#emhyr/Geralt

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

Okay, my work is done, I will never write again – we're officially even with my fav pairings!

[laurikarauchscat]

Thou shalt not approach the Emperor's Witcher with either a doublet, nor a razor.

This is known.

[valandhirwriter]

Story game

do-androids-dream-ao3acc hat gefragt: Ha ... you shoveled your own grave, miss "I am not good at writing Emralt"... now I want one. What-if. Go crazy. 😂

@do-androids-dream-ao3acc send me her wish - and here we go.

What if...

“No troops,” Geralt of Rivia said, his normally gravelly voice becoming stern as he spoke. Arms crossed in front of his chest, he was entirely unimpressed by the Emperor of Nilfgaard and entirely unmoved by their common history.

Emhyr var Emreis, Emperor of Nilfgaard and conqueror of a good portion of the north, was not a man who usually tolerated insults. And yet, he had to struggle to hide a smile at Geralt’s attitude. The man was magnificent and stubborn all the same. “You will need more than the last few witchers to fend off the Wild Hunt,” the Emperor replied, his voice a study in tight control. “You will need soldiers, the best there are in this world. And you are not qualified to command them.”

Geralt’s frown deepened, and his white eyebrows formed a steep V on his forehead. “I will not have troops under the command of some Nilfgaardian General in Kaer Morhen,” he repeated, and there was that stubborn glint in his eyes that told Emhyr Geralt would not budge. 

He never did. If anyone knew what had truly happened between them in Stygga… No, Emhyr did not allow himself to think of that terrible, wonderful, embarrassing day. If the truth ever came to light, the bards would have a field day with it, and the salacious tales would cost Emhyr his hard-earned reputation as an iron-fisted ruler. But if there was one lesson he had learned that day, it was that Geralt could be manipulated if he would not budge. “So your objection is a General leading the troops?” he inquired.

“Yes,” Geralt replied, “he won’t know what to do and not listen to sense. We don’t need that when the battle begins.” 

“I agree,” Emhyr replied, hiding even the hint of a smile that wanted to creep onto his face. “So the General would not be the person to give the final orders. That would be agreeable to you?”

He could see the startled glance of the Witcher. Geralt was a smart man, a very smart man even, but he was not good at manoeuvring. “Yes,” he said after a moment, then frowned again. “But who would be in command?”

“I will be,” Emhyr replied, and his heart leapt in a small triumph when he saw the sheer expression of shock on Geralt’s face. “That should alleviate your worry about a commander having no clue what monsters truly mean, would it not?”

He could see Geralt’s shoulders stiffen. “Yes, but… you cannot. It is too dangerous,” suddenly, a very defensive tone slipped into his voice. “We all will be risking our lives there, death will be certainty…”

“I am the Emperor of Nilfgaard; death is the one certainty I have daily on my throne,” Emhyr replied, “and if you agree that me being in command is acceptable to you…”

Geralt cast him a scowl, but before the Witcher could marshall his thoughts and argue, Emhyr had already turned his head to the man standing by the door, awaiting orders. “General, ready Impera Brigade to march come morning, being faced with a battle in an ill-maintained fortification, you are free to recruit whatever additional auxiliaries you deem useful from our forces assembled here in Vizima.” 

The tall soldier saluted without talking back. Emhyr knew General Aeron Cadfael was unhappy with the choice but had known what Emhyr had decided on, and seen where this conversation was going. 

Geralt harumphed, ready to speak up, but Emhyr ignored him for the moment and gestured to one of the soldiers standing guard at the other end of the room. “Captain, fall out,” the soldier stepping forward wasn’t as tall and muscular as the General; where the General was a formidable field fighter, the Captain was a fast rattlesnake. “Captain, assist the General in the preparations, you are free to find auxiliaries of your ilk if they can be useful.” 

The Captain was about to protest Emhyr risking his life in a grandiose fashion. He was never shy to stand up to Emhyr, but Emhyr didn’t give him a chance. “General, Captain… this is it. What I told you, you were preparing for. You had ten years. Now prove you were worth it.” Emhyr kept his voice stern and aloof. He had to. They expected him to. Both saluted and left. 

As they walked out of the audience room, Emhyr turned to Geralt. “You were saying…?”

***

The walls of Kaer Morhen were more impressive than Emhyr had expected. He had made a point of gathering any scrap of useful information about the school of the wolf, and the descriptions of the sacking of Kaer Morhen had made Emhyr assume that most of the fortress had been razed. Now, he saw that this was a misconception. The enemy troops may have slain the Witchers, but their fortress still stood. The towering walls had taken more damage from the ravages of time since than from the soldiers who had slaughtered the inhabitants. Emhyr’s lips twisted derisively; the Kings of Kaedwen had been fools like all northern Kings were. 

