Chapter 16: Assault on Stygga Castle
POV Ciri, 1268 April 1 st
As Ciri focused her magic, she thought only of another adventure and otherwise let her thoughts wander. Then, sudden as a bolt of lightning, the space before her shattered like glass in the general shape of an oval. Then the centermost shards slowly changed colours.
The witcheress, through the thin yet wide slit that was her helm's visor, saw the world across her looking glass. The glass sat on a dull grey plateau that, in the distance, grew into great mountains with sharp peaks that bit into the sky. That sight alone intrigued the huntress, but it's what laid between her glass and the mountains that took her attention.
Boats, dozens of them, if not hundreds. All in various positions and states of decay on their stone mantles. Some were whole and laying on their side, seeming as though it would sail just fine if you merely put them back into deep waters... and cleared away the skeletons.
Others rested mast down with only their ribs remaining. One caravel was nigh perfect condition, placed perfectly on its stern and standing in defiance of everything even near common sense.
She smiled behind her faceplate. This is the one.
Ciri looked over to her Jon, and couldn't help admiring his armour. How could she not? They had chosen each addition together after all. They had to replace his gauntlets, the old ones having fallen apart soon after they left the second world they visited. In the third world, he had taken wounds on his thigh and hip, prompting them to expand his tassets. They had also added rerebraces to his upper arms. Finally, the most recent addition, a helm. Which, in hind sight, they should have gotten sooner. It was a strange yet functionable helm, at its base it was a barbute, but the ocularium and vent-tail came together into a thin T. It also sported a short steel crest and fixed visor.
They had added the very same pieces to Ciri's armour as well. Though where Jon's armour was dark grey steel and evergreen coloured gambeson, hers was light grey plate, nearly white, and sea-green gambeson.
"I've found a good one, Jon!" she said joyfully, happy to leave the rather depressing world they were currently in. Where the land was infested by an undead curse.
"Good." Karra said, her tone betraying nothing. As usual.
The witcheress looked to the she-elf, and pouted at her choice of apparel. Unlike Ciri and her Jon, the ex-Navigator wore no plate and bore no helm. She wore only a stylized gambeson riding dress, hardened leather vambraces, and high-quality riding boots. All under a hooded red cloak.
Jon walked over to the witcheress, and peered through her looking glass. He gazed for a moment, then looked back at her, then the stone sea full of dead ships, then back at her, he sighed and nodded.
She grinned and bumped her hip on his thigh. He hummed, and walked through the glass. The broken space shattered even further when the witcher walked through, several shards being pushed into the other world and left hanging in the air. His axe, still nameless, chipped at the top of the portal. In the first world they visited they had a leather strap added to the axe, allowing Jon to simply sling it over his shoulder.
Behind her, Karra stuffed the last of their few possessions into a large satchel hanging from her shoulder. Since the unicorns left them, Xàcome and Sgothax having separating from them at a moor with two moon and Little Horse having left much later, and all the worlds they visited having a distinct lack of equines, they had to carry everything. This job typically fell on Karra, who had the lightest load. It also made her rather grumpy by the end of the day, for her at least.
Ciri let the elf pass her by and join Jon on the other side. The witcheress took one last look at the ancient and crumbling shrine. She smiled, fiddling with the hilt of her silver sword, then went through the looking glass.
Having just healed the rift in space and time, Ciri pulled off her helm and let her long, fishtail braid fall between her shoulder blades. She took a deep breath through her nose and reveled in the lack of rot smell in the air.
The witcheress turned to her companions, and found neither were doing the same. Her Jon hadn't even removed his helm.
They weren't even giving their clearly interesting surroundings more than a glance. Even then, Ciri suspected it was only for safety's sake.
Jon was more interested in an An Craite longship that was kept upright by the stone waves it was wedged between. Its mast was cracked and the rigging was tangled something fierce, though it did look like something was cut free of them.
Karra on the other hand, merely sat on a middling stone while she sketched in her leatherbound notebook. The notebook was something that could always be seen on the elf's person, ever since Ciri and Jon had had it made for her in the second world they had visited. It was the first time the pair had seen the woman smile.
Ciri had yet to see the contents of the book, no matter how hard she tried to sneak a peek.
She was about to pull her newest attempt, when she saw it. A great big castle, that was seemingly deserted, built on and into an enormous cliffside. It entrapped her complete attention in an instant, she simply had to explore it. For all she knew, there could be a greedy fire dragon holding all sorts of treasures, or a magic sword that would sing and make her tea.
But first, she approached the she-elf, who looked up from her mysterious book as Ciri neared. "Karra, you and Jon should set camp here. Maybe in one of the ships?" she suggested, looking to a few likely candidates.
Karra nodded her understanding and asked "And what will you be doing." making it clear it was no true question. Though it was difficult to read the elf, one could do it with enough practise. It was all in the speed of her actions and words.
"Forage for food!" Ciri answered, her most convincing smile in place.
The she-elf stared at her, unmoving. Then, slowly, she turned to look at the great castle in the near distance. She gazed a short moment, before turning back to Ciri. "Do try not to take too long, Jon will worry and then follow." she paused, and glanced at the longship, "I would give you about an hour." the older woman finished.
The witcheress smiled and turned on her heel. Then strolled happily towards the cliffside.
It took some time, but eventually Ciri made it to the castle's large gate. She tried pushing them open, but found it blocked, so she started looking for any hand holds that would help her climb over.
Then, suddenly, a voice called out from up high, "Yu dawn d'eir! Who ar yu!" the voice cried, in an outrageous accent.
"I am Witcher Ciri!" she answered truthfully, for a reason she didn't quite know. "I'm here to explore this castle!" she finished.
"Expleor le Castel!" an armoured man suddenly popped up between the crenelations, "Preporterius! Yu little Polish type!" he yelled, then licked his lips strangely.
"What?!" she yelled back.
"Yu herd me, Ciri witcher! Yu empte heded animal troth wiper. I fart in yur general direction! Yur moder was a hamster and yur fader smelled of elderberries!" He yelled down to her, before, once again, licking his lips strangely.
"I- Is there someone else I can talk to?" she asked, growing tired of the man's oddness. No matter how amusing it was.
"No, now go away or I shall taunt yu a second time!" seemingly satisfied, the man set himself once again to licking his lips.
The witcheress was about to start threatening the man, when a wooden club smashed against his helm and he disappeared behind the crenelations.
