Isle of Mists
“Weird thing though, I kept dreaming about dragons and a man riding them. He was helping you,” she said.
They were resting near the fire after Geralt finally found Ciri, catching up. She told him of her journey so far, first appearing in Skellige. After escaping the Wild Hunt while Avallach was cursed by Eredin, she landed in Velen. Making her way to Novigrad, she tried to find a way to repair the phylactery to revert the curse on Avallach. When it failed and she had to escape once more, she returned to Skellige.
“That’s Robert, the new ruler of Novigrad,” he said.
She stopped sharpening her blade, raising her head. “What?”
“You’re not gonna believe how much happened while you were sleeping,” he said, starting from the day he met Robert to how much he helped him, the mages, and the people of Novigrad. His conquest of the city involved destroying the four leaders of the underworld, putting a ban on witch hunts and the worship of the Eternal Fire, and defeating the Jarls of Skellige over banning slavery on the isles.
And of course, his dragons, Wun Weg and Sandor, and finally, the way he threw the Temple of the Eternal Fire to the sea.
“Told you you wouldn’t believe me,” he said. His story was as unbelievable as hers about one of the worlds she had visited. Both knew the other was telling the truth, though.
“I do. It’s just… bloody hell,” she swore, sheathing her sword. “The world has gone upside down while I was here.” If only she were a couple of days later, perhaps she wouldn’t have to escape from Novigrad.
“It has. Oh, one last thing and you are going to love this,” Geralt said, his face stretching into a smile broader than she was used to.
“What is it?” she asked. Whoreson Junior was dead, the witch hunts were banned, Dandelion was safe, and worshipping the Eternal Fire was outlawed. What else could she ask for?
“He killed the Crones of Crookback Bog and captured their guest, Imlerith,” he said.
She latched onto the side of his arms, eyes begging. “He captured Imlerith?! Is that bastard dead?” While he was no Eredin, Imlerith was still extremely dangerous. He had come close to catching her many times.
“Worse,” he said, patting her hand. “He dressed him in woman’s clothing, had makeup done on his face, and had a song written about him, Imlerith the Impotent.”
“Please tell me you are not joking,” she said with a flat tone. Killing him was one thing. But to humiliate him in such a manner? She couldn’t decide whether it was better or not.
“I’m not. In fact, once we are in Novigrad, you can see it for yourself,” he said.
“Aren’t we going back to Kaer Morhen?” She missed everyone on Kaer Morhen.
“Robert is deeply against slavery. The Aen Elle are not out of his list. I talked about it with him. When the Wild Hunt tracks you to Novigrad, he will happily butcher them all.”
“You know what, I want to see this myself,” she said.
“Then what are we waiting for?”
—
Novigrad
Hierarch’s Square
They appeared in an alley, out of sight. She turned around, getting her bearings. “Come on, this way,” Geralt said, putting a hand on her shoulder, guiding her towards Imlerith.
Ciri, impatient to see one of the generals of the Wild Hunt reduced to such a sorry state, rushed forward without waiting. He shook his head with a lazy smile, following her.
She heard the song first before she saw the crowd gathered around the plaza. There, tied to a wooden pole with a pink frilly dress around him, was an elf with makeup on his face turned into a mess. She pushed the people aside, moving forward to get a closer look.
She froze on the spot.
The mess on his face made him almost unrecognizable, but those eyes—she would never forget them. It was Imlerith, who had chased her on many occasions like a blood hound. The spark of delight in his eyes, fueled by the fear of his enemies, was gone. He had a dull look on his face, so different from the mad bastard she knew.
When he saw her among the crowd, his eyes widened. He began to struggle again but couldn’t break the chains.
She threw her head back, pointing a finger at the almighty general, and laughed. Her hatred, her anger, her fear, and every single emotion she felt toward the Wild Hunt bled into it. She let out all her troubles, letting them fly away for a moment, relishing in his suffering.
Her delighted shrieks earned her one too many eyes. Geralt pulled her away, thinking she had more than enough.
—
It took her a while to calm down. Her throat felt sore, her eyes were teary, and her belly ached. It was worth it though.
“That was great, better than that in fact,” she said, a short wave of laughter rumbling in her chest.
“Knew you would like it. Come on, let’s go to Rosemary and Thyme. Everyone’s waiting for us there,” he said.
