}!{
As the night's festivities progressed, more and more guests began their departure as they've grown exhausted from the revelry. The few that remained were the circles closest to the acquaintance of the crown. Naturally, as a newly sworn in knight and honored Champion of Cintra, Vandal had to stay for a little while longer till the king himself dismissed him. And so, he stayed.
Thankfully, his stay was not an insufferable affair. There were many who tried to converse with him, many of whom were genuinely welcoming, which although caused him some measure of discomfort also helped ease his uncertainty. One of them was the Princess Calanthe, who seized her chance to speak with the knight when all the adults had gone off to tend to other matters. She found him standing at the large window to the south, peering into the dancing lights in the distance that could only be the many fires burning atop the undead corpse piles. King Dagorad did not wish to fight another horde while his city celebrated, and thus commanded a detachment to dispose of the refuse.
They had finished their work and left nothing but charred ashes where the bodies once lay.
"Hi there!" Calanthe's small voice chirped in greeting, causing Vandal to look down at the curious princess standing next to him.
"Hello, princess." He said with a smile.
"I've been watching you when you came." She said, "From the window, saw you riding with Father. Talk spreads fast, they say that you're a hero. You helped fight the monsters at the wall?"
"That I did." Vandal nodded, finding it oddly relaxing talking with the girl compared with those in court who were much older than her. Perhaps it was the child's innocence, her lack of decorum that melted his heart, either way he appreciated her boldness for coming to him. "Does that make me a hero?"
"I think it does." Calanthe beamed. She drew closer and spoke in hushed tones, clearly showing how she'd grown comfortable around him, or simply because the princess was not one to hold her tongue around strangers. Evidently, seeing her mother talking to him without reservation earlier at the dinner table further reinforced this feeling. "I begged Father to let some of the knights teach me how to use a sword, but Mother would not have any of it."
"I do believe Her Majesty's just looking out for your best interests." Vandal replied, doing his best to avoid besmirching Adalia's good name by careless words.
"I think she thinks I can't do as well as the boys. I think she thinks a proper lady ought to not take up arms." Calanthe pouted, looking up at him seriously. "How about you, do you think girls should carry swords?"
Vandal swallowed the lump in his throat as he gauged his words very carefully as to not to offend the princess. He thought long and hard about what he would say next, then chanced upon an idea after a memory surfaced into his mind. He got to one knee so he could look at the princess with a level eye, "Well, you should know something about me before I answer."
"A secret? Don't worry if you will, I'll not tell no one." The princess promised.
The knight chuckled, finding the exchange with Calanthe rather pleasant. "Did you know that I came from another world, a world that once was very much like yours?"
"No, but I studied the Conjunction of the Spheres. My tutors schooled me good on it." The princess replied. In other words, she understood the concept and was not surprised that he was from another world.
"You're a smart little one." He remarked, telling a rather watered-down version of his past. "Well, see here, my world was consumed by a never-ending winter. Out of the snow came monsters. Everyone had to fight them outdoors, but sometimes the monsters came from indoors- so who was left to defend the elders and the children?"
"Girls?"
Another smile and a shake of the head, "Women. Mothers, sisters and daughters. Turns out, you don't have to be as strong as a mountain or as quick as the north wind to fight, you just needed a will to fight and a reason to fight for. Let me tell you, there was plenty of both when the ladies had to take up arms and fight off the monsters as hard as the men."
"Really?" Calanthe's eyes were wide as saucers, "D-Did they win?"
"They did." A lie, to give a little girl hope. "They most certainly did."
A vision crossed his mind, of a young woman standing between him and the hollows with a carving knife in one hand and the family's sword in the other. Her screams filled the night as the walking corpses tore her apart, a permanent scar in his mind among many. He suffered more nights than he could count beset by those nightmares, which was why he counted his unique condition as somewhat of a blessing in that regard. From the time that his heart burned like a hot ember, he had little need for sleep and so there would be neither dreams nor nightmares to visit him.
"I wish you'd tell Mother about that." Calanthe said, "Maybe she'll change her mind."
"Oh, I have a feeling she already knows just as well." Vandal replied, remembering that the queen had taken a trip through his memories earlier that night. "Trust in your parents' judgement. One day, you'll understand when you have children of your own, and you'll love them all the more for it."
Calanthe yawned and rubbed her arms, "Well...I'm tired. I'll be going now, good sir."
Vandal let her pass as she walked out of the banquet hall, with the queen's ladies-in-waiting in tow. "Good night, princess."
