T H E}| {W/ | : The Emerald Dragon

Chapter 5 : Trial & Error

Part III

He ran. As fast as he could, the boy ran through the forest of Belletyneate. He did not care that it was night. He did not care that his legs felt as though they were about to crack. He did not care about his lungs, straining to take in air, nor did he care about his own breath, so ragged and heavy that it almost had weight. He did not care because he was afraid.

Because the fear he felt deep in the back of his mind urged him to ignore all reasoning. It told him not to stop, not to turn back, not to think about what had happened. For now, his one and only objective was to follow the one order he had been given. "Live."

That was all he needed to focus on. Nothing more, nothing less. It didn't matter how far he had to run. It didn't matter if he had to crawl away; he would live. But slowly, his body stopped responding. Because sometimes, willpower simply is not enough to carry one through.

He felt an unnatural lightness wash across him, as he struggled to shuffle through the darkness. Far away, he could see what appeared to be a light. Whether it was an illusion or reality, he did not know. But he was determined to carry on. The forest must have been alive, yet he did not hear anything. His ears were full of his own scrappy breathing, so loud that it hurt his eardrums.

As much as he didn't want to, he fell. For a moment, he was happy...content, even. The cool, soft earth was welcoming for the half-dead boy. And yet, he would not rest. Simply because he could not rest. Somewhere deep inside, he knew he had to push on.

Weakly, he raised a hand, and drove it into the ground. Slowly, he pushed himself with his feet and pulled with his arms, all to get to that one radiant hope of sanctuary, so far away, yet so close to grasp.

His vision blurred, but he was able to see figures approaching. He did not care if they were friend or foe. If they were people, then they would help him; if not out of compassion, then out of a need for profit. If they were monsters, then they would end his life, and at least he could tell everyone in the afterlife that he tried.

'Either way,' he thought, 'I must sleep.'

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"Don't worry, Harry." Geralt encouraged. "You only have one more Trial to go."

Harry had wondered how the Choice was going to be for him. Over the course of the Trials and his talk with Geralt, he had gathered that this was by far the toughest among all the Trials. Geralt had given him a vague idea of what it was that was required of him, and from what Harry could understand, the Choice was basically an exercise regime. He was sure it was going to be a bit more intense than what he was thinking of, but he was still excited.

It had been almost six hours since he'd taken the Trial of the Mountains. While the others had woken up groggy and dazed, he had woken up refreshed and relatively relaxed, though he had to fake some weakness so that the other witchers did not get overly suspicious.

Both Geralt and Vesemir had told Harry to keep his magic situation a secret from everybody else, although all witchers realized that there was something different about him. So far, all of them believed he was like Geralt-someone who takes the mutations well- and it was his intention to keep it that way.

Now they had all gathered in the spacious great hall of Kaer Mohren, the recruits, the witchers and the druids. The room was large and made of stone, held up by great stone pillars on either side. The way the ceiling met, the way the torches were lit, all these reminded Harry of Hogwarts' own great hall. However, Kaer Mohren was much more eerie, since some of the hall was in ruins, and there seemed to be no way for outside light to get through.

Looking around the room, Harry noticed that the number of recruits had dwindled. Harry did not remember how many they had started with, but now a mere eight was all that remained. Harry did not miss any of them, owing to the fact that he barely knew them beforehand. However, he was pleased to see that all his friends-Toril, Ridan, and Moire-were still alive.

Vesemir stepped forward, and briefly surveyed the surviving candidates. He seemed pleased with the numbers, so Harry assumed eight candidates were a good number for the School.

"You are all that survived." Vesemir said bluntly. This was not a grand speech like last time. He understood that these children were afraid, even if they did not show it.

"Those who died..." he began, "I know that they were your friends, your comrades, your siblings. However, as cruel as it may seem, now is not the time to mourn. For a far greater challenge awaits you all. That of the Choice."