“Everyone?”
“Yeah. Even Vesemir agreed to come down once we told him you would be safer here.”
“Then let’s go,” she said, pulling him along. Could this day get any better? She didn’t know.
—
Rosemary and Thyme
Yennefer had strategically poised herself near the door, pacing in wait. Friends and family had gathered for Ciri’s return.
Finally, the door opened.
She stopped, feeling her throat constrict. The first white-haired person to come through was Geralt. He watched the room for a couple of seconds before stepping aside. She felt her eyes moisten as the figure behind him stepped forward.
She threw her arms around Ciri, squeezing the young girl tightly. Ciri returned the hug, the smell of lilac and gooseberries washing the fatigue out of her. She let go, cupping her face. “My, you’ve grown beautiful,” Yennefer said.
Ciri smiled, looking around the room. Her eyes locked on her grandfather figure. She squeezed Yennefer’s hands gently, letting go. This time, she was the one to throw her arms around someone, hugging Vesemir just as tightly. The old man twirled her around once as she kicked her legs up and down, giggling.
—
After hugging over half a dozen people, her mood dimmed before the Sorceresses of the Lodge. Still, she did not let it affect her much, greeting each one quickly.
Avallach was the last person to come forward. “Zirael, it is fortunate to see you well.”
“You too.”
“Now that the star of the night is here, let’s celebrate,” Dandelion said, gently hitting two cups of wine together. She smiled, letting Geralt and Yen guide her to a seat between the two. She didn’t realize how starving she was until the bard mentioned the feast.
“You really outdid yourself, Dandelion. Though, where did you find the money for all of this? Last time I was here, you hadn’t even opened this place,” she asked. While he was helping her steal Dijkstra’s treasury, he certainly didn’t have the money for this. Had he taken a loan from one of the ladies he knew?
“Our benefactor is truly generous,” Dandelion said.
“He means Lord Robert,” Sile clarified from across the table.
Ciri wasn’t expecting to see the three members of the Lodge, Philippa, Sile, and Margarita, slumming it in Rosemary and Thyme. Geralt hadn’t mentioned the details, but she felt there was a story here.
“Aye,” Zoltan said, putting his mug on the table. “Three rooms, food for him and his dragons, and he pays us a shitload of crowns.”
“What else can you tell me about him?” she asked. Her dreams of his actions were wild, though they mostly concerned Geralt. She had seen him ride a dragon twice. Semi-aware of her dreams, she thought they were symbols for something.
Turns out he did actually ride dragons.
Dandelion, all too willing to sing praises of the city’s savior, was the one to speak. She listened while eating. He first detailed what Geralt had told her before speaking more about Robert himself.
She would have to go and thank him for everything.
“By the way, Geralt, your elven friend here,” Dandelion glared at Avallach, who continued to eat as if he hadn’t noticed, “has seen fit to take Lord Robert’s room. If you could remove him before he does, that would be for the best,” he said. By the time he was aware, the elf had already settled in the suit. He was stuck between organizing the feast and having to chase the elf out.
He decided to leave it to his friends.
Triss choked on her piece of chicken before coughing it out. “You did what?” she asked, wiping her mouth. The whole table turned to the elven sage, watching him with open mouths. That was a level of stupidity unbefitting a sage of all people.
“I did not know it was his. Excuse me,” Avallach said, leaving the table. He didn’t think much of a human lord at first. He had, however, seen the dragons himself.
“Huh, didn’t think the pointy ears there could show any emotion other than disdain,” Zoltan said, chuckling as the elf hurried upstairs.
“We got a bath and a room ready for you. You can freshen up and rest as soon as you want,” Yennefer said.
Ciri beamed. “Thank you.” She had taken her last bath back in Skellige. Speaking of Skellige, she would have to visit Skjall to thank him for everything.
—
She let herself fall on the bed, sighing at the softness. Once her stomach stopped growling, she was taken to the bathroom. Scrubbing all the dirt and grime off her with plenty of hot water had felt divine. Dried and dressed, she felt at peace.
“Sandor, go fetch Dandelion. Someone entered my room,” a voice came from outside. She could hear the agitation in his tone. Remembering Avallach’s little mistake, guessing who he was wasn’t difficult.
