#king henselt

[geekygamergp]

So lovely!

The Witcher 2 ten-year anniversary!!!

[virgin-iorveth-causa-salutis]

the witcher + ao3

[caffeinosis]

Curious for anyone who played the Witcher 2

[lilly-of-the-valley-artblog]

I NEED HELP WITH IDEAS

Ok guys i need an advice. After finishing my character illustrations for the first two books, i have finally started illustrating the third book Blood of Elves.

Here are characters i've drawn/plan to draw:

Ciri, Vesemir, Eskel, Lambert, Coen, Triss, Philippa, Dijkstra, Rience, Vizimir, Demavend, Henselt, Meve, Cahir (masked), Emhyr, Jarre, Shani, random scoiatel warrior...

I read it some time ago, so scenes got mixed up. I think francesca, vilgefortz, artau and tissia have very small roles in this book, so idk if i should draw them.

Please suggest any character that was interesting or unique looking. I'd specifically like non humans (i've drawn Yarpen) or nilfgaardians. However, these characters should either appear in future books, or they should have prominent role in this one.

So please remind me of more interesting or important characters, i didn't focus much on political figures (other than kings), so i forgot most of them, i didn't even realise who stefan skellen was until the sixth book. Im also not sure if codringer and fenn appear in this book?

Anyway, please advise me and provide with some small details regarding their looks

Here's sneak peak. The Witcher Geralt from the Last Wish i did 2ys ago. I got around 60 more book character drawings and MANY more on the way... Ask me about anything or my thought process.

Thxx ❤️✨

[veralevina15]

Ты знаешь, я тут думал, почему нам так хорошо вместе…

Да? И почему же?

Потому что мы одинаково двинутые.

Юстя и Хэвлок - эталон тропа "Дурачащаяся пара", поэтому и арт - на 1 апреля. В их первую встречу они решили напоить друг друга "каэдвенским чаем" (а как вы думали знакомятся травница и хирург-разведчик?), а дальше всё завертелось-закрутилось)

Рукодельный лоскутный кисет - подарок от Юстианны для Хэвлока. В нём лежит зелье заживления ран. ___________________________________________ Yustya x Havelock. A couple who are always fooling around <3 A handmade patchwork pouch - a gift from Yustianna to Havelock. It contains a potion of wound healing.

Yustianna from Ard Carraigh (my OC) - Kaedweni queen, king Henselt's daughter and herbalist.

Hamich Bronse (Wenck) aka Havelock Vetinari aka sir Alkot (not my OC) - earl, chief of Kaedweni intelligence, knight and surgeon.

[limerental]

ficletvember 2024 - day 24

yennefer/sabrina

Sabrina Glevissig arrives at Aedirn's court apparently simply to affectionately antagonize a disillusioned Yennefer.

Stares and whispers follow the sorceress as she strides across the opulent banquet hall. How beautiful she is, the crowd thinks, how poised and delicate. How long the trail of her gown, how generous the cut of her decolletage. Oh, hopefully she has come to replace our moody and miserable court sorceress.

Yennefer fights the urge to roll her eyes and draws away from the minds of the masses. Aedirn's court in Vengerberg has proven to be full of dim-witted fools, the king included. Of course, they'd look at Sabrina Glevissig and mistake her for a woman of substance. 

“Oh Yenna, you haven't changed in all these years,” says Sabrina as she slips close enough to kiss one of Yennefer's cheeks and the other. Her smile is brilliant white, her cheeks rosy. “You're still as unpleasant as you ever were.”

“A pity,” Yennefer says as she clasps Sabrina's arms, “I had hoped to become even more unpleasant as I aged.”

“Like a moldy cheese. Or a fine wine that ages to vinegar.”

“Have you come to my court simply to exchange unimaginative insults?” Yennefer asks as they begin to walk a circuit of the room, their elbows linked.

“Your court?” Sabrina laughs. “They'd leap at the chance to exchange you for the first pretty face that comes along.”

“They'll be waiting a while longer then,” says Yennefer.

Court decorum states that she is meant to introduce the visiting sorceress to the necessary parties gathered here and there throughout the banquet hall, but Yennefer steers them away from the most chatty and convivial, not interested in being forced to watch Sabrina shamelessly flirt back with geriatric nobleman.

“It's not flirtation, Yenna. It's called being a generous conversation partner.”

“Is that why your neckline falls so low? Generosity?”

“No, that's flirtation.” Sabrina winks. Her eyes are drawn with smoky cosmetics, her lashes lengthened with magic. As a girl, Yennefer remembers being desperately jealous of Sabrina's effortless beauty. Besides being flat as board through the chest, she hadn't needed to change a single thing with her enchantments.

Sabrina hears the memory in Yennefer’s thoughts, and her smile grows smug and her gaze heavy.

“Aren't you here for some reason besides monopolizing my precious time?” Yennefer asks, interrupting her lewd thoughts.

“Please, your King Virfuril’s already drunk himself to sleep, and your court would rather you did as well. You've got nothing more important to do and no one more important to do it with.” 

“I haven't missed you,” says Yennefer.

“No, I should hope not.”

They make another round of the room, passing a particularly rowdy corner, where Yennefer recognizes the young Prince Henselt of Kaedwen, uproariously drunk and seemingly involved in a drinking contest with Virfuril’s eldest son. It's Sabrina's turn to steer them away from unwanted conversation.

“So your court isn't perfectly appreciative of you either,” says Yennefer. “Is your prince that awful?”

“He’s a hot-headed, boorish imbecile,” says Sabrina even while still smiling courteously. “It's fortunate his elder brother will take the throne. Kaedwen would likely meet its end under his rule.”

“No great loss there. Unfortunately, Aedirn will likely continue existing in miserable drudgery for centuries, whether or not I stick around to see it.”

Sabrina looks at her, a faint glimpse of alarm showing through her polite expression.

“You're thinking of abandoning court? Yenna, if the Brotherhood hears of this–”

“And where would they hear of it?” It's only a passing fantasy, the thought of leaving Aedirn to rot. “Don’t tell me you enjoy being a glorified babysitter. A mage of your power, and you've been sent along to cure your prince’s hangovers. I warm their castles and protect their borders and Aedirn's court still sees me as a joyless witch they'd love to trade for a prettier model.”

“You are a joyless witch,” says Sabrina with a sniff, even as she guides them out of the banquet hall, pointedly turning her back on Henselt's drunken crowd.

In the darkened corridor beyond the hall, she wastes little time in crowding Yennefer against a marble pillar, a thigh between her legs, her lips at her throat. Yennefer’s hands sink into Sabrina's blonde curls. 

They hadn't been friends as girls, but they'd done this often, sneaking out of Aretuza's dormitory at night, giggling and smug over never being caught.

“Tell me more about how powerful a mage I am,” says Sabrina as she kisses down her neck. 

“You'll have to work harder than that to have me singing your praises.”

