Chapter 13: Card Players, Models, And Husband Hunters
POV Ciri, 1267 early September
"Francollarts." Ciri read out loud. Then she turned to Jon, Gwyn turning his head along with her. "There, Jon. The first village we found in Toussaint." she said, the colossal bird trilled right after her words.
"Good, we should go resupply." he replied, his deep timber eternally pleasing to her.
"To the inn!" Ciri shouted, Gwyn swiftly taking off as she quickly rode across the bridge, passed the armourer and when straight to the local inn. Jon following along silently.
Once they reached it, Ciri hobbled Mist and Jon did the same with Somber. Then they both entered the inn, Jon taking their saddlebags with him.
Walking in, Ciri was hit by a wave of heat and the smell of food and ale. She then when straight to the bar and plopped down on the nearest stool. While Jon found the innkeeper and busied himself with their supplies, Ciri called over the barmaid. "What is it you need?" the young blond asked.
"Two ales and two specials!" Ciri asked, winning smile in place and a handful of Florens dropped on the counter.
The maid blushed, smiled back with a "Right away." and slid the coins into her apron's front pouch. As she walked into the kitchen, Jon came over and told her that the bags were full and that he would be right back. Ciri nodded and kissed his cheek, which brought some blush to his face. She loved that even the smallest sign of public affection from her still had that effect on him.
Jon left... and as she waited, Ciri saw something near the corner of the tavern that caught her eye. One bench away from the far back left, were two women playing cards. One of them placed a card down with a calm smile and the other threw up her hands, tossed a handful of coins and stomped out of the inn. Curious, Ciri walked over to the winner.
"Ah... young miss, have you ever played Gwent?" the woman asked, her blue eyes snapping to Ciri's coin purse and then back to her face. With her hands smoothing out her dress.
Ciri hummed, then answered "No, how do you play?".
"Then come and sit. I am not very good, yet I can teach you." she said, gesturing to the bench opposite her.
POV Jon
"Ha! Read it and weep, Laure!" he heard Ciri shout as he walked back into the inn, the smells assaulting his nose.
Looking around the main room, Jon quickly found her sitting on a food laden table near the corner. Ciri had removed her vambraces and loosened her gambeson's leather straps. She was smiling smugly at a blond woman sitting across from her, while taking a swig of ale. The witcher shook his head and made his way over to her.
"Well done young miss, seems you've won again." the blond said, the smooth praise added to Ciri's grin and roused Jon's suspicion.
"Jon!" she called upon seeing him, "Come on and play this new game I found!" she said excitedly.
He reached the table and sat next to the princess. "Oh, I got you the inn's special." she told him, pointing at one of the bowls filled with chunky dark brown stew. Jon subtly sniffed at it, Venison and... wine?
Jon mentally shrugged and took up the bowl, taking a testing sip. The amazing taste surprised him, though he didn't show it of course. He was taught better than that.
He had eaten half of it by the time Ciri grabbed his shoulder, "Jon, watch this game. You and I will play once I win all the cards.". The witcher nodded and put down the stew.
Ciri and the woman, Laure, played their game while Jon watched. Whenever either side played a card, Ciri would explain what it did and how it affected the match. Jon only half paid attention to the cards, the other half was focused on Ciri's opponent. Something about her felt off, the look in her eye, the way she held the cards and the way her lips were set in her smile and how it didn't reach her eyes. She's cheating her, but how?
He continued watching the match and learning the game. Once he had a grasp on the majority of the rules, he began to see Laure's plan. She wasn't using her cards properly and always lost because of it, but it was impossible for it to be a mistake. She wanted Ciri to get complacent and keep playing due to her repeated winnings, then quickly reverse it to win as much as she can. While Ciri gets angrier and angrier, insisting on more games. Only to continue losing.
The match came to an end with Ciri winning by a landslide. "Haha! Do you get it, Jon?" She asked him.
The witcher nodded, so the two kept playing. While Jon waited for the turnaround.
It came five matches later, Ciri had won most of the cards and only had a few more to go. In this match, just after Ciri had won the first round, Laure's smile changed and finally reached her eyes. The first card she played had a golden star around its number 10, she placed it on the frontline. Then Ciri played her own card, a five on the front line.
They kept laying down cards, Ciri continued to build her frontline and Laure adding archer class cards. Then the blond played a card Jon hadn't seen before, it showed a frozen hut surrounded by hanged men, icicles stuck to the bottoms of their blackened feet.
