#iorveth is so pretty | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bard-llama · 11 months

Text

WiP Thursday AKA I was busy Weds: Petty Drama at Kaer Morhen

So I'm running out of things to post because I have been absorbed in this fic that has decided that it will both be very long and that it will not be separate chapters/the chapters will be massive. Like seriously, it's already 17.5k and we're in the first of 4 arcs/chapters. So figured I'd share a few scenes. (Warning for length 'cause I have no restraint.)

Summary: Before going to find Ciri, Geralt sought out allies to help him in the battle against the Wild Hunt, the battle to save his daughter. Unfortunately, he didn’t think to share the list of who all he was inviting with anyone – and it turns out, <i>many</i> of his friends actually hate each other. Nonetheless, they must work together to fight off the coming army.

(Apologies in advance for the formatting. Gods I hate how tumblr has changed.)

Arriving at Kaer Morhen

Now, finally, Roche and Ves were winding up the road to Kaer Morhen – and it turned out, they weren’t the only ones who had come to Geralt’s aid. In fact, quite a number of people seemed to have gathered in the keep to defend Geralt’s daughter – but neither Geralt nor his daughter were actually present yet.

“Once they arrive, it’s go time,” Eskel, one of Geralt’s witcher brothers, explained. “The Wild Hunt won’t be far behind.”

“How does Pretty Boy know so many people, anyway?” Lambert, another witcher, groused. “Even witchers from other fucking schools!”

“Oh?” Roche asked, genuinely curious.

It was at that moment that the fucking witcher who had killed Roche’s King walked in as if Geralt hadn’t said that he’d ‘dealt’ with the Kingslayer. Roche’s knives were in hand instantaneously, even though his odds of winning against a witcher weren’t great.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Eskel held his hand up. “We’re all here for the same purpose.”

The Kingslayer looked him over with little change in his expression, as though Roche had both gone unrecognized and been judged unimportant.

Roche snarled. “He killed Foltest!”

Eskel and Lambert both blinked in surprise. “He did?”

The Kingslayer shrugged shoulders that were ridiculously thick with muscle and even without the witcher mutations, he could probably take Roche down easily.

That didn’t mean Roche wasn’t ready to fight.

Ves stood beside him, blades at the ready, prepared to back him. It made him hesitate, swallowing hard. He was willing to go down fighting – but he couldn’t bring Ves down with him. The Kingslayer could probably kill them both without breaking a sweat.

Roche grit his teeth so hard his temple ached. This was Foltest’s killer. He couldn’t just let him get away.

But he also couldn’t get Ves killed. Not to mention, they were about to face an invasion by the Wild Hunt and the more bodies they had, the better.

Even if one of those bodies had murdered Foltest?

His hand was wrapped so tightly around his dagger that it was shaking, knuckles bloodless.

“Vernon Roche,” said a voice behind him that he hadn’t expected to hear ever again.

He whirled around. “Iorveth!”

Sure enough, the elf who had long been his enemy stood in the doorway of the witchers’ keep, looking at him with an arched eyebrow and half a smirk.

“Geralt invited you!?” Ves sneered in disbelief.

Iorveth tilted his head in greeting. “He failed to mention who else he was asking.”

“Yeah,” Roche grunted, noticing suddenly that his heart was racing in his chest. Why? Because he was ready to fight the Kingslayer… right? It couldn’t be just because Iorveth had appeared. “You and the fucking Kingslayer,” Roche grit out, turning away from Iorveth to glare at the hulking witcher.

It occurred to him that that meant turning his back on Iorveth, but he didn’t really think anything of it until Iorveth stepped up beside him, glare just as fierce as his own.

It was weird how standing shoulder to shoulder with Iorveth and Ves both just felt right.

“Letho,” Iorveth spat, hands on the hilts of his swords.

“Still alive, elf?” the Kingslayer greeted casually.

“No thanks to you.”

The Kingslayer just shrugged.

“Okay,” Eskel began, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Clearly Geralt knows a lot of people who hate each other. But you came for a reason, and that reason isn’t to fight each other. So you can leave or you can stay, but there will be no fighting except against the Wild Hunt.”

Ves growled, low in her throat, gaze darting to Roche’s. Roche licked his lips, aware that she was asking for orders. Which option would they choose? Would they leave – leave Geralt in the lurch? Or would they stay – stay and fight alongside the man who had murdered King Foltest?

“Fine,” Iorveth agreed to the terms, and suddenly the decision was easy to make.

“We’re staying,” Roche confirmed, though he didn’t let up in glaring at the Kingslayer.

Ves grumbled under her breath, fingers tight around the harpy talon she was wielding. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was one of the poisoned ones, too.

Would poison even work on a witcher?

“Great,” Eskel said tonelessly. “So let’s all lower our weapons, yeah?”

It was difficult to do so and it happened slowly. The whole while, the Kingslayer – who had never bothered to even reach for his weapons – looked unconcerned.

“So, just to be clear,” Lambert said, “all of you are enemies? And yet also friends with Geralt? Seriously?”

“Fucking witcher neutrality,” Ves muttered.

“Well,” Eskel said, looking exasperated, “come in, I guess. We have no idea how many more people to expect, but there’s plenty of room. The others are around somewhere.”

“How many others, exactly?” Iorveth asked, tension in his shoulders.

“So far? Nine,” Lambert grunted. “Mostly annoying sorceresses.”

“Oh?” Roche perked up, stepping into the living area and wondering if–

“Roche!” Triss Merigold, King Foltest’s favorite Court Mage, beamed at him from the other side of the fire. “It’s good to see you alive,” she said, too genuinely.

“You too,” he murmured, stepping closer.

Given permission, she lunged at him in a hug. “I’ve been hiding out in Novigrad,” she said. “It’s been awful.”

“Yeah,” Roche agreed. The way all their lives had gone since Foltest’s death was definitely awful. “We’ve been fighting Nilfgaard.”

“Of course you have,” Triss squeezed her arms around him and pulled back with a smile. “And – is that Iorveth?” she asked suddenly, looking past his shoulder.

Iorveth, the fucking bastard, waved.

“Apparently Geralt has a lot of friends,” Roche huffed. “Including the fucking Kingslayer.”

Triss’ face was grim. “Yeah. But we need all the help we can get.”

Roche’s grunt of agreement was begrudging.

Keira, another of Foltest’s mages, wiggled her fingers in greeting. She was looking a little worse for wear, actually, and she must have been able to sense his thoughts, because she scowled at him.

“Triss chose Novigrad to hide in. I chose Velen.”

“Ah.” Roche, who had been fighting in Velen the past several months, understood immediately. Velen was a fucking shithole. And he should know – he’d been born there!

“Who else is here?” Ves asked.

“Oh, well, there’s Yenn, she’s another sorceress. Yennefer of Vengerberg,” Triss said. “And Vesemir. He’s an older Wolf Witcher. Then Zoltan and Dandelion, you’ve met them. Ermion is a druid from Skellige and he apparently came independently of the new Skelliger Queen’s brother and childhood friend, Hjalmar and Folan.”

“The – Skellige has a Queen?” Roche blinked. News had been a little slow out in Velen, but damn, how did he miss that?

“Cerys an Craite,” Keira nodded. “The jarls chose her as their Queen. She’s working to unite the Isles.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Yeah. Her brother brags about her a lot, even though he got passed over for King.”

“Huh.”

“It’s annoying,” Keira said, and Roche’s lips twitched.

“That everyone?”

“Oh, and Avallac’h,” Lambert said. “He’s an elf, but not like a normal elf? I dunno, he’s very holier than thou about it.”

“Not like a normal elf?” Iorveth repeated, tone unimpressed.

“I am Aen Saevherne,” a voice said and Roche turned to see a tall silver-haired elf walking down the stairs that led into one of the towers.

“What does that mean?” Roche asked with a frown. He’d researched a fair amount about elves during his former work as a Scoia’tael hunter, but he could recall nothing of an ‘Aen Saevherne’.

“The best translation would be ‘elven sage’,” Avallac’h said.

Iorveth’s eye narrowed. “You have magic?”

“Beyond what you are capable of understanding,” Avallac’h said, and his standoffishness turned off more than just Iorveth, who glared.

Iorveth’s hatred of all things magic was rather notorious, actually. And here they were, surrounded by magic users – sorceresses and sages.

“There are other elven mages,” Roche pointed out. “So what makes you different?”

“I am from the world of the Aen Elle,” Avallac’h said proudly.

Roche, to whom that meant absolutely nothing, asked, “what are the Aen Elle? ‘Cause you’re Aen Seidhe, right?” he directed at Iorveth.

Iorveth hummed in agreement, watching Avallac’h carefully.

“On my world,” Avallac’h said, “it is elves who are the conquerors. We have never been subjugated.”

Iorveth’s fingers curled around his swords again.

“To be fair,” a new voice said, and Roche turned to see the dwarf he’d met in Flotsam when all the Kingslaying crap went down. Zoltan Chivay, standing next his ostentatious bard, looked them over with an arched eyebrow and continued, “elves were conquerors on this planet, too. Humans just did it better.”

“Chivay,” Iorveth spat with even more venom than the Kingslayer had gotten. Roche was surprised.

“Iorveth,” Zoltan responded flatly, unimpressed.

“You know each other?” Triss asked in surprise.

“Unfortunately,” they both said.

“How?” Dandelion the Bard asked, seemingly just as surprised as all of them.

Zoltan shrugged, “I’ve lived a long time.”

Iorveth scoffed softly, still glaring bloody murder. It was a glare that hadn’t been turned on Roche at all, Roche suddenly realized. The Kingslayer and Zoltan were openly hated, but the way Iorveth looked at Roche was different.

What did that mean?

“For fuck’s sake,” Eskel said, exasperated. “Does Geralt know anyone that doesn’t hate each other?” He shook his head. “Anyway, you guys can take any free room you come across. Make sure you check for cracks in the walls. We’re working on getting the keep patched up before the battle.”