Harry looked around and saw that everyone was nervous. Toril was sweating profusely, and one of the other candidates was breathing hard through his mouth. Ridan, who was usually preaching on about witchers, seemed to be second guessing himself. Even Moire had broken her usually calm mask, and her eyebrows were obviously raised in fear. Seeing them like this sent jolts of nervousness down Harry as well, and he found his heart beating faster and faster.

"Be warned," Vesemir continued, "This will not be a simple task, no matter how simple it may seem. For in this particular trial, we shall be focusing on chiseling your body into that of a witcher. All of you have faster reflexes, and inhuman abilities. I have no doubts that you will be able to best grown men in single combat easily. However, you will neither be facing foes individually, nor will they be human. One of the defining characteristics of we witchers are our ability to perform at levels far beyond what average men can do. You may have the mental reflexes of a witcher, but you do not have the physical ability of ours for those reflexes to be of substantial use."

'That is true.' Harry thought. When Geralt was about to him, he had stopped because the force would have been strong enough to break his hand.

"To achieve this," Vesemir continued, "there is no easy path. There will be no medicines or potions that you will drink. There will be no risk of you turning into monsters or getting crippled. But make no mistake, this Trial will bend you to your limits. In the Choice, you will undergo a strict training regimen, including grueling physical exercise and controlled diets."

'That doesn't sound so bad.' Harry thought.

"Do not misunderstand. You will not be fed pork or beef or chicken, but carefully selected mushrooms, herbs, fruits and mosses. Your internal organs have been enhanced from the other Trials, so it should take you around two to three months for your body to develop."

'Three months?!' Harry was shocked. He didn't have that much time to waste. Vesemir knew that.

"We feed you herbs because they are what is closest to nature. To face monsters, you must become monsters yourself. And you cannot do so by eating a lavish, kingly diet. You must be grounded, close to the earth. You must embrace the wild, and bear no thoughts of comfort. Of course, they will be specially prepared by the druids, so as to reap as much out of the diet as you can."

Vesemir paused to let all the recruits take the information in.

"However, whether your body can withstand this diet is entirely up to yourself. Even with your new abilities, all of you still run the risk of your body not adapting to the new diet and training regime. Initially, this was the first Trial, but now, we changed the order so that you may have a better chance at surviving. You will be provided your dinner now, and sometime later, you will begin."

The remaining witchers began to guide the recruits out of the hall, but Harry saw Geralt signaling him to stay. Once everyone had left, he walked up to Vesemir and Geralt.

"Harry," Vesemir began, "you may be wondering about the final Trial, yes?"

"Yes, sir." Harry replied. "With all respect, Lord Vesemir, I do not have the time to wait around for two weeks, let alone two months. The longer I wait, the worse Hermione's condition may become, and while I understand that..."

"It is alright, lad." Vesemir cut him off. He was pleased to see that Harry was not considering the fact that his friend was dead. "I believe I have some good news for you."

"What is it, sir?"

"One of my elven informers seems to have found a girl matching your description."

Though it took Harry a moment, that sentence filled him with a burst of hope and exhilaration. Hermione was alive. She was still alive. No matter what her condition was, at the least, she was alive.

"And you were right." Vesemir smiled. "Your friend is rather clever. According to my source, she was found in the woods by two elven rangers. She was being chased by two men, but do not fret. No harm has come to her yet. It seems the elves have already attacked the humans, and for the time, she is safe. However, that is not the issue."

Harry was listening attentively, but deep down, he was brimming with joy. Hermione was safe and secure. Now all he had to do was go get her.

"You cannot leave for at least two years."

"What?" Harry asked disbelievingly. It felt as though someone had put a huge stone block on his chest. He understood why it was necessary, but he could not come to terms with Vesemir's decision. Surely they could leave now. They could go get Hermione, and work on fixing the time turner, assuming she had it. Or else, they could try and find another way out of their conundrum.

"For one thing, even us witchers cannot walk into Elven territory and expect a warm welcome. If we were to go to your friend right now, the chances of the elves giving her to us will only dwindle. If anything, they will be more interested in keeping her. After all, a random girl proves valuable to the witchers, they will be inclined to find out why."