A few silent moments later, a scraping sound came from beyond the wooden gate and it creaked open. A man in studded brigandine then strode out of the castle, stopping only a few short feet from the witcheress. "Madam Witcher," he greeted with a bow, "I must apologise for my comrade's words. He has been that way for some time now." the, thankfully sane, man paused. "Though, I must ask for your purpose in coming here." he finished.
"As I told your... comrade, I simply came here to explore what I thought was an abandoned castle." Ciri informed him, using her business voice.
"For all that may be true, you do see how suspicious it is?" at her understanding nod, he continued. "In light of that, I must take you to the master of this castle. So that he can make the decision of letting you stay or not." he said, his voice calm and slightly pleading.
Ciri thought it over. She'd rather not meet the master of the castle, but then again... she just had to know more. It could be a trap, though even if it was, she could simply escape through her looking glass. The costs and benefits weighed, the witcheress made her decision.
She gestured towards the gate and started walking forward, the man's relief clearly visible on his face as he moved out of the way.
Ciri quickly passed the gates, the armoured man right behind her, and they closed with a rather ominous thump. She didn't worry, if it came to the worst she could still easily escape.
The man led her across the yard, but as he quickened past her to open the door... a voice sounded from behind them.
"Finally, you're here. You are rather late, splendid one." it said, while the man leading her trembled and fell to one knee.
Knowing a villainous voice when she heard one, the witcheress turned slowly as she readied her looking glass and focused her thoughts on her Jon.
Then she saw him, his clothes were well made and of good fabric, his face wasn't the most grotesque thing she's seen and his small eye, which seemed like it was trying to grow back, was only a little eerie. But still, something made her freeze in fear. Without wondering on what it was, she launched her magic, but it somehow felt slower than it should and when she made to run into it... there was only a small crack. Barely enough to tell it was there.
Then some force pinned her arms to her sides and flung her through the air, only to suddenly stop in front of the villainous man.
"No no. None of that, splendid one." he tsked, waving a finger. "A guest shouldn't try to leave so rudely. Ah! But where are my manners? I haven't introduced myself." he said, his tone both patronising and threatening.
"My name is Vilgerfortz and this is my castle." his smile practically forced her to sneer.
POV Geralt
Geralt, Milva and Cahir, his winged black helm in his hands, crouched side-by-side behind a ridge, staring at Stygga Castle's front gate, while Angoulême laid back against another stony ridge cleaning her teeth with her nails. Regis simply sat cross-legged and fiddled with some metal trinket.
The white-haired witcher was about to ask the vampire to go ahead and get the gate open, when the wind shifted. With it came two smells, it only took Geralt a moment to recognise one of them. It was Jon, and he was close.
"Urgh." Angoulême groaned, "What are we fuckin' waiting for? Winter?" she complained, clearly tired of waiting for the past half-hour for Geralt to form a plan.
"Allies, we're waiting for allies." the witcher told her, turning away from his view of the castle and looking behind her.
Just as the girl was about to say something, a male voice sounded from behind her, making her jump up and spin around.
"Gera-"
"Who the hell are you!" she demanded, resting her hands on her blades' pommels.
Two figures stood on the ridge, one was tall, heavily armed and armoured in dark steel. The other only made it to the first's shoulder, it was clearly a she-elf, a young one by the smell. She was dressed in a hooded red cloak over a matching gambeson riding dress. Her blond hair cut along her jaw, eyes betraying naught but intelligence.
The larger figure brought his hands up to his helm and slowly removed it, revealing a face that the white-haired witcher hadn't seen in years.
Jon had changed greatly from that mature boy he had last seen, he looked hardened, he looked a man. His hair was shoulder length and tied back in a style that reminded Geralt of Vesemir's. He was as handsome as Eskel had betted he'd become, even with the thin scars that ran along his cheekbone and through his eyebrow. Though the feature that struck Geralt the most his eyes. Unlike usual yellow witcher's eyes, they were silver.
The young witcher looked down to Angoulême, and the older witcher managed to see a brief flash of recognition in his eyes. "My name is Jon, this is Karra." Jon answered, the elf giving a nod to the company at her name.
"As I was saying, it's been a long time, Geralt."
"Yes, it truly has... you've... grown." the white-haired witcher said awkwardly, he'd never truly known how to speak with Jon. They had never truly connected.
"Aye, I have." he said softly, then shifted his silver gaze to the rest of the company.
Geralt took the out and introduced his companions. "Regis, Cahir, Milva and Angoulême. Meet Jon, Eskel's ward."
"A pleasure to meet you, Jon." the vampire said, to which the young man gave a polite nod.
Cahir merely bowed his head slightly, a strange look in his eye.
Milva looked never even looked back, still focused on the castle.
Angoulême side-eyed both elf and witcher, before huffing and crossing her arms.
The older witcher turned his attention back to Jon, "What are you doing here, Jon? No towns with notice boards within ten miles of here." he asked the young man, genuinely curious.
"The three of us, Ciri, Karra and I were... traveling together. Until we were recently separated." Jon said, glancing accusingly at the elf. Then continued, "Knowing Ciri, the large castle was her most likely goal." he finished.
Geralt saw that many had their own questions for the young witcher, but his stance and gaze made it clear they would get no answers.
"What are you all here for, Geralt?" Jon asked after a moment.
"We are here to rescue Yen and Ciri." the older witcher answered.
"How did you know? We were separated from her not even an hour ago." the young witcher asked, again glancing accusingly at the elf.
"Prophetic dreams." he explained.
"I see, I have heard of those." the younger witcher allowed. "Very well, let's go then." Jon said, starting to walk away as he did so.
Geralt barely noticed Regis put away whatever he was fiddling with as he stood, "I suppose that's my cue to get the gate open then?" then vampire asked rhetorically, as he slowly turned into mist.
The rest of the company mounted their nearby horses, then rode for the castle.
They rushed through the open gate like a whirlwind, cutting down any man they came across until there was only one. "Leave him, Cahir." he told the knight, who acquiesced and put down his blade. "Let's save time and blood." he explained.
Geralt then turned from Cahir, "Milva, Regis, that way-" he started, when the spared man spoke up.
"No..." he mumbled, "Not that way... That's only a dead end. Your way is up there, up that staircase... To the upper castle. If you wish to rescue the girl... then you must hurry." it was then Jon and the elf entered the yard, only now catching up on foot.
He thanked the man, then told the others to follow his words and start their assault in earnest.
Cahir ran up the stairs, two steps at a time, and kicked in the door on the landing. As he stepped back into his balance, Angoulême leapt through the doorway and attacked an armoured figure that stood beside it.
