Blood of Numenor
Notes: Here we go folks! Something completely new and, I think, never tried before! The Lord of the Rings and the Witcher crossover! An unlikely match you say? Let's see! Brace yourselves! The witcher side of story set mid Lady of the Lake and maybe slightly AU (some spoilers for those who haven't read the witcher books) and Middle-Earth timeline period is year 1432 T.A. at the brink of great conflict.
Disclaimer: of course I don't own Lotr nor the Witcher saga, those brilliant works were written by master above masters John R.R. Tolkien and great polish fantasy writer Andrzej Sapkowski, respectively.
Chapter I:
"But Atanatar loved ease and did nothing to maintain the power that he had inherited, and his two sons were of like temper. The waning of Gondor had already begun before he died, and was doubtless observed by its enemies. The watch upon Mordor was neglected. Nonetheless it was not until the days of Valacar that the first great evil came upon Gondor: the civil war of the Kin-strife, in which great loss and ruin was caused and never fully repaired.
…
But Valacar far exceeded his father's designs. He grew to love the Northern lands and people, and he married Vidumavi, daughter of Vidugavia. It was some years before he returned. From this marriage came later the war of the Kin-strife.
'For the high men of Gondor already looked askance at the Northmen among them; and it was a thing unheard of before that the heir to the crown, or any son of the King, should wed one of lesser and alien race. There was already rebellion in the southern provinces when King Valacar grew old. His queen had been a fair and noble lady, but short-lived according to the fate of lesser Men, and the Dúnedain feared that her descendants would prove the same and fall from the majesty of the Kings of Men. Also they were unwilling to accept as lord her son, who though he was now called Eldacar, had been born in an alien country and was named in his youth Vinitharya, a name of his mother's people.
Therefore when Eldacar succeeded his father there was war in Gondor. But Eldacar did not prove easy to thrust from his heritage. To the lineage of Gondor he added the fearless spirit of the Northmen. He was handsome and valiant, and showed no sign of ageing more swiftly than his father. " Lotr, Appendix A, Gondor and the heirs of Anarion.
Ciri sat in saddle on her faithful Kelpie trying to return to her world. She escaped the world of Aen Elle and pursuing Dearg Ruadhri, the dreadful Red Riders. The wondrous Tirná Lia turned out to have hideous underbelly.
"The murderers!" she thought. "They slaughtered the humans and made slaves of survivors and what they wanted to do to me? Use me, my powers! They dare to call themselves better than humans!"
The elves tried to catch her already on the Spiral of worlds, but she eluded them going further and further away.
"Distance doesn't matter though." She mused. "Horsey said so, there is no close or far, I must get out of their grasp!"
She passed between different times and places, islands of places and times. Inside her head a cool brightness murmured in her ears, the constant murmur of a sea shell. There was a burning sensation in her throat. Black soft nothingness. Once she got used to the unpleasant feeling of the trans-dimensional travel she tried to experiment to fully test her new-found power. She was the Lady of Places and Times. Nothing could stop her!
Concentration, fist on her temples. A flash and suddenly soft, black nothingness.
Another jump and there was a place where Ciri could see flaming pyres. The women who were in them were chained to stakes, begging for mercy, but the crowd laughed, cheered and danced. She was in a place where great city was burning, the flames leapt from collapsing roofs and black smoke covered the sky. She was in a place where giant lizards fought and the blood from their terrible wounds stained the earth. She was in a lots of places but none of them was right.
The next place was horrible, a dark forest she had never seen before, even in worst nightmares, a mighty hill in the distance. On it a great threatening fortress, some old castle looming ominously on the horizon. Smoke issued from it, roars, cries and moans as if of anguish of great torment reached her ears. And there was something more, a great cloud of a tangible shadow obscured the view blocking all light, bringing blindness not only to the eye but to the mind as well.
For a moment it seemed to her that Riders have returned, that they cast spells on her to confound her mind and drag back to Avallac'h laboratory. But the terror that seized her was far greater and deeper, incapacitating the very will to fight. Like in hideous dream everything she saw was twisted and so horribly…wrong. She wandered for hourse through that treacherous darkness, half against her will she was getting closer and closer to the terrible centre, the dark tower that rose proudly. Everything was hideous, queer, dark and savage, like demented forms from an uneasy dream. Unreal and yet so terrifying tangible.
"World of nightmares!" a thought flashed in her mind, but still she dared not to jump, something stayed her, drawn her further.
The wood of rotten fir trees was surrounding the stronghold, the stifling smell of decay, huge gnarled trees with strange growths on them, funguses and herbs of awful scent. And everywhere she looked, all around her in darkness she saw countless eyes watching her every move. She shuddered thinking what sort of things those were, some were pale and bulbous looking like insect eyes…but they were much too big. The great cobwebs with a strands as thick as a rope were spread among trees. The thought of the spider of a size enough to weave them, made her sick.
She tried to remember her lessons with Vesemir in Kaer Morhen about various sorts of monsters and how to deal with them. There was no knowing though, what filth lived in this vile place.
"I'm a witcheress! I kill monsters!" she thought to bring herself more hope and certainty and to ward off fear. She was fingering the hilt of her 'Swallow', gnomish sword: gwyhyr, one of the best swords ever made in her world.
"This is 'Zirael' a sword for all monsters! We'll test it out again, and soon!" she tought shaking slightly looking into dark steel of the blade and it's ornamentation.
The surroundings were to mildly put it more and more foreboding as one went deeper into the darkness. At moments Ciri had doubt why even bother to stay but she did nothing to and she didn't understand that.
But even all that wasn't the worst, there was something she felt in the depth of her very being. A Power was there like she never felt before. Suddenly she felt as if that power became aware of her and came rushing to her like a finger hoping to pin her down. Her mind burst with pain, the pressure became unbearable. Kelpie snorted and stamped her hooves nervously.
