A/N: 26/10/2015: Hello =) thanks for visiting. I was hesitant to write an OC Witcher story (especially a novelisation) because the characters are already so gritty in their own right! Alas, I ignored my own advice. I hope you enjoy Part One (creatively titled "Flotsam"). I know bulk posts aren't the traditional fanfic way... Anyway, enough jibber-jabber!
Disclaimer: I don't own The Witcher - only Rusa.
Those fleeting moments before waking up have to be some of the most peaceful. That drowsy, floating feeling one experiences before slowly opening the eyes and taking in the day. Sunlight seeping through the curtains, bathing in the warmth, the silk bedspread soft against the skin.
But this was simply a memory of a previous life, a life now drastically changed. Again. The nostalgia for it almost made Rusa retch. It was overwhelming, like a punch to the gut. Of course, reality was less poetic.
Now fully awake Rusa was more than aware that the retching and 'nostalgic' punch to the gut was in fact very real. Painfully real. As it had been the three times before. Or was it four? She'd lost count. The guard stood to the side, his pustular face leering at her as she crawled to the corner of the cell. She leaned against the wall and glared at the man. That face! That disgusting, hideous skin that she'd delight in tearing apart. He drew nearer to her and raised a fist. Instinctively Rusa made to shield herself but remembered she was shackled. It also dawned on her then that she was no longer chained to the makeshift gallows in her cell.
She threw the guard a look of contempt then squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for the blow. When nothing came, she refused to relax. Scare tactics, she thought, and tensed her body even more. Another moment passed and Rusa hesitated. She didn't want to open her eyes and have to stare into that face, which had waited just long enough for her to drop her guard before striking. He was a filthy coward after all.
A shuffling of feet caught her attention and she tuned in to the murmuring outside the main door of the dungeon. A thought flashed through her mind—she, a loyal servant of the La Valette family, trusted advisor and friend to the Baroness, was currently being stripped and beaten in the La Valette castle dungeon by some idiot. She could've laughed at the irony had she not just lost her home and the closest thing she had to a family. The thoughts started tumbling; where was the Baroness? Anaïs and Boussy? Her stomach twisted as she pictured Aryan lying in a pool of his own blood. Stubborn fool. Perhaps he still lived? No, the children. Think back. She'd been instructed to take them to the solarium. When they reached the monastery she left them in the care of…whom? Tailles? After numerous blows to the head her memory was fuzzy. Yes, it'd been Tailles and whilst Rusa left the children with him she ran up to solar to see if it was safe. A few moments, Tailles, then follow over the bridge with the children, she'd said. The solar itself was empty except for a solitary blind monk on the top level. Secure and warm, it was the ideal place to hide the children. She had told Tailles to meet her back in the monastery. She needed a moment with the children. To say her goodbyes…
Rusa opened her eyes to find she was alone again in her cell. Not entirely alone in the dungeon, however. She had the pleasure of sharing it with the witcher, someone the guards enjoyed beating more than her. The way the cells were positioned she couldn't see him but presumed he still remained. Probably unconscious again. Rusa wished the same fate. She'd been happily unconscious before that pig showed up again. How long had they been here? She'd arrived before the witcher but not by long. It felt like an age but she guessed no more than two days at the most.
The murmuring outside stopped and she finally let her body relax. Inevitably short-lived, of course, but she'd take what she could get. She uncoiled herself from the corner and groaned when the main door swung open. She'd only just managed to push herself up the wall into a less vulnerable position when a blonde woman unlocked the cell door and led her to the table in the middle of the room. Rusa noticed the woman was one of the Blue Stripes. Her insides started to churn. She'd heard much about them and none of it comforting.
The blonde secured her to a chair and stepped to the side. Rusa chanced a glance at the soldier whose eyes remained fixed on the door. Even in the dim light of the dungeon the woman's beauty was startling and Rusa found herself slightly taken aback. What was a woman like her doing here? In this dungeon? Obviously a high-ranking member of the Blue Stripes. And then a small voice inside her head, fed up, exhausted but screaming: what the hell is going on! Never mind the soldier woman, what the hell am I doing here!
