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merlot-and-chardonnay · 5 months

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A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 37

Chapter 36

Masterlist

Just a heads up I'll be jumping ahead in time a bit for the first two sequences before we head back to the present point in time.

---------------Temerian dungeon a few weeks later-----------

"The Targaryen princess seemed to recognize you right away," Roche addresses an imprison Geralt, "the look in her eyes, it was almost as she'd seen a ghost the moment she turned to face you. But you on the other hand...what is your relationship to the princess, Geralt?" "That I don't remember," Geralt admits. "Well it appeared you were one of the people she was looking for in her solitary quest," Roche says, "something about you being connected to her mother, the Lady of Larks. I never would've guessed..."

"How do know her?" Geralt questions. "I had the very high honor of meeting her years ago," Roche explains in his usual sarcastic way, "my men saved her from these bandits. Then, I had the very displeasure of meeting her father as well as the dragons."

"Go on, then," Roche insists, "finish the rest of the story. If I remember correctly, after your little confrontation with the princess she disappeared to meet with the sorceress Tris."

"She did," Geralt confirms, "but then she rejoined us in the monastery. She had some questions she wanted to ask me..."

---------Meanwhile in King's Landing-----------------

In the small council chambers, a meeting was held. Present for the meeting, apart from the small council members was Queen Alicent and the Hand of the king. The king himself was not present,. In fact, Viserys hadn't been present for any of these meetings for the last few years or so, around the time when his health had taken a sharp decline, to the point where the king barely leaves his chambers for most of the day and had become dependent on Milk of the Poppy to keep the pain at bay.

The meeting was about to conclude, before a servant knocked and enter the chambers. "Beg pardon your Grace, my lords," the servant addresses, holding a scroll in his hand, "this message is addressed to his Grace the king...or at least we think it is." "You think it is?" Otto raised a eyebrow at that statement.

"The uh...the message, I'm afraid is written in a different language," the servant explains, "it came from the Continent, but no one here appears able to speak it."

"...maybe there might be one," Alicent suggests, "send of Ser Ivan. Maybe he may able to translate the message for us."

The servant bows and goes to do such. Otto had the rest of the council members dismissed in the event this was something that needed to be kept under wraps from the rest of the Keep.

"You sent for me, Your Grace?" Ivan speaks, lightly bowing. "I have," Alicent nods, handing Ivan the scroll, "this message came from the Continent. As a Continental yourself, I am hoping you have retained what languages you may have learned there so as to translate this message. For the Hand, for your queen...and for your king." Ivan looked to Alicent and to Otto and nodded as he unrolled the scroll, thankful that learning to read and write was also part of his knight training.

He recognize the language as it was one his mother had taught him before she died, and it was the language of his father's people. "Well? What does it say?" Otto questions, noticing the worrying looks on Ivan's face. "Oh, forgive me, Lord Hand," Ivan says before he translates the letter.

---------------Temeria: La Valette castle, present time-----------------

Aemma stood where she was, speechless and feeling all sorts of mixed emotions as she stared into the eyes of the man who was supposed to be the bane of hers and her father's existence. The man, she had been told had taken her mother away from her family.

The White Wolf...Geralt of Rivia...the Witcher....

Aemma clung to hilt of her sword, not sure what she should say or do. All those years in her childhood and adolescent she had dreamed of this day. She had dreamt all different kinds of scenarios of what she was going to do, what she would say, how she would've made the white hair witcher confess his crimes before she plunged her mother's silver dagger into his heart and before feeding his corpse to Cirillia. There had even been a scenario where Aemma would've burned his body herself before offering it to her dragon as she had believed then that he was not worth the trouble of being burned with dragon fire.

But now, given everything she had been told to the contrary from sources that were not her father, Aemma had never imagined a scenario where she would've just talked to the man...and ultimately spare his life and absolve him of the crimes he may not have actually committed. Aemma's hand began to shake, and she struggled to keep it under control.

"You...you're....you're him...Geralt of Rivia."

Foltest and the Blue Stripes stood there as the standoff continued, not sure what to do, and were curious as to how this was going to go down.

Aemma pulled out her dagger, somewhere in the middle of wanting to carry out her plan and fighting against it. Geralt stood there, feeling confused. This young woman knew him...but he didn't; even in his visions of the Wild Hunt, this individual was never present. Yet, she did look familiar, though Geralt couldn't figure out why.

"You...you know my mother," Aemma accuses, bringing the witcher's mind back to reality, "where is she? Where is my mother? What did you to the Lady of Larks?"

Once again, the present company exchanged looks at the mention of that name, some even whispering among them. "Princess Aemma?" Foltest speaks up, "did you say your mother was-" "The Lady of Larks!" Aemma ignores the Temerian king, keeping focus on the witcher, "what did you do to her?! Answer my question!"

"...I'm sorry," Geralt shakes his head, "I don't know what you are talking about." Aemma stood there, speechless, eyes wide, unable to understand it all. This man was a prominent figure in her mother's story...yet he did not seem to know this, "you...you don't remember her?" A single tear escaped the princess's eye, not able to comprehend that it was such a possibility.

In a fit of rage, Aemma charged at Geralt and pushed him down. The witcher, though surprised as anyone else, did not bother to defend himself, even when Aemma had the dagger at his throat. "What the fuck?" she hears Roche's voice.

"No! No! NO!" Aemma cries out, "you don't get to DO THIS! YOU DON'T GET TO FORGET MY MOTHER! NOT AFTER EVERYTHING SHE'S BEEN THROUGH! WHAT YOU'VE PUT HER THROUGH!!"

"I'm...I'm sorry," Geralt speaks in a regretful voice, "I don't-" Geralt suddenly had a vision of the past. It was back to the that time in Rivia, when he and (y/n) had supposedly died during the pogrom. They were taken to another place to some island, thanks to the help of...Ciri, yes, that's what happened. It had been paradise, though he could see (y/n)'s face, the sadness in her expressions; even during moments of happiness, she had this longing to return and reunite with...