Turning his head, he could see the long marching column of the Nilfgaardian forces making their way up the mountain. The terrain was rough, and the pass was ill-maintained, but they moved ahead steadily. Emhyr could see Geralt’s frown - the Witcher had taken to frowning a lot while they marched for Kaer Morhen. He had taken to all kinds of protests since they had marched from Vizima, beginning with the claim that the Nilfgaardian soldiers were not good enough to be of any use. A little duel between him and the General had put paid to that argument. 

It had not been something Emhyr had enjoyed. While he knew Geralt was stronger and more robust than the General, who was fifty-six after all, he had also known General Aeron yet beat any of his younger officers on the training fields. What was worse, Aeron knew he was fighting a stronger opponent. Their duel had been a sight to behold, and deep down, Emhyr still hated seeing Geralt going toe to toe with danger. He could not bear it, not since Cintra, not since Stygga… not since knowing that nothing in their hearts had changed. Geralt had emerged unscathed but grudgingly admitted that Emhyr’s Impera Brigade was better than he had expected. He had sulked for two days after, and Emhyr had quietly enjoyed needling him a bit. 

Other arguments had followed, until they finally reached the foot of Killer trail and Geralt had pointed out that the pass road was impassable for an army. Emhyr had expected that one, and coolly pointed the General towards the sloping path that had been used by the attacking army of Kaedwen decades prior. 

“You had to insist on this, did you?” Geralt growled as their horses approached the stone arch that was the gate of the castle. 

“I did, I do,” Emhyr replied, his eyes still surveying the mighty walls and shattered towers. They were in better shape than he had feared, which would be useful. His eyes went to Geralt, and like always, Emhyr had to try to hide a softer expression that threatened to slip onto his features. “Contrary to others, I have known since the night of Cirilla’s birth that this confrontation was coming. All I ever did, all my deeds, as dark as they were, was to prepare for that day.” He had hoped for more time, for another decade, before the inevitable was upon them, but Cirilla’s escape and her incessant hopping between realities had created a trail on which doom was following. 

“Nilfgaardians,” Geralt shook his head, “I will never get you. You did away with all the trappings of the old world, the superstitions and false beliefs… and then you turn around and believe in prophecy.” 

“All things happen but once, but one time, they have to come to pass,” Emhyr availed himself of a quote that he had picked up from another man. He did not feel ready to fully tell Geralt was driving him. Having lived with the full reality of the prophecy over his head ever since Emhyr had held his daughter for the first time, knowing what was to come was frighteningly real had reshaped the way Emhyr thought, the way he planned. Maybe one day, one day when all this was over, he could tell Geralt, tell him of the icy burden on his shoulders and of the harrowing fear that gnawed at Emhyr. Would his preparations ever be enough? 

Luckily they were saved from further conversation by an old Witcher appearing in the gates of Kaer Morhen. He was almost as tall as Geralt, with steel grey hair and he walked like a man who knew no pangs of age. “When I said: bring allies, I did not say: bring the entire northern armies of Nilfgaard,” the older Witcher grumbled, his voice was as rough and gravelly as Geralt’s was, but he spoke with the firmness of command. 

Vesemir. Emhyr concluded. This had to be the Master of Wolf school. Vesemir the Grimwolf. “Sir Geralt of Rivia asked for too little when he sought allies,” Emhyr answered, cutting into the conversation. He would not stand by and be ignored like an unwanted guest. “He asked for a few fighters, where even an army would hardly suffice. If I am to commit Nilfgaard to war with the unnatural, I will not do so on half-assed terms.” 

The older Witcher turned around; his eyes were not golden like Geralt’s but a pale yellow, like a hawk’s. “Emhyr var Emreis of Nilfgaard, I take it?” he asked, his tone not leaving any doubt that he had recognised Emhyr at once, not a surprise; the armour Emhyr wore screamed the truth. And it did not intimidate Vesemir in the least. “If you are half the man your grandfather Torres was on the battlefield, you’ll do,” he announced before turning seamlessly towards General Aeron. “General, take your men around the castle, towards the east side, and enter by the shattered main gate. You will want to man those walls if I am to guess your plans…”

Emhyr had a hard time not gawking as the old Witcher approached a General of Impera and said something that indicated he knew not only Impera’s preferred strategies but also had read their lesser-known cookbook. 

***

“What are they doing here?” Vernon Roche spluttered, shock twisting his face, eyes darting between Emhyr as he was standing in the Eastern courtyard of Kaer Morhen and another man as if trying to decide whose presence was the greater offence.

The other man, none other than Letho of Gullet, grinned broadly at Roche, clearly waiting for the man to lose it and attack. “You didn’t think that the Wolf wouldn’t bring my honourable employer to this little dance?” the Viper Witcher asked, adding a mock bow towards Emhyr. “I cannot serve with a satisfyingly slow end, your always-cantankerous majesty.”

