#erland/arnaghad

[donovaneagle2098]

A Complete Encyclopedia of the Lore of Every Witcher School

This is a project I've been working on for a long time. The Witcher Schools in general have lore spread across 3 or 4 different sources, so it's very easy to find inaccurate details about each school due to a person only going off of one source without even knowing of the others. Hell, I've been guilty of this in the past. So I've gone out of my way to find every source available for the various Witcher Schools and compile it into one master post, mostly pulling from the standalone Gwent game, and the Witcher TRPG, as well as an email conversation I've had with the TRPG's writer, Cody Pondsmith. Without further ado, let's start out with the original school, the Order of Witchers.

Witcher schools are like the Clans of Skellige, subtly different, but largely united by their common ground, and that common ground is the Order of Witchers.

The Order of Witchers began as an experiment by the rogue mages Alzur and his mentor Cosimo Malaspina. They "recruited" tests subjects from orphanages, buying them from neglectful parents, or outright kidnapping street kids.

From Cosimo's Gwent Card:

"Children keep asking him for gifts. He doesn’t know why, but it really helps with finding subjects for his experiments."

The main goal of this project was to create an order of knights artificially mutated and imbued with extreme levels of magic to protect people from a world where, at the time, monsters were often literally around every corner.

The mutation experiments were grueling, and most early candidates died horribly, the girls especially, as the mutagenic compounds the mages were working with at the time were better suited for a boys physiology, and they quickly stopped trying to find a mixture that worked well with women, instead refining the more successful candidate pool to meet deadlines. Even with these refinements, however, the Witchers couldn't actually generate much in the way of magical power, at least not nearly as much as those funding the project had hoped for.

These early candidates were encouraged to stick to political neutrality, were told of their duty to protect the common people, and their sword instructor tried to encourage them to take on knightly virtues to live their lives by, though only a few candidates actually bought fully into these particular knightly ideals.

The school developed a training regimen that all later Witcher schools would put their own small twists on. They perfected the whirling sword style, practiced on the Pendulum and Gauntlet training courses. They learned the Witcher Sign magic, created by Cosimo. They were taught hunting and monster lore from experts hired from across the world, and master alchemists crafted the famous Witcher potions.

Ultimately, funding from this school would be pulled due to the Witcher candidates lack of truly powerful magic ability, and the order would start to fracture. Witchers dissatisfied with their lot in life after being forcibly mutated, and railing against the Order's enforced ideals began getting combatative with other Witchers over petty contracts. At this time, contracts were so plentiful that there was no real need to fight over them, but these dissident Witchers did so anyway out of a desire for autonomy and to be free of the Order's code, which they saw as having no practical purpose to prepare new Witchers for the road ahead, and hypocritical as it was forced on them by the mages who never cared for the Witcher's lives. This culminated in one such outspoken Witcher, Arnaghad, attacking another Witcher who poached a contract from him.

After being forced into the painful life of a Witcher, Arnaghad loathed anyone who imposed their will upon him, the Order and it's codes especially. He led an attack on the Order proper, aided by fellow Witchers who respected his defiance towards authority. Once they were beaten back, these dissidents fled to the Amell mountain range to start the next Witcher school, the School of the Bear.

The School of the Bear is one of the most misunderstood schools of them all, owing to the first major lore drop about them being largely in-universe rumors and conjecture surrounding the school, and as such I may need to go more in depth. The two major misconceptions stemming from this is the rumor about their armor, which claims that they don't bother dodging like the other Witchers and instead take blows head on (generally a bad idea, according to Geralt in the books), and the rumor about them attacking most Witchers they meet.

I contacted Cody Pondsmith, who wrote a great deal of this lore, and he mentioned that Bears do often threaten or even fight other Witchers, but in a very Skellige way, only to ward off the other Witcher from contracts they want. The Bears just want to live lives where they aren't commanded by others, and were trained especially brutally, and so will fight for what contracts they want. However they will NEVER kill another Witcher, just draw first blood (outside of duels to decide who runs the school, which occasionally turn deadly. It's unknown if Arnaghad has ever lost these duels) and if that other Witcher stands up to the Bear, they'll let them have the contract and if they meet up and work together enough even maybe become a lifelong friend.

To quote Cody himself: "I like to think of the Witcher Order as a big family in which the Bear School is the blunt, no-nonsense brother. He can be prickly and a bit of a bully sometimes but he takes his job seriously and he can be a good drinking buddy if you get to know him. Not the friendliest of people but far from evil. If you stand up to him and show him you're not afraid of him, he'll respect you."

The other rumor is also an exaggeration. The Witcher TRPG mentions that the Bear armor was designed with flexibility in mind, and while they trained to take on weaker blows with their armor and "mastery of the Quen sign", they also trained how to move quickly in their armor if they needed to dodge a fatal blow. The Bears also still trained on the gauntlet and pendulum like the other schools. Cody Pondsmith also confirmed that the Bears are just as agile as the other Witchers.

The Bears' core philosophy is almost very Lambert like, viewing Witcher's work not as a duty, or knightly virtue, but as difficult, brutal work. The only reason they stick to this work is to do a job where no one else commands them and they're left in peace. They focus only on the practical aspects of their profession, and as such discourage their students from working together in training, since Witchers work alone. As Arnaghad said, "We pass through life alone, better get used to it!" As a result, Bears are very isolated, preferring their own company to that of other Witchers, and were encouraged to value their autonomy and self care above all else. The Bears' approach to teaching was embodied as "let them better themselves through practical, dangerous trials. Survival of the fittest", embodied by final trial, that involved climbing to the top of Mt. Gorgon and back, and any who died from the cold were left "as a sobering reminder of the dangers of their trade". This resulted in the students of the school seeing things in a very callous, survival of the fittest way. Be as strong as you can, and let the perils of Witcher training and life pick off those who can't keep up. As a result, the Bears were by far the smallest Witcher school.

Despite this, the TRPG has a list of random early training events Witchers from all schools can have, and Bears could sometimes make friends amongst their fellow witchers in training just like members of every other school.

Once the new Bear students left their keep of Haern Caduch, most wouldn't return to winter there, unlike the other schools. They developed a reputation as being terrible to fight, and for being firebrands, often speaking very bluntly and quick to anger no matter who they spoke to, authority included. One such Witcher, named Gerd, was asked by a Duchess to help kill her father. He insulted her so badly he got a warrant for his death placed on him, though all the peasants he met spoke rather highly of him. As a result, Bears found it easiest to make friends amongst the similarly minded Dwarves and Gnomes of the Amell mountains, and people of the Skellige Isles. According to Cody Pondsmith, this is the main reason the Bears stayed together as a group at all. They valued autonomy above all else and so long as they functioned as a Witcher school, they were left alone and no rulers would try and command them. They also largely take their ideals of free will and apply it to others, never seeking to rule over others. They simply wish to live their lives free.

One of the original Witchers to side with Arnaghad, Ivar Evil-Eye, had extra mutations done to him by the Order of Witchers during his trial, allowing him to see into other worlds. In these visions he saw the Wild Hunt rampaging across them, conquering them. Ivar became obsessed with stopping them, and tried to kill Arnaghad to take command and lead the Bear school against the Hunt. This failed, so he and his supporters left to form the Viper School.

The Witchers of the Viper school, based in Gorthur Gvaed, were said to be the most secretive, taking contracts as both assassins and witchers. They at first dedicated themselves finding a way to stop the Wild Hunt, amassing a massive library on the subject. Fighting with an unpredictable, ambushed based variant of the Witcher fighting style, Viper Witchers employed poisons, brewed by skilled Viper alchemists, on both their swords, and a dagger in their offhand, their biggest deviation from typical Witcher combat techniques.

Vipers, for an unknown reason, eventually forgot their purpose. In his time, Letho of Gullet could only guess at why the school had been founded. Instead, they became famous for their skill at political killings, dealing with the nobility of the southern countries before Nilfgaard had even become a large-scale power.

Viper students had a different type of trial, after more grueling than typical training. Instead of any physical task like the other schools, the Viper students were given a pet at their induction to the school. And to graduate, they simply had to hunt it down and kill it, showing their lack of mercy.

While most of those who supported Ivar followed him to the Viper school, one group broke off and west east, across the Korath desert, to Zerikania, founding the School of the Manticore.

The School of the Manticore was founded by the Witcher Iwan, from the School of the Bear, following Ivar's assassination attempt on Arnaghad. They got work in the Korath desert as caravan guards, earning the attention of the Zerrikanian Queen after a deadly battle with a manticore. The Queen sponsored the Witchers of the Manticore, making them the only school to be officially backed by any government. They were experts on potions and anti-toxins, a necessity of dealing with the poisonous creatures of the Korath desert.

A unique adaptation to the monsters of the desert also had Manticore Witchers employ shields into the whirling combat of their Witcher training. Given their extra support, the Manticores held two keeps, Behelt Nar and Bailsuf Alsarea, on opposite sides of the desert, so that they might better patrol and guard those within it.

The Manticore is the final school to come from the schism Arnaghad had led. The other voices of dissent against the ideals of the Order would soon hear of these new schools and decide to break off as well to form the School of the Cat.

The School of the Cat was founded out of a response to the hatred and distrust Witchers received. They desired to be seen in a better, more respectful light. Ironically, they would end up doing the opposite. The Cat School stole away with several of the mutagens needed to make more Witchers and headed to Ebbing, and Stygga Citadel, where they would begin to experiment on human-elf children in an attempt to perfect the mutations. Its possible that the mages at this time furthered experiments on making women Witchers, but this is not confirmed yet.

Attempting to make a name for themselves, the Cats hired themselves out as spies, assassins, and mercenaries, genuinely earning them some respect from common folk for killing bandits.

In their attempts to perfect the mutations and further dull the emotions of their Witchers, the Cat school experimented harshly on a group of children that resulted in the opposite, giving these Witchers hightened emotional responses instead. These students, cast aside and left for dead, fled into the arms of a group of elves, who agreed to support them if this branch of the Cat School supported the elves' fight for freedom.

This branch, led by Gezras of Leyda, attached itself to the Dyn Marv caravan and traveled the continent, lending their services mostly to those nonhumans who could pay, while the main Cats at Stygga ended up getting assaulted by angry royals incited by their political maneuvering. This left the Dyn Marv branch as the only functional element of the School of the Cat. These Cats would train students' agility in a light, fast Elven take on Witcher fighting style, and would train their balance by making students walk a tightrope, starting low to the ground at first, but getting higher and higher each attempt.

The Cat school's breaking of Witcher neutrality and reputation for bloodlust earned Witchers such a bad name that those in the Order who most cherished their old swordmaster's knightly virtues would leave to form the School of the Griffin.