“Great,” Roche said flatly. “Thanks.”

When Iorveth and Roche are catching up after ending up rooming together

“So you’re like… legit now? Except for the part where the rest of the North still considers you wanted?”

“The ‘rest of the North’ is basically just Redania now,” Iorveth pointed out, “and they have bigger concerns.”

Roche frowned. Iorveth wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Once, Temeria had been the forefront power in the North. And now…

“Why?” he found himself asking in a whisper.

“Mm?”

“Why did you help kill him?”

“Him – Foltest?” Iorveth checked, unconcerned.

Roche’s eyes narrowed. “Who else?” he bit out. “You helped the Kingslayer escape after killing my king.”

“And then got betrayed by him,” Iorveth pointed out.

“But before that betrayal, you were working together,” Roche said. “Why?”

Iorveth held his head high. “King Foltest was a threat to elves everywhere. Now he’s not.”

“Now Temeria is falling apart,” Roche snapped.

“Boohoo,” Iorveth scoffed. “Temeria was built on the ruins of my country, dh’oine. But you don’t even know what we were called, do you?”

Roche blinked. “Uh. No?”

“Dùthaich,” Iorveth said. “My country lasted five millennia before humanity destroyed it. So forgive me if I’m hardly heartbroken that the kingdom that replaced us has fallen.”

“It hasn’t fallen!” Roche protested. “Not yet!”

“Because you and your men are fighting off Nilfgaard?” Iorveth’s arched eyebrow was dubious, and it made Roche scowl.

“Yes. We will do whatever we must to save Temeria.” Roche closed his eyes with a sigh, acknowledging, “who’d ever have thought that we’d change positions, huh? Me as the rebel fighting against the odds and you all official now, serving a human monarch and everything.”

Iorveth snorted. “Don’t think anyone saw that coming.”

“And yet, here we are.” Roche rubbed his face, tired and worn. It had been a long time since he’d had something as comfortable as a bed to sleep on, and weariness pulled at his body.

“Here we are,” Iorveth echoed, and he could feel the weight of the elf’s gaze on him, though he couldn’t seem to manage opening his eyes to look. Iorveth huffed an amused breath. “Go to sleep, Vernon. I’ll wake you for dinner.”

If he had any sense, Roche would not decide to sleep with his enemy right there – but somehow, letting himself drift off to sleep was easy.

And Iorveth kept his word, though deciding to wake him up by playing a loud note on his flute right in Roche’s ear was entirely unnecessary.

“Dinnertime,” Iorveth smirked.

“Motherfucker,” Roche swore.

Iorveth laughed, leading the way out of their room and back down towards the common area of the keep.

Dinner was interesting. Roche chose to sit next to Triss and Keira, because he actually knew them, and they were sitting across from Dandelion and Zoltan, who he found acceptably friendly. So he didn’t think anything of it when he took his seat – except Iorveth sat next to him, glaring at Zoltan once more.

When Ves showed up, she leveled him with an unimpressed look and squeezed into the space between him and Triss when Iorveth refused to move.

Roche rolled his eyes with a huff, shoving Iorveth over so that he could scooch aside and leave Ves more room.

Iorveth grumbled, but moved closer to the Skelliger archer that was sitting across from what was apparently the brother of the Skelliger Queen.

The witchers all sighed, taking their seats with the Kingslayer farthest from Roche. Thank fuck. The standoffish elf and a dark haired sorceress who must’ve been Yennefer of Vengerberg sat at the end of the table, and she waved her hand with a murmured spell until the stew started dishing itself out, bowls floating down the table to sit before each of them.

Roche thought it was pretty cool, honestly, but Iorveth had a sour look on his face, glaring at his food like it might bite him.

The Skelliger Queen’s brother – what was his name again? Something with an H? – laughed. “Yeah, it’s weird,” he agreed. “But it tastes the same.”

“It’s a rather frivolous use of magic,” the druid sitting next to Dandelion sniffed.

“Yeah, but it’s still cool,” the other Skelliger said.

“It’s practical,” Yennefer of Vengerberg’s sharp voice corrected.

Triss met Roche’s gaze and rolled her eyes, passing him some bread. He bit back a smile, amused.

So this was who they would be fighting the Wild Hunt with. It should prove interesting.

The fact that a fight didn’t break out over dinner was, frankly, miraculous and entirely due to the oldest witcher’s fiercely disappointed gaze that made all of them falter. That probably said something deeply psychological about all of their relationships with father figures, but Roche decided it wasn’t worth dwelling on.

They made polite conversation (stiffly, in some cases), and Roche paid attention to all of it, eager for information that could help him get a sense of his companions.

He was already learning a few interesting things.

Dandelion and Zoltan had apparently been to this mythical land of equality that Iorveth was helping to build, and the way they talked about its Queen was eye-opening, though for Zoltan, his praise of the Dragonslayer was interspersed with snide remarks about the Scoia’tael. What was interesting was that Iorveth’s praise was just as open, even though this Dragonslayer was a human.

How the fuck did this human woman convince Iorveth to not just unite his people and bring them to her aid, but actually build this country alongside her?

“Saskia is not like any dh’oine you’ve ever met,” Iorveth said easily.

Roche crossed his arms. “Oh yeah? What makes her so special?”

“She has integrity,” Iorveth said, voice flat. “She actually lives by her values and respects all people as people.”

“So what’s she doing affiliating with you?” Ves asked sharply.

Iorveth’s spine went straight in offense, and Zoltan barking a laugh did not help. “She has a point.”

“Zoltan!” Dandelion hissed, shooting a glance at Iorveth, who looked ready to kill and was not faltering under Vesemir’s disappointment. “Vergen would have fallen without the Scoia’tael’s aid.”

Zoltan sniffed in disdain and Iorveth’s glare sharpened. “All we have ever fought for,” Iorveth bit out, “is the right to live in peace.”

“Ha! And what do you know of peace? You’ve been at war for two hundred years!”

“And you’ve colluded with murderers for two hundred years,” Iorveth spat, lips twisted with disgust.

“And what are you?” Zoltan snorted.

“Everyone here has killed,” Hjalmar, the Skelliger Queen’s brother, pointed out. “We’re literally here to fight a war.”

“Well,” Lambert said, “except the bard. Actually, why are you here again?”

“Excuse you,” Dandelion sniffed. “I am here for an even more important reason – to chronicle the fight against evil itself!”

“How much of this chronicle will be founded in fact?” Triss asked sardonically.

Hjalmar snorted. “Geralt insists half your songs are bullshit.”

“More than half,” Yennefer said.

Dandelion tutted. “It’s called creative liberty!”

Roche couldn’t help his smile, biting back a laugh.

“So,” Triss began, looking between Zoltan and Iorveth, “you’ve known each other for two hundred years?”

“No,” Iorveth half-snarled, “it’s been two hundred years since we’ve spoken.”

“I could have happily gone another 200,” Zoltan said.

“Likewise,” Iorveth growled.

“So you knew each other well, then,” Ves observed. She seemed intrigued by whatever was making Iorveth so stiff and combative and Roche internally groaned. This was definitely going to end badly.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Zoltan grunted.

“It is only in fairly recent times that elves and dwarves have come to be allies,” the druid from Skellige observed.

“Indeed,” Vesemir stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “I seem to recall that when I was young, there was a great kerfuffle over an elf and a dwarf daring to be together romantically. It was a big deal. Lotta people from both races disapproved.”

Iorveth cleared his throat, looking determinedly down at his stew, and Roche frowned. “Wait a minute.”

“No,” Triss breathed. “No way.”

Iorveth’s face and ears were slowly turning red, and Zoltan was also pointedly not looking at anyone.

“You and Iorveth!?” Dandelion shrieked. “Really!?”

Zoltan coughed, not answering.

“Damn, never would’ve called that coming,” Keira laughed.

“Huh,” Vesemir gazed contemplatively at both Iorveth and Zoltan. “If I remember correctly, both of those involved were said to be minor celebrities.”

“Oh?” Dandelion looked curious. “Well, Zoltan’s a very well known warrior, but Iorveth’s notoriety came later, didn’t it?”

Iorveth’s lips pressed together like he was resisting correcting them. Which kind of made Roche think that they weren’t completely off base.

“You’re a musician, aren’t you?” Roche asked, nudging Iorveth. “Ever get famous from that?”

A muscle in Iorveth’s jaw flexed.

“Damn, okay,” Lambert chuckled. “So how’d you end up hating each other?”

“None of your fucking business,” Iorveth snapped.

“You’re the one airing out your drama,” Ves said.

Iorveth’s growl was impressive enough to raise hackles around the table, but instead of attacking, he retreated, grabbing his bowl and pushing away from the table, stomping off.

Zoltan very obviously rolled his eyes, muttering, “as dramatic as ever.”

He refused to say anything more on the topic and the conversation moved on without Iorveth, though Roche couldn’t help but dart looks at the door the elf had left through, feeling oddly worried. Not that Iorveth needed – nor wanted – his concern, but…

The next morning

By the time the sun rose, they felt it was safe to venture out in search of fresh food. Roche was sure they both had food supplies – but he, for one, was sick and tired of jerky. The prospect of even just leftover stew beat army ration packs. By a lot.

They were in luck – not only was there leftover stew, but apparently the Skelliger druid was a fan of baking and there were fresh pastries, too.

“Help yourself,” he invited.

“Thanks,” Roche murmured, biting into warm bread with a pleased little sigh. Yeah, he had missed real food.

Iorveth led the way to the dining hall, where they sat next to each other at the big empty table. Iorveth was more conservative in picking at his food – but Roche devoured it quickly and then was left debating if he could go back for seconds.

“Here,” Iorveth grunted, holding out his bread.

Roche blinked. “You sure?”

“Are you hungry or not?” Iorveth shrugged.

