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Aedirn

Averon didn't like Anséis.

The little snot, that blue-eyed nob, was everything he despised about children of royal birth. Entitled, snobby, prickly at the best of times- and this wasn't the best of times. Even Ciri, whom he'd watched closely from birth, was just as insufferable as the prince when he traveled halfway across the Continent to fulfill Calanthe's final wish. It certainly helped that once he dumped her into Geralt's care at Kaer Morhen he got well rid of her.

The one silver lining he got from letting Anséis tag along was that he had his queen mother, who would see the value in keeping him from becoming Nilfgaard's hostage. In this, Half-Leaf was right. There would be some measure of satisfaction they'd get from denying the Empire their asset. But therein lay the problem. Finding Queen Meve proved to be rather difficult. In a tumultuous era, where the North actively resisted the bold blackclad legions, tracking the disgraced queen's trail required a great deal of judgement on the Myrmidon's part.

But to hear the prince pipe up some of his highborn input every single day for every single thing, no matter how trivial, certainly didn't help. Anséis was a smart kid, a product of an early education since before he could walk. Being a prince, he was used to telling people what to do. Apparently, somewhere in between their short time together as a group, the smartass got the idea that he was traveling with servants- not foreign rescuers. The blame could be placed on his long deceased father, who was notoriously dimwitted. But Averon wasn't the type to do that, nor did he have the patience to deal with the prince's antics.

One day, as they were slogging it through a muddy forest floor somewhere in East Aedirn, Anséis threw a tantrum about having to walk through the muck. The weight of the wagons threatened to bog it all down and sink. Not wishing to abandon their means of transportation, Averon ordered everyone off. Anséis didn't like the idea, and made sure to let everyone know. Aelle quietly tried to offer the prince an alternative, like riding on one of the horses while the men pushed the wagons through the muddy ground. Anséis refused, whining that the horses made his little body chafe and ache all over. He sat on the roots of a large tree and stayed there, refusing to go any further. Not even the impassioned pleas from the nurse or Half-Leaf could sway him from his stubbornness. After spending an hour indulging the child in his little drama, Averon stepped in and did the one thing his mother Serah taught him that would surely set errant little boys straight.

He whipped him across the bottom with a broken piece of the leather reins, much to the group's dismay. Little Anséis howled like a wounded puppy, bent over Averon's knee and wriggling desperately to get free as the leather descended upon his royal ass. If he chafed or ached from the horses, he certainly felt a different kind of pain now. Averon could tell that he'd never had a good spanking in his life, so the feeling must be new to him.

Eventually, the Myrmidon had to stop. By then, Anséis' bottom was raw and red like freshly scrubbed skin in the bath. The prince sobbed, rubbing his backside while the golem took him aside and straightened him out.

"Listen to me..." Averon said, his voice quiet and firm. "Until we find your mother, you will be the very soul of obedience. You will behave yourself for the rest of this trip. You will listen, you will follow and all I ever want to hear from your lips are the words 'yes sir'. Is that understood?"

The little cub had some teeth in him. He glared at Averon, "I will have your hands for that."

Averon raised the strap and held it over Anséis' tearstained face.

"Y-Yes sir."

"Now go to Aelle and apologize."

The prince ran to his nurse and cried into her skirts. Aelle threw the Myrmidon a worried but grateful look as she calmed the child down. The queensguard snickered nervously at the sight, then resumed their labors. Half-Leaf and Morénn approached Averon, amazed by what he'd just done. The elf jerked a thumb in the boy's direction, "You know you're gonna get in trouble for that, right?"

"Better me than you." Averon replied, tucking away the strap in case he would have to use it again in the future. "But if that puts the boy on a proper path, it's worth every lash. Spare the rod, spoil the child. That's what me mum used to say."

"Mine too." The dryad said wistfully. She changed the subject, "I miss my forests. This place is too dark, too void of the green. When are we going to find a new grove for my people, Averon?"

She was right about the forests of Aedirn, for the most part. The thick overgrowths choked what little light trickled from the gray smothered skies, and the colors were just a splash of different shades of gray. No birds sang sweet songs, save for the cawing of crows come to feast on the carcasses in the fields. "Somewhere and soon, Morénn... just not here, not now."

