Hamlet – William Shakespeare: Chapter 8, Gathering Allies
who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
Geralt tried to will his mind to be still as he walked unhurriedly towards the front door. He tried to quash the vicious and corybantic thoughts and possibilities racing before his eyes. There were countless reasons why he'd avoided this situation for two years, and he could recall them clearly.
Gentle moonlight was pouring through the small windows just a little on either side of the door. He could hear several small voices murmuring on the other side. It sounded as though they were all gathered outside his home. He dreaded the next few moments which lay ahead but… They deserved to know. Yennefer would want them to.
As soon as he had pulled the door open, the whispering stopped. Five young faces were peering up at him, one of which was partly obscured by a rather large bunch of violet flowers. A small, rather lanky boy with mousy brown hair and several freckles adorning his cheeks held the bouquet tightly in his hands. As he made eye contact with the Witcher he shuffled nervously on the spot and looked down at the floor as he spoke.
"Master Geralt, we, we heard, we heard that Lady Yennefer…That she's…She's not…" Alac trailed off as the words he desperately sought eluded him. Geralt heard him sniffle.
The smallest of the children, a young girl called Matilda, placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder while the other children continued to gaze up at him. They were unnervingly silent and reticent and hardly resembled the happy, questioning and carefree children he once told stories. The children who Yennefer use to teach and play with.
He watched for a moment as Alac tried to compose himself. While all the children on the state adored his beloved, Geralt knew that she had always meant the most to this timid boy. Yennefer had seen a great deal of potential in his unnurtured soul and spent extra time tutoring him. Geralt knew not whether it was through these hours in the study that she discovered something else about him. An unpleasant piece of her own childhood hidden beneath the cloth. It never failed to surprise Geralt to this day that Alac's father had left Toussaint in one piece, though he never doubted that fact would change if he ever set foot here again. He'd never seen her so enraged.
"Master Geralt," continued the boy, this time looking up from the floor, "are the rumours true? Is Lady Yennefer truly not lost to us?"
Five faces looked at him expectantly, Geralt smiled and moved away from the door. He beckoned them inside.
"I think you deserve to see for yourselves."
After the flowers had been safely placed in a vase beside her resting place, and once the children had gorged their eyes on her sleeping form, the Witcher spun them a tale. It was a story they should have heard long ago. He told them the true tale behind the Sorceress' demise, of the sacrifice she made, of the price his deal had cost him. He told them how her friends and family believed her story to have some to an end, that evil had conquered them all and broken her beloved's heart in twain. But then, a flicker of light began to shine through the encompassing darkness. He told them of the mysterious figures who came to him and his daughter under the boughs of a magical tree and of the deal which had been lain at their feet. He told them how this legend, unlike all the other adventures he had shared with them, was still being written.
"So, so Lady Yennefer really is dead, but she's, she's not…Gone…You can rescue her?" Tira wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Her twin, Rela, was clinging to her tightly.
"Yes," answered Geralt, looking at the children huddled on the floor besides the bed. "Yen died because he captured her soul and took her far, far away from here. He took her back to his home and that's where he's hidden her, but now we have a way of getting there. Now, we can free her."
"But why did he take her? Why has he locked her away?" Asked Dardi, a tall, stout boy, the oldest of the bunch. He was slouched up against the wall, hands in his pockets.
"Because I love her, Dardi, and he cannot stand to see such things. So, he took her from me, from us, because he knew it would make us sad, and that is something he likes to see."
"But he hasn't won, has he," the boy explained boisterously, puffing out his chest. Geralt, however, saw his eyes glistening. "You'll fight him, won't you, and you'll win. You'll save Lady Yennefer. Won't you?"
Of all the things they could have said, of all the questions they could have asked, why did it have to be that one. The one question he had purposefully been avoiding at all costs. He despised that question but what was worse...He feared it more. That question to which he could not be sure of the answer despite that fact it would ultimately determine his fate.
"That question" he began slowly, "is not something I can answer." Downfallen. The unanimous look which fell over their innocent faces upon hearing his sincere judgement. Geralt sighed. "What I can say is that I will do anything I can to save her. Anything at all. I love Yen more than life itself and there is no hardship I would not face to rescue her from that Monster. There isn't anything I wouldn't do to bring her home again."
