Novigrad
Rosemary and Thyme
He stepped through the door, waiting for Wun Weg to squeeze through without breaking anything.
“My lord, welcome!” Dandelion greeted him with the exuberance of a man enjoying his freedom. Robert offered his hand, and the bard shook it vigorously, pulling him inside.
“Thank you. I hope our little celebration didn’t inconvenience you,” he said, inspecting the inn. Geralt and the sorceresses were there, along with Priscilla, Zoltan and, of course, Poppy the owl.
Dandelion smiled, gesturing towards the table. “Of course not. It is such a pleasure to have you and your comrades here.”
“Geralt, ladies,” he greeted them, motioning them to sit as they rose to greet him.
“My lord,” they said as one. There were three seats around the table, larger than the others. One seat was clearly designated for Wun Weg, as it was nearly the size of a small carriage.
He was about to sit down when he acted as if the owl had caught his attention. He walked to it, a hand on his chin. “What’s with the owl, Zoltan?” he asked, squinting his eyes.
Zoltan scratched his beard in response to Robert’s sudden interest in the bird. “Won her at an auction. Poor thing, something got her eyes.” He didn’t think it was a good idea to reveal the specific auction where he won her.
“Can sorcerers change into animals, Geralt?” he asked. Sile and Margarita were quick to abandon their seats, approaching the owl with wide eyes. They had seen it once as the dwarf took the bird upstairs. Upon a closer look, they realised who it was.
“Yes, why are you…” the Witcher said. Coupled with the sudden interest of the Sorcerers, he too approached the bird.
Robert huffed. He reached for the small metal bracelet around the owl’s leg and snapped it in half. Immediately, the owl glowed, her form morphing back to that of a human. A woman stood in front of the perch suddenly.
One with a blindfold around her eyes.
“Philippa?” Sile asked with a breathy voice. She didn’t even know if her fellow sorcerer was alive. Seeing her hiding right under noses without being aware was embarrassing.
She crossed her arms, her cheekbones rising slightly. If she still had eyes, Robert was certain she would be glaring daggers. “About time someone noticed me. A pity it happened to be a complete stranger rather than my fellow sorcerers.”
“Honestly, we barely glanced at you once,” Margarita said. She was in no condition to care about a bird.
“How did you get stuck as an owl?” Geralt asked. The bracelet was obviously dimeritium. Someone must have put it on her while she was distracted. She was too vicious to be forced.
“It is irrelevant now. We have more pressing issues to discuss,” she said.
Robert held a hand out, a strained smile on his face. “We are in the middle of a celebration. You should probably rest and leave it for later.”
She took a step towards him, her shoulders tensed, head tilted up as if she could still see him. “And who are you, exactly?”
She was politically savvy and would no doubt back down to not antagonise him if he answered that question. Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with her.
Robert rolled his eyes and pulled his crystal out. Philippa tensed, gathering a fireball in her hand. She felt hundreds of hot needles stab into her eyes and brain simultaneously, leaving her paralysed with pain. She stood conscious only long enough for eyes to grow back. He caught the sorceress, waving the back of his right hand dismissively towards Sandor.
“Get her up to a room,” he said, letting Sandor take her away.
Everyone was watching him in silence. “What?” he said, dusting his hands. “She needs to rest. In the meantime, the celebration can continue.”
“True. May I introduce the star of the night, Priscilla?” Dandelion said, rubbing his hands together. The blonde poet approached, giving a deep bow. “My lord, thank you for all you have done for this city and its people.”
“Don’t mention it. In fact,” he clapped his hands and spread them apart, “all this formality is tiring. Tonight, just call me Robert.”
Geralt shrugged. “Alright.”
Sandor came down, fiddling with the collar of his doublet. “I dropped her in an empty room. She is sound asleep.”
“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s drink,” he said with a grin, sitting down first.
Between the music, the food and the alcohol, it was a pleasant night. Geralt was off to Skellige next in his search for Ciri. She was seen in two different locations. Each needed to be investigated. After that, he would have to see where the phylactery’s trace would lead him.
He was, of course, grateful that the Wild Hunt was deprived of one of its generals.