The main door opened with such force that Rusa almost jumped. Another Blue Stripes sauntered in. The Blue Stripes. Vernon Roche. She knew him, of course, as did most people. She'd also seen him on the bridge before…
Roche gave a quick nod to the blonde woman who dutifully left the room, job done. In desperation Rusa looked at her beseechingly, woman to woman. Don't leave me alone with him. The blonde gave her a quick glance as she closed the door. Nothing. Rusa expected no less from a soldier loyal to her commander but the blatant indifference really stung.
"I don't believe we've been formally introduced." The commander held out his hand across the table. "Vernon Roche."
Rusa flashed him an insincere smile. "Very clever," she said. Her hands were bound and he knew it. He'd ordered it. She'd heard much about this man from the Baroness and Aryan. Some peasant who rose up quickly through the ranks to become Foltest's number one lackey. Some whoreson. Literally, the son of a whore, according to Aryan.
She'd make her own judgments, however. They always got her by in the past. After all, the Baroness and Aryan weren't the ones trapped in this dungeon. Rusa would make her own judgements and these would keep her alive.
"I'd remove your shackles but the men say you enjoy them."
She hated him.
"Clearly your men have no experience with women and pleasure, commander," she retorted. Pain shot up the side of her face as she spoke, a friendly reminder of all the punches she'd received. She imagined she looked swollen and bruised and filthy. Roche stared at her evenly. His gaze was unnerving and Rusa was beginning to regret talking back. Eventually he leaned back in his chair and nodded.
"They're not my men but I'll take your word for it," he said amiably, turning slightly in his seat. "Ves!"
The blonde woman from before returned and looked at Roche expectantly. He gestured towards Rusa.
"Unshackle her." Ves gave a curt nod and did as she was told. The relief Rusa felt as her hands were freed was almost too much. Just as before the soldier left without a word. Roche leaned back over the table.
"You'd have already heard from the guards but allow me to bring you up to speed. Foltest, King of Temeria, is dead. His throat was slit. The witcher was found standing over his dead body." Pleasantries aside, Roche could no longer hide his disdain. Rusa simply stared at him. She'd overheard talk of Foltest's death but didn't know the details. The information was difficult to digest on the spot. She glanced over at the witcher and saw he was still unconscious.
"The witcher's a suspect, of course," he continued. "However, you were in the solarium before the murder took place. You were on the other side of the bridge before…"
Rusa pursed her lips impatiently. "The dragon. Before the dragon," she snapped. It sounded absurd. It was absurd. But it had happened.
Roche studied her intently. His eyes were dark and unreadable, completely opposite to hers. Light green and expressive, even in the soft light of the dungeon her eyes made her feel exposed. Maybe they were too swollen to betray any emotion.
"You were standing on the other side of the bridge," Roche said calmly. "You saw us coming—Geralt, Foltest, and myself. You were running towards us. Returning to the monastery. We saw each other seconds before the bridge collapsed." That part Rusa remembered as clear as day. How could one forget? Roche got up, paced a couple of steps then stopped.
"I jump too far ahead. First, you must tell me your name."
Rusa snorted. She must not do anything for this man. But she wasn't stupid. Resigned, she spoke. "My name is Rusa Elyot. Faithful servant and humbled friend to Baroness Mary Louisa La Valette and family for six years." She left it at that. Roche was unimpressed. He gestured impatiently for her to continue. Rusa hesitated, unsure of how much to divulge. What did it matter anyway? He'd get what he wanted.
"During the siege of La Valette castle, I was instructed to take the children to the solarium. After securing their safety I started my way back to the monastery, as you said. You already know the rest. The dragon flew overhead, breathed fire—landed on you—the bridge started to collapse, and I ran to the monastery gates. The witcher had run towards the solar with your king. You'd disappeared. I thought you dead."