There was a short spell of silence. The children were looking at one another uncertainly, then, all eyes were turned on Alac as he suddenly rose to his feet and approached the Witcher.
"Lady Yennefer once told me that the hardest, hardest trial we will ever face is placing our life in the hands of another, but that she would never hesitate for a second to entrust you with her own. She believed in you, trusted you, Master Geralt, as do I." He offered out a small hand. "You'll bring her home."
The Witcher smiled and took his hand. The future looked a lot less bleak than it had done for a long time.
After hours of planning, writing and thinking, the officers had done the day before, the start of the new day presented an opportunity for Geralt and Ciri to stretch their legs. Now that the orders and fortifications has been dealt with, it was time to tackle the second challenge. Recruitment.
One thing Ciri did not miss about Kaer Morhen was the cold. The sensation of biting winds and chills crawling up her spine evoked unfavourable memories and emotions. Despite this, she always felt good seeing the aged stone walls and towers again, the first place she had ever really felt at home. At peace.
As she pushed open the heavy doors to the keep she noticed several candles were alight, a promising sign. Following the hints of life, she delved deeper into Kaer Morhen until she found what she was looking for. Lambert swearing loudly on the other side of a closed door which lead to the pantry. She opened it without thinking.
Living under the same roof as Yennefer and Geralt, Ciri should have learnt by now that nowhere in the house was sacred. She quickly slammed the door shut and heard something smash against the wood a second later.
"Nice to see you too Lambert. And you, Keira." Shouted Ciri loudly, rolling her eyes.
There were sounds of movement, and swearing, and bickering, coming from the pantry. After a short moment the door swung open. Ciri was pleased to see that the scene before her eyes now contained considerably more clothing.
"Don't they teach you how to knock at Kaer Morhen." Said the Sorceress sardonically from somewhere near the back of the room as she finished buttoning up her dress.
"Guess I've learnt the hard way." Replied Ciri, trying to muffle a snicker at seeing the look on Lambert's face. "Anyhow, can't say I've ever had to worry about Lambert bringing 'guests' back before."
"Well, the one good thing about this bloody ruin is the privacy, but I guess it's lost that charm as well now." He said gruffly, kicking at a loose stone in the wall. "Why are you here, Ciri?"
"Because we need your help."
A couple of hours later, Ciri was wondering up the rain soaked streets of Novigrad, and she was in a rush. She hated this place, she loathed its blood-soaked alley ways and scorched town squares. She despised the aroma of death and despair which clung to it, even after all this time. The Witch Hunters might have been disbanded, but Novigrad still wasn't safe from them. They roamed the streets as outlaws, picking of mages, alchemists and non-humans wherever they could before slinking back into the shadows. Their armouries were stocked with dimeritium and weapons and their pockets were lined with blood money and bribes. Worst of all, but perhaps the least surprising, was how the streets whispered their secrets to the Witch Hunters. The seeds of prejudice had long ago been planted. No matter how many branches were hacked and burned away, it still grew and infiltrated the hearts of many. The greedy merchant, the unlucky gambler, the bankrupt baron. People who searched for somewhere to place the blame, so they could deny responsibility.
The last time Ciri had visited this dark city, Yennefer had a dangerously close call with these 'vigilantes'. It could have been a lot worse, it nearly was. It gave her nightmares to think what could have happened to her Mother, what might have been if they'd kept their grumpy, filthy little hands on her for longer than they had.
She shook her head.
Ciri scampered along the cobblestoned streets, she was heading towards the blacksmith, the one who was a friend of Geralt's. If Eskel wasn't there, she'd have to start asking around and that would complicate matters and waste a lot of precious time.
She pulled her cloak closer to her body as she walked down a particularly busy street, shouldering past several painstakingly slow guards who swore loudly at her. She ignored them. Ciri had no respect for the Novigrad guards, when Yennefer had been in trouble, they'd simply turned a blind eye.
A few minutes later and she had reached her destination, unfortunately, there was no sight of the Witcher. She cursed under her breath, throwing her head back.
"Ciri."
Eskel's husky chuckle greeted her and she spun around looking at his irritably. The Witcher held up his hands in mock surrender. Then, they embraced.
"Why do you always insist on sneaking up on my like that? One of these days it will end very badly for you." Said the young woman as they broke apart.
