediate reaction. None. Zilch. Nada. Instead, her feelings show up after Eredin leaves. Specifically, she feels a surge of excitement—not when she’s holding the flower, not when Eredin is standing right there, but when Ava tells her she’s not going to sleep with Eredin.

So, what’s sparking Ciri’s excitement and fascination? The answer lies a few passages earlier, when Eredin makes a certain comment about Ciri’s eyes.

Ciri’s no fool. By now, she must have pieced together that Avallac’h was very close to Lara. Because honestly, who else besides a parent or a lover would need to gaze that deeply into someone’s eyes?

So, now Ciri knows that Ava wasn’t just some casual acquaintance of Lara’s—he was someone truly significant. And definitely not a brother—because let’s be real, why would he blush then?

When Ava tells her that Eredin isn’t their lucky candidate, what’s Ciri supposed to think? 😉 The dots are connecting themselves.

After Eredin leaves, Ciri finally works up the courage to ask the burning question: who’s meant to be the father of her child? All eyes on Ava now.

Notice how Avallac’h holds back, waiting to hear Ciri’s answer before revealing who’s supposed to be the father of her child. And why is that?

I’ll tell you why: it’s fear. Plain and simple.

Picture the situation: Ava’s about to drop the bomb that the father will be Auberon—their leader, the crème de la crème, the most elite of the elite, the noblest of the noble. This should be his shining moment, a perfect setup for an epic sales pitch. So why the hesitation? Why the silence? It’s almost as if... he can’t bring himself to say it.

The Fox knows exactly who Ciri is destined for—or at least, he thinks he does. Otherwise, why would he flaunt his tail so confidently in front of Geralt? But this all-knowing sage is suddenly terrified. Why? Because he’s been here before. Cast aside in favor of a human, mocked behind his back by the whole of Tir na Lia. Oh, they don’t do it openly—no one dares, or Ava might jinx them—but the laughter lingers in whispers.

And now, after all these years, history threatens to repeat itself. Another dh’oine enters the picture, and this time, she’s destined for him. What a scandal. If a child is born, Ava becomes the father of a half-blood. The mockery will only intensify: first Lara "took the wrong path," and now Avallac’h, an elite Aen Saevherne, follows in her footsteps.

The fragile ego of the Fox can’t handle such a trial. So, he does the only thing he can think of: pass the responsibility to someone "safe." Enter Auberon, an elf of advanced age and familial ties, who’s unlikely to get... overly interested. It’s a classic case of “grandpa’s old, he doesn’t care.”

As for those eight days of absence? Ava was stalling, wrestling with himself over who would ultimately carry the burden. In the end, it was Auberon who got the short straw. Ava had to choose someone to take the heat—and it wasn’t going to be him.

Now, let’s move to the palace scene and the second impatient elf who couldn’t wait to meet Cirilla.

So, Auberon couldn’t wait either. Not because he had any unsavory intentions toward Ciri, of course, but... well, probably out of a mix of family feelings and sheer curiosity.

As for Avallac’h, he didn’t seem to care one bit that Ciri showed up before Auberon looking tired and dirty. Why? Maybe he figured it wouldn’t make a difference. Or perhaps he just thought Ciri was attractive enough to pull it off regardless. Who knows? Ava’s mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t care less about Auberon’s impatience or Eredin’s schemes to claim the Spiral.

So, what was Ava thinking? Likely this: how to outwit Destiny and save his own precious reputation. That’s my theory, at least—I could be wrong. But knowing Ava, it fits.

And then, of course, we all remember what happened next.

I mean, let’s be real—Ciri probably wouldn’t have thrown herself at a guy she found completely repulsive. What if he’d said yes? Then what? “Oh, sorry, Ava, that was just my emotionally frazzled state talking?” Awkward. But that’s beside the point. Ava, of course, got all grumpy about it, like, “What if I sleep with you and forget about Lara? Boo-hoo, sob-sob.”

But maybe it wasn’t just about Lara. He knew exactly who was meant for whom and who was supposed to do what with whom. And yet, he still lost his cool. She’d offered him exactly what he’d been running away from—just handed it to him, no strings, no overthinking. Bullseye. Right on the sore spot.

It wasn’t just about Lara. It was about someone chickening out. After all these years! Ignoring his own prophetic gift, no less. Knowing full well that his grand plan with Auberon was utter trash.

Crashed and burned, yep. Just like Geralt’s grand plan once upon a time—when he tried to weasel out of his destiny and hand Ciri off to someone else. Spoiler alert: it didn’t end well for him. Or for Ava, for that matter. Destiny, as it turns out, has a twisted sense of humor.

#witcher 3 #aen elle #avallac'h #ciri #eredin breacc glas #cirillach #character analysis #elves in the witcher #meta witcher analysis

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