The School of the Griffin, led by Erland of Larvik, wished to truly achieve the dream of the original Order, and Gryphon, the Order's sword instructor. They traveled north to Kaer y Saren, an old fortress the Order once used, and cleansed it of the spirits of those who died in the first Witcher mutations. From there, they began a Witcher school focused on respectability and honor, believing in their knightly duties. And it worked, somewhat. The Griffins were sometimes advisors to nobility, and seen as honorable, but the prejudice against Witchers would never leave, and most would never see a Griffin Witcher as anything more than a monster playing at being a knight.

These Witchers tried their best to cushion their students against the pain of their lives on the Witcher's path, and were more brotherly than the other schools, though their knightly virtues and brotherhood were oftentimes cold comfort to Griffin students.

From the Witcher TRPG Sourcebook:

"Witcher I knew couldn’t really remember much ‘bout his past. Heh, too young to really form a lotta memories when they took him to Kaer Y Seren. Told me that the memory he did have made the mutations easier. Poor bastard clung to a memory of his pa takin’ him on a horse for a ride in the fields. Don’t know why he chose that one. Probably the only normal memory he had."

The Griffins amassed a huge library of magical knowledge, though they could only push sign magic so far, and the books were likely wasted being in a Witcher library. The library held several incredibly famous tomes on magic within, and was the envy of full mages across the Northern Realms. Despite all their efforts, they never could achieve their goal of bringing about the Order of Witcher's vision. The Griffins even had their own breaches of Witcher tradition in pursuit of their knightly heroics. An often said mantra of the Griffin school in Gwent is "To slay dragons! Tis our knightly duty!" despite dragons being largely innocent, intelligent beings who mostly wish to be left in peace.

Code Pondsmith had this to say about the Griffins:

"The Griffins stuck to the knightly traditions that the original witcher order tried to uphold. As a result it's safe to say that the Griffin school taught that monsters were the enemy of mankind and must be defeated. I don't think they would all be blindly overzealous but they wouldn't have any qualms about slaying sapient monsters if they believed it was for the good of mankind. Similarly, it's likely that they would side with humans in any conflict between monsters and humans. In a way, the Griffins' knightly virtues made them easier to manipulate than the other witcher schools. They were bound to protect humanity and thus were more likely to be convinced to hunt a monster if a local noble or alderman claimed it would be for the good of the people. This is the case with the dragons. The kingdoms and jewelers guilds of the North convinced the Griffin School that dragons were a blight upon humanity and the Griffins started slaying dragons regardless of whether all of the dragons they slew deserved it. Additionally, the knightly values might make Griffin school witchers more likely to take pity on desperate humans and work for free."

Those few Witchers remaining in the Order by now traveled to northern Kaedwyn, and started a school based on their tempered, traditionalist, and realistic view on the Order's goals. They based themselves in Kaer Morhen and dubbed themselves the School of the Wolf.

The School of the Wolf is the most famous Witcher school, known for their professionalism and efficiency. They don't kill humans like the Viper or Cat. Aren't bold or brash like the Bear, or put Knightly virtues above Witcher ideals like the Griffin. I mean, anyone reading far this knows who the Wolf Witchers are, so I'm not going to get into to much detail. They're Geralt's school. Ciri's school. While the Griffins school wasted it's energy on trying to be what Witchers were supposed to be, the Wolf set its goals on being the best they realistically could be.

They took a balanced approached to Witcher life and as such trained Witchers who were the best adjusted out of the schools, with neither the Bear's harshness nor the Griffin's egocentrism. They perfected the Witcher's style of combat, refining their swordsmanship into an incredibly graceful dance. Combined with their professional attitude and teachings that allowed Wolf Witchers to adapt very well to most situations thrown at them, Wolf Witchers were lauded all across the Continent.

With all Schools formed, the Golden Age of Witchers began, at first with the Bears and Griffins making peace. From Erland of Larvik's Journal (The TRPG's monster manual):

"Surprisingly enough the fracturing of the witcher order had lead to a more effective organization for us witchers. Spread across the Continent and each making more witchers independently, it was no longer the task of 60 or 70 witchers to patrol the entire Continent from Nilfgaard to Kovir. Each school patrolled their own path and when a Gryphon met with a Bear each knew they had their territory and any infighting wouldn’t be worth the bloodshed. We managed to broker peace and live as somewhat estranged brothers rather than bitter enemies"

Witchers at this time were seen largely as heroes, with their detractors' voices largely simmering underneath. With Witchers around to kill monsters, people felt safe and so ignored any misgivings they might have.

Witchers, no matter the school, aren't too dissimilar from each other, and so the Cintinent at large formed an overall opinion of the Witchers based on the traits they all shared. From the TRPG:

"In the heyday of witchers there were many many seperate schools, which all mutated new witchers and taught them the neccesary skills to hunt monsters and lift curses. While it’s generally agreed that there is a core set of skills required to a be a witcher, each school taught its students differently and focused on different aspects of witcher training. Thus, witchers from different schools often act differently and go about their jobs in similar but varied ways."

During this period, the Schools all would produce hundreds of Witchers (though at any given time, most schools had about 20 Witchers running the school, a handful of novices undergoing the trials, and around 30-50 Witchers on the path hunting monsters. This fluctuated from school to school. The Bear's brutal training resulted in the lowest number of Witchers amongst the schools, while the Wolves' prolific status and high success rates meant they took in more candidates and had more Witchers than the other schools), and each was their own person, With their own preferences and personality, despite the schools themselves having reputations for Witchers with only a few certain traits. For instance, the Bear Witcher Ivo of Belhaven fought like a Viper or Cat Witcher, but in personality was a perfect fit for the Bear School with how standoffish he could be. The schools kept to their own territory at first, but as time went on and contracts got ever more rare, these already thin lines fell apart and the schools stopped caring much about territories.

They also all customized their gear in different ways, usually keeping their gear in similar fashion to their school's, as its what they trained in an were used to. For example, Bear Witcher Junod of Belhaven wore what appears to be a set of Wolf School armor he had modified to fit Bear Witcher style.

Witchers also at this time experimented with signs. The Griffins obviously focused on making them more powerful, and the Bears pushed Quen to a level beyond any other school. But the most interesting case is that of Warrit, a blind Viper Witcher who used the lesser known Suppire sign as a form of echolocation.

The Golden age lasted for around 150-200 years or so, ending around 1160 when the monster populations had been hunted down enough that people's main concern stopped being the monsters, and became the Witchers themselves.

The Griffin School, refusing to share the knowledge of its library, was destroyed by jealous mages. A group of peasants and mages attacked the Wolves' keep out of nowhere. The Bears failed to destroy a powerful cabal of vampires and, when peasants rioted and came for their keep, chose to disband rather than engage in needless slaughter. The Cat's keep of Stygga is destroyed, but the Dyn Marv chapter may still be alive and well. The Manticore School failed to protect an important prince from a fire elemental, and so lost their funding and closed. The Viper refused to support the Nilfgaardian usurper and were destroyed.

If you've made it this far, holy shit, thank you! I hope you have a great day!

[blackberrywars]

Based on your Arnagrahd and Erland fic and that whole history behind the characters, what do you think those two are like after the separation?

Do you think they could have ever met in private?

(I loved your fic and characterisation of those two so much)

Nonnie, I owe you my life for this ask, thank you so much for sending it!! I could talk about these two and their tragedy forever.

So, starting with what little we do know about their final confrontation and lives afterwards: Arnaghad pulled up to Morgraig with a group of likeminded witchers, expecting a fight, and the Order was likewise prepared to fight him. Erland hoped that Arnaghad would just leave quietly, but they wound up fighting, not just as groups, but each other, personally. All of which left me with a lot of questions that I tried my best to fill in with that fic.

Why would Arnaghad, autonomy-obsessed loner that he is, even form a school instead of just fucking off to do his own thing?

Why and how would he convince anyone to join him?

Why did Erland have these hopes for Arnaghad, and why was he so hurt by Arnaghad slashing him?

My headcanon is basically that the history written about the Bears was mostly written by other witchers, and they rather conveniently left some things out, burned by the betrayal. If all Arnaghad cared about was his own interests and independence, there would be no reason to ally with other witchers, much less to create more of them. If he only saw witchering as a job, and cared for no witcher but himself, why bother? So, while not completely erasing his tendencies for hyper-independence and brutal pragmatism, my idea is that he had to have cared about witchers as a group, if not as individuals, and truly believed that his own teachings would help them survive. Not only that, but his reasoning had to have been good enough to convince enough of the others to put up a fight at Morgraig (since you read the fic, you know).

And that's the last question: why would he go into a fight he knew he would lose, when, again, he could have just taken his allies and left? Fighting at Morgraig makes absolutely no sense, unless he and his allies had something to gain from it, which I propose was trying to get more witchers to join their side. This was Arnaghad's last chance to, in his mind, protect witchers from being taken advantage of, and that's why he was willing to risk it, and why he charged Erland, the symbol of everything he was against.

And that's where the separation leaves them: Erland grieving, left with a wounded face and a crumbling Order to try and pull together, and Arnaghad halfway across the Continent, fully committed to building his new school. Their only common threads are the fact that they both care about preserving witchers, and that they're both entirely stubborn as to how that should be done.

What I tried to portray in my story was based off of that hope that Erland still had before the battle —he really still believed it was possible for this to end without violence. So I can only imagine how that hope would turn to anger. Erland would resent Arnaghad for, not just scarring his face, but also making his own ideal of a united witcher code impossible, and as we see from his history, he only doubles down harder. Self-righteous and just as firm in his belief of what's best for witchers, he pushes his ideal forward even as the Order crumbles around him, only leaving when he has nothing but scraps. His idealism doesn't die, not until he does. He firmly believes that with his honor code and commitment to dealing fairly with mages and royals, witchers can become the respected knight-figures they probably deserve to be.

Meanwhile, Arnaghad is kind of buried in his own problems, and it's generally always easier being the one who left. He's stablishing his school, training new boys, and dealing with the Viper schism. Despite all that, he has long since been resigned to his plan, which I also tried to portray in my story, so I honestly think he's less drastically emotionally affected in the aftermath. He already decided that this was what he was going to do, that he would have to hurt Erland to do it, and that was a price he was willing to pay. I do think he's still frustrated with Erland, for what he views as naivety and vulnerability that witchers can't afford. But I don't think he resents Erland the way Erland would resent him, because Erland's school doesn't really affect him or his bears.

All that to say, I don't think they would meet up purposely. Erland would be too bitter and proud to arrange it, and Arnaghad likely considers it a loose string he cut years ago. However, if they did somehow meet accidentally, I think Erland would probably turn the courtly manners up to 11 and Arnaghad would just shut anything he said down as quickly as possible until the Skelliger came out and they just started fighting/fucking/both again. Erland would probably slip out, angry and ashamed of himself. Arnaghad would probably be ashamed too, for failing to live up to his own ideals.

Anyway, rant (probably) over. Thank you so much nonnie, I'm glad you liked the fic!