"I don't doubt that it will, but until them…" she saw his smile falter slightly. "How are you, Ciri? And how's Geralt? I was about to head down to Toussaint, wanted to pay my respects to, to your Mother."
"Well, about that…"
"How is that even possible?"
Triss groaned. How many times had she explained this now? How many times had people looked at her with utter disbelief and bombarded her with questions she couldn't answer. She was exhausted.
Since day-break she'd been locked away with Yennefer's old megascope trying to contact some of the other mages she believed would be willing to lend them aid, but that was only part of the battle. Out of the twenty or so names neatly written out on a piece of parchment, only a handful remained un-crossed out. Fringilla, Rita and Dorregaray. That was it. Everyone else was too caught up in self-interest, the mage community wasn't exactly known for being altruistic. Triss has hoped for better, but Yennefer was hardly popular among her peers and there where a whole host of reasons why. Many were jealous of her links with the Empire and with its Heiress, others longed for her power and beauty and some among them loathed her happiness. They made captious remarks behind her back and sneered at the thought of her 'happily ever after' because why did she, of all people, why did she and not they deserve such a fate. Besides, there was nothing more ridiculous than the notion of a retired Sorceress, let alone a retired Yennefer living out the rest of her longevity with her beloved, a Witcher, no less. Preposterous. There cannot be even an ounce of truth in such a tall tale.
That had stopped the day she died, when the room had been full of guilty faces. Now, nobody whispered her name, just as no one would come to her aid. Despite everything they owed her.
"Triss."
Philippa's shrill voice plucked her back into the present as she looked at the woman's magical form in the megascope. She was glowering at her, or at least she was presumably glowering at her from behind the magical cloth tied around her eyes. Triss regretted leaving her till last, she didn't have the energy to deal with Philippa. But then again, when did she ever have the energy for such a feat. When did anyone?
"Triss, none of this makes any sense."
"I know it doesn't Phil," she retorted, rubbing her temples with both hands and taking a deep breath, "but please, we need your help."
"Don't be a fool, Triss. You can't honestly expect me to drop everything, as you seem to do so carelessly, and chase around after, well, whatever the hell this is. I'm too old to pursue myths, Triss, and so are you."
She wasn't sure why, but something within her snapped. "You're just like the rest of them!" Screamed Triss, jabbing an accusing finger at the translucent image who seemed for a moment to be taken by surprise.
She quickly recovered. "How so, Triss." Philippa said slowly, pronouncing each word with bone-shilling clarity that seemed to slice the tension like a knife.
Threatening. Philippa's tone of voice was as clear as day. Such a tone would have once, without fail, chilled Triss to the bone and forced her into submission. Now, it only aggravated her.
"You're afraid."
Philippa considered her colleague for a moment, and then smiled. As usually, there was no warmth in it. "You've saved me much time over the years, Triss, by consistently drawing attention to your own painful naivety. Perhaps one day you'll grow up, child, but I've yet to see any evidence that you're capable of such a thing. I am not like you, nor like the other mages, because I am not afraid of O'Dimm. Oh no, I am simply unwilling to make my position in court vulnerable for such an unlucrative reward." Philippa sashayed forwards and loomed over the other Sorceress. "Perhaps one-day, dear Triss, you will finally come to accept that the world is driven by self-interest. For mages, that goes doubly."
She held her face close to Triss' for several seconds, then she slowly turned her back.
"I never said you were afraid of him, Phil."
Philippa stopped moving. "Then what am I afraid of, Triss?"
"Of the same thing which means you'll help bring Yenna back."
J.K. Rowling - Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone: Chapter 9, Brothers in Arms
"It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends."
Hello my lovely readers! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, things are starting to truly fall into place. If you're wondering why this chapter is a little shorter than usual, its because I'm trying out something new – posting weekly. I can't promise that I'll be able to keep this up, but I'm hoping to be able to post shorter chapters every week with maybe a small break here and there. Tell me if you prefer this or longer chapters every other week.
Please, please, please comment, like, share etc. knowing people like my stories really helps give me the strength and enthusiasm to write?
Progress on rewriting Promises is going well, I'm on chapter 3. I've ended up changing more than I thought – because of all the things I've learned – but towards the end of the story, writing should be quicker. Looking forward to posting it.
Thanks to DaisyofGalaxy for being my amazing beta as always, go check out her fics! Do it!
