Skellige
The New Port
He opened his eyes, feeling the satisfied smile on his face grow. He pushed himself up with his elbows, watching Yennefer dress.
“They are going to have King Bran’s funeral in a couple of days. Then come the discussions of a new king. You should give the letter to them now before they are too busy,” she said, putting on her undergarments.
He reached for the bedstand, taking the letter as the bed creaked. “Thanks. Almost forgot about that.”
—
Kaer Trolde Citadel
He was quickly admitted inside.
King Bran, in a very Skellige fashion, had chosen to seek death hunting a bear rather than waiting for it in his bed. Funeral arrangements were underway, and to his luck, all the jarls had already gathered.
“This is quite an intriguing proposal,” Crach said, stroking his beard. The isles didn’t receive any news from the mainland because of the war. That a dragonrider would appear out of nowhere and challenge them over thralls was unexpected.
“Who the fuck even is this man?” Lugos asked.
“He is from a continent across the ocean. He took Novigrad in less than a day with two dragons and two of his guards, one of which is an eleven-foot giant,” Geralt said. The jarls were disturbed. They already knew how arrows were useless. Swords and axes would yield the same results. Only the druids might be able to resist Robert should he decide on war.
Might.
Lagos swung his arms dismissively, reaching for a mug with a growl lodged in his throat. “Bollocks.”
“I vouch for Geralt and anything he has to say,” Crach said. The dragon itself was proof enough.
“He wants to challenge us over thralls? He sounds mad," Birna said, her tone slightly kinder than Lugos's. She had enough to deal with as is. This was indeed bollocks.
“If he is as strong as you say, why doesn’t he just attack us? Why send this letter?” Svanrige, the youngest of the jarls, asked, crossing his arms. He too had seen the dragon and even fired at the beast.
He didn’t know how to describe it, but something unseen had him on edge the whole time.
“He is a warrior too. Believes in honorable combat and wants to avoid bloodshed that would fall on civilians,” he said. At least he assumed it was because of it. Robert had gone out of his way to ensure the citizens of Novigrad were not harmed during his hunt of the crime bosses.
“But he will declare war if we don’t accept the offer?” Holger asked, his dark-colored right hand, the result of frostbite, stroking his chin, a lopsided grin on his face, all teeth and no warmth.
“Most likely.”
Crach pulled him aside. “Geralt, be honest. What do you think our chances are?”
“Hundreds of people saw him rip the Temple of the Eternal Fire out of the ground with his bare hands and throw it to the sea. I’d say not high,” he said. He meant to say nonexistent, but the jarls probably would take offense.
“What about Nilfgaard? They have slavery too, and it's harsher than ours,” Crach said, gritting his teeth.
“He considered giving Redenia to Emhyr in return for him putting an end to all forms of slavery. Once he learned the nobles would be against it, he considered burning the empire until they yielded,” he said. He didn’t know if Robert would follow through, but his instincts told him there was a great chance of it happening.
He turned around, taking a seat. “Shite.”
“This really isn’t a good time, not with King Bran’s death,” old Jarl Donar, the most honored and obeyed jarl of the isles, said, arms crossed.
“You can send him a message through Yennefer,” he said, turning to his companion, who was silent until now. “I am sure he would agree to wait until a new king is elected.”
Yennefer's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but she nodded.
“Even if we refuse the challenge?” Crach asked. That just sounded like inviting the dragons to Skellige. The warrior in him would never shy from danger. The jarl and the father in him could imagine what those beasts could do.
“Bah! I don’t know about you, but I accept the challenge,” Lugos said.
“So do I,” Holger hollered. No one said the challenge had to be about battle.
—
Novigrad
Administrative Center
He waited for Margarita to project him to Skellige.
They had sent a written note an hour ago, requesting to talk. He was happy to oblige through the candle. The blur of colors on the screen stopped, finally showing the feast hall where the jarls were gathered.
“Geralt. "Good news, I hope?” he asked once the sorceress nodded at him.
“The king of Skellige has passed away. They want time for the funeral and the election of a new king,” he said, giving a shallow bow.
He rolled his shoulders, putting the papers on the illegal businesses down. “As long as they give me an answer, regardless of what it is, they can have the time.”
His eyes swept across the room. Each of the jarls gave their silent consent. “That is generous,” he said.
