Francesca
"I hope you are well, my lady," the Alder King said, sitting down across from her at the table. His name was Eredin Bréacc Glas, the leader of the Wild Hunt and King of Tir ná Lia.
"Enough of your courtesies, Eredin. I want to know what you want and why you requested a meeting between us."
The King of the Wild Hunt had dressed splendidly for the occasion. Rather than the silver-steel suit of armor that was designed to make him look like a specter- as he and his riders typically wore, he today was wearing a shiny suit of silver plate armor, with an elegant red cape to follow behind him. Unlike what Francesca was expecting though, he did not wear a crown.
"My proposal is alliance, Lady Francesca. That is all."
She raised an eyebrow. "Yes… you make it simple, because you're hardly one for true governance- not like your predecessor was. You were the commander of his special forces and took the crown upon his death because you could- but you lack the skills to truly wield it."
Eredin was taken aback. "I did not come here for you to insult me."
"I'm not insulting you. I'm merely pointing out a simple truth that we both know is the case. You were born to be the King of the Wild Hunt, not the King of the Aen Elle. There's no shame in that." She folded her hands together on the table. "You propose an alliance. What are the terms of this alliance?"
"Well… your people will be free to enter my realm. You'll be allowed to take up residence in Tir ná Lia- even the ones soiled with human ancestry," Eredin explained. "Your realm in Dol Blathanna is a fragile one, held together by a peace you and the humans agreed to. But we both know it's only a matter of time before they renege on it."
"So you offer me and my people a chance to migrate?" Francesca was soundly disappointed. "Is that all?"
"When the time is ripe, we shall reconquer the world of the Aen Seidhe. Together, your people and mine. You Valley of Flowers will make a glorious capital for our new world- one ruled entirely by elves."
"Ah…" Francesca was a little more intrigued by this notion. "And my people… what sort of welcome shall they receive in your realm? Will they be received with honor, welcomed as long lost cousins who are finally returning home after many years away? Or will they be shunned and held in contempt for the choices of their ancestors?"
"Your people will be welcomed and honored as befits them- perhaps even more so. Some of the people may hold disdain for them, I suppose, my people are a vast populous after all- but I do feel certain that for the most part they shall be treated with respect."
"And if they are not welcome? What will you do then?"
"So many questions… Ge'els and Avallac'h warned me of this." Eredin scratched his clean-shaven chin. "If your people are not received warmly, then we will have to come up with more creative possibilities, I suppose. Incentives of course- and perhaps looking into more ways to relocate your people into our realm. It will be done though, I can assure you of that." He stared at her with his dark green eyes, which projected a good deal of power and strength despite just being eyes. "Yet, even the possibility of rejection seems preferable if you ask me, to what awaits you here in the world of the Aen Seidhe. Your Valley of Flowers, all elven, yes? All old elves?"
"We're primarily older elves, yes," she agreed. Most of the young elven population had been killed many years ago in Aelirenn's Rebellion, and they'd not recovered since. Though elves lived long- much longer than any human could- became infertile much earlier in the comparative life cycle, and did not have the same reproductive urges as humans, which had allowed them to multiply at a much greater rate.
"How many elves have been born since your settlement began? Have there been any?"
"Eleven," Francesca answered immediately. If she wanted to, she could tell him each one of their names, and those of their parents too. "But we've only been around for five years."
"How many live in Dol Blathanna, might I know?"
"Seventeen thousand."
"Seventeen thousand… once there was a time when my Red Riders alone numbered that many." The King of the Aen Elle was quite still, even more than Francesca would have expected from someone who was doing so deliberately. Every movement was carefully thought through. "You've had five years and cannot even boast a child for every thousand?"
"That is so… but let me guess, you need me for more than my people's population- is that right?" She paused momentarily to let him answer, though he didn't say anything at all. "You want my people for more than just their numbers. You want their knowledge and their experience. You want guides into the world of the Aen Seidhe. You want folk who'll help you in your quest to conquer this world, is that right?"
"That is so," he said, with a very quiet voice. "Tir ná Lia is a magnificent city, but we still are in need of more. More lands with which we can settle, more populus with whom we can conquer, and more labor to work for us."
"So you say… though I must confess, my people are not as good a warring folk as they might have been. After the war, many of the Squirrels faced execution or exile, and have become outcasts."
"This I also know."