Roche was, so he took it – just as Dandelion and Zoltan walked into the dining hall with their own bowls of food. Dandelion didn’t seem to notice much – but the way that Zoltan looked at Iorveth and the way Iorveth’s ears turned red made Roche think there was something unspoken going on.

“What?” he asked.

Zoltan just shook his head, taking a seat across from them. “So, what’ve you been up to since the whole Kingslayer business, lad?” he asked Roche.

Roche shrugged. “Fighting off Nilfgaard. Not terribly exciting.”

“Have you heard what I got up to?” Dandelion asked excitedly. “To help Ciri, I pulled off a heist!”

“You failed in pulling off a heist,” Zoltan clarified. “And Geralt and the rest of us had to save your ass from the Temple Guard.”

“Eh,” Dandelion dismissed. “Details.”

Zoltan rolled his eyes expressively. Roche couldn’t help his snicker.

He’d finished his stew and his bread – and Iorveth’s bread, too – but honestly, he was still hungry, so he slipped back into the kitchen with a murmured explanation and got more food. When he returned, Iorveth and Dandelion were talking about music, and for some reason, Iorveth’s words stuttered when Roche plopped the bread he’d fetched for the elf on top of his bowl.

“All good?” he asked warily.

Iorveth flushed, nodding and picking up the thread of his statement – but again, the way Zoltan was looking at Iorveth and the way Iorveth continued to turn redder made Roche think there was something more going on.

“What?” he asked Zoltan.

Zoltan shrugged. “Good bread,” was all he said. But there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips and Iorveth cleared his throat, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

Roche frowned. “Uh. Yeah, it is.”

Dandelion didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss, enthusiastically greeting the witchers who filed in with their own bowls of food. Roche glared at the Kingslayer on principle, but was largely ignored.

Lambert yawned widely as Eskel greeted the rest of them. “Good morning.”

They all mumbled greetings back, and in that time, Ves and the sorceresses appeared, looking far more put together than was reasonable for such an early hour.

“Saw someone approaching the keep,” Ves told the witchers.

“Another one?” Eskel groaned.

“Another blade at our backs is a good thing,” Vesemir reminded him, pushing up from the table to go open the gate.

“Who do you think it is?” Dandelion asked. “I mean, Geralt only knows so many people… right?”

“More people than I woulda thought,” Eskel mumbled and Lambert snickered.

Several minutes later, Vesemir returned, followed by another witcher, though this one had a cat medallion instead of a wolf. “This is Aiden,” Vesemir began.

“Seriously!?” Eskel threw his hands in the air as Lambert straightened. “How does he know so many other witchers?”

Lambert coughed. “Um. Actually.”

“He said he was here for Lambert,” Vesemir said, leveling a raised eyebrow on the youngest witcher (who was probably still at least twice Roche’s age).

“Yeah,” Lambert agreed, explaining nothing. “Food’s through there.” He pointed at the kitchen and Aiden glanced at the rest of them, amusement on his face, before shrugging and going to grab a bowl.

“Since when do you have a friend?” Yennefer asked, not at all quietly.

“Rude!” Lambert huffed. “I have plenty of friends!”

“Yeah?” Eskel challenged. “Like who?”

“Like Aiden,” Lambert frowned at him, crossing his arms. “And Mathies of Novigrad and Alicia Typ and Tiphany Holga and–”

“Aren’t those all bartenders?” Dandelion asked. “I’m pretty sure Mathies of Novigrad works at the Golden Sturgeon.”

“And Alicia Typ is at the Seven Cats Inn,” Zoltan nodded.

“Oh fuck you,” Lambert scowled.

“Supplying alcohol is precisely what makes them friends,” Aiden said, reappearing in the dining hall and sliding into a seat next to Lambert.

“What about Tiphany Holga?” Vesemir asked, the look on his face like he was deciding how disappointed he should be in Lambert.

Roche could answer that one. “Might not be the same one,” he prefaced, though the name was fairly unusual, “but the only one I know is a whore in Murivel.”

There were some raised eyebrows around the table and he shrugged.

“Whores make the best spies.” That and his mother, Madame of the Clarabelle brothel in Vizima, liked to make Roche hand out pamphlets on worker’s rights when he traveled to other places.

“That is true,” Iorveth said.

“Huh,” Zoltan said. “Noted.”

“See, I told you my patronage of the various pleasure houses across the continent is for a good cause!” Dandelion laughed.

“Yes,” Triss said, a slightly patronizing smile on her face, “I’m sure the whores learn a great deal of intel from you.”

“Actually…” Roche had to say.

“Yeah, see!” Dandelion pointed at him. “I totally supplied good intel for Roche in Flotsam!”

“You wrote your reports in iambic pentameter,” Roche said. “But the information was good.”

Iorveth tilted his head. “Dandelion spied for you?”

“Yeah, on Loredo, the shitstain who ruled Flotsam. He’s dead now.”

“Good riddance,” Dandelion and Zoltan both said.

“Wait,” Triss said, “is that why Dandelion almost got hanged in Flotsam?”

“Absolutely,” Dandelion said far too quickly.

“Loredo said it was because you burned down a watchtower,” Roche said, lips twitching.

“Seriously!?” Triss – and several others – groaned.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Dandelion insisted. “Honest!”

“So how did you burn down a watchtower?”

“Really, it was their fault for leaving a candle unattended!”

“What, did you trip over it?” Iorveth asked sardonically.

Dandelion flushed. “No!”

“...seriously!?” half the room asked.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Dandelion said again.

“Wow,” Aiden laughed. “You’re Dandelion the Bard, right? I’d heard stories, but…”

“How does Geralt put up with you?” Lambert asked bluntly.

“To be fair,” Keira interjected, “does he?”

“Geralt always shows up just in the nick of time!” Dandelion enthused.

“In the nick of time to save this idiot’s ass,” Zoltan said.

“Yeah, sounds about right,” Yennefer snorted.

“Hey!” Dandelion pouted and the rest of them laughed.

“How do all of you know Geralt, anyway?” Eskel asked. “I mean, I know he’s got a thing for sorceresses, but what about the rest of you?”

Yennefer, Keira, and Triss all puffed up in offense.

“Geralt’s an old friend of Clan an Craite,” Hjalmar, the Skelliger Queen’s brother, said, startling those who hadn’t noticed his arrival. His friend, Folan, waved tiredly to them. “And Ciri’s practically clan herself! We had to come!”

“Yes,” the Skelliger druid – what was his name? – agreed, coming into the dining hall with a final batch of pastries. Roche took several. “Cirilla was my ward as a child, but I have also known Geralt for a very long time. Since before he became a witcher.”

Everyone paused, staring at him. “Really?” someone asked, barely any breath to it.

The druid dipped his head. “We met when we were both very young. He stayed with the Druid Circle in Ard Skellig for a time. We became good friends. After he left, I did not see him again until after the Trials. After he had been changed.”

“Oh.”

An awkward silence fell for a moment and Ves broke it by loudly explaining, “we met Geralt when he saved King Foltest from an assassin.” She glared at the Kingslayer, who had no doubt been in league with the other witcher assassin.

“Oh, is that where the ‘Geralt killed a king’ story came from?” Eskel asked.

“No,” Roche scowled, “that happened when someone murdered the King and left Geralt to take the blame.”

“Hardly my fault he was the only witness,” the Kingslayer shrugged. “Was a surprise to see him again, though.”

“...you knew him before that?”

“We fought the Wild Hunt together.”

“You did?” Iorveth asked, clearly surprised. “You’ve fought the Wild Hunt before?”

“Yup,” the Kingslayer said casually. “The School of the Viper was founded to defeat the Hunt. It was lucky Geralt ran into us during his hunt.”

“...Geralt was hunting the Wild Hunt?” Vesemir asked.

“This was before his amnesia,” the Kingslayer said. “He was chasing the hunt to rescue Yennefer of Vengerberg, who had been taken.”

Yennefer grimaced.

“Does that have to do with how we saw you and Geralt die in Rivia?” Dandelion asked, voice unusually sombre.

“Say what!?” Roche wasn’t alone in yelping.

“It was terrible,” Triss said quietly. “There was a pogrom. Yennefer and Geralt both – we were just in time to see it…”

“About six months later,” Eskel murmured, “we found him outside Kaer Morhen, with no memory of who he was or where he’d come from. Or that he’d died.”

“So… what happened?”

“Ciri,” Yennefer said. “I don’t know how she healed us, but she brought us to a kind of… pocket universe, almost? It was strange. Good, but strange. Until the Wild Hunt appeared.”

“They took her,” the Kingslayer filled in, “and Geralt followed. He found me, saved me from a slyzard attack. In return, I shared what I knew about the Hunt and joined him in his quest.”

“And then?” Keira asked.

“We found them,” the Kingslayer shrugged. “We fought them. They weren’t wraiths, as we’d always thought, but mortal beings who bled under our blades.”

“Oh, well that’s something at least,” Iorveth hummed, and Roche had to admit – he felt a little bit better about signing up to fight the Wild Hunt knowing that they could actually be killed.

“So what happened?” he asked.

“There were too many. Then Geralt made a deal with the leader of the Hunt – his soul in exchange for Yennefer’s.”

Triss inhaled sharply and Yennefer’s expression was almost pained.

“Indeed,” Avallac’h, the standoffish elf who had arrived at some point without any of them noticing, said. Roche was not the only person to jump. “Gwynbleidd rode with the Hunt for a time, though he does not remember it, nor is he likely to.”

“He said he’d recovered his memories!” Dandelion said.

“His memories, yes. But not memories of the Hunt.”

“So… how did he escape?”

“Zireael,” Avallac’h said simply, as though that meant anything to any of them.

“...Swallow?” Iorveth translated uncertainly.

“It’s what he calls Ciri,” Eskel explained.

“And who is Ciri, exactly?” Ves asked. “I mean, Geralt’s daughter, yes, but…?”

“Ciri is… special,” Yennefer said. “There is a power in her blood that is matchless amongst all others.”

