A/N: A brief interlude from the perspective of the locals.


Godrick threw another vase to the floor. One of the maids flinched.

These days even that was enough to set him on edge.

"How dare she? How dare that deformed upstart do that to me?!"

He was descended from Godwyn, the golden prince who had negotiated the truce with the dragons. From Godfrey, who destroyed the giants, and had claimed this very castle from the Storm Lord.

His was a glorious, direct lineage from those very greats, and not something to be challenged by the children of a mere lieutenant like Radagon.

Godrick eyed the useless, trembling servants around him as his irritation mounted.

"Get you gone, you snivelling things!" he snarled.

The maids and servants scrambled to leave his bedchambers.

Godrick smashed yet another worthless vase to the floor and roared.

Soon. Soon he would have the power to teach that blighted whore a lesson she would never, ever forget.

His ancestors had once gained unfathomable power through a technique called grafting.

Soon that power would be his. He just needed a servant with a deft hand at chirurgy.

And wouldn't one know it. The Greater Will had delivered one such servant to his doorstep.


"So thou art the rumoured physician. Lord Godrick hath honoured thee with entrance to his halls for one specific purpose," the chamberlain said.

At the entrance to the humble village, the lowly Tarnished showed no outward reaction to this great honour, Chamberlain Gerion noted privately to himself. A demigod and Great Lord was personally summoning an outcast who would ordinarily be banished from the Lands Between. The lack of enthusiasm on this physician's part could only be a result of the ill rumours of his lord's timidity.

Unfortunately, Gerion knew best the rumours' veracity. Lord Godrick had done little but destroy the upholstery and lash out at his servants since Lady Malenia had shamefully trounced him all those weeks ago. Even Gerion, as chamberlain, had not been spared.

The lord had spoken of lasting harm and pain, but no such injuries could be espied upon his beautiful form. The expressions of the servants had only grown more queer since Lord Godrick's orders to bring this 'reknowned physician' to him. Personally, Gerion suspected an affliction of the mind, but he dared not speak such thoughts aloud.

Regardless, Chamberlain Gerion unfurled the missive with all the required ceremony and continued the proclamation.

"Word hath spread through the lands of Limgrave of thy skill with chirurgy and the humours," he said. "Thou wilt follow, and shouldst thy mastery be as rumoured, there shall be a great reward awaiting thee."

Gerion had his doubts as to the veracity of these rumours of marvellous medicine—after all, this village was a filthy backwater within the greater backwater of Limgrave—but he would do as his lord had commanded and bring this man back to Stormveil Castle. Whatever happened thereafter was not his concern.

At least until the inevitable clean-up, and the foul mood of his lord that would follow.

The Tarnished physician simply nodded in demure acquiescence. 'Twas good enough for Gerion.

With a dismissive jerk of his head, he returned to his carriage putting this fellow out of mind for the moment. Another, separate carriage had been prepared for the summoned.

He tried not to groan too outwardly at his lot in life.


The journey back had been smooth enough. The Tarnished had not caused any trouble, and had even struck a rapport with some of the soldiers. Grace only knew what common ground those of lowly birth had to chat about. All Gerion cared about was presenting this Tarnished before his lord, as ordered. He would have satisfied a demand or two, had the physician grown too arrogant for his own good, but the man had kept a low profile.

Whether it was because he knew his place, or because of the bearing of a healer, Gerion knew not and cared not. He simply counted his good fortune and hoped that the final stretch of the trip would go as smoothly.

There had been a few nerve-wracking moments when mercenary armies marched eastward towards the war in Sellia, but for the most part Gerion's convoy had gone unnoticed. The few times a wandering detachment had passed by them scouting for food, the sorcerers under Gerion's command had been enough to shield them from the barbaric northerners' eyes.

Despite the delays, on the morning of the sixth day, the spiny walls of Stormveil Castle came finally into sight.

A year ago Gerion would have laughed at the idea that he would feel any measure of cheer at the sight of this rural military fortress. Then again, a year ago Gerion had been living comfortably in Leyndell as the chamberlain to the most eligible prince of the Golden Lineage.

The will of the Golden Order was a fickle thing indeed, Gerion thought wryly, if this reversal in fortunes was within its purview. These days, even that was up for debate, with the war between the demigods inciting faltering confidence amongst the mortals.

Gerion himself dared not think too deeply about what fate awaited him down this road. His days of living in luxury in the capital seemed to be long over. They had been chased like rats out of Leyndell, Gerion and his cross-dressing lord, while the real rat, some beast escaped from the sewers, sat upon the Golden Throne. Even if they returned there today, what lifestyle could await them after Leyndell had been besieged by its own brute of a protector, and then usurped by a deformed pretender king?