Looking at her, it seemed that the card was new to Ciri as well. Laure seemed a little too happy to explain, "This is the Biting Frost card, it brings the value of all frontline cards down to one. Expect heroes of course."
"What!" Ciri cried, the indignation clear on her face.
"You should be more careful, young miss." she smoothly replied.
"I'm still not done yet." the lioness growled.
Laure simply nodded and gently pushed her cards to the side, Ciri doing the same. Although a bit rougher. Then the blond played her first card, this time a ballista with a 6 in the corner.
Ciri countered with an archer card with the same number. Then they both kept going, Laure building her artillery at the rear line and Ciri putting her all into the archers. They kept playing until both had only one card, Laure played a card that depicted a swamp under a thick fog. "This card is called Impenetrable Fog. It brings all ranged fighters down to one. It seems that I won, young miss." She said, Jon able to hear a smug tone creeping into her voice.
Then his ashen haired companion threw down a card that made her opponent sneer, if only slightly. It showed a heavy rain, falling on a dead man with a spear through his chest. "A weather card for each line, this one's for yours, right?" Ciri said, smirking at her foe. Jon smiled, happy that, as he expected, his love had seen through the little trick.
Laure schooled her face, going back to the smiling mask from before. "That's right, young miss. It seems that you're a quick learner. Shall we keep playing?" she said with an even voice.
Ciri said nothing, she only collected her cards and got ready to play again.
Ciri laid down her card, and the final match was won. "It's my win, Laure." Ciri said
Laure played her best for the last matches and the cards went back and forth, but, after eleven close matches, Ciri won the rest of the cards from her. "It seems that way. Shall we play again, young miss? I will bet some coin." Laure said, Jon could hear the grinding of her teeth.
Ciri took on a contemplative look for a moment, "No, I promised Jon we'd play after I won." she answered.
"Quite alright, young miss." the blond said, standing up and reaching for the cards. Ciri snatched her wrist and asked "Aren't those mine now?" her tone showing it wasn't a question at all.
Laure tried to pull her hand back, but Ciri's grip was firm. "A force of habit, I apologise." she said and Ciri let go.
Now free, the woman walked away. Prim and proper, she left. Then a moment later, Jon heard a feminine cry of frustration.
"Ready to play, Jon?" Ciri asked.
Jon nodded and stood, moved around the table, then sat back down in Laure's emptied spot. Ciri passed him half the deck, and they started their first match.
_ Hours later
"Argh! How do you keep winning!?" she said, crossing her arms.
"It's a simple strategy game." Jon answered calmly, a smile creeping its way onto his face as he collected the cards.
Ciri huffed and stood up, "Let's go find a contract." the huntress mumbled as she walked to the inn's front door.
Jon left the table, stuffing the cards into one of his smaller pouches, and followed.
POV Ciri, One week later
As Ciri looked at the bridge's parchment-filled notice board, only one stood out. "Cheating Husband!", the notice read. Intrigued, she ripped it from the board to read the details. "I think my husband is cheating on me. He disappears every night and comes back only at dawn. When he does return, he's tired and pale. I will pay generously to whomever finds proof of the affair and his lover's identity. I will wait by the Coronata signpost for one hour at noon every day, I will be wearing a blue shawl. Meet me then and there."
Ciri nodded to herself and looked around for her Jon. Her eyes quickly found him talking with one of the many merchants. It wasn't hard to find him in even the busiest crowds. He was the only man with such long dark hair, tied back in a similar style to Geralt, and stood nearly a full head taller than most men. Then there was his heavy armour, which they had improved, along with her own, when they met the Grandmaster Armourer in Beauclair.
The Grandmaster had added handing tassets and gauntlets to both their gears, with riveted mail sewn onto their gambeson with meteorite steel wires. The entire process, along with repairs, was incredibly, almost painfully, expensive. Hence the current contract hunt.
"Jon!" Ciri called to her companion as she made her way through the carts, mules and travelling merchants. "I found a good one!" she told him, once she was close enough.
"Thank you for the advice." Jon told the man, before giving her his full attention.
Ciri smiled and handed him the request. He looked at it a moment, then raised a brow and said "This doesn't seem like a monster contract." voice perfectly level, yet perfectly prodding at her.
"Look at the parchment, Jon. It's of very high quality and there were many torn pieces of the same type of parchment stuck to the board." she explained, Jon quickly catching on. "So, this had to be replaced often. Others accepted, but failed to complete. Using this parchment so many times would be expensive for anyone who's commonborn."
"Noble women always pay the most, right?" she pushed, "And are open to negotiation, often times more gullible too." his eyebrow went back down, she had him.