In most situations, Emhyr would have barked a sharp answer, but seeing the Bluestripes Commander go red as a beet was way more satisfactory. “I expected Sir Geralt to bring all surviving Witchers,” Emhyr replied, like he had always known Letho yet lived, “it will be fascinating to compare your numbers to my list, to see whether he missed someone.” 

Letho barked a laugh, his eyes betraying venomous amusement. “They are here, Emperor; if I were you, I’d not get into debates with the bears.” 

Their barbed conversation was interrupted by Roche’s voice rising as he talked to Geralt. “You cannot let them stay. They smashed Temeria, enslaved Temeria… they are the ones behind those accursed elves…” 

Emhyr studied the man coolly, his eyes hardening. “Either make yourself useful and show some of your vaunted military skill, Roche, or turn tail and run down these hills. Maybe you’ll find a hidey-hole with some squirrels in it.” 

Geralt’s annoyed glare at Emhyr was worth it, Emhyr decided. There was nothing more formidable than a certain Witcher getting truly pissed and barking orders at people. Did Geralt even know that he had all the command a knight in the armies needed in him? Emhyr wondered. He could see Geralt easily leading men into battle and being formidable at it; he could be so much more than just a wandering monster hunter. Not that Emhyr would give up on that monster hunter any time soon. 

Unfortunately, Vesemir came down from the wall where he had been plotting with General Aeron, and one glance of the old Witcher silenced all parties involved. “If you are quite done holding court with your freshly broken-in subjects, your Majesty, the General, and I have a plan on how to make use of all that liquid fire your armies brought along.” 

***

Emhyr stood on the west wall of the castle as the night fell, a freezing chill had been creeping into the air during the last two hours, and there was something… something dreadful in the air, something he had not felt since his days as a cursed monster. A dread of something creeping closer and closer. He had to exercise all his discipline to appear quiet and collected, at least on the outside. 

Along the battlements were crates with bottles of liquid fire stacked up for easy use. The green liquid inside the bottles shimmering like poison into the darkness. 

Down in the main yard, he could hear Aeron address the troops; his powerful voice carried easily up to the main walls. They have told you that man cannot stand against the unnatural; they have told you we never had a chance, that we all are dead. Here’s your truth: we all will be dead. But until then, we stand! When the conjunction spit your forefathers out on these dark shores, they were faced with monsters tearing them apart. Until the Sun Knights drove them back, but until that day, our forefathers stood! When the mages brought the monsters back, our ancestors were bloodied until the Witchers came to put an end to the monsters again. But until that day, we stood on our own! And after all, they threw at us, we are still here! We stand!

Emhyr bit down on his lip, preventing himself from making a face, as a thousand voices answered from the battlements.

We stand!

The Emperor did not know where Aeron had to go in his mind to find another gutsy speech for the men he was to lead into another hopeless situation. He somehow always found the words and then some way to get them through the nightmare. He made it look easy. Emhyr knew the speech should have been his; he should have addressed Impera. Only he never had found the words to get them to that point: ready to tear apart any enemy that came at them, forgetting fear and pain, acting on sheer courage and desperation. It was not the man that Emhyr was - he was a thinker, not a fighter, and the only reason he was here, was to make Geralt accept the help that the Witcher so clearly needed.

Emhyr could not admit it to anyone: he was not here for his daughter, for the girl he had lost a long time ago. He was here for a certain white haired Witcher, wo stood ready between his brothers down in the east yard.

One of the Witchers - the grey haired Griffin - suddenly looked up to the skies. “The moon casts no glow…” the words made no sense, until suddenly a gust of freezing cold swept over the yard. Emhyr felt the cold coming, an icy chill that enveloped him, his blood freezing, as the ice encased him, freezing him on the spot. 

From afar he heard noise, battle noise, voices, screams, explosions ripping through the air, the battle was erupting… and not reaching him. He was still frozen, the ice forming a barrier between him and the events. An explosion shook the west wall and shrieks rose, as green flame engulfed attackers, burning them in hot green fire. It all echoed past Emhyr. 

Then, his eyes, still under the ice, saw a familiar figure down in the yard. Geralt. Faced with two… no, four, attackers, the Witcher had retreated into the yard below, his blade a silver arch, as he pushed back one opponent, ducking deftly under another hit, and coming up, he beheaded one of the Aen Elle attacking him. Another went down, Geralt’s blade in his chest. 

But then it happened: as Geralt was yanking his sword free from the falling opponent, he was impaled from behind by one of the two remaining foes. The Witchers’ graceful movements suddenly broke, the power holding them cut like the strings of a puppet, as he crashed to his knees, his enemy’s blade in his back.

