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merlot-and-chardonnay · 3 months

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A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons Bonus Chapter: the Lark's Broken Wings

Okay, so as I've said I would, we have a bonus chapter to focus on the Lady of Larks and her trauma. I'll admit I had to go to a pretty dark place to make this chapter a reality, it was not easy to write.

That being said, major content warning with mentions of PTSD and sexual assault and the trauma associated with that. If this makes you uncomfortable, hang in there, I have more chapters planned for the main story line (plus a couple more bonus chapters).

Also I as a writer recognize that r*pe related trauma is not a universal experience, and it affects people in different and varying ways. If you have been through a similar experience, know you are not alone.

The following story also takes place during the Baptism of Fire story line more or less.

"No...no...please...stop...."

Your pleas in your sleep along with your thrashing about in your sleep bag stirred some in the group who made camp for the night.

Among those was Geralt who was quick to get on his feet and approach you. The witcher was followed by Jaskier who took a few seconds more to realize what was happening.

Zoltan Chivay and Cahir were a little slower to wake, Zoltan rubbing his eyes, "what is going on now?" he asks, "are we under attack again?"

"No," was Milva's answer as she approached with concern, "it's happening again."

"Go away....get away..." you continue as your nightmares of the Rogue Prince continue to haunt you.

"(y/n)?" Geralt places a hand on your shoulder and tries to shake it in an attempt to wake you. "(y/n)! You're having a nightmare! Wake up! (y/n)!"

"GET AWAY!" you scream, eyes wide as you bolt up from where you laid. You broke out in cold sweat, panting hard like you had been running for your life. Considering what your nightmare consisted of, you might as well have.

"(y/n)-" Geralt tried to touch you again, but you slap his hand and back away from no one in particular, clearly still in panic mode and hyperventilating. "He's coming, he's coming for me. He's coming for me, he's coming for me..."

"(y/n), you were having a nightmare," Jaskier tries to reason but you didn't listen, only screaming and crying in response. "He's coming for me again."

Geralt and Jaskier only exchange concerned looks, completely at a loss of what to do. "What do we do?" Jaskier whispers to the witcher. "(y/n)," Geralt tries again in a soft voice, slowly approaching, staying at a certain distance to keep you from feeling like you were suffocating. "He's not coming for you again, (y/n)."

You feel your breath return to normal, looking around to see Geralt kneeling in front of you. To his left you see Jaskier and to the right you see Milva and Regis and the others in the group staring at you.

It was just a nightmare, you realize. You were not in King's Landing anymore. You were not being abused at the hands of Daemon Targaryen anymore...you didn't have Aemma in your arms anymore. You had escaped...but at the cost of losing your daughter in the process.

You felt the tears threaten to spill. You place your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from making any weeping sounds. "(y/n)," you hear Geralt say, empathy conveyed in his tone. You lean into Geralt, not caring about the scene you were probably causing before the company, "he took my daughter from me," you whisper as you sob incoherently into Geralt's shoulder, "My Aemma...my little girl." "I know...I know," Geralt rubs your back for comfort, sadness filling inside him for you, and the anger for the man who did this to you rising.

You stayed in Geralt's arms for a bit, willing to stay there all night, maybe forever. But then you saw the rest of the groups staring at you with looks of confusion and pity. You pull away. "What are you all looking at?" you ask, sniffling and wiping your eyes, "it was just a nightmare."

"It seemed more than that," Milva points out. "Well it was," you insist, "I'm fine, really." "Are you certain?" Cahir questions. "Yes, what does it matter to you? Why is he even still here?" you exasperate, "I thought we kicked him out. Aren't still mad at him because of Ciri?" "How about we don't change the subject?" Milva steps in. You lightly push her to the side, "I'm fine," you repeat, "I'm sorry I woke you all. I just want to go back to sleep."

You lay back on your sleep mat, turning around and curling your knees to your chest, trying to ignore the stares from everyone else in the camp. You were not a victim, you say to yourself- the things that happened to you in King's Landing at the hands of...that man did not change you or damage you in any way. All this, despite the fact this wasn't the first time those nightmares haunted your sleep, and it wasn't the first time said nightmares forced you to scream and wake up everyone around you.

After escaping the Lodge, you were reunited with Geralt and Jaskier, whom were just as relieved to see as the last time they saw you, you were at death's door and had disappeared seemingly in the middle of the night. You explained to them what had actually happened, that Yennefer took you to a secret place to save you with the help of her fellow sorceresses.