Sabrina leans back, her hands fitting easily to Yennefer's corsetted waist, and her courtly polite smile has vanished, replaced by something wicked.

[thelostgirl21]

You know what, I think I'm going to say it here, because I believe it deserves to be heard, especially by the people of my own LGBTQ+ community.

If you identify as queer (or any other LGBTQ+ identity), and agree that it is "gross" that Netflix chose to "age up a child" (Prince Radovid), so that he could be put in a romantic and sexual relationship with Jaskier on the Netflix TV show, it is a very good example of what we mean when we talk about internalized homophobia.

It is not your fault; it is something that was done to you and against you.

But I sincerely believe that, sadly, you haven't realized the troubling implications of that argument, nor the way that it is directly targeting the queer community, especially queer men.

Because, in the source material, Prince Radovid and Jaskier are two characters that never interact nor have any type of relationship together.

Actually, Prince Radovid is literally described as "a person without any significance in a country ruled by the Regency Council" (The Lady Of The Lake, Book 7).

[Note for those of you unfamiliar with the books: Prince Radovid appears in a single scene of "The Lady of the Lake", where the young prince gets upset that the other kings (Foltest, Demavend, Henselt) bribed people in the crowd to cheer for them, the Free Company, Hemmelfart, Dijkstra and the Regency Council, without acknowledging the role that his own father had played in making the thing they are all cheering for happen, nor his mother and himself as the actual rulers of Redania (rather than Dijkstra and the Council).

And Sapkowski concludes the scene with one line of epilogue saying that, in the future, he'll make them all pay for those insults, and will become known in history as "Radovid the Stern".]

Had the source material featured a significant friendship between the adult character of Jaskier and 12-year-old Prince Radovid...

Had Jaskier acted as a guardian, teacher, parental figure, etc. to that young boy...

Had they had a canonically established relationship in the source material, featuring an age-related power imbalance between them (like Geralt and Ciri), and

Had Netflix chosen to erase that loving healthy adult-child dynamic - that would've been at the core of their relationship - to replace it with a romantic and sexual relationship instead, I would have 100% understood that it would have made people feel uncomfortable.

Because, had they suddenly decided that Ciri would be a 35-year-old when her home was destroyed and she found herself under Geralt's protection on the show, just so that Geralt could fall in love with his Child of Surprise and have wild heterosexual sex with her, I would have understood why a bunch of people would've gotten upset at Netflix for "only aging up a child so that Geralt could fuck her!"

But we're talking about two characters that never met; including one (Prince Radovid) that is so insignificant to what happens in The Witcher's story (according to Sapkowski, at least), that CD Projekt Red were able to create their own original villain off of him (i.e. inventing a story between him and Philippa where she sort of raised and traumatized him following the death of his father, leading to him becoming fearful and hateful towards mages, etc.), while continuing the story beyond Sapkowski's intended ending (something I'm pretty sure Netflix has no intention of doing for now).

TV show Prince/King Radovid is his own character, that has been written by Netflix to suit the purposes of the show.

Videogame Prince/King Radovid is his own character, that has been written by CD Projekt Red to suit the purposes of the games.

And both of these characters were inspired by "a person without any significance in a country ruled by the Regency Council" in the books, that will one day grow up to become king long after the story of the three main characters has been concluded.

In French, the slur word being used for gay men is a shortened version of a word meaning "grown men having sex with young boys"; and the idea that gay men are naturally more prone to wanting to have sex with children than heterosexual men are has long been one of the most common fears associated with homosexuality.

Saying that they "aged up a child to make Jaskier queer" - while trying to make it sound like it would be immoral or problematic to do so - is thus heavily leaning into the specific belief that gay sex between two queer men is an act of predation.

Agreeing that there's something that should make one feel uncomfortable about Netflix having aged Prince Radovid to suit their own storytelling purposes, including their decision to adapt him as an adult character that becomes romantically and sexually involved with another adult man, is basically openly implying that, since Jaskier is shown as becoming sexually attracted to an adult version of the character, had he and Radovid met in those books, he would still have "naturally harbored sexual desires" for the 12-year-old kid version of him.

It is heavily implying that there could have been something potentially problematic about the relationship dynamic between book Radovid and a queer Jaskier, that Netflix attempted to "fix" by making the character older.

And, if that's not an argument deeply rooted in homophobia, I don't know what is!

Netflix's Prince Radovid is a fully grown adult gay man that falls in love with a fully grown pansexual man.

And, had that same Jaskier from the show (or even the Jaskier from the books, that English readers and gamers also know as "Dandelion") met a 12-year-old Prince Radovid in the books, nothing romantic or sexual would have happened between them.

It's as simple as that.

Nothing gross or unnatural about it.

[wolves-and-dragons]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 50

Main Masterlist

Chapter 49.5

Synopsis: With the arrival of Vhagar, the battle of Vergen taking a turn for the better, praises are song for Saskia and her heir Silverlark. Aemma confronts Aemond.

CW: Strong language, violence, warfare, deaths by dragon fire, execution scene (Minors DNI), magic based manipulation, chauvinism.

"By my beard..." was all Zoltan could say as he gazed unto the sky as the largest dragon in the world swooped over the battle making a low rumbling sound as she did so.

Aemma and Aemond look up to see Vhagar as well. Iorveth and the Scoia'tel look in both awe and fear. Iorveth mutters a few swears in Elven when he recognized the dragon, something that didn't go unnoticed by Aemma.

"You recognize her?" She realizes. Iorveth ignored her, still unable to process that the former nest mate of the Black Dread was here on the Continent.

Aemma held her breath, realizing Vhagar was here to protect her rider, being Aemond, and she wasn't so sure the dragon would be able to recognize who was friend and who was foe in this battle; knowing Aemond, that he tried to deceive Aemma and drag her back home, Aemma had the feeling all these people may as well be foes in Aemond's eyes. Enemies in his eyes would very well equate to enemies in Vhagar's eyes.

"Aemond, you need to call out to Vhagar," Aemma insists. "What?" "You need to stop her," Aemma elaborates, "people fighting on our side might be harmed if she rains fire onto the battle!" "Even if I wanted to, I doubt Vhagar would be able to hear me this far from the ground," Aemond scoffs.

What the two didn't realize was that when Vhagar made her descent, she made direct eye contact with a certain person who was leading one side of the battle, the elder she-dragon taken by surprise that this person was able to communicate with her from this far up. Hearing what was silently spoken, Vhagar looked down to see the battle beneath her, turning her gaze to see her rider looking up to see her. 

Having some idea of what needed to be done, Vhagar faced the battle once more and opened her mouth, directing her fire towards the Kaedwen army.

The Kaedweni soldiers, boiling in their armor from the heat of the flames, scattered in fear and pain in trying to avoid the wrath of the dragon who swooped over them.

Vhagar flew over to the other side of the battle, preparing to land. Aemond rushes over to her. Aemma turned back to see Geralt and Zoltan had closed the main gate to Vergen, effectively trapping what was left of the Kaedwen army, leaving them like sitting ducks as the Scoia'tel launched their arrows to finish off what was left.