Emhyr wanted to scream, to reach out and pull Geralt away from the hunters, but the ice still held Emhyr in place, and so he saw Geralt on his knees and the Elle circling him leacherously. They wanted to play with their prey before allowing him to die. White hot anger rose inside of Emhyr, a bloom so hot he could not believe the ice around him still lasted. Those bastards wanted their pound of flesh, he could see that.

Reaching deep inside Emhyr found the dark spot in the recesses of his mind, that dark coil of fear and hatred that had laced his monstrous existence, the spark of despicable darkness that was his true self. Pulling on it, like he had not since his days as Duny, he brought it forth, feeling the pain surge through his body as the ice shattered, freeing his body from the cold encasement. Losing no time, Emhyr raced along the wall to the crate still holding some bottles of green fire. Taking them, he threw the first at Geralt’s attacker, ready to impale him again. Emhyr might not be a good fighter, but his aim was true - the bottle shattered on the shoulder of the Elle and exploded, green flame engulfing the warrior, who tumbled away screaming.

Emhyr threw the next bottle, hitting the second Elle in the yard, scorching him as well. Hastily he looked around, flames were engulfing most of the gate and the east wall, but the fighting clearly had moved towards the front gate, the attackers were being pushed back. Losing no further time Emhyr raced down into the yard, towards Geralt who had sunk in on himself, breathing shallow and erratic. 

Hastening to him, Emhyr knelt down beside him, carefully cradling the wounded Witcher in his arms. Geralt’s breathing was laboured and painful, his skin had taken an unnatural pale tone and his eyes were glazed over. “Do you have any swallow left?” Emhyr asked hastily, he knew the Witchers had a draught that could get them back to their feet from almost anything.

“All gone,” Geralt rasped. “Shattered… you must let me go, ‘Mhyr,...”

The nickname sent a surge of pain through Emhyr’s heart. It was one of the few endearments Geralt had ever used, one that felt sweeter to him than any other. “You cannot give up, Geralt… not when…”

The words died on his lips. Not when what?

The story of their love had been nothing but chaos. Geralt had saved him in Cintra, and that night Emhyr had not wanted his newlywed wife but the Witcher who had saved him. If anything had made Calanthe hate Emhyr, it was his affair with Geralt. And when they had been pulled apart, Geralt taking on the father role for Emhyr’s daughter when they found each other again in Stygga… Emhyr had realised that after all these years, he still loved Geralt, and miraculously, Geralt loved him still. But again, fate, a pogrom, and death had torn them apart.

“I cannot let you die again,” Emhyr’s voice was rough as he tried to move Geralt into a more comfortable position. “I cannot. I mourned you once; I was ready to burn the entire North in punishment… I just… I can’t do it again.”

A small voice inside his head reminded him that he still was a monster, a worse monster even than Duny had been. He was cold, the blood on his hands was the blood of nations, and his love was all dark, tainted, poisonous. Geralt’s death, then and now, would be caused by Emhyr’s darkness. 

A movement at the entrance of the yard made Emhyr startle. Another Elle had appeared there, sword in hand, and Emhyr didn’t need to see his face to know the wolfish smile on his face. He had no green fire left to fight the Elle off, either.

He let Geralt go and scramble to his feet, drawing his blade. His heart was racing against his chest. Emhyr had made a point of re-learning sword skills after he became the Emperor, it was expected of him. Aeron had been a patient teacher, trying his best to give Emhyr a good basis to defend himself. And Emhyr had hated every moment of it.

The Elle rushed him, the attack wild, powerful. Emhyr evaded, sidestepping him, blade raised before him, ready to block. The Elle came about, and a quick series of attacks followed. Emhyr parried, ducking under one, parrying the next. Steel crashing on steel, in the old song of war. He followed the Elle’s movements, blocking the next advance; his blade slid down his opponent’s, hitting the crossguard; he felt the pressure against his hands as the Elle broke free his blade in one powerful movement, sending Emhyr’s blade flying across the yard. 

Emhyr panted; he could not even be shocked or afraid. This was it. The End. He would die here. And maybe… maybe if Geralt was free of Emhyr’s taint, he could live, be better for it. He raised his chin, daring the Elle to do his worst when a movement behind the Elle alerted him that they were not alone, and a huge blade cleaved through the Aen Elle, sending him down to the ground in two halves.

A huge witcher stood there, seven feet tall, with a grey mane of hair. “You injured?” he asked in a growling voice.

“No, but Geralt…”

“He’ll make it. I hear his heartbeat, and he is breathing alright - he’ll come around.” The Witcher replied. “Stay with him; we’ll clear the stragglers.”