The swing of her saber was swift and caught just under the greathelm. The steel flew off, revealing a wooden stick and that the figure Angoulême thought a guard was only an armour stand.
Realising her mistake, the girl burst out a few laughs. "Look at that-" she started loudly.
Geralt quickly stopped any of her shenanigans, "Angoulême! Don't just stand there go on." he said, spurring her onwards.
They ran through the hall. Then suddenly, on their left, a door slammed open. Without hesitation, Milva loosed an arrow before anyone else even reacted. There was a pained scream, shouts of fearful surprise and the door slammed closed. The sound of the bolt thudding soon followed.
Everyone stopped, prompting a quiet growl from the back, most likely Jon, and Geralt to say "Go on! Go on!".
"Witcher, this running is senseless. I'll go off... I'll fly off and do some reconnaissance." Regis said.
"Fly then." Geralt replied and he did, taking off as if he was simply blown away by the wind.
The rest of the group rushed through the many hallways and rooms, until they rounded into a large hall filled with statues and other artwork. Only twenty paces separated them from a balcony on the other side of the room.
Suddenly, men popped up from behind the gallery's balustrade. More than half of them holding bows.
"Take cover!" the witcher yelled, as arrows started whistling towards them.
The projectiles hit everything from the mouldings on the walls, to the stone floor. Sending into the air clouds of dust and sparks where they struck.
"Get down! Behind the balustrade!" he cried, as he ran from the archer filled balcony, leapt over the railing and hid behind the squat pillars. The others quickly followed him, but not unscathed. Cahir took an arrow to the back of his knee as he vaulted and Angoulême had one go through her arm.
"Angoulême!" the witcher said, far more worried over the smaller girl than the knight who had already snaped off the arrow's shaft.
"It's nothing! It passed through muscle!" she shouted back at him, snapping off the bodkin arrowhead and pulling the shaft out of her arm.
The archers loosed their arrows individually, so that there was always an arrow in the air. Some shouted for reinforcements and others moved to the side for a better angle.
Geralt was about the shout that they run for it, when he saw Jon stand and the two large skins tied to his hips tear apart. The water inside had frozen into perfectly clear, violently jagged orbs of ice. They flew to the flanking archers on both sides, smashing one man's head like a hammer does an egg and tearing another's arm off at the shoulder.
The archers quickly focused their aim on the young witcher, only for most to miss and the few who didn't had their shots deflected by his plate armour. Even the gambeson didn't catch them, but deflected as well. With a small, barely noticeable glow. Even if he had taken a cat potion, Geralt thought that he'd only just see the colour.
Not to be outdone, Milva stood as well and loosed her own arrows. Killing the men one at a time, yet faster than Jon's frightfully quick but ungainly ice.
They both stood there, still as statues. An iron sentinel and a marble amazon. One archer's chest caved in and his back smashed against the wall, while another was pinned to the man behind him by an arrow through the neck.
The men started to hide behind any cover they could find, but Jon's ice only went from breaking men to shattering the stone they hid behind. Leaving them vulnerable to Milva's deadly marksmanship.
As their fellows were brutally killed one after another the more cowardly, or pragmatic, men fled. Retreating through any doorway they could find. Eventually they all ran, until only the bravest, or dimmest, remained.
Once their numbers dwindled to three, one got a lucky shot. The unhardened iron of the bodkin tipped arrow struck Jon in the forehead, the force jerking his head back even as it made no mark on the dark steel. The blow also seemed to make the young witcher lose his magical grip on one of the orbs.
Jon stumbled and his remaining ice slowed. As he recovered, Milva took up the slack.
She quickly killed the left-most man, letting him fall over the railing, howling the whole way down to the floor. Where his brains painted the grey stone pink.
The right-most man ran at the sight, leaving only one. The huntress seemed to measure him with a glance. He was slim, short, and swarthy. He drew his bow slowly and aimed with great care. Milva drew hers quickly as she raised it.
They loosed at nearly the same time, Milva's arrow later yet quicker. It sunk deep into the pit of the swarthy man's still raised arm and killed him quickly. The man's arrow has released earlier, but traveled slightly slower and flew for the huntress' belly.
Geralt reached for her the moment she let go of her bowstring, but he was too slow and too far away. Time seemed to slow as the red fletched arrow neared. Then, when it seemed only a foot away, the archer was swiftly pushed into him, and time returned to its proper pace.
His relief didn't stop him from hearing Jon's light, yet slightly shaky pants. Geralt looked at the younger witcher and saw him with both hands on top of the balustrade. He was quickly reminded of how prolonged use of cryomancy tired him.
Milva stood and patted herself down, then thanked Jon quietly. The older witcher went to speak to the younger, but then a black mist approached and quickly coalesced into Regis. "Ciri says you're to be on your guard." he quickly said.
"What?"
"You're to be on your guard." the vampire repeated, looking at Cahir's knee, Angoulême's upper arm and the slew of corpses nearby. "Because Vilgerfortz is a powerful mage. Meanwhile, she's setting Yennefer free." he continued.
"Fuck" the witcher, the white-haired one, cursed.
"Let's go!" Angouleme shouted, "Let's go kick some fuckin' ass, can't let those two have all the fun!" she said, smiling. The girl's yell attracting everyone's attention and prompting Jon to stand up straight.
"I find such strength inside me that I could probably lay waste to this entire castle." the vampire hissed and smiled, his gleaming fangs having grown larger and made his smile a gruesome thing.
Which earned him a suspicious glance from Geralt.
"Don't go that far, but force your way through the upper floor and make a bit of a racket to draw their attention away from me. I'll go try to find Ciri. It wasn't good, it wasn't good, vampire, that you left her alone." the witcher said.
"She demanded it, using a tone and attitude that ruled out any discussion. She astonished me, I'll admit." Regis replied calmly.
"I know. Go to the upper floor. Look after yourselves! I'll try to find her. Her, or Yennefer." Geralt said, and the group separated.
The group had split into three; Regis, who was surely mid-rampage at this very moment: Cahir, Angoulême and Karra, running through the southern halls: Geralt, Jon and Milva, searching the northern ones.
The older witcher was taking the lead, the younger the rear and the archer between them.
In their search, they didn't run into many men and those they did either ran away or died rather quickly. That all changed when they entered what seemed to be a dining hall. All the long wooden tables were on their sides and pushed against the walls, with only a small gap on the right and left sides. The open floor of the hall stretched end to end and was only wide enough for four men to walk abreast. Across from the trio, were about twenty men with various types of arms and armours.