[valandhirwriter]

Summer Bingo: The next

The entry for "Songfic"

[farieshades]

So having found your blog from your post on the order of Witchers I wanted to ask, am i the only one who dislikes the "Witcher's Journal" book and how the various schools have been presented post Witcher 3 generally? Its far to unfavorable to the other schools in my opinion, Making Arnaghad and the bears out to be darwinists who think the "strongest should get the contract" for instance. Witcher contracts often employ just as much brains as brawn and as such it makes it seem like we're supposed to despise Arnaghad for being a brute and a fool. I understand that it is just Erland's pov, but Gwent seems to support this and overall it looks like we're supposed to think lesser of the other schools compared to the Griffin.

I’ll be honest, before this moment the “Witcher’s Journal” wasn’t something I had really devled into, or knew existed, which is why its been a hot moment cause I had to find and read it to answer. I think it has to do with perspective for a lot of it, as you’ve mentioned, as much of this is going to be written by either Erland’s point of view, or for the Gwent cards, the creators of those (unsaid in the books, said in the games) are the base perspective.  

For the Witcher’s Journal, Erland I think starts off with trying to set the Griffin school above the others, that they were ‘more advanced’ in their technique and their moral high ground was something to strive for, but nevertheless they were still buried beneath a mountain of snow and ice; “The realms of humanity will twist these atrocities to their liking in their histories. I have no doubt witchers of all schools will soon be known as nothing more than monsters and devils… When the last witcher has fallen, and the monsters begin to creep from the crypts and caves of the world, humanity will begin to remember.” Erland is of the (correct, honestly) belief that the world will turn against his brothers, estranged though they may be, and still attempts to protect the future generations of humanity. Is this the right choice? Eh, who knows. Humanity sucks. But this is important to mention because this is basically the first page, every reader knows the downfall and end of the Griffin school, and how their grandmaster thought of it. A problem later into the book was when Rhys was cut by Arnaghad, neither of their perspectives are shown or written of, just that Arnaghad was someone who didn’t show kinship or feel kinship to the other Witchers and ‘when he learned that such a lucrative contract had slipped his grasp his blood *must have* boiled.’ Erland is making assumptions of what happened and passing them off as fact. And when Arnaghad returns to the keep its with a ‘possee of other brothers[,] no doubt he expected a fight’, which doesn’t scream ‘focus on the job aspect of being a witcher with no ties or inflated nonsense of the ego’, but more someone was wronged and he tried to gather backup for the slight given (a fic actually comes to mind in the opposite when Jaskier’s being threatened by a lord and Geralt gathers ‘a posse of other brothers’ to demand the lord back down… can’t remember the fic right now, damn, but its under the tag ‘witchersexual Jaskier’). I got off track, but anyway, Erland is the perspective we are given for this, and honestly we know more about Arnaghad than Rhys, so we know next to nothing except the ‘word of mouth’ of this event, which is definitely not the best for making decisions, taking the word of the first guy back to Morgraig. Arnaghad probably had a very different tale to tell when he returned, but wasn’t quick enough for it. 

Moving on to Gwent as you mention… In the books, the Gwent game would be hard to explain having random characters central to the story (unlike in games when everything the player is seeing needs to be something they'd also understand and add to the experience), but having 'random' characters as archtypes would (you have your king cards, your ace cards, and whatnot, just filter that in with 'monster/northern/elf/south' cards), additionally Geralt, in Baptism of Fire, plays Barrel with the dwarves and noticed how card artwork was more decorative and detailed than human cards, lending more credence to drawven made card sets for Gwent, which would work well in the idea that dwarves 1)know Dandelion very well as a lore giver, 2)constantly reoccuring figures 3)putting their own spin on things. Should we go with this idea, the dwarven perspective then influences what the Gwent Cards are saying, and it does appear more popular (in the games) in nonhuman districts. To go for more of a perspective thing, I think I'll examine Adept/Mentor Cards because that shows training methods of the schools in the eyes of the designer. 

Cat’s are depicted as ruthless, going for the coin no matter what, and their training card shows the boy blindfolded while balancing above the roofs, but what the Adept card doesn’t show is the Mentor below and watching. Now, would the mentor help if the boy slips? Who knows, the card does suggest it in my opinion but maybe that’s because I’ve read too many Cat Fics which flavour my view.

Vipers would be more ruthless in their depictions, similar to the Cats, and with their training cards, it has the Mentor with his back turned away from the adept in the background, but close enough to aid should something go very wrong in a moment. The adept is fighting the goat, and given Viper lore, this might actually be the boy’s pet he was given to raise, unclear, but given the anguish on his face, its a possibility. Which… might lend more credence to the ruthlessness if a mentor was made to watch that ‘trial’ so the pet couldn’t go free instead. 

Griffin interestingly have the adept climbing a tree to retrieve an arrow while the mentor is at the ground watching. Not much to say about it, but it does emphasise 1, the nature aspect rather than being in a town (like the cats were), also 2, strength/brawn and intelligence. No one is climbing a tree without forethought, if you step on the wrong branch you fall, but unlike what Erland would have us believe, there isn’t anything in these depictions that have moral high ground.

Bear adepts are shown catching fish, which isn’t awful depending on where they’re fishing. Theoretically it could be trying to depict being somewhere cold so its not just ‘catch your dinner’ but also ‘endure the cold water’, meanwhile from what Google is telling me, the Mentor card is nowhere near the adept, unlike in the other ones where you get hints of them being nearby, instead they are with 5 other Witchers on a hunt for a Dire Bear covered already in spears/arrows. Now, while I say that, this isn’t easily explained as the adept ‘being forgotten’ but could be trusting the adept to not only catch enough food for the others, who will need it after fighting the Dire Bear, but also, what type of food would a Dire Bear like? Ah what any bear would theoretically like, fish. 

[Note, The Wolf School Mentor is set up as Vesemir slaying what appears to be a Cockatrice, but the Adept is missing from Google, so the wolves are being ignored]

I think that overall, the Griffin school is set up to be the ones focused on knightly behaviour and courtesy and magic while the others were ignoring the need to get involved with that which inflates your ego. Geralt in particular would have made a great Griffin with his beliefs of knight-stuffs as a kid, but the wolves school… didn’t train it out of him because he certainly still has traits of it, it disuaded the belief and focused on getting the boys ready for the outer world and its harsh realities. Sure, ok, this is focusing on two different times, Erland vs Geralt, but the belief there would still hold. The Griffin school, tries to set up that they have a purpose and their brothers will support them as if the same can’t be said for the other schools, which in my perusing, there’s very little that would cause the Cats to not support one another, or the Wolf brothers… All in all, the schools are portrayed unfavourably against one another and in general. For most of the books one is focused on learning about Wolves and their existence, for Witchers Journal it’s all about Griffins and how they are better, and Gwent is a mixmash of just representation from as far as I can tell. 

[thewolvesandtheirbard]

Cause I get sad sometimes about Arnaghad and Erland, then Arnaghad and Ivar, how the big bad Bear watched his boy sever ties and walk away from him, then how Gerd died trying to save his human lover, leaving his father and two remaining brothers all alone, the last of their kind. Sometimes I get sad about the Bears in general, so here.

[inexplicifics]

Hi!

I got a few questions but first:

I loved the new chapter of Flung to Catch a Star!! I’m glad all the new Witchers made it through. Geralt having a crush on Erland of Larvik is cute!! Secondly I’m enjoying how you keep us guessing about Emhyr’s thought process because he’s not a fool. It’s hard to tell if he’s thinks A, X, or Z thoughts. Also, I’m enjoying Cabir and Morvran! It’s fun seeing them learn from their time at Kaer Morhen.

So my questions are:

I was rereading With Tenderness and Nobleness, and I caught the brief mention of Erland and Arnaghad. I was wondering, were they romantic partners? I blame this on the fact when I read that line, I saw @irreconcilable differences” and not “irreconcilable philosophical differences”. I was curious so I had to ask. lol 😂

Secondly, if this isn’t spoilers for the last third of Flung to Catch a Stars, how much of a relationship do you see Ciri and Emhyr having?

I'm so glad you're enjoying Flung to Catch a Star! I'm having a lot of fun Baffling the poor boys.

I don't think I've defined on page whether Erland and Arnaghad were romantic partners. I've certainly read some very good fics with that premise. But they did split over irreconcilable philosophical differences over what the role of Witchers ought to be, and it was not a pretty split.

How much of a relationship to I see Ciri and Emhyr having...I think that's going to be explored later in the Progress fics, honestly. Though if Emhyr does something really boneheaded, the answer might just be "brief".

[dukeofdogs]

Master post for Gwent lore pt 1

Base set:

Monsters

Arachas Queen

Eredin Bréacc Glas

Unseen Elder

Woodland Spirit

Scoiatel

Brouver Hoog

Eithné

Filavandrel aén Fidháil

Francesca Findabair

Northern Realms:

Princess Adda 

Demavend

King Foltest

King Henselt

Nilfgaard

Emhyr var Emreis 

Jan Calveit

Morvran Voorhis 

Usurper

Skellige

Bran Tuirseach

Crach an Craite 

Eist Tuirseach 

Harald the Cripple

Year of the Wild Boar:

Thronebreaker

Ardal aep Dahy

Arnjolf

Eldain

Gernichora

Meve

Crimson Curse

Anna Henrietta

Queen Calanthe

Dana Méadbh

Dettlaff van der Eretein

Svalblod

Novigrad

King of Beggars

Cleaver

Sigismund Djikstra

Gudrun Bjornsdottir   

Cyrus Engelkind Hemmelfart   

Whoreson Junior

Iron Judgment

Merchants of Ofir

Year of the Dire Rat

Master Mirror

Grand Master of the Flaming Rose (Jacques de Aldersberg)

Sparrowhawk (Eredin)

Wrath of Brokilon (Eithné)

The Cripple (Harald the Cripple)

Emperor of Nilfgaard (Usurper)

King of Kerack (Viraxas)

Way of the Witcher

Viy

Erland of Larvik

Arnaghad 

Gezras of Leyda

Ivar Evil-Eye

Fallen Rayla

Year of the Great Oak

Stalwart Leadership

Advanced Tactics

Price of Power

She Who Knows

Duchess of Dol Blathanna

Melusine

Leticia Charbonneau

The Witchfinder

Vilgeforz

Year of The Cursed Toad

Vial of Forbidden Knowledge

Mysterious Puzzle Box

Renfri

Eltibald

Boholt

Sove & Ulula

Dagon

Svalblod Bear

Part 2

[continentcakeshop]

Reverse casting time!!!! Cakeshop peeps as Witcher characters. Go!!!

ALRIGHT I spent like 2 hours on this and the shenanigans that happened with everyone laughing and helping out... BUT ITS LONG. So it's behind a cut. It's not complete, because oh man I gotta go do errands, but we did our best!