The vision then turned to (y/n) being taken away from him...the Wild Hunt...they took her away from Geralt, and he needed to go and bring her back.

The moment of contemplation was cut short when Foltest's voice boomed, "Aemma, stop this madness!" the kings demands, "the witcher is with me! Whatever grievance you hold against him, you shall not harm him!"

"You can't forget her!" Aemma sobs out as more tears escape, "you just can't...I need to know where she is...I've waited so long for her to come back! I..." She dropped the long forgotten dagger as she pulled back and continued to sob. Geralt was at a loss about what do and the rest of the party had some awkward looks, not sure to console the poor woman. The witcher looked at Aemma, "your mother...(y/n), that was her, wasn't it?"

Aemma looked at the witcher again, nodding, "you remember?" "No...at least, not the parts you want me to remember," Geralt says standing up and helping Aemma to her feet, "It's a long story, and one I can't quite put together. But I do have some memories of (y/n)..."

A portal suddenly pops up and a woman with red hair comes out. "Geralt," she says, "you're alright and...who is this?" she turns to Aemma. "This, Merigold is princess Aemma from Westeros," Foltest announces, "I'm sure you know of that place." Tris' eyes widen the moment she heard that name, "Aem...Aemma?" She approaches the young woman, "Aemma, is...is it really you?" "Yes?" Aemma frowns at the woman in confusion. A smile on her face, Tris pulls Aemma in for an embrace, "Oh Aemma, it really is. My, you really have grown up, you look just like your mother." "You knew my mother? Wait who are you?" "Tris Merigold," Tris tells her, "I'm a mage, I serve the king." "Tris?!" Aemma's eyes widen, "I've...I've been looking for you," she says, "I have questions."

Tris nods and excuses herself and Aemma and escorts the young woman into a portal so the two can talk.

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

"The plan has been set into motion," the witcher of Gullet assures the Scoia'tel commander, "soon as the pieces will fall into place and Foltest will be out of the way."

"I know you have no wish for gold or anything else," Iorveth says, "but there is a change of plans." Letho raises an eyebrow at that. "Scouts have reported a new piece has been added to this game," the elf explains, "A Targaryen princess from Westeros. I don't know what you know of that place, but my people still hold grudge against the ruling family there for personal reasons. Do what you will to Foltest, and whoever will try to protect him, but I want you to bring me the girl. Alive. We need her as leverage. Whatever price you wish, we shall grant."

Letho was silent for a moment when he thinks on this, "keep what you have. The deal still remains. I will bring you the princess."

Unknown to the Woodland Fox, the presence of princess Aemma Targaryen had also become personal to the witcher.

--------------somewhere away from La Valette Castle---------

"How do you know me?" Aemma asks of the mage, "I...I don't remember us ever meeting before." "I wouldn't expect you to," Tris tells her, "you were just a baby. I met your mother when she first came to Kaer Morhen. I helped her through her labors when she fought to bring you to this world." "You...you helped deliver me as a newborn?" Aemma realizes, "but my mother...she came there on her own? Or was she forced to?" "What exactly were you told of your mother, Aemma?" Tris asks. Aemma looked away a bit before she answered, "my father...he used to tell me I was born on Dragonstone. My mother was later abducted by the witcher, by...by Geralt. He took her away from our family, and there was nothing father could do to bring her back."

Tris scoffed at that, something that didn't go unnoticed by Aemma. "Sorry," the mage says, "it's just...after seeing what your father was capable of, I have a hard time believing he couldn't have done anything to bring your mother back. Especially with the trouble and determination he had to take her away from Kaer Morhen the first time around." "He took me and my mother back to King's Landing from Kaer Morhen," Aemma says, "Vesemir told me, I uh, I found myself back at that place six years ago. I met the old man there, he's been training me with the sword and...he told me what happened when my father arrived on Caraxes. I...I want to know the truth, that's why I'm trying to find my mother, to rescue her from the Wild Hunt and hear the whole story from her."

"What do you know of the Wild Hunt?" Tris raises an eyebrow, wondering what a Westerosi would know of these beings that were considered Continental lore. "I...I've seen visions of them," Aemma explains, "I have this gift...it's similar to that one gift Ciri has." "Ciri?" "I've seen her in my visions," Aemma explains, "Ciri chasing after the Hunt. Vesemir also told me what happened to me, the spell, the one you used to subdue Ciri when she lost control of her powers."

Tris' eyes widen when she realized what happened, "Aemma, Ciri's gift...the spell, it must've transferred her powers to you." "I think so," Aemma confirms, "but it's not quite the same. I don't know why that is the case. That's why I wanted to find you. You were the sorceress who cast the spell, maybe you could tell me."

"I...it's been years, Aemma, but I shall do my best to find out what," Tris assures, "but with everything I have to do right now for King Foltest, it will have to wait. Until then, is there anything else you wish to know?" "The witcher," Aemma says, "he...why doesn't he remember my mother? How is that even possible?" "Geralt has amnesia," Tris explains, "he was abducted by the Wild Hunt along with your mother. He managed to escape, but it came at the cost of his memory. I've been working at trying to restore but...it's been difficult. He has dreams of the Wild Hunt every now and again, but nothing before that. I can't quite restore what isn't there, it's like trying to find a needle in a haystack."

Aemma sighed, "he's the only other person apart from my mother who could tell me the truth of my parent's relationship. I just want to know, I need to know for certain, without a doubt that everything my father told me was the truth...or all a lie." Tris placed a hand on Aemma's shoulder, "I don't exactly know what their relationship was," she admits, "but...I don't think it was a happy one, Aemma. When you find out, you may not like what you'll hear." Aemma looked to Tris, "you know something, do you?" "I...all I know is your mother was determined to get away from him," Tris says, sadness in her tone, "your father...it seemed he was dead set on keeping her close. A bird in a cage, you mother would say, that's how she felt when she was brought back to King's Landing or Dragonstone, or wherever in Westeros you father placed her."

Aemma felt her stomach turn, not wanting to believe it, not wanting to believe her father would treat her mother like that. But she knew her father could be quite possessive of what he felt belong to him. He didn't part with his possessions lightly, be it his dragon, his family, or anything that was part of the Valyrian ancestry.