Roche smiled at her lack of concern. "I'm not so easy to kill."
"Clearly."
"You returned to the monastery and ran into my men."
Rusa pressed her lips into a thin line. "Obviously."
He nodded and seemed to consider his next line of questioning. In the moment of silence Rusa studied his face, grim and battle-scarred from years of service to the king. And to himself, if the stories of him actually enjoying hunting non-humans were credible. They probably were. For a brief moment, she panicked.
If the commander was aware of Rusa's scrutiny he didn't show it. Most likely he enjoys it, she thought. The man clearly thought highly of himself. No doubt he was incredibly good at his job and he knew it. She hadn't missed it before though, the brief wavering of his voice when he mentioned Foltest's death. Apparently Vernon Roche had feelings.
"I've kept you alive for one reason only," he said. "Your next answer will decide the fate of the witcher in that cell. I suggest you choose your words wisely. I've already heard his side—you were asleep at the time—"
"I was beaten unconscious."
"Now that you're awake, you'll tell me your side. You'll tell me the truth. Was there someone in the solarium other than you and the children?"
Rusa couldn't hide her surprise. Yes, yes there was the monk—the blind monk! The question was so obvious. An answer to something so simple determined whether the man in the cell next to her would live or die? She felt a surge of energy but quickly checked herself. The witcher had just killed many of her friends. Possibly Aryan. Maybe the Baroness. He was the enemy. Did she want him to live? She thought of the Baroness. Mary Louisa would show him mercy. Rusa would do the same despite her misgivings.
Suddenly something occurred to her.
"The blind monk. Where is he?" It was Roche's turn to be surprised. Rusa continued hurriedly.
"Did he escape?" Her words tumbled out carelessly. "How could he have escaped? The bridge collapsed. There's only one way in and out of the solar—apart from the window on the upper level. Where the hell is he? And where are the children?!"
Roche held up a hand. "You've saved a man from certain death."
She let out a breath she didn't realise she was holding in. "The children. You must tell me where they are. I gave you what you wanted. Please." She couldn't believe she was pleading with this man. But he and Foltest had come for the children. She wanted to believe Roche was also concerned for their safety even if the concern was simply pragmatic.
"They're safe."
Rusa noticed the strain in his voice. He wasn't telling her everything. She decided to push him one more time. "Where are they safe?"
Roche stared at her for what seemed like an age. His silence said more than any words could. Rusa felt herself losing hope. Finally, he spoke.
"I'm hoping you can help me find out."
A rustle in the witcher's cell caught their attention. Rusa wondered if he'd been awake all along. She wondered if he knew she'd just postponed his death. Still strapped to the gallows, he lifted his head ever so slightly to survey the scene in front of him.
"Nice to see you're awake, witcher," said Roche. "Good, you need to hear this." Geralt stayed silent, seemingly content on watching the interrogation play out.
"Miserable company," Roche muttered, and turned his attention back to Rusa. "Know that I don't need your help, of course. It would simply make things…easier. For all of us."
Rusa snorted. She was getting tired of his games. "I gathered. So, let's get to it. I accept. Because—and this may come as a shock, commander—I don't actually want to rot in here for the rest of my life."
Roche almost smiled. "Oh, no danger of you rotting. You'll hang."
"Marvellous."
"Isn't it? I'd even take time off to attend."
"Look," snapped Rusa, "we both want to know the whereabouts of Anaïs and Boussy. Just tell me what I need to do."
Roche nodded. She was cooperative, at least. And infuriating as fuck.
"I need two things from you. As you so eloquently explained, you don't want to die so I expect you to be successful. First, Geralt will go with you to find the Baroness. Yes, she still lives. Currently getting acquainted with some rather unpleasant instruments, I believe."
Rusa almost choked. This man had the uncanny ability to lift your spirits and then completely destroy them all within the same sentence. But the Baroness was alive…
"I need you to find her," Roche continued, "and get her to tell you where the children are. She trusts you. Second, you'll make sure the witcher gets out of here without a massacre occurring. You'll lead him to the docks. I assume you know these dungeons reasonably well."