Jon handed her back the request and she shoved it into a pouch. "To Coronata Vineyard!" she said, walking back to Mist.
"Which one is it?" she asked, looking to the three women wearing blue shawls. Couldn't pick a more unusual colour?
Jon hummed for a moment, probably thinking, then approached the trio. Once they reached them Jon looked over their heads and told no one in particular that "We're here for a contract regarding a certain husband.".
Two of the blue bearing women looked confused, while one brightened and walked closer to them. "You saw the notice?" she asked, her Toussaint accent thicker than most.
"Aye." Jon answered, in his own Northman accent seasoned with a little Cintran.
She smiled and asked that they would "S'il-vous-plait, we can't speak of this here, follow me to the maison." the woman then turned and quickly walked away, leading them up the dirt path. None of the trio spoke on the short walk, in perfect silence as they passed rows of grape vines and batches of sunflowers. Then they went by a few huts and a stable, the dirt path then changed to cobblestones. The group ignored all the workers and the red storehouse.
The woman leading them spoke once they reached a stone fountain, "Voilà la maison, come in." she said, while she ushered Jon and Ciri into the red-painted house with a blue turret.
Walking in, the first thing that came to her mind was how ordinary the interior was. The floor was a dark, lightly varnished, wood. The tables and chairs were all of simple design, yet still tasteful. Plaster painted over with a soft cream colour covered the walls. The ceiling, which most likely served as the second floor as well, was supported by slightly curved wooden beams.
"This way." the woman instructed, as she went around the long dining table and to yet another door. Ciri felt her annoyance grow, all this discretion getting on her nerves, but she still followed. Jon's feet thumbing right behind her.
She led the pair into the turret, which had a matching interior to the main building, and up the spiral staircase in the corner. They passed two levels before reaching the top. "Je les ai amené, Madame Coronata." the woman said, curtsying to the well-dressed older woman sitting behind a heavy desk. Right under a small window.
"Merci, Mireille." she said and the blue wearing woman, Mireille, walked past them. Then down the stairs.
"Please, sit." the woman said, gesturing to the two chairs in front of her. Ciri did, but as usual Jon chose to remain standing for the impending discussion. A decision the woman arched her brow to, but said nothing about.
"Introductions, shall we?" the highborn woman suggested.
As usual, Ciri took control of the discussion, lest Jon start kissing hands and unintentionally frothing loins. She first pointed to herself, "Ciri," then her partner, "Jon." and finished with their profession, "Witchers."
"Adrienne Coronata, owner of this vineyard. Which I inherited from my father." she paused for a moment, then asked, "I must ask, why would a pair of 'witchers' come for my contract?".
Doubt, good. Ciri let a smirk pull at her lips and said, "Let me answer your question, with one of my own. What happened to the others, the ones who came here before us?".
Adrienne frowned, "They came to meet me, asked some questions, took their advance and left." she told her.
"But what happened to them?" the huntress asked leadingly.
"They must have run off with my coin." the Lady said dismissively, but with a hint unease.
"Why would they? There's little risk on this contract, you must simply follow him at night. The ones you hired before us didn't run... they were killed by whatever haunts your husband." Ciri said, admittedly she was playing it up a bit. They could have just run with the coin, but it was unlikely. Besides, fear and ignorance were good business.
Regardless of Ciri's hyperbole, her words had the desired effect. Adrienne paled, "Then what will you do?" she asked, her hand pressed to her heart.
"The same as the others. Lie in wait, then follow your husband until he meets with the beast and then drive it away or kill it." she answered, then added that "You will have to pay us a higher advance of course, since this is now a monster slaying contract.".
"Oui, bien sure" the noble said, flustered enough to revert to her native tongue. Adrienne opened one of her desk's drawers and pulled out two small leather bags full of coins. "Here, double the advance. Do what you must." she finished, putting the bags down with a handful of clinks.
Ciri took them and stood, then quickly turned around to hide her wide grin. "It'll be done by sunrise." she promised, letting none of her mirth reach her voice.
Ciri stood up on her toes and looked over the wall, glaring at the back door of the house they had left more than eight hours ago. The sun had long since set and the full moon hung high in the sky. She was about to sit back down and cuddle her Jon again, when she saw the door ease open.
"Jon, he's here!" she whispered, and he pulled himself up to look at the door. They both watched as a tall, middle-aged man snuck out from the darkness of the threshold and then followed the dirt path to their left.
