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The Witcher - Something More Prologue White Orchard - Yule 1272When something ends, something else begins.
He did not press his horse, Roach, into a quicker trot. Instead, he let her trudge along the snow-covered road at her own pace. Her hooves crunched on the icy road, the sound glaring, echoing in the stillness. The frigid breeze bit through his cloak, and battered large white fluffy flakes drifting down from the sky in all directions. Although eager to get to the warmth of the village inn, he had ridden her long and hard. Now he wanted to take it easy on her for the rest of the journey.
Creaking leather, both from his armor and saddle, sounded distinct and louder than usual in the icy air. His shoulders sank a little lower, bracing against the frigid wind. He sighed. The weight of the world did not disappear. Not like he thought. But the truth of it? It was a different kind of strain. A path lay before him now, unknown, unfamiliar. His gloved fingers tightened on the reins. Did he possess the strength to move forth in this new role? So foreign to him, how could he prove to be… adequate at best? He knew nothing about... He shook his head, still in disbelief. Snowflakes fell off his hood at the movement only to get stuck on his beard.
But the worst of it? Treading forth on a foreign path alone… Again.
He should be used to it by now. In the near century that he had wandered the world, he did it alone. He walked The Path alone, preferred to work alone. Oh, there were times when he enjoyed the companionship of lovers, but those relations were casual. True meaningful intimacy eluded him. Not because others did not want to make that bond with him. No, it was not them. The deficiency lay with him. In his inability to truly open himself up to another. He had found respite only with a couple significant women, and even then, those instances were rare. His friends, other brothers in the trade, dispersed, following their own ways. Uncertain now when they would ever meet up again.
Glancing at the western horizon, the pure white snow blanketed the ground and foliage. The sun had set bathing the sky with tints of blue and lavender glistening off a sea of white. It set the landscape in an ethereal misty glow. No words could describe its beauty and the sight inspired thoughts of new beginnings. Somehow, the snow clinging to everything masked nature's imperfections. It bore a redeeming quality. While everything now lay dormant for the winter, the promise of new birth followed. Maybe someday soon, he would find redemption… that spring would shine on him, wash away his imperfections.
At this time of year, he usually wintered at Kaer Morhen, the one place he had ever called home. He and his friends would weather the harsh winters there before taking up The Path again in the spring. But this year, it was difficult to make the arduous long journey back to an empty fortress. What few witcher brothers were left had vacated the Witcher School of the Wolf after its founder and chief witcher, Vesemir, had passed away over the summer.
The fact that his companions had left so suddenly after his death disheartened him. True, the fortress would never be the same without Vesemir's presence, but it was the only home they had ever known. They grew up there. He was not ready to let it go. The few other witcher schools had already crumbled and its members wandered the continent or, killed off. The School of the Wolf was the legendary guild headquarters where they had created witchers for centuries. He could not leave it abandoned. No. He would not. Vesemir would… well, he would be heartbroken if the final symbol of their occupation was on the verge of extinction. He pressed his chapped lips tight together. But what could he alone do? How could he restore a fortress alone? Was it even up to him when had a… Dammit.
He heaved another sigh. What he wouldn't give to be able to have a heart-to-heart with the elder witcher now. The one man who was the closest figure of a father. A man of wisdom, Vesemir would have guided him in the direction he now faced wrought on by recent events.
Facing uncharted territory, he needed words of encouragement and advice from his dear friend and mentor. Vesemir's loss had hit them all hard. He had departed this world defending the life of one very dear to him. Dear to all of them, but to this witcher especially.
The one in whom he, the legendary White Wolf, had a tremendous influence since her inception. A course he had set in motion that no one, perhaps only Destiny, could have foreseen. A path that was often brutal and heart-wrenching, yet rewarding in its own way. Yes, rewarding. In a manner he never could have imagined. For Destiny had brought him Zireael, Swallow, Child of Destiny, Child of the Elder Blood, the Lion Cub of Cintra… his Surprise Child - inherited by a misplaced and untimely invocation of the Law of Surprise.
Was it misplaced? At times, he questioned it, but deep in his soul he knew the answer.
He steered his mare down the center road of White Orchard, heading toward the inn. A few townsfolk, bundled up in layers of clothing, braved the cold. One gave him a wide berth, but it was not because he was dominating the road. Greatly feared, or often enough despised, most people avoided him as much as possible. He was a witcher. The two swords strung across his back were the most recognizable traits that distinguished him from the rest of the population. And his pure snowy hair. The white mane that contradicted his youthful appearance often confused people. For a man in his prime should not have pure white hair as if he were in his senior years. The hood of his cloak covered his head now. One other villager stepped aside, peering at him with fear in his eyes. Most avoided his gaze, or when they could not, shot him reproachful glares. If that was all they did, he was lucky. Some people had gone great lengths to show their disdain of him and his kind.
He sighed again.
It was tough for witchers to blend in with society. Physical traits alone made them stand out in a crowd, and unequaled with their skill with the sword. He had accepted the fact he was an outcast, one to be shunned until his services were needed. But at times, it still stung.
This outcast had a large hand in saving the entire world from an otherworldly elven conquest. If that was not enough to boast about, he also helped save the world from the infamous prophetic White Frost. But the world's inhabitants would never know it nor acknowledge it, instead preferring to behave in a manner familiar.
The price of saving the world had been a steep one. It had cost him the man whom he had considered a father. It had also cost him his home, his dear friends, and the love of his life. There wasn't much more he could give, although he had gained something more he had never believed he could have. But even in that, fate was particular.
But still, he had his faithful companion, Roach. Stroking her neck, he cooed softly. They were almost at the inn and she would be warm eating her fill of oats shortly. She snorted, great clouds of frosty air billowed from her nostrils as if she understood him.
The light falling snow stuck to his full beard and blended in with the white of his whiskers. Turning into the front of the inn, he dismounted and left Roach in the care of the stable boy with instructions on her proper care. His mare meant a lot to him and there was nothing he would not provide for his faithful companion.
A gloved hand rested on the door and he paused. It was here at this inn eight months ago when the course of his life had begun its dramatic turn.
Now… well… now everything was different. Times have changed.
Pushing open the door, a wave of sound and firelight washed over him in welcoming warmth. Breathing in deep the mouth watering aromas of roasted pork and potatoes reminded him he should eat. However, his stomach clenched tight, prevented him.
Some things have ended.
He stepped over the threshold with both exhilaration and apprehension tumbling about his insides. Scanning unfamiliar faces sitting at tables or standing by the hearth, he searched the tavern for someone in particular. There, back in the far corner, a cloaked individual of slight frame sat with their back to him.
Memories washed over him, filling him with a myriad of emotions he had finally come to accept. Emotions that had become a part of who he was. No sense denying them any longer.
Now... now was the time to welcome a new beginning. To embrace something more...