At first Geralt had been furious that Yennefer would put you in the position you were in, and not trusting him enough to tell him her plan, but he was glad she did what needed to be done to save your life. You had yet to disclose that the remedy that saved your life also came at the expense of your fertility.

After the reunion, you had been introduced to the others that were part of the company: the vampire Regis, a dwarf Zoltan, Cahir, and a dryad named Milva. All four of them were somewhat familiar with who you were as the Lady of Larks, but didn't know the extent of the events you had endured as of recent.

The company was heading South towards Nilfgaard with the hopes of rescuing Ciri from the hands of the Emperor. You wanted to go back to Westeros to rescue Aemma, but with no mage to open a portal back to that place, it would take an army to lay siege to King's Landing just to save your daughter. It was a long shot, but maybe if you found a way to appeal to the Emperor's more empathetic nature, he might be able to help with that. Again, you were not sure how that would work, but it was the only plan anyone had.

It was a long journey, and your bouts of panic attacks during the day, and the nightmares that followed weren't exactly helping the company, save for depriving them of a full night's sleep and slowing their trek when you needed to step away to calm yourself.

It was understandable they were all concerned, especially Geralt and Jaskier, but you still insisted you were alright, and this was temporary. It would all go away as soon as you got Aemma back, you convinced yourself to believe. Once she was back in your arms and away from her father, the nightmares would surely cease once and for all.

The following morning, the company departed at first light. You trailed behind for the majority of the trek, wanting to avoid eye contact with anyone in the group, and also with the hopes of avoiding answering any uncomfortable questions. Geralt was leading the group; today, it looked like he was able to cover more ground at a faster pace then he did yesterday. Since that day on Thanedd, when you were still in King's Landing, when that coup took place and Geralt suffered significant damage at the hands of the sorcerer Vilgefortz, the witcher has dealt with occasional bouts and flare ups that were associated with chronic pain. While he could put up with it most days, Geralt also had bad days. Even when Regis was kind enough to create a medicated balm to ease the pain, the witcher would still have days when the pain was too much, and he would either need to take it slow, or stop the trek altogether. You understood, and had no wish to push the man past what he was able to bare on those days. It was going to be a long journey anyway, what was a few extra days to stop and rest?

While you lagged behind, you found yourself lost in thought, thinking about your dream, specifically the part of the dream that wasn't a nightmare. When you heard Aemma crying in her room. You had walked in, seeing her in distress. You didn't know why, but you came to her side, picked her up in your arms, and sang her a soothing lullaby, which calmed her and had her falling asleep against your chest. You thought about how that dreamed reminded you of when you would do similar things with Aemma back in Dragonstone and King's Landing, when she was the one thing that kept you going during those dark times. She was what kept you fighting to survive so you and her could escape that terrible place. You escaped...and she was still behind.

You didn't want to think about how worried she was for you, not knowing where you were or if you were even coming back. Part of you had speculated the things her father was putting inside her head as of right now. What lies was Daemon concocting right now to fill inside your daughter's head. That you died? That you abandoned her? That someone came and took you from her?

What if it was too late by the time you went back with the proper reinforcements? What if your daughter was so convinced by Daemon's lies, she would end up hating you?

You felt the tears build up, but you don't bother to stop them from spilling as no one in the front would see you crying. Or so you were hoping.

Milva looked behind to see your silent tears. She lagged now to be by your side. "Are you thinking about last night?" the dryad inquires. You shake your head and wipe your tears. "I wasn't thinking about last night," you assure. "Bullshit," Milva scoffs. "I don't want to talk about it," you huff. "Suit yourself," Milva concedes. The two of you walk side by side in awkward silence for a few brief moments before she spoke again, a little more empathy in her voice this time around.

"I used to have nightmares too, you know." You say nothing, continuing to walk in silence. "Most of them were of my stepfather," the dryad continues, "The man he...well we didn't get along. Well I didn't get along with him, and he tried to get along with me a little too well. He would always unwanted advances towards me even though he was married to my mother. I was barely past adolescence around that time. Even after I stood up for myself and ran away after knocking him out with a rake, he still haunted me one way or another. I used to dream he was coming after me for revenge or something far worse." You turn your head to make eye contact with Milva.