The pair waited until he neared the crossroad. Then, once he turned right, they followed. The hunters' trained feet were silent on the dirt path, the only sound was the soft jingle of their mail, but even Ciri could barely hear it.
They followed the man as he passed the estate and went through the rows of grapevines. Eventually, he entered a forest. So, Jon and Ciri had to close some of the distance, lest they lose sight of the man.
Soon, the witchers followed the man to a clearing with a small, decrepit old shack. He stood there a moment, then a shadow emerged from the building. All Ciri could see of it was its long, hooded cloak.
The shrouded figure neared the man and pulled down the hood, revealing a head of dark curls and an elegant face. The woman caressed the man's cheek and pulled him close. Ciri was expecting an embrace, but then woman opened her mouth wide, revealing long fangs. That she sunk into the base of the man's neck.
The witcheress would have jumped out then and there to rescue the man, but Jon's hand on her shoulder stopped her. Reminded her of what would happen if she went now, the beast would panic and the man would most certainly die.
So, she stayed and watched, studying the creature. Trying to see whether it was a higher vampire, an Alp, a Mula or a Bruxa. It wasn't a Mula, those only lived in mountains. Probably not a Higher, due to their rarity. Ciri concluded that it was either an Alp or a Bruxa, she only had to wait to see if it sung after feeding.
It didn't take long for the vampire to drink its fill. It finished and then licked to wound to promote healing, the beast's saliva patching the twin holes. They both waited a moment, and when it was clear the beast wouldn't sing. The witchers approached it.
Jon tried to speak to it, but before he could Ciri saw the Alp take a deep breath and heard an ear-piercing screech. The source of the shockwaves was far away, but the power nearly pushed her off her feet, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jon pushed back a step.
Ciri ripped her sword from its sheath as soon as her balance returned. She heard Jon do the same with his dirk. She ran at the beast first, Jon a long way behind her, and attacked. Her sword flashed in the moonlight, going as quick as she could swing it, but the Alp dodged each strike with ease.
As she rained steel upon the beast, the Alp would occasionally get in a blow. Its long, sharp claws sent sparks when they slashed at her plate or made the rings of her mail burst as they ripped into her gambeson. Then, clearly irritated, the Alp jumped back and Ciri saw the muscles in its legs tensing, its arms pulled to its side.
The Alp pounced and Ciri quickly rolled to the side, then watched as one of Jon's silver throwing knifes buried itself in the beast's shoulder and sliced through the joint. Ciri heard the flesh around the blade sizzle as the left arm was quickly rendering limp and useless.
Ciri grinned and, before Jon could reach it, she threw herself at the Alp. Her sword moved just as fast as before and due to the Alp's ruined balance, it could no longer dodge fast enough to avoid her strikes. So, this time she sliced away at the beast. Cutting through the defined muscles in its legs, arms, and abdomen, the Alp's blood following the arch of her blade.
Her steel wasn't doing near as much damage as silver would, but the sheer number of cuts and stabs was enough to make up for the difference.
As Ciri prepared for another quick thrust, she saw a perfect opening. A straight path for her sword that led right to the beast's thin neck. She quickly capitalised on this and sent the tip of her sword, she only just heard Jon yell a warning.
She looked up from her target, at the Alp's face, and saw that it had prepared another sonic blast. The mouth was wide open, fangs gleaming, and its throat was tensed. Ciri's eyes widened as the scream started, the high-pitched telltale whine that always came before the boom
This close to it, the attack would at worst kill her and at best render her deaf. Just as the whine reached its apex, Ciri closed her eyes and waited. Yet nothing came except the wet sound of a blade piercing flesh. She opened her eyes to see Jon's dirk stabbed through the Alp's open mouth.
Ciri turned her head to the side and saw Jon's lightly frowning face, "You shouldn't be so reckless." he said. She noticed that the light of the full moon turned his silver eyes into a bright white.
"Sorry Jon, I'll be more careful next time... but I knew you had my back." she told him, following up with a quick kiss to his cheek.
He sighed and smiled that small smile of his. Then ripped his dirk from the Alp's skull, letting the corpse fall to the ground.
She pulled out her old hunting knife, the one Jon gifted her years ago, and got to work relieving the Alp's shoulders of their burden. Once she was done and the head held by the meat hook on her waist, Gwyn came down from his perch on one of the trees to eat the corpse. While Jon threw the blood drained, but still living, husband over his shoulder.
"Let's bring these to the vineyard, get our coin and find an inn with good beds." she said salaciously.