“She is the Lady of Space and Time,” Avallac’h said.

“...and that means–?”

“The Elder Blood gives her the power to traverse the spheres,” Avallac’h said.

“Like… she can travel through time!?”

“Theoretically, yes. She has certainly traveled to worlds at different points in their existence. Whether she has visited her own world’s past, I do not know.”

“Are you fucking for real?” Lambert sputtered.

“Zireael’s power is unlike anything you have ever seen before. It spans beyond your ability to comprehend. It is–”

“–exactly why the Wild Hunt is after her,” Yennefer interrupted.

“Indeed,” Avallac’h agreed. “The damage they could do with her power at their disposal is far greater than you can imagine. Eredin intends to subjugate all living beings under his power.”

“Eredin. That’s someone in the Wild Hunt?”

“The leader, and King of the Aen Elle. Though he arrived at power through treachery and deceit. We cannot let him take Zireael.”

“Okay,” Roche agreed solemnly. They’d already been planning to protect her, because she was Geralt’s daughter – but if she was more than that, then that just gave them extra motivation.

“So the Wild Hunt are… elves?” Hjalmar asked.

“Aen Elle elves,” Avallac’h nodded primly. “Their purpose is to find and capture slaves to serve the Alder Folk. Now, though, they are interested only in Zireael. She would change everything for them.”

“How so?”

“The Wild Hunt travels to various worlds, and abducts its inhabitants. They do so through the power of their Navigator, Caranthir. He is able to create stable portals that a vanguard like the Wild Hunt can move through.”

“And Ciri changes that… how?”

“Zireael’s power more than outshines Caranthir’s. With her, they could portal entire armies at once, enough to conquer a world.”

“Wow,” Lambert said. “So what you’re saying is, Ciri is mad powerful.”

“That is correct.”

“Wild.”

“How did Geralt end up with a daughter like that?” Iorveth asked.

“She’s his Child of Surprise,” Yennefer said with a small smile.

“Her mother had powers, too,” the druid said, “though not to such an extent, I do not believe.”

Roche blinked. “You knew her mother?”

“Indeed. I served her grandmother for a great many years.” Something sad crossed his face.

“...who’s her grandmother?” Ves dared to ask.

“Queen Calanthe of Cintra,” Hjalmar was the one to say. “Married to Eist Tuirseach, Jarl of Skellige. That’s how I know Ciri. When we were little, she used to spend the summers in Skellige.”

“Wait,” Roche said slowly, “Geralt’s daughter is Cintra’s Princess!?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“You think you know a guy,” Iorveth muttered under his breath and Roche had to bite back a snort.

“How do you know Ciri, then?” Vesemir asked Avallac’h.

“I have tried to teach Zireael how to harness her power,” he didn’t answer.

“...right,” Vesemir said eventually, the look on his face dubious. He wasn’t the only one.

“So how’d you get involved in this?” Eskel asked Iorveth. “Aside from apparently knowing and despising several other of Geralt’s friends.”

“Letho killed Foltest,” Iorveth said, glaring daggers at the witcher again, “and then went to ground with the Scoia’tael as we prepared to attack Henselt. Before Letho betrayed us and slew many Scoia’tael,” he growled, “Geralt accompanied Vernon to confront us.”

“And me,” Triss interjected, frowning at Iorveth. “I was there too. And stopped you from killing Geralt and all of us!”

Iorveth just shrugged. “Geralt eventually came to assist the Scoia’tael in our task, and fought at our side in Vergen.”

“‘Course,” Roche couldn’t help but say, “he also fought at our side, so really, that witcher neutrality is kinda bullshit.”

Eskel snorted.

“Some bullshit,” Lambert laughed. “You’re all here, aren’t you?” Roche did have to concede that. He was here – even though Geralt had also worked with Iorveth and the Kingslayer… he was here, because Geralt had asked him and defending Geralt’s daughter was worth it.

Later, in the famed Kaer Morhen hot springs from Iorveth's POV

Admittedly, Iorveth had been hoping to find Vernon in the hot springs at some point during this journey – but he hadn’t been expecting for that time to involve Vernon overheating and very clearly ignoring his health.

Iorveth hadn’t thought about it before fussing over Vernon – but the way Vernon slapped his hands aside quickly reminded him of their proper dynamic. He was Vernon’s enemy. He wasn’t supposed to worry about the dh’oine.

Not even when it was clear that Vernon had lost a lot of weight from the last time Iorveth had seen him.

Iorveth knew food was hard to come by while hiding out in the forest as an outlaw rebel – but he hadn’t really previously put together that that was what Vernon was doing. Their roles had solidly flipped – and now Vernon was the one starving in a fight against the odds while Iorveth was associating with human royalty.

It was weird.

Still, Vernon retreated quickly, making it clear he did not want Iorveth’s concern, and Iorveth drew back, trying to pretend that didn’t hurt.

Of course Vernon didn’t want his concern. Why would he? To him, Iorveth was just another enemy. One who he was sharing a room with, yes – but even that, Vernon seemed to attribute to Iorveth being weird more than anything else.

Iorveth could live with that. He knew he didn’t have a chance, after all. But seeing Vernon once more, when he’d truly thought he might never do so again…

“Oh,” Dandelion said, and Iorveth abruptly remembered that he was not alone. “He doesn’t think you’re together,” Dandelion said slowly, “but you want to be.”

Iorveth cringed, unable to protest, but also fully aware that his affection was hardly a good thing.

“Hmm,” Dandelion hummed. “Well, at least now he knows it’s an option. But we can do better than that!”

Iorveth blinked. “What?”

“Well, obviously you need help wooing your man,” Dandelion flapped his hand, then brought it to his chest with a flourish, “and I am a connoisseur of wooing! So surely I can help!”

“I – what?”

“Well, he didn’t even realize that he was being wooed!”

Iorveth’s mouth opened to protest – and then he closed it, recognizing a losing battle. Instead, he sighed and asked, “why would you help me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Dandelion shrugged. “This romance has the makings of a marvelous ballad! But it must have a happy ending!”

“…is there any way I can convince you not to sing about my love life?” Iorveth asked, already despairing.

“Nope!” Dandelion popped the ‘p’ enthusiastically. “So, let’s talk plans! What have you tried so far? Obviously you’re sharing a room – and you gave him food, which he reciprocated!”

Iorveth flushed, remembering that moment. He was positive it meant less to Vernon than it had to him – but having gone without enough food for so long, sharing it was a big deal. And for Vernon to fetch more food and offer him a roll back…

Well. To Vernon, it didn’t mean much. But to Iorveth, it kind of meant everything. And from the way Zoltan had looked at him and Dandelion’s words now, it was clear that had not gone unnoticed.

Which was embarrassing as all hell, and Iorveth flushed darkly, sinking down to hide in the hot water. “I’m not – I’m not wooing him,” he felt the need to point out.

“You should be,” Dandelion replied easily. “We all might die soon. May as well shoot your shot, right?”

Iorveth frowned at him, but he was already enthusiastically coming up with ideas on how Iorveth could better show Vernon that he loved him.

Sighing, Iorveth resigned himself to the loss of his dignity.

Which was good, because Zoltan Chivay entering the hot springs definitely meant that his dignity would be dying a painful death. His relationship with Zoltan was… complicated, and there was a great deal of bitterness on his part due to the way they’d ended things last they’d spoken… but Zoltan also knew him better than most people alive could claim to, which meant he could see right through Iorveth’s attempts at maintaining poise.

“What trouble are you getting into now?” Zoltan asked Dandelion with amusement on his face, only glancing at Iorveth in greeting.

Iorveth internally groaned.

“Zoltan!” Dandelion grinned brightly. “You’ll join us, won’t you? We gotta help Iorveth win his man!”

The amusement on Zoltan’s face increased and Iorveth could feel his ears flushing. “You really don’t,” he tried to protest, but Dandelion ignored him.

“Vernon Roche, huh?” Zoltan asked. “Really!?”

“Shut up,” Iorveth grumbled, blushing brightly enough that now he was the one on the verge of overheating.

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” Zoltan shrugged, unconcerned. “But he has no earthly idea that you’re interested.”

“He’s not supposed to,” Iorveth had to say.

“Well, that’s dumb,” Dandelion said. “How can he respond if he doesn’t know?”

Iorveth opened his mouth to answer, but wasn’t sure how to point out that Vernon very likely wouldn’t respond positively to affection from his enemy.

“What about Saskia?” Zoltan asked. “Does she know about him?”

Iorveth flushed darker, nodding jerkily. Yes, she did – and it had been embarrassing beyond belief for her to confront him over his ‘obvious crush’. Which, he contested, was not obvious at all – but she hadn’t been swayed.

“And?” Dandelion prompted.

Swallowing hard, Iorveth thought about how to answer. The actual truth was that Saskia, as a dragon, had no interest in monogamy with him. In fact, there were several other people she was interested in (including Zoltan, but for his own peace of mind, he ignored that), though she had minimal time to pursue anything at all.

“Saskia is human,” he lied, picking his words carefully, “but she grew up in Vergen around primarily dwarves. Older dwarves, too,” he added, because while most of those in the Scoia’tael had been pretty young, Vergen was an old city and there were still some dwarves living there who had been at its founding. “Culturally, she shares more in common with dwarves than humans.”

Not least because she’d actually spent relatively little time around an average human. Most of her exposure had been through joining the army and going through officer’s training under King Demavend of Aedirn. Which meant that occasionally, she did things that she thought was ‘normal human behavior’, but that actually gave everyone in the vicinity heart palpitations. Like that time she had walked through fire before Iorveth had known she was a dragon and was thereby largely impervious to fire (and, in fact, drew strength from it).

“Dwarves are great,” Dandelion agreed cheerily, “but what’s your point?”

“Dwarves are polyamorous,” Iorveth said bluntly.