@on-a-lucky-tide is immediately our Eskel @hungarianbee as Erland @lookoutrogue is Coen @major-trouble is the best Valdo ever but countered with @sometimesiwrite as Essi (she LIVES THO) @trickstermoose67 is Ciri ... but @so--many-fandoms is Baby Ciri (from W3, with the freckles) @jayofolympus is Serrit @frenchkey is Auckes @tumbleweedtech I'm claiming Keldar thanks @angry-cajun-lady is Gaetan @lohrendrell is Ivo @thirstyforred is Jacques de Aldersberg @stellecraft is Nenneke @round--robin is Arnaghad @piranhaincaps is Gezras @greenbirddraws is Letho @anonymousblueberry is Ves @cylin-aka-ankamo is Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy @liaonyxrayne is Dettlaff @jlyarts is Kiyan @justhereforeskel is Lil' Bleater @justleaf is Iorveth @zzzett is Isengrim @whysowlowl is Philippa @heyriel-art is Vesemir @eyesofshinigami is Shani @lokibus is Geralt (complete with horse pics) @straysinfiltrator is Meve @iboughtaplant is Gascon (she has the BEST boy) @pressedinthepages is Angoulême @jaskiersvalley is Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach obscure potato is Reynard @Towelapocalyse is Aiden @andtosatvrn is Ivar @disaster-imp is Lambert @resident-beekeeper is the beekeeper that Regis thinks is a werewolf? sdorim is an npc who wrote punny letters to Geralt @winter-fir is a farmer NPC. Her rakes are not broken, and if you press X you get an 🍎 And who you've probably been waiting for? @skaldingrayne would be Jaskier.

[thirstyforred]

First Lines

just got tagged by @tumbleweedtech , ty <3, to do this lil thing, so let's go!

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to and see if there are any patterns!

O fanach robali (About fans of bugs) - Gwent | Savolla x Sandor de Baccalá Wszyscy zawsze wiedzieli że jak latem stary Wiley ogłasza arenę zamkniętą na weekend to lepiej się tam nie kręcić w ogóle, nieważne co. (Everyone has always known that when old Wiley announces an arena closed for the weekend in the summer, it's better not to hang around there at all, no matter what.)

Prince Troyden and Praetor - Witcher TTRPG | Troyden x OC “Stay the night,” said Prince Troyden.

2 horny adults at work, shenanigans happen - Witcher | Huebrt Rejk x fem!Jacques de Aldersberg Hubert Rejk sighed once again.

unruly sacrifice - Witcher, Gwent | Morrigan & Svalblod It wasn’t entirely uncommon for Morrigan’s followers to send her dead beings as offerings.

Shard of Glass - Witcher | Winter Queen/Gaunter O'Dimm Truth is but a shard of ice.

feverish Roderick &/x Albrecht - Witcher | Roderick de Wett x OC Looking at Roderick, actually looking at him, without the veil of pretenses, Albrecht can see why he’s like that.

💕🐛 The Bug Lover 🐛💕 - Witcher | Alzur x Viy Alzur was always, rather tragically, the type of man who would rather die than admit to being wrong.

two wrongs do (not) make right - Witcher TTRPG | Erland of Larvik x Arnaghad It’s an old map, one of those that shouldn't be accurate anymore.

Oh, I really wish I was scared to (die) - Witcher | Lara Dorren x Kaedwen Clark Lara walks through the throne room, an intricate mosaic pattern underneath her feet.

Wild Hungover - Witcher, Cyberpunk 2077 Consider this - You’re sitting by the table, in front of you are M-10AF Lexington with a full clip, a bunch of poppers, DVOM, and a mass of other shit.

looking at this now, ig im leaning towards shorter opening, unless i want to be weird on purpose lol

[on-a-lucky-tide]

A good friend is going through a hard time and finds solace in heart-wrenching stories, so I was wondering if you have any of your own or others that you could recommend? MCD but no happy ending preferred if you have any. Thanks! <3

Hi Anon. Sorry for the delay in getting back to this one. Here are some recommendations that will fit your bill. With special thanks to @jayofolympus and @frenchkey

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36791299 Voltehre is dead and doesn't know it

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36664060 Lambert dies and then un-dies and wishes he hadn’t, Vesemir dies

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34918129 Ciri is on her own (not a happy ending but slightly hopeful still)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33117205 Everyone but Iorveth and Ves dies

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30779657 Varin fic (contains child death)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40544031 Gaetan is dead

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35591866 Canonical trials deaths

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34855843 Bad shit happens to Kiyan. No death but still much angst.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33421510 Roche dies, Iorveth mourns

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31631558 Jaskier dies, Geralt mourns

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31333559 Erland dies, Arnaghad mourns

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30764555 Vesemir dies, Ciri mourns

My offering: Bury My Heart at Rivia. Eskel is in mourning and stuck in a pit of denial. Gaunter O'Dimm appears to make him an offer he can't refuse.

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.

I hope your friend feels better soon.

[donovaneagle2098]

It's so fascinating to me how much Arnaghad is a parallel to Lambert. Early Witcher School lore is so deeply buried across 3 or 4 separate sources of lore that it's hard to get a clear picture of any of the Grandmasters except for Erland, since we have his diary. We get told in Gwent about how Cosimo, one of the mages in charge of making the early witchers, would kidnap or buy his "test subjects":

Children keep asking him for gifts. He doesn’t know why, but it really helps with finding subjects for his experiments.

-Cosimo's Gwent card

And while the knightly values Alzur and Griphon championed did become a part of the lives of several of the young witchers, we also know of several who didn't buy into it. Namely, Arnaghad and those who followed him:

Arnaghad, some would say, was born stubborn. Insolent toward those in authority, he loathed anyone who tried to impose their will upon him, favouring autonomy above all else. This, in large, was the bedrock of why he went on to form his very own witcher school.

Not wanting to be a slave to a code he did not believe in, he gathered a handful of likeminded witchers and ventured to the Amell mountains, settling into a fortress amid the icy slopes and established the Bear School; a place where would-be witchers could be taught the practicalities of their trade, without the distraction of "honourable virtues" impeding their training.

-Arnaghad's Gwent lore entry

And reading that, knowing how those early Witchers got to the school, I can't help but empathize. If some nutcase kidnapped me and put me through torturous experiments that killed most of those going through that training, I'd be pretty damn "insolent towards authority" too.

And that's where Lambert comes in. Lambert, who doesn't get along with Vesimir because Vesimir looks back at the School of the Wolf and sees a noble order, a duty and a sense of rightness, while all Lambert experienced from being a Witcher was pain, loss, and a sense of injustice. So he argued, doesn't get along with his brothers. Stays away from Vesimir as much as he can so they don't fight. Sound familiar? But here's where Lambert and Arnaghad differ:

Once funding was pulled from the original Order of the Witchers most of the mages left, taking away the school's leadership, and the Witchers started infighting and questioning why they still held to the Order's ideals. Petty fights over contracts started to break out, despite Erland saying in his journal that monsters back then were so plentiful that there was no need to fight over contracts (this is where the Bear School's reputation for fighting other Witchers comes from).

All this culminated with Arnaghad attacking Rhys over a chort contract and, after fighting broke out between Arnaghad's supporters and the Witchers loyal to the Order, fleeing to make their own school. That's the final element that separates Lambert. Because the Bear school is described as being very akin to how Lambert acts.

Bear students were discouraged from making friends because "we pass through life alone". In other words, Witchers don't work together on most contracts, so to prepare their students for the Path, the Bears never wanted them to rely on something in training that wouldn't be there in practice. Instead of justifying the death and suffering of their students like other schools, they make it "a reminder of the dangers of their trade" leaving it's dead students on their frozen training path. Instead of telling them what they go through for destiny, or duty, they tell them the more callous, and sadly realistic for their brutal profession: "more pain now, less pain later."

I often say the Bears are the 'Lambert school' because the Bears were more realistic about the cruelty of Witcher life, and that resulted in a school full of Lamberts. But the difference is that the last thing Lambert wants, is more people like him. They saw there was a problem with Witcher life and thought the solution was to be more frank and up front about those problems rather than fix them.

[blackberrywars]

ARNAGHAD SHOVELLING SNOW IN SHORTS!!! ARNAGHAD CARRYING THEIR HUNT THROUGH THE WOODS IN ONE TRIP!!!! ALL THE BIG BOY - SZA.MP3 FEELINGS

Hello!!! INCREDIBLE prompt my dear, and for anyone that didn't see the Big Boys video, please enjoy on my part

Title: Two Cloaks, XXXL (Chapter 1)

Rating: E Words: 1,376 Relationships: Arnaghad/Erland Additional Tags: Order Of Witchers, Young OG Husbands, Pre-Divorce, Nudity, Domestic Fluff, Slight Voyeurism, Masturbation

Summary: Erland is determined to win the most difficult battle he's ever faced: getting Arnaghad to wear weather-appropriate clothing that properly covers every inch of his body. No matter how much the big bastard insists he's fine without it.

AO3 LINK

——————————————————————————————

Splayed out across their warm, wide bed, well-rested and better-fucked, Erland decides to indulge himself in his most favorite pastime. While he gets to spend the rest of the morning acting the layabed until the older trainees need their Signs training, Arnaghad has to get up early to clear the autumn’s first snow out of the courtyard —the tall bastard drew the short stick on duties last week, and had been none too amused when Erland made that exact joke. He can’t find it in himself to regret it. Even as the sheets beneath him lose their body heat, ogling his love keeps him plenty warm. Arni’s putting his clothes back on, unfortunately, but a clothed Arnaghad is still more than appealing enough, so Erland watches him anyway.

Linen braies, the pair with a hole in the gusset. Leggings of thick, waterproofed wool, wrapped in furs and lattice-tied around thick calves. Erland lingers his gaze there a minute longer, misses the layered tunics, but he manages to catch the curve of Arnaghad’s arse disappearing under his belted skirts. The bastard seems to know what he’s doing too, bending over his clothes-chest just so to dig out the rest. Soon enough, he’s ready to go, throwing on his winter cloak, a sturdy garment made of two elk-hides stitched together, and pushing their door open.

The damn thing slips off his shoulders. The hood barely stays on his head. The hem barely brushes his mid-thighs.

Arnaghad doesn’t even seem to notice, just ducks out into the corridor, leaving Erland to scramble out of bed, pulling a blanket with him to shield his bare arse from the cold. It drags several meters behind him on the stone floor, and he nearly trips on it, catching himself on the godsforsaken cloak. He straightens up, and tugs it deliberately. Arnaghad moves on his own, thankfully, raising one auburn brow in confusion, because he’s a thick-skulled idiot.

“Arni, what the bloody feck’re you doin’?”

His voice comes out slightly hoarse, his throat still more than a little sore from earlier, but it only makes that eyebrow lift further.

“Going.”

“With tha’ cloak? Ye’ll freeze half tae death if that damned thing won’t cover you.”