Jon hummed his agreement, clearly trying to ignore his blush, and the pair left. Leaving the near-completely blue eagle alone in the clearing to enjoy his meal.
POV Jon, Three weeks later
Jon and Ciri walked side-by-side, hand-in-hand down one of Beauclair's many streets. Ciri hummed the song the bard had sung as they left the inn the pair had been boarding in for the past few weeks. Though most of their nights had little sleep.
"A winter's day and winter's night!" a man, surrounded by easels and smelling of paint thinner, called to them.
Ciri halted and turned to the man, "Ciri and Jon, what do you need?" she asked, crossing her arms. The man walked closer to them, he was dressed in the typical Beauclair fashion with lenses over his eyes and paint smearing his tunic.
"The dichotomy: dark and reserved, light and loud! The sharpness of features! The ruggedness of dress!" he gushed, looking them both up and down.
"Are you going to ask for something? Or keep pointing out our attributes?" Ciri asked, her voice filled with confusion.
"I admire, good madam. Admire and desire, Such strength in the eyes. Stunning!" the man said.
"Explain yourself, painter." Jon threatened, putting himself a half-step in front of Ciri.
The artist answered smoothly, unperturbed by the warning in his voice. "A portrait, you both must pose for me! You'll of course be paid for the modeling service."
Jon looked to Ciri, and saw the expectant look in her eyes. He sighed, then nodded. "Well do it!" she said, sporting the same smile most women would if asked to model.
"Excellent! Please, come into my atelier. I shall find the perfect setting to paint a perfect portrait of your perfectly contrasting selves." he said, leading them to a door near the easels. Which he opened for them and then proceeded to usher the hunters in.
The atelier was dark, most of the windows bore heavy drapes that blocked out the afternoon sun and there were few candles. The painter walked in after them, then went around. He started leading them further in, mumbling as he did so and waving his arms at the first few doors they passed. The artist eventually stopped at one, "Let us try this set." he said, opening the oak door.
Ciri walked in first, then Jon and finally the painter. It was a small room, only enough space for a few people. One wall was covered with light grey slate and the three others with dark oak, the only light was a small, bright candle off to the side. "Yes, the stone shall do nicely. Complements the sir's eyes. The low light adds a sense of rural comfort." the painter said, looking at them through a square he made with his finger.
"Please wait here, I shall fetch my tools. Try different poses while I am gone." he said, before he quickly left the room.
Jon looked to Ciri, who was sporting an impish grin. He sighed and let her hands take control of his body.
The painter walked in twenty minutes later. Ciri had pulled, pushed and prodded him into dozens of different poses, most of which were terrible and the rest almost physically impossible. "I can't think of the right one, painter." Ciri told the man.
He quickly told them to "Do whatever feel most natural.", like he had said the same many, many times before.
The huntress nodded and worried at her thumbnail. Then Jon had had an idea, he grabbed Ciri by the waist and pulled her against his side. She stopped biting her nail and rested her hand on his chest, the other on his lower back. "There." Jon said and adjusted them to face the artist.
"Excellent!" the painter said as he put down the easel and gingerly placed the canvas onto the wooden stand. The painter pulled one of the many brushes from his belt and took up his pallet. "Let us get started, then.".
_ 6 hours later
"Are you done yet?" Ciri huffed in annoyance, Jon felt the same.
"I have the broad strokes of each of your likenesses and the majority of the details, but it will still take many hours to complete." the painter explained. "But I can finish on my own." he continued.
Ciri slumped at his words and sighed in relief, Jon almost doing the same. They untangled themselves and quickly left the room with the artist following. Once the group left the atelier, the painter told them to "Come back tomorrow. I shall display it alongside the others.".
Jon and Ciri left without another word, too tired from standing, and headed back to the inn.
_ The next day
Jon followed Ciri as she pushed her way through the crowd. His dread grew as some of the women who had seen the painting looked at him longingly and the men gave him approving looks. Ciri quickly made it to the painting and gasped, prompting Jon to panic slightly and join her there all the faster.
His teeth were clenched and eyes narrow in worry as the last woman blocking his view moved out of the way. Then he relaxed.
The painting wasn't anything odd or revealing like he was beginning to suspect. It was simply a portrait, much like any other. Though it did cut off at Ciri's waist. The painted Jon and Ciri had the same expressions and pose as the real ones had when they were modeling. The only difference was their clothes and accessories.
Their swords were painted away, as was their armour and other weapons. Jon's heavy plates and mail-covered gambeson was replaced by a smooth, long-sleeved black doublet with silver accents. Ciri wore a formal gown of the same design, but without sleeves.
