Chapter 6: The Black Swordsman

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The crackle of the fire echoed softly through the stone halls of Kaer Morhen as Geralt of Rivia sat at the long wooden table, his fingers tracing the edges of a letter. The air was cold, but the warmth of the hearth did little to ease the tension in his shoulders as he read Yennefer's reply.

The parchment was as familiar as the woman who had written it—her unmistakable scent of lilac and gooseberries still faint on the edges. The words, however, were less comforting.

"Geralt, I am… busy, as always. If this is about Harry, I suggest finding someone else for his training. We both know I have little interest in raising another Witcher. I trust you can manage on your own, as you always do."

Geralt sighed heavily, crumpling the letter slightly in his hand. Yennefer's usual biting tone barely surprised him anymore, but it still left a sour taste in his mouth. The relationship they shared was tumultuous at the best of times, their passion matched only by their frequent clashes. A bond neither could quite break, nor fully understand. He wondered if they ever truly would be able to coexist without this tension.

For all the fiery love they shared, the distance between them seemed to grow with each passing year. Yennefer was wrapped up in her dealings with the Lodge of Sorceresses, too preoccupied to bother with something as mundane as helping Harry with his magic. And perhaps, Geralt mused, part of her resented the boy's presence—a reminder of how the Witcher had changed.

"Maybe it's better this way," he muttered to himself, folding the letter and setting it aside.

A second envelope lay unopened beside it, the crimson wax seal marked with a familiar insignia—a rose. Geralt glanced at it, already knowing what he'd find inside, but dreading it all the same. He broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, scanning the elegant handwriting.

"Dear Geralt,

I'm positively thrilled to hear from you again. It's been far too long since we last saw each other… though I must admit, I'm a little disappointed you didn't invite me for more personal reasons. Harry, you say? How interesting… I can't wait to meet him, and of course, I'll teach him everything he needs to know.

Love,

Triss Merigold"

Geralt's lips thinned into a line as he finished reading, a sigh of dismay escaping him. Triss's letters were always the same—light, flirty, full of innuendos that often danced around more serious matters. She was playful, cunning, and he couldn't deny that her charms had once ensnared him. But those days were long behind them, and he knew that Triss's interest was rarely as simple as it seemed.

Still, Triss was dependable when it came to magic, and Harry needed someone experienced to guide him, especially now that he had survived the Trial of the Grasses. If anyone could help him refine his abilities, it was her.

Geralt rubbed his temples, the weight of the decision heavy on his mind. Yennefer was right in one sense—he could manage. But as powerful as Harry was, he needed more than Witcher training. His magic was growing stronger by the day, and if he didn't learn to control it, it could become dangerous.

Dammit, Triss… Geralt thought, folding her letter and placing it beside Yennefer's. He pushed his chair back from the table, the legs scraping against the stone floor as he rose.

"Lambert!" he called, his voice echoing through the empty hall.

Lambert appeared moments later, his typical scowl plastered across his face. "What now?" he asked, wiping a hand across his brow as he stepped into the room.

"Go fetch Harry," Geralt instructed, ignoring Lambert's irritation. "Tell him I need to speak with him."

"Right." Lambert grunted before turning on his heel and heading toward the training yard.

The wind howled through the courtyard as Lambert made his way down the winding steps, his eyes narrowing against the chill. Harry was easy to spot, his figure cutting through the early morning mist as he swung his blade with precision and deadly intent.

At seventeen, Harry had grown into the image of a Witcher. He was tall, standing just shy of Geralt's height, with broad shoulders and a muscular frame built from years of relentless training. His once jet-black hair was streaked with strands of white, the toll of the Trial of the Grasses evident in the slight changes to his appearance. But it was his eyes that had changed the most. The vibrant green that had once been filled with curiosity and warmth was now cold, dark—two chips of green ice that stared out from under furrowed brows. And like all Witchers, his irises were slit like a cat's, an undeniable mark of the transformation he had undergone.

He moved with the grace of a predator, his sword slicing through the air in precise, practiced arcs. The black blade gleamed in the morning light, a gift from Geralt when Harry had completed his trials—a symbol of his new identity as the Black Swordsman. The name had stuck, not only because of his midnight-colored sword but also because of his demeanor—cold, calculating, and deadly in battle.

Lambert leaned against a nearby pillar, watching with mild interest as Harry finished his set. "Geralt wants you," he called out, breaking the silence.

Harry stopped mid-swing, his chest heaving with exertion as he lowered his sword. His eyes flicked to Lambert, then back to the dummies he had been practicing on, but he nodded in acknowledgment. Without a word, he sheathed his blade and made his way toward the main hall.

When Harry entered the hall, Geralt was seated at the head of the table, his silver hair catching the light from the hearth. A mug of ale sat in front of him, but his expression was as stoic as ever.

"Lambert said you wanted to see me?" Harry said, his voice low and even, a far cry from the eager, inquisitive boy he had once been. The Trial had dulled his emotions, turning him into a reflection of Geralt himself—hardened, stoic, and difficult to read.