"She did everything she could to come back to you," Tris tries to console, "she loved you very much. That's why she left in the first place." "Was...was she afraid my father would try and harm me?" "I don't know," Tris shakes her head, "I believe there may be more to this story then meets the eye, more then what your mother has chosen to disclose when she was still around."

Aemma stood up, "I need to talk to Geralt. When this conflict is over, you will help me?" "Yes," Tris nods, "I shall help you understand this gift you possess as well as help Geralt with his memory. We'll uncover the truth together." "One more thing," Aemma says, "My mother had a brother. I need to find him too, maybe he could provide insight to my parent's relationship." "Jaskier?" Tris realized, "Well last I checked, he was in some small fishing village in Aedirn. Once all this is over, I'll create a portal to take us there. You'll get to see your uncle again Aemma, I promise."

"Thank you, Tris." "It really was good to see you again, Aemma," the mage tells her, "I wish it was under different circumstances. You really do look so much like your mother. She would be proud to know what you have accomplished."

"I'll know for myself when I see her again," Aemma nods.

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

Aemma walked out the portal Tris opened up for her, leading her to the monastery where Foltest had just received information on the whereabouts of his children. The king, Roche, and Geralt were about to head back to the castle when Aemma ran into them.

"You again," Foltest states. "I have no intention of attacking the witcher again, your Majesty," Aemma assures, "I only wish to speak with him." "You can do that once I have reunited with my children," Foltest assures, "until then, he stays with me."

Before any protests could be made, the gold dragon that attacked them previously and had abducted Aemma had returned, swooping down, separating Roche from the rest of the group. Geralt helped Foltest to cross the bridge as the dragon chased them down. Aemma ran up and pulled her sword out to confront the dragon. The dragon surprisingly stopped in its tracks. "Lykiri, zaldritzes, lykiri!" Aemma speaks, not sure if she could even command this dragon, or if the dragon even understood her. The dragon stood its ground, merely staring at Aemma. Perhaps it did understand her. "Jikagon qrīdrughagon!" Aemma demands, feeling a little more confident, "Jikagon qrīdrughagon! Henujagon īlva mērī! (Go away! Leave us alone!)"

"Is she actually speaking to the dragon?" Foltest looked back, "Fuck me, Roche was right about her lot. Inbred dragon tamers, they are."

The dragon stared, then it growled, and charged once again. Aemma turned and ran, knowing it was not a good idea to reason with this dragon anymore. She ran to the end of the bridge and jumped through the door. The dragon tried to grab her again, but Geralt stepped in and stabbed the dragon, causing it to pull away, and the door closed. The dragon fled, roaring in agony as it did so.

"You saved my life," Foltest says, "both of you." "I was only vying for time, your Majesty," Aemma insists. "That language you were speaking to the dragon," the king says, "What was it?" "Valyrian," Aemma answers, "the language of my ancestors." Foltest nods and gestures for her and the witcher to follow.

Aemma kept her eyes on Geralt during this time. "How much do you remember of my mother?" she questions. "I...I see visions every now and again of (y/n)...her and the Wild Hunt." "Tris told me," Aemma nods, "she said she's trying to restore your memory. Can you promise me something then?" "What is it?" Once you remember...when you remember my mother. I want you to tell me everything. I need to know the truth. About you, about her...and about her relationship with my father. I don't want anything to be held back." "...I promise then...princess Aemma," Geralt nods.

Aemma still held on to some hope that her mother and father were happy together, but if what Tris told her was the truth, and if Geralt was the one who tried to help her mother get away...

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of children playing and laughing, seemingly blissfully unaware of what had just occurred outside.

Twins, they were, Boussy and Anais. Foltest's children by the Baroness La Valette.

The children stopped playing the moment they see the king along with Geralt and Aemma. They run to hide behind another man that was present, a blind monk by the looks of it. Foltest has Geralt and Aemma stay behind so the man could greet his children without scaring them. Anais was first to approach, running to her father and embracing him. Boussy was a little more hesitant, but the monk insisted and the boy approached the king as well.

"What exactly is their relationship?" Aemma asks, feeling curious. "They're Foltest's children by the baron La Valette's wife," Geralt tells her, "the Baroness and Foltest had...some kind of disagreement between them, hence the reason for this civil war." "She was married to another man?" Aemma realized, "so they're...oh." "Foltest has already declared them legitimate," Geralt tells her, "he hopes his son will succeed as king someday."

Aemma felt glad that was the case; being bastard born herself, she could relate somewhat to the situation. Her own father was married when her mother and him coupled and conceived her in the process after all. She could only hope they won't be treated as pariahs, that the king will protect these two from slander as her uncle protected her cousin's sons.

It may have been Aemma's imagination, but when she saw the monk look up, she almost thought he was looking towards her specifically. She brushed it out of her mind when Foltest sent his children to the other room, insisting Boussy wash his face so the others outside won't see that the boy had been crying; he is to be a king after all, and kings don't cry.

Once the children were out of sight, the monk placed a hand on Foltest's shoulder, "Sire, let us pray." "They must look like the royal children that they are," Foltest insists as he walks past the monk. "Hmmm...they have your eyes sire," the monk whispers as he removes the wrappings around his eyes to reveal the gold irises that were similar to Geralt's.

Aemma walk to approach the king, hoping he would give the order to dismiss Geralt so she and him could talk properly over what he did remember. But little did she know, the monk snuck up on her from behind and covered her mouth and nose with a chloroform soaked cloth, causing her to pass out. "Apologies, princess," the monk, who was actually Letho in disguise says as he approaches the king, "this has become personal."

It all happened so quickly. The tall, bulky witcher pulled out his dagger and slit Foltest's throat, blood spilling out. Geralt ran over, having realized earlier that the monk was actually an assassin, but it was too late. The deed was done. Letho threw the king's body at Geralt before he pulled off his monk robes and grabbed an unconscious Aemma, slinging her over his shoulder.