“Say, the Wild Hunt. They are from another world, right?” he asked. There wasn’t much time to interrogate Imlerith, not that he would say anything without employing extreme methods.
Geralt lowered his cup, forgoing the drink for now. “Yes, Aen Elle. Their king, Eredin, leads the Wild Hunt.”
“Why do they want Ciri? Is it because of her abilities?” he asked. While not everyone knew why she was important beyond being the heir apparent to Nilfgaard’s throne, it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibilities for him to discover something.
The Witcher nodded slowly, but his eyes hardened, suspicious. “It is. Her bloodline is special. A lot of people want to control her.”
A puff of air escaped his lips, brows creased. “Boy, does that suck.”
“Speaking from personal experience?” Geralt asked, his tense muscles relaxing.
He nodded, remembering the days before who he became. “I didn’t always have my dragons or my powers. The Seven Kingdoms was one giant game board. You either controlled or were controlled. I was always too headstrong to be controlled but never cared to control.”
“Guess that didn’t go well?” He didn’t want to be involved in politics, but those with power, wealth and influence always were dragged into it.
“Nope. There was this girl. I didn’t love her. Matches where love bloomed were rare. So I thought I would marry the sister of the man I grew up to call another brother while we were fostered in the Vale together.”
“Rhaegar, the cunt who sent me here, was obsessed with prophecies, about the White Walkers and the end of the world.”
Geralt’s eyes widened and he leant forward. “Sounds familiar.”
“He believed a child born from him and the girl I was set to marry would be the prince that was promised. King Aerys, my father and Lyanna’s father made a deal. I would marry the eldest daughter of Aerys, while Lyanna would marry Rhaegar.”
“You disagreed.”
“I wanted Eddard Stark as a brother more than I cared about marrying a princess, one who was my second cousin no less.” The pain had long faded into an unpleasant memory. The other half of him had certainly helped.
He didn’t remember the last time he had even thought about Eddard Stark.
“I almost rearranged Rhaegar’s face right in front of all the big nobility of Westeros. I let my guard down when Eddard pulled a sword on me,” he said. Unfortunately, Barristan, the one who had knocked him out, was dead. Slifer had apparently chewed the old knight like a piece of gum before spitting him out on Jon Connington.
Fast enough to shred him to pieces with shrapnel of bone and metal.
He kind of felt bad about him. He could have been recruited, but alas, there was nothing to do.
“That must have hurt,” he said, looking down. For a man you considered a brother to raise a sword against you was a cut too deep.
“I understand where he is coming from now. I was simply too stupid to see he would always be a Stark and chose the Starks,” he said. Honestly, if he had arrived any earlier, he wouldn’t have even chased her.
“Anyway, I got banished rather than lose my head due to no small amount of work by my father. Came back with dragons, and the rest is about me being a legend,” he said, spreading his fingers over his chest.
“I am the only person in Westeros who cannot be controlled, nor do I have the desire to play their hare-brained games,” he said. He achieved what none before him had.
Freedom.
“Anyway, enough about me. What do the Wild Hunt want exactly?” Their motives were a mystery to Geralt as of yet. He knew they wanted Ciri for the Elder Blood but not what they would do with it.
“I don’t know. Perhaps Imlerith can say,” the White Wolf said, a small smile creeping on his face. The song was one of his favourites now.
Robert chuckled. “I’ll ask him if I can control my laughter.”
The White Wolf joined him in merriment for a moment before the mood turned sombre. “Ciri’s life was tough. Her home was invaded by Nilfgaard, and most of her friends and family died. She spent years running and losing people she cared about. Not to mention all the people who want to control her for different reasons. Now it's the Wild Hunt and Nilfgaard.”
He patted him on the shoulder. He didn’t have any firsthand experience to compare, but he knew how much Geralt was worried. “Well, let me know if there is anything I can help with.”
Geralt shook his head. “You already did plenty.” He wasn’t about to have Robert solve every problem in his life for him.
“Most were for my own gain,” he said with a nonchalant tone.
The Witcher couldn’t refute it.
“Skellige, I heard they practice slavery there,” he mentioned. Since it was the next step of Geralt’s journey, it was best to start with them.