Geralt gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit."

Harry did as instructed, his cold green eyes locking onto Geralt's. He had grown used to the Witcher's commanding presence over the years, but there was something different in the air today. A tension that hadn't been there before.

"I've received word from Yennefer," Geralt began, his voice gruff, as always. "She won't be able to help with your magic training. She's… busy."

Harry's lips twitched in what might have been a hint of amusement. "Busy with what?"

Geralt's jaw tightened slightly at the question, though he kept his tone neutral. "The Lodge. Politics, I assume."

Harry nodded, though he didn't press further. He had heard enough about Yennefer over the years to know that her relationship with Geralt was… complicated, to say the least. But he respected the Witcher too much to pry.

"That said," Geralt continued, "an old friend of mine is coming in her place. Triss Merigold. She's… talented, but you'll want to be careful with her."

Harry raised an eyebrow, curious. "Careful?"

Geralt sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as if searching for the right words. "Triss can be… a bit much. She's good at what she does, but she has a way of getting under your skin. Just… don't let your guard down."

Harry's curiosity deepened at the warning, but he merely nodded. "Understood."

A silence fell between them, the crackling fire the only sound in the room. Geralt studied Harry for a long moment, his golden eyes betraying a hint of something that could almost have been regret. He had seen Harry grow from a boy into a Witcher, and though he was proud of the man Harry had become, there was a part of him that wished the transformation hadn't been necessary.

"You've changed," Geralt said quietly, his voice softer than usual.

Harry's gaze didn't waver. "We all have."

Geralt grunted, his eyes flicking to the flames. "Just be careful with Triss, all right?"

Harry smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm always careful."

The next morning, Geralt and Harry stood at the gates of Kaer Morhen, the cold wind biting at their faces as they waited. Snow fell lightly from the grey sky, coating the ground in a thin layer of white.

Harry adjusted the straps on his leather armor, his sword resting against his back. He wasn't nervous—he had faced far worse than meeting a sorceress—but there was a sense of anticipation in the air that he couldn't shake.

"She's late," Geralt muttered, his arms crossed over his chest. His breath misted in the cold air, and his brows furrowed in mild annoyance.

"She'll be here," Harry replied, his voice even. "You said she's always dramatic."

Geralt grunted, but said nothing more.

Moments later, the sound of hooves echoed through the snow-covered path, and Harry turned his head just in time to see a figure approaching on horseback. She rode with the grace of someone who was used to getting what she wanted, her cloak billowing behind her in the wind.

When she reached the gates, she pulled her horse to a stop and threw back her hood, revealing a cascade of flaming red hair that tumbled over her shoulders. Her green eyes sparkled with mischief, and a warm, playful smile tugged at her lips as she dismounted.

"Geralt," Triss greeted, her voice lilting with a teasing edge. "Always so serious. You really should lighten up."

Geralt gave her a gruff nod in response, his expression one of disinterest, though there was a flicker of something darker behind his eyes. "Triss."

She stepped closer, her eyes glinting as she leaned in ever so slightly. "It's been too long. You haven't missed me?"

Geralt's lips tightened into a thin line. "We're not here to reminisce, Triss."

Triss pouted playfully, though the look in her eyes was sharp. "Pity." Then, as if sensing she wasn't getting anywhere with Geralt, she turned her attention to Harry.

The moment her gaze fell on him, her playful demeanor faltered. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in his appearance—the black hair streaked with white, the sharp jawline, the stoic expression that mirrored Geralt's. But it was his eyes that caught her attention. Those cold, green eyes that seemed to pierce through her with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat.

"Well," she said, a slow smile spreading across her lips. "Aren't you a surprise?"

Harry met her gaze evenly, though there was a flicker of curiosity behind his cold exterior. "Triss Merigold, I assume?"

Triss stepped closer, her eyes never leaving his as she gave him a once-over. "I must say, I didn't expect Geralt's apprentice to be so… interesting." Her voice dropped into a sultry tone, laced with innuendo. "I look forward to teaching you everything I know."

Harry, for all his strength and skill in battle, had never been great with women. He had faced monsters, sorcerers, and the darkest of magic, but the playful flirtations of a beautiful sorceress were entirely new territory.

Still, he managed to keep his voice steady, his expression impassive. "I'm eager to learn."

Triss's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with delight at his response. "Oh, this will be fun."

Geralt, however, had heard enough. He stepped between them, his voice gruff. "Triss. You're here to help with his magic. Nothing more."

Triss glanced at Geralt, her expression unreadable for a moment, but then she shrugged, her playful smile returning. "Of course, Geralt. Strictly business."

But as Harry watched her, he couldn't shake the feeling that for Triss Merigold, business was never just business.

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Hey everyone! Triss has finally been introduced and i hope you enjoy the way she interacts with both Geralt and Harry, i always felt that the games didn't do her character the justice it deserves, but then again i felt that the books didn't do her justice either, so I've decided to strike a delicate balance between the two and i hope you'll enjoy! As always thank you for the support and God bless!