The first rays of morning light cut through the darkness signifying the transition from night to day. Some early risers mingle in the tavern as they nurse full mugs and slowly eat their breakfast to soothe their nasty hangovers. The stale alcohol and vomit that permeates in the room is stronger than most days. A number of windows are stained with ale and wine, hard and sticky to the touch. Only a handful of mugs are clean as the rest of them line the back of the bar still filled with amber liquid. The quiet sound of cloth wiping the inside of cups mixes with the tune Visenya hums under her breath. She's unable to focus on anything, the fog in her head from sleep . A smile creeps onto her face as her mind wanders away from Blaviken. One day; one more day of mindless work and then Visenya will be gallivanting the world with Renfri.
It's silly: to get swept away by a fantasy and let go of any doubt. This only happens in the fairytales Sansa religiously read, not real life. Maybe it's infatuation or Visenya's desperation to cling onto something - anything. To hold so tightly onto her only chance of possible happiness in this new and strange and terrifying world. It's only made easier that they mirror each other: two princesses ejected from their home and forced to fight. It makes sense and fits neatly in Visneya's rationale, but it couldn't be that. The proof is in every moment Renfri spent in the tavern, pressed against the bar as she assaulted Visenya with sarcastic quips that made her laugh uncontrollably. Or the way her heart speeds up when she sees messy brown hair and how it flutters when Renfri smiles in her direction. This couldn't be infatuation, but if it is, Visenya doesn't mind drowning in it.
"Lovely morning?" Renfri saysm her chin resting on the palm of her hand.
Yes it is silly, but she can't help but live in the moment.
"Better now that you're here." The reply forms before her brain catches up. The words are like sticky sweet nectar from a flower. Similar to the first bite from a sour fruit, her face contorts into a grimace. Renfri laughs, the sound muffled by the hand over her mouth.
"You going soft on me now, Vis? Might have to change my mind about you coming tomorrow," Renfri says, her tone light and soft like the clouds.
"Please, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried," Visenya says as she puts different fruits and meats on a plate. She grabs a nut and chucks it at Renfri's face. It hits her cheek before falling onto the counter with a light thud.
"No I guess not," Renfri says. She raises the mug to her lips, some of the amber liquid spilling on her chin. Bell-like laughter echoes in the room before Visenya manages to stifle it.
"Now onto important topics. Like the fact that you just called me Vis?" Visenya says, her head is cocked to the side like a puppy, a slight quirk on her lips.
"Maybe I did." Renfri leans forward and so does Visenya. Maybe they really are like magnets drawn to each other. "It's cute."
A soft hum comes from Visenya and her golden eyes flicker to the ceiling then back to Renfri.
"Must be, that's what most people back home would call me. I suppose Visenya is a mouthful." she says as her grin twists into something more wistful.
"Should I think of another nickname then?" Renfri asks, brows furrowed, small creases forming on her forehead.
"No, I like it. A reminder of home before everything went to shit, it's nice." she smiles. With a gentle touch, Visenya places her thumb on Renfri's forehead to smooth the lines. The moment is sickeningly sweet, and she finds herself longing for moments like this to be abundant. There's already been so much death in her life, she doesn't think she'd be able to take anymore.
"Tell me about your home," Renfri says. Visenya moves her hand down to Renfri's cheek and takes a deep breath.
A million thoughts run through her mind, descriptions of Winterfell, of the Starks, and all the small things that made it home. Could she talk about the delicate summer snow that fell to the ground, leaving her cheeks bright red? How it fell into Visenya's hair, shining like jewels when the sun hit it? Or the sounds of the blacksmith working on a new sword and the shouts of Robb, Theon, and Jon training with Ser Rodrik in the morning? Maybe she'd focus on the warmth that Lord Stark and Lady Catelyn held despite the harsh cold, her familial relationship with each of the Stark children? They could've been cold and distant, treating her like a prisoner, but they didn't. They treated her like a member of the pack, when maybe they shouldn't have. She'd always been angry, lashing out at anyone she could even if it wasn't deserved. But they didn't sway, never treated her with the kind of brashness she showed them.