You didn't know too much about her, save for what little she has disclosed to the company so far; before becoming part of the dryads of Brokelin Forest, Milva was part of a family of hunters in Upper Sodden. Her father taught her everything she knew about the trade, and it was something she maintained well, having made her first kill when she was only 11. You knew her mother had remarried after her father died, and she ran away soon after, but this was the first time you understood why. You didn't know how much Geralt had disclosed to the dryads when they first brought him to the forest to heal him with the waters of Brokelin Forest, but Milva remembered when Geralt insisted he needed to get to King's Landing to rescue from the family of dragon lords who ruled that place. She was under the impression they kept you in prison there. She was right, though it wasn't a prison like a dungeon. It was a gilded cage, one that seemed nice and luxurious on the outside, but on the inside it had turned into your personal hell.

"I'm sorry you went through that," you told her, meaning it, "but I fail to understand what this has to do with me." "I...I just thought it might help if you knew you are not alone in whatever it is you went through. Whoever it was that hurt you-" "Nobody hurt me!" you insist. Milva only gave a incredulous look in response, to which you took offense. "What you don't believe me?" "I'd have an easier time believing you if you weren't so defensive," Milva explains, "I used to get that way too. I tried to convince others around me, the other dryads, that my past didn't damage me. I would put up a front and act like I was not broken, not after I went through-" "I'm not you, Milva!" you interrupt her, the others up front pretend like they're not listening in.

"I'm sorry that you went through such horrible things, but that wasn't me. Yes, I was...in a less than ideal situation. I endured more shit in the last three years than I ever did in my whole life, I was...I was forced to do things I had no say in, sure that happened, and those things happen everyday. But I'm not damaged." "(y/n)-" "I'm not a victim, Milva," you insist, "I survived and I came out in one piece. Well, one piece was left behind, but I'm fine. I at least know my daughter is in a place where she can't be harmed for the time being. I'll be fine. I'll solider through till we get to Nilfgaard, rescue Ciri, and then rescue Aemma."

You stare daggers at the group, whom you knew were eavesdropping due to the fact they had slowed down, "and you all can stop pretending you were not listening in!" you shout. "(y/n), it was none of our intention to eavesdrop," Jaskier tries to intervene, running over to you, "we're just...you know, concerned."

"Why? Why all this concern?" you exasperate. "(y/n), you were held against your will on some foreign land with no allies or friends, except for your daughter. You were forbidden to leave and he-" You now stare daggers at your brother, almost daring him to finish his sentence, "he did what, Julian? HE did WHAT?"

At this point, the company all but stop moving. Jaskier could see in your eyes you were not going to acknowledge what happened to you anytime soon, and any further pushes would only lead to you clamping down on your unresolved trauma. You would only continue to keep it all in, even when it continue to bubble up to the surface, be it in the form of your nightmares or your daytime panic attacks. So your brother steps and concedes, "...nothing, little sister. Forgive me for doubting you being fine. I believe you."

You didn't believe him, but accepted his apology all the same.

The company continued their trek.

Jaskier walked up ahead to Geralt, "Geralt-" "I know," the witcher whispers to his friend. "She can't keep going like this," Jaskier insists, "if she doesn't let it out soon, it may end up destroying her before we even get to Nilfgaard." "She won't talk about it," Geralt points out. "She can't keep it in," Jaskier points back, "I know she keeps saying she's fine, but I know she's not. I saw that look in her eyes when I came for her in King's Landing. You saw that look too, Geralt, you know she was at the end of her limit."

Geralt had a sad look in his eye when he subtly turned to see you walking behind, putting on a brave face for anyone that would see you.

The witcher recalled how after the two of you reunited, you would sleep next to him at nights, albeit with some space in between. You often would turn from him, curling up with your knees to your chest, hugging yourself in your sleep as if you were trying to protect yourself from whatever perceived dangers may be coming your way. He thought about the times when you and him shared a kiss, how quick you were to pull away so abruptly; there was even one time when you were making out which ended in you slapping him in misdirected anger, only for you to look at him in shock when you realized what you've done. He would ask, but he never pressed when you simply answered it was nothing and you were fine. Not at all trying to repress your trauma.

Geralt could only speculate the things Daemon did to you. He already had some idea given the state you were in before the escape. It was telling in the way you flinched and backed off during any attempts you made to be intimate with him.

"Maybe there is a way she can process it...indirectly?" Geralt suggests for a solution?

Jaskier thinks on this, an idea dawning on him when he remembered a little activity you and him used to do years back before your time in Westeros.

--------later that evening-------------

"So...you want to collaborate on an epic?" you tilt your head a little in curiosity, yet feeling skeptical. "Yeah, why not?" Jaskier points out, "come on, little sister, we used to do this all the time, remember? We created some of our best ballads when we worked together, brother and sister, why try that to maybe create an epic this time?"