“Tch,” Arnaghad scoffs, “It’s fine, it’s not yet winter. I’ll add another elk-hide later if it makes you happy.”

No he wouldn’t. Erland knew that damn well, so he has to solve the problem, or else Arnaghad would just keep wearing the cloak as is for the rest of the winter, stoic no matter how cold it gets. He can’t exactly give Arni any of his clothes though, the big bastard could probably wear his shirt like a mitten. An idea strikes him. Quickly, he turns around, strides to the stool by the fireplace, and whips his blanket off to lay it across his lap. He finds the shorter edge with one hand, holding the other outstretched.

“Give me yer knife.”

Arnaghad hasn’t moved, still hunched to fit inside the doorway.

Erland scowls, folding the blanket in half.

“You heard me. The trainees can wait two minutes, now shut tha door, I’m freezin’ my balls off. And give me yer knife.”

“You gonna make me a cloak out of that in two minutes?”

“Yes.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches those massive shoulders shrug, displacing the elk-hide onto Arnaghad’s back. Still, he finds the weight of a knife in his hand, the hilt too large to wrap his fingers around. The blade works just fine though, sharp enough to cut halfway through the woolen blanket without fraying the edges too much —he’ll have to hem it later, but for now, it’ll do. Most cloaks are just blankets with hoods anyway, and this one will keep his love warm. A motion of his hand brings Arnaghad closer, and a glare makes him bend down so Erland can drape his invention around those impossibly broad shoulders. The blanket, cut halfway in half, lets Erland tuck Arni’s head into the split. He brings each “arm” across Arnaghad’s torso before tucking them against his sides.

“Hold this,” he says.

“I have work to do,” Arnaghad grunts, but complies, “I’ll be late.”

“Then be late, and even better, be warm while ya do it.”

Just to soothe him, Erland makes sure to twist his hips that little bit more, and bends over that same chest of clothes until he finds his prize: a thick leather belt, also made of elk-hide because Arnaghad has a trunk like an oak tree. As deftly as he can, he wraps it around Arnaghad’s waist. It takes a bit of dexterity, pressing himself close to swing one end of the belt and catch it with his other hand, but he manages to tie it over the crossed blanket ends. He takes a step back, ignoring how even that flash of proximity made his cock twitch.

It looks…… good, actually.

The woad-blue flatters Arnaghad’s tanner skin, and the drape of the wool over all his other layers makes his chest look that much broader. The belt ties it all in, gives his big body some shape. Even better, his cloak goes down to Arnaghad’s knees, sheltering the thighs that Erland adores more than he cares to admit. The furs on his calves can handle the rest. Fuck knows what they’ll do if Arnaghad keeps growing though. It’s slowed, but as far as he knows, his love has seen twenty-eight winters, well past the age when he should have stopped getting any damn taller.

“Am I free to go now?” Arnaghad asks, a teasing kilt in his bass voice.

When Erland looks up, those amber eyes almost shine down with fondness. Arni smiles ever-so-slightly with that wide mouth, almost hidden by his dark beard, and brings an arm around to his backside. His hand covers Erland’s entire arse, and he wishes that didn’t make him so hard. He fights back a blush. The snow does have to get ploughed, after all. So does he, but that can wait. Probably. Summoning all his strength, he wills his prick to calm down, because he hasn’t pissed yet this morning, and he doesn't make a habit out of making chores for himself.

“Mhm, so don’ make yerself later.”

“Hmm.”

“You’re welcome, by tha way.”

A kiss finds Erland’s crown, and with a parting squeeze to his arse, Arnaghad turns for the door again, leaving Erland behind with his knife, no blanket, and a cock hard enough to hammer nails. After a minute or so, he chances opening the shutters to their room’s narrow window to stare at the training yard so many meters below. Snow keeps drifting down, but it’s no match for Arnaghad. His Aard has never been particularly powerful, but it’s enough to wash entire swaths of the courtyard clean, pushing the snow towards the gate. There, Arnaghad flexes his shoulders, broad as the walls themselves. Erland palms his dick, running a too-dry palm over himself and contemplating if it would be worth missing a moment of this view to go fetch some oil. But the blue cloak stretches a touch tighter over Arnaghad’s back, so Erland just spits in his other hand, switches his grip, and strokes himself properly.

With a shovel large enough for a normal man to sleep in, Arnaghad shoves the snow outside the gates, and Erland knows damn well it’s piled so that if an Igni gets out of control, it will melt down the mountain. He has it down to an artform. Squats so those massive thighs flex with exertion under his cloak, stabs through the snow, and drives it like an ox plow. Rinse and repeat. By the sixth round, Erland has to spit on his hand again. By the fourteenth, when Arnaghad stops to lean against the wall and stretch, his calves feel taut as a bowstring. It’s then that the big bastard turns on a dime, staring right at him with dark, heavy eyes. The elk coat slips off his shoulder. His blue cloak, with rough edges and cut by Erland’s own hand, is still too short, but the color is lovely, and more importantly, it makes Arnaghad look like his.

Erland comes into his fist three strokes later.

——————————————————————————————

This was a delight to write, and since that video lived rent-free in my head for a good long while, I hope this ficlet does the same for you, Milena!! A part two is going up either tomorrow or later this week!

As for the cloak that Erland made in this chapter, you can make it too!! While similar versions have been found in many different cultures because of it's incredibly simple and practical design, the ruana is a traditional pre-Colombian garment from South America, a warmer cousin to the poncho. It's meant to stave off the cold of the Andes mountains, and from personal experience, I can say that it works! To make one, either follow Erland's process above and hem/trim the edges, or use this fun little tutorial.

——————————————————————————————

Taglist: @hellinglasses, @hungarianbee, @halehathnofury, @tumbleweedtech, @round--robin, @on-a-lucky-tide, @keirametzbrassknuckles, @girls-and-honey, @the-butch-of-blaviken, @alllthequeenshorses, @t4tlambert, @karolincki (if anyone wants to be added/removed, pm me and I'll have it done no problem)

[valandhirwriter]

The Survivors Chapter 1 & 2

A whiff of vengeance

The cell was not pitch dark through the narrow Crennel in the wall came just enough light to see the rock walls and the iron grate that separated the cell from the rest of the dungeon. Everything beyond faded into black and umbra, and only a cool draft betrayed that somewhere must be access to fresh air. Nothing down here gave the slightest hint where exactly this particular cell and dungeon might be situated. Besides being a captive it was what Emhyr found the most frustrating. Being betrayed and falling into the hands of the North was bad enough, but not being able to guess who had him and plan accordingly, was simply vexing. The guards wore no coat of arms and they never spoke, so there were no accents to place, no backgrounds to carefully gauge.

He had been down here for at least seven days, maybe more and no one had so much as spoken a word to him or tried to interrogate him. They just let him stew, and wait for whatever was to happen to him. The sheer boredom of days locked up was the worst kind of torture. By now Emhyr would have preferred some bad-mannered interrogator, he could have handled the pain better than being bored out of his mind. He had tried to provoke the guards into speaking, but whatever else they were, they were silent. No answer, no reaction, and they kept their distance from his cell. The one who brought his food twice a day had his face veiled and the helmet’s vizor down, so there was nothing to say about him.

After these seven days, Emhyr had even run out of theories about what kind of inane plot this was. If this was a Nilfgaardian plot he’d have long known, either because he would have been killed to clear the path to the throne for another candidate, or learned the conditions of his release, depending on the type of conspirators. He wondered whether his captors were trying to negotiate with a third party, or worse: with Nilfgaard itself. There was no one of truly court rank in the North to take the task, so it would fall to the military hierarchy. Marshall Coehoorn would be a candidate, or General Riagain of Impera Guard, and this again was the shear between life and death for Emyhr. Coehoorn would not negotiate for Emhyr’s life, not because he was disloyal, he was passably loyal, but because the Empire could not negotiate for the life of the Emperor. Let him die and begin anew, his response would be Nilfgaard through and through. With General Riagain Emhyr could hope he would negotiate, and be it only to win time to get to Emhyr. Not that Declan Riagain was not Nilfgaardian through and through, Emhyr would never make the mistake to assume that, but he was the kind of man, who questioned the automatic rules of the Empire quite fiercely. That was what had led him into the rebellion against the Ursurper at a tender age and long before there had ever been any hope for Emhyr’s return to the homeland. Someone who had beaten the odds several times would believe he could do it again.

Emhyr scoffed at himself. Who was he trying to lie to? He was banking on Riagain’s personal loyalty to Emhyr, the man, as opposed to Emhyr the Emperor. And those would have run thin in seventeen years since Emhyr took the throne.

A sudden noise startled him out of his reverie, it was the harsh sound of steel clashing on steel, followed by the sound of a body dropping on the stone floor. The noise rapidly repeated twice, two guards must have gone down in rapid succession. The remaining guards, an impressive number of about ten, hastened towards the end of the dungeon where the noise came from. Ten people, Emhyr winced. If the intruders were not prepared for that, it might spell doom for them. He listened intently, the fighting noise came in short bouts, sounds of steel, the sickening noise of blades eating through armour and flesh, and the dropping of corpses on the floor. Heavy steps came closer, and the last of the guards tried to jump the attacker as he came in sight. Emhyr narrowed his eyes, in the shadows of the dungeon he could see a huge man coming towards his cell, a giant of a man, seven feet tall, and with shoulders that would have served a blacksmith proud. He walked briskly right into the trap.

Emhyr wanted to shout a warning, but a small voice inside him cautioned him to draw attention to himself. Whatever came down that hallway was a predator, something more dangerous than the remaining guard, or anyone else here for that matter. The guard made his move, trying to get the big man in the back, but he came around with the lethal speed of a rattlesnake and grabbed the guard by the throat with one hand, lifting him up and a blade in his other hand sliced the man up before he threw him aside like a rag-doll.

Then the giant stood in front of the cell, in the dim light Emhyr could see he had a mass of wild hair, falling to his shoulders and he was wearing armour, strange deep golden eyes shimmering in the darkness. A Witcher. He had never heard of a Witcher of that size and stature. Even the big Wolf was not a giant like that, and Emhyr had taken the pains to learn about the Witchers still living. The giant closed his hands around the bars, his muscles tensed and then he tore the bars directly from the walls. Stone splintered, and dust and debris rained down as he cast the bars aside. “You want out of here, or do you prefer to stay?” he asked.

It was not an invite that needed a repeat, Emhyr stepped out of the cell. “I think I have quite outstayed my welcome here,” he observed dryly. He was well aware he might just get into more danger than before, but if it gave him back some agency to determine his own fate, he would take it.

“Come along,” the giant had a deep resonating voice and Emhyr detected the hint of an accent in his Nilfgaardian, a familiar accent at that. Not enough to pinpoint his origins yet, but he was definitely of southern extraction, which was odd. There had been no Witchers from south of Cintra in at least two hundred years.