"Well for one, it was cold and dark. But it was...nice," She says, settling on the simple explanation.
"Glad you could be so descriptive, I feel like I'm there right now, honestly." Renfri says and rolls her eyes.
"I live to serve." Visenya shrugs her shoulders and taps Renfri's face three times. Renfri scrunches her face and moves her head away from Visenya's assault.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I do have a job to do, believe it or not," Visenya says. She grabs a rag and begins cleaning the dirty tankard. She focuses on the task, but still feels Renfri's gaze on her.
"Stop watching me, you creep." Visenya says, not looking up from her glass. Two more swipes with the rag and she replaces the clean cup with a dirty one to start the cycle over.
"How could I? Are you sure you aren't a siren, preparing to feast on my flesh once we leave this town?" Renfri says, mindlessly twirling a fork with her fingers.
"Well I guess you'll just have to take that chance." Visenya muses and sets down the rag and glass.
"As long as you give me a good time before brutally killing me," Renfri says with a sing-song lilt. "I've got some business I need to attend to before leaving tomorrow. Meet tonight in your room?" Renfri asks. She untangles her legs from the barstool, and turns to leave the tavern. Her figure gets exactly seven paces away before Visenya responds.
"Not like I have much of a choice anyway!" Visenya says, projecting her voice. Some of the patrons turn their attention to her, but she pays them no mind.
"You really don't," Renfri says. She turns towards Visenya with a wide smile and mischief brimming in her eyes before leaving the tavern.
And in that moment Visenya prays to every god in this world to preserve Renfri.
The fallen leaves break under Visenya's footsteps with a sharp crack. The tall trees block out the remains of daylight as the sun sets; the greenery not like a comforting canopy that envelopes Visenya in their warmth, rather they're like vines that wrap around her neck until she can't breathe. Fog lingers on the ground, making it near impossible to clearly see the floor, obscuring tall roots and slithering creatures that lie in wait for prey. All sorts of horrible beasts and otherworldly creatures that roam the forest at night lead to the disappearance of wildlife with the sun, not a bird to be heard. The ground is damp and cold, an uncomfortable combination even with protective footwear. It smells like moss and rain, with something unpleasant mixed in the air. Blaviken is encompassed by a forest which, as dark and dreary as it may be, is the only place Visenya can think that is void of any distraction the inn brings.
Her favorite spot to perch herself is a small stream that flows deep in the forest. The trees are sparse, allowing the sun rays to touch her skin as the cool breeze eases her anxieties and fears. It's also a great point to kick and scream, something Visenya does often. But this time there was a change, something different about the dreary atmosphere. that put a light pep in her step. The town is a horrible place, there's no question. The people in it are as cold and unwelcoming as the land they lived in, suspicious and frightened to a fault. But maybe the forest is warmer than Visenya thought, prettier than her memories convinced her.
Or maybe nothing externally was different and it's just her.
She draws closer to the stream, lost in a daydream of gallivanting across the world to leave behind her sorrow, when she hears a noise. It's faint at first, easily passed off as a woodland creature in a bush, or the wind making a branch hit a tree. But then she hears it again, and again, and again. As she draws closer, hand on the dagger she keeps strapped to her thigh, the sounds become clearer. Heart pounding in her chest, her adrenaline spikes up with each step taken. Closer now she hears the sound of a plant being pulled from the ground, the noise mingling with the mellow stream. Now three steps away from the break in the forest, she inhales the smell of running water. One step, two steps; now at the edge of the treeline she peers through the branches. The faint outline of a large man crouches in front of the river, pulling various roots from the ground. To her left is the sound of mellow breathing from an animal and the occasional kick in the ground as it snorts.
With the speed of a spooked deer, Visenya silences her breath and darts behind a tree. She's never encountered another person this close to nightfall. The townsfolk were too scared to wander far from the town, and travelers stupid enough to brave the forest are rare. Yet there is another traveler that comes to mind. She hasn't seen Geralt since his arrival, it's very well possible he's been camping out here.
Visenya peaks her head out from behind the tree, careful to not make a sound. The man wears familiar black studded leather armor with white hair cascading past his shoulders. A few feet away, a horse grazes on the long grass near the treeline. The tension slowly leaves her body, but not completely. While she knows it's Geralt, she doesn't know anything about him other than his name and drink order.