"Geralt, make for the exit on the right." Jon said, quiet and determined.
"Aye, go find them Geralt. We'll deal with this lot." Milva added.
The white-haired witcher looked at them, for only a second, before nodding.
The trio sprinted forward and whipped to the right the very moment they could. Geralt smashed through the door, ripping the old oak planks from the rusted iron hinges. He only looked back once and he saw that Jon was a sentinel once more, his axe raised high and ready. Milva stood a few feet behind him, the amazon already loosing an arrow.
As the witcher ran down the hall the men let out a thunderous battle cry. The twang of a bowstring and the sound of a man being rent was all that answered them.
POV Cahir
The Nilfgaard knight, forcing down the pain in his leg, rushed through hall after hall, Angoulême and the elf woman, Karra, close behind him. They passed through two empty rooms, met no one in the halls and saw nothing but armour stood at the doors.
Five minutes after they separated from Geralt and the others, they heard someone in armour running somewhere. Then a voice, "Madam Yennefer!" it called. The voice was a woman's, a familiar one that he couldn't quite place.
"That's her." Karra informed them, the first words he heard her say. Then, after a moment of silence, "That's Ciri." she said, Cahir getting the impression she was annoyed even though neither her monotone voice nor neutral expression changed.
"Hell yeah!" Angoulême cried, excited to finally meet the reason for their long quest.
Cahir would never admit it, but so was he. To meet her after so many years... would she truly look like she did in his visions?
"Yennefeeeeeerrr!" Cirilla shouted once more, sounding much closer this time.
They turned right at the crossway, and rushed down a long hall that ended in a T section. The large, glassless window giving a gorgeous view of the lake. "Yennefeerr!" the princess shouted once more, then they saw her. She had run past the window, wearing armour much like the young witcher that recently joined them, but in a light shade of grey. Her near white helm covered her head and a braid sneaked out the bottom only to disappeared under her collar.
She carried an ornamental-looking silver longsword, which she most likely took from the walls, in reverse grip as she ran.
The pain in Cahir's knee burned hotter as he quickened his pace. She had passed by their vision swiftly and soon... they heard more footsteps. Many more, scores of them at least.
They reached the window as blood started to seep through his hastily made bandages and run down the knight's leg. Cahir's eyes first went right to see Cirilla's retreating form, then they went left. And he saw them. Mercenaries that, from what he could see, were nearly a score in number.
"Go, I'll hold them off." he said, looking to his companions only to see that the elf was already gone. Likely never even stopping in her pursuit. Angoulême on the other hand, was simply looking at him angrily. "I'll catch up." he lied.
The men neared, they're voices becoming more distinct, and the girl's angry eyes turned sad as she left.
Cahir unsheathed his longsword and assumed a basic stance, his blade held up beside him, hands near his chest. "Kill the cunt!" one man, a few ranks deep, yelled. "Get the girl!" another cried, waving his arming sword.
That won't be happening.
The lead man entered his range and the knight's longsword flashed, carving a path leftward through the man's neck faster that he could blink. Then Cahir pushed the dying man into his fellows, lest his momentum carry him into the knight.
The man behind the last couldn't react in time and tripped over the corpse, falling to the stones face first. The Nilfgaard knight swiftly ran the tip of his blade through the fallen man's neck, right under his helm. Then Cahir retreated two pace to avoid tripping, and resumed his stance.
A bearded mercenary in light armour, wielding a round shield and hand axe leaped over his fallen comrades. The man's form was perfect as he landed two steps from the knight, his shield up protecting his head and his axe held tight by his shoulder. He charged Cahir, roaring as he did, and swung his axe towards the Nilfgaardian's shoulder.
The knight twisted his waist to doge the blow and moved to counter, but the moment his blade came down, it was parried by the steel rim of the round shield. While his arms and blade were still high, Cahir heard a clang and was forced to stumble back. He couldn't see what had happened, but he knew the noise came from the shield's rim bashing into his cuirass.
He's skilled.
"Yer name boy!" the man demanded, revealing a Skelliger's accent.
Cahir swiftly found his balance and adopted a new stance, this time with his hands near the left side of his head and the blade pointing dead ahead. "Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach" he answered, his accent coming out a bit more.
"One o' those black ones eh?" the Skelliger snorted, "Olaf Drummond. Oh, an' I hav ta thank ye for what ye did to the Tuirsearch cunt!" the man, Olaf, told him with a laugh.
Cahir said nothing at that, no need for the man to know just how right he was.
Olaf's smile faded and he started stalking forward, his shield up, his axe ready. "You lads just wait there." he said, voice deep and predatory.
The Skelliger stopped just out of Cahir's range and waited, while the knight remembered.
It was many years ago, Cahir was only a young boy of ten, when his brother died. As his family's tradition demanded, he wasn't allowed to hold vigil with the men of the house and since he wasn't a girl, he was not fainting and weeping in a remote wing of the Dyffryn Castle. So, he clowned around with the other boys in the halls.
Olaf grew impatient and attacked, his axe leashing out to split the knight's skull right through his helm. Chair evaded by rushing into the Skelliger's space, so he only received an elbow to the pauldron and was bashed away by the shield. The knight counter attacked, going for a slash to the other man's exposed neck, but the blow was blocked and his sword dug into the round shield. They struggled.
He made mischief everywhere he went, until his mother's voice called out to him. "Cahir! Come here, my son!" she had called from a cloister, her sister next to her. Her face was so red and swollen from her tears, that the young boy was terrified. He was shocked that weeping would turn his comely mother into such a monster. He had firmly resolved to never, ever cry. Lest he suffer the same fate.
Both men pulled and pushed at one another, Cahir trying to loosen his blade and Olaf trying to create enough distance to strike at the knight effectively. Cahir could not reach for his dagger, he needed both hands to have enough strength to compete with the Skelliger. Even then it was difficult to keep up.
"Remember my son." his mother sobbed, as she clutched him to her breast so tight, he could hardly breathe. "Remember this day. Remember who took the life from your dear brother Aillil. The damned Nordlings did it. Your foes, my son. You are to ever hate them. You are to hate that damned, murderous nation!"
Eventually, Cahir managed to rip his longsword from the solid oak and kicked at Olaf's leg. He succeeded, and his foe fell to one knee, but as he did, he swung his axe. Using his fall, the Skelliger strengthened the blow and the knight couldn't completely dodge it. He barely twisted it when the blade struck his knee, but only the side. Still, it dug into the plate and greatly worsened his existing wound.