“Ooooooh,” Dandelion nodded while Zoltan hummed in agreement. “So there’s no expectation of exclusivity?”

Iorveth shook his head, flushing. It wasn’t like his regard for Saskia wasn’t commonly known – but it was still embarrassing for his love to be the topic of local gossip. His love for Saskia – and his love for Vernon.

Most people were probably surprised he was even capable of such an emotion. He still kind of was, honestly.

It was one thing for Saskia, who inspired him and brought out the best in him. But Vernon Roche? The man who had once been in charge of eliminating the Scoia’tael?

And yet, the same magnetic draw that Saskia held, Vernon had. He couldn’t ignore either one of them for a second.

And not just because it might lead to missing the knife when it came to stab him in the back. With Saskia, he was confident there was no hidden knife at all. With Vernon… well, he wasn’t sure, but he kind of hoped that there wasn’t one.

Vernon had willingly slept in his presence. Multiple times, even. And just as Iorveth hadn’t attacked Vernon while he’d been vulnerable – Vernon had not attacked him. That meant something… didn’t it?

“So what’s Saskia think of Roche?” Zoltan asked, lips twitching in what was definitely amusement at Iorveth’s plight.

Iorveth scowled at him. Truthfully, Saskia’s thoughts could be summed up as ‘if you think there’s something worth loving about him, Iorveth, then I’m sure there is’, but Iorveth was absolutely not admitting that.

“Why do you even care?” he demanded.

Zoltan shrugged. “You and Roche aren’t that different,” was all he said.

Iorveth’s eye narrowed into a glare.

“Mortal enemies who succumb to their feelings of true love~” Dandelion’s voice was singsong. “Oh, it’s so romantic! Definitely has the makings of a hit!”

Iorveth was horrified. And mortified. “Please no.”

“Yeah,” Zoltan sighed, patting him on the shoulder with a large hand. It was the most they had touched since their last fight 200 years ago. “That ship has sailed. There’s no reining him in now.”

“Oh gods,” Iorveth muttered, sinking deeper into the water to hide his red ears.

Zoltan laughed and Iorveth would be lying if he said the sound didn’t make something in his chest hitch – but it also, 100%, made him hate Zoltan even more. Asshole.

“It’ll be beautiful!” Dandelion insisted. “I already have the beginning melody. And a strong chorus shouldn’t be hard. Hmm, something about the journey from hate to love.”

Iorveth’s groan was despairing. There was no way this would end well. But what the fuck – they were probably going to die in a few days anyway when the Wild Hunt came. And… it was kind of nice that they were helping him. Annoying and embarrassing and obnoxious, definitely – but also nice.

Dandelion had the perfect plan for how to woo Roche. It was a subtle plan, one that could be built upon – but it was perfect!

What was it? Well, everyone knew there was nothing more romantic than the dulcet tones of his voice in a sweet love ballad. As such, any time Iorveth and Roche were in the vicinity together, Dandelion broke out his best love songs.

“Seriously?” Lambert burst out after a full day of this. “We’re about to fight for our lives against some weird fucking elves and you’re singing about true love? Really!?”

“Lambert doesn’t believe in true love,” Aiden added in an undertone, earning himself an elbow in the gut. He didn’t seem to notice.

“What?” Dandelion shrugged, tuning his lute. It was just the slightest bit off. “Do you want something more upbeat? I can do that.”

“That is so not the issue,” Keira muttered, but her lips were twitching with amusement.

“No, no, it is an understandable criticism,” Dandelion said generously. He thought about his options, humming a few lines before hitting on the right one. “All right, let’s go energetic!” He strummed his lute hard, opening with a long vocalization.

“Ugh,” Lambert groaned, and Dandelion was above pettiness, but he made a note to get back at Lambert for that at some point. Maybe a White Wolf ballad with a cameo?

“So,” Triss said loudly before any of the witchers could get violent, “why are you singing love songs?”

“Why, my dear Mage Merigold,” Dandelion said grandly, “because love is in the air tonight!” He paused thoughtfully. That had the makings of a good lyric.

“Where?” Lambert grumbled.

In the corner, trying to avoid drawing attention to himself, Iorveth was blushing darkly – and also keeping his own attention focused on Roche, who was bobbing his head absently as he cleaned several knives, Ves sitting next to him.

“Everywhere,” Dandelion answered Lambert with a bright grin. “For in the face of almost certain death, there can be no force more powerful than love!”

Eskel snorted. “That sounded almost profound.”

“Because it was!” Dandelion pouted.

Zoltan snickered. “What’s everyone’s favorite love song, then?” he asked.

Lambert’s scoff was disbelieving, but Keira appeared amused and answered. “I always liked The Power of Love,” she said, and Dandelion was delighted to take the prompt and dive into the song.

Keira laughed, singing along with the upbeat melody. Lambert’s emphatic groan just made Dandelion grow louder.

“What about songs from different areas?” Roche asked when they finished. “Know any good Temerian songs?”

“Of course!”

“I was always a fan of La Vie en Rose,” Ves said, meeting Dandelion’s eye with a smirk like she knew exactly how much he hated playing horn. The song could be played on lute… but it had been made famous on trumpet. The people expected a trumpet.

“That really needs a piano accompaniment,” he hedged.

“I think we have a very old piano in storage somewhere,” Vesemir mused.

Internally panicking, Dandelion searched for a distraction. (He had a trumpet and could play the song, of course… but trumpets sucked. They always made his lips hurt.)

“You know that was originally an elven song,” Iorveth said haughtily.

“Nu uh,” Ves frowned.

“But it’s French,” Roche said, head tilted in consideration. “French was the first language of the human settlers of Temeria, I thought. Not Elder Speech.”

“True,” Iorveth nodded, and Dandelion was hit with the sudden thought that he had been there when all this had happened. Weird. “It was adapted from a song in Elder. Beatha an Ròs.”

“Huh. Are the lyrics very different?” Dandelion couldn’t help but be curious.

He knew he’d walked into a trap the moment Iorveth met his eye. “Not sure,” Iorveth said casually, “haven’t heard the human version in a lot of years.”

Ugh. Now he was going to have to play it, wasn’t he?

The others seemed to have picked up on Dandelion’s reluctance and Triss encouraged, “why don’t you play it, Dandelion? Then Iorveth can compare.”

Her words were innocent, but the twitching at the corner of her mouth proved that she knew exactly what she was doing.

Dandelion pouted.

“Are we having a concert?” Hjalmar wandered in and asked, looking enthused. “I play some mean drums!”

“Yes! Let’s have a concert!” Dandelion jumped on the excuse. “We can showcase hits from different areas! What’s Skellige’s best love song?”

“Hmm,” Hjalmar actually stopped to consider it.

“Red is the Rose, for sure,” Folan, his friend, said instantly. He began a soft melody, voice surprisingly nice.

Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows, Fair is the lily of the valley; Clear is the water that flows from the Boyne But my love is fairer than any.

“Eh,” Hjalmar interrupted. “I mean, it’s good, but is it the best Skelliger love song?”

Folan frowned, and Dandelion sensed an argument on the horizon. Usually he would disrupt such a thing – but if it could get him out of playing trumpet…

“Maybe Galway Girl?” Hjalmar suggested.

“Red is the Rose is way better!” Folan insisted. “It’s soft and romantic and slow enough to dance to.”

“You can’t dance to that!” Hjalmar put his hands on his hips. “The most you could do is sway awkwardly and that’s boring!”

Triss and Keira both bit back snorts at that.

“Plus, the song is sad! It’s about two lovers being unable to be together!”

“To be fair,” Folan said calmly, unbothered by how worked up Hjalmar was, “most Skelliger love songs are actually tragedies.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Folan nodded. “There’s a lot of going off to war and being separated and stuff. At least, that’s most of what Draig Bon-Dhu sings.”

Dandelion tried not to scowl at the mention of the Skelliger bard that totally hadn’t beaten him in a competition.

“What about Aedirnian love songs?” Zoltan asked Yennefer, who looked up from the book she’d been examining.

“What?”

“Know any good Aedirnian love songs?” Dandelion pounced on the opening Zoltan had provided.

“Mostly boring court songs,” Yennefer said dismissively. “Or your ridiculous twaddle,” she aimed that remark at Dandelion and he sent her a shitfaced grin.

“I believe you mean my incredibly moving and talented compositions, thank you very much.”

Yennefer snorted derisively.

“Where else do we have people from?” Triss asked, looking around. “Letho, you’re originally from Nilfgaard, aren’t you?”

“Technically,” Letho the Kingslayer drawled, “the School of the Viper is located in the Tir Tochair mountains on the border of Geso.”

“Aren’t the people of Geso known for being particularly… barbaric?” Iorveth asked sardonically.

Letho’s smile was all teeth. “That’s Gemmera, actually. Famed for the ferocity and strength of their warriors.”

“It’s all Nilfgaard,” Keira dismissed with a sniff.

“So’s half the North,” Letho said genially.

That made everyone scowl, arguments breaking out, and all in all, while they had undoubtedly learned more about each other, very little wooing actually happened that night.

Dandelion sighed and strummed a forlorn melody. Several people were shouting at each other, so there was little point in gracing them with his wondrous voice.

Hmm. That gave him an idea for a ballad about the woes of having one’s voice ignored. The tragedy of it was downright heartbreaking, and the crowds of Novigrad would love it, he just knew.

Distracted from his quest to help Iorveth woo his man, Dandelion pulled out his notebook and began to compose, to the background of loud yelling about where Nilfgaard could stick it.

Ves' POV of soaking in the hot springs with the other women

“So, Ves,” Triss said eventually as they soaked. “What’s going in with Roche and Iorveth?”

“What do you mean?” Ves asked, playing dumb mostly because she had no idea how to answer.

“Well, they’re supposed to be enemies, right?” Keira arched an eyebrow. “And yet, they’re sharing a room? And they bicker like an old married couple.”