“Whoever sent you here, you have my gratitude,” he said as they headed through hallways littered with corpses, it seemed his rescuer had left no one alive. It was more of a show of force than Witchers usually employed against humans, except when their hand was forced.

The tall man scoffed. “Your General of the Black, the furies take and fuck him senseless, has two men in his cells that I want. So I’ll bring him his beloved Emperor back, you want to show gratitude? You make sure that man keeps his word, he seems like one who would, but that General of Ard Feainn is a bastard, literally.”

Emhyr frowned. “The General of the Black Infantry? General Maromar fell in battle half a year ago,” he said wondering what kind of deal this was, what kind of captives the Witcher wanted.

“The Black is led by one of their other officers, shouldn’t have called him General, though that’s the job he does.” Was the answer, as the tall man pushed open a postern and stepped outside, carefully checking the surroundings before waving Emhyr to follow.

They had exited through a postern and stood in the woods, northern woods as far as Emhyr could see. Now that he had real light, he could see his rescuer clearer. He was definitely southern, with deep bronze skin and dark brown hair, held back in braids. Now the accent made sense. Gemmerean, old Gemmerean in fact, the old populace of the recalcitrant region had mainly been deported and replaced by Imperial settlers. Emhyr had rarely seen a pureblooded Gemmerean and certainly never one who was free. “That would be Captain ni Erim then,” he said as they headed downhill and into the woods. “I wonder why you have not broken your friends out of whatever cells he has them in?” The Black stood in the Kestrell foothold at the moment, one of his most advanced positions in the north. “You seem uniquely equipped for the job.”

“Maybe,” the tall man whistled sharply and a huge shaggy horse emerged from the underbrush, and he gestured Emhyr to get into the saddle. “I could break them out and slaughter your troops, no problem. But the little Griffin was in bad shape when he was thrown in and the old Griffin let himself get grabbed to stay with him. So I’d prefer them back along with their gear the civilized way.”

Two more Witchers, Emhyr translated in his mind. “If you believe Captain ni Erim has two Griffin Witchers in his dungeons then you are sadly mistaken,” this would need some sorting and really fast. “the last Griffins were killed by Leo Bonhart, a despicable individual for sure. Captain ni Erim captured the Koviri Ghosts, two northern mercenaries who certainly gave us no little trouble.” Which was an understatement, the Koviri Ghosts had caused losses that were not acceptable and they had thwarted more Nilfgaardian plans than any other free group in the North had in recent years.

He expected anger or maybe the arrogance a certain Wolf Witcher tended to display when confronted with the duplicities of fate, but instead, the tall Witcher laughed a booming laugh. “I almost like you, Emperor, you missed your calling as a comedian. If that grand theatre in the golden City still stands, you might try your hand there. Make the bloody capital laugh. The Koviri Ghosts are Griffin Witchers, and whatever you did to piss them off must be big. The old Griffin would not go as far, except mighty angered.”

There was a wealth of information in those words, the reference to the grand theatre and his speaking of the golden City instead of the City of Golden Towers. Both were things that were long gone or had fallen out of use. Again, Emhyr eyed the man that walked beside the horse. If one did not know what he was, one might think he was a mercenary in his mid-forties, or maybe a little older, just shy of fifty. But he must be much much older. From his vantage point he could spy the various braids that ran through the man’s hair, one was held together by a pearl of a greenish-black material, engraved with a Gemmerean tribal pattern, Jaguar tribe. They had been extinct for more than three hundred years, the last of them taken down by Emperor Hereward’s expedition and the few survivors put in chains and sold as slaves some of them ending up in the grand arena of the Golden City. Who knew how one of them ended up becoming a Witcher?  “What is your name?” he asked. “I believed most of the Witchers were dead, except a few wolves and vipers.”

A snort was his first answer. “You know about Wolves and Vipers because they tend to make a ruckus. There are still cats around, Griffins, a few of mine as well. Name’s Arnaghad, of the Bears.”

Arnaghad, an ancient Gemmerean name, their word for the Morningstar. Emhyr smiled sardonically. Arnaghad of the Bears indeed, and he was the founder of Bear school, their Grandmaster. Presumed dead for at least two decades, another claim going to a nasty bounty hunter, much in Bornhart’s vein. “Why do you want the Koviri Ghosts free?” he inquired pretending to be loosely interested. “I seem to recall that Bears and Griffins were not on the best terms,”  and that was putting it lightly. The leaders of those schools had been known to be enemies, having fought each other fiercely, when the old Witcher Order fell apart. It had grown into a tale, a story that – omitting it was about witchers – was still told and told again, about two warriors, friends, comrades in arms and their falling out becoming lethal enemies, fighting a fierce duel that would leave one crippled and the other scarred in the face.

“What would you know about that?” Arnaghad scoffed. “you wouldn’t even understand what drove Erland and me to fight that day, what happened since and why I want him and the little Griffin out of there. Like I don’t wonder why that Captain of yours is so hell-bent on getting you back, instead of happily planning a military coup with himself as the next Emperor, as any good Nilfgaardian should.”

And there was another nugget of information that Emhyr had not possessed before – Erland, the name was inconspicuous enough but in conjunction with Griffin school it revealed another ancient Witcher, the founder of the School and very man, legend attributed as the mortal enemy of Arnaghad. Maybe this was about revenge and whoever the ‘little Griffin’ was, was unlucky enough to get caught in the middle. Harsh fate, if true, but Emhyr could care less, if Arnaghad killed both of them as slowly as he desired, once he got his hands on them. Sometimes one had unfinished business and needed to take care of that. “You can have both along with their worldly possessions, once we reach the Nilfgaardian lines, and a handsome reward for saving me, on top of that.” Bears had been mercenaries enough to not be offended or complicated about the coin.

“Good,” Arnaghad appeared satisfied. “It’s not all that far. We should reach your lines during the night, just keeping us away from the main roads.”

For a while there was silence, Emhyr thinking through what he knew, calculating. It was autumn already, winter would soon be there, and there would be no fresh campaign before spring. Probably also time enough for Arnaghad to exact whatever revenge he had in mind on the two captives. “Tell me, Arnaghad,” he began speaking again. “would you be interested in more work, come spring? I might have use for a man of your particular skills.”

Deep golden eyes cast him a glare. “Novigrad, and whatever is left further north, I take it.” He grumbled. “might cost you mighty, if I am to help you to get past the Koviri Wall, a bit cheaper if it is just slaughtering Novigrad. Not that I see why you need me to bring the rest of the damn world under your yoke.”

He was Gemmerean and most likely had little reason to be fond of the Empire. “There are a few more places than Novigrad,” Emhyr said vaguely. “but Novigrad possesses a few unique problems, that might be circumvented with a man of your skills. Think about it, there are chances for you there, and be the only chance to live a better life than you have in a long time.”

“You mean like fight for you, become a citizen of your blasted Empire and thus evade being harassed by all your goons?” Arnaghad shrugged. “Time will tell, quiet now.”

They left the forest and crossed a mud path and then several meadows, afar Emhyr could see fields, bare and sere in the light of the setting fall sun. Arnaghad led the horse across fast, and then towards a narrow bridge across a ravine, they moved unseen by anyone and within an hour they emerged from a winding path downhill and Emhyr suddenly recognized that they were back in conquered Temeria.

“Not far to one of your outposts now. Drackenwall fort is not far, that’s where the Black are holed up. They should have a mage to get you back under the protection of Impera before long.”

Again he kept them away from the main road, using paths through fields and forests. For Emhyr it was fascinating how a man and a horse could move through a well-populated landscape almost unnoticed. Especially someone who by his looks alone should stand out this far north. Again he wondered why Arnaghad had gone through all the trouble to handle a three-hundred-year-old revenge. Who knew? Some scars cut deep, his obviously did. Before long Drackenwall Fort came in sight, the soldiers standing guard were obviously aware of Arnaghad’s mission for they did not waste time on questions or discussions, but led them into the fort immediately.

Emhyr retreated behind the mask of the Emperor the moment they passed the gates of Drackenwall. The soldiers, the salutes, he registered it all, but kept his focus on the main conspirator of this mission: Captain Garanwyn ni Erim, surviving senior Officer of the frayed Black Infantry. Emhyr had known his name, it had come up often in recent campaigns, and now that he saw him, the face reminded him vaguely of someone, but he could not place the memory, which was irritating. The man saluted crisply and was about to call for healers when Emhyr stopped him. “I am unharmed, Captain,” he said firmly. “I am partially aware of the agreement you made with Arnaghad, but I need the full extend.”

“Full extent, Sire. He gets our two captives, much as my men would like to see them hang, along with their possessions and no one says one peep about it,” the Captain summed up the pragmatic deal he had made with the Witcher Mercenary. “I have no clue how he wants to control both captives, one was severely injured and survived what no man should survive, but has recovered by now. And the other we could never have taken alive, had he not given himself up to remain with his injured comrade.” The Captain had respect for that kind of courage, much as he must dislike his captives.

“No monetary compensation was promised?” Emhyr was surprised, if so, Arnaghad had truly just acted for his revenge, and he did not strike Emhyr as a stupid man.

“No, I did make the offer first, but he told me he wanted to be paid in lives, not in coin. That if he wanted coin he’d assassinate you and take the price the guild offers.”

Emhyr accepted the words without comment. Arnaghad would be paid, and handsomely so, and be it to entice him to seek work again. “Secure the captives for him,” he ordered, wanting this done before it became known he was back with Nilfgaard. Before the conspirators could learn how Emhyr escaped. It was an advantage he wanted to use.

The captives were brought up within half an hour, everything else had needed a short conferring with the quartermaster of the black. Emhyr caught a short glance at the two men brought up from the dungeon. One of them was about Arnaghad’s age, in his mid-forties, and clearly a Skelligan if tattoos and hair were anything to go by. The other was a young man, in his late twenties, with dark hair and a handsome face. He was pale, and could not deny he had recovered from severe injury just so. For a split second Emhyr wondered if this one had to die a gruesome death because he got into the conflict of two old enemies. No, it was not his problem, Emhyr told himself. If Arnaghad wished to be paid in blood, it was the cheapest coin the Empire had in supply. Hence he said nothing when Arnaghad led the three horses from the yard, after having stashed away his pay. Whatever would follow now, Emhyr did not truly wish to know.

Ghost of a memory

Arnaghad had walked steadily for two hours, leading the horses through the fields and occasional small forests of the Temerian landscape. He did not need to check whether the little Griffin kept in the saddle, Erland had mounted behind him, holding the exhausted younger Witcher steady. Arnaghad tried not to look at them more than he needed to, there was a tenderness in that gesture that was hard to mistake and that he did not quite want to think about right now. It would not surprise him that Erland had moved on, and found someone less prone to break his heart again. Though he wondered whether those two had started out before or after Kaer Seren fell. After, he guessed. Erland was too principled to have begun a relationship with one of his Griffins while he was still Grandmaster. Coën must be one of the younger generation Griffins, not a century old yet, so he’d come out of Kaer Seren not that long before the mages unleashed the landslide. 