The group managed to get clear of the muck and emerged from the forest grounds. As morning dipped into late noon, they stopped to rest beside a small river. The men washed up, Half-Leaf and Morénn went out to hunt for game, while Averon pitched the tents. As he worked to fix up the fire, he noticed Anséis sitting at the far edge of camp. The little prince was sulking, and he refused to meet the man's gaze. Averon shrugged. He didn't care if the boy liked him, he just needed him to follow orders. Disciplining the prince felt good, he knew that most of them, especially princes, weren't getting enough of it growing up.

Aelle approached him after gathering the courage to ask, "Sir, may I ask you something?"

Averon nodded.

"Are you really Averon of the Fourteen? Did you fight the blackclads at Sodden Hill?"

"I am. I did. What of it?"

"You were a hero to us, back in the town where I came from." Aelle said, blushing a little. "You and Lady Merigold, and Reyncourt and many others."

Averon smiled a little, "Well, it's nice to be a hero for someone."

"Is it true that your father is Saint Vandal? That godsblood flows through your veins, and that your skin is impervious to any sharpened steel?"

"Suppose so. They tell you that where you're from too?"

Aelle shook her head shyly, "May I... may I touch your arm, sir?" Averon held out his arm, letting the young woman touch his skin. To Aelle, it felt coarse like cast-iron in some places and smooth like polished steel in others. And yet, it felt as soft and malleable as flesh at the same time. She pinched and kneaded his forearm, intrigued by its alien properties.

"Does it ever come off?"

"Yes, but I'd rather not." Averon pulled his arm away.

"Why?" Aelle asked, her brows furrowing.

"I don't shed it." He repeated, a little firmer this time. The Myrmidon turned to the little prince after he got a good fire going, "Come here, Anséis!"

The boy slowly got to his feet and approached the man, keeping his little head bowed so he was staring at the ground. "What do you want... sir?"

"I want you to sit. Get warm, not stew in the cold."

"I wasn't stewing."

"Of course not." Averon declared, "Just like you're not thinking of creeping into my tent and shanking me with that sharp little brooch you've got hanging 'neath your vest."

Anséis looked away, "I-I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come now, little prince. I was once a little boy like you, and I got my share of spankings because I was a rebellious little shitstain too. Hated every bit of it, but in the end it made me a better man."

"That so? Think that'll make me any better?"

Noticing his belligerence, Averon doubled-down on his point. "Yeah it will. But it'll work only if you stop being such a brat and act like a true nob."

The prince mustered up the courage for one last bluster, "You know, where I come from, you start talking to the prince like that- you can lose your tongue?"

"Oh I know." Averon smirked, amused by the pup's adorable display of bared teeth. "But I wager you're smart enough to see that I'm right... and that you know if you threaten me again, it's the leather strap for you."

Looking rather glum in his defeat, Anséis pouted. His ass was still sore from all that whipping, and he didn't want to get another helping so soon. "Yes sir."

"Good. Now sit down. Half-Leaf and Morénn should be back any minute now with our dinner."

Aelle put a comforting arm over the boy's shoulder. The prince didn't move from his spot and simply passed the time by writing odd scribbles on the riverbank. The little group was rejoined by the rest of the former queensguard, and the camp soon filled with the mirthful chatter of men swapping tales of bygone adventures. Soon, Anséis forgot his anger and started to bask in the stories of the veterans of the First Nilfgaardian War. He was, after all, still a little boy. He loved stories, especially ones about blood and fighting.

And as it turned out, Averon had the best stories of that sort. He told of the proxy wars he fought in Calanthe's name when Nilfgaard was still mustering up the courage to face the North. He told of the great battle at the Marnadal Stairs, the brief siege of Cintra and the horrible sacking that followed. He told of the exodus through the Yarugan Crossing, the long stand at Sodden Hill and the battle for the ancient bridge that stretched across the river. Many of the men that fought beside him that final day, when the Empire's losses exceeded its want for the North, survived and sat at the fire telling of that same story.

But Averon never talked about who he was, or how he gained his extraordinary abilities. To them that sat around the fire, he was simply the Myrmidon. Anséis didn't much like Averon when he started out, even less so after getting his hide tanned. But children were quick to forget, and there was a budding bit of admiration the young prince had for the Cintran warrior. He liked Silas, and Half-Leaf, but stayed far away from the green-skinned dryad. The deer they managed to haul would sustain them all for a day or two, no more. Averon told them they would camp for the night, but be well away from the valley at first light lest the Nilfgaardian pursuers catch up to them.