You were still hesitant, yet it did sound like a good idea. You and your brother had indeed done something like that many years back when the two of you were still socializing in the same circles, something you had been doing since before even meeting Geralt, when you and Jaskier would brainstorm together for coming up with new songs and ballads to perform in taverns and such.

It's been a while, but if it would help take your mind off certain things for just a little while then you were not complaining. "Okay," you nod, taking out a pen and paper, "we did compose some pretty amazing songs when we put our minds together. What do you think this epic should curtail?"

"Well," Jaskier begins the brainstorm, "I was maybe thinking of something along the lines of...a long journey, one filled with strife and struggle, one filled with pain, but it ends with something good, where the heroine in the story comes out of it on top." "Heroine?" you furrow your brows a bit, "interesting. Not many people think of women when they think epic of strife and struggle." "Well, maybe you could have an input on that," Jaskier suggests, "you are a woman after all." "Yeah...I am..." you say softly, taking some deep breaths as you put the pen to paper, trying to focus on some ideas.

It felt like forever as you struggle to come up with ideas. "Take your time, sis," Jaskier encourages, "there's no rush." "I know that," you say through gritted teeth, "I'm just...I can do this. I'm not sure how to feminize this epic." "I wasn't thinking of feminizing- well maybe a little. It's a heroine's struggle after all." "Heroine's struggle," you repeat absentmindedly, thinking of your own strife. The imprisonment, the abuse, the numerous assaults, the unwanted pregnancy that ended in a mutated miscarriage, the near death experience that followed, the physical cost that came to saving your life, the second imprisonment and the second escape that followed....

Everything else that happened in between. Having your daughter pried from your arms at the very last second just as you had tasted freedom once again. The idea that some time may very well pass before you ever see her again, the idea that you may lose seeing many major milestones in her life.

All this-and yet....you could not them into physical words. Why? Why was this not possible? You were able to channel your emotions and life experiences into your work before, why couldn't you do it now?

You feel your writing hand shake as your breaths became uneven- something that didn't go unnoticed by your brother.

"(y/n)? (y/n) are you alright? (y/n)?" Jaskier frantically questions, though you didn't hear him the first time around. "I...I can't do it," you say in a soft voice. "What?" "I can't do it," you say as your voice broke, a tear escaping your eye, wetting the paper. "You can't do what?" Jaskier asks. "I...I...I can't..." you shake your head and look up to see the concerned expression from your brother. "I'm sorry," you try to quickly assure, wiping your eyes, "I'm just exhausted. I should go to bed now." "(y/n), we only just begun, you can't just-" "I can and I will," you say rather snappy.

"(y/n), this is hardly like you to cut something like this so short," Jaskier brings up. "There's a first for everything," you say, trying to sound stoic, "I just need to sleep and it will come to me when I am ready."

"(y/n)-" "I'M FINE JASKIER!" you scream at the man, once again getting the attention of the company, "I know what you're trying to do, Julian, and it's not going to get me to admit anything." "What exactly would I even want you to admit," Jaskier exasperates, having reached his limits in patience, "(y/n), you can't keep this to yourself forever. You were imprisoned in King's Landing for three bloody years. You had your daughter ripped from your arms at the very last minutes, for gods SAKE (Y/N), the father of your child-" "Jaskier-" "He-" "don't. you. dare. finish that sentence-" "He's the reason you were in that situation in the first place, he assaulted you on more than one occasion, (y/n), and I know this, because I saw the effect it was having on you at the Red Keep even when you kept assuring everything was going to be alright in the end," Jaskier continues, "but it's not alright, is it, (y/n)? He hurt you in more ways than one and you can't admit the damaged he caused-"

"I AM NOT FUCKING DAMAGED!" you shrieked, "I'M NOT DAMAGED, JASKIER! I'M NOT A VICTIM! HE ALREADY TOOK SOMETHING FROM ME PHYSICALLY, I AM NOT ABOUT TO LET TAKE AWAY MY CREATIVITY!!"

"...what do you mean he took something physically from you...?" Jaskier asks, eyes slightly wide from that piece of information you unwittingly revealed.