"I love it!" his love cried, "Jon! We have to buy it." she told him. He couldn't see why not, so he turned to the painter. Who was standing proud right next to the framed canvas. The artist quickly gave them a price, "I would usually sell this for 1200 Florens, but for you... I shall make a discount.".
"You didn't pay us yesterday..." His huntress warned.
"Then I will deduct it from the price, 700 Florens." he said, completely undaunted.
Ciri grumbled, but nodded and Jon paid the man. The second the bag of coins landed in the painter's hands, Ciri snatched up the portrait and walked away. Jon followed right behind, wondering where they were going to put it.
POV Neutral
The six members of Geralt's company sat around their hissing and crackling camp fire. The flickering light making some faces enticing... and others frightening. Everyone was silent, their eyes boring into the flames and hands holding their cloaks tight against themselves.
The rain around them fell hard, soaking through their clothes and making everyone miserable. Regis knew this, so he had a suggestion for the group. To distract everyone from their environs, "Would anyone like to hear a story, from a very long time ago?" he asked the group.
They were all intrigued. For all of them knew what Regis was, a higher vampire that is, and that he'd lived around four centuries. Plenty of time to learn or experience a number of interesting tales. So, the group all turned to him and Dandelion pulled out his note book, which he had protected in a leather pouch in his cloak.
Regis pulled out a flask, full of mandrake distillate, and took a nip, "A long time ago, before any of you, or even your parents, were born. A man brought his sweaty and feverish brother into my recently opened clinic. He said that he had been like that for days, when they finally decided to see a healer." the vampire started slowly, then faster and surer as he went. "I had the man bring his brother to one of my tables in the back room and lie him down. As I diagnosed his brother, I asked a series of questions: when did he start feeling ill, what else he was feeling. Then I came upon a bandaged wound on one of his fingers. The flesh around it was red, swollen and hot to the touch. I asked how he got it." Regis paused to sigh, "His brother had nearly cut his smallest finger off with a rusty scythe. I chose not to ask further." he took another small sip from his flask, then continued.
"The wound was heavily infected, so I removed the bandages and inspected the wound. It had turned green around the cut, the flesh inside was black. I was surprised not to find maggots. Had they waited a day or two longer it would be too late for him. I told the man I had to amputate the finger and some of the hand, and that I needed him to leave. He did and I quickly removed his brother's rotting finger, along with the knuckle to be safe.". And bled him into a vial, so I could get drunk later. Despite the past success, the vampire had a sad look in his black eyes, "I cleaned and cauterized the stump, then bandaged it."
He lifted his flask and said "The first human life I ever saved." then drank again. One I took years later, when the thirst was far too great.
Regis was about to screw the cap back on, when Geralt reached out to him, "I guess I'm next." the witcher said. The vampire passed him the flask and Geralt took a mouthful.
"Last winter, in Kear Morhen, I entered the keep to the sound of drunken laughter. I followed it to the hearth, where I found Eskel and Jon, our only witcher in training, drunk off their asses next to a distillery. Turns out, Eskel was teaching Jon how to distill alcohol for potions, but the boy made a mistake and made potent vodka instead. Then, Eskel being Eskel, tried to cheer him up with a drinking contest." the witcher sighed, "The boy could barely stand when I found them and puked on my boots when Eskel and I helped him to bed." Geralt finished and lifted the flask saying, "The newest generation of witchers." then took a sip from the flask and passed it on.
The next member of the company to take up the drink was Milva, though she didn't drink any, "I was young when my brother died. Not even three days after, my father took me out to the woods for my first lesson. He tracked down a small group of deer, showing me how the whole way." the huntress had a small smile, which was both sad and warm at the same time.
"Once the herd was in our sight, he gave me my brother's first bow. It was a small thing, made from yew and with barely twenty-pounds of draw weight, but I was young then. My little arms couldn't even pull it quarter-way. My father chuckled at me then and when I made a fuss, he had me try again. As I pulled the second time, he reached from behind me and put his hands over mine. He helped me draw back, then we loosed the arrow together." her smile grew at the memory.
"We missed, by a lot. All he did was laugh and tell me 'That there girl, is why you don't start running before you can crawl.', we spent the rest of the day making rabbit traps." she finished and raised the flask.
"To my father." she said, taking the smallest of sips and passed it on to the Nilfgaard knight, Cahir.