Geralt ran after the man, but Letho jumped over a window and seemingly fall to his death. Geralt stood at the window, seeing no signs of Letho or Aemma down below, it was almost like they disappeared.

Geralt then ran to see to Foltest, who laid dead as the blood pooled around. The Temerian soldiers showed up, crossbows armed and pointed at Geralt, believing he was the one who committed this horrendous act. No way to escape, and no one to vouch for him, Geralt was left with no other option then to turn himself in.

-------------King's Landing: several weeks later-------------

Ivan read through the letter once more time before he translated for the Queen and the Hand:

To the King of the Seven Kingdoms across the Great Sea,

Your family's wrongdoings have gone on long enough these last twenty years. Twenty years of no peace, and no accountability. But that finally ends now. The Aen Seidhe call for justice for the dozens of brothers and sisters that were needlessly murder by dragon fire at the hands of Prince Daemon Targaryen.

We have one of your own in our custody, the princess Aemma Targaryen. She resides with the Scoia'tel in a secret encampment outside of Flotsam in Upper Aedirn. She remains unharmed and alive, and her maidenhead has not been defiled, and will remain this way for as long as we will it.

Produce us Prince Daemon, have him brought before us to confess his crimes and see to it that justice will finally be served and that our fallen brethren will at long last be put to rest. Only then shall we see fit to release the princess Aemma afterwards. You have two months to complete this task; should you delay, we shall have the princess brought back slowly in pieces. If you doubt our threats, you will find a lock of her hair attached to this letter, so you know we are telling the truth, for we know it is the dhione's nature to doubt the words of others.

Make haste, for some of my comrades wish to carry out justice already by silting Aemma's throat, and I cannot hold them back for much longer.

-Iorveth, Commander of the Scoia'tel

Chapter 38

#hotd #the witcher #ciri #triss merigold #vernon roche #letho of gulet #iorveth #oc #saskia #foltest #daemon targaryen #geralt of rivia

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wenalena · 1 year

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Li’ora is my new (curvy) oc ! I have created her for the Bad Batch ( I officialy ship her with Hunter, but unofficially, I ship her with Crosshair too 👀) I love to drawing her tattoos 🖤

I will elaborate soon her story and his meeting with the Bad Batch 😏

#the bad batch #star wars #sketch #star wars oc #the bad batch oc #tbb #curvy star wars #she look like Triss Merigold #i love her #hunter x oc #star wars fanart #oc x crosshair

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jusstya · 11 months

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Se eu estou editando, é para goldwing. Se eu estou escrevendo, é alguma coisa referente à goldwing. Se eu estou fazendo meme, é para goldwing. E se eu estou viva, é para terminar goldwing. Grato pela atenção, seja lá se alguém se deu ao trabalho de ler esse surto aqui-

Como assim essas três edições não foram feitas no mesmo dia??? Parece muito, sei lá.

Sim, é tudo pra goldwing porque eu vivo por isso!!

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captain-temhote · 1 year

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Maria Goldie, also known as “Marigold”

We have the first stage of them done. Next I’ll have to draw the second stage, that being puppet form ((basically just standing up like original concept))

After all that’s why they have floral top and bell bottoms. Of course the things in their bags would be a problem, that’s why they have those belts with covers, close it tight before standing up and spilling things won’t be a problem.

The hand slot is still being debated, now I’m thinking it might make more sense if it’s on the bottom instead, that way the arm and person could be hidden better.

#welcome home #ocs #my ocs #marigold #merigold reindeer #welcome home oc #Step 1 finished #wip #art wip #information #oc info #flower reindeer #she’s not considered an animal #clearing up

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msommers · 3 months

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if emma was dating two (2) princes, does that mean eventually she could've become a double queen consort????

#anyway. i have v serious character thoughts about currently active ocs for sure #all i have in my head is the league 'double kill' announcer voice saying double queen #ch: emmalanthe merigold

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theofaluvsviolet · 1 year

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Netflix the Witcher Scenes | Part 2

Made with AzaleasDolls, with the game lotr and hobbit scene maker. Like if you want more!

#the witcher netflix #the witcher #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #princess cirilla #triss merigold #witcher oc

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artofmxmourning · 2 years

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Have my versions of the Agents, I guess.

Like to imagine during the events of Splat 3 that Meri and Fuchsia are team captains for turf and anarchy battles. Would explain where they are.

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thaumium-block · 8 months

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Consulting the lexicon

#minecraft #art #minecraft oc #modded minecraft #mineblr #oc: merigolde #oc: nila #chromaticraft

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chocolateluma · 2 years

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Some more watercolored characters for summer.

#original characters #oc #traditional art #watercolors #artists on tumblr #chocolart22 #apos #thibault coriellus #azalea merigold #meryl #wilhelm thornheart #i just love clothes

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montcumbry-gaytor · 6 months

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Nepenthe. chapter 06

act one : tacenda

THIS IS AN OC INTEGRATION FOR THE WITCHER, IT IS NOT A X READER FIC.

— Wowie so I got really mentally drained and paused on my writing for a bit, but I'm back !! kind of, I'm trying to be strict with myself with also giving flexibility to write when I want to, so bear with me.

tw for : on theme gore and violence, undertones of rape, on theme mature language.

(n.) things better left unsaid; matters to be passed over in silence.

Geralt looks at Triss with confusion and interest at her words, and she gestures to follow as she walks down stone halls, where we're met with boxes filled with sand over bodies of the dead, preserving them.

She looks remorseful, mourning the unfortunate and unavoidable losses, Geralt takes a moment to look around, before he continues forward, when I look at his destination I feel dread pit in my stomach.

"Shit.."

I whisper in a mix of disbelief and gall, Geralt plucks the Medallion from his chest, and brushes the sand off of it with his thumb.

"You didn't want the people to know that it bested a Witcher- and you let them believe that he fled with their coin."

He says, and for a second he looks furious, I look I've rarely been given, thankfully I suppose.

He gives a small glance to the passed, and tucks the medallion into his belt, beginning to move the sand away from its abdomen, digging around the cavern in its chest.