Anséis slept easily in the tent along with his nursemaid. Averon and a few of his queensguard stayed up for first watch, letting the others rest for the second one. Alas, keeping the fire going through the night didn't deter unwanted visitors as the Myrmidon wished it should have done. An ancient predator, older than the forests of Aedirn, awoke from the sounds of men and horses. It smelled the sweetness of their blood in the air, along with something else.

Godsblood.

Averon heard it first. The quiet scrape of a dozen or more sharp objects dragging across solid stone, the rasp of mouths yawning and gnashing together in a cacophony of awfulness. As the Myrmidon turned his head, the fire illuminated the horrifying aberration rising from the other side of the river. A writhing, squirming, contorting mass of decayed and desiccated corpses half crawled and half staggered its way towards the camp. The foul magic of the Wandering World, combined with the shambling dead of Saggrel, birthed this monstrosity. Averon had seen the abominations of the realm his father was said to have come from before, but every new encounter was just as revolting as the last. The poor soulless undead were warped together like figurines made from molten wax. A dozen ugly gap-toothed faces stuck out of the horrid mass, and a dozen more arms brandished an assortment of rusted weapons. In the dancing shadows casted by the firelight, it was truly the stuff of nightmares.

When he saw it, Averon couldn't help but gasp as he stood there frozen with horror. "What the fuck?!"

"To arms!" Silas cried, springing to his feet and grabbing his sword from beneath his shield. "We're under attack!"

The conjoined abomination rattled and snarled from a dozen mouths as it attacked the camp. Two of Averon's men were cut down and torn apart on the spot as they moved to rise from their slumber. The Myrmidon grabbed his spear and shield, braced against the monster, and stood his ground to make a bigger target of himself. Aelle screamed, tucking the little prince in her arms while she cowered inside one of the tents.

"Come here, you ugly bugger!" He cried, thumping his shield to get the monster's attention. "On me!"

Rusted swords and spears stabbed at him from all sides, glancing off of his skin so hard it sent sparks flying into the night. Averon planted his feet firmly into the riverbank and pushed with all his might as the creature put its whole weight against him. Half-Leaf and Morénn filled the monster's hide with their arrows, succeeding only in decorating the rotten bodies with their shafts. The abomination didn't seem to mind them all that much, focusing instead on Averon. Its misshapen awkward forms bent inwards like the pinions of a large bird, enveloping the man in a cage of disheveled limbs and writhing ancient weapons.

Averon stabbed with his spear, tearing into the old armor of the amassed undead. But none of his attacks seemed to have any significant effect on them. In the spur of the moment, Anséis glanced down at the scattered burning branches where Silas tripped up over the campfire in his haste to help his commander. The prince broke away from Aelle, seized a burning piece of firewood, and hurled it after the monster with as much force as his tiny arms could muster. Like kindling, the abomination easily caught fire. The stench of old and rotten flesh burning wafted in all directions. Averon held his breath as he brought his shield up. The monster's massive hulking form was suddenly enveloped in a blanket of bright red, and soon it collapsed onto ashen limbs as the fires ate away at its conjoined bodies.

It didn't utter a cry of finality, nor a mournful noise typical of one near death. Instead, the monster emitted a quiet sigh- as though relieved to be put to rest.

"Anséis." Averon said, keeping his eyes on the burning bundle of corpses. "Come here."

The little prince obeyed, and the Myrmidon placed a hand on the boy's trembling arm. Anséis dared to look up at the man, expecting to be reprimanded or whipped again. Instead, he found the warmth of pride on Averon's face. He wasn't smiling, but the look was in his eyes.

"Well done. You've just killed your first monster."

Anséis bowed his head, smiling shyly to himself. Averon and Silas gathered up the remains of their dead comrades, placing them into the wagon to bury them later. The group broke camp even before first light approached, for they knew that all the commotion would've drawn the attention of their pursuers. Anséis was still very much an asset of great import to Nilfgaard, and it was safe to assume that they would've sent someone after them. Averon led them out of the forest grounds and deeper into Aedirn, hoping to find some hint as to where Queen Meve had gone.


Meanwhile, high up in the clouds, the dragon Carnifex and his rider Vogelbaum traced the sudden flare of light in the woods of Aedirn. The Nilfgaardian specialist made a brief swoop to verify his target, then headed back to his fellow hunters on foot. The blackclad riders followed his directions, never stopping to rest even as darkness had fallen. General aep Dahy held their mission as top priority and would broker no failure, and so they sacrificed sleep and food. They crossed the plains, the jagged mountain narrows, the bubbling streams and thick forests. Finally, they emerged into the same valley where Averon's group slowly rolled through.