Ciri's mind was searing she heard or rather felt the silent command. Come to me, child! She heard herself crying out in fear: "No! Never! Never!" or was it "Yes. Yes, I come to you!" She did not know. The dark cloud intensified, a rumbling and flash of lightning came from afar. Another wave of pain even stronger than before flooded her senses. Kelpie neighed wildly in terror, but Ciri meekly tried to calm her down. Utterly confused the girl seemed muddled as if walking through sticky mud slowing down every movement, her memories swirled in projection of images and feelings as if someone was probing her mind. She resisted with all her might. Yet that feeling was not like Yennefer's telepathy, it was harsher and seemingly malicious.
The eternal night of that wood suddenly was pierced by flash of many torches, wolves howled and many of the surrounding eyes disappeared to gather somewhere further away, yet still encroaching upon her from all sides.
Shrieks and cries in harsh language echoed among the trees. And suddenly arrows flew around her! Ciri could not think straight, her mind was in upheaval and she could not focus her thoughts. Leaning over the horse's neck she whispered on edge of losing consciousness.
"I-I-I c-c-can't! Kelpie h-h-help!"
As if on signal the beautiful black mare sprang to full gallop running as fast as possible amid the thick forest evading those huge pillars of wood in daring slalom. Several arrows hit the tree trunks just barely missing Ciri who was now clutching the reins tightly and shrinking in saddle. The pressure upon her mind lessened somewhat and Ciri begun to stir to her usual vigor. A sharp jolt of pain caused her to scream at the top of her lungs. A long black feathered arrow was stuck in her thigh. In one quick pull she ripped it out without thinking, the wind was whistling in her ears.
She cursed under breath but sighed with more ease.
"Get out of here as fast as possible!" she thought. Quickly the unseen pursuit was falling behind. Ciri gathered her strength of will and concentrated for yet another travel between worlds.
…
She emerged to find herself staring at a familiar sight. The pleasant ordinary looking edge of the wood and on the night sky just coming up, were the two moons. The place she stumbled upon already. Her wound ached and a lot of blood sipped from it. She tore the sleeve of her blouse and started tying it around the wound.
"That was close! I don't know what it was and I don't want to know! I'll try another way." she thought as she watched the two moons on an exotic alien sky where there were no known constellation. Neither the Dragon nor Seven Goats shone on that sky, so familiar sight from her own world. Despite this air of strangeness it was one of the safer worlds she stumbled upon so far. She thought intensely.
"Time to stop jumping around without cause or plan. I've tried imagining a place or a face, now I'll try a powerful desire. A wish strongly from my heart…. What's the harm in trying. Geralt. I want Geralt. I really want Geralt."
…
"Oh no!" she cried. "The devil take me!"
Kelpie neighed as if in disapproval. She emerged during a snowstorm in mountainous terrain. The storm howled, blinding them with sharp ice crystals that hacked at their faces. Cold penetrated her clothing and bit like a wolf. Cirri was shaking, stooping her shoulders and her neck, trying to hide herself in her raised collar.
To the right and left loomed majestic peaks, granite monuments, whose peaks bathed in the blizzard. In a valley a rushing river was thick with ice. Everywhere was white.
"I have these abilities." Ciri thought."Such power. I'm the Lady of the Worlds but there is no point! I wanted Geralt and I find myself lost in the wilderness, in winter in a blizzard."
"Come on Kelpie! Move or you'll freeze!" she pulled on the reins with fingers that were dumb with cold. "Come on bullhead! I know that this is the wrong place, now we'll return to the warmth. But I have to concentrate and it takes some time. So move!"
The mare exhaled a cloud of steam. The wind blew and snow fell on Ciri's face an froze her eyelashes. The wind howled and whistled.
…
Ukbuk the Orc-captain was staring at the back of a tall Man before him with cold hatred. The Sorcerer Dolguzagar was a Black Numenorean from the South who came to the service of their master, but for the Orc he was no better than the filthy tarks he feared and despised.
It did not make any difference whether this one served their Dark Master as well. He had the viciousness and ruthlessness of Orcs but his strange powers that cursed tark possessed, made him all the more dangerous and unpredictable.
Dolguzagar learned great sorcery, as he boasted, under the Dark Lord himself and it made him even more arrogant if that was possible.
The hateful thoughts of an Orc-captain were interrupted by the cold sneering voice of the sorcerer.
Ukbuk answered for the umpteenth time describing the details of pursuit of the young ashen haired girl, trying to retain his calm through gritted teeth.
"Little whore escaped on that maggoty nag. To the cesspool with it!" related the Orc. " She was certainly hit by our arrows! The Snuffler found a fresh trail of blood! Lots of it! We tracked til' it suddenly…disappeared! No sign of anyone's presence, vanished in a thin air, if that is possible!"
Sorcerer pondered those words for a minute and said simply."If she bled as you say then gather her blood, as much as you can as long as it's still fresh! It's vital for our Lord's plans, you filth!"
Ukbuk did not hesitate to show his irritation and disapproval:
"Why our Master concerns Himself with that Whiteskin bitch!" he spat with annoyance.
"That girl possesses an unusually rare ability! And our great Master wishes to harness that power. It's secret lies in the blood of the vixen!" Said the Black Numenorean with surprising patience. "Gather the sample of her blood immediately. AT ALL COSTS!" he roared. "It shouldn't be too difficult for you, mindless creatures!" He added with contempt in voice.
Ukbuk did not actually expected that he would get answer.
He barked an order and several lads from Ukbuk's unit quickly went on towards the direction pointed by their tracker, they needed no more orders. They knew what they had to do, or otherwise end up as snack for some deadly beast bred in the pits of Dol Guldur.
"One day, you'll get what you deserve! You tark scum!" thought Ukbuk again biting his tongue on the especially vicious retort so to not anger the devious magician. He was now among favorites of the Big Bosses. It was not wise to irk him.
"They don't tell us everything they know. Oh no! But even the Top Ones can make mistakes! And I hope you'll make it one day!" he continued, his thought filled with hate and fury.