No, Gerion focused on the few steps in front of him. Hanging out of the veiled carriage window, Gerion watched the walls of Stormveil Castle approach. At least here, a warm bath and some servants awaited him. No Dominulan whiskies or dancing beauties fit for a chamberlain, but at least there was no grovelling to a beastly Omen.

His procession was stopped at the gates to the castle, but only briefly before it was waved through without question. The soldiers did not seem inclined to stop the Tarnished either, merely raising inquisitive eyebrows in curiosity.

A few more minutes, Gerion mused, until he would finally see his lord. Gerion ordered a few servants to draw up baths both for the physician and himself. Although Lord Godrick had been eager to see the physician, it would not do to present themselves in their current state of filth.

A single knock on the door announced an attendant with water drawn and heated. After a prompt but thorough cleaning, he chose from amongst a few small bottles of scented oil. The pickings were slim here in the countryside, but being seated between Liurnia and the wealthy sorcerers of Sellia meant merchants had passed through here with great frequency, at least before the war began.

Once he was as presentable as could be considered reasonable, Gerion moved to the throne room with long strides. Awaiting him outside the room was, thankfully, the Tarnished physician. The diminutive man had been dressed in a felt doublet, and looked at least of passing respectability. It would have to do.

Very soon, they entered.

"I have returned from Forkeyate Village, Your Highness," Gerion said after taking a knee. "By your orders, the rumoured physician is brought before you."

Lord Godrick sat on the throne, as resplendent as ever. Deep green eyes stared at them from behind a sheen of golden grace, while a large crown sat atop locks of Her Grace's blonde. Plump, pink lips always made him look like he was pouting in displeasure, but the spoilt, coquettish air simply enhanced his charm.

Even now, after so many years of serving by his side, a part of Gerion was awestruck by his lord's beauty. Had his face not been so recognisable there would have been no need for the mimic veil, for Lord Godrick could have passed for a maiden with ease.

Those full lips parted.

"So, the Tarnished Physician stands before me. They say thou'rt a peddler of miracles," Lord Godrick said with some mockery. "Come forward."

Chamberlain Gerion stayed put with his head down while the Tarnished physician stepped towards the throne. While he professed some minor interest in what this small Tarnished might offer his lord, the greater part of Gerion simply wished to be dismissed so that some comely young maids might help him recuperate from his travel fatigue.

It seemed as though Lord Godrick would give no such dismissal however, preoccupied with the physician as he was. In fact, it looked as if the Great Lord would rather converse with the physician than acknowledge Gerion at all. He certainly had not asked about the journey or how his chamberlain had fared, despite the war still going on around them.

Gerion sighed inwardly. At least the Tarnished did not seem overly arrogant. Gerion didn't have the energy for another of Lord Godrick's fits.

With a unvoiced groan and a stifled sigh, he mentally settled himself in the kneel to wait out whatever conversation was to come.

"What dost thou see? Speak freely thy mind," Lord Godrick said.

The physician only stared at him silently for several long moments before speaking.

"I see a young man denied his due, cornered by the black schemes of traitors and rebels. A man who could be an open-minded and wise lord, willing to push the boundaries of what is possible, if only he had men of the mettle and vision that he deserveth." The Tarnished physician's voice was as smooth as silk, yet it carried such conviction that Gerion shivered inwardly.

"And I suppose thou'rt a man of such mettle?" his lord sneered. "Thou art far too small and insignificant for my notice. Why should I take on a lowly Tarnished such as thyself as a retainer?"

The little bald physician wasted no time in his response.

"Because, my lord, I will prove to you my skill in person. It is precisely for this reason that Your Highness has called upon me, is it not?" he asked. His voice was strangely accented, yet its deep notes still carried an air of authority in his field that set Chamberlain Gerion on edge. For a moment Gerion had the illusion that one of the great sages of Sellia stood in this throne room.

It was wholly unexpected from the amiable little bald man who had rubbed elbows with the soldiery around the campfire.

Gerion shook himself out of the brief reverie brought on by the physician's speech. Eyes to the floor as he was, Gerion could not see Lord Godrick's expression, but after a moment melodious laughter filled the grand room, of the like he had not heard since before the siege.

"I hope thy skill with the healing arts can match thy tongue, Tarnished. Gerion, thou hast done well. Go rest for now, for I shall call upon thee at a later hour."

Finally.

"Milord."

With a quick bow, Gerion left the throne room. Mind already consumed with thoughts of disrobing buxom young maids, he was only a little curious about what talks might transpire behind those closing oaken doors.


A/N: For the travel time estimates, I'm assuming that the size of the Lands Between is about equal to that of the United Kingdom.