"When I was a child," he started, "I was not allowed to play games, nor could I act as a child. My world was lessons on etiquette, warfare, language, maths and history. It was also training in weaponry and riding. The same as all Noble's children in Nilfgaard." he gulped down some of the liquor, then continued, "But one day a slave boy, who was the same age as me, asked if I wanted to play a game.".
The man gained a light smile, "I first I refused, I was a highborn Nilfgaardian and he a lowly slave. Then he asked again, and again, and again, until I finally said yes. If only to get him to stop.
He led me to the woods near my family's estate and told me to pick up a long, straight stick. I told him how foolish it was, but he insisted and I followed his instructions." Cahir gave a soft chuckle, sighed, then continued, "He got his own stick, then yelled that he was he was an elven warrior, I forget which. I again told him what I thought about this game, he insisted again until I gave up and claimed I was a great general of the Imperial Army. He fought until he inevitably lost, then changed our characters and fought again.".
Then Cahir's smile turned to a frown, "The house guard found us just before dusk and took us to my father, who scolded me severely.", And viciously punished Rouvel. His face clearly showed that the memory had turned sour. He took a heavy drink from the flask, then passed it on without another word.
Dandelion quickly put down his writing instruments and took the flask, holding it flamboyantly in his right hand. He was about to say something when Angoulême snatched the liquor from him, "We don't what to hear a shite made-up tale of you savin' a damsel. So, skip your turn!" she told the bard, to the group's silent agreement.
The girl downed the remaining spirit, "I don't have any bittersweet stories of my childhood like auntie, or funny ones 'bout recent time. That you all weren't there for anyway." she said, crossing her skinny arms. "I want to open an inn, bordello, or somethin' like that!" she said, puffing her chest.
To the surprise of all present, that was all she said. She even remained silent while she returned the flask to Regis. Then she laid down to sleep. This silent series of events led Geralt to suspect a dopler had taken Angoulême's place.
As the witcher thought over his suspicions, the rain slowly lessened, then stopped completely. Taking this as a good sign, the rest of the company each got comfortable and drifted off.
POV Robb, early 297
The first lady he asked to dance with was his mother, as usual. Then Sansa, who was then taken away by young heirs and second sons. The third was a Flint girl who he'd danced with last year. The fourth a Locke, who was introduced to him by her uncle three years ago.
Then he danced with Lyra Mormont, who asked after her sister Lyanna. Next was Alys Karstark who he'd met at nearly every harvest festival after being introduced to her by Lord Karstark, yet despite this she was still quiet and shy. After one dance, they separated and he danced with the older Manderley sister, Wynafryd. They dance two rounds, talking about her home of White Harbour, which he had wanted to visit again.
Once the conversation came to its natural end, they both moved on. Her to Daryn Hornwood and him to her sister Wylla. Who, for some reason, did not like him. She made this clear by glaring at him and stomping on his feet at every turn.
Thankfully for his toes, they only danced for one round and then found new partners. Hers was his brother Bran, she seemed to like him more. His new dance partner was one he didn't recognise.
She was tall, for one. As tall as he was, though she only seemed a year older than him. She had wildly curled brown hair, which was barely tamed by her thick braid, and laughing slate grey eyes. The hairs that managed to escape framed a heart-shaped face.
Only half a step into the dance, he asked for her name. "Why should I tell you?" she asked, playfully arching a brow.
"What would I call you if you don't? Pretty lady?" Robb asked teasingly.
Her resulting smile crinkled the corners of her eyes and revealed some of her white teeth. "Serena Umber." she told him. "Don't you forget it, Lord Robb."
"I will endeavor not to, Serena." he said, poking at her use of honorifics. To which she smiled again.
They danced in silence for a moment, then Robb tried a question, "Why haven't you come to the harvest festival before?".
"My father prefers that all his girls stay in Last Hearth." she said, the bridge of her cute button nose wrinkling in contempt.
"Yet he brought you this time?" he asked, eager to learn more.
"Aye, me and all my sisters." She said.
"How was the ride to Winterfell?" he asked, not quite knowing what to say.
"Not nearly as dangerous as father makes it out to be." she sighed, "We spent it all in a carriage though," she frowned and continued, "I wanted to ride, feel the wind in my hair."
"I could take you on the horses." he blurted out, he wanted to curse at himself, but pushed through. Trying to save it, he said they could go "Just outside of Winterfell, we could go to the Lonely Weirwood.".
"Lonely Weirwood?" she asked.