Stragglers… did that mean the battle was done? Had they… had they somehow, impossibly somehow… won? Emhyr stumbled back to Geralt, who was trying to get up and stand. Knowing how useless it would be to tell him not to, Emhyr extended a hand and helped Geralt get to his feet and lean on him. The Witcher coughed, finding his footing. “Are you crazy going toe to toe with them?” he asked, rasping. 

Emhyr cast him a glare as he guided him to sit down on the stairs of the battlements. “Should I have left them to you?” he asked tersely. He hated swordplay when he had to fight himself, but having protected Geralt made it worth the countless hours he had spent sweating in the training yard.

“Oh, shut up,” Geralt grumbled. Suddenly, Emhyr found a familiar warm hand at his neck and was pulled into a fierce kiss. 

Wrapping his arms around Geralt, Emhyr let himself sink into the kiss, claiming the next when one ended. From somewhere behind him, he heard voices; orders barked as the troops moved across the fortress to clean up. Settling beside Geralt, Emhyr snatched a third kiss, not letting go of his Witcher. He spotted Aeron’s voice among the others. He lived. Good. He could handle clean-up and then come up with the next strategic steps along with the old Wolf Master - Emhyr did not intend to leave Geralt’s side anytime soon. Death had failed to tear them apart and Emhyr would not give it another chance. 

[consistentsquash]

lato weekend update!!!! we are eating well tonight <3

[dudelkin]

No witcher has ever died of old age, so they have to watch their loved ones do it instead.

[ladycibia]

The first time I played The Witcher 3 it took me ages to choose a Nilfgaardian doublet (why? good question) and then I got mad because you immediately bump into a NPC with (basically) the same outfit XD

[maiya-5t]

[fandomlake]

The sun in the north

#emralt #emhyr #geralt #witcher #emhyrXgeralt

[greenapplespider]

(Click for best quality) my Witcher boys ;p

The individual sketches in the above order: x , x , x , x , x , x

[wild-blue-wanderlust]

Some Witcher Characters’ Name Meanings

Julian “Jaskier” Alfred Pankratz

Julian means “Jove’s Child”, Jove being an alternate name for Jupiter, the King of the Gods in Roman mythology, their equivalent to the Greek Zeus. I like the mythology reference in his name considering in the Netflix series he references the Muses, Greek Goddesses of inspiration.

Julian can also mean “youthfulness”, which is fun since he doesn’t seem to age.

As pointed out by @kaiseaya — Julian is the only name still in use in Poland, as well as the most common name on here in other countries such as England or Germany, effectively making Jaskier’s Name seem more ‘normal’ in comparison to other names on the list. He’s just a guy.

Alfred means “elf counsellor” and I think this fact has destroyed me. So what if I said he was destined to become the sandpiper? What then?

Pankratz has Greek origins, from pan, meaning ‘all’, and kratein, meaning ‘to rule/to conquer’. So Pankratz therefore means “to conquer all” or “to rule everything”. It’s also said to have German origins.

Jaskier, as everyone in this fandom knows, is “buttercup”, though it was translated as Dandelion in English because “buttercup was too feminine. Buttercups symbolise friendship, joy, and youth. Dandelions represent resilience and hope, and are used to make wishes. Netflix does utilise the ‘dandelion’ name, when he’s referred to as ‘The Dandelion’ while in Radovid’s room in season 3.

Sandpipers are shorebirds that would probably be close to Jaskier’s hometown since it’s coastal. They represent safe travels, adaptability, and long journeys, which fits the role the name was made for.

Yennefer of Vengerberg

Her name should be spelled Jennifer, but was apparently translated as Yennefer to keep the polish pronunciation, rather than having the pronunciation Jennifer would have in the English language.

Jennifer is Welsh, meaning “white ghost” or “fair lady”

It’s derived from Guinevere, who was the ‘beautiful but unfaithful’ wife of King Arthur in British medieval literature/legend

She has the ‘of x’ place name rather than surname. It seems the only characters with this are orphaned characters?

Vengerberg sounds like ‘avenger’ or ‘revenge’. Berg is a common suffix in German place names (where Aedrin is supposedly based on), and it means “mountain”

In the books, her birthname was Janka, which means “god is gracious”. A nickname for Janka is Jenny (read: Yenny) which is likely what would’ve inspired Yennefer

Janka almost reminds me of the name Falka, the Redanian princess accused of being an elf who murdered her family, removed Stregobor’s hands, and was burnt at the stake. In late season 3 we see Falka teaching Ciri to use fire magic, stepping into Yennefer’s role in some ways, teaching Ciri the thing that caused Yennefer herself so many problems

Both of her lovers (Istredd and Geralt) give her a shortened nickname. Istredd calls her ‘Yenna’, Geralt calls her ‘Yen’. This paints Geralt and Istredd as both being two sides of the same coin. Geralt specifically giving a nickname is definitely a love language as, aside from Yennefer, the only other nickname he’s used is Jask for Jaskier

Her other notable nickname is ‘Piglet’, by Tissaia, a name she is referred to as for being in the pigsty when Tissaia met her, that she stops using when she feels Yennefer has earned her respect. This way of teaching, Yennefer uses on Ciri later, calling her ‘My Ugly One’

Geralt of Rivia

Geralt is apparently Germanic in origin, meaning “ruler of the spear”

I like that both him and Jaskier have something to do with ruling somewhere in their names

We know that, at least in the series canon, attributes the name to Vesemir, and is upset by (the hallucination of) his mother using it. We don’t know his birth name

He is not actually from Rivia. We do not know where he is actually from, I don’t think.