Dolguzagar turned to face the Orc, light of torches held by soldiers of the Black Tower of Sorcery illuminated little of the surrounding forest. The Orc looked with hint of fear into those shining eyes, cursing under breath.
A strange hiss issued from the man's mouth, a sound as if of a dangerous beast.
"Be careful you filthy little goblin!" sneered the sorcerer. "Fail this simple task and I might take you to my 'workshop' and then… hehehe, you'll regret the day your filthy monstrous mother spawned you." The sound of that cold vicious laughter made Ukbuk shudder.
Many terrifying tales were told among servants of the Dark Lord about the infamous sorcerer's place of practice of the black arts. Many times Ukbuk and lads from his unit had to dispose of the ending results. Hideous forms of creatures neither men nor beasts or worse yet live specimens that had to be dealt with…or tamed.
The Orcs called this secret place within the fortress a 'workshop of horrors' and feared it exceedingly, it seemed that Dolguzagar knew well of the term and was rather pleased that it caused such terror among Dark Lord's servants.
The whispered legends were told about the things he did there. All the revolting, twisted experiments with living things, vile practices on captured prisoners or anyone unfortunate enough to deserve a 'punishment' sent as subjects of the whim of mad magician. Even Orcs were disgusted by them and shuddered thinking that they could one day end up among those.
Ukbuk had many occasions to see the corpses of poor sods who were sent there. They were deformed, covered in dark spots spewing disgusting mucus, bloated and often did not even resemble what they once were. Some of the newly bred creatures were altered there as well. Sorcerer used his powers to warp living bodies changing them into new forms and adding different characteristics making them stronger, larger and giving thicker hides, increasing their wits and aggressiveness. The sound of that cold voice once again called Ukbuk back from his dark thoughts, bidding him to come closer.
"If we bring you this blood master, though I doubt it will be much, what will you do with it then?" asked the Orc-captain carefully watching out not to sound disrespectful.
"It's not your concern, you and your rabble wouldn't understand anyway! Indeed for what wits you have is fit for menial tasks and toil!" said Dolguzagar with a grimace. "I don't care how you'll gather it, I am sure that she bled strong enough from arrow-wound to leave a good portion of it. Bring it to me as soon as possible. That's all you need to know! Move, you piece of dung!"
Ukbuk cursed under breath and followed his lads who were studying the ground in search of blood stains, on leaves, ferns and other plants of undergrowth. Finally after long moment a tracker, one of the Snufflers gathered enough blood to fill one small crystal vial.
He handed it to Ukbuk and returned to scouring the area. Ukbuk shook the vial, smelled it and fingered. The blood looked ordinary, like any whiteskin's, red and hot, brighter hue than dark blood of Orcs, or other creatures such as Trolls. Their blood, Ukbuk knew, was toxic and could in large amount melt through metal. Once the lads of his troops made a bet that they'll make a Troll bleed and see what happen to the sword.
Needless to say the Troll wasn't pleased and squashed the perpetrator, but indeed the black smoking troll's blood melted the blade to the astounding of others, and how strong a swing it required to even pierce that stony hide!
How was it possible that those lumbering stupid giants could have such foul liquid for blood was a mystery for him. But this blood was completely ordinary, like of many men he killed and tasted over the long cruel years of his life.
Without further delay Ukbuk trotted towards the hated sorcerer and called out to him. Dolguzagar's eyes brightened visibly in excitement. Orc-captain handed the vial and looked into this face towering above him, that was now twisted in hideous smile.
"Back to the Tower! Gather your lackeys and return to your duties at once! Our Master shall be pleased!"
Ukbuk barked an order and entire unit scurried to form ranks and followed the sorcerer through the winding road up the Hill of Sorcery.
…
The dark chamber was silent and cold. It was huge and empty, the only light was a flickering fire in the centre though it's flame was sickly pale green. There it was, the centre of the Shadow, the Dark Power unveiled. It's influence spread over time like unrelenting wave that threatened to engulf the world, but now it bided it's time plotting and scheming working in secret. Dolguzagar walked in slowly, filled with dread and worshipful. Amidst the darkness there was a dark throne proudly standing beneath the stone pillars. With each step Dolguzagar felt his will and proud facade crumble under iron will not of his own, and the weight of the whole world suddenly seemed to fall on him.
"Hail! Lord of the Earth!" he cried in trembling voice. The Orc sentry guards, and Ukbuk among them, fell on their faces shuddering as the unearthly Voice beckoned the sorcerer to come closer.
Shadow intensified around the throne like a menacing cloud obscuring all view. It was not only lack of light, this darkness had the being of it's own, it brought not only blindness to the eyes it was invading the mind itself. Yet Dolguzagar dared not to look, his eyelids were closed so tightly it almost hurt, and still he felt the power emanating from the place right on his face like sun can be felt without looking.
His legs gave out, the Black Numenorean was in dark haze of horrible choking fear and pain caused by the Voice itself. For a moment a sharp impulse was released in his mind, causing him to cry out and his screams echoed in the chamber interrupting the horrible stillness and silence of that cursed place. Amid the shadow for a brief moment flashed brightly red fire and huge figure loomed, that seemingly lifted it's black hand. The shape was larger than any man and more terrible, more ominous.
And suddenly two of the Orcs got up in the same time, their movements synchronized mechanically like puppets, as if moved by some other will. Their eyes glowed red, faces wore mindless expression. They left the chamber and closed the heavy gate with terrible clang, leaving the sorcerer and Ukbuk terrified beyond their wits.
"M-m-m-master!" stuttered Dolguzagar. "I have what you wanted! I've done your will!"
And he proceeded to slowly take out the vial containing red blood, holding it high above his head. The sorcerer slightly rose from the floor and moved like a beast on all fours, still averting his gaze.
"YOU'RE ALWAYS DOING MY WILL, WORM!" said a deep booming Voice that rang in the very stone of the chamber, causing Ukbuk to shrink and blubber mindlessly on the floor and the Black Numenorean to shudder in agony as it tore through his body like knives. "BRING IT HERE!"