"You can come out," Geralt says, his back still towards Visenya. His voice is smooth like dripping honey, but distant and cold like winter snow. She debates just bolting, but before her mind can decide her body reacts. She carefully steps away from the tree, the tall grass tickling her toes as she moves towards the stream. The horse snorts as she moves past it, but does nothing else. She continues to move until she's a few steps behind him, slightly to his left.
"Sorry, I didn't know anyone would be out here," she says. He pauses his actions to turn and look at her.
"You thought you'd be the only person in a forest?" he asked with a blank expression. Visenya releases a breath she didn't know she was holding.
"Well when you put it like that, it makes me look stupid." she says. Visenya crouches beside him and grabs a rock. The stone is flat and smooth under her fingers, the weight well balanced. Geralt pays her no mind, seemingly unbothered by her presence. He continues uprooting plants that he then places into a small bag. The water flows at a leisurely pace, rippling as it hits rocks that jut out of the surface. Long plants dangle in the water, like a person cautiously dipping their toes in, enough to get damp, but not fully committed. She runs her finger over the rock once more and then tosses it into the water. The rock skips on the surface 1 time, 2 times, and then 3 before sinking to the bottom. Her mind plays yesterday over and over again, still remembering clearly when Geralt first entered the tavern as well as the maliciousness and spite the villagers met him with, practically spitting the word Witcher at him as if it's the worst insult.
"What's a Witcher?" she says, once again forming words before her brain could comprehend them. Geralt's hand pauses mid air and looks at her. She picks up another stone and meets his gaze.
"You don't know?" he says. His gold eyes pan across her face, looking for a slight smirk or a mocking look in her eyes, anything to indicate any bad intentions. Instead, he's met with genuine confusion. Visenya shakes her head, brows furrowed at the guarded tone Geralt uses. "A monster hunter. I hunt monsters."
"Is that why you came here?" she says. If he hunts monsters, shouldn't common people be grateful for him? When he came into the tavern, everyone seemed hell-bent to either kill or run him out of town, whichever came first.
"Ran into one in the swamp." he says in a tense tone, his words as sharp as the dagger strapped to Visenya.
"You always such a great conversationalist?" Visenya says, meeting Geralt's gaze for a second before turning back to the stream. The rock dances across the surface of the water after Visenya tosses it, another rock in hand as soon as it disappears from view.
"Hmm," he grunts, the slight rise in his eyebrows and tug on his lips conveys his mild amusement. "You always so chatty to mutants?" he says in a snarky tone. Visenya quietly snorts and tosses another rock into the river.
"Only the ones with good hair," she replies without a moment of hesitation. "But if I could offer some advice - hair oils would do a world of wonders for your ends." she says, imitating his own snarky tone. His gaze moves from her eyes then to her hair and back to her eyes, raising a quizzical eyebrow. Visenya sighs, her hands tangling in the dyed brown hair.
"I assure you, it wasn't always so bad. Another one of the joys of Blaviken I suppose." she says.
"If not from Blaviken, then where are you from?" he asked, his eyes carefully trained on her with furrowed brows.
"Somewhere far away," Visenya says, her voice a million miles away from their location. He doesn't say anything further, simply grunting and returning to his previous task. Silence encompasses the duo for a few moments, Visenya staring out at the stream as she rolls a flat rock between her fingers. Her thoughts wander back to Winterfell. She still vividly remembers the crisp air and soft snow that blanketed the ground. She could hear the sound of Rickon's laughter, like a distant whisper that lingers in the wind. Robb's constant teasing and Jon's quiet quips haunt Visenya's thoughts like a nightmare. Geralt, unaware of the storm brewing in Visenya's mind, continues his task of harvesting various herbs but would pause every so often to look at her. There was something about her that seemed odd, a faint aura of magic resonating from her.
"Alas, while you've been fantastic company, I fear we must part ways," Visenya says and stands up from her sitting position, breaking the thick silence. She dusts off her knees, only to realize how muddy her dress is. It appears Geralt noticed as well.