To keep up this act of being from Rivia, he picked up a Rivian accent. Rivian accents are looked down upon by other people in the Contient, specially from Aedirn and Temeria

His first choice for his name was Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde

Roger means “famous spear”, Eric means “alone, ruler”. Haute-Bellagarde is French in origins, haute meaning “high” and Bellegarde meaning “beautiful watch tower”

Therefore, Geralt’s original name, in full, would’ve meant “Lone Ruler of the Famous Spear from the High, Beautiful Watch-Tower”

Everyone say thank you Vesemir for making him not do that

Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon

Cirilla, Greek origin (my ‘Ciri and Jaskier are both descendants from Éile and Fjall from blood origin’ headcanon is. It’s doing things). Means “ruler”

Fiona means “white” or “fair”

Fiona is also one of the names Francesca brought up to name her and Filavandrel’s daughter.

Elen is derived from the Greek ‘Helen’, meaning “shining torch” or simply “light”. Helen, as in Helen of Sparta — the ‘face who launched a thousand ships’. The Trojan war was fought to bring her home after she was kidnapped

Riannon is welsh, meaning “great queen” or “goddess”

Calanthe also has Fiona Elen Riannon as part of her name. Pavetta has only Fiona Elen

Ciri has a relative with Riannon as a first name. Riannon had a daughter named Fiona. Those two were connected with Falka. She also has a relative named Elen

Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Caellach

Cahir is Irish, meaning “Battle man” or “warrior”

Mawr means “great” and is Welsh

His mother was named Mawr, which is presumably where he got that name. I have a few trans!Cahir headcanons from this that the world is not ready for

Dyffryn is his family name, also Welsh, meaning “valley”. They were nobles in Vicovaro, owning land named Dyffra.

Caellach is his father’s name, leading me to believe that aep means ‘of’ or ‘son of’.

Caellach is Irish. The fact that his family name is Welsh like his mother’s name, while his father’s name and first name are both Irish, lead me to beliehe that the family name (and by extension the nobility) is the mother’s, but I haven’t read the books so I don’t know for sure

Emhyr Var Emreis

Emhyr is also Welsh, and yet again means “ruler”. It has been pointed out that it’s similar to Emir (Turkish) and amir (Arabic), both of which mean “Commander in Charge”

Emreis is like Emrys, also Welsh, meaning immortal. If this isn’t a surname in the traditional sense but instead a title or epithet, perhaps Var means ‘the’, making him Emhyr The Immortal

His full name, as we learn in s3, is Emhyr Var Emreis Deithwen Addan yn Carn aep Morvudd

Deithwen being “white flame” in elder speech

Addan, according to the Witcher Wiki, is “dancer/dancing” in the Nilfgaardian language, yn is “on”, and Carn is “tomb”, and Morvudd is “enemies”. We established earlier aep is probably ‘of’

His full name, therefore, is as follows: “Emhyr (Ruler), The Immortal White Flame Dancing on the Tomb of the Enemy”

Duny, the name he used when marrying Pavetta, means “having many sand-dunes”, so I don’t know what that’s about

He called himself the Urcheon of Erlenwald — Urcheon meaning “hedgehog”, and Erlenwald being the forest where he saved Calanthe’s husband (therefore earning Pavetta)

Pavetta

Pavetta is a genus of tropical flower found in Africa and Asia. Latin. The flowers under this genus are white from what I can tell. It apparently also translates to “young leaves”

Reminds me of her colour scheme in the Netflix series, her green dress being the leaves and her light blonde hair being the white flower part

As mentioned before, Pavetta has Fiona Elen, meaning “fair, shining torch”, but she doesn’t have Riannon: great queen. This makes me sad.

Vespula

Vespula is a genus for “social wasps”, their common name being yellow jackets

She’s a wasp, Jaskier is a flower. Wasps are attracted to and pollenate flowers. They were made for each other.

It also comes from Latin ‘vulgaris’ meaning common (as in, common wasp) which is a bit less sweet? Lmao

One of the species under this genus is the cuckoo wasp, and cuckoos symbolise marriage in Greek Myth, as well as being a bird (matching Jaskier’s Sandpiper)

Wasps, in general, symbolise taking control of your life, evolution and progress. However, more general in day-to-day life, they’re seen as annoying and a less-sympathetic version of a bee.