Dolguzagar snarled pathetically, the pain he now felt was unbearable.
"YOU FAILED TO CAPTURE THE GIRL, BUT YOU HAVE BROUGHT ME HER BLOOD! BEWARE THOUGH! I WON'T TAKE KINDLY TO YOUR FAILURES IN THE FUTURE!" The Voice spoke cruelly, without mercy.
Mustering all his strength of will trying not to faint Dolguzagar decided to ask against the warning of his heart.
"B-b-but my LORD! What i-i-is it for?! Why do you needed it? The secret you said is in her blood, but I-I-I wish to understand!?"
The orders he received spoke that he had to capture the ashen haired girl that appeared in the Forest at any cost and in case of her slipping away, to have her blood and taking it to the Dark Lord himself.
He cared not that Ukbuk might be listening even though the Orc wasn't in capacity to think coherently for now. Despite his proud rebuttal earlier, he also did not know his master's plans concerning the purpose of using the girl's blood.
There was a disdainful hiss in answer that almost made him vomit in revulsion and pained his ears just to hear it. Then a roar followed by terrible laugh was heard shaking the very foundations of the Tower.
"BLOOD FLOWING IN YOUR VEINS. BLOOD OF ALL MORTAL CREATURES! BLOOD IS LIFE! BLOOD BINDS! BUT IT'S MORE THAN MERELY A FLUID OF YOUR PATHETHIC, WEAK BODIES!...AND I HAVE MY WAYS TO USE IT IN DARK SORCERIES, OLD AND POWERFUL BEYOND YOUR WILDEST DREAMS! AND YOU…MY SERVANT! YOU SHALL PERFORM THE RITUAL I'LL TEACH YOU…AND THEN YOU WILL KNOW MORE THAN YOU EVER WISHED TO AND FULLY GRASP MY GREAT DESIGNS!"
Dolguzagar hearing that wailed and as the cackling cruel laugh continued he wished to die to be released from that terrible presence but he knew that his service just begun as well as his torment.
And so it was in the next painful hours, sorcerer received the knowledge and proceeded with the instructions. He poured the blood into the central fire, speaking the words of power from dreadful tongue of the Black Tower putting forth all his strength. The flame flashed strongly reaching great height and changing it's hue to dark blue. The air seemed vibrating with power, sparks circled like fiery tornado. Dolguzagar repeated the formula again and his strength was sapped from him. He started to speak now in Common Tongue the words he was bidden to.
"Blood of thy flesh! Seal thy fate! I summon thee through time and space! Cursed be the Enemies beyond the Sea! Through your veins let thy power course! Forevermore mangled your destiny's thread and lonely thy road! Reveal thyself!" Dolguzagar panted, he could not take it anymore.
"Master I need your strength" he croaked. And in that moment when his torment seemed the greatest the new wave of power coursed through him. The Dark Lord put his own might to test.
Intoxicating and sweet it seemed, a power that made Black Numenorean feel capable of shaping the very fabric of the world, but it was a fleeting moment and as that power went out of him he felt like his old self again.
In the fire suddenly an image appeared, the ashen haired girl riding through a snowstorm on her black mare, her hair released on the wild wind.
"YESS!" hissed the Dolguzagar. "As you commanded Master! It is done! She's in our grasp."
Then his mind was filled with sudden illumination as he opened himself on the Dark Lord's thoughts and reveling in new found knowledge. The girl and all dear to her were now on their mercy. They could manipulate her power to their own ends.
"Show us her past!" Dolguzagar commanded to the enchanted flames and images of a white haired individual appeared and his eyes were like of a viper. The sudden impulse from Dark Lord's mind like a silent order.
"Yes it will be done, her power is the key and the one in the visions will help us get her in the end!" he spoke with malice, and as he did, the triumphant laugh of the Dark Lord Sauron resonated in the air.
…
"Look!" Angouleme shouted above the wind. "Look there! There are hoof prints. Someone was here!"
"What did you say?" Geralt moved the scarf which he had around his head to avoid his ears freezing. "What Angouleme?"
"Footprints! Hoof prints!"
"Who could bring a horse here?" Cahir also had to scream above river Sansretour, which thundered and echoed.
"Indeed!" said the vampire Emiel Regis the only member of the company that showed no symptoms of freezing, obviously he had equal resistance to high and cold temperatures. "They're tracks. But are they really from a horse? The merchants don't travel the mountain passes towards Toussaint during winter."
"Certainly not." Said Cahir rubbing his cheeks and nose. "Not in this wilderness. It must have been some wild animal. Probably an ibex."
"You're an ibex, you stupid goat!" shouted Angouleme. "When I say it was a horse, it was a horse!"
Milva as usual, preferred practice to theory. She jumped from her saddle and knelt throwing back her hood.
"The brat is right! It is definitely a horse. Perhaps even shod, but it's hard to say. The wind has blown away a lot of traces. They went there into that ravine!"
"Ha!" Angouleme rubbed her hands together. "I knew it! Someone lives here! Let's follow their trail maybe we'll find a warm cottage. Maybe they have a fire? Perhaps they'll welcome us?"
"Perhaps with an arrow from a crossbow!" Cahir added sarcastically.
"It would be wiser to stick to the plan of following the river." Regis decreed in his omniscient voice. "We will not run the risk of getting lost. And along the shore of the Sansretour there are trading posts we can fall back on! What do you think Geralt?"
The witcher was silent, staring into the swirling snowstorm.
"We'll follow the tracks." He said finally.
"I do not.." the vampire begun but Geralt did not let him finish.
"We'll follow the tracks. Come on!" he ordered.
They spurred their horses but they did not travel too far. They had gone into the ravine about a quarter mile.
"They've ended!" Angouleme said, looking at pristine snow. "The horse has disappeared. The wind has covered them."