"Your dress is ruined," he says.
"I'll just make another one," she says after sighing heavily. Sewing is never something she looks forward to. "Maybe Hilda needs me to punch another town idiot." She makes her way back into the forest. However, before completely out of her hearing range, Visenya picks up the faintest whisper of a masculine laugh. The sound gets carried off into the wind and led into the forest where it would soon dissipate.
The ghost of Winterfell hangs around Visenya, the conversation with Geralt confirming that. Wherever she is, no matter what she does, her thoughts wander back to them. No, she doesn't think she'd ever forget them, but maybe leaving will help.
Something about the ceiling is particularly captivating that night. Visenya's eyes trace the cracks and the crevices and count the grain in the wood. She's seen this a million times in the year she's lived in this room. Dust collects in the far corners, an occasional spider disappearing from view. Speckles of wood shavings fall through the cracks when a strong wind hits the building. She's done all of this a million times, so why is she enthralled by it tonight? Maybe it doesn't have to do with the ceiling. Maybe her mind is a million miles away and the ceiling just happens to be the chosen spot of her gaze.
The faint sound of breathing next to Visenya pulls her from her thoughts. She moves her gaze to Renfri's still form beside her. She's sprawled on the bed, eyes closed with a small smile on her peaceful face. Her breaths are slow and deep, but her eyes flutter at any noise disturbance from below. Her closed eyes highlight her long and wispy eyelashes that leave feather light kisses on the tips of her cheekbones. While this close, Visenya can see the faint freckles that dot along her cheeks, like constellations in the sky. Brown hair fanned on the pillow frames her face like rays of light surrounding the sun. Visenya's eyes trace down towards her lips that subtly open with each breath she inhales and exhales. They're bright pink and swollen, causing them to appear poutier than usual.
She looks peaceful and content, and Visenya wonders what's running through her mind. Is she dreaming or caught in between the dream world and the waking world? The lines that indent her face are gone, leaving her skin smooth and youthful. The harsh austere beauty that originally drew Visenya is gone, replaced with an innocent and delicate beauty. It gives a glimpse into how Renfri could've been if not for Stregobor. If the world wasn't so cruel to her.
"Now who's watching who?" Renfri mutters, sleep thickly coating her words.
"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Visenya replies, lazily moving her eyes back to the ceiling, her lips curling into a large grin. "But, if it were true, would that make you the Siren in this scenario?"
"I suppose it would." Renfri muses, rolling onto her side. Visenya mimics her movements so that they're both facing each other. "Have you been ensnared by my charms, Vis?" she teases, closing the distance between them.
"What do I get if I say yes?"
"My eternal companionship?" Renfri says.
"While useful for the future, I'm much too impatient for that. How about something more immedient?" Visenya says, closing the distance between them to attach her lips to Renfri's, who immediately responds, lacing her fingers through Visenya's hair. The kiss is sweet and warm, and fills Visenya's stomach with a fuzzy feeling. The taste of her lips is sweet enough to cause her teeth to ache. The sensation is addicting, the feeling of her lips pressing against Visenya's. Or maybe she just likes Renfri being this close. Either way she's on a high she never wants to come down from.
Renfri is the first to pull away, her finger twirls a lock of Visenya's hair around. Visenya's eyes flutter shut, enjoying the soothing feeling of Renfri closeness. Silence falls over them for a moment, putting them into a state filled with serenity and simplicity before their thrilling adventure begins after the morning.
"Am I to guess brown isn't your natural hair color either?" Renfri asks, breaking the silence.
"Gods no, it's naturally silver." she says. Her body relaxes into Renfri's touch instantly as she melts into the bed.
"Why dye it then?" Renfri adjusts herself, propping her back against the wall with her hand in Visenya's hair. Her hand has moved to graze her scalp with the tips of her nails. Visenya raises both of her eyebrows, not feeling the need to verbalise her answer.
"Stupid question, got it. Have you considered going back?" Renfri says and slids her hand out of Visenya's hair. Her hand traces the outline of Visenya's face as she leaves a trail of kisses along her neck. The cold temperature of her lips is a welcomed change to the heat Visenya naturally radiates.