"Then why do you desire an alliance with me and my people? Has a sudden sentimentality overtaken you, your royal majesty? A desire to stand side by side with the elves from the world you and your people abandoned?" She looked at him quite intently. She knew there was more to it than that. "Spill, or I'll use my spells to make you do it."
"Avallac'h and Ge'els are the ones who primarily handle my domestic affairs. Often they disagree on things, yet if there is one thing they can agree on, it is what they think I must do- preferably sooner than later. Marry, they tell me, over and over again, until I'm damn near ready to cut their tongues out to shut them up." He was staring at her differently now. "I've no loves at home my heart yearned for, or I would have sooner chosen them. But there was one woman who I did desire from afar. The most beautiful woman in the world, her beauty surpassing that of even Lara Dorren."
Francesca was unmoved by that. She didn't doubt that Eredin might have developed feelings for her in their couple of encounters, but she knew that wouldn't be enough to justify this. "I think it is even more than that. Tell me all of it, or I'll leave."
"Ge'els speaks of a need to form an alliance. 'It need not be a truly great one, but it must be some sort of alliance,' he intones. Avallac'h… he speaks of prophecy. He told me he spoke to you once, told you of what the future foretold for you. He said-"
"-I remember what he said," she finished. It had been many long years since she'd heard the prophecy that she'd been told as a girl. But now, she found herself remembering its words. You'll find rebellion does not suit you well, and it will cost you dearly- though you won't see any other path. Yet, all of lit was necessary to set you on your path. Later, through diplomacy, you shall win a crown for yourself, gold like your hair. But the greatest feat shall be that of your son. He will unite the elves as one. At first, Francesca Findabair had thought that it was some sort of jest, or that the mysterious elven sage had it all twisted and thought she was someone else. But as the first two parts of the prophecy came to pass, she'd found herself mystified as to what the third one could mean, as to how her son would be able to unite the elves if she couldn't have one. "You want me to give you a son destined to unite the elves as one."
"That… and a queen who is worthy." He shrugged. "For that, why not turn to another queen? One who had led elves to salvation? And a sorceress of great power as well?"
I'm not a queen anymore, just a duchess. The distinction hardly mattered anymore though, now with Henselt, Demavend and Foltest dead, she could probably crown herself queen again without any major opposition. "Your proposal to me is that I take you as my husband, move my people to your world and abandon my province entirely."
She stood up and walked over to the balcony. At the top floor of her palace, when she looked out, she could see all of the city below. A beautiful place, one that they'd made for themselves, defended from invaders and attackers.
Eredin stood at her side. "It is a beautiful city, I will give you that. Our proposal does not mean farewell though. Humans may take it once you and your people leave, but you will have it again."
"Forgive me, your majesty, but I'm afraid that I will need time to consider your proposal."
"Of course," the King of the Wild Hunt slowly backed away, "it is much to consider, I'm certain. Take as much time as you require."
Francesca turned around to look at him. The elf was devilishly handsome, she had to admit that. Her mind was already made up. Destiny is what draws us together. I'm certain of that. But… "Before I make up my mind, there are some affairs I need to tend to, if you will, your highness. Personal matters."
"Very well. I shall await at Tir ná Lia for your response. You know how to summon me, yes?"
"I do."
"Then I will leave you." Eredin walked out to the balcony, raised his hands, then disappeared with a flash.
The thought of the proposal made her nauseous. The idea of finding a way to restore her fertility as a means to fulfill destiny… Yet it is what I deserve, isn't it? For how we tried to force poor Cirilla. For destiny and repentance, she could do this. But there was more to it than just marrying and copulating with Eredin.
"Hm…" she muttered to herself, thinking. There were two options. The first was Fringilla Vigo. Rumor had it the Nilfgaardian sorceress was in fact fertile- and perhaps even had a child- and the line of House Vigo was full of sorcerers and sorceresses who'd had children. But from Francesca's understanding, that had more to do with traits within their family line rather than any conscious decisions they'd made. The other…
When was the last time that I saw Yennefer of Vengerberg? Was it truly Montecalvo Castle?
It didn't matter. Yennefer of Vengerberg's obsession with finding a way to reproduce was a known topic of discussion among the now defunct Lodge of Sorceresses. And while it had seemed certain that she had perished during the Rivian Pogrom five years prior, later on there had been many rumors of her and Geralt of Rivia returning to life, and walking among the living once more. But even that came with another question of where Yennefer was now and if perhaps she'd stumbled on a way to reverse her infertility. Find her first, and worry about the rest later on.