With the army disseminated, and being trapped with nowhere else to go, and with a dragon that could fly over and burn the rest of them, King Henselt raised his arm, singling to his men and to Saskia's army that he was surrendering.

"We won," Aemma sighs in relief.

--------------------------------

Aemma ran over to Geralt and Zoltan.

"Looks like we won," Aemma says, gaining the witcher and the dwarf's attention towards her. "Aye we did," Zoltan nods, "thanks in part to that dragon it seems." He nods towards the direction where Vhagar just landed, seeing Aemond patting her on the snout and speaking softly to her in Valyrian. Criston stood by, keeping an eye on whoever was looking on. Some of the Vergen soldiers couldn't help but stop and stare, some in awe, others in fear. Some even wondering if Saskia- a proclaimed dragon slayer- could take on the likes of this beast if for some reason Vhagar decides to turn and attack the town.

Aemma made a small smile, wishing her own dragon was here right now. She hoped the next time she saw Cirillia it would be in this world and that her dragon still had her mother in tow.

 "One of yours? Your family?" Zoltan brings Aemma's attention back. Aemma turned her gaze to Geralt to see a neutral look on his face before she answered. "That's Vhagar," she answers, "the oldest and largest of the Targaryen dragons. She was once bonded to my stepmother the Lady Laena Velaryon. Now she is bonded to my cousin."

"Hmm," was all Geralt had to say. He subtly turned his gaze over to Saskia who was receiving and congratulating the surviving Vergen soldiers for their bravery on the battlefield. The witcher had to wonder- given what he had discovered in the underground mines when and Saskia were down there earlier- if the dragon resting away from the village knew there was something off about the 'dragon slayer'. 

It didn't matter so long as the dragon's rider decides not to sic her onto the village locals if it meant dragging Aemma back to her home. Right now Geralt was just glad it wasn't the blood wrym and his rider they would need to deal with.

"Silverlark!" Yarpin calls out over to Aemma, "the battle has been won! Though, I am hoping it won't come to a second battle, especially with that beast looming over. Not even sure the great dragon slayer Saskia could take on something so massive."

Aemma looked over to see Aemond still tending to Vhagar. She noticed the way he turned his gaze over to her, a knowing look on his face. She wasn't sure what it meant. Now that his dragon was here, did Aemond now expect Aemma to mount the saddle so the two of them could fly back to King's Landing? Was he expecting her to just go back? Even after he tried to deceive her, even though he was already prepared to drag her back kicking and screaming.

Thinking about that, Aemma felt anger start to rise. Here Aemond was, having professed earlier that he still cared about her, but then he was prepared to take her away without her so much as given a say-so.

Standing straight, Aemma turned towards the direction of her cousin and his dragon, "that...won't come to that," she says confidently in a low tone, "leave this to me." She walked over slowly towards Aemond, knowing exactly what needed to be done.

Meanwhile, Jaskier had joined Geralt, Zoltan, and Yarpin, rubbing his head, almost like he took a hit in that area. "What happened to you?" Yarpin questions. "I uh, I kinda fainted," Jaskier admits, "I was watching the battle happen and then next thing I...I must've been hallucinating because next thing I noticed I saw a REALLY large dragon fly over. I'm certain my mind was playing tricks because it was even bigger then the one that monster Rogue Prince had." "Uh, I wouldn't look that way then," Geralt says.

Too late. Jaskier looks over to see his niece approaching Aemond and right next to the guy was Vhagar.

Needless to say, Geralt was quick to catch Jaskier before he made contact with the ground due to fainting the second time around.

-----------------meanwhile----------------------

Iorveth stood there, motionless. The battle was won, and the elf wanted nothing more than to celebrate this victory. This is, after all, the first major step in establishing a separate ruling governance for Upper Aedirn, for the non-humans. It was one step closer to fulfilling the dream of reclaiming sovereignty over these lands that once belonged to his forefathers.

But, something else was now weighing heavily on Iorveth's mind. He stared over at Ivan, who was currently cleaning his sword. This half-elf...this foreign born knight...was supposedly his son.

How was this possible, Iorveth thinks to himself. How could he have been able to produce a son? Iorveth was well beyond his years even after that dalliance he started all those years ago, there was no way he could've sired any children at this point in his old life. But apparently, that was not true. Looking at Ivan, Iorveth could see bits and pieces of himself in the boy. And he could also see bits and pieces of the woman he once loved.

Iorveth wasn't even sure what to say. What could he possibly say? That part of his life, with Joanna, he had put it in his past, it was a lifetime ago. Now, that part of his past had come back in the form of a child he never knew existed. Steeling himself, keeping his stoic composure, Iorveth approached the boy. Ivan sensed the elf was behind him, but he keep on cleaning his sword, not entirely sure what more he could say. "Your mother," Iorveth speaks, "She...you said her name was Joanna. From Flotsam." Ivan stopped his task and stood and turned to face the elf. "She was," Ivan confirms. "I had thought...this whole time," Iorveth says with a somber tone, "I thought she had perished in that pogrom that took place twenty years ago. It was a bloody massacre. Elves, dwarves, and even d'hionne were caught in the onslaught. I had thought this whole time she was killed." "She escaped," Ivan confirmed, "We both did. Some of the mob had broke into our home. They...I don't remember much of what happened. I was only a small child at the time, and frankly what little I do remember I had gone to great lengths to block that part of my life out. But the names they called her...those awful words they had for her...I could never forget all that. The only reason we survived at all was the help of a dwarf who helped us escape Flotsam. We reached Novigrad, my mother used what money she had left to buy us passage to King's Landing. We lived in poverty the whole time there until a sickness broke out in Flea Bottom and took her from me and I spent many years on the streets before an accident at the docks put me in a position to have a princess in my debt who paid it back by taking me into her family."

"I never knew..." Iorveth said once more.

Ivan felt himself getting frustrated at the elf's lack of emotion at this point. The only emotion he's really seen from Iorveth so far was anger and stoicism, and the fact that the death of someone he supposedly cared enough to fuck and have a child with wasn't enough to elicit anything else... "Well, why didn't you try and find out?!" Ivan snaps, "was your cause so important you couldn't have been bothered to investigate and try and look for us?" Iorveth flashed a warning look of anger at Ivan, "you shouldn't speak of things you know nothing of, boy." "If you had put in the effort, if you tried to look for us, she wouldn't have died!"

Iorveth said nothing, not even a change in his usual stoic expression. Well, actually that wasn't true. The elf had been taken aback by Ivan's outburst, and it showed for a split second.

Of course Iorveth had tried to find Joanna, searched high and low in the aftermath in the cover of night so no one would recognize him, tried to get some kind of confirmation that the woman he once cared for was either alive, so that he may leave with a clear conscious, or dead so as to properly mourn her. He never learned she had a child...he never imagined it could've been possible.