His eyes fell upon the witcher, who stood in close to the wall with his arms crossed. How long he'd stood there listening, Vandal had no idea, but he was glad to see him there. "Hello again, Geralt."
"I see you're quick to make friends in court." Geralt said to him. With the permanent growl of his voice and that ever-present scowl on his face, the knight could not discern whether or not he was speaking in approval or otherwise.
"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean." Vandal replied.
The witcher drew closer, growling out a warning. "Don't get too excited with your life in Dagorad's court. You're not among friends, you're among wolves. They're hungry, and you smell rather tasty to them."
"Alright..." Vandal said slowly, and rather seriously. "Would you kindly explain?"
"That small gift of valets, guardsmen and maids? A voluntarily handed boon by Lord Strauss?" Geralt said, revealing that he'd overheard the king and his lord talking. "Bah! A likely story! They're the Lord Protector's eyes and ears. They hope to make a weapon out of you, and to do that they'll need to keep watch over you."
Vandal blinked twice, unwilling to believe this at first, but he knew his shortcomings and knew he could trust the far more experienced warrior. "Oh, I see. If this is true, am I in danger? Are Serah and Sandy in danger?"
"I don't think so, not right now anyway." Geralt replied, "But you'd do well to remove them from the heart of the capital, away from the politics, and yourself with them."
As the witcher turned to leave, Vandal asked after him. "Why are you tell me this, Geralt?"
Geralt stopped, looked at the young knight and stared at him in silence. He sensed in Vandal a good man, a true knight with a good sense of morality. He also sensed in him a very young and stupid man, blinded by naivete as he took everything in the world at face-value. But when he answered his question, he did not reveal what he thought about him. It just wasn't his way, "Best start getting ready for our journey together. The king rewarded you with much, spend that coin wisely. I'll find you when it's time."
Then, he was gone.
When morning came, all of Cintra remained quiet.
Not a noise, not even in the markets or the quarries. For from all their merrymaking, the night exhausted all. Those with strength to walk, heavy in step and swinging about as though on a ship's deck in a fearsome storm, could not go any further than finding some bed to lay on to chase away the aches from all the revelry. Drunks littered the streets from corner to corner, whores and pickpockets stole away into the shadows with whatever coin they could get their hands on, neither an unusual sight during events such as the one that came the night before, but an eyesore to be sure.
There were a few still active, like the vigilant guardsmen who patrolled the capital's walls or the soldiers that did not partake of the revelry and drilled in the barracks as always.
Vandal was among them, though not to patrol or drill. He took the witcher's advice and prepared for the journey ahead. His first task was to find a good blacksmith who could reforge his broken blade. The fight against the fiend had cost him his trusty weapon, and he had to make do with the ones presented to him in this world.
The sword had been crafted from the metals of his world, and even Vandal could not deny the power in it. Anres called it titanite, a hardy material that could be enchanted to take the form of certain elements such as fire, lightning or frost. There were other unsavory elements such as poison and darkness, the latter being a result of the few studies taken out of the undead plague.
He met up with the armorer, the same one he spoke to the other day, to help him find someone to work on his weapon. His name was Gagarin, the longest living royal armorer there was in the city. He oversaw an entire branch of smithies that provided weapons and armor to both the knights elite and the Royal Army. If there was a chance for the blade to be reforged, he was the man Vandal deemed the best choice.
"Three days." Gagarin said gruffly after taking a look at the pieces spread out on a piece of cloth.
The armorer was a busy man, and he was experienced so Vandal deferred to his superior knowledge of his craft. Usually, it took longer for one to make a new sword, possibly ranging from weeks to a month. Vandal was glad that he found a master smith, "Thank you. How much will I have to pay for this?"
"Standard fee, 800 crowns."
A price requiring quite the expense, but Vandal cared not for the coin. He wanted his sword back as it was before, for it held great meaning to him. "Deal, then. Good day, Gagarin."
Gagarin grunted like an irate boar and wrapped up the cloth with the pieces inside.
Leaving the palace grounds, Vandal ventured out into the city for his next task- which was selling his horse to purchase a better trained one from the Royal Army's stables.
Looking up, he saw the faintest outline of Saggrel in the sky, almost disappearing behind the bright glow of the early morning rays that blanketed the blue. A sadness washed over him like the crisp dew that welcomed a new day, for as much as he appreciated the new world he was in, Vandal was still a child of Saggrel.