“It’s not just them. Nilfgaard and Aen Elle have slaves too. Only humans in the case of the latter,” he said, eyes widening ever so slightly. Pride or not, this could be a good way to kill two birds with one stone.
He leant on his fist, lips pushing on the back of his index and middle fingers.
“What are you thinking?”
“Whether I can negotiate with Emhyr or not. You see, I am a man of freedom. I don’t like slavery even if it can’t touch me. In fact, by my calculations, I spent around twenty-two point five billion crowns, or just thirty million gold dragons, last year to bring an end to slavery in several cities on our neighbouring continent.”
“Twenty-two billion?” he whistled. He didn’t know enough about Nilfgaard’s economic might to compare the amount, but that sum was enormous. Robert was making good on his claims if he could spend that much just to put an end to slavery.
“Emhyr might, but the nobility wouldn’t agree to it,” he said. The emperor was being pushed from all sides, in and out. Taking Redenia would grant him much-needed breathing room. Only, the nobles wouldn’t be so eager at the loss of free labour.
Robert raised his hand, thumb under his chin, his curled index finger moving up and down beneath his lower lip. “I might have to burn Nilfgaard to the ground then. Or at least enough to end slavery.”
Geralt almost fell from his seat. He looked around wildly, seeing that everyone else was more interested in the music. “Maybe focus on Skellige and Aen Elle first?” Hopefully the latter would be the first.
“That was my idea as well. I was thinking of challenging the rulers of Skellige to a contest. If they are as warrior-based and prideful as I heard, a good enough bait could convince them.”
He blinked. For all that they were rulers, most of the Jarls would be easy to bait if their honour was insulted. Any physical competition would end in Robert’s favour.
“And Aen Elle?” he asked, his voice rising in pitch. He didn’t have the power to defeat the Wild Hunt by himself. Recruiting enough people was doable but difficult. The only sure way was to have Emhyr’s countless legions on their side.
The price wasn’t worth it. It would never be.
He raised a singular eyebrow. “I’ll have to find a way to travel there first.”
“There are gates to their world. Also, Eredin’s navigators allow the Wild Hunt to travel between worlds. If you can capture one, they might be able to take you there.” He would do everything to help Robert get there.
The opportunity was too great to waste.
He finished his cup, filling it again. “I’ll see what the ladies can dig up. In the meantime, how are you going to travel to Skellige? I heard no one is willing to make the journey due to the war.”
“Apparently there is a ship that sails to Skellige. I’ll have to find the captain though,” he said.
Robert blinked, remembering the drunk captain, the pirate attack and Geralt waking up on the beach.
“You know,” he waved his hand slowly, “there is an easier and faster way to get you there. You could also count it as my payment for you to deliver a letter to the rulers of Skellige.” King Bran was most likely dead by now. He would have to challenge jarls one by one rather than waiting to solve this issue. Waiting for a new king to be elected was off the books.
He didn’t want to wait that long.
The older man leant back on his chair. “One of your dragons?” They were far faster than any dragons he had encountered and stronger. Only the Golden Dragons could speak with vocal cords, and they were extremely rare. Not only could Robert’s dragons speak without needing polymorphic abilities, their diet also consisted of magic beyond what he had encountered.
He wouldn’t say no to the opportunity as long as Ra didn’t test the limits of his agility while he was on.
“Come now,” he smirked, “when else would you get the chance again? You’ll be there in hours rather than days or weeks if the weather isn’t favourable."
Geralt hummed. He didn’t want to take a portal because of several reasons. But not only was the dragon ride pleasant – except for the death-defying stunts – it was also fast. He needed every second he could get.
“Alright. Thank you, again,” he said, raising his cup.
Robert met the toast. “Don’t mention it. Meet Ra in the Hierarch’s Square tomorrow. You’ll have to guide him to the islands.”
Geralt nodded, turning his attention to Priscilla.
Listening to the bard while playing the game was nice. Doing the same while physically being in the same room was incredible. The game, for all its greatness, couldn’t do Priscilla justice.
Dandelion, ever the innovator, invited him to sing a song from Westeros. The cultural exchange was a good idea, and he obliged. Though, he instead chose to sing something else.
John Elton’s I’m Still Standing was a song fit for the occasion.