Rosemary and Thyme
Philippa opened her eyes.
Something she did not do in months.
She saw darkness at first, yet her eyeballs, which were gouged out, moved. She closed her eyes again and slowly pulled the binding off. With a deep breath, she opened them once more.
Only to close them just as quickly. The sunlight assaulted her eyes, giving her a short-lived headache. Once the pain passed, she opened them partly, blocking the sunlight with her hand.
She could see.
Philippa chuckled, her chest rumbling into a full-blown laughter of glee. Months of work to grow herself new eyes, and that brute of a man had done it in seconds. When she had her revenge on Radovid, she would enjoy it to the fullest.
First, she had to know what was happening.
“Philippa, you’re awake,” a voice called as the door was opened without permission. Sile de Tansarville stood there, almost as Philippa remembered her. There was something different, something she could not put her finger on.
“Sile, so good to see you,” she said, getting up from her bed, stretching.
She rolled her eyes. “I suppose seeing anyone when you were blind just a day before would be good.”
Philippa blinked. That was biting in a way Sile never spoke. “Come now, don’t say that.”
“The owner got lunch ready. You must be hungry,” she said, walking away. Whatever had happened to Sile, she was now colder for it.
“Lunch?” she asked.
Sile sighed. "It's noon.”
“That explains my stomach.”
—
“I see our guest is awake,” Dandelion said, putting a plate of grilled lamb chops on the table. Robert’s lavish spending had greatly improved the state of their finances. Not only were they famous now, but they could also afford higher-end foods.
“Indeed. Rest assured, you will be compensated for the abruptness of the situation,” Philippa promised flatly. She wouldn’t owe anyone a debt.
Dandelion shrugged. “Seeing as Lord Robert is paying for everything, I don’t think it's necessary.”
“What’s with her?” she whispered to Margarita, glancing at Sile near the window. She was looking outside at nothing in particular. Not unless the worn streets had her interest.
“I don’t know. She was fine but suddenly became like this,” Margarita said, her gaze softening.
“Suddenly?” Sile said, raising her tone to be heard clearly across the room. “I simply distracted myself with work. Having the time to think isn’t doing me any good.”
“Anything in particular?” Philippa asked.
“Like how I wanted to die rather than live anymore. But that man, Sandor, decided I would live because his lord wanted it so, and here I am,” she said, still looking out.
Philippa put down her utensils, putting her elbows on the table, bringing her hands together under her chin. “Are you complaining that you are alive, Sile?”
“Oh no,” she said, turning towards them. Her eyes were colder than the white frost, but there was a familiar look in them. “I am just imagining what I will do to Radovid once I get my hands on him.”
Philippa nodded after a second, resuming her lunch.
—
Kaer Trolde
Yennefer rubbed her eyes, blinking several times to get rid of what must be a flicker of light in her eyes. She looked to the cloudy sky over the sea once more, but it was still there. A dragon, one shinier than the gold in her pouch, was approaching Kaer Trolde.
Why or how a dragon would come to Skellige of all places was left aside.
She prepared to fight, for escape was not possible. She had friends in Kaer Trolde and allies, and the entire city could not be abandoned to a dragon. Warriors of Skellige were quick to spot the danger, ringing the bells.
Archers prepared, for all the good it would do, and the civilians ran. Arrows quickly turned into rain against the dragon. Even from this distance, it was easy to see that the beast wasn’t affected by the projectiles. She prepared to launch a lightning strike.
“Hey, hey! Don’t fire!” a familiar voice screamed from the top of the dragon. The arrows stopped, fearing that someone had been caught by the beast. Only, it was not to be.
The beast landed on the dock, and the man atop it slowly slid down. A man she knew intimately.
“Waiting for me? That feels nice,” Geralt said, smiling at her.
She couldn’t share the sentiment due to the literal dragon in the docks. “Geralt? What in the name of gods are you doing?!”
“He is just giving me a ride,” he said, patting the beast’s left front leg.
“A ride? A dragon is giving you a ride?” she repeated back, her voice rising with each word.
"Yes, I am. Sheesh, woman, what other proof do you need?” the beast rumbled, rolling his eyes. He craned his neck back, allowing the Witcher to hold onto his horn. He lowered him to the ground gently.
“Don’t get yourself killed now. Father considers you a friend; he’d be pissed,” the dragon advised, beating his wings to rise.