"You two clearly weren't acquainted."

Triss says, watching Geralt from the sidelines, I give her a second of my attention, before it peels back off to Geralt as a gutteral squish resounds in my ears.

"His hearts missing, along with his liver. Only one creature I know is that picky an eater."

He says in a moment of resolve, and mutters words that makes my lips dry.

"A striga."

Triss' eyebrows raise in disbelief, and turns to him curiously.

"Strigas are old wives' tales."

"-They're very rare, the only way to make one is through a curse."

He explains, and i nod, my arms are crossed over my chest as my eyes pan between the two, I stay relatively quiet as they talk.

"Someone wanted Adda dead."

Triss says in a disturbed conclusion, and Geralt hums in agreement, and turns his head just slightly to me, his eyes pierce through mine as he talks.

"But the curse didn't stop with Adda, It turned her daughter into a monster."

He says, and once again turns away, sucking his lower lip in to drag his tongue over it, becoming dry mouthed himself.

"Her daughter?"

"—Strigas are female."

He adds, and sighs through his nose as the reality of the situation kicks in, i clench my jaw as my imagination creates vague and unpleasant pictures, though not even the harsh close of my eyes can escape them, Geralts voice just aiding the distraction from them.

"This strigas a princess."

Geralt says and Triss shudders, but not shocked, and her dress floats behind her gracefully as she exits the room, I look to Geralt and he shrugs, Gesturing for me to go ahead, and I listen.

"I can hear your thoughts, you may be quiet but you're very loud in the head."

Triss says, her back is to me but I can hear the weary smile in the voice.

"I'm sorry for.. then, I should have never let my own desires interfere with what you and Geralt had."

She says, and I can see her hands plant on the wood desk.

"It's hard, I don't forgive Geralt either, but pain hasn't stopped me as of yet."

I reply, and turn to lean on the desk lightly, careful not to wreck her setup.

"I hope you can someday, He's a good man, he cares for you."

Her words feel like a sour citrus fruit, and my hand rests over my mouth, I let out a drained sigh from my nose, I'm exhausted, this conversation riddles me with uncertainty.

"I will allow you and Geralt to stay the night, and tomorrow we talk with the king."

She says, and turns sideways to face me, and places her hand gently on my shoulder.

"I understand how this may affect you, But for your sake, and Geralts.."

She says, and her hand raises to cup my cheek, it's endearing, and kind.

"Find yourself, it'll be your answer."

She says, and pulls her hand away and begins to walk down the hall, her heeled boots clacking against the stone and resounding around the walls.

"Oh, and I do hope you'll find your room easily."

She says, before continuing down the hall, and as of right on queue, Geralt emerges, and his eyes land on me, not with fierceness, but it's gentle and warm, it sends aches throughout my heart.

"Triss is letting us stay the night, Walk with me?"

I ask, pushing myself up from the desk and Geralt nods, and when we walk down a hall, I feel my mind guiding me, Must be something of Triss' doing, though I don't mind it.

Occasionally my eyes meet Geralts, he's staring, and he doesn't try to hide it, My gaze flickers away when I feel a odd familiarity with the hall we stop in.

When I turn to Geralt, his drags his tongue over his lips, and his hand snakes around the back of my neck, pulling me in.

The kiss isnt rough, but it's not gentle, and I find myself losing breath as I push off of Geralt, my eyes flit over his features and I swallow the harsh lump in my throat.

"We shouldn't do this anymore, Geralt."

I say, my hands drop to my sides and my ears burn in a fit of nervousness, I'm wary, it's an unusual feeling in this setting.

"..Sorry."

I whisper, and enter my room, it's unusually warm in comparison to the icy kingdom, though it is welcomed, and I pull off my pauldrons, and lay my swords on a small wooden desk, a part of me wonders where a room like this would come into play for a woman like Triss, but i digress.

My thoughts are rampant, questioning my own judgement and when I restlessly flop into the mattress I find myself staring into the wall instead of sleep, thinking of some way to soothe my mind, a oddly comforting tune plays in my mind, often played by lute.

— RAGAHHAGA AWOOOGEEEHHHH I WROTE TBIS AGYER NOT WRITING IN SO LONG... THE VOICESSS!!!!

#the witcher #the Witcher Netflix #the witcher oc #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher geralt #geralt witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier witcher #jaskier #triss merigold #witcher triss #triss

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666gobelin · 6 months

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#triss merigold #witcher #the witcher #illustration #daily doodle #doodle #goblin #goblincore #oc art #oc

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merlot-and-chardonnay · 3 months

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A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 46

Masterlist

Chapter 45

------------somewhere out in time and space-------------

A young woman ran across the field, not really going towards any particular destination, but gut instinct drove her in the direction she was running.

The ashen haired woman suddenly stopped, coming to her senses, wondering what was out there, what was the point of her running across this endless field. What was out there...who was out there?

It had to be her, the young woman thinks. She had to be out there, captured, waiting for someone to rescue her.

Suddenly the ground began to shake, a crack in the ground where the woman stood. She side dodged right when the ground split open. She misstep, however, and fell through the crack. Anticipating a hard impact, the ashen haired woman braced herself, gathering the surrounding chaos before moving through time and space at the speed of light, allowing her to find herself topside, back on the endless field.

The air turned cold at that moment, and the ground started to become icy. The young woman stood her ground, preparing for the monsters to come after her. Grabbing her sword she turned to fight them off, but before that could even happen, the monsters were suddenly burning as they caught fire. Eyes wide, the ashen haired woman looked to the sky to see a dragon of black and gold flying through the air, breathing fire at the ice monsters, and melting the surrounding ice.

The she-dragon landed as soon as the monsters were slain, staring at the woman, tilting her head as if she knew who this woman was. "...I know you," the woman spoke to the dragon, "You were a lot smaller the last time we met."

"Zireal!"

The dragon, Cirillia, growled and snarled at the person that voice belonged to. The woman, Ciri, turned, sword in hand, knowing who it was that spoke in that deep voice.