"Yes, my lord,” another man replied, followed by footsteps going down. She got up from her bed, leaning her ear on the door, listening. There were two sets of footsteps now, one hurried and one slow.
“My lord, I am so sorry about this,” Dandelion apologized. “There was a mishap, and one of my guests accidentally took your room. We were quick to remove him.”
“Eh,” Robert’s voice lightened, “as long as it was an honest mistake, it's fine. Just don’t let it happen again.”
“Of course. Would you like anything before going to sleep? Ale perhaps?”
"It's late, Dandelion. Go and sleep,” he said with an amused huff.
“Then I wish you a good night.”
She went back to her bed as Dandelion’s footsteps faded away. She would find Robert tomorrow. Her bed was more enticing now.
—
She woke up the next morning, part out of habit, part because her stomach was demanding food again. She washed her face and changed into the new clothes waiting for her. They were the same in looks as her previous ones, simply new.
She went down for breakfast, already seeing everyone gather. She hugged Vesemir and Yennefer before heading to the table where Geralt was waiting. On the other side of the hall, she finally got a good look at the dragonlord.
Barely taller than Geralt but muscular enough to wrestle a troll, he had a strong jaw, differently colored eyes, and a permanent smile on his face. He was brimming with power, and the crown of flame and lightning around his head was only the surface.
With the smooth-faced warrior and the literal giant next to him, he looked like someone straight out of a fairy tale.
“So that’s him?” she asked to start the conversation.
“Yeah. Great guy,” Geralt said.
“Anyone who could do that to Imlerith is great in my books.”
She turned towards Robert again, watching him eat while reading a document.
“We should prepare for the Wild Hunt,” Yennefer said as she took her place on the table. “It won’t be long before they arrive.”
“Can I see the dragons first?” she asked. The idea that Geralt had ridden one not once but twice made her envious. She at least wanted to see the beasts.
“Sure. One of them’s always near the Administrative Center in the Hierarch’s Square,” he said, filling her cup with fruit juice.
—
She was quick to finish her breakfast. Too quick, in fact, Yennefer was displeased with her lack of manners but didn’t say anything. She dragged Geralt out to visit the square. She stopped before the dragon, marveling as his azure scales gleamed under the sunlight like sapphires.
“Geralt of Rivia. I see you finally found your daughter,” he spoke, giving a bow with his final word. His voice was deep and graceful, and her eyes brightened.
“Thank you, Lord Obelisk. I was just taking Ciri on a walk,” Geralt replied, returning the bow.
“Then don’t let me keep you,” the dragon said, turning his attention to the skies. She wanted to touch him, to feel his scales under her hand, but refrained from it. Geralt shook his head, pulling the mesmerized girl along.
—
Tir Na Lia
Eredin contemplated the latest news on his throne.
Imlerith was captured by a dragon-riding dh'oine and subjected to humiliation. He was in the middle of a Dhonne city. Rescuing him would require an all-out assault on the city.
If he was weak enough to be captured, then Eredin saw no need to rescue him.
The issue was the dh'oine and his dragons. There was no force on the land that could stop them. A dragon, a beast that could scorch them from the skies, was not one to be easily defeated. Two, even less so.
They needed an edge.
“My king," Caranthir knelt. “Long ago, in one of the worlds we travelled, we came across a beast of terrifying power. So much so, we fled in terror.” They were on a routine expedition to search worlds to settle. That accursed world and its monsters were leagues beyond them.
He, much to his shame, had fled.
Eredin smiled. He did remember something about that. “What of it?”
“I believe we can draw it to the city and let him clash with this godslayer. It might weaken him enough for us to mount an attack to take the girl,” he said. It was a gamble by all means, but trying to attack the dh’oine and his dragons was suicidal.
“You believe this beast can be controlled?” A beast that would make Caranthir run for his life was one that was bound to be extraordinary.
“No. We are not a challenge to it, but if it can be lured through a portal, it might think the dh’oine is one.”
Eredin fell silent. If it succeeded, the beast could be the edge they needed. If not, he didn’t care if some navigators were dead. As long as Caranthir lived, that is.
“Do it.”
—
Notes: A time skip because there wasn’t much to write. I didn’t want to go through a meaningless filler chapter with Roche or just repeating Geralt’s journey as he finds Ciri. Also, what do you think the beast is? Here is a clue, it is a fiery one.