"Got the fleetest steeds in all of Cintra, right here." The stablemaster told him, "The youngest I've got's a mare. Taken to calling her Queen Alfsigr, or Alfie for short. Smart lass, this one. She'll serve you well, provided that you treat her well."
Vandal led the young timid horse he got the other day and patted him on the shoulder, "Where I'm going, I need the best. I'm sorry things won't work out between us. Farewell, young colt."
The horse snorted. If he understood anything that the man said, he made no other gesture to make it known. He was led into the stables in exchange for Alfsigr, whom Vandal paid for with half the rate as he'd given another horse in her stead. He paid 500 crowns for Alfie, then mounted the warhorse. He thanked the stablemaster for his help and rode out of the stables to return home, back to his lovely companions to spend whatever time he had left in the city with them.
Alfie looked restless as she was pulled into the stable behind the house. She fidgeted, snorted and bumped her snout against her new master.
"Don't you worry." Vandal assured her as he stroked her neck, "You won't be here forever, we'll be off into the roads soon- plenty of action to be had."
He guided her to the trough, then removed her reins and saddle. He removed his armor, leaving his only his shirt, trousers and greaves on, as he moved to care for the horse. The sweat cast a bright sheen on his body as the sun's rays blasted their way over the land, but by then Vandal had gotten used to the heat. It was, after all, a welcome change to him as opposed to the freezing winds of his old world.
He drew water for her, filled the trough. He proceeded to fetch the horse feed of grinded oats, fruits and nuts he got from the market on the way home. After Alfie drank from the trough and fed from the basket of feed, Vandal got a brush and worked his way across the horse's hide.
Rikard watched from within the house, having heard his master come and moved to see to his needs, stopping short when he saw that the knight had well on begun the work ahead of him. There was a smile on Vandal's face, for he clearly enjoyed the work, having lived more to see to his tasks personally rather than leaving it to others to do in his stead.
"Sir, the maids are more than ready to see to your horse." The steward offered, "Might I-"
"It's alright, Rikard." Vandal replied, wrestling with the feelings of mistrust brought upon by the witcher's warning. "No reason to let them worry about something I can do myself. Have them see to the ladies of the house, instead."
"They are preparing a bath as we speak." Rikard bowed, "And the ladies have requested that I inform you that they're eagerly awaiting your return. An invitation for you to join them is in order."
"I'll be right up." Vandal's smile grew, dismissing his valet. "Thank you, Rikard. That'll be all."
He found both women settled nicely in a large marble tub, the warm water covering their bodies till the shoulders. They were both in good spirits, smiling with eyes half-lidded as they relaxed into the steam caressing their troubles away. Sandy had her hair tied up into a bun and had a cloth damp with the warm water to drape over her eyes, Serah stood up from the tub and was scrubbing her arms and legs with a sponge. Both were a glorious sight to meet, and the knight relished the chance to bask in their presence.
The maids bowed at the sight of their master, then left at his quiet gesture for some time alone with the women.
Vandal had grown bold enough to look upon his paramours without need for their permission, and his gaze took in their beautiful forms with greedy, lustful eyes, though for only a moment. He regained his senses and awkwardly turned away, "How are you two adjusting to city life?"
Serah smiled, coming to appreciate how the man showed a modicum of respect for her, enough to look away while she and Sandy bathed. Though she didn't mind at all that he acted naturally as any man would, Vandal's gentlemanly nature was always something to admire, and she loved him all the more for it. Having finished rinsing away the soap and now smelling like flowers again, Serah wrapped a towel around her body and stepped out of the tub.
"Not so different from back in Amendale, for the most part." She replied, "But we have you, and we have this place to call home."
Serah approached him and kissed his cheek, "Thank you." The stench of horse on him proved to be too much, and the woman recoiled somewhat at the smell. "Ooh, darling! You're in desperate need for a bath. Lucky for you, you've come on time, there's plenty of warmth in the tub and scents to chase away that awful smell."
"A pity you've had your fill from it." Vandal said as he removed his shirt, smiling shyly as he saw her gaze hungrily at his body.
"Sandy can keep you company, for now." She said in turn, "You know very well, her presence can more than suffice in my stead."
"I'll take you up on your offer." The knight undressed and immediately joined the golden-tressed woman. Sandy, delighted in having her man all to herself for the morning, snuggled up to him as he washed himself free from the stench of his journeys past and of the previous night.
Later, after the bath was done, Vandal found Serah waiting for him at the dining room. She wore a beautiful shimmering black dress that clung tightly to her body, accentuating her curves like a black marble statue. Sparkling glass droplets clung to its fabrics in neat little patterns, mirroring a starlit night from her shoulders to her toes.