"No." disagreed Milva. "The storm isn't blowing hard enough in the ravine to hide tracks!"
"So what happened to the horse?"
The archer shrugged and huddled in her saddle.
"Where is the horse?" Cahir did not give up. "Did it fly away? Vanish? Or are we just dreaming?"
The storm wailed over ravine. Everybody seemed dumbfounded and confused.
"Why did you follow the tracks, Geralt?" asked Regis staring with profound insight at the witcher.
"I don't know." Geraklt admitted reluctantly. "Something…I felt something. Something I knew. It doesn't matter. You were right, Regis. Let's return to the Sansretour and stick close to the river. No more side trips along the way. According to what Reynart said, real winter and bad weather are waiting for us just beyond the pass of Malheur. When we get there we will need to be at full strength. Don't just stand there, let's go!"
"But what happened to the horse?"
"What's happened to him?" muttered the witcher. "His footsteps have been covered by the snow. Or maybe it wasn't a horse, but an ibex."
Milva looked wryly at him, but refrained from making any comment. When they returned to the river there too mysterious tracks were gone covered by snow. The steel-grey Sansretour river flowed thickly with ice which twirled and twisted in the water.
"I will tell you something" Angouleme said. "But you have to promise that you are not going to laugh."
They turned to face her. Covered with a woolen cap pulled down over her ears, with cheeks and nose red from the cold, wearing a large coat, the girl looked funny, just like a pudgy little kobold.
"It's about those tracks. When I was riding with Nightingale, in his Hanse, they said that in winter along the mountain passes, on an enchanted horse, rides the King of the Mountain, the ruler of the ice demons. To meet him face to face is certain death. What do you say Geralt? Is it possible…"
"Anything.." he interrupted her. "Anything is possible in this company. The Malheur pass is ahead of us!"
The snow whipped and lashed, the wind blowed and among the cliffs came the whistling and howling as if of ice demons.
Suddenly among the swirling snowstorm a glittering light erupted. Horses went mad from fear. Geralt felt as if something was sucking him in. He heard Angouleme screaming wildly. Milva was cussing. For a moment he saw Regis struggling with Draakul, trying to calm down the stubborn mule which started to kick and beat with his hooves around him. Then darkness engulfed them all and Geralt knew no more.
…
His dark dreams were troubled, he felt as if wading in the deep dark chasm. Something was calling him, but he could not understand the words. Deep dark voice sounded malicious, then everything changed. Geralt woke up suddenly. The first thing he saw was a carved ceiling, bearing ornaments in shapes of flowers, and various beasts.
The unidentified room was filled with sunlight. He rose his head slightly but still it caused pain in his neck. In the first reaction he reached with his hand to shield the eyes from brightness, until he realized that this gesture is entirely unnecessary. He could have narrowed his pupils, it was as simple as that.
"Still can't give up this habit. It's so…human." He chuckled in thought relieving the memories of his stay at the Temple of Melitele after dealing with the famous Striga, all those years ago when he did the same in the morning. But why he thought about that just now?
For a moment he did not know what happened. Then a sudden realization broke his dozed state. He immediately remembered. The snowstorm at the road to Pass of Malheur, the company, the journey south to find Ciri! Everything returned to him in a flash.
"We followed that strange horse trail in the snow! It ended abruptly! But… what happened then? And where are the others! Milva, Cahir and Angouleme, Regis! Shit, what the hell happened there!" he thought frantically.
He moved to get up, but a gentle voice interrupted him.
"Do not move! You're still weak, you should lie down some more and rest."
"Where am I?" Geralt asked in raspy voice. His throat was burning.
As if someone was reading his thoughts a cup of fresh water was put to his lips.
"You're in the village of Sardol in Morthond Vale, half way to Tarlang's Neck, that is. You must have had quite a rough going through the mountains I dare say!" Answered the same kind voice.
"Morthond Vale?" Thought the witcher. "I have never heard of such place! We were supposed to follow course of Sansreteur river and Reynart said not a word about place of such name!" But aloud he spoke trying to control his voice: "You said about rough trek through mountains. You mean Malheur Pass? Have we reached the end of it in the snowstorm? And where are my companions?!"
He again tried to get up ignoring the pain.
"Easy there fellow!" Said the man again. The figure loomed above him and then Geralt had a chance of taking a good look at his host. In fact he finally noticed that he was not alone, further away stood two more figures.
He saw that they all were goodly men, pale-skinned, dark of hair and tall, very tall in fact. Well over six feet maybe even reaching seven feet in height, well build like warriors in their prime.
Suddenly Geralt felt strangely small in comparison. A noble looking angular face with worried expression definitely belonged to the first one who spoke. His aquiline nose added to his dignity. Upon closer inspection his facial features shown to be weathered a bit, but he could not put age to him. He paradoxically looked both mature and yet timelessly youthful. More fascinating though, were the eyes of the man.
They were Sea-grey in color, deep and piercing seemingly looking into depths of a soul, for a moment it seemed to him that they shone from within. He could have sworn that his wolf medallion shook subtly, but maybe it was trick of the fevered mind, since the wolf's head was now perfectly still.
Geralt many times before noticed fear in people who looked into his own mutated cat-like eyes, those eyes he now looked into were on the first glance ordinary and yet so otherworldly in the same time. The silence was broken by sound of opening doors and a woman in rich but simple scarlet dress came it.
Nearly as tall as the men she was and similar in look. Geralt could tell she was certainly a beauty, a real pleasure to behold. Red sensuous lips, dark hair smooth as silk and long, reaching her slim waist, let loose in gorgeous darkly gleaming wave. In her hair were jeweled clips, and a beautiful amethyst necklace hanged above her shapely breasts.
Her dress was embroidered with gold thread and was additionally adorned by lovely brooch of multicolored tourmalines. In her hands was a steaming silver cup. She came closer to bed and a man greeted her with affectionate smile.