She flinched for a brief moment, however, the moment she saw Eredin with his helmet off, holding an unconscious woman in his arms. Eredin himself had a evilly smug grin on his face the moment Ciri recognized the woman.

"(y/n)!"

-----------meanwhile in Vergen--------------

Aemma yelped the moment she felt someone brush against her arm.

"Are you alright?" Geralt questions. "Yeah...I'm fine," Aemma nods, quickly shaking her head.

Just for a brief moment, while she, Geralt, and Iorveth waited outside the house the poisoned Saskia was taken to where Phillipa was working hard to keep the woman's pulse going, Aemma had slipped in and out of some kind of trance...or she thinks it was a trance.

She was seeing through Cirillia's eyes again, or at least she had thought so. She saw the ends of her dragon's wings and had looked down to see her flying through an endless field. There was something familiar about that field, it looked similar to the one Aemma had dreamed about a long time ago. She saw Cirillia flying over, suddenly raining fire down to a group of ice made monsters who were attacking a woman of ashen hair who was wielding a sword, dressed in a similar manner as Aemma is now. The dragon landed and made eye contact with the woman, who approached, ready to pet Cirillia on the snout. The way the woman looked to the dragon, it was almost like she had recognized Cirillia.

But...how could that be? Aemma has never met that woman before...no, she had, she met her in her visions. And she looked like that woman from the Gwent card Aemma saved from during her time in Nilfgaard. Was it her? Was it...Ciri?

At that moment, Phillipa walked out the house, closing the door behind her. Geralt and Aemma both stood up. "Saskia. Is she alive?" Geralt questions. "In a manner of speaking," Phillipa answers with a serious tone. "She's still dying isn't she?" Aemma realized. "I managed to slow her life functions as far as possible. Her condition is stable," Phillipa explains.

"Do you know the poison?" Iorveth asks, not bothering to hide his own concern. "Thaumador. Commonly known as mage pain," Phillipa tells him, "It has a terrible reputation." "An antidote must exist!" Iorveth insists. "Can you heal her?" Geralt asks. "Treatment will require herbs magic...and blood," was Phillipa's answer.

"Not ordinary blood, I presume," Geralt surmises. "Correct," Phillipa nods," We require royal blood." "We could use Letho right about now," Iorveth mutters. "Wait, royal blood?" Aemma faces the sorceress, "why?" "Not to mention the nearest king is on the other side of the mist," Geralt answers. "You misunderstand me," Phillipa elaborates, "the blood need not be that of a ruling monarch. It is the genotype contained in royal blood that is required. Kings issue from ancient dynasties. Over the ages, to survive, rulers needed exceptional resistance and strength. As royal dynasties rarely admit common blood, the strength in their genes remains great. I shall employ self-healing, genetic therapy that will 'teach' Saskia's to rid the poison." "You'll have her drink human blood?" Iorveth questions with dread. "No," Phillipa says, "I shall inject it directly into her heart."

"Phillipa," Aemma speaks up, "if it's royal blood you need..." Geralt and Iorveth turn to Aemma, making certain looks known. "Aemma-" "I AM a princess, I come from royalty, and one with a strong bloodline" Aemma points out, "before my ancestor Aegon the Conqueror and his wives united the Seven Kingdoms, the Targaryens were dragon lords of Old Valyria. We are one of the few families that survived the Doom. If you require blood with strength and resistance, than take mine."

Phillipa thinks on it, "it is true," she agrees, "your father's family were powerful dragon lords who survived a major historical catastrophe. And, if the surviving accounts of Valyria are to be believed, there is magic in your veins; however, you Silverlark, are only HALF Targaryen, your mother's side-" "my uncle told me he and my mother are of noble ranking," Aemma tells her, "maybe not as strong as my father's blood, but still strong all the same."

"We don't exactly have many options at our disposal, Eilhart," Iorveth points out, "Saskia is dying, and if this princess is willing..." "Alright," Phillipa concedes, "I'll give it a shot. The Targaryens do have a reputation of wedding brother and sister to keep their bloodlines pure, we'll see if that still rings true, despite this slight dilution of their gene pool."

"What herbs will you be needing?" Geralt moves on to the next subject. "I'll need a subterranean variety of purple foxglove," Phillipa answers, "known to the dwarves as immortelle. And an elven rose of remembrance." "Triss has a rose of remembrance," Geralt points out, "She claimed the flowers are exceptional." "Long ago the Aen Siedhe who succeeded in cultivating those roses enjoyed great respect." "Times have changed," Iorveth scoffs. "As have elves," Phillipa counters back. "There are no elven gardens nearby," Iorveth brings up, "We must return to Flotsam."

"Oh!" Aemma says as if she just remembered something. She reaches into her trousers pocket and pulls out the flower she's kept. "Where did you get that?" Iorveth asks, recognizing the flower. "From the elven ruins back in Flotsam," Aemma told him, "I uh, after that skirmish, when uh, you were captured by the Blue Stripes, and Roche rescued me and Aemond from old elven bath, I saw the roses and picked one." Aemma saw the almost scowling look on the elf's face, "I didn't mean any disrespect," Aemma tells him, slight look of remorse, "I didn't know what they were, they just looked pretty."

"It's done," Phillipa, "for better or for worse, we have a rose, there won't be a need to find one." "Where can we get the immortelle then?" Geralt asks. "They grow deep beneath the Earth," the sorceress explains, "which should not be a problem as Vergen lies atop a mine." "How will that help Saskia?" "Magepain attacks the internal tissues. The immortelle will help restore them."

"What else do we need to heal Saskia?" Geralt presses for more. "Thaumador is a self-perpetuating substance?" "Meaning?" Aemma frowns a bit. "Meaning any incursion into a cluster of cells sparks an immediate chain reaction. Each tainted cell that is removed is replaced by ten new tainted cells." "Cells, what I don't-" "You weren't educated at Oxenfurt or Aretuza or any of the other fine Institutions on the Continent, my dear, of course you don't," Phillipa speaks over Aemma, almost condescendingly, "but in order to interrupt these cells, the reaction...it will require an ungodly amount of power."