The maids prepared breakfast for the whole house, including the guards, as was customary for them. Vandal didn't mind much for their assumptions, as he was grateful for anyone serving him at all. He partook none of the food or drink, as he had neither appetite nor need for them. Instead, he let the others have their fill of the food and drink bought at the expense of his own coin, reveling in the satisfaction in their faces for his generosity.
Later that afternoon, they toured the city together to see what the capital had to offer. They walked through Cintra's markets, its shops and stalls of imported goods from both the North and the East. Then, they visited the temples and shrines erected in honor of Melitele, the goddess worshiped by the North. In every city founded by the northerners, the first to be built was always a shrine or temple dedicated to their revered patron, and the finest architectural wonders could be seen in its works. Towering cathedrals, not unlike the ones that used to dot Saggrel's surface in honor of the Lady of the Light, whom Vandals' creed worshiped especially during the Age of Blackest Night.
The capital city also offered a fine academy to which many of its youths attended. Although, due to the threat of war, its students were all sent home to be with their families and the school was closed down. Here, mages were trained in the basic arts of sorcery, a practice that was largely frowned upon or held in suspicious regard by many nordlings. Cintra was, somewhat, of a more progressive nature when compared to its neighbors. Though it yet had to extend tolerance to non-humans, Cintra at least held sorcery with a modicum of respect.
Serah looked upon the academy with fascination, prompting Vandal to inquire of the source of her interest. "See something you like?"
"I used to love reading books as a child." The woman said wistfully, rather hesitant to open up about her past lest it also opened up old wounds. She, like most young girls due to poverty had to pursue other things in the name of survival. Serah was just one of the lucky few who got by, sticking to the one job she was naturally good for. There was no room for pursuits of academic excellence. "Now I...never mind."
"You could try again." Sandy offered, "Books don't cost that much these days."
"I'd hate to trouble the good sir." Serah declined, "Besides, I've outgrown it. Such a silly thing to-"
"I wouldn't mind at all." Vandal interjected, "Would you like to own a book of your own, maybe two?"
"Well, it's been a while, but..." She thought about his offer for a minute, "I suppose there's no harm in taking it up again."
Having said that, Vandal stopped by a book shop on their way out of the academy grounds, letting Serah take her pick before heading back home. Instead of shopping for clothes, shoes or jewelry, she had him buy a more precious commodity- knowledge. Vandal valued it as much as she did, for as she would resume her mastery of the common tongue, he in turn could learn from her.
He only hoped that even throughout his many dangerous tasks for the king, he would find every chance to study alongside her.
This, they made their new hobby for the next three days. Until, at last, the White Wolf showed up at Vandal's door.
Geralt heard the sounds of laughter coming from the top floor of the house, the mirthful exchange of words like a schoolmarm and her pupil chanting limericks together, as he rode up the street. The guards at the gate eyed the witcher with vigilant and wary looks, but they made no move against him. Geralt dismounted and addressed the guards.
"I'm here for Vandal, he's expecting me."
"Ah, the witcher." One of them nodded, showing that he'd been informed ahead about their arrangement. "Go on through, the master of the house is upstairs in his study. Wait for him downstairs, let the steward announce your arrival."
The witcher left Roach outside as he knew he wouldn't be staying long. He entered the estate grounds and walked through the open door where a wiry gentleman in green addressed him.
"Greetings, witcher." He bowed, "We were expecting you. Stay and make yourself comfortable, I shall inform the master that you have arrived."
"Yeah, thanks." Geralt said, preferring to stand and wait at the door for the knight. As soon as the valet went upstairs, the sounds of mirth faded into silence. Heavy hobnail boots echoed atop the wooden floor as Vandal left the side of his lovely companions in order to greet the witcher, his every step lacking enthusiasm as he was reluctant to venture out after having such a fine morning. Alas, duty called and he must answer.
"Good morning, Geralt." Vandal met the witcher, adorned in his armor as though he were indeed waiting for that day to come to pass.
"I see you've prepared in advance, just as I said." Geralt observed. "Today's the day. Dagorad's assembled a team to accompany us south. We begin the journey immediately."
"Where shall we meet them?" Vandal tightened the straps on his breastplate.
"Palace grounds." The witcher replied, "I suggest you say your goodbyes now. The king's ordered the gates to be shut upon or departure, to limit traffic until further notice. We're not coming back for a while."