"...I understand you are angry with me," Iorveth says in a low tone, "I very much regret how she left this world, and the life you and her were forced to live. I cannot change what has passed."

Ivan scoffed, taking a few steps back before he turned his back on his father, "your reputation as a hater of humankind is well known throughout the Continent," the half-elf speaks in a low tone, "I had a hard time believing someone who hates the d'hoine as much as you do could possibly have any kind of intimate relations with their kind." Ivan turns back to face Iorveth, a look of fiery anger in his eyes, "Seeing the way you look at the Virgin of Aedirn, however, it makes more sense. You may hate them...but not enough to not fuck them and then leave them when they've worn out their usefulness." "Now see here-" "I had to scrap and steal what I could on the streets of King's Landing in order to survive. It was by sheer coincidence that I saved the life of a member of the royal family and that I was able to make something more for myself. The life I had in Flotsam I had to put it behind me to live the life I am living as a knight of the Kingsguard. So, all that said you may have sired me...but you are not my father." 

"Do you honestly expect to be welcomed back with open arms, especially when you have revealed your true heritage?" Iorveth calls out as Ivan walks away, "even if that knight and the Targaryen prince swear to keep your secret, how long will it take when others begin to notice how slow you start to age as the decades begin to pass? You may be half human, you may not live as long as your full blood Aen Siedhe brethren, maybe not even as long as me, but your elven blood will allow you to outlive your d'hoine comrades. What do you think will become of you then?"

Ivan ignored the elf and kept walking, silently scoffing that this guy would now have the audacity to play the caring father and act concerned for his future well-being.

---------------meanwhile--------------

Aemma walked over towards Aemond and Vhagar, the prince giving his dragon a soft look when the old girl turned her gaze towards Aemma.

Aemma looked up to Vhagar, the elder she-dragon giving her a certain look. Aemma smiled, thinking back to the times she flew on Vhagar with her stepmother when she was a child, her holding onto Laena with one hand and using the other to reach out and feel the wind blow whenever Vhagar soared through the sky. Vhagar brought Aemma many fond memories of her past. Aemma reached out, maybe hoping the dragon would recognize her. Vhagar made a low rumbling sound, almost akin to a cat purring. Aemma smiled when the dragon lowered her head so she could stroke her snout.

"Ziry iksos issare sīr naenie jēdri, uēpa hāedar," Aemma speaks to the dragon in Valyrian (It's been so many years, old girl), leaning in a little closer so as Vhagar could only hear what next she had to say, "Ziry iksos nykeā shame īlon jāhor daor sagon hēnkirī olvie longer." (it is a shame we will not be together much longer)

"Aemma?" Aemma turned to Aemond, a stern look in her eyes, "I am grateful for Vhagar for helping win the battle," she addresses. The Vergen residents watch from afar as Aemma continues speaking to her cousin.

"Now that your beloved dragon is here, Aemond...I think it best you leave." Before Aemond could say anything, Aemma added, "without me." Aemond was shocked at first, but opted to dig his heels in response, "I'm not leaving without you," he insists. "Yes, you are," Aemma insists with an unwavering voice, "you can't stay here. I...Nyke kostagon't pāsagon ao" (I can't trust you).

Aemond knew what she was talking about, he responded back in Valyrian as well, "Nyke istan mērī doing skoros jorrāelatan naejot sagon gaomagon," he insists in a low tone, (I was only doing what needed to be done) "Ao sagon daor keskydoso issaros nyke remember. Ao've changed. Ao. Ao sagon daor isse se paktot state hen mind." (You're not the same person I remember. You've changed. You...you're not in the right state of mind).

"...what do you possibly know of my state of mind?" Aemma brings up in the Common tongue, "we haven't seen each other in six years. And yet, this whole time we've been together it's almost as if you've expected me to stay the same. No, not the same, it's almost like you've crafted this image, this idea of me in your mind, someone who is more like your mother or your sister and...that's not me, Aemond. That was never who I was, and you know this. You knew it the moment you caught me sneaking out of the Red Keep to go to the docks when we were children. You knew...and you still expected me to become someone I was never going to be. And now it has gotten to where you keep overriding any and all my decisions, whatever path I try to take, you've gone and tried to force me away from it, to the point of kicking and screaming. If I choose to stay right now, would you even let me?"

Aemond was too silent for Aemma's liking, making her scoff, "yeah, that's what I thought. That's why you must leave." "Aemma-" "I want you to fucking leave, Aemond!" Aemma snaps at him, "I mean it. Leave. I don't want you hear anymore. If you try and stop me, try and drag me away, I will fight you every step of the way. Just go, Aemond. Tell your mother whatever you wish, tell her I'm dead for all I care. I just...I can't trust you won't try and drag me away again."

Aemond was angry. He wanted to drag her away from this place, but he knew that would only prove her point. He looked at the Vergen locals and saw their looks mirrored hers at this moment. They were looking up to her as some kind of symbol. This heir of the dragon slayer that had led their army. Aemond had half a mind to have Vhagar burn this place to the ground if it would make Aemma see reason...but knew if he did something so rash and cruel, it would only guarantee that Aemma would just turn and run away to the ends of the earth, never to see or speak to him again.

Aemond sighed, feeling like he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Ultimately, he nodded before speaking once more in a low tone, "Nyke hope bisa adventure istan worth ziry naejot ao. Bona ao pālegon qrīdrughagon hen aōha lentor isse pōja hour hen jorrāelagon." (I hope this adventure was worth it to you. That you turn away from your family in their hour of need)

"Ser Criston," Aemond speaks to the man, "gather Ser Ivan. We are leaving." "Without the princess?" "Yes." "My prince," Criston tries to reason, "I swore to your mother, the Queen, I cannot-" "You can and you will," Aemond insists, "I will speak to mother. I'll take the blame if I must. You know the way back."

With that, Aemond climbed up Vhagar and mounted her saddle. At his command, the dragon rose and flew up into the sky, eventually disappearing from view.

Before that, when Aemond looked down, he could see Aemma receive cheers and praises from the residents down below, he could hear the chants of "Silverlark" being shouted in Aemma's direction. She wasn't the same person Aemond thought he once knew. Was she even that person to begin with?

Aemond looked down once more to see the witcher and his friends join in on the cheering. He looked away, guiding Vhagar to take him back across the sea to King's Landing. Criston and Ivan would surely find their way back. Make their way to Novigrad and find passage on a ship back to Westeros.

-------------------Back inside Vergen--------------

Ivan and Criston left the town shortly after Aemond departed on dragonback. The two knights were offered transportation to Oxenfurt this time around. It wasn't Novigrad, but the two could still find passage to King's Landing from there.