“I am a generous man. And it's no fun fighting an enemy that is not united,” he said. Skellige without a king didn’t sound like a challenge at all.
“Ah, of course,” he said, leaving his place to a shorter, wider man.
“I am Crach an Craite, Tirth ys Muire, the Jarl of Ard Skellige. In the name of Skellige, I accept your challenge,” Crach said. Robert leaned forward, inspecting the dark-red-haired Wild Boar of the Sea. He was exactly like his counterpart in the game. Shorter than Geralt, well built, wearing chain mail over leather armor with the bearhide cape covering both shoulders and his back.
“Well met, Jarl Crach an Craite. I am Robert Baratheon, slayer of monsters, demons, and gods. Once you have elected your king, I will be there,” he said. They had no choice but to accept. Even if they didn’t grasp the scale of his power, they could not refuse such an opportunity without appearing as cowards.
“Why does abolishing thralldom mean so much to you?” Crach asked, his cold, sharp gaze watching for any sign of deceit.
He matched the look, causing Crach’s eyes to look away for a brief moment. “I believe freedom is the right of all sapient beings, humans, elves, dwarves, and giants, no matter the race.”
“And Nilfgaard?” he asked. They were the largest slavers on the mainland.
He smiled, eyes brightening. “They too will be dealt with, whether on the negotiation table or skies choked by ashes,” he said, shuddering at the prospect of violence.
The one-eyed jarl, Holger, left the screen, his smile gone.
“I shall let you know when a new king has been elected,” Crach said, leaving as well.
Birna, the wife of the late king, stepped forward. “It is reckless that you risk an entire city just to end slavery on Skellige.”
“No risk, no gain,” he said with a wide grin. Not that he was risking anything. He would win the mental and physical contests. As for luck, well, no one said anything about not cheating.
The jarls and the future generations would be honor bound to follow the results of the challenge. If he simply threatened them to abandon slavery, the jarls would revert that decision as soon as he was gone.
Their pride would be their undoing.
—
“My lord,” Philippa greeted him.
“Right, what was your name?” he asked Philippa, rubbing his eyes. She had to be humbled a bit before they could talk.
Her smile wavered, but she hid it by bowing deeply. “Philippa Eilheart, at your service.”
“And what exactly brought you here?” he asked, gesturing at the seat after an uncomfortably long moment of silence.
She took the offered seat, straightening the back of her skirt as she sat down. “I wished to thank you for healing my eyes.”
“I did it so you wouldn’t interrupt my little celebration.”
Her left eye twitched. “I am aware. Still, I would have to be an ingrate to ignore it.”
He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk, resting his chin on both palms, and resting his fingers on his cheeks. He grinned, eyes closed. “Given the amount of trouble you caused for your ambitions, worrying about being an ingrate must be pretty low on your list.”
She lurched forward, gripping the armrest of the chair until her fingers went white. Her face stayed blank except for the random twitches and the reddening on her cheeks.
“Regardless, you are welcome. Was there anything else?”
She coughed, clearing her throat, trying to recompose herself. “I wanted to ask, what are your plans about Redenia? While the kingdom doesn’t practice slavery, witch hunts are prevalent, and Radovid himself takes a sick pleasure in having sorcerers tortured.”
He didn’t snort if only to not give away the game. She wanted to lean on his philanthropic side to dispose of Radovid. It was cute but entirely expected.
“Tricky subject. He would never truly stop the hunts, and killing him would mean I would have to rule Redenia until a suitable replacement could be found. Say, who do you think would be a good, fair king of Redenia?” he asked, still leaning on his right palm, left index finger tapping on the desk.
She shook her head. “I can’t think of any names for now.”
“Not unexpected. I mean, they certainly don’t call Radovid 'the Malleable,' do they? "he asked, his smile growing wider, daring her to say anything.
She bit her tongue. “No, they don’t.”
He did actually have an idea for all of the northern kingdoms.
Vernon Roche.
The man himself was a military commander and would do everything to see Temeria free. His deal with Dijkstra and Emhyr, his assistance in assassinating Radovid, and the guerilla warfare he led. He was committed, loyal, and not afraid to get his hands dirty.
Only, he wasn’t a ruler.
He would have to speak with the man to see if he could fulfill that last requirement.
“I am sure your wisdom will lead to a solution,” she said, leaving without even asking for permission.
“Thank you, my lady.”