Another hour and they reached the Kestrell foothills and Arnaghad led them into a dense forest, locals avoided that part of the woods because of the cursed mine further in.  Not far from the mine entrance, he pulled the horses to a halt, in a small clearing where he had hidden part of his equipment prior to this little mission. He had known the little Griffin was injured and not planned on walking far, after getting them out. He helped Coën down from the horse, the younger man was standing under his own power, but was definitely not firm on his feet. “Thank you,” he said earnestly.

“Nothing to thank me for,” Arnaghad grumbled, did the boy have to look at him like that? Like he had done something special? He had killed a bunch of idiots and saved an even greater idiot. Nothing special there.

“You saved our skins there,” Coën insisted, “they were talking about hanging us before their Captain announced that we were to be sold.”

Damn him, and his green puppy dog eyes. Small wonder Erland was taken with him, Arnaghad sighed. “Sit down, Coën, you are drained from too many heals,” a spear through the heart was lethal, even for a Witcher, though not instantaneous, as Coën had proved. 

They built a fire, Erland went and found a good number of edibles, roots mostly, that landed in the kettle along with some wild onions, mushrooms and herbs. It smelled delicious and made Arnaghad’s stomach rumble. He extricated one loaf of bread that he had acquired at the fort, from his saddle bag, it would go down well with the stew. When he turned around, he saw Erland look up at him. “It’ll be done soon,” he said, “I can go hunt later.” 

“I don’t plan to stay in this miserable place much longer,” Arnaghad announced. He had intended to talk to them, see if he could convince them to come along. But now, he was not so sure any more. Or maybe he just did not dare to ask and subject himself to the pain of seeing them like this every day. 

“We do have a hideout further north,” Coën told him, “you’d be welcome to stay with us. Winter is close already.” 

“I know where you are hiding, little Griffin,” Arnaghad growled. “when I first realized who the Koviri Ghosts were, I knew you’d be in the labyrinth under Mount Gryphon. This one,” his eyes pointed to Erland, “probably can still talk Gryphons into tolerating him in their terrain. So it’s not hard to guess where you are holed up.”

He knew he had it right, judging by the glances they exchanged. “You’d still be welcome,” Erland told him. 

Now Arnaghad rolled his eyes. Did Erland really think he would do this to himself? “I have no intention of spending my winter in a damned cave and hunting for food in the frozen wilds,” he said gruffly. He wondered if he should offer them to come with him. But that would make things complicated again. Coën was probably able to stick to the rules. Erland on the other hand… that was a horse of a different colour. 

They lapsed into silence again, which was easier. Most of the time they did not need words to function together. Arnaghad could not help watching Erland and Coën, their interactions were easy, very well used to each other, but oh - there was a tenderness between them that cut right into him. That expression in Erland’s eyes… there had been a time, it had been solely reserved for Arnaghad. And the little Griffin, he was just as cute, and his love for the grey Gryphon so obvious. Small wonder Erland had fallen for him, probably couldn’t help it. Arnaghad had to admit, it was good taste. Coën was rather good-looking, even disregarding the faint scars on his jaw, they were barely visible. Long hair, the colour of the night, and his eyes were green and gold, he reminded Arnaghad of a caracal, back in his long-lost homeland. He sighed and looked away, no use torturing himself with things he could not have. “Try to get some sleep,” he suggested. “so we can move out by nightfall.”

Sleep had been elusive for Arnaghad, he had tried to close his eyes and will himself to sleep, like he usually did. This time it did not work. Too keenly he was aware of the other two men on the other side of the fire. He had turned their back to them, to not having to see them, curl in with each other. They held back on any overt displays, for which he was somewhat grateful. But maybe… maybe at least seeing Erland kiss Coën, seeing that passion again, would not be that bad. Would it? He turned to the other side, but kept his eyes closed.

No. He told himself firmly. He could not have that. Erland had clearly moved on and the young Griffin had his heart now. Maybe it was fair even. Erland had no one else, he had lost his entire school to the massacre. That one young Griffin was all he had left, and he probably needed him to justify still living. Arnaghad did not want to see the battle where Erland went down, it would take a horde of monsters or a small army of humans to wear him down, his powers had not waned and he was still strong, maybe stronger than before, and his age had yet to catch up with him. When he finally fell, it would be a terrible sight to behold, and many would have to die to pave his path to the underworld. Maybe, Arnaghad thought sardonically, one should leave Emhyr and his dratted Empire to the experience, give them the chance to see what happened when the feared Koviri ghost had nothing to lose any more. Only… he did not want to see that day. With that thought, Arnaghad drifted off into restless sleep.

The skies were the colour of blood, and the storm had not ceased for days. Somewhere to the east the fires were still burning into another sunless day. No one had made it out of Angren alive, rumors about shambling corpses and bone monsters were abound instead. He rode down into the valley, the Yaruga’s banks were covered with black corpses, wings and claws torn from huge bodies and thrown to the side, black blood oozing into the ground. 

He found them on the outcropping of what had been once Watchhill, nothing of the settlement remained. His heart clenched when he saw them, no more than a dozen. Was that all that was left? Erland looked at him, his pale hair smeared with black blood, but Lifebrand still in his hand, Coën, grey and grim beside him. “You came,”

“I told you I’d be there,” he told them, dismounting. “how bad is it?” 

“See for yourself,” Erland pointed south, on the other river bank the horde had gathered, hundreds of thousands of black creatures amassing there, under a banner of blood. The endless host was assembling for one last battle, to squash the last lines of defence. “This is what we were to stop,” Erland said softly. 

“Even with the entire power of the schools in their glory days behind us, we’d be hard-pressed to stop it,” Coën said in a hard voice. “that second conjunction should have warned us, warned them. You told them we needed to rebuild, you warned them all. Both of you. And they screamed murder at you for the thought we might begin training again. It’s the end they chose for the world.” 

There had been a time, when Coën had been an idealist, but that had long died, and been replaced with a grim, dark acceptance of the world as it was. It still hurt to see, sometimes. Arnaghad clapped his shoulder. “Even if we had the numbers, we’d still need the army of the fallen, and there hasn’t been a dread commander since Wilfried committed suicide. So let’s make those monsters pay a price like never before, for taking us down.” 

There was one last embrace for them, a last moment holding onto each other, before they turned around, ready to fight. “Who ever gets to that afterlife, find Geralt and kill him for ever claiming that child surprise.” Arnaghad did not want to hear that hard, pained anger in Erland’s voice, but silently he agreed. The horde surged, winged beasts taking to the air, as the foot creatures stormed ahead. The end had come. 

Arnaghad woke with a start and bit down hard on his fist to not make a noise. Another of those dreams, another nightmare. He tried to relax, to stay still, not move. Not give away he had been restless. This one was new. He had seen a few others in those dreams. Ivo, Letho, Aukes, a few others. Erland and Coën were new, though the scenario was not. Was this what would become of them? Grim and their beliefs so utterly broken? Kept together by duty and by pain? He was not sure. Stranger even what Erland had said in the dream about Geralt. It was so out of character that Arnaghad was inclined to attribute it importance. Was this a key thing, or just another wild speculation? He was not sure. 

“You can’t go on like this,” the words startled him, it was Coën speaking, very softly, clearly trying not to wake someone. “he did this not for me, Erland, he did it for you, and one has to be blind to not see the way he is looking at you.”

Arnaghad froze in place, he had not intended for either of them to see his dilemma, the feelings that meeting Erland inevitably brought up. But obviously, Coën had picked up on them. 

“I am not going to drop you, Coën, just to find out whether or not Arnaghad still might have lingering feelings for me,” Erland’s voice was tense, there was an echo of sadness and of pain hidden beneath the words. 

“You never lied to me,” Coën said softly, “you told me, right from the start that you loved another. You were honest with me back then, so why back out now? I always knew this could happen.” 

“Coën,” Erland’s voice sank to a hushed whisper, “do you really think losing you would hurt any less?” 

Arnaghad blinked through his eyelashes, just enough to see the other side of the burned-down fire. Coën and Erland were both awake, sitting, arms around each other, their forehead’s touching. 

“What if… what if no one has to lose?” Coën asked just as softly. “If your bear could tolerate me around? He seems kinder than Keldar’s tales made him out to be.” 

There was so much hidden pain, crushed hope, in those words, that Arnaghad could no longer pretend to be oblivious to their conversation. He pulled in his legs, came up and walked over, both were startled by his sudden movement. He sat down beside them, so he’d be able to wrap his arms around both of them, though he refrained from actually touching them. “I wish,Coën,” he said. “I wish I could come with you, and get to know you. I have no doubt I’d like you because I know Erland has good taste when it comes to his men,” He tried to imagine it just for a moment, and it hurt like hell. “so I think I could handle two Griffins,” he could, it would be so easy, but he had to be stronger. “But I can’t. I have to get back somewhere, things to do, and…” He did not manage to say it, say that they had to split again. 

Suddenly he felt Coën’s hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing it. “And if we came with you?” he asked. “You saved us from being hanged by the black soldiers, so we could help you in turn?”

And now it had happened, the question had been asked, and he would have to answer it. How could he even? Telling them to go and remain the Koviri Ghosts, and one day seeing the contract on their heads… he could not, much as he felt it was prudent. 

“Arnár?” Erland asked, he too had reached up and his hand was on Arnaghad’s other shoulder, part of a circle that could easily become an embrace. “Something is wrong, is it?”

“There’s a place, I could take you to,” Arnaghad said after a long while, “a good place, I like to think. But… there are rules and the rules are vital for all of our survival. There are more people there than just me, and Erland… you are used to making your own rules, you never bowed to any pressure, not even to the mages…” and he did not want that conflict again. He admired the sheer stubborn will of his former lover, but he also knew that it was better to not collide with him. 

Erland looked down, averting his eyes. “I’ve learned a few lessons since then,” he said in a hush, before looking up, face composed. “What kind of rules?”

“First - you can’t bring anyone to our hideout. Even I have to ask Ivo and Velcan to agree - we all three decide if we take someone in, no one else gets a say, and no one else learns of our place. Even if you have to leave someone behind, knowing they will die, you can’t bring them without permission. This is absolute. So no rescuing of some poor people, or rather: you can rescue them and leave them to make use of their lives. No bringing them close to our hideout. Keeping the secret of where our place is, goes with it. This is absolute.” 