"I shall hate them, mother of mine." the boy had promised, with conviction despite his surprise and confusion. His brother had died a praiseworthy death, as an honorable warrior on the battlefield. Why would one weep? Even more so, his grandmother, his mother's mother, was of Nordlings decent. His Papa had more than once called her 'She-wolf from the North' in anger. But if was an order from his mother...
Cahir and Olaf were both sent to the stones, the knight losing his longsword and the Skelliger his shield. They both pounced on each other, Cahir smashed a fist into Olaf's face, cracking some teeth and loosening others. Then the Drummond grunted and Cahir felt a great blow to his helm that rung it like a bell. He was seeing stars as they wrestled.
"I shall hate them!" he had vowed to her, "I already hate them! And when I'm big and have a real sword I'll go to war and chop off their heads! You'll see ma'am!". To that his mother took a deep breath before she continued her sobbing. His aunt held her up, while Cahir's little fists were clenched tight and his body tremble in rage. With rage and hatred for those who had wronged his mamma, making her so ugly.
Olaf's left hand managed to take hold of one of the wings on Cahir's helm, just as the knight finally unsheathed his dirk. He writhed and pulled back his small blade, before slamming it into the Skelliger's chest. The sound of gurgles coming from Olaf's mouth left him know he hit something vital. But just as the grip on his helm started to weaken, it suddenly became much stronger than before and his head was wrenched to the side. Chair's eyes widened as he realised and he nearly snarled as Olaf freed his axe arm.
Growing desperate, the knight pulled out his dagger, only to stab it back in over and over again. But it all proved for naught as the axe came down and ripped into Cahir's neck. He even felt it dig into his spine.
Olaf gave a bloody grin and Cahir sighed crimson.
He had promised her, and yet here he was, having quested with Nordlings all to save a Nordling princess. They were even counted among his very few friends.
He'd be getting an earful soon, he knew it.
POV Milva
Geralt had been gone not even half a minute, and already five men had died. She could see some of her fletchings through the crowd and whenever Jon's front was revealed to her, she saw that it was slowly painted with more and more blood.
Nock.
A short man wielding a hand axe and a shield was split in two, his mail snapping, gambeson tearing, bones breaking and flesh rending. All in an instant under the armoured witcher's long axe.
Draw.
A spinning head flew through the air, the blood leaking from the wound spraying everywhere. The headless corpse fell as Jon deflected another blow, right before caving in the offending man's skull and painting the man behind in the man's brains.
Loose.
Her third arrow flew as true as the rest, sailing into the eye of one of the few archers. The force whipped the boy's head back before sending him to the floor. Milva searched for another shaft, she quickly found one of her last in her back quiver and took a breath.
Nock.
A tall, lanky man screamed at the fresh stump that used to be his leg. He fell forward, forcing Jon to side step him. Making the witcher take his very first step in this fight. The lanky man's face hit the stone and Jon's sabaton rendered his head into pulp against the floor in one big stomp that cracked the mortar.
Draw.
The young witcher kicked the mangled body into the crowd, but as he did so a brave boy slid under the flying corpse. He prepared to swing his arming sword yelling, "Take this you mon-" then Jon's boot was on his chest and he was launched away. The boy slammed into no less than five of his older fellows before rolling to a stop.
Loose.
Her arrow hit a spearman in the sweet spot behind his jaw, dropping him before he even reached the sentinel. Meanwhile, Jon chanced a spin and managed to bisect two of the poorly armoured men at the waist, but as he recovered a dwarven mace came down on him.
Nock.
The steel struck the witcher's shoulder and his plate didn't even dent, but whatever took the damage didn't do the same for the force. Which sent him stumbling and made an opening for a smart man to run past him.
Draw.
Jon growled and his hand shot from his axe. The witcher's finger latched onto the man's forehead, covering his eyes with his palm. Then he squeezed. Jon's thumb and littlest finger sank into his temples. The man grunted as he dropped his mace and clutched the witcher's wrist. Again, Jon growled and the man screamed as his fellows merely stood.
Loose.
Her arrow whistled for her foe's heart, but he twisted his torso as he ran and her shot only caught his shoulder. Her face twisted into a snarl as she slung her bow over a shoulder and pulled out her hunting knife. He swung his arming sword at her leg, as his dirk thrusted for her neck. Milva pivoted on her heel, escaping the dirk and sinking her knife into the man's throat. A burning sensation in her thigh told the huntress she didn't move quite as she wished.
Milva shifted most of her weight to her good leg and dropped her blade. As she retook her bow, the screams finally stopped with a wet crunch.
All was still, all but the corpse with the ruined head, which spasmed on the floor. The three remaining men stood there, amongst their fallen comrades and staring at the flesh dropping off Jon's gauntlet.
They only watched, pale faced, as the witcher's hand returned to join the other on the shaft of his axe. Yet they did not run.
Knock.
Then they ran, all through different doors.
"We should go catch up to Geralt." Milva said.
"Aye." Jon returned, slinging his axe back onto his shoulder.
POV Vilgefortz
The wizard was just about to drop the concealment spell and reveal himself to the witch and witcher, who had just expertly butchered a few of his underlings, when a blood-covered armoured man rushed into the room. But when he reached them, he froze.
After a moment looking at the pair, he shook his head and spoke. "Geralt." he said, his voice was deep, but definitely that of a younger man.
Vilgefortz decided to wait a moment more, learn who this was.
"John, where's Milva?" the witcher asked.
John? There was no John travelling with the witcher's party, Yennefer know no one with that name... a recent addition? But who would join them. There wasn't enough time from the last scry for them to convince anyone, so he already had a vested interest. John... John... Jon? He was raised with the princess, then Kaer Morhen and there were rumors of them traveling together... but he wasn't in any of the prophesies. Even if it was him, it's only one more witcher. Even so, he's still an unforeseen variable, best deal with him quickly.
"She's injured, but she will live. I had her hide somewhere safe until everything's dealt with." Jon said, with that rather unique witcher emotionlessness. Truly a marvel how the sorcerers managed that all those centuries ago.
The wizard quickly dropped the spell, and reveled in the sight of them all tensing. The young witcher brought out his weapon, a truly enormous double-bladed axe. The White Wolf took up the standard wolf school stance, hands by his head and longsword's point aimed at what Vilgefortz assumed was his heart. Yennefer brought up her hands, most likely preparing some lightning conjuration.