“Thanks for the ride and don’t worry,” Geralt said, waving after the dragon. He turned to Yennefer, smiling at her dumbfounded look, one shared by everyone in the docks.
“Yeah. You’re not going to believe what’s happening back on the mainland,” he said.
Yennefer wrapped her arm around his, dragging him away. “Come with me; let’s speak somewhere more private.”
—
The New Port
“Told you you wouldn’t believe it,” he said. First her bafflement and now the blank look on her face are expressions he had scarcely seen.
“I do believe you. It’s just a lot to take in,” she replied, swirling the wine in her cup.
“What was it like, riding a dragon?” she asked, a faraway look in her eyes. She had no idea where to start asking questions.
“Really great as long as you hold on tight. It only got dangerous when Ra decided to let me off by flying barely above the ground with his back facing the dirt,” he said, remembering the death-defying stunt.
She chuckled, looking out the window towards the sea. “I thought things were hectic here with the king’s death.”
“Right. I also got this,” he said, pulling the letter out of his backpack.
“A letter?” she said, taking the envelope. She didn’t open it since it was an official letter from one head of state to another.
“Robert hates slavery of all kinds. He is challenging the Jarls to an official competition. If he wins, they will ban slavery. If the Jarls win, they get to raid Novigrad without his intervention.”
She raised an eyebrow. “He would risk an entire city like that?” It almost seemed irresponsible.
“I don’t think he is risking anything. He is smart, dangerously so,” Geralt said. He guessed that Robert planned something. A way to outsmart the Jarls during the competition.
“High praise from you,” she said, a ghost of a smile on her face. Her lover rarely spoke highly of most rulers they knew.
“Wait till you see what he did to Imlerith. You’ll be impressed too,” he said with a grin that reached his ears.
She coughed the wine out at the mention of the Wild Hunt. “Imlerith?! What would he have anything to do with the Wild Hunt?”
“The Crones I mentioned?" he asked, and she nodded, wiping her lips. “They wanted to eat Ciri. He came across them negotiating with Imlerith. Suffice to say, everyone except Imlerith is dead,” he said, taking a deep breath, relishing in knowing they were dead.
If only he were there to see it.
“That is the best news I had in a long while. What did he do to Imlerith?” If the general of the Wild Hunt were still alive, then Robert must have some sort of use for him. She felt lighter knowing several threats had been eliminated altogether. Imlerith, those Crones, and the Church of the Eternal Fire were gone.
Their lives had suddenly become much, much easier.
“Believe me, it is best if you see it for yourself,” Geralt said, coughing to stifle the urge to laugh. It still was one of the funniest images he had ever seen.
“Geralt,” she said, slightly dragging his name out with a playful growl, “don’t make me go to Novigrad now.”
He felt his heart skip a beat. “Fine, fine. He had him dressed in a pink, frilly outfit along with makeup and had the bards write a song, Imlerith the Impotent. It’s the new hit of the city.”
She blinked, not certain if she heard him right. “You are right, I need to see this for myself,” she said, leaving her chair. She waved her hand, opening a portal back to Novigrad.
“You should go see Sile, Margarita, and Philippa too,” he called as she entered the portal.
—
Novigrad
The city’s atmosphere had changed. The stench of charred meat was gone. The Witch Hunters were absent. Most importantly, there was even an attraction in the Hierarch’s Square.
Imlerith the Impotent.
To most civilians, the Wild Hunt was a procession of ghostly riders. They came, they took, and they left. A harbinger of doom, an omen of war, plague, and destruction.
Their feared general was crying right now.
Imlerith was broken in a way she thought was fitting. Stripped of his honor, made into a monument for the amusement of those he saw as lesser, his pride was shattered. His makeup had become a mess, and he hung his head down as the citizens jeered at him.
Anyone less evil, and she might have felt bad. Instead, she would cherish this memory forever.
A visit to Robert Baratheon was in order.
—
Administrative Center
“Another sorceress here. Wants to speak to you,” Wun Weg reported from the door.
“Not Philippa I hope,” he said with a low tone, nodding at the giant.
It was not.
All black and form-fitting, Yennefer of Vengerberg entered the room.
He tilted his head, examining her. “You must be Yennefer.”
She smiled, giving a slight bow, and took the offered seat. “Geralt mentioned me then.”