Unlike bees, wasps do not die after stinging you,. They can, and will, sting you repeatedly. (Vespula can, and will, keep throwing Jaskier’s stuff off the balcony. In every adaptation she is a constant)

Fringilla Vigo

Fringilla is another genus. I don’t know why so many of the women have genus names but sure. This is specifically a genus of finches

Finches are quite small, and they’re part of the passerine family which are known for having feet structured specifically for perching

Vigo, aside from being a city in Spain, means “small village” or “settlement”

Philippa Eilhart

Philippa is Greek origin meaning “lover of horses”. The Greek origin specifically here is quite fun because Philipppa shapeshifts into an owl, and Athena, Goddess of Wisdom (Philippa being Redanian intelligence) is associated with owls, while her uncle and Poseidon is associated with horses. Athena also came up with the Trojan horse idea, but I find the Poseidon thing more interesting as Poseidon has a rivalry with Athena, therefore there’s a rivalry between horses and owls, but Philippa, an owl, loves them

Eilhart could be from the Germanic ‘eil’, coming from ‘agil’, meaning “weapon” and ‘hart’ being “strong”, making her “strong weapon”. Alternatively, someone on Reddit also brought up the closeness of ‘eil’ to the German word ‘eule’ which means owl, in which case her last name could mean “strong owl”. Both are fitting in my opinion.

Radovid V

Radovid is Slavic, mainly Polish or Czech, meaning “renowned counsellor”. Both him and Jaskier having ‘counsellor’ in their name means a lot to me.

Other sources say Radovid means “delight to see” — someone remarked that non-Netflix Radovid ‘delights to see others suffer’. Alternatively, it may also mean “to see glory”

Rience

Welsh, apparently derived from Rhiannon, though Rience specifically focuses on the ‘goddess’ meaning of that name, and means “a magical and enchanting goddess”, apparently, which is quite funny to me

However, there was also a Rience in Arthurian legend, the thing that Yennefer’s ‘Guinevere’ comes from. He is an enemy of King Arthur (surely, with Yennefer being the ‘unfaithful wife’ and Rience being the enemy, Arthur would be Geralt? But then who does Yen cheat on him with? The closest thing Geralt has to a Lancelot, or close companion, is probably Jaskier. Oops)

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

What Kind of Love? | Emhyr/Geralt

I've recently taken a break from BuckTommy fics (yes, because of a very unsatisfying season finale) to write another 30,000 words of my other OTP. To my surprise, there's still a bunch of folk out there reading them, so, well. Here you go: What Kind of Love, Slow-Burn-Murder-Mystery, rated T. Excerpt below the cut! (Yes, I hid another Star Wars reference there!)

As they were walking side by side, they were so close that their fingers almost touched. Geralt wondered why he even noticed this irrelevant detail, why he was almost afraid about it, as if the very thought were indecent. Strange. In any case, he found it an odd behavior for a ruler to walk so close to someone beneath them. But then, Emhyr had never been a ruler by conventional standards, had he?

“You have a theory, don't you?“ Emhyr addressed him. Geralt almost flinched.

“A... theory?”

“You should never underestimate my intelligence. Or my patience,” Emhyr remarked with a sidelong glance.

“It's far from a theory. But let's assume that these phenomena are indeed all related to you, they...”

“...are deliberately directed at me, you mean.”

“They're not attacks, not yet,” Geralt reassured him, “but, yes. You could be the target, and at the same time the core of all the phenomena.”

“How?”

“Well,” Geralt began as they turned a corner, “if someone in the palace is secretly using magic, perhaps a very crude or rare form, or simply something that leaves few traces... it's possible that your presence is channeling it, so to speak. Because it's somehow, as you put it, directed at you.”

“The council chamber,“ said Emhyr, pointing to a heavy double door ahead. They stopped.

“There are no guards posted here?”

“Only during meetings, judgments and the like.”

“Judgments... like court judgments?” asked Geralt.

“Well, sometimes. Why do you want to know?”

Geralt shrugged. “A place with a negative aura,” he returned as Emhyr pushed open the doors. “It could influence the outcome.”

“You know, every time you mention this hocus-pocus, I think you're trying to waste time. Because there's simply nothing behind it.”

Geralt looked around the room that opened up before them and remarked, “Your lack of faith is disturbing.”

“Oh, I do have faith, witcher. It just may not be the same as yours.”

[laurikarauchscat]

Hiii there! I saw on one of your posts that Emralt was a woah-tp of yours and I was wondering if you had any recs 🥹👉👈. I’ve only read astolat’s stuff and I’ve been dying to find more. I hope you have a wonderful week! ❤️

Bruh you just made my day!