"Power meaning magic," Aemma realized. "A water or air djinn or one of the twenty Rings of Power would be best..." Phillipa suggests. "One to bring them all and in the darkness bind them," Iorveth snorts in amusement. "And then I'll have to run barefoot to the top of a volcano," Geralt adds to the humor. "I have...no idea what the two of you are talking about," Aemma frowns some. "Alright, alright, let's forget the Rings," Phillipa sasses, "I need a vast quantity of the Power, no matter the source. Find something."

Aemma looked to see Iorveth, Geralt, and Phillipa were looking at her. "What?" she scoffs. "You did manage to bring us two of the four items before we even needed them," Phillipa points out, "is there any chance you came across something unusual during your travels. A Djinn perhaps?"

"No, not a djinn," Aemma admits, "but maybe...if it's a vast amount of this power...maybe I might have something to offer in that regard. I don't know what it is exactly, Triss was supposed to help me in that matter before she was taken by Letho."

"I see..." Phillipa says, having remembered the conversation she had with Triss via the megascope prior to Letho abducting her colleague.

"Immortelle, a rose of remembrance, blood and magic," Geralt interjects, "sounds like a fairy tale." "A poor one at that," Iorveth adds, "no prince's kiss to top things off." "I wish it were a fairy tale, especially a poor one, as a happy ending would be inevitable," Phillipa huffs.

With that, Geralt set off to find Immotelle, while Iorveth went into town to search for whatever it was that poisoned Saskia in the first place.

Phillipa meanwhile, had Aemma follow her so as to draw some of her blood for the antidote.

"Do you really think this will work?" Aemma inquires of the sorceress as she takes a bottle of spirits and pours it onto a cloth to soak the material. "Not for certain," Phillipa admits, having Aemma stretch her arm towards her. The sorceress wipes the cloth under the elbow, "but it is the only choice we have to save Saskia." Phillipa then motions for her uh, assistant Cynthia to approach, carrying a syringe with a needle attached. "Wait, what are you going to do?" Aemma starts to panic a little. "Relax, my dear, it's alright," Phillipa assures the young woman, "Cynthia is well trained in this, she's done this many times before." "I still don't know what that is." "It's a syringe and needle, we will use it to draw your blood for the antidote," Phillipa tells her. "Couldn't you use leeches instead?" Aemma suggests. "Oh that's right, Westerosi medicine, that is what you are used to," Phillipa realized, "leeches will only contaminate the blood. It will be better to do it this way."

"You mentioned something about cells," Aemma decides to change the conversation as Cynthia taps under her elbow, seeking out the vein, "in Saskia. Is that something...we all have?" "Cells in the body, in the blood and just about every organ you possess," Phillipa nods. "The maesters have never talked about such things." "I don't imagine they would know of such things," the mage tells her, "the Seven Kingdoms, don't quite have the academic advancements that places on the Continent have. Much to their detriment, I'm afraid. Think of how many lives could be saved with the knowledge possessed in places like Oxenfurt."

"I've known scholars come visit King's Landing before," Aemma tells her, "they mostly talked more about cultures and geography." She flinches when Cynthia brings the needle to her vein, "is this going to hurt?" "Only a pinch, you'll hardly feel it as long as you stand still."

Aemma sucked in her breath the moment the needle pierces her skin. As soon as it hit the vein, her blood left her body and slowly filled the syringe.

While waiting, Aemma looked to Phillipa, hoping maybe the mage could offer some kind of distraction. "You said you were in the Redanian court when my father's family came to visit. I don't suppose they left in an impression on you. My father, stepmother, and my sisters?" "Your father was...probably one of the more unique individuals I'd ever met," Phillipa answers, "before meeting him in person, I heard of him, the Rogue Prince, who crushed the Triarchy in the Stepstones where he was later dub King of the Narrow Sea. He was quiet at times when, but could carry one rather interesting conversations during supper. Your stepmother, was fairly engaging herself in conversations; charming, clever, quick witted to boot. And possessed an air of grace and femininity, which was...somehow further accentuated in times she flew on her dragon."

Aemma made a small smile. "...I heard what became of her during your stay in Nilfgaard," Phillipa says with a sympathetic tone, "it was a sad day for all of us." "I appreciate the condolences. And my sisters? You mentioned Rhaena was an admirer." "More of less. She clearly took after her mother, while you other sister Baela took more to her father. She had a rather stubborn streak about her, a certain wildness, like that of a dragon, I suppose."

"Sounds like Baela alright," Aemma smiles once more, thinking about her sisters. She had thought to inquire Phillipa about Radovid himself, remembering in her sisters' letter when they overheard their father speak to the Redanian king of the possibility of him marrying Aemma. "Did...did the king of Redania, Radovid...did he ever mention about wanting to form some kind of alliance with House Targaryen? In the form of a marriage perhaps?"

Phillipa gave Aemma a rather strange look as Cynthia pulled the needle out, placing pressure over the area. "...I don't quite recall, actually," the mage answers with a straight face, though she actually did remember Radovid implying that he had plans to take Aemma to wife, but not for the reasons anyone in and out of court would have imagined. "That girl is Jaskier's niece...he must miss her terribly, him and his sister...surely they both would want to see her once again."

Phillipa took the blood filled syringe from Cynthia, studying the contents rather intensely. There was something about this blood, the way it was exuding a strange power from the substance. It was invisible to the naked eye, something that only be detected by those who had the gift to sense and control chaos. It was similar to what Phillipa sensed years ago...when she met Ciri for the first time around.

"Is there something in my blood?" Aemma asks with concern. "I'm...not sure," Phillipa answers, making eye contact with Aemma, "Triss spoke with me prior to her abduction at the hands of the witcher Letho. She...mentioned you had a special gift. Is this true?"

"I think so," Aemma tells the sorceress, "I...I told Triss about it when we first met. I was told it was...an accidental gift. It happened back in Kaer Morhen."

Aemma gave Phillipa the short story of how it happened, or what she was told what happened, which included the part where Ciri tried to stop Aemma's mother and father from leaving, and Triss casting a spell to stop Ciri when she lost control, that same spell was redirected towards Aemma.