Francesca went to her megascope and for a time, studied it absently. With a megascope, she could communicate with anyone in the world, no matter where they were- provided they had a megascope too, but she also needed to know precisely where Yennefer was, and be in contact with her megascope. Without certainty that her fellow sorceress even had one, that meant the only option was simply to teleport to where she was.
If I had a part of Yennefer, that would make this much easier. A lock of hair would be preferable, to go along with a date of birth and a most recent memory. Instead, I have a scent. Lilac and Gooseberries were the scent that Yennefer was famous for, one that she wore quite distinctly. Luckily, Francesca just so happened to have a vial of similar perfume.
Once she had the perfume, it was time to round up the rest of the ingredients for the potion- all of which she luckily grew in her garden. Rosemary and peppermint, wolfsbane, berbercane fruit, bloodmoss and mandrake root, along with some other ingredients she couldn't disclose without betraying her secrets. The only thing she could think of that might have made it more disgusting was a bit of fiend dung.
Brewing the potion was not a particularly complicated process either, though it wasn't pleasant. It reeked terribly, and that was made only more so after adding the scented perfume. Francesca shuddered as she began to stir the potion, keeping it hot in a kettle over a fire. She had to keep this up for a full hour before the potion was ready.
As she stirred the potion, Francesca found herself reflecting on the state of the Lodge of Sorceresses. Phillipa had taken the leadership role within the Lodge quite firmly and decisively when it had been formed, as was her due as the most powerful among them, though Francesca wondered if perhaps she could have asserted herself more- demanded more power and influence. If she had… well then perhaps the Lodge would still remain. Assire, Shaela and Margarita were all certainly dead, and with Rita's capture corresponding with the fall of the School of Aretuza, that likely meant the pipeline of new sorceresses would soon dry up. Since then, Francesca had spoken with Ida Emean aep Sivney at length on the possibility of forming their own school for sorceresses- one built on elves. With the limited populous of Dol Blathanna, that seemed like little more than a dream, but with Eredin's help, there was a chance.
When she at last was finished stirring, Francesca removed the kettle from over the fire and allowed it to cool. The concoction looked as awful as it smelled too. She doused the flames, then found herself a goblet to drink, while it was still warm.
The elven duchess took a long and deep drink of the vile potion, feeling a little bit of it running down her cheeks and her chin as she tried to drink as much of it as she could with one swig. When that was done, she had to resist the urge to vomit it all right back up. A few minutes passed with the only change being her stomach becoming upset.
Then all at once, it felt like she was taken out of her room in Dol Blathanna entirely. She could see the entire world now, as though she were Hemdall from the legends on Skellige. Lilac and Gooseberries, she thought to herself as things continued to expand and expand. Show me Lilac and Gooseberries.
At first, it seemed like they were everywhere. In gardens and flowers, and not together, Francesca wondered if she could ever find Yennefer in all of this when the scent was literally everywhere. So she focused. Together, she thought to herself, the scents must be together. A perfume like the one I used. A human. A woman. A woman.
Her search narrowed considerably. In the span of a minute, she went from detecting the scent everywhere in the world to now just a dozen places. The only question now was which of those was Yennefer. What Francesca needed was something else to detect the sorceresses. If she'd had some sense, she might have put a raven feather into the potion, since Yen's clothes always incorporated those, but without that…
Her stone. Obsidian. Francesca searched for Obsidian within the traces and found her match.
Skellige was her answer. The Island of Faroe to be more precise.
Francesca took note of the other locations that she had located the scents together, but if Yennefer wasn't in Skellige, that would mean she was no doubt in for a long ride.
With a wave of her hands, and an incantation in the alder speech, Francesca opened a portal straight to Faroe- the southernmost island in Skellige. The teleportation took her to a road in the middle of the island. That was if you could consider this beaten pathway to be an actual road.
Almost immediately, she wished that she had thought things through a little bit better. She'd decided not to land directly in whatever shack or hovel Yennefer was living in since that would likely create conflict, but had failed to bring a horse or to change her clothes into something more suitable. Now she was cold, and stuck out like a sore thumb on this island.
Luckily, she could see the village not so far off.
Shivering the entire way, Francesca managed to make it to the edge of the village, where a sign in the language of humans read: Harviken.
"What do you want, wench?" asked the guard with a strong Skelligen accent.
"I'm looking for my sister," Francesca replied, calmly, "I'm a sorceress, as is she." She looked at her exposed arms. "Suppose I forgot to dress myself appropriately. Maybe she'll have some clothes I could borrow." Not that Yennefer's fashion is one that I would like to borrow.