Vilgefortz merely clapped, slowly as to show his contempt. "I'm impressed. I really am impressed, witcher. You're naïve and hopelessly stupid, but your technique is impressive." he said, calmly and making sure his voice resonated through the room.
"Your brigands have beaten a retreat, leaving you at our mercy. Hand Ciri over, and we'll spare your life." Yennefer replied, voice calm as a deep pool and her face hiding just as much.
"A generous offer, Yennefer, but I will have to decline." he said, knowing they had no such power over him. "You see-" he started, but the charging mass of steel and gambeson stole away his attention.
The sprint was terribly fast, the axe was so low that the tip occasionally made sparks against the stone floor. If Vilgefortz was distracted enough by the banter, the attack might have split him in two. Fortunately, he wasn't and the wizard had plenty of time to prepare a suitable countermeasure.
Using his connection to the castle's core, Vilgefortz twisted the chaos ahead of the charging young man. He solidified it and waited until his prey was in place. Once he was, the wizard proceeded to set the chaos aflame and slammed it into the young man. Vilgefortz was internally astonished that the boy managed to bring up his axe in the split second between the flames came into being and they crashed into him with a flash of light. Yet the force proved far too much, and Jon was thrown aside and into the left wall. Which stood for less than a millisecond before bursting apart and the witcher hitting the next wall. This one held and Jon slid down the stones to collapse on the floor.
He turned away from the young witcher, and the hole in his wall, to look at the older one. "That was rude. Where was I? Ah, yes, I was telling you how you didn't have the power to make such a generous offer. Here, I shall show you." he said, raising his right hand.
His palm glowed as he focused the chaos over its surface, compressing the flaming energy into a thin layer just over his skin and once he finished he molded even more chaos into a few inch long cylinder in front of his hand.
The whole process took an infinitesimally small amount of time, which would let Vilgefortz eviscerate his playthings before they realised what happened. But he didn't, instead he waited for the dawning horror on Yennefer's face. Once it came, along with the witcher's heavily muted yet similar look, the wizard released the force compressing the flames, letting them burst out into a pillar of raging fire.
His one functioning eye was momentarily blinded by the sheer power of his manipulation. The bright white light soon cleared, and revealed the destruction. Whatever stones the flames passed by had liquified and those that were touched directly had simply evaporated, but to the right of the line of magma was Geralt and Yennefer, neither were even scorched.
While he was pleased that he'd get to toy with the pair more, Vilgefortz was also infuriated that the spell he'd taken so very long to initially develop and then practise had done nothing to them. So, to release some anger, he aimed a good bit behind the witcher and forced all the air in a ten-meter radius of that point into a space the size of a pin prick. He waited a moment, letting the witcher see his action and "dodge" the attack. Then the wizard released the particles.
The resulting concussive force shook the castle to it's foundations and cracked the overly ornamented ceiling and the tiled floor. The sound of it hopefully made his preys' ears bleed, though judging from the distinct lack of feminine screams he doubted that was the case.
Looking around, he spied Geralt hiding behind a pillar. Smiling to himself, Vilgefortz decided to have a little fun with the witcher. Once again, he focused chaos, but not in the air, no, instead he moved as much as he could inside of the pillar the witcher, and possibly the witch, took refuge behind. The gaudy stone quickly started to glow and then, in a flash of furiously bright light and an earth quaking boom, it disappeared. Geralt and Yennefer jumping away from it at just the right moment.
As they recovered, standing next to each other, Vilgefortz forced away his smile and prepared a manipulation of slightly higher complexity. He took control of two separate bundles of chaos, made them mostly solid, and started rubbing them together at incredibly high speeds while simultaneously forming a semi-permeable sphere around it all. His goal was quickly accomplished, the magical friction swiftly forming a spectacular amount of static electricity within the orb.
His "Ball of Lightning" complete, he quickly launched it at the recovering lovers. The semi-permeable container letting out middling arcs of electricity that seared any tiles it passed.
Yennefer shouted a spell while forming a pair of hand signs and whipping her arms to the right, his manipulation followed the movement. The orb crashed into one of the walls without a sound, leaving only a rather large scorch mark on the otherwise attractive mosaic.
Certain his expression held little emotion, Vilgefortz walked towards the pair, murmuring a spell so that his shoulder pinned cloak fluttered behind him.
"I'm not surprised at Yennefer." he said, making sure his voice was just patronising, yet scientific enough to annoy both of them properly. "She is a woman and thus an evolutionary inferior creature, governed by hormonal chaos. But you, Geralt, are not only a man who is sensible by nature, but also a mutant invulnerable to emotions." he waved a hand contemptuously, using the movement to aid the quick creation of a stock of lightning. Which simply bounced off of the witch's shield, arced into a nearby pillar and promptly entered it.
"In spite of your good sense." the wizard said, pouring some quickly conjured liquid flames hand to hand. "In one matter you demonstrate astounding and foolish perseverance: you invariably row upstream and piss into the wind. It had to end badly. Know that today, here, in Stygga Castle, you have pissed into a hurricane."
Pleased with his turn of phrase, Vilgefortz proceeded to compress a great amount of air right outside the window and quickly released it. The effect was instant and spectacular, the entire stained-glass window, which depicted some battle against a monster, exploded into the room and showered over everything. The wrought iron holding it all in place contorting in delicious ways and the ornamental columns crumpling shortly after the glass came in.
Before all the shards could settle, Vilgefortz created and launched a relatively slow bolt of lightning at the witcher.
"Watch out, Geralt!" Yennefer cried, flinging herself behind a pile of rubble.
The lightning neared the white-haired man, ripping the tiles from the floor as it did, and he leapt out of its destructive path. He hid behind yet another pillar, but the wizard quickly rectified that issue. Vilgefortz blasted a more concentrated stock of lightning at the column, breaking it into three pieces that all came tumbling down, and with them came a good chunk of the ceiling. The rubble all came down to crush the witcher, but all it smashed into was the purple glow of one of the witch's shields.
Turning his attention to Yennefer, Vilgefortz took hold of the chaos around the pillar and then, roaring with effort, he forced it to pulverise the stone. He filled the resulting dust cloud with lines of flame, casting a burning net at the witch. She somehow managed to escape, and sent her own bolt of lightning zapping towards him. The wizard hardened the chaos in front of him, easily deflecting the spell and sent back a ball of solid chaos that smashed into her, throwing Yennefer to the ground a few feet away.