"I have." Visenya says, propping her head with the palm of her hand. "Maybe I will once we leave. Gods know that dye isn't doing my hair any favors."
"Can't wait for the reveal," Renfri says, a smirk upon her lips.
"Speaking of which, tomorrow's the big day then?" Visenya asks.
"It would appear so. You haven't changed your mind already have you?"
"I was planning to see if that Witcher would take me with him when he leaves. But if that doesn't happen, then I guess I'm all yours." Visenya shrugs her shoulders, desperate to hide the smile she's fighting.
"Hmm, what a shame. Whatever could I do to convince you to stay, fair maiden?" Renfri says, her voice filled with mirth.
"A fight to the death perhaps, winner gets me?"
"Then it's settled. I'll pull every dirty trick I know in that fight to win." Renfri says.
She throws a leg around Visenya's hips, caging her body in. She steadies herself by pressing her arms on both sides of Visenya's neck. With lightning speed, she peppers Visenya's face with small kisses, the sensation of her lips tickling her skin. Visenya's face scrunches up as she laughs until her stomach begins to hurt.
"Stop it, stop it!" Visenya playfully shouts in between bouts of laughter.
Half-heartedly, Visenya attempts to slap Renfri, but it doesn't work. Instead she continues her assault, leaving kisses on Visenya's forehead, cheeks, chin, and tip of her nose. Visenya's heart rate speeds up as the butterflies in her stomach crescendo until it's like a swarm of them inside her. This continues on for a few more minutes before Renfri pulls her face away, but stays in the same position.
They pause for a moment, watching each other as they allow the silence to envelope them, until Visenya breaks it.
"Promise me you won't die." she says quietly. Silence rings in the room and for a brief moment Visenya thinks Renfri didn't hear her.
"I promise."
The moment is like something out of a book. A horrible, terrible retelling of a tragedy. Like the songs about star-crossed lovers to warn children about the dangers of love. Dark clouds obscure the sun and cast a grey tint on Blaviken. Villagers filter into the center of the town, their whispers lost to Visenya. The dead bodies of Renfri's band are scattered in the vicinity, killed by Geralt - who is nowhere to be found. The bitter air bites at her exposed skin as the wind whips her brown hair, her hand that holds the strap of her travel bag is stark white. The travel cloak Sansa made wildly flaps in the air - hard enough that her longsword sheathed on her hip gets caught in it. Her wide eyes are transfixed on the scene. The anticipation of this day that culminated into a grand fantasy in the pan of two days imploded in a mere second. One decision and a handful of movements managed to ruin Visenya.
Renfri.
Renfri's dead body lies on the ground in the center of the chaos. The open wound on her neck stains the ground red. Wide unblinking eyes stare at Visenya as her brown hair is fanned around her body, matted with blood.
A man with white hair that has thinned with age stumbles towards Renfri from across Visenya. He wears black robes with delicate embroidery made from an expressive material. A scruffy white beard lines his jaw, hiding some of his placid face. Stregobor, the town's wizard. Sharp golden eyes follow his movements as he leans down to the ground to inspect Renfri's body with a clinical eye.
"Incredible." His eyes glint with excitement, fiending to experiment on her body. "Marilka! Marilka? Marilka!" He stands from his position and turns towards the crowd. From his right, Marilka along with her mother approach him.
"Get me a cart. We'll take her to the tower for an autopsy!" he says.
A fire inside Visenya flares to life, all the rage and sadness that has been bubbling under the surface channels into fire. As her temper rises so does her body temperature. The need to unleash her anger and watch him die, to let him feel all the pain and suffering he's caused burns inside her, barely contained. Vengeance rears its head, as the heat begins to consume Visenya. The tight grip on the bag strap is moved to her sword. Geralt pops out of a corner with his sword in hand.
"If you touch a single hair on her head… yours will be on the ground next." Geralt seethes. He stands behind Stregobor, his sword pressed against the side of his neck. His voice is rough and hoarse, similar to a snarling wild animal. The scowl set on his face is scarier than all the tales of death Old Nan used to tell. Stregobor's eyes move from the blade to Geralt.
