Disclaimer: I do not own the Witcher, all I do own; however, are my imagination and doubtful skills.
A/N: inspired by story Barbering duties by DiamondTopaz (FFnet).
A/N2: I started to write this set of short stories as "Five times Anaïs was scared of Roche and one time she wasn't", but I guess I sidetracked. I do not regret it thought.
A/N3: all the shorts are in more or less chorological order, but they can be read separately
There is no greater journey than the one that leads you home
By your-biohazardous-friend
-First impression-
The man was scary. He was dressed in blue uniform and had a real sword on his back. The headgear casted an ominous shadow on his face, making his eyes shines dangerously. Aryan despised him, so did most people at the castle. They called him murderer and spy - the king's watchdog. Anaïs didn't want to talk to him, even though he did bring her a present and did his best to sound nice and welcoming.
The King called him Roach. Yes, the name suited him.
-Fascination-
Vernon Roche fascinated Boussy almost as much, as Aryan was fascinated with the witcher Geralt of Rivia. Anaïs' brother spent hours marveling over how skilled the commander was. How he pacified those non-humans at the foot of Mahakam hills. How, even Iorveth had a hard time executing his plans when Roche was around. Anaïs didn't understand how someone could hate non-humans so much. For her that man could be no one else than the leader of the wild hunt in disguise. And there was nothing scarier than the Wild Hunt.
-Haircut-
He had to cut her hair. Period. No matter how much she screamed, cried or pleaded Roche was going to execute his decision - it was as sure as death itself.
What the girl didn't know, while Vernon knew extremely well, was that her long hair could be liability as people or monsters could grab her more easily that way. Moreover, Anaïs, the future queen of Temeria, had lice.
On the plus side they both took a nice long bath together in the next inn they stumbled upon, thoughtfully scraping their bodies clean from layers upon layers of dirt. Of course, the bar of soap they were using wasn't scented like the ones that Anaïs was used to. It was normal, soft soap that washwomen were cleaning linen with, but all in all it was still nice to smell properly and not like a pigsty.
On the other hand, Roche was a horrible barber. The comb in his hand was yanking and pulling her hair all the time during the procedure, bringing tears in her eyes. To top that a pair of shears, Roche was using, were heavy, dull and rusty. All of that resulted with Anaïs' new haircut to be rather uneven, each strand of hair stuck out in different direction. The royal child looked like neither a girl nor a boy. If the Baroness ever had a chance to see her daughter's new haircut, she would possibly faint from horror.
Roche was proud of his work. It was a rare to see him so pleased. If not for that upbeat attitude of his, which made him look almost like a human being, Anaïs would break into teary cry over loss of her once long, silky smooth hair.
-Punishment-
Boussy was older but it was Anaïs who was consider more mature. When her older brother repeated boldly what adults around him were saying, Anaïs preferred to keep quiet until she came up with her own judgment. Yet in all her wisdom, she was still a child. As every child, she was, at times, selfishly fussy.
Roche tried his best to understand the girl. That, just couple of days ago, she was sleeping in a comfy bed with silky linens, wore underwear made of batiste and owned dozen of dolls and toys. Now she had nothing of that sort. But every tantrum, no matter how right or wrong it was, had to end at some point. Roche was no nanny nor had patience for childish mood swings.
He had spanked her only once, which resulted with a nosebleed – all in all, the girl was brought up as a fragile child. Every since that time Vernon had never raised his hand on her again. However, if Anaïs thought she was safe, well, she was dead wrong. Roche spent a great deal of his life making other people's lives miserable.
Kneeling on pinecones was one of punishments the ex-commander had up his sleeve.
-Disguise-
Even thought he tried to hide it. It was pretty obvious that Roche loved his headgear. As other parts of his clothes were exchanged quickly, the chaperon however was taken off hesitantly. It reminded Anaïs that one time when Aryan had to give Boussy his toys, which used to be his favourite during his childhood, there was pain written all over his face even thought the oldest La Valette offspring was, at that time, already a grown up man.
Anaïs knew it was hard decision to make for her warden – It was his trademark after all. However, deep down, she was happy for the man's loss. It was like revenge - Her hair still looked weird, no matter how she combed them.
-Protection-
Roche was awfully twitchy each time they had to flee to the forest.
Anaïs hated forests as well - They were hostile. People were always warning them about the Squirrels dwelling there. Of course, they didn't have in mind those ordinary squirrels, with cute muzzles and small paws, but vicious non-human freedom fighters killing people for sport or loot. Maybe those non-humans were worrying Roche so much, making his face more scary than normal?
Or maybe Roche didn't like what Anaïs herself, despised about life in the forest? bathing in icy cold water of streams and lakes, semi-cooked, tasteless food – which was funny, because thought Roche had always introduced himself as a spice merchant, he didn't even had a pinch of salt on himself – and that forests were never quiet: they rustled, howled, cried and growled as intensively at days like at nights.
Whenever Anaïs was feeling anxious, she climbed to Vernon's lap. He would embraced her with his strong arms, sometimes even hum her a song – he never sung though, each time claiming that he forgot the lyrics. At times, when she managed to take a glimpse of her sleeping warden, she wished she was bigger and braver, so they could take turns in protecting one another.
-Will-
A will to learn is just a beginning - Anaïs realized that much. It didn't make you better or magically enhanced the basic knowledge you had. The will was just a driving force. And Anaïs' will was rapidly running out of it. Roche shouted at her a lot. Called her 'sloppy', 'stupid' or a 'wuss'. Of course, Anaïs knew that Vernon was holding himself back on a name calling, but the epithets still hurt.
She was trying, didn't he see that? She swung the training sword once again, falling to the ground soon after as she terribly missed the rhythm. Roche just shook his head – enough for today.