As she tumbled, the witcher rushed Vilgefortz. Smiling contemptuously, the wizard brought up a hand and, doing the same as his opening manipulation, sent a pillar of angry flames at the warrior. But, to his utter shock, Geralt didn't dodge. Instead, the witcher held up his longsword in a stable guard and stopped. Disappointed, Vilgefortz ended the stream, expecting to see at most charred bones.
Yet as the flames cleared, there the witcher stood. Completely unharmed. The glow of the various dwarven runes along the blade dying down.
"Ha!" he laughed, burying his slight worry. "Impressive, witcher! And what do you say to this!" he finished, sending an orb of solid, yet as always invisible, chaos at the witcher. Taking care to hit him under the hilt of the dwarven blade.
The strike threw the witcher into the wall, the impact shaking the stones and expanding the crack. A small chunk of the mouldings fell and struck Geralt on the shoulder.
Just as the wizard was about to say something infuriating, he saw a flash of purple and quickly hardened the chaos in the air around him. He followed the flashed of lightning to their source, Yennefer. Vilgefortz let the witch send her puny spells for a moment, then he took hold of the chaos around her body and, lifting and quickly spreading his arms, he trapped her.
Yennefer cried out her pain as he lifted her into the air. Vilgefortz then brought his hands together while he squeezed the witch with the magical binds. She screamed as he started twisting his hands, oh how the sound delighted him. Then, due to sudden inspiration, he started to spin the witch in place.
Finally, the witcher sprang back to his feet and-
WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!
Out of nowhere, a black shape descended on the wizard. Faster than he could possibly react, the shadow clawed at his face and nearly took out his regenerating eye. Vilgefortz roared out his anger and pain, unknowingly severing his connection to the chaos around him. He waved his arms, trying desperately to ward off the beast, but it had no effect.
Then he saw the witcher, barely in the corner of his working eye, as Geralt raised his blade. The sight roused Vilgefortz into action, true action. For the first time in a dreadfully long time, the wizard tapped into his own considerable reserved chaos and blasted it outward. The projected force managed to throw the witcher away and distance the shadow enough for the wizard to see what it was. A giant bat.
Sneering at it, he reconnected to the chaos of the castle and compressed it over his hand, then set it aflame. The manipulation worked wonders once released, easily cutting through one of the thicker pillars, but the bat escaped him.
It disappeared, and then Vilgefortz heard voices nearby, but he could not understand them. It was like his head was dunked into hot water while his body was encased in ice. He felt so very cold as he looked up... only to see teeth.
POV Regis
The vampire hadn't felt this good in centuries. The blood that coated his tongue and cheeks, that settled in his stomach and seeped into his veins was greater than any drug. That he'd gone without it for so very long made it even better.
He wondered what this wizard, Vilgefortz, would taste like as he formed next to Geralt.
"Beware." the witcher groaned out, clearly suffering from at least three fractured ribs. "Beware, Regis-".
"Beware?" the vampire yelled and laughed like he had back when he was young, he truly felt a hundred again. "Me? I did not come here to beware!" he said as he crouched slightly, then tensed the muscles in his legs and back while holding himself in place with a hand.
A split-second ticked by and then he pounced, cracking the stones beneath his feet. The edges of Regis' vision nearly blurred from the speed of his approach. The vampire roared, making sure he showed the wizard his temporarily enlarged canines.
Regis crashed into Vilgefortz, the wizard's screams echoed around the ruined room and his terrorised, if slightly confused, look filling even his mind's eye.
He had meant to go for an instant killing blow, or at least dismemberment, but Regis only managed to rake his claws across the man's chest.
Then the wizard's demeanor suddenly changed, going from mind breaking terror to righteous anger in an instant and his hands begun to glow like branding irons. Branding irons Regis chose to ignore in favor of disemboweling the man. So, he attacked with a savage, open clawed left hook to Vilgefortz's torso. Only to have his wrist snatched and erupt in burning pain he never felt the like of. Not even when he was burned at the stake.
The vampire's reaction was instant and deadly, his free hand rushing for the wizard's sternum. Then Vilgefortz's other hand plunged into Regis' right side, causing his arm to spasm and go off course. Only managing to slice the edge of the man's flank with one claw. Regis howled as he felt a burning hand take hold of his large intestine and ripped it out of him, then swung right back in.
Wherever he wasn't cauterized, the vampire's blood spewed onto the stones and the wizard kept ripping chunks out of him. He felt himself being pushed with a strength far beyond what a mere human should be capable of, but Regis pushed back best he could and they struggled against each other. Regis trying desperately to end the man and Vilgefortz's hands keeping the vampire from doing so, all while their feet cracked the tiles and the stones beneath from the force they were using against one another.
The wizard's overwhelming strength gave a bodily heave, then suddenly the weight shifted and the force dissipated. Together they fell to the heavily damaged floor.
The impacted pushed the hand in him farther into Regis' abdominal cavity, but also placed the wizard right into his clawed hand. Regis gave Vilgefortz a frenzied grin as he slowly, cruelly squeezed the right side of the man's ribcage.
"NO!" the wizard cried painfully.
The blood-crazed vampire savoured the familiar word, but he felt the hand heat even further and suddenly he felt a nothingness travel through him. Out of the corner of his eye, Regis saw what it was. A white-hot blade of flames that burst out of his left side and took his left arm off just below the shoulder.
The pain came a split-second after, it was inexplicable and sobered the vampire instantly.
With a roar of both pain and anger, Regis closed his remaining fist. There was a second of frightful resistance before the wizard's chest simply crumbled.
Disbelief took hold over the wizard's features as he coughed up a cupful of blood, Regis did his very best not to lick any of his face. He watched the light leave Vilgefortz's eyes, as any other of his kin would for such a fierce opponent, and felt as the heat of his hands fizzled out.
Regis eased himself to a sitting position, barely feeling the wizard's limb sliding out of him, and spotted Geralt. The witcher was panting slightly, with middling injuries and something rather odd. His eyebrows were gone, as were his eyelashes. There was even a blistered line of skin in the middle of his forehead.
It seems that the witcher had attempted a rescue, only to nearly loose his head.
"Regis, a-" the witcher started, worry bleeding into his voice.
"I'll live, Geralt." he said shortly, picking of his severed arm as he stood.
The vampire gave himself a once-over, noting all his various wounds and calculating the time it'll take for him to heal them. It was nearly as bad as when he quartered and buried.