Rusa didn't fail to notice that she herselfwasn't included in the escape plan. She was entirely expendable in Roche's eyes. Not that it mattered. She'd stay with the Baroness once they found her.
"You'll get your information, commander, and the guards will know nothing of the witcher's escape."
Roche gave her a cold stare, no longer ignoring the nagging feeling he'd felt throughout their entire exchange. This woman did not speak like a serving-girl. Despite her bruised and bloody face, she did not look like a serving-girl. Nor did she hold herself like one. Roche had known all along. Either way, it concerned him not. She would reunite with her mistress and he would be rid of her. He slammed his hands on the table and stood up in one swift movement.
"We have an arrangement, then," he said and dangled a set of keys in front of his prisoner. Rusa went to grab them before he snatched his hand away.
"Ask politely."
"Give me the keys."
"Unseemly manners for a servant," Roche said simply. He noticed her stiffen slightly. He'd been correct in assuming she was no mere handmaiden. Satisfied, he dropped the keys on the table and without giving her another look, left the room.
Rusa waited until she heard the final bolt of the door and practically leapt at the keys. She could hear the witcher shuffling expectantly and wasted no time in explaining how things were going to happen.
"The torture chamber is down the corridor, third door on the left," she said quickly, unshackling him. "We need to hurry! You will take out the two guards on the other side of that door—don't kill them."
Something about the way she spoke… A memory tugged at the corners of Geralt's mind, shadowy and distant and…unreachable, as so many of his memories seemed to be now. He let it pass by, untouched.
Disposing of the guards was an easy task. Rusa felt absolutely nothing for them as they lay sprawled out of ground. They were pathetic. Just following orders, a voice reminded her. Right. Instructed by him.
"This way," she beckoned as Geralt grabbed some kind of club. Rusa hesitated. She knew these tunnels well enough to avoid a massacre. Possibly. She didn't know how many soldiers were roaming around. Geralt answered her doubts with a simple shrug. Just in case, it said. Rusa couldn't argue with that. She turned to make a dash down the hall and inhaled sharply. Black feathers. The faint light of the tunnel illuminated them, casting grotesque shadows across the cobbles. Bile rose in her throat. The scene was painfully familiar. Fire, the clashing of armour, blood spilling, the guttural sounds of children dying by the shaking hands of those they trusted, mothers, in turn, beseeching their lovers to do the same…
Rusa felt the witcher pull her out of sight.
"Nilfgaard," he said. She nodded absently and forced herself to relax. She winced at the familiar scratch in her throat, the scratch that stabs the windpipe when suppressing a cry. Geralt said nothing as she composed herself. It wasn't his place.
"Yes," she breathed and leant against the wall for support. She looked down at the club in Geralt's hand. "You made the right decision." Both turned as someone spoke.
"I am Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen, emissary of the Empire of Nilfgaard and its most divine Emperor Emhyr var Emreis…"
Rusa seethed at the sound of his voice. It was the voice of all diplomats—insincere, pretentious, condescending beyond belief.
"What do you want of me, Nilfgaardian?"
Rusa smiled. This voice she knew well.
"Simply to speak, m'lady," Shilard offered.
"Ah, really…? Something you would not dare were my son still alive."
Rusa shot Geralt a look. She already knew. In her heart, she knew Aryan was dead. Having it confirmed did nothing to alleviate her sorrow. And the Baroness! She'd lost everything.
No. Anaïs and Boussy. Stay focused. The Nilfgaardians were leading the Baroness further down the hall. Rusa watched, completely baffled, as Geralt peered around the corner and gave a small nod.
"We're to accompany them."
"What?"
"Come on."
She followed Geralt to the dungeon armoury and gripped his arm urgently."I hope you know what you're doing."
Geralt turned to her as he opened the door. "You need the information," he reminded.