"This is my dear wife Alvedriel! She's skilled in healing arts, at one time she worked in the famed Houses of Healing in Minas Anor." said the man with a touch of pride in voice. The woman laughed cheerfully and proceeded to add some sort of liquid from small vial to the cup.
"And you are..?" asked Geralt slowly studying his host's face once more.
"Ahh forgive me! I'm Targon, the local farmer!" said the man smiling broadly. "Here by the window are standing eldest of my sons: Saelon and Arthael." The boys nodded their heads and smiled.
"I'm Geralt of Rivia! I thank you for your help." said the witcher."But tell me, where.."
Targon spoke again interrupting him.
"To answer your previous question: your companions are alright. They're safe here and recovering too. They're sleeping now in their rooms."
Geralt sighed with relief. The woman added. "They were weak, nearly died from cold, I gave them sleeping potion, tended to their less serious wounds and cuts, there was also a broken leg of the younger fair haired girl!"
"Angouleme?!" asked the witcher quickly.
"I wouldn't know her name, the lass was barely conscious from the pain! I gave her some medications for easing it and I mended her leg." She answered. "Targon would you help me? I need to give him this potion and to treat his bedsores. After all he lied here for two days straight!"
"Of course darling!" he said and helped Geralt to rise a bit for Alvedriel to smear an ointment on witcher's back. After removing her gentle hands she took the silver cup and put it to Geralt's lips.
"Drink!" she said. "It'll make you stronger."
Geralt hesitantly took a sip of the hot liquid. It was tasting of juniper and a mixture of other herbs. Geralt recognized several of them, but not all. Probably the juniper was only there to mask the other ingredients.
"Oh the irony! Healers like to keep their recipes secret." thought the witcher. "Visenna did it once too."
After drinking the medicine Geralt turned toward Targon and asked.
"You said I'm here for two days?"
"Yes. You and your five companions.."
"Five?!" Geralt interrupted him mid-sentence puzzled. "I was only riding with four!"
"Well there were five of them, the fifth had a lute." He laughed cheerfully. "And of course there were five horses, one presumably yours master, and a mule! Sturdy animals, they survived well and remained close to you. Did not run away even though they had it rough as well." Said Targon. "In fact it might be you own your lives to those wise beasts, they huddled close to you, sharing warmth otherwise you might have frozen to death in the mountains!"
"The lute!" exclaimed Geralt. "Dandelion! But he decided to stay in Toussaint! How's it possible?!"
"Well you should ask him then, my friend! He will explain it to you, I suppose. Though he's still unconscious!" said Targon gently. After a minute of silence he asked curiosity peaked: "What is this Toussaint you spoke of?"
Geralt blinked and said. "Duchy of Toussaint, I thought everyone heard of it! It's famous for it's wines."
Targon rose his brows in confusion. "Hmm I haven't heard of it! The only land famous for it's vineyards and lush gardens is Dorwinion, far to the East." Geralt though didn't have answer for this, he never heard of the place under that name in his turn.
After hearing about Dandelion witcher immediately grew concerned about the troubadour. "How did this happen? I still don't get it." he thought struggling to remember the course of events.
Finally he spoke to his host again.
"How did I…we got here?" asked Geralt intent on filling up all the gaps. "And where exactly is this…Morthond Vale?!"
"You must be lost indeed!" said Targon his brows rising in "You were brought here by highlanders harvesting for lebethron wood. They found you half buried in snow in higher parts, your steeds close by. In fact it was their neighing that brought them to you. As for the other question, well I'm no expert on geography…but I gather that our valley lies somewhat in the centre of our great kingdom. At the southern foot of White Mountains. Or as the Elves say...Ered Nimrais, and Morthond Vale or simply Blackroot Vale derives from elvish term for the river that flows through! I have some maps that I can show you later on!"
"The Elves?" asked Geralt in puzzled tone. "I know a bit of Elder Speech but it doesn't sound like it. Nor are the names of those places familiar at all to me!"
"I'm not entirely sure what you mean." Answered Targon with surprise sounding in voice. "Though I haven't actually learned Quenya the ancient speech of Eldar, the valinorean. It's a language of scholars and loremasters and very few speak it fluently." said Targon and added chuckling slightly. "But I remember my lessons of Grey-elvish tongue from childhood quite good, I can assure you!" And to prove his point he added in clear musical voice.
"Gi nathlam hi. Which means: we welcome you."
Geralt felt at a loss. Nothing made sense to him neither names, nor manner of speech of his host in both languages. Granted he never ventured far enough beyond Amell Mountains but something told him that he was further away from familiar parts than he thought. His host, Targon spoke courteously, at times it seemed in ordinary way, but also had some local accent that couldn't be placed to any known location.
He was certainly beyond the territories known to him, but the area around Toussaint wasn't that different. His thoughts drifted towards the unexpected encounter with strange force on the mountain pass during snowstorm and in a flash he realized.
"Magic!" he thought. "The only thing that can explain sudden dislocation! But the words from elvish that man utttered, I thought I know how to speak the Elder Speech!? It must be some unknown dialect of elven tongue, but I have never heard it before! Even the variant of Elder Speech as Dryads, mermaids and other such creatures, use are nothing like the words spoken by Targon nor does it sound as nilfgaardian which was also based on Elder Speech of Aen Seidhe."
Such questions and more flashed through but he was none the wiser. He had not a clue as to what exactly happened. Usually the teleportation magic opened visible shining portals and the manner in which they were caught in the mountains did not seem right and neither his medallion signalized anything until it was too late. He had no certain facts and most importantly, he did not know who would teleport them and most importantly…where to.
His musing were cut short by the sound of opening doors and he saw a girl that looked about ten years old walking in. She had dreamy expression on her face, grey eerie eyes like the rest of her family had. She walked towards him without fear, looking at his face with curiosity.
"You! Your eyes are magical! Are you a fairy-man or an Elf?" she said bluntly with tinge of excitement and before Geralt knew it she touched his face with her small delicate hands.