"Have you gone mad?" Stregobor says, his tone neutral but with a hint of smugness hidden beneath it. "Her mutation, it influences people." Visenya moves forward to stand slightly behind Geralt. Her face is stone as she watches Stregobor.
"That's how she got these men to follow her - for you to follow her! We need to take it!" he proclaims as he waves a hand in Visenya's vicinity.
Could it be - no. What I felt wasn't due to magic tricks.
But even with that assurance, a piece of Visenya wonders if Renfri did beguile her. Would that better explain the instant connection? But it was genuine, it had to be. In every radiant smile filled with warmth and kittens and butterflies. Every look that drowned Visenya in her honey sweet eyes. Her rough voice that somehow managed to sound sweeter than all the minstrels and bards in the world. No, that couldn't be fabricated, not by any magic in this world or the next.
"Don't you touch her," Visenya says her words like a snake spitting venom, yet Stregobor pays her no mind.
"Witcher, you butchered bodies in the street of Blaviken." he says, his eyes squint and an air of confidence forms around him.
"You're a beast!" Aldred's yell breaks the silence around the villagers.
"You endangered the girl!" Mirilka's mother yells.
"Beast!" another yells.
"He killed every single one -"
"You took the law into your own hands. You made a choice and you'll never know if it was the right one" Stregobor adds more fuel to the fire, feeling untouchable in the mist of the enraged villagers.
"He's a bad one!'
The anger escalates as people grab onto rocks or anything else they can get their hands on. They toss them at Geralt along with various slurs and threats of death. With his longsword shielding his face, Geralt lowers himself to the ground. Visenya feels cold hands grab onto her shoulders. Her body goes limp and they pull her back into the crowd. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the profile of Isadora, her blonde hair messier than usual.
"Stay here," Isadora says, whispering the words in her ear before she disappears into the tavern. Marilka moves from her mother to stand beside Stregobor and lowers her body to crouch on the ground. Now eye to eye with Geralt, a blank expression on her face, she opens her mouth.
"Leave Blaviken Geralt, and never come back." Marilka says in a cold tone. Geralt's eyes flit to Renfri's body then back to Marilka. He rises from the ground, more rocks smack against him. As he turns and scans the crowd, his eyes rest on Visenya for a moment, but looks away. With a limp, Geralt moves through the crowd of people to the exit. The villagers follow him like a pack of wild animals, pelting him with more rocks and vile words, some even spitting on him.
Visenya watches as he leaves, as helpless as a girl of one year when King's Landing was sacked. The people continue towards the exit of the village, their screams no longer heard. She feels stuck in place frozen like a statue. Her gaze moves over to Renfri's still body. Her brows slightly furrow the longer she stares at the woman. The world twisted her into a monster and then spit on her when it suited their narrative.
Visenya notices Stregobor gathering a few people to bring her body to his tower, so he could pull her apart like an experiment and see what made her twitch. Visenya feels her fists clench, fingernails digging into her palm so harshly it draws blood. The cowardly wizard briefly meets her gaze once more. He simply turns back to his newest project. Her mind began to lock itself deeper and deeper inside itself. Her last memories of Renfri replaying. One step, two steps, three steps. The mud beneath her quelches with each stride. The anger inside her returns with a vengeance. She stops three paces from him. The remaining villagers scatter upon noticing her hand upon the longsword.
"I would recommend getting back to work, at the inn if I remember correctly." Stregobor says. His expression is calm and cool, with a hint of arrogance in his eyes. Like a proud bird preening at its success. He surveys her and his chin tilts upwards.
"I will kill you." Visenya says, her cool tone not betraying the fire inside. "Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or even a year from now. But I promise you I will. Revel in your victories while you still breathe." And with those final words, she swiftly turns and beelines for the tavern.
If Visenya knew that would be the last time she'd see her alive she would've pleaded for Renfri to just leave now. Let Stregobor live out the rest of his miserable life while they travel the country, finding adventure at every corner. Make her see that vengeance wasn't worth the effort. Who needs to live in the past when you have a new exciting future around the corner?
But she didn't.
And now she'll never get the chance.