"You're an elf, wench. We've no elves here."
"Are you sure?" Francesca waved a hand. "I think you have loads of elves."
"Aye… my mistake, m'lady. Who is it, this sister you're looking for?"
She smiled. "Yennefer of Vengerberg."
"Follow me."
The guard kept up a swift pace. Francesca was able to follow, and held her high with dignity, despite how cold she was. Ultimately, the guard took her to a tower, which overlooked all the other houses and buildings within the village.
"Lady Yennefer's tower," the man announced.
Of course she found herself a tower. "Thank you, sir," she grinned. "You can return to your post now. I can handle it from here."
Francesca knocked on the door once the guard had left her. Yennefer, I know you're home.
There was no answer at first, so she knocked again. And then again. Finally, on the fifth knock, someone came to the door.
"Yennef-" Francesca was going to say when she saw a figure with curly black hair answer the door. Except… it wasn't Yennefer at all. Instead of Yennefer, there was a boy, fourteen or fifteen by Francesca's estimate, with the same curly black hair and violet eyes as Yennefer. He had the same fair skin too, though nobody would be caught calling him short or petite. On the contrary, he was tall- very tall in fact, and was slender but not thin.
"Mother!" the boy cried out.
Mother? This boy being Yennefer's son… it seemed possible, but it was simultaneously impossible. How is he so old?
Francesca Findabair had not been able to come up with a satisfactory deduction up until Yennefer herself came to the door, "Ves, what is it?" she called out, gasping for breath as she was suddenly at his side. Before she had the chance to ask the boy another question, she stopped, and the two sorceresses began studying each other.
"Yennefer."
"Francesca."
Silence hung in the air between them. The cold air couldn't compare to the iciness between them.
"I hope you're not trying to bring me back for another convening of the Lodge of Sorceresses, Francesca," Yennefer finally said. "I hope you have enough sense to gather that I'm done with the Lodge."
"Done or not, Yennefer, I don't care. I just want to talk." Francesca gave a polite smile. "Will you let me in? Perhaps we can chat over some tea?"
Yenna snorted. "This is Skellige, Francesca. We don't do tea here. Just mead to get as shitfaced as possible."
"So be it," Francesca said, nodding. "I'll drink mead with you."
"Come inside."
The elf followed the human into her home. They had never been close, but life had a funny way of bringing people together like that.
Yennefer finally sat down on a rather luxurious couch- far more than what should have been found on Skellige, and invited Francesca to sit on the other one. "Ves," she called out to the boy, "if you could bring us some mead and bread, that would be splendid. After that, you should go out."
While the young man was out of the room, Francesca began to make her inquiries. "Ves. He is your son, yes?"
"Indeed. Quite clever of you, Francesca. I'm utterly shocked you were able to uncover that secret," Yennefer responded, quite dryly. "Let me guess… you have more questions about him?"
"I do," Francesca nodded, "in fact, he is the reason I came. Or… in a way, he is. No, I had no notion that the boy even existed before I came."
"Good."
"So how did you keep the secret? And why?"
"What secret?"
"The boy."
"There is none."
Ves finally returned with a plate of sliced bread along with two cups and a pitcher. "Here you are, mother," the boy said, setting the items down on the table between the two sorceresses.
"Good work," Yen smiled, "you should go play now. I'll bet there'll be someone out there looking for company."
Yennefer's son did as he was told, and went off. While his mother poured the two cups of mead, Francesca was still struck by the utter similarity between the two. "There is a secret, Yennefer- that is if you're willing to be honest with me. That boy is far too old to have been born after the last time we saw each other. He must have lived during both the Great Northern Wars, the Slaughter of Cintra, the Battle of Sodden Hill, the Coup on Thanedd, the Battle of Brenna, the Peace-"
The human sorceress raised a hand. "That's quite enough, dear. I know what's happened in the past few years."
"How did you hide the child from Philippa and Tissia?"
"I didn't," Yennefer said with a shrug, "he merely didn't exist."
"So he's some sort of figment of your imagination made flesh? A child you stole and changed their form to resemble you? What?"
"He's a child like any other. He grew inside me and came out in a torrent of pain and blood, nursed at my breast. I trust I don't need to describe everything to you, do I, Francesca?"
"No. I only wish to know how."
Yennefer took a drink from her mug. "Alright. Let me tell you. And do not interrupt. Do you swear to listen and hear my story out? Without judgment?"