"Aerin!" exclaimed the Alvedriel. "Be nice to our guest. It's unbefitting to speak like that! And certainly it is not nice to touch someone like that."
Geralt looked closely with a slight smile on his lips. The likeness of, whom he presumed to be, mother and daughter was striking. She also had similar angular features of Targon's face.
Her father put her close to him in tight embrace looking at his tiny child form huddled against his big frame, with warm smile. Geralt for brief moment felt a pang of longing.
Targon laughed and said: "No dear he is not an Elf nor a fairy! He's our guest, a traveler from afar and he's name is Geralt!"
Recovering from initial surprise Alvedriel asked studying the girl's face attentively.
"What are you doing here dear? You wanted something, my darling?"
The child seemingly opened her dreamy eyes wider as if realizing something.
"The other master in the next room wishes to speak with his friend! The one scary looking." she said. "But I like him. He's funny and wise and he smells of herbs and roots!" she added giggling.
"Regis!" exclaimed Geralt.
"One of your companions that awoke before you." Confirmed Alvedriel. "We shall leave you to converse alone." She added and waved everyone to the exit.
"You may talk in private now, he's awake and fine master Regis" Geralt heard her saying behind the door. Then the vampire entered. He was looking a bit disheveled but otherwise unharmed, even if there was anything that could harm him.
"How are you feeling Geralt" he asked in friendly tone. "That was something rather unexpected, don't you think?"
"I'm still not sure what happened actualy." The witcher retorted. "You lost consciousness as well?"
Regis said nothing, only nodded his head.
"It must have been magic! We were teleported somewhere!" announced the witcher thinking intensely. "A force strong enough to knock out a higher vampire that took us away somewhere."
"But where?" asked Regis. "You know I tried to ask a bit about our whereabouts, nothing rings a bell Geralt, nothing! We're somewhere completely elsewhere than we intended! It's not Nazair that's for sure, nor Mag Turga nor any other country south of Amell that I heard of!"
"I would be asking myself other question. Like: by whom?" said the witcher darkly.
"You think…" Regis started, his eyes widening.
"Vilgefortz!" Geralt spat out. "Must be! There's no other explanation."
"You're jumping to conclusions!" vampire tried calming him down, looking with worry at his face expression when speaking the name of hated sorcerer. "We don't know anything yet, so no point speculating!"
"Maybe." Said the witcher a little calmer. We'll see, once everyone will be fine we'll get to the bottom of it. Incidentally, do you know how Dandelion happened to be among us?"
"Ahh that is also a mystery!" smiled Regis, as always with lips tight shut. "Possibly he followed us secretly. Maybe he thought it through and couldn't stand to leave his companions in so many adventures and misfortunes, that he simply bolted from his duchess and…"
"And trailed us in the snowstorm?" finished Geralt heatedly. "I don't think so. There's something more to it. And it may confirm that Vilgefortz is behind all this."
"You should ask him then!" vampire concluded.
"Our host seems decent enough" said Geralt suddenly after moment of silence, deep in thought. "But there's something about him.."
"What do you mean?" asked vampire curiously. "You have your witcher's intuition or maybe your medallion signaled something?"
"I could have sworn it moved a bit when he was around" witcher finally admitted.
"Well it's good then that the druids managed to salvage it in Caed Myrkvid. Otherwise it would have burned with the wicker hag." Regis nodded his head. "It may serve you well still."
"I mean, I don't think that they pose threat to us but we must be on guard." Geralt explained in low voice.
"As always." Vampire agreed. He got up and scurried to the door. "Well I'm off. I'll keep touch on the others, maybe I'll lend my help with healing, though I admit that lady of this house knows what she's doing, really skilled in medicine that woman. Even druidess and priestesses of Melitele could be learning from her, what am I saying many professional healers could pick up a thing or two. She can do amazing things though she seemed to have no magic!"
…
The rest of the company did not awoke until late afternoon. As soon as Alvedriel allowed Geralt to stand up he quickly went into poet's room. Dandelion had no answers. Apparently he did intend to follow them, rode his Pegasus to the borders of duchy of Toussaint and then he was overwhelmed by the same flash and darkness that Geralt remembered.
This was rather troubling, Geralt never before encountered such strange teleportation magic, besides he hated portals and teleportation.
The evening was uneventful after his companions finally awoke. They were all quickly regaining strength. After asking barrage of questions, most of which Geralt found impossible to answer, their moods lightened up at the smell of dinner. Targon sat them down. He and his wife were looking after their comfort and were serving them food and drink in plenty. Soon several more people arrived at the table, those of the closest servants and workers at Targon's farmstead.
The plates and bowls were heavy with roasted meats covered in rich sauces, cakes and fruits. Loaves of fresh bread, pitchers of strong red wine. This plentiful feast soon made them relaxed and more talkative.
After the meal all were gathered in spacious chamber with fireplace with marble mantelpiece, serving as a living room in the great house. Angouleme shamelessly put her bandaged leg on the low table whistling innocuously and loudly burped.
"By the gods that was good!" exclaimed Dandelion with content expression on face. "I can't remember when we got to eat so well!"
"Ya ate good nuth' in Toussaint, Master Favourite. " said Milva in scolding tone. "Didn't yer duchess feed you the finest food?! Eh?"
And the similar good natured bickering continued for a while until everyone was bored of it.
Targon's family was sitting comfortably on sfot couches, some of the older previously introduced sons were reading books or scrolls. Younger ones preferred games involving running around and making a ruckus for which they were sometimes reprimanded by their father. Alvedriel was singing softly, holding the resolute little Aerin in her arms. Targon himself was seated on the chair by the fireplace, his long legs resting on footstool.
Geralt decided to finally ask some question that wandered his mind and resolve doubts.
"So Targon! You said at first that you are a farmer. Yet you live in this lavish house, your wife wears jewels and finest silks. This house of stone is well furnished and has things that even a noble would be proud of. This is more a mansion than farmstead, in fact! Care to explain?"