Worth noting Criston was dealing with the fact that Ivan wasn't who he thought the guy was and Ivan was still reeling with the revelation of Iorveth being his father. Neither would have the time or place to sort out their feelings, save for what conversation could be told on the road. To Criston's relief, Ivan elected to put his headband back on, to hide his ears, but Criston still felt mixed feelings about it all. As much as he was still contemplating whether or not Ivan should be put to the sword or not, Criston felt it would make him something of a hypocrite to even contemplate such a thing for something that was technically not part of the Kingsguard oath. There was nothing against being a half-elf, and did Criston Cole not do worse when he soiled his white cloak with Rhaenyra 16 years ago?

Back in Vergen, Aemma rejoined Phillipa and Saskia who were stating the terms of surrender to Henselt. During this time, Aemma began to feel lightheaded, her vision becoming slightly blurred.

"You did the right thing sending the Targaryen prince and his dragon away," she heard Phillipa speak...not out loud, but the sorceress was talking to her telepathically, "now we can begin the plan of building and ruling."

"How? What's..."

From that moment on, Aemma felt herself in a dazed state. She couldn't quite describe the feeling, but as she looked onto Phillipa and Saskia demanding Henselt hand over Dethmold to be executed for war crimes, Aemma found herself agreeing. Well, to be fair, Aemma wasn't found of the guy especially since he almost killed her when trying to extract her power to destroy the mist earlier, but she wasn't so sure she would've wanted him dead.

The feelings became moot the moment she spoke, "he must pay for his war crimes." Why did she say that? She didn't want this? Not unless there was to be a trial first with witnesses and evidence. Isn't that how things were supposed to operate in this new established order? Isn't that what Aemma tried to do with Prince Stennis when he was accused of poisoning Saskia?

Those doubts went away however when she made eye contact with Phillipa. This is what she wanted, so this is what needed to be done.

Shortly after Dethmold was beheaded for his war crime, Aemma felt herself drawn to follow Phillipa and Saskia to wherever it was they were going. Phillipa opened a portal and gestured for the two women to follow. Aemma was last to go through, completely unaware that Geralt and Iorveth were trying to follow, concerned for both Aemma and Saskia as they blindly follow Phillipa through the portal, wondering what had the sorceress done to put the two under her spell to do what was clearly her bidding.

It appears a dragon was actually the least dangerous thing they had to worry about.

Chapter 51

[valandhirwriter]

I'm also curious, so back at you for the new writers ask game (hope you haven't been asked these yet): 24, 28, 43, 47

@astaldis Thank you very much for your curiousity. And nope, those questions I didn't have before.

24. Are there any easter eggs in [insert fic], and if so, what are they?

Often, let me give you some examples.

In: A matter of Perspective the main characters find an elven laboratory in Toussaint, tracking possible conjunctons and showing that a big one will be happening soon. Two of them believe it, and once is convinced it's just superstition. The place where the find all this is under Mt. Sansespoir, which would translate as "without hope". It's a detail no one really spotted, but it is a hint, that nothing under this mountain is to be taken lightly.

And in: Seven drunken knights Erland tells the other Griffins the story of the card deck, while they are playing, the legend behind the seven drunken knights, he also claims that when he was young many a warrior had such a deck, all claiming of having bought it from someone linked to the story. But throughout the events and the shocking reveal of Erland's own misdeed, he never reveals how he got the deck in the first place, which along with the way he told the story, was an easter egg, hinting that Erland may have been witness to the original events. But in what role?

28. Does anyone read your fics before you post them? If so, who?

Some, not all. @do-androids-dream-ao3acc and @regis-favorite-raven usually take the brunt of my writing sprees when they have the time.

43. If you take/write prompts: what’s your favorite prompt fic that you’ve written?

A question of truth

It was a somewhat unintentional prompt. @do-androids-dream-ao3acc had ranted about the fandom and weird pairing the other evening and she said, that some day someone would manage to pair King Henselt with a chair successfully. I have to admit, the prompt stuck in my head, and I am really proud of the story that came out of it.

47. If [insert fic] was a pair of shoes, what kind would it be? Describe the shoes.

The Raven's Blade series - it would be a pair of really worn down walking boots, boots you crossed half the world in, but that fit your feet so perfectly, they still are the most comfortable shoes you ever had.

[oxygenbefore1775]

brief summary of jeankasa 3+1 witcher! au fic that I desperately want to write but would probably never do

(fiy this is books&games based, netflix series can go to hell)

Jean (early 30s) is the head of the royal guard of the Kaedweni King Henselt and the veteran of Brenna Mikasa (probs 40s-50s) is the sorceress at the Royal Court of Kaedwen, the veteran of the Sodden Hill and Brenna; her sorcery is almost exclusively good for the battlefield only and her politic influence is almost non-existent which is probably why Henselt tolerates her presence at court despite the fact that she is a half-elf

1: the year is something 1270-1271, before the death of Demavend and the beginning of the second northern war, Kaedwen

Henselt is on the hunt in the forest for boar despite the recent sightings of monsters/scoia’tael in the royal woods. Unable to change the king’s mind on the safety concerns, Jean insists Mikasa accompany them for protection. Jean likes Mikasa (something he suspects her of as well), but his duties as the royal guard keep him near the King, while she spends most of her time away from Court - and thus, he uses the opportunity to spend some time with her. Suddenly, a chort attacks the party, ramming down the front rows of the huntsmen (the beast probably had its den nearby and the presence of intruders who were ignorant of its warnings were enough of a nuisance to slay). Jean orders his soldiers to get to the King while he, momentarily forgetting the true extent of her abilities, rushes to Mikasa, who has kept to the side of the party. As the chort charges a second time, Mikasa makes a split-second decision to create a portal, moving the King and the majority of the party to a safe distance. However, the portal doesn’t last long enough for Mikasa and Jean to get to it before closing, leaving them alone in the woods with the rampaging beast. Setting up a portal is easy, but it still requires concentration to avoid rendering the transportation deadly - something Mikasa currently lacks. Additionally, the chort proves invulnerable to the sorceress’s magic and the soldier’s steel sword, leaving Jean and Mikasa no choice but to run. When that soon becomes ineffective, Mikasa takes a risk and teleports them. To compensate for the danger, she connects the portal to the place most familiar to her, one she can easily visualize. As luck would have it, that place turns out to be Mikasa’s chambers back at the castle. They tumble onto her featherbed. [...] Before they can do something about their compromised position though, the castle servants burst through the doors to investigate the noise.

2: the year is also something 1271, after the battle of Vergen but before the Loch Muinne gathering

The Royal Ball is held at Ard Carraigh in celebration of Henselt's crushing victory over the Vergen defenses. Jean enjoys the festivities, but Mikasa, despite being a sorceress, stands aside and doesn't engage in any conversations. Jean asks her to dance, and she agrees. As they dance, Mikasa shares her concerns about their victory over the army consisting largely of elder races, fearing it will fuel racist sentiments towards non-humans, of which she is one. Jean suggests that she seek ties with the noble families of Kaedwen to further her influence and spread anti-racism sentiments. Mikasa responds that it wouldn't be possible since she is not seen as marriage material by the nobles. Jean reassures her that such matters wouldn’t concern him (implying his deep feelings for her). Before they can kiss, the dance requires them to switch partners, leaving their moment unfinished.