"I swear." I just need answers.
"Well, it started after Geralt was accused of regicide at La Valette Castle. He'd been a hero of the battle, but then due to some rather ah… unfortunate circumstances, Geralt was found standing over King Foltest's broken body. It didn't matter that his sword was clean or the fact that Geralt had no reason to kill the king or how Geralt had stopped an assassin from killing Foltest just months prior. The Temerians wanted blood, so they threw him in a dungeon, while Triss and I failed to secure any seat in the new council that was to govern the kingdoms. But you knew all this, yes?"
"I knew Geralt was accused and ultimately innocent. I'd not known why he was accused though."
"After Geralt escaped from the dungeons, we made our way to Flotsam. Triss and I, Geralt, Vernon Roche and his blue stripes. In Flotsam, while Geralt was busy rescuing his friends and getting himself into more trouble, I encountered a pair of scholars who said they had a potion they wanted to test on me. They claimed it would restore my fertility, which I took an interest in, naturally, and said I would take it- though only after, I'd been allowed to study it first to ensure it wasn't poisonous. Once I was satisfied, I took the potion for myself, and gave some to Geralt, though he was not aware of it." Yennefer folded her legs. "At first, I thought all of it was a load of shit. I didn't feel anything change, and Geralt himself didn't notice anything either. By the time we left Loc Muinne, I'd almost entirely forgotten about the entire ordeal, since I was certain the potion they'd given me was completely useless. So Geralt and I traveled a little, primarily around Redenia, until eventually we decided to travel to Skellige. At first, I thought it was just seasickness, but then when we landed… I was still sick. I was going to tell him, of course, but Geralt was quickly getting himself wrapped up in doing favors for Crach an Craite and others who were claiming the throne. Meanwhile I tracked down a djinn. One who I was certain I could find a use for. When Geralt didn't join me, I went by myself."
"So you're telling me that the boy I'm looking at is the product of a sterile witcher and a sterile sorceress?"
"I told you no interruptions." Yennefer took another drink of mead. "Yes, the boy is the product of two individuals who'd been made sterile by magic, and who no longer aren't. Luckily Ves doesn't seem to have taken certain ah… undesirable traits from either of us." She sighed. "The djinn… well the djinn was the problem. I asked the djinn to undo the wish that bound Geralt and I together, that had been my intention from the start, though mastering it had proved too taxing. Afterwards, I was not anywhere I recognized. In fact, there weren't any people. I was in this place called the Island of Mists. That is where Ves was born, and where I raised him. Luckily, there were dwarves and a few other stragglers here and there to give us company, but with how weak I was, I didn't dare to take any risks. It was like I couldn't leave at all."
Francesca nodded. "So how did you escape?"
"Necessity. Ves and I had lived there for… oh, fourteen years? The Isle of Mists naturally left him without many people to socialize with, and oftentimes I considered leaving on the basis of that, since raising him there likely wasn't wise. But I didn't have the strength. That was until the darkness descended upon the island." Yennefer shuddered. "A frost came, and I knew we had to escape, though it was only then that I came to realize that while we'd been on the Island for years and years, hardly any time had passed at all since then."
"And is that the full story?"
"No… you're supposed to ask what I'm up to now, aren't you? And then I'll tell you that it's-"
"-Not my business," Francesca finished. "It's not my business, Yennefer, and frankly, I don't care. Whatever you're doing here on Faroe isn't my concern. What I want to know is about Flotsam, those scholars who gave you the potion. I need them."
"To destroy their formula?"
"No. But I do need their services, Yennefer. Of course, my business is also not your concern, so I'll spare you the details. But I do need to know their names, where I'll find them, everything."
The raven haired sorceress considered it for several minutes. She drank several more swigs of mead, pursed her lips and seemed to be deep in contemplation.
"I'll tell you where to find Gaspar and Farid. But I need your help with another matter first," she finally said.
"And what would that be?"
"I need your help finding Margarita."
Perhaps the Lodge of Sorceresses lives on after all.
Author Notes:
Whoa! A chapter that's out within three months of the previous one!
Due to some issues with balancing, I did add quite a few more POV characters who you might start seeing popping up, and as a result of these additions, the story got big. Like… really, big, which is why I made the decision to split this first… Volume I suppose, into two parts. It's not going to be the cleanest of splits, and there's still about 55 chapters left to be published in this first volume (I have 20 of those complete but they're not in sequential order).
Thanks for reading folks.