Ves grunted. She couldn’t deny that, unfortunately. She sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t know what Roche is thinking,” she said, “letting that viper so close.”

“I think Letho is the viper,” Triss joked. “But it’s certainly odd. I’ve barely seen them apart from each other since they arrived!”

“Ugh,” Ves agreed. The Scoia’tael scum had certainly been sticking too close for her tastes. She didn’t know how Roche stood it.

“Pretty sure the ridiculous bard has interpreted their enmity as love,” Yennefer said.

“Ooooh, is that what the love songs were about?” Triss shook her head with a laugh. “Dandelion truly is ridiculous.”

“I mean, I can’t blame him,” Keira said. “They act like they’re in love or something, don’t they?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Ves dismissed. “Roche could never love an elf.”

“Well, he sure acts like it,” Yennefer replied, voice cool. Weren’t there rumors that she was part elf?

“Okay, but what about Iorveth and Zoltan? No one saw that coming, right?” Triss arched an eyebrow. “If an elf and a dwarf can have so much history…”

Ves frowned, the thought settling uncomfortably. “Technically, they never actually confirmed everyone’s assumptions,” she pointed out, but it was a weak defense.

Keira snorted. “Never would’ve thought a killer with Iorveth’s reputation could turn so red.”

They all chortled at that, recalling the way the elf’s ears and face had flushed a dark scarlet.

“Zoltan, of all people, too!” Triss giggled. “I mean, he hates the Scoia’tael! His type is – is Dandelion, for fuck’s sake!”

“Well, we don’t know what Iorveth was like before fighting humanity,” Yennefer pointed out. “Maybe he was like the bard.”

“No way! Iorveth!?”

Yennefer just shrugged. “He was, apparently, a famous musician. From what I’ve seen, Dandelion is rather representative of such a career and the type it draws.”

“Well,” Triss said slowly, “you’re not wrong. But… really!?”

“What I wanna know,” Keira said, “is what’s up with Lambert and Aiden?”

“Oh?”

“I mean – Lambert isn’t exactly the friendliest guy around. And this guy appears, the only one that Geralt didn’t invite? That says something.”

Ves’ lips twitched, grateful to be off the subject of Roche. “What about Aiden’s response to Lambert complaining about love songs? He ‘doesn’t believe in true love’? That says something.”

“It does!” Keira agreed emphatically. “But what is the question.”

As they began to theorize, Ves couldn’t help but think about their implications about Roche. It couldn’t be true. Surely it couldn’t be true.

How could Roche love an elf? A Scoia’tael elf, no less!

He couldn’t, was the answer. He knew what they’d done to her. He could never sympathize with them.

Nonetheless, she had to admit that Iorveth’s behavior did kind of point to being interested in Roche, even if Roche could never reciprocate.

“Ves?” Triss called and she realized that she’d zoned out. “You okay?”

She nodded, flushing slightly – but most of her brain was still distracted with the question before her. “Why doesn’t Roche tell Iorveth to fuck off?”

Keira laughed. “If anything, he probably wants to tell Iorveth to fuck him.”

“You take that back!” Ves snarled.

“Whoa, whoa,” Triss held up her hands placatingly. After a moment, she added, “Keira has a point, though. I mean, I don’t think Roche would actually go for Iorveth… but him and Iorveth acting like an old married couple is very much mutual.”

“You don’t think he would?” Yennefer asked. “Because Iorveth is an elf?”

“A Scoia’tael elf!” Ves spat.

“He doesn’t seem like he minds,” Keira shrugged, and Ves scowled heavily at her.

“The Scoia’tael are nothing but disgusting barbarians,” Ves snarled. “Roche would never sully himself with their ilk.”

“Wouldn’t he?” Yennefer asked.

“How about a bet?” Keira proposed.

“What?”

“You’re certain Roche could never go for Iorveth,” Keira said simply, “we disagree. So… how about a bet to see who’s right?”

“I’m not gonna bet on Roche’s love life!”

“But you don’t think there’s anything going on there anyway,” Triss pointed out. “So why not find out for certain?”

Ves’ lips pursed. “You do remember we’re here for an actual purpose, right?”

“Yes,” Yennefer said primly, “and when the Wild Hunt comes, we will be ready. But in the meantime, we may as well entertain ourselves.”

“...what would this bet look like exactly?” Ves hedged.

Keira shrugged. “We could help Dandelion’s ridiculous matchmaking attempts and see if it works?”

“It won’t,” Ves said firmly.

“Then there’s no harm in trying, right?”

Ves frowned, disliking the idea, but not really having a good reason to disagree. They didn’t really need her agreement anyway.

“Fine,” she spat. Then she decided that she’d soaked for long enough and rather wanted to be away from these people now. Maybe sorceresses weren’t that bad – but they had to be wrong about Roche. They had to be.

Later, from Triss' POV as she and Keira conspire on how to set Iorveth and Roche up. Also, there are some notes where I haven't got the words quite right. Please ignore. (and suggestions welcome)

It was really silly, but right now, what Triss missed more than anything was Foltest’s wine collection. She’d become accustomed to enjoying drinks that actually tasted good.

Witchers, it would seem, did not care if it tasted good or not. They did not invest in high quality liquor.

So when Keira suggested a drinking game to loosen Roche and Iorveth’s tongues, Triss didn’t exactly leap at the idea. But it would be nice to have an evening of fun, even if she would have to scrape all of her tastebuds off come morning.

“Yeah, all right,” she agreed.

If they were going to die soon, they deserved to cut loose for a little bit beforehand.

Vesemir declined with a heavy sigh. “I’ll start brewing a hangover cure,” he said, longsuffering.

“You could participate,” Triss offered.

He chuckled. “No, I think I shall avoid admitting to all the folly of my youth.”

“Indeed,” Ermion, the Skelliger druid, said when asked. “I believe I am too old to relive those days.”

Avallac’h said nothing, ignoring her when she’d tried to invite him. She didn’t feel the need to try too terribly hard.

Hjalmar and Folan were positively delighted at the opportunity to get shitfaced, and they eagerly gathered everyone up to play, letting the witchers sort out what alcohol they had available.

It was fairly late by the time they finally settled down, sitting around the fire with their drinks of choice. Not that there had been much choice, but at least shitty wine was better than Lambert’s home-brewed pepper vodka. Even if Dandelion and Zoltan were both drinking it without a change in expression.

It was still better than Lambert’s other concoction – the gauntlet, equal parts spirit and White Gull. It could get even a witcher wasted and would likely kill an ordinary human. It was for that reason that only the witchers elected that one.

Roche and Ves, predictably, were drinking Temerian rye. Keira sipped the same wine Triss was drinking and was managing a better job of not showing her disgust than she was. Hjalmar and Folan had brought some kind of Skelliger mead, and they were generously sharing with Iorveth, who passed around a pipe in return. Elves were always said to have good weed, and she could now confirm it.

It had been a long time since Triss had gotten high. Much less cross-faded.

The stresses of preparing for a battle they were likely to lose bled off her with each hit, and she was the one to actually start the game.

“Never have I ever,” she began with deep gravitas. The others fell silent in response, waiting to see if they would need to drink. “Streaked naked through a crowd.”

Dandelion huffed, as she knew he would, but obediently took a shot. Hjalmar did too, grinning and looking prepared to regale them with the story.

Wanting to avoid that, she nudged the person next to her – who just so happened to be Iorveth, because he was always next to Roche these days. He was sitting a little too close now, even, and Triss held back a smirk.

“Name something you haven’t done,” she prompted the elf.

“Uh. Never have I ever…” he paused to think and Triss elbowed him again, for extra motivation. He grunted, shifting away from her, but did finally finish, “slept with a sorceress. With good reason.”

Triss scoffed, taking a large gulp of her wine. She wondered if he realized who else would drink at that. Keira, Dandelion, and Roche were the only other ones, and Roche’s face was a little red as several people turned surprised looks on him.

Triss watched Iorveth’s face as he put the dots together and turned a scowl on her. It was actually mildly terrifying, but she refused to be cowed, smirking instead.

“Never have I ever,” Roche said loudly, and from the look on his face, she knew this one would be targeted to try to divert attention from himself. “Had a wanted poster issued for myself.”

Iorveth rolled his eyes, drinking his mead. Lambert and Aiden also drank, which successfully drew attention away from Roche.

“Why aren’t you drinking, Kingslayer?” Ves barked.

Letho smiled genially. “I was never caught. There were no wanted posters for me.”

“What about now?” Roche asked, eyes narrowed.

“The Emperor don’t bother with writing down his enemies’ names,” Letho said, entirely casual.

On the sidelines, Yennefer snorted. She wasn’t part of the game, instead preferring to read what she was pretending was some old archaic text but what Triss was pretty sure was actually erotic love poetry.

It earned Yenn some glares, and she shrugged, not bothering to look up from her book. “He’s right. Wanted posters indicate that you can’t keep order on your own. Nilfgaard does not use them often. They simply pay the right people and make the problem disappear.”

“Charming,” Lambert said. “Next.”

Ves pursed her lips, glaring at Letho. “Never have I ever been paid to kill a monster.”

The witchers all drank, and then it was Dandelion’s turn. He nudged Zoltan. “Never have I ever lost all my money in a gwent game and had to auction off my trousers.”

Zoltan laughed, taking a long swig. Lambert also took a drink, which earned him a few looks.

“I remember that,” Aiden chuckled.

Zoltan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shot a grin at Dandelion, words clearly designed to target the bard. “Never have I ever [something absurd Dandy has done].”

Dandelion drank – but so did Lambert, and several people arched their eyebrows.

“I was very drunk,” Lambert shrugged.

“When was that?” Aiden asked.

“Remember? That time outside Mirt.”

“Oooh,” Aiden laughed after a moment, “yeah, you were shitfaced.”

“Exactly how often do you two work together?” Eskel asked, frowning at them.

Lambert shrugged, not answering. “You’re up, Skelliger,” he said to Hjalmar.