Why couldn't she get that? She had to learn all of that as soon as possible! swordsmanship! Archery and crossbows! Interrogation techniques! And, of course, how to handle wars!
Because every time she closed her eyes her father was looking at her with those surprised yet saddened eyes of an assassinated man. Her dead brother, lying on his back with guts spilling from his body, was too looking straight at her with those dull, unseeing eyes. Crows already circling above both of their corpses. She needed to prove Roche that she's neither stupid nor sloppy and definitely she's not a wuss! That she could defend herself, him and whole Temeria once, she finally became a queen!
Anaïs was already used to faking sleep, waiting till Roche himself would doze off. Then, she took her training weapon. As silently as she could, she begun her nighttime routine. The girl suppressed a shriek and swallowed a moan every time she fell to the ground. She always got up thought, and tried again… and again… and again.
Roche observed her from half-lidded eyes and smiled. Yes, she definitely had a strong will.
-Trade-
Few hours earlier, Anaïs was perfectly fine. She might have coughed from time to time, yet there was a smile on her face, her eyes were bright and lively. She even managed to sneak a few skips into her normal walking pattern. Roche was relaxed as well. Life was pretty good – they had a good night sleep and managed to catch a hare. Most of the meat was portioned and roasted for later. The rest Roche cooked as a stew, seasoning the meal with some herbs found along the way.
Anaïs was now pale, feverish and coughing badly. She refused to eat, barely drank anything and threw up every few steps they took. The ex-commander wrapped his charge in blankets carrying her in his arms. Roche blamed himself for not connecting the facts sooner. Of course she got sick! Recently their clothes were either wet or damp while the nights were chilly. The rain was pouring non-stop for days and the duo had no place to dry or warm up properly!
Bushes rustled. From thick green wall of shrubberies emerged a female elf. Her mismatched clothes and a squirrel's tail strapped to her belt gave her away – she was from the Scoia'tael commando. Sure Roche didn't look like himself nowadays, having to give up his precious headgear and totally changing his clothing, but still, if not for revenge, they were still an easy target. The female non-human came closer, cautiously taking every step. She reached to a pouch strapped to her side taking out a small bundle.
"Medicine - for the wedd*" she said pointing with the small package at Anaïs "brew it. It will taste horrible but make her drink it. You too - for precaution"
Roche hesitantly took the gift. In spur of the moment, he decided to give the guerrilla warrior a share of the meat he stashed for later. The she-elf nodded, pleased with an unexpected outcome of her generosity.
"Take care, friend" she said as she silently retreated to the wildness. Roche never viewed the non-humans the same way.
*Wedd – a child in elder speech
-Pity-
Anaïs loved the castle but hated its owner - A Keadweni noblewoman who looked like a toad and smelled heavily of rose-scented perfumes. Roche charmed her. Although it was hard for the noble child to understand how man such as ex-commander knew how to sweet-talk an opposite sex. Maybe he threatened her? Like those times before; with trader's wife, or that nice baker-lady. All in all, when he came to their sleeping quarters, the women had been moaning pretty loudly for most of the night. Anaïs pitied all of them – the girl could still feel Roche's heavy hand on her butt when he spanked her that one time.
-First Aid-
Thugs were fools thinking that this robbery was going to be easy. Just because a man looked weary and tired didn't mean he couldn't muster a will to fight. Just because a teenager looked like neither a girl nor a wimpy boy, it didn't mean s/he was useless in combat.
During the assault, the thugs learnt that the teenager was a female and that her fighting skills could be compared to a dryad. The man was just as deadly, although slightly slower in reaction and movements. They managed to wound him yet had to flee empty handed because of the girl's precision with handling a crossbow.
Anaïs run to her guardian's side helping him to collect himself from the ground. Roche stumbled clutching the wound. "Fuckards" he wheezed.
For Anaïs it was almost like a drill, a habit. She was good at setting up camps now - Skillfully making campfire in matter of seconds. She boiled the water, placing the wide stripes of cloth, which were once her petticoat all those years ago, into the pot.
She still remembered the first time she had to do it - Take a thread and needle and sew together, not pieces of fabric, but flesh. She remembered her hands trembling, tears blurring a view. Roche had shouted at her a lot from both pain and irritation. Scars of all those procedures were still visible on his skin, the most ragged and uneven were from her childhood, and those neat and straight were more recent.
Once they were done, she gave her protector some water and lulled the ex-commander to sleep, humming songs of which she had already forgotten the lyrics to. Her fingers run delicately through the man's discolored hair.
Something stirred the tall grass at the border of the forest. Her hand immediately shot toward the bow and quiver.
A pheasant! What a good deed they did to deserve such luck?
-Letting go-
His head was mostly gray; his face was all scars and wrinkles. Roche was standing proudly at the throne room until the last words, which finally, after years of banishment and torment, acknowledged Anaïs La Valette as the queen of Temeria. Then the man collapsed to the tiled floor – as if he finally run out of the force that kept him going for all those years. He did not raise from his bed since then.
Anaïs wasn't a girl anymore but a prideful woman and a fearsome leader. She already gained a nickname 'Iron Maiden' that represented her strong will and ruthlessness to the enemies of Temeria. However as she was sitting by her guardian's bed she couldn't help but shed a tear. She understood now, all to well, why this man was acting as he had been for all those years. However, at the same time Anaïs was ashamed that she didn't see through him sooner.
His calloused hand brought her back from musing when it touched her face, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
"Don't cry, Anaï-my Lady. As King Foltest used to say: king does not cry"
"King does not cry-" she agreed "-but a daughter do" She laid her head on his chest – Roche's embrace was the safest place in all Temeria, no, in the whole world. How was she going to survive without him now all on her own? Suddenly, she felt so small and insecure, like when she was a child. However, this time, the gruff man wouldn't be at her side. Not anymore.