Rusa adjusted her eyes to the natural light of the armoury. She pushed past Geralt and threw her arms around the Baroness. Surprisingly, the guards made no attempt to stop her.
"My Lady!" Both bodies were bloody and battered but neither woman cared. For the briefest of moments they were completely alone. The Baroness spoke hurriedly.
"Dearest, I cannot tell you—"
Rusa's head cracked against the wall. A guard grabbed a fistful of hair and locked an arm around her waist.
"Unhand her!"
"Please, please m'lady," spoke Shilard, giving a quick flick of the wrist. Freed, Rusa rushed to the Baroness's side. Shilard turned to the witcher.
"Come in, Master Geralt. Allow me to introduce the Baroness La Valette, mother to the royal children, who at present mourns the passing of her eldest son…" Rusa placed a steady hand on the Baroness's shoulder and squeezed lightly. It was all she could do. They could not mourn here. Shilard continued, his lazy voice laced with that toxic mixture of eloquence and feigned concern.
"I comfort the Baroness with assurances that House La Valette needs suffer no more, its future brighter as it stands protected by the Empire of Nilfgaard."
Rusa's grip tightened. When she realised her knuckles were turning white she quickly removed her hand. She didn't want to panic the Baroness. She didn't want her to know that she felt like vomiting up her insides. What was she hearing?
Mary Louisa turned to Geralt. "Did you kill my son Aryan?"
"M'lady, I killed many during the assault, not just your son," he replied. "War demands sacrifices—you might remember that the next time you're about to start one." Rusa stared at him incredulously. The witcher killed Aryan. She should have known.
Shilard cut in. "Have some compassion, Master Geralt. The Baroness requires support, she is distraught as it is…"
"M'lady, I wouldn't trust the ambassador if I were you," Geralt countered. "I didn't know your son, but I know he saw the Empire as a foe, as did King Foltest." Rusa couldn't hide her surprise. She knew witchers were 'neutral' but this one was just bursting with contradiction.
"My duty is to Foltest's children, their safety," the Baroness said evenly. "And though I, too, see the pact with Nilfgaard as a pact with the devil, I feel I have no choice."
Rusa couldn't focus anymore. So the children were safe. They were safe. With Nilfgaard. The children and the Baroness were in the hands of the Empire. The Empire Rusa had lost everything to, as had so many.
"The Ambassador questioned your guilt in relation to Foltest's death, Master Geralt," continued Mary Louisa. "I, too, believe you did not slay the King." Rusa and Geralt exchanged looks.
"Your Excellency, you will aid the witcher to escape the castle," she said and then hesitated.
There are times when one can pinpoint exactly the moment of heartbreak. You feel it; the treacherous knife pierces straight through the soul, leaving it wounded, messy and bleeding. A mere pinprick or a gaping hole, it never completely heals. Each stab leaves the heart withered and tired. Rusa felt it then. Separation was imminent. From the woman in front of her whom she adored like a mother. From the children she'd come to love as her own. This castle, her home.
"My servant, Rusa, will accompany him. She is not needed in Nilfgaard."
Rusa wanted to scream. She's doing this to protect you, countered the little voice. But that didn't stop the onslaught of emotions. That didn't stop the searing sense of complete and utter abandonment. The Baroness looked up at her and gave her a small, sad smile. It said more than words ever could.
"That is my wish."
Rusa wanted to weep. But she would not dare in front of them. The vile Nilfgaardians who'd stolen her life away from her again. She would not give them the satisfaction. She went to leave the room.
"I know these tunnels better than anyone. I can get us out." Rusa turned once more to the Baroness, both women knowing this was where their lives separated indefinitely. "I'll never forget all you've done for me."
With Rusa's knowledge of the tunnels it took little time to reach the docks. It'd taken every ounce of her strength to not just let the witcher go on a rampage. They deserved it. Each and every one of those horrible men—they all deserved it. She could see the boat ready to set sail, upon which paced Roche's impatient silhouette. Geralt placed a hand on her arm to draw her attention.