3: the year is 1271-1272, Nilfgaard has invaded Kaedwen already

After the battle with Nilfgaardian forces, Jean is left wounded. Despite the draining nature of healing magic, which she doesn't often practice, Mikasa goes out of her way to treat him. Using this brief moment of peace, Mikasa takes the opportunity to talk to Jean before he is moved from the front lines to an infirmary deep in the country. Kaedwen emerged victorious from the battle, but Jean is still worried since it was only vanguard forces of Nilfgaard; a much larger and more powerful army is still to come. However, he holds out hope as King Radovid is coming to their aid soon. Mikasa doesn’t share his sentiments, hope is a fool’s ally. She confesses her frustrations with her duty and the Lodge's expectations, admitting that she sometimes dreams of escaping the pressures placed upon her. However, she quickly reassures herself and Jean (if he were awake to hear it) that she would never abandon her responsibilities, especially if her efforts mean keeping the ones she holds dear safe. She hints at her feelings for Jean, hoping for a moment of connection. What she doesn’t notice is that Jean has fallen asleep thanks to her treatment and thus is unable to hear her. Before realizing this, Mikasa had hoped for a farewell kill, but now it doesn't seem appropriate.

4: 1272, after Radovid’s annexation of Kaedwen

After Radovid takes power in Kaedwen, he butchers almost all of the sorcerers and imprisons Mikasa to later torture her - not for information but to set an example to all others seeing as she’s a sorceress at the royal court. As she stays shackled in the dungeons of Ard Carraigh, Jean comes to her rescue. He sneaks her out of the dungeons by using the remaining influence that stayed from the years he served as the royal guard. He leads her to the channel on the outskirts of the city where an inconspicuous carriage waits for her - Jean has arranged it so that Mikasa will travel to the north where she can go to Kovir and Poviss in search of sanctuary. Mikasa wants Jean to go with her but he can’t leave his parents like this fearing that him fleeing will result in their deaths and generally he is in no danger under Radovid’s rule. It’s implied that they won’t see each other for quite some time, maybe years, so before saying her final goodbye Mikasa kisses him and disappears into the dark.

[meryllfrey]

fallesto asked:

❛ Nothing ever truly dies. ❜

@fallesto (Roche)

Ves felt a chill down her spine at Roche's words and hated herself a little for it. She wasn't some little girl who shook and cried in the face of fear, she was Ves, dammit. A lieutenant in the most elite fighting force in Temeria.

But if what Roche said was true, if the rumours he'd heard were true, it was Ves' greatest nightmare come to reality. Nights of sleep lost because of that terror -- that fat, evil man who called himself King.

Henselt. Geralt had sworn that Henselt was dead, struck down by Geralt in a vicious fight to the end. Had he been in hiding all these years?

"It can't be true," she heard herself saying. But Roche's intelligence agents were the best; they wouldn't have passed on questionable information to their Captain.

The only one who held more hatred for Henselt than Ves was Roche. And hatred made Roche careless. Stupid. Foolhardy.

"What will you do?"

[laurelnose]

His Royal Highness Prince Iorveth of the Free State of the Pontar Valley? Okay, but what about prince-consort Vernon Roche of Nilfgaard? How will they negotiate?

They … wouldn’t?

Like. First of all. Roche is a disgraced, commonborn foreign national plausibly implicated in the murder of King Henselt and, depending on where you set the timeline, also of King Radovid. At the end of Witcher II, he has literally nothing to his name. Crowning him Prince Consort of Nilfgaard not only yields no wealth or alliances, it is political suicide.

If we ignore that it makes no sense for the emperor to marry Roche, which is, to be clear, a fucking lot to ignore, then my answer is that Iorveth has no interest in negotiating with quislings and hypocrites. Roche will condemn Northern elves for fighting under the Vrihedd and Black Sun banners but Roche himself is just rolling over for the emperor these days? Fuck off! (The fact that he can’t tell Roche to fuck off because the Free State can in no way afford to offend Nilfgaard quickly becomes a source of deep, boiling resentment.) He remains icily within the bounds of politeness for diplomatic reasons but Saskia takes care of negotiations and tries to let Iorveth excuse himself as much as possible, the same way she handles Dol Blathanna.

(You can’t even get hatesex out of this scenario. Iorveth isn’t gonna fuck the consort of Emhyr var Emreis or of Geralt’s daughter. The first because cuckolding Emhyr is a suicidally bad idea. The second because it’s weird, and Ciri might mind less than Emhyr would but the optics would be bad for her if they were caught, and Iorveth is indebted enough to Geralt to at least not want to make things awkward for Ciri.)

If this is like, very AU and Roche was, idk, raised as Emhyr’s pet instead of Foltest’s or something, this … still doesn’t work because Roche is then Iorveth’s ally right up until the Peace of Cintra and the execution of the Vrihedd officers. At this point, if Roche doesn’t try to intervene — which I cannot imagine him doing, he would have no power to alter the decision and he’s not the type to break from the pack when given distasteful orders — the relationship is over. Iorveth never forgives that. He does not forgive Francesca and he would not forgive Roche.

Affiliation with Nilfgaard being a dealbreaker for Iorveth could be gotten around by making Roche consort of a different country, but I gotta say I’m not all that interested in royal!Roche in any scenario. princeveth probably kinda makes it look like I just like royal versions of characters but I don’t care about the royalty part of royalty AUs, I care about the power differentials they introduce. I mean everyone is allowed to get whatever they want out of princeveth but for ME the thing is that Iorveth and Roche are perfect equals in canon, right down to having equivalent ranks — or at least they are during the Second Nilfgaardian War and after Foltest’s death; the power dynamic is skewed in Roche’s favor during the time period where Iorveth has lost Nilfgaard’s backing but Roche can still draw fully on Temeria’s resources and military power — and princeveth is about what if they were not equals anymore. Introducing Roche as Iorveth’s social equal, from a country with more military power than the Free State (this is true of almost any country you could make Roche consort of, not just Nilfgaard), is just ... reinstating the canonical power balance but now instead of getting out the knives and fucking nasty against a tree about it they have to perform Social Niceties at each other. A completely different vibe, and one pretty much out of my wheelhouse!

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"Doubtful it was Henselt's extended family, House of the Unicorns is busy warring with each other over that throne, last I heard from Kaedwen. Could well be cultists... but not yours or Henselt's. Nobody so ordinary..."