Harry's heart sank.

"For another. They are quite far away from where we are. It would take us days to get there, and they would already have changed camp by then. Of course, we cannot spare any witchers, meaning you will have to make the journey alone. And you know as well as I do where your abilities lie."

It sank further.

"And finally, even if we were to go in full force, all it would accomplish is a war between the elves and the witchers, with you both in the middle. Considering the political lay and elven beliefs, we must plan out our moves carefully. Charging in will only endanger your-and her-life. There is also the fact that we cannot simply let you go, even if you wanted to."

It hit rock bottom.

"The truth is, Harry, your best option is to undergo the Choice and become a witcher. Whenever your mentor-which will be decided soon-approves you as a witcher, you may leave on your Path to save your friend. But until then, please, calm your thoughts."

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Harry had thought long and hard about Vesemir said, and he had come to the same conclusion.

'Going after Hermione right now won't be any help to her. I might as well stay and become a witcher.' He would, after all, need the power to save her. Or at the very least something he could use as a bargaining chip.

"Are you daydreaming?"

"What?" Harry asked, jolted out of his thoughts. Geralt was in front of him, holding what appeared to be a plate.

"Here.", he said, kneeling and putting the plate in front of him. "Eat up."

On the wooden plate was an array of leaves and mushrooms and berries that Harry had never seen. Running his hands through it, he found that Vesemir was not joking. There was nothing there that a regular person would eat at a meal. It might as well have been a plate for a goat.

But he knew he didn't have much of a choice. So he chose what appeared to be the tastiest out of the assorted treats, and put it in his mouth. It was bristly and spongy, and his tongue was already against the food.

Despite his brain's protests, he chewed the leaf, and felt its juices flow out. They were neither sour nor bitter, but he felt a massive urge to vomit. He tried to force it down, and immediately retched. It felt as though his throat had clammed up in self-defense, and he spit the fleshy leaf out, and tried to remove the aftertaste.

"Well, can't have that." Geralt grinned. "These are the only things you'll be given for the next two months."

"How in hell do you even eat these things?" Harry choked out, midway between trying to claw his tongue out.

Geralt calmly took a leaf of the same type from the plate, and easily swallowed it. "This is part of being a witcher."

"What? Not having taste buds?"

Geralt chuckled. The boy reminded him of his Trial back when he was a child. He remembered how at first, he could barely even swallow the food but eventually, grew accustomed to it. "Guess you'll have to tough it out."

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Harry was panting and gasping, lying face down on the cold stone floor. There wasn't a word he knew of that could explain his exhaustion. It had been almost two weeks since the Trial had begun, and the only thing Harry wanted was for it to end.

Forcefully, against his own rationale, he had forced all the mushrooms and herbs down his gullet. And it was only since yesterday that they actually managed to stay down. But he was on the better-off side of the curve. All the remaining candidates could still not manage to eat anything. Vesemir had explained that the already bad tasting greenery would be further worse once the druids were done with them. But knowing the reason did nothing to ease the experience.

Harry understood why this was the most difficult Trial. He could see the desperation and weakness in the other recruits' eyes, as they struggled to gain the least bit of energy for the physical training they had to go through at Kaer Mohren. The castle must have designed with the purpose in mind, as underneath the ground, a large labyrinth spread out for the potential witchers to run about in.

It did not help that the witchers were strict as well. They were made to follow a certain set timetable each day, which made sure that not one minute was wasted. OF course, that meant hell for the recruits, but the witchers had to do their job.

"Oy!" Harry slowly turned his face toward the noise. A witcher was already approaching. "What are you doing over there? Continue exercising or you won't get hungry."

Harry looked up at the witcher's face to see him grinning. He had a point and Harry knew it. They couldn't force him to work, but the fact was that if he wasn't hungry enough, he would concentrate on the taste of the food and if that happened, he would not be able to keep a bite down at all. It was all connected; the witcher's training and the diet they gave. The recruits had no choice but to follow it, for it was their only way to live. More than simply being a physical transformation, this was also a test of their willpower and fortitude.