"You can't stay here," he said simply. Rusa stared back at him, cold and emotionless.
"I can take care of myself." She gestured towards the dock. "Your ship awaits."
"I don't doubt your abilities. And I'm certainly not saying you'll be better off with us, but I don't see you have a choice."
"Us? What, with that sadist who enjoys torturing young women, and the witcher who murdered the man practically a brother to me, along with countless others whom I considered friends? I think not."
"There's nothing for you here."
Rusa closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. She didn't need to be reminded that she'd just lost everything—everyone—she held dear in only a couple of days!
"Vernon will stop at nothing to find Foltest's children," he continued. She knew what he was doing. And he was right. She had nothing and nowhere to go. She felt pathetic.
"Vernon," she spat, "cares not for the children's well-being. All he wants is to see the blood of Foltest on the Temerian throne. Their health and happiness are of no concern to him. Besides, they're with Nilfgaard now. As safe as they can be given the situation." The words felt traitorous on her tongue. Geralt tilted his head slightly.
"You don't believe that."
"Geralt, hurry!"
Rusa spun around to see a redheaded woman running towards them. She stopped several paces from where they stood. Alarm bells sounded off from the prison as torches lit up the grounds. News of their escape had travelled fast. Geralt grabbed her arm, more forcefully this time.
"Come with us."
"Bring her, Geralt. Come on!" The redhead started running back to the ship. Rusa hesitated then shook her arm free and ran after her, Geralt close behind.
Unsurprisingly, as soon they stepped aboard, Roche let loose a torrent of abuse.
"For fuck's sake, Geralt! Anyone else?" He gestured around them theatrically. "One of the guards, perhaps? Some whores for the voyage?" He swung around and pointed at Rusa, stepping closer than she'd have liked.
"You," he snapped, "you were to tend to your mistress, get the information, see the witcher to the docks, and leave."
Geralt tried to cut in. "Vernon—"
"I did everything you asked!" yelled Rusa. "I don't want to be stuck on this goddamn ship with you but I've little choice. The Baroness and the children are now under the protection of the Empire. You and your Temerian zealots allowed this to happen!"
The redhead glanced uneasily at Geralt. Roche looked absolutely irate.
"Vernon."
"What, Geralt?"
"There are more important things to argue over right now," he said softly. "Learn anything new about the kingslayer?"
Roche stepped back, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"A week ago, I got a message from an informer in Flotsam. He saw Iorveth in the company of a large, bald man, not unlike the one you described."
Rusa thought of the blind monk. The monk. Clearly the man wasn't blind. He was definitely larger than the average man even underneath the robes. Bald, though, she hadn't been able to tell.
"A week ago?" Geralt asked. "Sounds like a cold trail to me."
"We need to start somewhere," Roche snapped. "The trading post is a few days up river, in the forests that lie on the Aedirnian border. Iorveth's territory."
Geralt shrugged. "Flotsam it is then. Triss," he turned to the redhead, "I'm a bit beat up. Will you look at my wounds?"
Triss nodded and the two went below deck, Geralt mumbling something about a 'Yennefer'. Rusa watched as Roche began to pace the upper-deck. He looked in deep thought, a heavy frown set on his face. Several times he turned as if to say something then checked himself. She could see him wrestling with his patience. She had information he needed—only a little but enough to have him trying to control his temper. Of course, the witcher also had this information but she chose to ignore this. It was the only bit of satisfaction Rusa had felt in days and she clung to it fiercely.
"If you're done abusing me, may I go take care of my wounds?" she asked.
"Prepare to cast off!" Roche yelled, completely ignoring her. "Clear the lines and all aboard!"
Ves's voice carried from below. "Lines clear, captain!"
"Last chance," he said quietly. "I suggest you take it."
"Precisely why I'm staying," Rusa replied, and stormed below deck. Watching her walk away, Roche fought the urge to toss her overboard. One moment of pleasure in this miserable fucked up day and he'd missed his chance.