"Can you describe this gift of yours?" Phillipa inquires, "Anything specific?" "...I can look into the past of people, sometimes, when I stare at them," Aemma explains, "But not always, it's...it's very inconsistent, but sometimes I guess if I make eye contact, or physical touch I get a brief glimpse into their past." "Interesting," Phillipa says, "Ciri's gift allowed her to look into the future, yet, you can look into the past." "There's more," Aemma continues, "There were times when...well I'm not quite sure what it is but...I saw things, events, take place, wherever my dragon Cirillia was at. I could see what was happening through her eyes as they occurred presently. I saw through her eyes just recently actually. She...she was flying in the sky, and I could see what she was seeing from the sky. It...it was almost like when I would look down from her saddle when we would go flying, but at the same time it wasn't. I could see the ground more clearly through her eyes compared to when I would look down myself."

"...is there more?"

"Yes. I...I've seen Ciri herself before, in my visions. I don't know if those events are in the past or the present. It's almost as if we share some kind of connection and..." Aemma was about to tell Phillipa about that thing that happened that night on Driftmark, but decided against it.

Phillipa was silent, taking all this information into consideration. "Does this mean anything to you?" Aemma asks impatiently. "I don't know for certain," Phillipa answers, "your gift, the blood, it all does feel similar to what I saw in Ciri when I met her first time, but it all, if you'll pardon the expression, but for lack of a better term, the gift she had passed onto you has...become distorted."

"Distorted? How?" "Could be from the spell itself, perhaps something from the original gift was lost when it was passed to you, distorted from Triss' spell...perhaps it is from your own blood. Your ancestors practiced blood magic, the Targaryens have often claimed to have magic running in their veins, perhaps Ciri's gift mutated as a result of your Valyrian blood. Perhaps it is all of the above. Either way, it hardly matters. Our main concern at the moment is finding a way to properly tap into this power, harness it, control it, especially if we are to use it to save Saskia."

"And how are we to do that? I don't even know how to access this power."

"Hmmm," Phillipa thinks on this, "if this is anything like what Ciri possessed, perhaps there is a way we can teach you the basics in harnessing and controlling chaos. It's not perfect, but it could be a start."

Phillipa extends a hands, to which Aemma accepts. Getting on her feet, Phillipa holds her hand, "I'm going to speak a couple incantations," the mage explains, "you will repeat them. You are fluent in the Elder language, yes?" Aemma nods and does as Phillipa says, repeating the words.

As Aemma repeated the incantations, she felt a strange force begin to surround her and Phillipa. She felt a sense of panic, but for what, she didn't know, or...she wasn't sure how to describe what it was she was scared for.

"Concentrate, Aemma," Phillipa demands, "keep focus. Do not let the chaos control you, you control it."

"I'm trying, I'm trying," Aemma insists, shutting her eyes tightly.

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

Next thing she knew, Aemma felt light as a feather, almost all her body weight was gone in an instant. How could this be? She suddenly felt heavier.

Aemma opened her eyes, vision similar to when she what she saw the night she saw Aemond claim Vhagar. "I'm seeing through Cirillia's eyes again," Aemma realized, feeling herself move her arm...no, not her arm, her wing, "...I'm in Cirillia's body." "Cirillia? Cirillia, can you hear me?"

"Let her go, Eredin!" a voice caught Aemma/Cirillia's attention, "Let (y/n) go!" "Ciri?" Aemma says, or at least tried to. Speaking as Cirillia, it sounded more like a surprised grunt.

"I will gladly let her go," Eredin sneers, "only if you come quietly with me." The elf king began to approach Ciri, but Cirillia growled and snarled, forcing the elf to back away. "You are in no position to make such threats," Ciri says with confidence, sword pointed at her adversary.

"Am I now?" Eredin makes a smug grin. A snap of his fingers and the body of the unconscious woman suddenly levitated, a magical barrier surrounding her as she floated in mid-air. "Sick that attack dog of yours on me, and she will be harmed in the process. Now, what it was you were saying, Cirilla?"

"(Y/n)..."

Through her dragon's eyes, Aemma took a close look at the woman who was being held hostage by the king of the Wild Hunt. Short, stout, copper skin, long dark hair, with a streak or three of grey.

Aemma was quick to recognize the older woman right away. "Mother...mother....Mother! Mother! MOTHER!"

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

Overwhelmed by the power surrounding her, Aemma felt herself pull back away with great force from Phillipa, much so that she actually hit the wall against her, causing a crack to form. "Ow..." Aemma groans as she shakily got back to her feet.

Phillipa got back on her own feet as well, feeling weariness settle in from trying to help Aemma control her gift. The mage had a look of shock and almost fear in her face when she saw Aemma stand back straight, "...impossible. Who...what are you?"

Right on cue, Geralt had run in, along with several of the Scoia'tel elves. "What happened?" Geralt demands, looking at the dazed and confused states of both women in the room, "is everyone alright?"

"We are..." Phillipa assures, "I think." "I'm okay," Aemma assures, rubbing the spot on her back that made contact with the wall. "I...Phillipa was trying to harness the power inside me, that was what she needed for Saskia's antidote after all." "Indeed," Phillipa agrees, masking the shock she still felt from what she felt from the power that was inside Aemma a moment ago, "however, it seems, I had...underestimated how much of the Power she possessed. That was on me, I'm afraid." "Maybe we should try and find another source," Geralt suggests.

"No, no, there's no need," Phillipa assures, "we'll try again, this time I know what to expect. I trust your quest for the immortelle was successful then, witcher, you would not be here if that were not the case."

"I have the herb in question," the witcher assures.

"Excellent. We have a chance at saving Saskia."

A commotion coming from outside got the trio's attention. Sounding something akin to a riot, Phillipa has Geralt and Aemma follow her so as to investigate.

Chapter 47

#hotd #the witcher #geralt of rivia #oc #ciri #iorveth #phillipa eilhart #triss merigold #eredin breacc glas #eredin #wild hunt #radovid #saskia

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