Eskel reasoned quietly from where he stood, looking to where the book had previously sat. Ideas came to mind, swimming from his past... unpleasant possibilities. Turning on his boot, passing by Sabrina, he went to the window and looked out on to the morning... to the stables where Scorpion resided, seeing the town's folk starting to come out of their homes and into the streets, opening their shops. Working their farms. All blissfully unaware of the true horrors that walked the world, that dwell in worlds beyond this one and between worlds. Cosmic and demonic terrors alike that would break the minds of any that looked upon them. That tried to fathom them. And those that served such unnatural forces willingly and gleefully. All the common folk cared about was working for their Lords and Kings, toiling away at the lands, raising families and fighting the odd war. Others... were far more ambitious. Even more so than his present companion. Walking voids, with bottomless insatiable appetites for more power and knowledge, ever pushing the boundaries, shattering them. If there was anyone he wanted in possession of that book even less than Sabrina, it was the beings he was thinking of. Who would be capable of bypassing his medallion, senses and magical traps, with their supernatural knowledge. Even as the Witcher prayed to Melitele he was wrong, he had the sinking feeling he was right. At last, turning his viper eyes away from the window again, he looked back at the nude, crimson haired Sorceress, marred visage studying her perfect pale beauty grimly for a long moment. Then, at last his deep, calm voice spoke to her gradually, laying it out for her, with evident reluctance.

"This... may fall more under my area of expertise and knowledge than yours, this time. Not sure I should be sharing any of this... old Witcher secrets... but I'm the Grandmaster now. Our secrets belong to me. Bear with me. It could be the Dark Ones and Cenobites, from the far east. From the shadowy Lost City of Rathma. Sect of desert cultist mages that lived out near Zerrikania and Ofir territory. Stuff of nightmares... not sure they were even humans. Demon summoners and Necromancers who worshiped not Dragons like the Zerrikanians or some vague God like the Ofiri, but so called Outer Gods of the Outer Voids and the Great Old Ones. Said to have had a hand in writing demonic books like the Necronomicon, along with crafting occult puzzle boxes that were gateways to other dark worlds. The creator of the Witchers, Alzur, knew them centuries ago, lived among them for a time, learned some of their occult, Necromancer, summoning and demonic secrets before returning to the Northern Kingdoms. He was like you in that way... put the forbidden knowledge he gleaned to use for his own ambitions... unfortunately. Didn't end well for him or anyone, but that's another story."

"According to legends I heard from the older Witchers growing up, the ancient books in Kaer Morhen's libraries, along with stories later from travelling Ofiri Runewrights and Zerrikanian warrior women, the cult were once a good deal more powerful. They sought to conquer the east, wake and summon the eldest and most dangerous of their Gods... Azathoth... in a mass sacrificial blood ritual of some sort. The Witcher School of the Manticore out there went to war with them back in the day, alongside the armies of the monarchs of those lands, managed to prevent the summoning, killed most of the cultists and slew their army of demonic and undead thralls. Razed Rathma and broke their expanding, sorcerous hold on the east, but a few got away. Was probably them who conspired to destroy the Manticore Witchers and ruin their standing with the Queen of Zerrikania in 1146, with an unusually powerful Fire Elemental that killed most of the Witchers and much of the royal family. Revenge. Always mages bringing us Witchers low, for the crime of tempering their ambitions. Restoring sanity to the land. No good deed goes unpunished. Long story short... could be a longshot, but if I know of anyone in the world besides you who would want that book, it would be them. If any of them remain."

@fallesto

Sabrina stormed back and forth for the moment, her mind was racing along with her heart, not good, not good at all. "I spent so much time on that thing!" she snapped at the witcher, her voice tight with tension. "We need to track it down, now!" She didn't care about modesty or decorum at this moment. All she cared about was that book and the havoc its loss could wreak. As she looked at the lump in their bed. The witcher, still lying on the bed, stretched his muscular arms over his head, a lazy smile playing on his lips despite the urgency in her voice and then the jests! But his playful tone fell flat as he sat up, reading the anger in her eyes.

He knew better than to underestimate her when she was like this. He had to know it was unwise to poke her annoyance.

The book was not just a source of power or knowledge to her; it was a piece of her life, she had spent these years reading it, learning from it, expanding her knowledge. Years of study, countless hours of poring over ancient words, and the ultimate key to her greedy nature for knowledge had been bound in those pages. Her eyes searched his, looking for understanding, but finding only the beginnings of his normal blaming her. "That shall be a long list" she repeated, her voice shaking with a mix of anger and fear. The fiery passion from the night before replaced by a steely resolve. She stood with her hands on her hips, naked in the early morning light, her voluptuous breasts heaving with the rapid rise and fall of her breath. Her fiery red hair cascaded down her back, framing her sculpted shoulders and the fiery determination etched into her face. Her eyes, usually a soft hazel, were now hard and sharp, and filled with annoyance, she is the one who takes, no one takes from her.

Her mind raced through a list of potential suspects, each more dangerous and cunning than the last. There were those who coveted her power, those who bore ancient grudges, and those who simply enjoyed the thrill of chaos. She ticked off names, one by one, her teeth grinding together as she weighed the likelihood of each culprit. The room around them was a mess of tangled sheets and scattered clothes, a silent testament to the passionate night they had shared, now forgotten in the face of the crisis. “Most mages are gone, my last student died as well, thankfully. I have no contact with the lodge, they think I am dead, best to keep it that way.” Her breasts rose and fell as she paced back and forth, her mind racing. As she paced, bare feet padding on the ground as her mind was going a mile a minute.

“Henselt is dead.” As she was narrowing it down for the moment, it could be cultists, she had a cult in her name when she died, and then when she vanished as well without a trace, stuck in a form of a horse for fucking years, as she grits her teeth. “Could be his followers, fucking unicorns.” As she spits fire for the moment, and closes her eyes. “More than likely, followers of Henselt, wanting that stupid fucking pig brought back to life.”

[somniiator]

Still thinking about a Witcher au where Malikata is a sorceress belonging to the Lodge of Sorceresses, executed by Radovid for said association despite her attempts to reach a peace between the Lodge and the king/Redania as a whole. Zulaikha, meanwhile, is her sorceress niece who previously had no affiliation with the Lodge-- but she had helped advise King Henselt of Kaedwen alongside Sabrina Glevissig, only to flee and go into hiding after Sabrina's execution. After her aunt's execution, however, she starts actively hunting down the witch hunters in retaliation-- as well as Radovid himself.

[veralevina15]

Эта ночь непоправима, А у вас ещё светло. У ворот Ерусалима Солнце чёрное взошло.

(Осип Мандельштам)

Philippe Antoine de Ogier (OC but not mine) - chevalier, sorcerer and healer from Ellander. Together with my OC Yustianna (King Henselt's daughter, Kaedweni princess and herbalist) he worked at the Lebioda hospital in Vergen. Филипп Антуан де Ожье ( не мой OC) - шевалье, чародей и целитель, элландерец до мозга костей. Вместе с Юстианной (моей OCой, дочерью короля Хенсельта, каэдвенской принцессой и травницей) Антуан некоторое время работал в лечебнице Лебеды (по долгу принцессы Юстианна взяла под крыло дела милосердия в Вергене).

[limerental]

ficletvember 2024 - day 13

Geralt must keep Roche out of danger in Kaedweni army camp after he's magically transformed into a yappy little dog.