“Never have I ever slept with anyone not human,” Hjalmar said. The nonhumans in the room, predictably, drank. So did all the witchers, which brought up the question…

“...do witchers count as human?” Triss reluctantly asked.

“I say no,” Aiden shrugged.

Triss took a sip of her wine. Dandelion, Keira, Roche, and Ves also had to drink, though the look on Ves’ face indicated she wasn’t happy about it. It was probably best not to ask.

“That was a good one,” Folan said cheerily. “Got almost everyone!”

“So what’s yours?” Hjalmar’s grin showed off a gap in his teeth.

“Hmm. Never challenged my sister to a race in front of everyone – and then lost.”

They all laughed as Hjalmar drank with a grumble.

“You’re up, Letho,” Eskel prompted.

“Hmm…” Letho’s smile was sweet and Triss didn’t trust it for a second. “They say you’re a whoreson, don’t they?” he said conversationally. Roche’s spine snapped straight. “Never have I ever had sex for money.”

Roche’s fingers curled into a fist, but he took a drink, and Triss noticed that Iorveth actually looked surprised.

“What if it wasn’t for money, per say?” Dandelion asked loudly, and Triss was pretty sure he was intentionally drawing attention away from Roche’s clear discomfort.

“I did once sleep with a woman to steal her necklace,” Aiden said contemplatively.

“Ooh, was that the sapphire one?” Lambert’s laugh was more of a cackle than was probably appropriate. “That one sold for a lot.”

“Mmhm,” Aiden hummed, grin turning wicked. “Never have I ever jumped off a roof for a bet.”

Lambert rolled his eyes and drank. Dandelion also drank, and was entirely shameless about it.

“All right,” Lambert cracked his knuckles, waggling his eyebrows at Eskel as he said, “never have I ever slept with a succubus.”

Eskel flushed lightly, grumbling as he downed his drink. Dandelion and Zoltan also drinking wasn’t really a shock, honestly – Geralt almost certainly would have, too, were he here – but Letho was a surprise.

He just smiled, saying nothing in the face of their curiosity.

Eskel glared narrowly at Lambert. “Never have I ever [something ridiculous Lambert did in a fit of anger or something].”

Lambert scowled, taking a drink.

“My turn,” Keira said, looking each of them over contemplatively. Triss hoped she was thinking of how to target Iorveth and Roche, because that was supposed to be the whole point of this.

Plus, it was fun.

“Never have I ever written a poem or song,” Keira said. Dandelion drank, of course, but Iorveth did too, and the look Roche cast his way was curious.

And then Lambert surprised all of them by taking another shot.

“...really?” Eskel asked, dumbfounded.

“I was super drunk,” Lambert defended. “It wasn’t very coherent.”

Aiden didn’t say anything, but the way he bit his lip against a smile made Triss wonder.

It was her turn again and she thought about what to say. The whole point of this was to help push Iorveth and Roche together, so…

“Never have I ever,” she hiccuped, “had sex in a tree.”

“Really?” Iorveth scoffed. He drank – and so did Zoltan.

“Seriously!?” Dandelion’s voice was a little too high pitched.

Neither of them met anyone’s gaze.

Iorveth cleared his throat. “Never have I ever had a business venture fail in less than a day.”

Zoltan scowled, drinking.

Roche looked between them, something odd in his expression. But when he spoke, it was clear who he was targeting. “Never have I ever,” he said, voice a tad mischievous, “worn a fancy ball gown and spilled wine all over it.”

Triss’ frown may have more resembled a pout as she drank. What was interesting was that Lambert also drank – and at this rate, the witcher was going to end up the first one wasted. Him or Dandelion, who drank as well.

“Really?”

“It was a lovely dress!” Dandelion said. “Shame the wine couldn’t wash out.”

Zoltan laughed. “You looked stunning, as I recall. Until you tripped and fell out the window after spilling the wine all down your front, anyway.”

“Lies,” Dandelion said easily. “I still looked smashing even then!”

Now they all laughed, turning to Ves for her turn.

“Never have I ever,” Ves began, glaring at Iorveth, “been chased out of town under threat of death.”

Iorveth’s look was cool as he drank, accompanied by all the witchers – oof, Triss maybe should have guessed that – and Dandelion and Zoltan, who, honestly, she had expected.

“What about you, Dandelion?” she asked, trying to move them on.

“Hmm.” Dandelion shot what he probably thought was a sly look at Iorveth and Roche. “Never have I ever shared a room with my sworn enemy.”

Iorveth and Roche both rolled their eyes, drinking. Surprisingly, Keira also took a sip and Triss looked to her friend in surprise.

“At Aretuza, remember?” Keira said. “Way back.”

“Ooooh, yeah. Whatever happened to that girl?”

“Nothing interesting, I’m sure,” Keira said tartly.

“All right,” Zoltan hummed, considering his words. Then he smirked slightly and said, “never have I ever kissed a royal.”

From the way he was smirking at Iorveth and how Iorveth rolled his eye in response, Triss figured that was targeted at the elf – but it had some other casualties. Slinging back her own drink, she caught the look on Ves’ face as she glared down at her shot glass – and saw the way her fingers shook as she reached for it.

Roche stole it out from under her, downing her shot and his own. The set of his jaw very clearly dared anyone to make anything of it.

There was surprise on several faces, including Iorveth and Zoltan’s. Dandelion, who had also taken a shot, swayed into Zoltan’s shoulder, barely held up.

Folan coughed loudly. “Does kissing Hjalmar’s sister as a kid count? She is Queen now.”

“It counts!” Hjalmar said immediately, and something loosened in Triss’ shoulders as their collective attention turned the Skelligers.

“My turn!” Hjalmar's voice was gleefully. “Never have I ever… had an orgy with more than five people.”

There were some laughs in response as Dandelion, Zoltan, Roche, Ves, Keira, and Triss all drank.

“You lucky bastards,” Lambert muttered.

“Hmm,” Folan chewed on his lip for a moment. “Never have I ever fallen in love with someone I shouldn’t,” he said, and Triss wondered if he’d caught on to their attempts at getting Iorveth and Roche to loosen up.

Iorveth glared at everyone as he drank, much to Roche’s clear surprise. Dandelion let out a exaggeratedly lovestruck sigh, as if fondly remembering the one that was prompting him to drink.

“What kind of question is that?” Hjalmar scoffed. “Bro, you’re totally in love with my sister!”

Folan flushed red. “There’s nothing wrong with that! We grew up together!”

Triss giggled.

“Your turn, Viper,” Keira prompted.

Letho’s smile was slow and cold. “Never have I ever,” he drawled, “gotten my second killed.”

This time, Iorveth’s scowl was murderous and Triss winced, remembering the beaten form of the elf who had pleaded with her and Geralt to warn Iorveth of the way Letho had doublecrossed him. Ciaran hadn’t lasted long enough to see the Scoia’tael reclaim the prison barge he’d been on.

“Hey,” she snapped, “let’s keep it friendly, guys, come on.”

Letho just shrugged.

Aiden cleared his throat a little too loudly and obligingly moved the game along, targeting Lambert as he said something about drunkenly falling out of a tree. Lambert retaliated, but next was Eskel, who seemed delighted to poke fun at Lambert.

At this rate, Lambert was likely to be the first to drop out, and he clearly knew it from the way he half-pouted, grumbling under his breath.

Keira and Triss both designed their questions to highlight the way Iorveth and Roche were sitting with their shoulders pressed together, helping keep the other upright. They were all more than slightly soused at this point, though the Skelligers had drank less than the rest of them.

“Man, our lives are clearly not interesting enough!” Hjalmar lamented before adding, “never have I ever lived more than 30 years.”

“Oh come on,” everyone except Ves and Folan grumbled, taking their shots.

“All right,” Zoltan said, “Dandelion’s done.”

“What?” Dandelion protested. “I’m fiiiiiiiine,” he slurred. “I could do thish all niiiiiight.” He tried to stand and promptly collapsed onto the floor in a sprawl. “Or not.”

“Should we help him up?” Keira asked uncertainly.

“Nah,” Zoltan said.

“I like the floor,” Dandelion giggled. He then began to drunkenly hum various melodies, actually providing kind of a nice backdrop for the game.

Lambert was the next one to drop out, slumping heavily onto Aiden. Aiden laughed and bowed out, dragging the no doubt heavy carcass of the drunken Wolf upstairs.

Keira’s eyes followed them curiously, but Triss was distracted by Roche getting her with ‘never been seasick’. Vision going double, she decided maybe it was time for her to concede as well.

Iorveth and Roche dropped out after the same statement – never been knocked out, of all things. They stayed in place, holding each other up and giggling stupidly at the rest of them.

The look on Ves’ face clearly showed her displeasure with this, but she didn’t seem to know what to do. She’d drunk a fair amount, but still seemed surprisingly stable, words not slurring at all when it was her turn.

It only took a few more questions to knock out Keira and Eskel both, leaving the Skelligers, Ves, Zoltan, and Letho as the last ones standing.

And that's all!

You know, I was gonna talk about the plan for where the fic is going, but this is already super long oops. It's gonna be fun, though. I'm approaching the end of the 1st arc, then we have the Battle of Kaer Morhen and its aftermath, which includes Roche receiving a message from Dijkstra about the opportunity for a 'Free' Temeria. Since several of those present have kingslaying experience, this leads to Vernon Roche, Ves, Iorveth, Letho, Zoltan, and Dandelion all going on a road trip to Novigrad together 😂😂😂 I'm looking forward to it. There's going to be much drama and some angst and some eventual reconciliation and making out lol

#wip wednesday #rorveth #iorveth x roche #the witcher

8 notes · View notes

arse-blathanna · 2 years

Note

what kind of relationship do you think roche has with non-humans in general? do you think he despise them, hates them or doesn't consider them admirable beings? or none of those things? from what we have in game he seems to be pretty chill with them and his hatred is only targeted towards scoia'tael (which is still bad) but i don't know...(also out of topic love your yenralt fics <3)

(before I go on a massive tangent or twenty, I'm happy to hear that you like my yenralt fics <3)

First off I have to apologize for making you wait, anon. I wanted to give this answer a proper rundown but I didn't have the Spoons to do it earlier. Not to mention writing long replies on mobile sucks and I hate doing them that way. So sorry for the wait, hope this answer will satisfy you. Also buckle in, this ended up significantly longer than it needed to be so I'm putting most of the answer under a cut. Hope that's alright, anon.