"Aye, the servants say it's where the children of the forest took my brother Jon away. Leaving a Weirwood tree in his place. I hear parents in Wintertown go there to pray for lost children." he explained sadly, he remembered little of his brother. The only thing he clearly remembered was their pretend games and some of their better pranks. He couldn't picture his face, but still somehow felt the same love for his lost brother.
She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Have your sisters truly been trained to fight?" she asked, changing the subject. Which he was thankful for.
"Only Arya and Lyanna Mormont, our foster sister, get a little training when Lady Maege visits." he said, while not admitting that they only could when his mother wasn't anywhere within ear-shot.
She sighed wistfully, "I wish my father was like Lord Stark and let me learn." she said softly.
"I could teach you." he said, not really thinking on his words.
"Really?" she asked, voice and expression filled with doubt.
"Aye, we'll spar in secret during our ride." he said with a conspiratorial smile.
She laughed, and Robb decided he wanted to hear it more, "I'll ring your head like a bell!" she boasted.
He was about to say more when he spotted an irritated Alyn waving him over, "I have to go." he told Serena, "My father has sent for me.". She nodded and let him go on the edge of the danse floor.
Once Robb reached him, Alyn said that "Your father wants to see you in his solar.".
"Thank you, Alyn." he said and quickly left the hall. His father's solar was close to the great hall, so the walk was short.
Robb nodded to the guards and one of them knocked on the door. "Your son Robb is here, Lord Stark.", he said.
"Send him in, Ben." Lord Stark's voice answered.
Ben nodded to him and Robb opened the door, and closed it behind him gently. Once his father offered it, he sat in one of the chairs.
"How was the rest of the feast, Robb?" his father asked, putting down his quill and looking at him with sad eyes.
"It went well, father." he said, slightly confused.
"Who did you dance with? What were they like?" his father asked, not unkindly.
Admittedly, Robb was rather confused at his father's interest, but chose not to voice it. He simply listed of the various ladies, along with a brief overview of their conversations. Until he reached Serena. Robb told his father of their conversation in some detail and as he spoke, his father's gaze... changed. Robb had never seen this look on his father before, so he didn't know what it meant.
"... then I saw Alyn and told me you wanted to see me." he finished.
His father nodded and said that "You may return to the feast, Robb.", dismissing him.
That's it?
Robb stood from the chair, thoroughly confused, and left the solar. As he passed Ben, he heard his father call for the guard. "Bring me Lord Umber." he heard his father command.
POV Ned
As the sound of Ben's footsteps grew fainter, Eddard read over the letter he received from Robert a month ago. It was the first his foster brother had sent him in... years. The penmanship was poor and there were few words, but some were troubling.
Jon's managed to get the wine away from me, Ned! He said I couldn't play with Aly if I drank beforehand and for a week now it's been working. Anyway, the reason I'm writing is to warn you. Something's coming, Ned. Another war. I don't know when, I don't who we'll be fighting, but it's coming. The feeling's back, just like before the last two, and it's worse this time.
Ned had made his decision, no going back now. So, he crumpled the letter and threw it into his hearth. I'm sorry, my son, this is the best I can do for you.
He soon heard a knock on the door, "Lord Stark, Lord Umber here to speak with you." Ben called.
"Send him in." he ordered.
POV Robb, The next day
It was the third day of the Harvest Festival, and all the Lords of The North were seated in the great hall with the family members they had brought with them, most of which were women and girls. On the high table, Robb sat to his father's right and Bran to Robb's. To father's left was mother, who was holding his youngest brother Rickon. To her left was Sansa, prim and proper, then Arya, who's hair was already tangled. Much to his mother's silent, embarrassed anger.
Once all the food arrived, his father stood and the room silenced. "My Lords and Ladies of the North, before we eat, I have an announcement to make. The betrothal between my son and heir, Robb, and the lady Serena Umber. To be wed shortly after the lady's sixteenth nameday." his father said, his words short and to the point, his tone even and commanding.
Roob's mind went blank at his father's words, he barely noticed his mother's pinched lips, Sansa's excitement or Arya's sullen expression. He only came to his senses went GreatJon yelled in triumph and laughed at the lords closest to him, Lords Karstark and Manderley among them. Robb's eyes quickly searched the hall and found Serena's. Her slate grey eyes were wide with shock, her jaw slack.
"My Lords!" his father called, hand up for their silence. They quickly gave it. "That is not all. I have decided, that in hopes they will know each other, Lady Serena will spend the next year here in Winterfell before her and my son's wedding." he announced.
The men in the hall all lifted their mugs and horns of ale, then toasted to his health, his father's and his now betrothed.
All Robb could do was smile and nod.