Unable to hide anymore, the dam of tears broke, "I can't have anymore children, Julian," you finally confess, which got Geralt's attention right quick. "What do you mean?" "I...I...I was dying," you further confess in tears, "Yen- she- she took me to the Lodge of Sorceresses and- and they saved my life, but it came at the cost of my womb, the same womb that was already fucking damaged from that...mutation. He caused it. Dae...Aemma's father was the reason that even happened in the first place. He was hoping I would give him a son, and I would've. But now, I'll never have anymore children. Aemma is all I'll ever have, and she was ripped away from me. How much time must I lose before I see her again? What will I miss by the time I see her again? I'll never get to experience all those little milestones with anyone else, and now it seems I won't be able to experience those with her."

You look to see the pitiful looks once again, from Jaskier, from Geralt, and everyone else.

You couldn't stand it anymore.

Choking down more sob you turn and run, wanting for nothing more then solitude to process the grief you should have processed a long time ago.

More to be continued...

Bonus Masterlist

#hotd #the witcher #geralt of rivia #oc #ciri #jaskier #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #milva #zoltan #emiel regis #geralt x reader

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hanzajesthanza · 7 months

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regis didn’t die because “he got drunk,” he died because he abandoned his principles.

regis swearing at stygga and vowing to “fuck this castle up” is not only disturbing for what it is, and who he is, but also because of who he is in the company.

it truly is the “i’m a healer, but…” meme, because regis is the voice of reason, moderation, and logic, advising geralt away from hasty decisions. he’s a self-reported coward and afraid of violence, and you know, he’s the doctor.

it’s not just his abandonment of his principle to not drink, but the abandonment of ALL of his principles—patience, rationality, goodwill, optimism—is what kills him.

this discarding of principles happens in the scene where he returns to the rest of the company and sees milva’s dead body, where he says he feels such strength to fuck up this entire castle.

this hasty, violent cursing of his comes before the scene with vilgefortz—it foreshadows his death owing to his hasty, violent attack of vilgefortz. it didn’t just come out of nowhere that he made a terrible decision. (i mean, his first terrible decision was to follow geralt in the first place but, eh.)

it’s not just because “he had been drinking”—the drinking is more of a side effect rather than a cause... (and “one should treat the cause, and not its symptoms…”)

since, to our knowledge, he had one drink before returning to see milva dead, and during that time seemed to be, more or less, regis as he was—he even cracks jokes to ciri before he realizes, ‘wait, maybe i scared her’—it is when he returns and has seen, is processing, milva dead, that he makes this suspiciously unhinged, out of character statement about “i feel such strength inside me,” “i could fuck up this entire castle.”

sure, he could have had a couple more drinks between these two scenes that sapkowski did just not deign to write of, but even if he had been totally plastered, i don’t think that that solely is what causes his downfall, his out of character viciousness and hastiness. remember that alcoholism is an addiction, and addictions re-emerge when one is faced with despair, loss, grief… and hopelessness. (and with blood already on his lips from the laboratory, it became that much easier to give in when having to confront this tragedy—the coping mechanism was already right back in his hands)

the hopelessness of losing milva at the portico of stygga castle broke them all, before they even went inside. and this death broke regis as we knew him, as the company’s optimist.

seeing milva dead was the death of his principles, his virtues, what he worked so hard for such a long time to hold himself to. because these principles became as worthless as his surgeon’s tools—in this citadel of death, there’s nothing you can do to save life, to preserve it, as he had done prior:

after her miscarriage, although they stayed in the lyrian-rivian corps of meve for five or six days, they had deserted—and deserted the barber-surgeons in that corps—in less than a week. consider then that it became once again, regis’ responsibility, as the company’s barber-surgeon and sole healer, to care for milva as she recuperated.

though dandelion notes she did so quickly as she was a hale and strong woman and her troubles were mostly emotional, one must consider the responsibility that not only a friend feels for his friend’s life, but how a doctor feels for his patient’s life.

and how he feels when that life heals slowly, recuperates with difficulty, suffers more (broken ribs) but continues to heal under care, finally becomes strong again and, like her namesake, a bird, released with pride into the air—only to be shot down immediately, glassy-eyed in her own blood.

milva for regis was a symbol of preserving life (indeed, an interesting symbol, as she suffers miscarriage). and between them, it was also, of course, a complete inversion of the mythology surrounding vampires and pregnant women.

but at stygga, she dies so immediately, so violently:

… and from something… something as inconsequential as any old bit of wood…

what kind of cruelty is it for life to be ripped away so quickly, by something so small, with no chance of saving? of healing?

but it’s nothing, because this is stygga castle. where healing becomes unusable. useless.