So: Since Emralt is a ship burdened by being rather niche, and had in the past fallen prey to the scorn of fandom morallists, the universe had decided to reward us for our patience and dedication by giving us some of the best writers in fandom.

You can literally just go into the Emhyr/Geralt tag on Ao3 and move from last page (27) foreward. I swear you will find gold on nearly every page. Please please please do that 🙏. I am about to share some of what you have to look forward to, but there are going to be some great works that I miss. Here goes:

Category 1: Bottom Geralt I have a strong preference for subby Emhyr, so the rest of the list is going to be very much that. Nonetheless, these works I loved so much!

The ride into obsession series by @do-androids-dream-ao3acc this author has many works in the fandom - all worth a read. I have been wounded, I have been healed being my favourite.

Dark Mettinna - by Crunad. More Geralt!wump. Very very sweet.

Category 2: fluffy and sweet

Anything by @xpityx (and there are many, bless this writer 🙌) - this one in particular tho. Oohh and this one !!

@traumschwinge has smutty works, and they are veeery hot, but by God, the tenderness is what they do best. This one is my favourite. They also have some wonderful modern Au's 😁. [This one is smutty so should be Cat 3, but again - the sweetness is the draw]

In the footsteps of the Sun - a classic. Oh my god.

what is my body [if it is not a blade] - Geralt accidentally hurts Emhyr. Angst ensues.

Not for Amateurs - old men being stupid.

My fair witcher - fucking hilarious

Category 3: Bottom Emhyr

Is it the blood - emhyr has a gore kink 😁

Royal Grade Secret - features Emhyr who shuts up and does what he is told for once.

Prickly - Emhyr gets turned into a literal hedgehog. It's adorable🤩. Smut in the last chapters (with Human Emhyr!!)

touching the sun - this is part of a slow burn series. Beautiful 😍

wiosna - first part of a recent series that ruled my life for a couple of weeks (holy shit the smut🔥🔥🔥🔥. Holy shit the angst 😭😭😭)

@queenofyumcha has very many smutty wonders. This one is my favourite. Features Omega!Emhyr.

Category 4: In defiance of Category

The Surprise - mpreg!Emhyr. I hope people make this man be pregnant more often in the future 👀

State of mind by @bittersweetbark - this autor also has many works in the fandom, but this one is my favourite. fluffy mystery. Features smut and both Emhyr!wump and Geralt!wump 😈😈😈

--------

I left off soooo many beautiful works 😭😭😭 but I have to go study now!

[angelellipsis-devilofdots]

we got it guys

[consistentsquash]

Witcher Slash Fic Rec - Wiosna

Wiosna by eldritcher

Pairing - Geralt/Emhyr. Rating - M. 50000 words.

Canon blind reading - I don't feel this is going to make sense without canon understanding.

Rec because - If you are done with winter already and need some spring in your life this is for you! I don't know how a fic can feel like a season. But this one definitely has that. It's got a joyful happy ending. It's a really joyful fic. Not fluffy, pretty dark and intense. But really joyful. Ends with a kiteflying competition! <3

Something really unique in my opinion is the cultural vibe. It feels grounded in the same cultural vibe of the canon. Even the prose feels like it's got that vibe. Dark, melancholy, evocative, hopeful.

Beautiful hurt/comfort old school slash fic. Midlife crisis emotionally messed up dudes. No big plot. 100% characterization and interiority focus. The pacing is gentle and it gets the feelings to soak. Like slowcooker chicken soup if slowcooker chicken soup has got lots and lots of smut.

The smut is really hot and also we get a lot of it. Complicated power dynamics. The relationship arc is beautiful.

Not really bombastic. No high drama or big moments. But it's got a sneaky undercurrent with really dark folklore which gets resolved and feels like the winter to spring transition.

Geralt's characterization feels true to Canon Geralt. Really other, really jaded, really cautious but also hopeful. Same for Ciri. Emhyr's characterization is brilliant. He is messed up and messy is fun in fic.

Two big relationship arcs. Geralt/Emhyr is the romance. Ciri's reconcilation with Emhyr is the platonic side. It's not really a fixit because nothing gets fixed which makes sense for this canon. I don't know how to explain. But I feel the intricacy/nuance made the relationship arcs more beautiful in this case.

It gets the twisted Rumpelstiltskin type canon vibe with a happy ending.

Getting a Vibe Quote is super hard because it's a flowing fic and hard to excerpt. But it's great. Trust me! <3

art source Mazur by Zofia Stryjenska, Joys of Spring by Rene Lelong

[cliji]

separated from their daughter in every universe oh i'm sick

[gauntermetaverse]

Belleteyn Bonfire 🔥

Join our coven. We have the best orgies💅