After getting little sleep from the battle with the undead in the forest, the group trudged along wearily, exhausted and eager for the respite afforded by an inn.

As dawn approached, Averon gazed back in the direction from which they came. He saw the riders bearing down upon them from the woods, and he sighed in exasperation. Bidding Silas to take over the reins and set the horses for a fast run, the Myrmidon grasped his spear and yelled at the rest of the queensguard to ready up. "Here we go again! To arms! Blackclads to our flank!"

The men got their spears and shields ready, crouching low to steady themselves on the wagons as they rocked dangerously back and forth while the horses broke into a gallop. The Nilfgaardians drew their swords and spurred their mounts forward harder. When they drew close to the wagons, Half-Leaf and her dryad friend popped out suddenly to deliver death from afar. Their arrows pierced the blackclads where their armor was thinnest and felled two mounted knights at a time.

That gave the Nilfgaardians enough reason to back off, but they kept the chase.

"Hang on!" Silas announced as they entered another mountain pass, which hugged a steep plunge into a narrow ravine. The wagons trembled as their wheels rolled across jagged rocks and muddied stones, threatening to break apart at the speed in which the queensguard sergeant was pushing them into.

Suddenly, Carnifex swooped in on the wagon where Anséis and Aelle were riding on. The dragon seized the prince in his claws and tried to make off with the screaming lad, and the screaming nurse along with him. Aelle lost her grip on her charge and fell back into the wagon. Averon didn't think twice. He hurled his spear at the Nilfgaardian rider, piercing his armor with ease and killing him right on the saddle. Vogelbaum gasped and slumped forward, but Carnifex was steadfast in his master's task. The dragon screeched and climbed up into the sky, but not before having the Myrmidon grab onto his ankles when he jumped off the wagon.

Morénn aimed her arrows at the fleeing winged serpent, making him bleed when she struck him beneath the hilt of his massive tail. Averon struggled to lift his whole weight over to climb up the dragon's saddle, wrestling with Carnifex to have possession of the boy. As they struggled in the air, their flight led them over to a distant river which ran along the rockies and poured into the foggy wilds of Aedirn. The prince proved to be slippery prey, managing to squeeze out of the dragon's grasp to fall into Averon's waiting arm. While he wasn't the most agile of sorts, Anséis was able to climb over to the Myrmidon's back and hug tightly to his neck.

"Good lad." Averon grunted, drawing his sword from behind his shield and opening a gash in Carnifex's neck.

Both man and boy fell into the raging river. Anséis lost his grip and hit his head against a stone. Averon sank to the bottom but resurfaced when the current throttled him across the floor. He reached out to the prince as the boy floated by him and swam to shore. Blood trickled from a wound in the prince's scalp, and he sank into the golem's shoulder as his fickle strength failed him. Averon laid him down and tore off a lengthy strip of cloth from his royal garment. With this makeshift bandage, he wrapped Anséis's tiny head and stopped the bleeding.

Averon didn't like Anséis... not at first. But given a few days, and a great deal of enemies nipping at their heels, it wasn't too difficult for him to change his opinion of the boy.

"Don't die, cub." He rumbled in the prince's ear as he pulled him up into his arms. Averon glanced up just in time to see Carnifex's body crash into a nearby tree. The mangled corpse of his rider slid off from the saddle and fell with a loud splat onto the muddy ground. The Myrmidon searched the bodies before moving on and found a few useful things inside one off the leather bags built into the saddle.

Some identification documents, encrypted orders signed by the acting Nilfgaardian field marshal, some Nilfgaardian florens, and the seal of the Empire.

Averon's lips curled into a sly smile. He bagged up Vogelbaum's things, placed his shield at his back and walked away with Anséis in one arm. He'd fought against Nilfgaard long enough to be able to speak and read their language, just enough to throw off anyone who stopped them on the road. The seal and identification papers would back him up. He wagered that if the Nilfgaardians have come this far North, they would be everywhere in Aedirn as well.

To get help for Anséis, he needed to get to a town and find a doctor. The golden coins he found in the bag would be useful in that regard. When he got to a road, Averon let off a sigh and shed his iron flesh. Walking around as the Myrmidon would draw suspicion, so he traveled as a man.

Anséis stirred against his shoulder, moaning in quiet agony as his head began to swell. Averon patted him on the back and doubled his pace, following the path towards Gatberg.

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