TLDR: Roche is not particularly concerned with the rights of non-humans either way, his problem is with scoia’tael methodology more than anything else. However despite not having any particular interest either way he’s also surrounded by racism as background noise and doesn’t show any particular problem with it. It’s just not what he’s interested in. In Roche’s own words, Temeria, that’s what matters.

Content warning for sexual assault later down in the post.

My point of view on Roche's relationship to nonhumans is that it’s well, complicated. Mostly because the only times we see him really dealing with them is in the context of fighting Iorveth and his men. Outside of that context (and the driving force there is always much more heavily focused on Scoia'tael Bad than anything else) it isn't a topic that actually comes up that much.

His core character trait, above all else, is his patriotism, whether that comes in the form of intense loyalty to Foltest, going on a warpath to save Anais, or doing anything and everything that it takes to see Temeria survive another day. Fighting the Scoia’tael is just a part of fulfilling that goal, not really the whole of his interests or motivations. That's not to say that Roche is making good choices, or right choices, or just choices.

He's very much a character who can lean back on the line of "I was just following orders" with regards to fighting the scoia'tael and pacifying Mahakam, whatever that might have looked like. Could he defy those orders? Maybe, possibly. Probably not since we're shown pretty consistently that the punishment for desertion is death and that's all over the games and the books. Not that Roche exists in those books, but it's a line of consistency across the books-games canon we can refer to.

If you're familiar with the concept of the banality of evil as proposed by Hannah Arendt, I think it's a good angle to examine Roche from but I'm also not at all qualified to have that discussion. At all. Still worth considering, if you're willing to do some extracurricular reading for your fandom horseshit. Worth reading regardless, actually.

Anyways, back to our man with the stupid hat. His core goal is Temeria's stability, and that's shown to us consistently throughout Witcher 2 and 3 (though because we know that Iorveth was demoted to Cut Content in Witcher 3 it's likely that there was quite a bit for Roche regarding the Scoia'tael and evolving motivations that we just never got to see, just to address that particular elephant in the room.)

We're told that the Blue Stripes are meant to be the human equivalent of the Scoia'tael. Misguided, needlessly brutal, extremists who have a habit of leaving a bloody smear wherever they go. The Scoia'tael are considered in-universe to be a terrorist organization. I think it's this, above all else, that Roche is opposed to because if his core goal is Temeria's stability, a terrorist organization is a pretty big threat to that.

Yes, their cause is good, but their methods are poor and routinely lead to non-humans who aren't part of their cause being punished disproportionately because of assumed connections. We see this in Witcher 2 with the gallows scene. Of the four people on the gallows, only 1 isn't assumed to be scoia'tael and that's Dandelion. Zoltan and the two others? All assumed to be members of this group. Zoltan has in fact been contacted by Iorveth's commando, but also specifically turned down the offer of a command. Still treated as a member regardless by Loredo's men.

If you take Roche's path in Witcher 2, Zoltan doesn't end up loving the experience, but he does end up hanging around the Blue Stripe's camp until there's the chance to cross the fog with Geralt. So at the very least Roche is willing to offer accommodations to a non-human, and when it comes to Geralt he's pretty genuine (if wary) and even friendly.

Since it’s the one time where we see Roche really involved with fighting Scoia’tael, let’s talk about Flotsam actually. There’s clearly history where he’s been there before, but we aren’t told much about it other than that Roche is harsh with the Scoia’tael, he and Iorveth have been going at it for at least four years, and both have some massive hate-ons for each other. The plight of non-humans in Flotsam is poor, Loredo’s men police them heavily, and most live outside the city walls. The non-humans in Lobinden and Flotsam also consider Iorveth and his men to be extremists, with Cedric in particular having left that life. To say that they’re saviors to the people they claim they’re protecting in the eyes of those people is a bit of a stretch.

Roche and his men show back in Flotsam on the only lead they have in Foltest’s murder. Roche is in work-mode, his main interest in the Scoia’tael being that Iorveth is involved in assassinating Foltest (that Iorveth and the scoia’tael are being used isn’t on anyone’s radar quite yet.) He’s not particularly interested in getting Iorveth and lets his men harass the locals, destroying shrines and whatnot. He doesn’t take issue with Loredo for his treatment of the non-humans, but he does take issue with the man’s willingness to sell Flotsam to Kaedwen, thus compromising an important port along Temeria’s border. It’s that which makes him act to take action against Loredo, nothing else.

Even with the issue of Moril, the elf woman who Loredo kidnapped (and if I remember correctly is implied to not be a unique case) and her baby, Roche is more or less indifferent. With Moril dead, the baby is left behind. Roche doesn’t particularly care what happens to the baby, referring to it as a half-breed and only wondering who might take it in. Geralt’s the one who makes sure that the baby ends up somewhere safe. Roche has gotten what he wants, Loredo is dead and Temeria is safe from him and the Kaedweni spy he was consorting with.

In chapter two if the player chose Iorveth, Roche’s anger isn’t directed towards Geralt hanging around elves, it’s that he’s chosen “a group of thieves and bandits.” That’s what he thinks of the scoia’tael. If you take Roche’s path instead, he goes to Vergen to fight, but he’s not looking to fight the non-humans in Vergen so much as he is with Geralt trying to figure out what’s going on with the sorceresses and Henselt. Where he has the chance to gut Henselt as an act of revenge, if Geralt chooses to let him.

Speaking of that act of revenge, we should probably talk about Ves and what his most trusted person in the universe being Ves has to say about both of their characters. Because we know that Ves would follow Roche anywhere, and we know that Roche will fight tooth and nail to make sure she survives.

If anyone has good reason to hate the scoia’tael and elves, it’s Ves. She’s been through absolute hell, with her backstory implying that after her entire family and village was slaughtered by a scoia’tael commando, she was taken and kept as a sex slave as a teenager and only escaped because Roche and the Blue Stripes found her. He took her under his protection which is enough to earn a great deal of loyalty, but it’s not as though there aren’t shared values. Here’s what she says on this topic:

GERALT: Is your hatred towards the Scoia'tael some sort of revenge?

VES: You don't know me, Geralt. Human or nonhuman - it makes no difference to me. We were chosen to fight the Scoia'tael, and that's the mission we pursue. To me, the Scoia'tael are but bandits hiding out in the woods. If there were humans among them, I'd kill them in a flash just the same.

Not exactly the words of someone who categorically hates elves.

That’s not to say that Roche isn’t surrounded by people who dislike elves, because he definitely is. It’s the background noise of the Blue Stripes, it’s one of his men spitting at the sight of a half-elf baby. He gives his men free reign to terrorize Flotsam and only seems to tighten the leash when they’re camped directly alongside a Kaedweni camp. Whatever his feelings on the topic are, he’s not compelled enough to stop this behavior. Common folk hate the Blue Stripes, and that’s because of how they behave, and that behavior is allowed under Roche’s command.

Compared to the characters that we know do actually hate non-humans Roche is pretty pale by comparison. When it comes to Radovid and the Witch Hunters, he’s directly opposed to them (though again, his interest isn’t necessarily non-human rights as much as it is Temeria.) He’s not as bad as Loredo is, we don’t actually see him ever going out of his way to punish elves or dwarves. He’s against the Scoia’tael, but otherwise... just indifferent.

The best point of comparison to Roche’s character is probably Black Rayla in Thronebreaker and Witcher 1, and even compared to her (who is, at least according to CDPR’s canon a half-elf) Roche comes off as significantly more lax where non-humans are concerned. And even Rayla claims to be opposed to scoia’tael as opposed to non-humans.

Indifference in situations like this gives power to the oppressor rather than the oppressed, but that’s where he is. Is it right? No. But it’s where he is.

Lastly I just want to talk about the function of writing Roche in this way from a more Doylist perspective which is: if you make a character that Geralt (i.e. the player) is meant to possibly side and sympathize with, you can’t make them too much of a bastard. It’s a pattern that we see in the two witcher games where Geralt is asked to pick a side between Scoia’tael and Temeria/Order of the Flaming Rose. The elf commanders are usually assholes, but their position is that they’re trying to save their race from extinction.Despite Iorveth and Yaevinn being mean, they’re automatically sympathetic due to their cause.

On the other hand we have Roche and Siegfried of Denesle, who are on the wrong side. To make the player sympathize with them, it’s a matter of sympathizing with their characters as opposed to their cause. For instance, if you want players to sympathize with the Order, you’re asking the player (and by extension, Geralt) to be on board with a guy who time traveled and decided that the best way to stop the White Frost was to do some genocide. If Siegfried himself, your main point of contact is sympathetic, it’s not as hard of a pill to swallow (and even at the end of Witcher 1, Siegfried himself is directly opposed to the Order’s apparent endgoal.)

Roche’s cause isn’t as bad as the Order’s, to be clear. But he’s still in the wrong where the rights of non-humans are concerned. His focus is on maintaining a certain status quo, at least until he goes off the deep end and gets driven by a little revenge. The scoia’tael and his conflict with Iorveth are set dressing, it’s just not what he’s about. He wants to protect his kingdom and his people. He wants to serve Foltest and his crown, and protect what’s left of his line. Nothing else.

Because as Vernon says in Witcher 3: Who cares about the Scoia’tael anymore? Temeria- that’s what matters.

#ask #anonymous #vernon roche #the witcher games #the witcher

38 notes · View notes