Chapter Text
Geralt had escaped his prison cell, collecting his swords and armour as he left. He followed the twists and turns out of the dungeon and into the streets of Cintra.
The world burned around him.
He expected to see dead villagers and city dwellers lying in the streets of Cintra, but surprisingly most of the dead seemed to be soldiers wearing Nilfgaardian black. Their bodies had been mutilated, sap and branches sticking out of them.
If Geralt didn’t know any better he would have claimed that a leshen had done this, but the corpses had the stink of chaos on them. Geralt was sure that Mousesack didn’t have this level of power, the druid was powerful in his own right but the amount of chaos - the destruction – it was almost unheard of.
A wolf ran by maul bloody and coat dirty. It stopped, glancing at him with unnaturally blue eyes. Geralt drew his blade discreetly, but the wolf only stared, finally lowering its head in what Geralt could swear was a nod as it ran off.
He needed to find his child surprise. Calanthe had managed to put up a good fight but Nilgaard had still won.
Geralt raced back into the castle, killing those that stood in his way.
He rounded a corner, coming closer to the quarters he had met Calanthe in less than a week ago. He could smell her perfume in the aim, marred by the foul scent of death. He knew the Queen had fallen before he saw the body.
The plants had gone haywire in the room. Creating a makeshift coffin of vines and thorns around Calanthe’s body. Dead Nilfaardian’s littered the floor, swords in hands, vines around their throats. They knelt on the ground around her body, as if in prayer.
There was a smell in the air, of rosewood and springtime. Hours old at most. For a second he thought it might be Jaskier but it wasn’t intermingled with the usual scent of ink that always hung off him from his writings, the springtime scent was more pronounced and weaved into the magics around the room.
Jaskier didn’t have any magic and the springtime was like an afterthought of the other overwhelming scents of his profession.
The destruction, the unusual behaviour of that wolf all coupled with the plant life acting as weapons. It pointed to something that Geralt had believed extinct or at least no longer present on the continent.
Fae.
Geralt didn’t want to imagine how Calanthe had gotten herself tangled with them. The fae – what Geralt knew of them – were tricky and volatile. They craved power and pretty things.
Geralt growled, thinking of his child surprise. It wasn’t unusual for the fae to steal young girls, marry them off to their lords to create strong offspring especially if they were already imbued with chaos. If Cirilla had inherited Pavetta’s talents, she’d be the perfect candidate.
“Geralt!? What are you still doing here?”
The witcher turned in shock, not having heard him approach.
Mousesack stood before him. His clothing rumpled, blood slashed across his cheek and a bag across his chest.
“I’m searching for Princess Cirilla, where is she?” Geralt was relieved to see Mousesack.
The druid clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“She escaped with Julian.” Mousesack looked around the room, checking for anyone that could be listening as he whispered close. “They should be heading to Lettenhove, Calanthe’s older sister resides there.”
Geralt felt a weight lifted from his shoulders.
“I’ll send word to my brother. He’s often in the area. I think Cirilla will be safer with me.”
Mousesack nodded in agreement. “ I believe that would be the better option. Though Julian is barely trained, I think he’ll keep her safe till you join them.” He said motioning to the room.
“Calanthe’s nephew did this?”
“He’s very talented, more powerful than he knows but he has a good heart – although he’s just as stubborn as Calanthe…was” he said, glancing at the fallen Queen.
Mousesack walked towards her, Geralt almost calling out to him before the thorns moved away and around him to let him through. The druid picked up the blue scarf wrapped in her hands, sliding a hand over Calanthe’s eyes and whispering her last rights before coming back.
“Give this to Princess Cirilla when you find her, I’m sure it will bring her some comfort.”
Geralt took it, shoving it into a side bag with his potions.
“Was Calanthe aware that her nephew is fae?” Geralt said, his lip curling.
Mousesack snorted a laugh before taking a good look at the witcher’s face. “Oh, you’re serious- you really don’t pay attention to court gossip do you?”
Geralt frowned narrowing his eyes.
The noise of thundering footsteps cut their conversation short. Mousesack cursed, he ran over to the bookcase on the north side of the room. He revealed a secret passageway by pulling down a sconce. Ushering Geralt though quickly before closing it behind them.
“I’m running low on chaos, I won’t be able to portal us away, I’m afraid.” He whispered.
“Fuck”
Julian wiped the blood from his nose on the back of his sleeve as they walked through the dense forest. He’d steered Ciri away from a refugee camp and further into the woodlands. It wouldn’t have been safe there. While there was strength in numbers, they’d be sitting ducks there. It was only a matter of time before the Nilfgaardian’s came that way looking for survivors to massacre.
Ciri was starting to flag, her movements were becoming sluggish as they trudged along. Her shoes, that were made for dancing rather than woodland walks, were ragged and falling apart. Julian had tried to make her another pair from vines and magic, but he was so depleted that it had done more damage than good.
The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. He was sure that someone or something was following them, using the treeline to hide. He’d been resisting the urge to look back, trying to push Ciri a little further into the heart of the forest and hopefully safety.
He just needed to rest, just for a couple of hours to get his strength back.
He stumbled slightly, Ciri pulling on his hand as she fell into step with him.
“Julian, are we safe yet, can we rest?”
He pulled himself straighter, wincing at the blisters on his feet rubbed inside his boots.
“Just a bit further, darling.”
Crows watched them from the trees, dark shadows cawing to each other. Gnarled roots rose from the ground.
A twig snapped behind them, Ciri twisted, shock and fear marring her features
“Wait! It’s not safe” The voice hissed from behind them. Male but young.
Julian squinted into the distance, a boy dressed in browns and greens revealed himself. He waved to them, beckoning them towards him and away from their destination. Julian ushed Ciri behind him and out of sight.
“Hello friend, thank you for the advice, but I think we’ll continue on our way.” Julian said.
The boy gulped. “You don’t understand, there a Leshen in these parts. It isn’t safe for you.”
Ciri’s hand gripped his tightly. Julian was aware that a Leshen lived in these woods. They did in most deep forests. It was exactly why he had decided to head this way. A Leshen would attack a human, but it was very unlikely one would bother him or his charge.
“We’d rather take our chance with the Leshen than returning the way we came.”
The boy fidgeted, keeping an eye on him and Ciri. He must have taken in their bedraggled appearances and came to a conclusion as he nodded.
“I can lead you out – a safe way.”
Julian whetted his lips. Ciri was dead on her feet, as was he. He looked over the boy once more, noticing the hat that closely covered his ears. Julian let out a breath.
“We’d appreciate that, thank you. We’re heading North.”
The boy blinked, frowning. “Well you’re heading the wrong way. That’s east-“ he pointed the way towards the Leshen.
“Is that so, sometimes you need to take a wrong path to find the right turn.”
Ciri slipped against him, learning her weight on him as she seemed to fall a sleep standing.
“Come, I’ll take you somewhere to rest.” The boy said, starting to traverse through the forest again with the ease of someone who had lived in one all his life.
“Thank you. You can call me Dandelion, this is my sister, Fiona. Could I have the name of our saviour?”
“Dara”