—
Southeast of the Vegelbud residence
Sandor took his helmet off, looking down. The cave, where the remnants of the Temerian army hid, was small. Their numbers were small, a handiwork of Nilfgaard's legions. His target, Vernon Roche, was there too, standing in front of a map with a blonde woman across him.
“Wait for my signal,” he said to the golden dragon, jumping down through the gap between his wings. He angled his feet towards the ground, feeling himself pick up speed as the wind got harsher. It blew through the gaps in his armor. He shuddered slightly at the cold.
He left a crater on the ground.
The sound of the impact was akin to a fallen star, immediately alerting the Temerian soldiers. He rose to his feet, one hand resting lazily on the pommel of his sword. He walked out of the hole, lightning dancing on his brows, steps slow and composed.
“Halt!” a man screamed as a group appeared out of the foliage, crossbows aimed at him.
He stopped, searching for the leader. Unless Vernon Roche was deaf, he should be out quickly.
“Fuck!” the said man screamed, running out of the cave’s entrance.
“Stop, lower your weapons,” Vernon ordered, pushing two of the crossbows down. The men did as they were told, taking a step back. The man stopped before him, pupils dilated.
“Vernon Roche,” he said. His tone was even, but it still stopped all movement.
Roche squeezed his hands into a fist. “You are the dragonlord’s man.”
“I am. Lord Robert wishes to speak to you regarding the future of Temeria and the northern kingdoms in general,” he said, taking his hand off the pommel. The crossbowmen looked at one another while the blonde woman crossed her arms, glaring at him.
“What exactly does he want to speak about?” Roche asked. Far as everyone knew, the dragonlord only took Novigrad to serve as his residence until he could return home.
Temeria and the north shouldn’t concern him.
He shrugged. Robert had just said to invite Vernon Roche for a meeting. The details, such as how he even knew this man and his hiding place, were beyond him. “That is for him to say. I only came to extend his invitation.”
“Roche,” Ves hissed, trying to pull him away. “You can’t be serious.”
He glared at her. “You can’t be serious to think we can ignore this. Not with Dijkstra dead.” She looked down, taking a step back.
“I will be there as soon as possible,” Roche said.
“No need,” he replied, whistling.
Ra was gentle as he landed, which meant no trees were uprooted and no humans sent flying.
“Unless you are afraid of heights, he will take us to Novigrad,” he said, gesturing at the dragon. He was yawning, bringing one massive claw to his maw, a move one would never associate with a dragon.
It didn’t stop the soldiers from trembling.
Vernon felt his throat dry. No matter how many times his throat bobbed, it wouldn’t go away. “Of course,” he said. If the man had sent his dragon to fly him to Novigrad, then he wouldn’t appreciate being made to wait.
“Gah,” Ra grunted. “I’ve become a glorious ferry,” he muttered, leaning on his side to allow the humans on.
—
Novigrad
Once he was on solid ground, the only reason Vernon didn’t meet the paved road face first was because his legs were stiffer than a line of Nilfgaardian heavy infantry from the Alba Division.
He didn’t wish to repeat that again, no matter how wonderful the idea of flying was.
Sandor held Roche by the shoulder with one hand, pushing him forward. He could see that the man was nervous. Once he met Robert, though, it would all go away.
—
Sandor entered after knocking thrice, slamming his right fist on his left breastplate. “My lord, I brought him,” he said, pulling the man inside.
Robert sat straighter. The man, still dressed in the blues of Temeria, realized he was out of his depth. He did an admirable job at not showing it.
“Commander Vernon Roche, we finally meet,” he said with a light tone, pouring a cup of wine for him. It would soothe his nerves.
Vernon fell on the chair, almost bending the metal cup. He downed it in one go before Robert filled it again.
“How is your guerilla warfare against Nilfgaard going?” he asked, sipping his own wine.
Roche looked at the map on the table, eyes sliding towards Temeria. “With limited success.”
“That is to be expected. Fortunately for you,” he pointed at Vernon with his cup, “I have a solution that will make us both happy.
Vernon perked up, eyes alight. “What would it be?”
He pulled out the papers raided from Dijkstra’s bathhouse, laying them before Vernon with a smile. The guerilla’s eyes widened and his head snapped up. “Since you are willing to whore yourself out to Emhyr—as Dijkstra said in his notes—I assume you would be willing to do more to secure Temeria’s freedom?” he said, chuckling.