He saw Erland’s nod and went on. “Second - people we bring in must contribute, they must have skills we need. There’s a list of skills we are looking for. If you ever want to suggest someone who would qualify, that person must be willing to break off all ties with the world, with their family and with loved ones. Who goes with us, is dead to the outside world. Third - our politics, we do take political contracts, and we usually have an eye on the scales of power. Hate the Empire all you like, but we do work for them, for coin. And you can be ordered on a distasteful mission, and you will be expected to complete the mission without deviations. Meaning if that arrogant Emperor makes a decent offer next spring, we’ll have no problem opening Novigrad for him and watch his troops burn and loot the place. We are done with weighing good and bad human politics, we don’t care, that’s their game. Any contract that is not a monster, or some run-of-the-mill ‘track the vanished merchant and bring him home’ stuff, any contract that is potentially political, gets approved by the council before you do it.” His eyes went to Erland, who had listened quietly. 

“Your conclusion from what happened to the schools, I take it,” Erland observed.

Arnaghad shook his head. “My conclusion of what happened to us, from the beginning. Among other things. You can see where the problem lies?”

Coën nodded, his eyes were on Erland, who still seemed pensive. “You don’t have to consider this,” he said gently, he did not seem shaken by what Arnaghad had set out. “I know in your heart you were already struggling with being one of the Ghosts, and this… this is a step harder. We can go back north, come nightfall.”

“No,” Erland looked up, an odd expression in his eyes. “I am too old, too exhausted to still give up the people that are important to me.” He sought Arnaghad’s gaze. “And I’d like very much to reconnect with you if this does not mean losing Coën as a result. If that means I have to do things I was too arrogant about in the past, so be it. I am done with putting the world first,” 

The words shocked Arnaghad more than he could express. He did not know what had happened to Erland, what had broken him to the extent that he had dropped his beliefs, his ideals, the things that he had learned from their teacher long ago. Something must have almost destroyed him. He also noticed how Coën wrapped his arm more tightly around Erland’s side like to shield him. So he knew what had happened and it had been bad. Anything that could make Erland of Larvik break from his code of honour had to be worse than bad. “To be clear,” he said his own voice suddenly a bit shaky. “I would like to have both of you very much, but if you agree to this, you can be asked things… say to go and take out the Koviri Kings, or worse.” 

Erland closed his eyes for a moment, and when he looked up, they were utterly quiet. “I am not the man you once knew any more, Arnár, my Morningstar. He died when he failed to rescue his brothers from the slaughter. So command me, tell me whom you need killed, and I’ll do it, except Coën and you.” 

The old endearment, that name… spoken like that, with that rough voice, Arnaghad could not help it, he wrapped his arms around both of them, pulling them close. “You’ll come with me,” he whispered. “I’ll take this to Ivo before nightfall. You have been out here too long, let the bear take care of you.” 

***

Arnaghad had headed away from camp, just enough to be out of hearing range, voices distracted him too much. He knelt down under a huge beech tree and tried to focus, but his mind slipped time and again. He could not let go of what he had just witnessed. He had never known much about the collapse of Kaer Seren, only that it had come fast and brutally. But there was obviously more to say. He huffed and placed both of his hands against his chest, trying to focus again. Erland would probably pick up on this straight away, once he was taught. He had a knack for this kind of thing. Another attempt and finally Arnaghad felt the pulse of his amulet, echoing into his mind like another heartbeat, like a drum echoing from far away. He steadied his breathing and let himself fall into that sound, the echo becoming one with his heartbeat. 

The world around him faded and became grey, without contour and colour. Like an unfinished drawing, and strange pale echoes around him. Suddenly he saw two other figures opposite of him, Ivo and Velcan, both in the same meditation pose. Ivo looked up first. “Rumours claim Nilfgaard still has a certain dour Emperor,” he said, his voice gently amused. 

“I had no doubt, the big bear would drag him back,” Velcan added, of the three he was the one who’s stature did not match the titular beast of their school. “But if that were all, Arnaghad would not call for us like that. What went wrong, old friend, I can sense you are disturbed.”  Velcan could always read people, a boy that should not have lived but who had dragged himself up the mountain and through the trials to develop surprising skills. 

“I got the Koviri Ghosts out of the Nilfgaardian’s clutches,” Arnaghad told them, he had had his own guesses about them and confirmed those guesses before going in to deal with the black, but he had not told his comrades about all that, and they were still on the assumptions they made when he had moved out to do this. “and we were wrong, it wasn’t Keldar and Solan, as we guessed. It was Coën and Erland, they did not die in Brenna.”

“Erland lives?” There was a surprise in Ivo’s voice, like always his mind voice still had the accent of the mountain boy, that he had lost in life long ago. “Is this good or bad for us, bear? He should have all the knowledge, that Keldar had, and more. He was the one who started the whole Griffin memorizing thing after all, or he should know where the rest can be found. But where Keldar might have hated us but helped for Solan’s sake… with Erland…”

“Erland is willing to join us,” Arnaghad said. “along with Coën. Ivo, something has happened to him, something that broke him.”

“Insane?” Velcan asked cautiously.

“No! He is fully rational, essentially the same man we all knew, but… his ideals seem dead.” Arnaghad tried to describe it, but he still struggled to imagine Erland without them. He had so often wished, Erland would agree with him on certain things, drop that bullshit he had been taught as a youth and see the world the way Arnaghad did. And now… now that he was getting his wish, he was not sure if he truly wanted it. 

“So someone finally made him confront the world, and broke that arrogance of his,” Ivo said without malice. “harsh, but it might save him in the long run. You want to bring him in?” 

Sometimes Ivo went too easy on him, Arnaghad thought. He would always reach out and help Arnaghad, no matter what, even if he had reservations. He had taught Arnaghad that friendship made you stronger, not weaker. “Yes, both of them actually,” he said. “Erland won’t go anywhere without Coën, and I want them both with us. They are both good.”

“No doubt,” Velcan said. “Coën’s record of battles speaks for itself, even without him being the Grey one’s Winter Gryphon. As for Erland… with him, things might become easier. He was the original abomination, after all, his blood is probably better than all the other samples still buried under Kaer Seren.” 

Arnaghad was tempted to growl at Velcan for the use of that word. Abomination. It might be factual, with all the mages had done to enhance Erland’s skills, with all the experiments, but it was not a word he liked hearing. “I haven’t talked to him about this yet,” he replied. “only the basic rules, not a word more. Coën is still recovering from an almost lethal wound, and I would want this discussion somewhere a bit safer.” He hesitated for a moment. “Both showed up in one of my recent dreams.”

Velcan and Ivo exchanged a glance. “So I was right,” Ivo said softly. “I believed I had spotted them in a dream before, but was not sure about it, because I believed them both perished. Now that makes sense, and it concludes the debate - I might worry whether Erland truly is willing to fall in and accept orders, but with that, we need to bring them in. Bring both of them home, and we use the winter to talk all of this through.” 

***

When Arnaghad made his way back to their camp, he encountered Coën, who slowly walked back as well, he had probably just answered a call of nature. He walked still slowly, deliberately, the healing had taken too much out of him. Wordlessly Arnaghad headed over to support him. 

“Why did Erland let you walk alone?” Arnaghad grumbled, putting an arm around Coën just below the shoulders to help him. 

“I might not have told him,” Coën replied, carefully walking on. “I needed a moment alone, so did he, I think.” He turned his head, green eyes finding Arnaghad’s gaze and damn, he still had those puppy eyes. “Thank you,” he said.

Arnaghad stopped, finding a boulder so Coën could sit and take a break. He squatted down beside him. “For what?” he asked. “You were wrong about one thing: I didn’t do this for Erland alone, I would have fished any of ours from their clutches,”

Coën’s smile held a tinge of sadness. “I guess I never realized the man you are,” he said. “so forgive my assumptions. I am just grateful that you…” his voice trailed off.

He needn’t say it, Arnaghad understood without hearing it. They both understood the pain of loving someone who might have his heart with someone else. “He loves you,” Arnaghad growled. “I could see it, the moment I met you two.”

“He loves you too,” Coën replied. “he told me, when… when it all began, that it was not fair, because he still loved you, and might never be able to give himself entirely to someone else.” The green eyes searched Arnaghad’s face. “and the thought of you… of not betraying you again… might be all that kept him going when…” he paled and shook his head. “in that place.”

Whatever had happened, they both had come through it, scars and all. What in the world could someone have wanted from Erland, that would constitute a betrayal of Arnaghad of all people? He had absolutely no idea. He could see that Coën did not really want to talk about ‘that place’ and what might have happened there. So he ignored it for now. “Erland has a big heart,” he said instead. “he can love the both of us, easily enough. If you can give an old bear a chance?” #

That got a small smile out of Coën, “I think I might just like that old bear,” he replied. “but we better get back to camp, before Erland realises I was gone.”

[keirametzbrassknuckles]

For the ship game: Arnaghad/Erland

Oh THEY... yes I ship it.

What made you ship it? - Over the past couple years there have been several absolutely bonkers fics for these two (your fic Calm Before the Storm was definitely one of them) that basically hoisted me by my own petard and threw me into it. Not something I could ever write I don't think but... they hurt so good it makes me feral.

What are your favorite things about the ship? - Star crossed tragic love story of two people who, despite everything and every effort and every shared experience, remain so fundamentally different that no amount of love can keep them from hurting each other. What's not to like?

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship? - sometimes I wish fics weren't afraid to make them hate each other more. Just for funsies.

[valandhirwriter]

Thanks for the Tag, @cilil

9 people you want to know better

Three ships: Emhyr/Eskel, Erland of Larvik/Arnaghad and… Boromir/Kíli (which makes only any sense for people who read The Raven’s Blade)

First ship: That was sooo long ago. Not sure where I could start. The one that might be recognizable to others at all, would be Canderous Ordo/Male Revan. I managed to raise a few eyebrows with that one back in the day. 

Last song: Sabaton: Shadows

Last movie: Cinema: Dune 2, Home Streaming: Pacific Rim

Currently reading: Grayson Steel and the Shrouded Council of London

Currently watching: The Acolythe, House of the Dragon

Currently eating: Nothing, had a salad for lunch

Currently craving: The focus to write again consistently. 

Tagging: @do-androids-dream-ao3acc @tigerlyla-of-metinna @andordean

@ginstermoff @dravenxivuk @lohrendrell

@laurikarauchscat, @tumbleweedtech, @round--robin

9 people you want to know better

Three ships: Angbang, Firebird and... hmmm... what am I feeling... I had a lot of Manwë/Fëanor feelings the other day

First ship: Since I'm not counting what happened before I had a grasp of what fandom is and naming names from my original work without context is likely uninteresting, that would also be Angbang

Last song: Something something Spirit of Justice OST

Last movie: It's been so long I don't remember...

Currently reading: Lays of Beleriand

Currently watching: Nothing that would count as a show in the traditional sense

Currently eating: I wish I was

Currently craving: See above + the energy to study and write

~

No pressure tags: @conkers-thecosy @valandhirwriter @greenapplespider @featheredmoonwings @tar-thelien

@distinguisheddwarffriend @thatonetimetraveller @fireheartedpup @thecourtshrieker