"I know." Vandal said with a resolute nod, turning to see Serah and Sandy descend the stairs with books in hand. "Wait for me outside, will you? I won't be long."
Geralt nodded and walked out to join him later at the gate so they could have some privacy. Sandy was her usual teary-eyed self, expressing her fears and concerns, all the while begging for him not to go. Serah, on the other hand, made no such display of herself. She saw firsthand what the man could do, how quickly the pup would disappear in the face of danger and fully transform into a bristling mastiff. Vandal was no whelp, she knew better than to mistrust his abilities. Still, she was concerned for him, as she had everything to lose if he died.
"Take care of yourself out there, darling." She said, "We'll be here for you when you return, waiting."
Vandal gave them both a parting kiss, left both of them under the care of the guardsmen, took Alfie from the stable and rode out alongside Geralt. They arrived at the palace grounds, where a company of the king's finest knights elite 30 strong awaited them, alongside the mercenaries who were all too familiar to the knight from Saggrel. Enris was there with his men, all dressed in top-notch armor and trusty steel, waiting impatiently to begin their journey.
They'd spent much of their time drinking and whoring away their money, and now they had a fire in their bellies for killing. They greeted Vandal, whom they held in high regard due to the good fortune his company brought, with cheers.
Before they started, Vandal stopped for the final time at the royal armorer's smithy. There, as promised, Gagarin handed to him his new blade. At the sight of it, Vandal's eyes widened with astonishment, for Gagarin's work was by no means an easy task- yet his efforts in creating a masterful work of smithing art was second to none.
The sword three feet long, perfectly balanced from pommel to point. The hilt was decorated with naked winged angels, whose arms and wings were uplifted to touch the ricasso. The handle was wrapped with reinforced leather wrappings, smelling sweet from fresh treatment. The gruff old smith spoke as the young man admired his handiwork, "Custom holds that whoever holds a newly forged blade should name it with the first words that comes from his mouth. Do the honors."
Vandal said nothing for a moment as he ran his hand over the blade. The sharp edges caught his skin and drew blood, instantly setting the blade aflame as the titanite drank of the magics in Vandal's blood. Gagarin's bushy brow rose in surprise, and the old smith muttered an oath as the flames enwreathed the blade from hilt to tip.
"I shall call this one Ashseeker." Vandal decided, honoring his fallen comrade Nelzhar by taking his weapon's name. He doused the flames by ramming the blade into his sheath, thanking the old smith for his help by placing the aforepromised 800 crowns and left the smithy.
He rejoined the others and together they set out into the streets of Cintra, heading for her gates. Along the way, people flocked to see their valiant warriors off, offering praises and thanks for their bravery. Among them were some familiar faces that Vandal had come to know in his journey on the flight from Amendale, refugees who did not fare as well as he did.
They were a sorry sight, no better than beggars as they were rendered destitute, forced into an impoverished life due to the undead incursions.
Geralt saw him looking longingly after them and grabbed the young knight's reins to lead him forward, annoyed that he began lagging behind. Vandal gave him an inquisitive look, to which the White Wolf answered with a disapproving growl. "Leave them be, there's nothing you can do."
"I beg your pardon?" Vandal could not understand the witcher's words, how easily it was for him to turn a deaf ear to their pleas and a blind eye to their suffering.
"You can't help every peasant that comes to your door begging. We have a job to do, let the Sisters of Melitele handle that."
Vandal was at a loss for words, he just couldn't fathom the seemingly heartless conviction of his companion, but he also didn't want to start an argument over it. In silence, the knight rode with his head and heart heavy with thoughts. To protect the weak and defenseless, to give succor to widows and orphans, to fight for the welfare of all- all these were hammered into his being from the moment he became a squire. Growing with it, it all became a part of him, his guiding principles. This was what it was to be a knight.
Then again, Geralt of Rivia was no knight, but a monster-hunter. How could he know what honor meant, how could he when everything that was of worth to him was measured in coin?
Vandal decided he didn't care what Geralt thought, but he made no effort to make his intentions known. He vowed that as soon as he was finished with their task, upon their return to the capital, he would use whatever resources he had to uplift the refugees from poverty. He needn't become rich, nor make them rich. He only wished them to live above the beasts, for all good men deserved that much in his eyes.
Noble thoughts, pure intentions every one of them. Alas, all were born from naivete.
When they left the city, Cintra closed her gates after them, but not before a lone figure in a tattered patch-work cloak passed the guards unseen. Where the riders went, the figure was never far behind.
}!{