Harry was sweating so much it was like he had his own miniature raincloud hovering above him. His breath was ragged and heavy, and his arms felt like they were made of jelly. But still, knowing that he had to carry on, he grit his teeth and pushed himself off the floor.

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It was freezing. Harry was freezing. He was outside in the snowcapped mountains of Kaer Mohren. The passageway the witcher had led him through had opened into a wide open clearing where he trained with the students.

Usually, it was just meditation that was required of him, although sometimes he was also asked to run laps in the snow. He also had to do it shirtless, so currently he was finding it near impossible to stay still.

For some reason, his interior felt warm, and Harry figured that was because of his magic and the mutations. But that did nothing to stop the cold blanketing his exposed skin. It had been almost a month since the Choice began, and so far only one recruit had died. Their death left almost no impact on Harry, save for the initial shock. He briefly wondered if that was because he did not know them or because he was becoming cold.

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He stood, admiring the sun slowly touching the mountain peaks. It was colder than usual, with a chilly wind, but by now he had grown accustomed to it. Or had he grown past the annoyance? He did not know. He did not care.

It had been almost two and a half months since the Choice had begun, and Harry had understood why the Choice was so important. Two more had died - one by frostbite and another by execution - but Harry did not bother too much with the details. He knew one had died in the open and the other tried to run away, even going so far as to try and fight the witchers. He understood they were scared, and knew that had they become witchers, they would not have survived. The moment they chose to become witchers, their fate was sealed

There were times he had considered running away, away from the torture he had to go through. It was not torture in truth, but to his mind, that is what it seemed like. All those days he couldn't sleep, filled with hunger so ravenous it was overpowering. All those times he couldn't bear to stand the cold outside, and he wanted to try his luck with the peaks.

But now he had changed. Over the last month, he had grown taller, and his body had become stronger. He could feel it when he raised his hands or clenched his fists. He could feel it when he walked or when he jumped. He did not quite understand why the herbs had done what they did, but he didn't really care, either. He had become strong, that was all that mattered.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself", a voice called out from behind him, and Harry turned around.

"Geralt!" he exclaimed, and stepped down from the rock he was standing on and walked toward him. "Where were you?"

Geralt had left a few days in and Harry had not seen him since.

"I had to take care of some business, but more importantly," Geralt grinned. "The other witchers were right."

"About what?"

"Your eyes."

"That they're beautiful and otherworldly."

"That they're emerald."

"They've always been green." Harry remarked, bringing a hand up to his eyes. A lot of people had said he had his mother's eyes, and he was proud of that.

"Usually, when one becomes a witcher, their eyes turn gold, and their pupils become more snake-like.", Geralt explained. "So naturally, some of the other witchers have started to suspect something."

Harry thought about Sofer, and his warning from the first day. "Well, that's not good, is it?"

"Not at all. Which is why I've decided to be your mentor."

"What? Really?" Harry asked, surprised. "I'm going to study under you?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Geralt replied. "And we're going to begin right now."

"Sorry?"

"I want to see how much you've grown."

Harry smiled, and stepped a few paces back from Geralt. He parted his legs to shoulder width and stood sideways, arms bent. Basic sparring had been a part of his training since the last week, and Harry was very good at evasion. He was certain it was because of better mutations, but he was still proud.

He brought his right arm back a little, as he had been taught that his main hand should be saved for strong blows. The witchers had no set martial arts style, but instead followed a free form one that allowed them more fluidity in movement. Their enhanced reflexes meant they only needed basic training in unarmed combat.

Geralt adopted the same stance as Harry, and Harry noticed he was wearing a loose fitting shirt. 'No armor, then.' Harry thought. They stood eyeing each other for a few seconds, each willing the other to take the first move. And then Geralt struck.