Then he heard the raspy sounds of stones shifting and pained groans coming from a whole in one of the walls. Regis looked to Geralt with a questioning expression, but the witcher had already gone back to Yennefer's side. The pair speaking in hushed tones. Then the shifting turned to tumbling and the groans were accompanied by grunts.
The sounds eventually ceased and out walked a wobbly Jon, who held his helm with both hands. He quickly removed it and proceeded to spew the contents of his stomach all over the floor.
A concussion then.
"Will you all be able to walk?" Regis asked the group.
"Aye." the young witcher seemed to force out, but not before wiping the spittle from his face.
"With Geralt's help, yes." the sorceress said, sending her lover a look.
"And you, Regis?" the older witcher asked, pointedly ignoring it.
"My legs are just fine, Geralt." he said, then nodded. "Let's be off then." he finished.
POV Geralt
Geralt supported Yennefer as a lightly swaying Jon did the same for the limping Milva, who held his helm. Regis strode along with parts of him, mostly his stump and chest, occasionally changing into black mist as they went along. They slowly made their way through the dark hall, until the wounded quartet reached the upmost landing of a truly enormous grand staircase.
In the dark hall across from them, he heard three sets of footsteps. Soon, a bloodied Angoulême broke from the shadows. She was followed by the she-elf, Karra, who didn't have even a speck of blood on her. Then... Then it was Ciri, a white helm much like Jon's in one hand.
The moment she saw him, she rushed over. Only their injuries stopping her from giving any of them a bear hug.
"Ciri." Geralt said, rubbing the 'dust' from his eyes.
"Ciri." Yennefer said, trying to ignore her own 'dust'.
"Geralt." the ashen haired girl said.
"Ciri, it's good to see you again." he said through the tightness in his throat.
"Madam Yennefer." she said.
Yen pulled herself off of him and straightened. "What do you look like, girl. Just look at you! Your hair, you look like a barbarian! Come here please!" she said severely.
Stiff as stone, Ciri approached the sorceress. While Geralt noted Jon's confused look.
Yen inspected Ciri's breastplate, scraping off spots of dried blood from the light metal. Then her hands moved to her face, inspecting her thankfully unmarred skin.
She pulled the girl into a tight hug, a very tight hug. Geralt watched as Yen held her surrogate daughter and they whispered sweet nothings to each other. The older witcher noticed a sad, longing look on the younger beside him.
Geralt let their moment drag on, until the others in the group started to look uncomfortable. "Let's go." he said.
The pair separated and Ciri gave a wet sniff, then wiped her nose with her palm. Yennefer shot her an angry look and wiped her eye, which something had surely gotten into. The witcher look down the hall the three came from, but Angoulême shook her head and he understood.
Gods he was tired, "Let's get out of here." he repeated.
Jon shook his head with a small wince and nodded.
"Aye, this place is cursed." Milva said with a sneer.
"I'd rather be gone from here as well." Regis added with a small smile, his stump looking slightly longer than before.
Angoulême, for the nonce, said nothing and only gave a teary-eyed nod.
"Yes, I want to see the sky." Yennefer said, bringing her mangled hands together in front of her.
"Let's get out of here." he repeated. "Ciri, hold Yen up." he instructed.
"I don't need holding up!" the sorceress defended.
As Ciri tried to convince Yen, Geralt looked down the grand staircase, down to the great brasiers that half hid in the thick smoke that filled most of the room. Down at the men who waited down below, blocking their only way out.
Silently, they all took their places. Geralt, Ciri and Jon in the front, weapons ready and the younger witchers' helms back in place. Behind them were Yennefer, Angoulême and Karra. The first with magic glowing in her hands, the second ready to thrust with her blade and the third having pulled out something strange. A chain with a short blade on one end and an iron weight on the other. Taking up the rear were Regis and Milva. One too injured and the other having no more arrows left to participate.
Geralt sighed, and took the first step.
POV Joy Hill, 298
Joy loved the Stone Garden.
The silence, the gentle embrace she felt whenever she entered, the soft moss on the stones, the green ferns that grew in every crack, the incredible variety of crystals and the kind face of the Weirwood. Who's branches were the only support keeping the cavern from caving in, the whole reason the great tree still stood. Unlike the rest that once called the Rock home.
Few in the great Lannister fortress ever came here, only Joy and the occasional grey-eyed servant weaved their way between the nearly touching pointed stones that reached to one another from the ceiling and floor.
As she quietly played with a transparent green prism that had fallen from its cluster, Joy heard footsteps approaching.
Her body tensed and she quickly shoved her find into her smallclothes, just as she started to curl up a voice called to her. "I knew I would find you here." it said and Joy swiftly relaxed as she recognised it.
She turned and rushed to the source. "Uncle Tyrion!" she cried as the little bastard girl hugged him so tight, she thought her arms might break.
Tyrion wasn't her uncle, in truth he was her cousin, but he was much older and took care of her since her father left. So, she called him uncle.
"Come now, Joy. I'm not nearly big enough for you to keep doing that." he wheezed.
The young girl blushed in embarrassment and she released her uncle, but when she did she started to wring her hands. "I-I'm sorry, uncle." she said, looking down to her feet.
"Joy..." he said, using a hand to lift her chin and making her look at him. Her uncle was a truly hideous man, but his mismatched eyes looked at her with more kindness than anyone else's. Even her aunt Genna's, tainted as they were with sorrow. "Was it them again?" he asked.
She feared her voice breaking, and only found it within herself to nod.
"You know what I say..." he started.
"Make it my armour, so they can't hurt me." she answered, then "But it's so hard! How do I do it, uncle?" she sobbed, letting her face fall into her hands.
He pulled her into his embrace, holding her shaking form as he rubbed circles into her upper back. "I know, believe me I know. " she did. "But its only words, words are wind and they cannot hurt you." she couldn't tell him he was beginning to be wrong, that they were getting braver. So, she nodded away and once her shaking ceased, he let her go.
"There's something I must tell you, Joy." he said solemnly.
Joy tried her best not to show her sudden dread as she nodded for him to continue.
He hesitated, "I am being sent to Kingslanding in preparation for Joffrey's name day tourney." he told her gently.
Oh. Oh...
"Congratulations, uncle! I've heard much on the capital. I hope you enjoy your time there." she said, hiding everything behind a smile. Especially her fear, for with Tyrion gone and aunt Genna away until her next visit, there'd be no one to protect her.
If her uncle took too long, she didn't know what might happen.