“How could he not?” he huffed, remembering how Geralt was acting during the funeral. “If I didn’t know better, I would think he was a lovesick boy just entering manhood.”
Yennefer coughed to hide her smile.
“What brings you here? Last he told me you were in Skellige,” he said, looking towards the sea for a second.
“I just was. When I heard what had happened to Imlerith, I wanted to see it with my eyes.”
“Well, it's not exactly a Walder the Whore, but I do think it came out well,” he said, nodding to himself.
“Walder the Whore?” she asked, her head turning slightly to the left. The source of the inspiration was bound to be just as interesting as Imlerith the Impotent.
“A lordling back home. He wanted to sabotage a bridge I was building. I kidnapped him from his castle, dressed him as a whore, and paraded him before half a million souls,” he explained.
She took a deep breath to keep her composure. “I am surprised he even considered crossing you.”
“He sent one of his many bastard sons to do the deed. The boy came forward with the truth upon realizing working for Asgard Trading Company was better than living as the illegitimate son of Walder Frey,” he said.
Treat people like people rather than a cheap source of labor, and wonders happen.
“Geralt also mentioned you were a great assistance in our search for Ciri. I wanted to thank you in person and also to see my fellow sorceresses,” she said, bowing again. Even if it was for his gains, he had done more for her daughter than Emhyr or anyone else.
Robert nodded, itching to tell them where Ciri was. If only they didn’t need that damn sage. “Sile and Margarita requested a day off to catch up with Philippa. They are still in Rosemary and Thyme.”
“I know it's not much, but if there is anything I could assist you with, please let me know,” she offered.
“Sure, I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”
“Then if you excuse me,” she said. He gestured to the door, turning back to calculate the total amount of taxes received.
—
Rosemary and Thyme
“Yennefer? I don’t believe it!” Dandelion exclaimed, his voice cracking, and hugged the older woman.
“Dandelion, good to see you. You too, Zoltan,” she said, nodding at the dwarf.
She turned to her fellow sorceresses, ones she didn’t know if she would see again. “Philippa, Sile, and Margarita.”
“Would you look at this? All four of us together. When was the last time?” Philippa said with an unusually light tone.
Sile, though, was the complete opposite. “Does it matter?” she drawled, refilling her cup with something strong.
“I suppose not,” Margarita said, still looking at Sile.
Geralt had already said Sile and Margarita weren’t in great condition when they were saved. She didn’t want to bring it up. “You seem awfully cheerful, Philippa.”
“Robert healed her eyes. She is delighted by it,” Sile said, peering at something outside through the window.
“Who wouldn’t be?” Philippa said, rubbing her eyes to alleviate the pain caused by the sensitivity.
“Enough bickering. What brings you here?” Margarita asked. It certainly wasn’t for old times' sake. Not with how Yennefer kept glancing at the door.
“I just wanted to see Imlerith and you three. I need to get back to Skellige to continue the search for Ciri.”
“Ciri? She has returned?” Philippa asked, losing her composure for a brief moment.
“Yes, with the Wild Hunt on her tail,” she said. Hopefully they would slow down with Imlerith gone.
“Then I believe it's time we rebuild the lodge," Philippa suggested. If they could convince her to join the Lodge, then all their plans would be so much easier to carry out.
“Do what you want. I have other commitments,” Sile said, finally putting her cup down, swaying as she tried to get up.
“Working for the new lord? I thought that was only a short-term occupation,” Philippa asked. With how many of them were dead, she could not afford to lose any members.
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“And you Margarita?”
“We’ll see.”
Non-answers. My favorite," Philippa scoffed.
“Since you three are in relatively good spirits, I won’t take much of your time,” Yennefer said, not in the mood to deal with Lodge politics.
“Go. Finding Ciri matters more now,” Philippa said. She was already thinking how to convince Sile and Margarita to join her.
—
Kaer Trolde
The New Port
“How did it go?” Geralt asked, lying on the bed in his underwear, looking at Yennefer with lazy eyes.
Yennefer huffed, shaking her head. “It was enlightening and amusing.”
He hummed. “You know, we could amuse each other too,” he suggested, head leaning on his palm.
She considered his offer. She needed to destress and couldn’t think of a better way. Her clothes came undone, and Geralt’s smirk only grew.