so regis leaves his healing at the doorstep—literally, upon the portico, where milva’s body was dragged back to by geralt and cahir, bleeding out in a dark pool.

and along with healing… his patience, moderation, mercy, kindness, wisdom… all of his virtues.

their virtues. the company’s virtues. since regis embodied this rationalist and optimist side of the company, when he abandons these principles of his, the entire company loses them;

because now, there is no one to advise them to “proceed slowly and with due prudence.” now, there is no one to placatingly say, “come, come, let there be concord.” now, there is no one to say, “of course we can, it is simply a matter of invention and positive thinking!”

the voice of reason has left us, he flew off on bat’s wings without a murmur or a whistle. now the voice only says — “i will fuck up this entire castle.”

i don’t think at stygga, in this scene and the one with vilgefortz, we’re seeing just a “regis, but drunk”. it’s deeper than that… because it’s not just his sobriety he broke, he broke everything—broken and shattered, like the collection of glass vials and flasks he shattered in his dramatic entrance to vilgefortz’s laboratory, exploding, bursting one after another. and from this erupts a hellish inferno of corpse-blue flames.

it’s not just “regis, but drunk” it’s “regis, but without patience, wisdom, kindness… etc…”

that’s why he’s so unlike the regis we’ve come to know during the series, why he at stygga becomes so unrecognizable to the readers—because he’s thrown away all of his beloved virtues that he strived to embody. and because “everybody has their good points, to even out the vices,” he became unbalanced, with his vices leading him. namely, his hubris, which often came out in a much more modest way during the rest of the saga—in a scholarly and lecturing tone of voice—but at stygga, comes out as an arrogant threat that he and he alone can and will fuck up this entire castle, an overconfident leap at vilgefortz’s throat.

and in my interpretation, it’s also not accurate to look at it like “this was actually the true regis,” “this was regis underneath it all,” because it’s not “how he was back then,” it’s not like he went back in time to be his past self. it’s not a reverting.

it’s more like coming full circle, for it’s milva’s death which triggers him to discard his principles, and he only got to know milva through his upholding of these principles. his actions towards her (namely his midwifery) showcase some of the best of what he became, owing to these principles of his.

and her presence, or rather the loss of her, makes him realize that all of his goodness is in vain and will be of no help here. and that is when a great hopelessness consumes him, and he throws out his goodness with a cold clatter to the ground—what use was any of this, after all? i cannot save her with medicine, i cannot save her with my principles, it all turned out to be useless.

and we’ve seen something like this already in the saga—it’s much like when ciri is in the korath desert and begins to think, everyone has abandoned me, the morality and ethics they taught me are utterly useless. and it takes her being in korath for her to get there, to break her spirit. the seed of this may have been planted in her at cintra, but her contempt didn’t fully erupt until after she had tasted the love, mercy, and kindness of geralt and yennefer’s parentage and saving of her—and then was suddenly deprived of it.

similarly, regis had a terrible youth, and yes, when he’s giving up his principles here, he’s returning to a similar state—but it’s not the same as if he had never experienced the entire arc following his rebirth into human life. it’s not a return to his youth, it’s more like… hm… a mid-life crisis? hah…

a metaphor of day and night is apt!

he’s not “reverting” at stygga—it’s like how dawn and dusk, though they are at similar light levels, are not the same thing, because they have the entire daytime inbetween them!

the sun sets with his discarding of principles, and we return to night… a cold, sinister, menacing, darkness. back to the realm of the vampire, not the human:

because he, the company, is suddenly deprived of their archer, who, just remember, they worked so hard to save on the battle of the bridge, milva, whom regis rushed towards and carried on his back, staying with her during her miscarriage.

and now, she’s utterly dead in such a violent manner, and actually, the arrow pierced her lower abdomen, possibly where her womb would be: “struck [her] low in the belly (…) having shattered her pelvis (…)” for the ultimate symbolism for her character.

and suddenly with her death, regis realizes how useless he is, to them, here, as a surgeon. he cannot save milva now like he did under the bridge. he can’t help, save any of them. he’s powerless.

and if not a surgeon, their surgeon, who is he?

and if not wise, patient, cautious, kind, gentle? if not always knowing what to do, ‘in his infinite wisdom,’ in his ‘omniscience’? if not humanity? what is left of emiel regis? what is left?

blood.

#the witcher books #emiel regis #analysis #c: regis #book: lady of the lake #another post about this: https://www.tumblr.com/hanzajesthanza/696998330754007040/regis-drinking-at-stygga-or-why-i-love

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