He was so fast Harry was caught off guard. He moved much quicker than the ordinary witchers, and Harry had barely enough time to bring his hands up to guard against his punch.

The blow was strong enough to force Harry to take two steps back, and Harry saw Geralt raise his left hand for a strike. As soon as his fist moved, Harry released his grip on Geralt's right, planning to throw him by his left.

He was left surprised as Geralt's left stopped in midair. In that instant. Harry felt his legs go out from under him as Geralt knocked his leg back. Harry quickly grasped Geralt's hand, using his momentum to pull Geralt to the ground with him. The instant his back hit the ground, Harry brought his leg to Geralt's gut and threw him up and over.

He barely had enough time to get up and throw a right at Geralt, who blocked it with his left, and proceeded to twist it around with his right. Harry, sensing the danger, used his free hand to throw an open palm strike against Geralt's face, which he dodged by a hair. Geralt stepped in and easily brought Harry to the ground again.

"Not bad at all, boy." Geralt said, offering his hand. "That was actually fun."

"Well, I try." Harry replied, grasping it thankfully.

"Your speed and reflexes are a lot better than a normal witcher's. In fact, I dare say the only thing you lack is experience."

"Thanks. I see that Gwynbleidd thing isn't just a showy title."

"Just because you learned the Elvish for 'White Wolf' doesn't mean you can just throw it around."

Harry shrugged. "So what are you here for?"

"Like I said, your trials are over. You actually stood against me, and even managed to surprise me. That's progress enough."

"So now what?"

"Now, your full training begins. Overall, I should say for you, it should take around a year or so."

"That long, huh?"

"We don't just teach you swordplay, you know." Geralt laughed. "But anyways, your friend seems to be doing fine as well."

"The informer?"

"Yes.", Geralt confirmed. "Apparently, she's strong enough to be a mage. So now she's learning under the elves. She may choose to leave, so we can't be sure."

'Hermione.', Harry thought. 'Wait for me, please.'

"Anyway, we leave tomorrow. And Harry..."

"Yes?"

"Congratulations."

"For what?"

"For becoming a Wolf."

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It had been two months since the villagers had taken him in. It did not matter to them that he was found alone and wounded in the woods at night. In fact, they had been happy to take them in. But he didn't have time to waste.

He had to get to a town or a city of some sort. He had to find a wizard or a sorceress. That was the only way he could achieve his goal. 'Those damn elves.' he thought. They'd attacked his camp in the middle of the night.

While the people were in disarray, they picked everyone off one by one. And then, his father. Thinking about it still brought a tear to his eyes. He had been brave. A strong leader until the very end. He had protected him, told him to run, and told him to live, before facing the elves with his comrades. His father was the only family he had left, and the elves had taken that from him.

Why? Why were they so cruel? He had heart stories, but he always dismissed them to be tall tales. Never did he actually believe that they truly were savages. Did they know no such thing as mercy, or compassion? To murder every man, woman, and child at their camp . . . and for what? Why did they do that? Because he was in the forest? Why was that so wrong?

He took a deep breath and calmed himself down. There was no point in overreacting. No, he had to save his anger. Let that hatred grow and use it to survive this corrupted world. He had always been good at magic. His father had praised him, telling him how he would become a great leader someday. And now he was no more. All because of the elves. He'd make them pay for what they did.

Unconsciously, his hand went to the locket. He looked down at it once he felt the cold metal touch his fingers. It was small and shiny and seemed too made completely of gold. He was sure it would open, but for some reason it would not budge. One of the scouts-Girn, his name was?-had gave it as a gift to him, saying he had found it on one of the people he had rescued from the forest. He'd wanted to give it back, but then Girn went away and the elves struck and here he was.

For some reason, he felt that the locket was important. So even after coming to the village, he decided to keep it with him. He clutched it tightly to his chest. He'd have to work hard, but he believed he could do it. He would have to do it. For his family. For his tribe. For his father. He'd have to get rid of the elves, once and for all.

"I will avenge you, father."

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To Be Continued in Chapter 6 - Training

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.