The little dog is maybe ten pounds wet with stubby legs and wiry hair, the sort kept on farms to sniff out rodents. The flicker of magical light has hardly faded before it begins to yap in alarm.

Geralt has a headache already. 

“Was that really necessary?” he asks Dethmold, who looks far too pleased with himself. 

“Oh, it will wear off in a few hours,” Henselt's wizard says, waving a perfumed hand. “It's not as if there's much of a difference anyhow. He’s an irritating little beast either way.”

“And I'm meant to do your king's errands while making sure a small dog doesn't run off a cliff?”

“If you like him enough,” says Dethmold with a shrug. “I'd kick him off the cliff myself, but then, I might scuff the leather on my boots.”

Without another word, the wizard saunters out of the tent off to do whatever wizards do all day. Be an inconvenience, mostly.

The little dog hasn't stopped yapping, the effort of its barking rhythmically lifting its front legs off the ground.

“Quiet, Roche,” says Geralt more harshly than he means, and the little dog obeys at once, tail tucked and ears slicked back. “Huh.”

If the commander of the Blue Stripes, presently transformed into a tiny mutt, can still comprehend orders in this form, then maybe he won't chase something off the first cliff he sees or bite anyone's ankles.

Geralt sighs and gathers up the small pile of discarded clothing and gear to stow in his pack, noting that at some point in the next few hours he'll likely have to deal with a very naked, very humiliated Vernon Roche. Hopefully all in one piece.

Feeling a little sorry for his earlier harshness, Geralt stoops to awkwardly pat the little dog on its head. Its fur is deceptively soft, especially between its unkempt ears.

“You in there, Vernon?” The animal’s head tips at the name, oversized brown eyes watering. While promising, that's not much confirmation that it understands him. 

“Sit," he orders.

The dog stares at him.

“Lie down.”

Its little body begins to quiver.

“Right, I wouldn't be in the mood for tricks either in your state.” Geralt has a vague memory of having once been transformed into a cockerel, but like most of the things he remembers lately, the memory is hardly useful and the context evades him.

“We’ll head back to your camp, and I'll try to keep you from being eaten by a large bird. Or something. It'll be fine.”

Things promptly go to shit.

Geralt should have thought to fashion a lead for the little dog, just in case, but if he were suddenly a dog, he'd hope no one would leap right to collaring him. 

At first, the dog trots beside him as they leave Henselt's camp behind, wandering onto the main thoroughfare of the Kaedweni army camp. Then, its body stiffens, scenting the air and the animal suddenly launches off at a run and almost immediately out of sight.

“Shit,” says Geralt, awkwardly burdened by the extra gear, and ignores the judgmental stares of dim-witted soldiers to hurry after the dog.

He follows the sound of harried barking rather than searching for tracks, and rounds a row of tents to find a cook threatening the little dog with a wooden spoon as it leaps at his legs, a serving girl cowering on the other side of the cooking fire.

“This your mutt, mutant?” the cook sneers. He’d threatened to spit in his food if the king let a Witcher stay in the army camp and probably had been interrupted leering at the poor girl. “Behaves just like you.”

After an unnecessary amount of insults directed his way, Geralt manages to coax the cook into giving the dog a scrap of meat to appease him. The dog growls as it gnaws the offered morsel, but before Geralt can snatch him up, Roche is off again. 

“Sorry about your ankles,” he calls behind him to the swearing cook, not really sorry at all.

After failing to nab the dog as it rustles in a trash heap, the little creature finally stops to sniff at a spot on the outer wall. The dog turns in a circle and lifts its leg to mark the wall, and Geralt figures he should divert his eyes to give him privacy and so promptly loses his chance to snatch the dog up as he rushes of again.

For his part, Roche seems to be having an excellent time as a dog. He barks loudly into the wind, little ears flapping, stubby legs eating far more ground than should be possible. 

Geralt loses sight of the dog once or twice but follows its high-pitched yap without much effort. 

It's not the worst way to spend an afternoon. Better than the slogging about in crypts he'd been planning on. As long as no wayward harpy tries to swoop down to make a meal of the yappy creature, the curse may wear off just running circles around the camp.

Unfortunately, the dog soon makes a beeline for the front gate, and though Geralt gestures to the Kaedweni guard to block the door, the soldier soundly dislikes him. He opens the gate wide as the dog bites at the leg of his trousers, shaking its head viciously. Geralt may have been able to catch the dog as it ptoceeded to lift its leg once more on the guard's boot, but the soldier promptly tries to drive said boot into the little dog's abdomen, narrowly missing as it darts away and out of the camp.

Yes, if Roche is aware and awake in there, he's having a very good time indeed.

Once outside the main camp, the dog turns predictably toward where the Stripes had pitched their tents beyond the walls. 

If Geralt knows Roche and his men, they'll never let him live this down, if they get wind of it. He’ll have to grab the dog before it reaches camp or risk Roche's surly wrath over the months of recurring dog jokes.

On open ground with less distractions, Geralt catches up quickly, but the mutt still evades him. Finally, he thinks to use a harsh command.

“Quit,” he all but growls. “Roche, quit.”

The dog cowers, whining, and Geralt scoops him into his arms with minimal effort.

“Should have done that right away, I guess,” he tells the dog as it licks at his palm, and he scratches absently behind its ears as it shivers miserably. He feels bad about the scolding, given how intensely the little dog reacts to his harsh commands. Geralt wonders if he would react the same to just anyone's barked orders. The dog whines low in its throat. 

Will Roche remember all this when he turns back? Geralt hopes not. 

Fashioning a lead out of spare leather, he secures the little animal and sneaks through the back of his tent to avoid detection. The Stripes are in the midst of cooking dinner, roughhousing and laughing together.

“Where's Roche?” asks Ves, as Geralt emerges for dinner some time later. “What’s with the dog?”

“Well. He'll be back soon. And the dog's lost. Looking for its master.”

Bearing two bowls of dinner, he returns to his tent and settles down to meditate for the evening. The dog laps the food up messily, then turns in several circles, digging in Geralt's blankets and flops down with a grunt curled against his legs. It lets out a long-suffering sigh from its whiskered snout.

“Long day, huh?” Geralt asks and the dog's tail thumps against the blankets. 

They doze together peacefully that way, until there’s a sudden burst of light, and Roche is very human again, face pressed against Geralt's thigh.

“You're not going to lick me again, are you?”

“Oh fuck you, Witcher,” grunts Roche, voice hoarse from all the barking.

Days later, Geralt thinks maybe it couldn't have hurt to let Roche the dog run full tilt into the Blue Stripes’ camp, barking exuberantly.  Would he have leapt at his fellows feet and wriggled with joy, just like any hound pleased to greet its family?

Watching Roche mourn his dead, empty and worn, Geralt wishes comfort could be as simple as it had been then. An easy pat on the head or a scratch behind the ears.