Targon laughed softly, Geralt's companion fell silent also apparently curious of their host's answer.
"Call me a well off landowner, then." Said Targon in voice full of mirth. "And haven't you heard? Such is the splendor and wealth of our kingdom, that men say 'precious stones are pebbles in Gondor for children to play with'! If your really wish to know, I am also a bit of a merchant, among other interests I deal in timber, including precious lebethron wood from which many of my furniture are made of. Look around!"
Indeed the cupboards and nice little escritoires, chest drawers, bookcases, tables and chairs were made of some unknown fair wood of dark hue. They were carved lovingly into detailed patterns.
"It must be worth the same prices as finest mahogany and ebony!" said Regis clearly impressed by the beauty of the wood.
"Indeed it is quite precious wood and beloved by woodworkers of Gondor!" confirmed Targon. "My father also left me with sizeable wealth, and so I live comfortably but in our kingdom men are living in high standard. Even the poorest of us are able to fancy some more refined goods."
"Maybe we'll get to share in such wealth?" asked Angouleme hopefully. The rest of the time they spent hearing Targon's stories. Geralt never heard of any of the places or legendary events, even though every country has it's own folklore and he naturally may have not known it. Targon spoke a legends of giant Tarlang and talked about pass that was given the name of legendary creature. Yet the hours spent lazily in warmth and peace did not soothe witcher's soul. Ever gnawing at him was the purpose that drove him. He thought of Ciri and wondered what was happening to her right now, where she was and whether she was safe. The uncertainty seemed to grow stronger, making him restless. And then all of a sudden it was time to sleep.
…
It was middle of the night when Geralt's strangely peaceful dreams were cut short by a shrieking scream. It sounded like a little girl waking up from some terrible nightmare. Outside in the dark of night world was swept behind curtain of rain.
"It must be Targon's daughter" thought the witcher and got up from bed. He felt a pang of pity for the child, he understood well. All too often he had to contend with such situations.
Quickly putting on a shirt and breeches he left his room not caring to take boots, and followed the corridor and up the stairs. Doors to the chamber were open and the girl's parents were there comforting their daughter. Geralt looked at her small frame shuddering in her parents arms. Ciri had nightmares too and many a night he had to ease her fear, because of horrors she saw.
He knew that Aerin's father also wished to take those fears away, help his daughter in any way he could.
Geralt for a moment wondered "What did she experienced to make her so?"
The girl was gasping for breath, her voice hysterical.
"I saw it! I saw it again! The suffering and death! Blood, so much blood!" She spoke like in fever.
Her voice suddenly became metallic, alien, terrible, unlike any girl in her age could utter. Her silvery grey eyes suddenly empty.
By the river's crossing,
The Darkness growing,
Blood of Numenor flowing,
Among the ashes,
Two blades clashing!
Battle is joined,
For all is lost,
What brought they from the foundered land
Over the flowing sea,
Seven Stones and one White Tree,
Oh the White Tree! How sad are it's leaves,
Now flogged by war
bleeding sap,
beware of poisonous fruit from the Black Tree,
for it's roots are deep and never sleep,
One stone black as night engulfed by waters dark,
Never to be found again
In the watery grave.
Who shall prevail?
Seahawk or northern Eagle,
Who will don the silver, winged crown
Into the fire and ruin plunges
The Land of the Stone's marches,
death's shadow reaches,
your glistening beaches,
O Gondor, Gondor between the mountains and the sea,
West wind blew there, the light upon the Silver Tree,
Your might crumbles and glory withers.
Weep o Dunedain, for your light is dying!
Then she stopped reciting and her piercing steely eyes were fixed on the witcher. Geralt shuddered returning that look. She stared at him intently then finally spoke:
"Take care White-haired one! You'll find what you're looking for but the price will be high and then when you'll reach the end of the road a choice will come to you! Beware of that time for it's consequences shall transcend the worlds!"
Geralt neither spoke nor stirred, he did not want to break the trance, he saw something like that before. The girl's parents, Targon and Alvedriel shared a meaningful look. Geralt immediately understood, this was not the first time. The girl was prophesying the future. And then suddenly it all stopped. The girl was herself again, she looked around confused and exhausted, immediately fell asleep again. Alvedriel gently touched her hand and kissed her forehead.
Targon rose slowly his face was grave, but he remained silent.
Geralt decided to speak first.
"What was that? Care to tell me?" he looked with expectation at Targon and his wife's faces.
Hesitantly Targon started to speak with low voice.
"It happens that our people, the Dunedain that is, sometimes in the manner of the Elves are gifted with…foresight." He said, clearly weary and at a loss.
"For some it may be more of a curse than gift!" spoke Alvedriel with stern expression, her eyes hard. "Some say it's the Powers of the World that reveal what's in store for us through the exceptional minds, others say it's some other force beyond them, the One.
Whatever is true, the foresight imparted may be a vague prophecy recited at times like you just saw, or confused premonitions and feelings. Sometimes people may dream of things to come, one fact remains is that such events are always meaningful!" she ended, pursing her lips so tightly that they became pale. "Not all are experiencing this for some reason, maybe only the chosen few can attune their minds, maybe only some have required sensitivity, I don't know…but why it had to be her!" she ended bitterly almost breaking in tears.
Targon immediately stepped towards her and hugged tightly. Geralt looked at them in silence, he turned away and stood by the window, pondering the girl's words that were also, for some reason, directed to him.
"What she said is very troubling! Some terrible things will happen soon, the dark times may be upon us!" spoke Targon in ominous voice.
The rain banged on the window pane as they all stood in silence listening, each of them lost deep in dark thoughts thinking of what the future will bring.
Notes: well what do you think? The verses are...well at most are an awful attempt at poetry :),mostly my effort at making anything resembling an epic prophecy hehe with few variations on the masterful verses from Rhyme of Lore and other Tolkien's lines slipped in, well Geralt always thought that prophecies proper should be in rhyme :) so… :).