Geek's Guide to Thriving in a Low End Fantasy World ( Robert Baratheon OC SI AU)

[Samael61]

For Harry Potter lovers, I just released a pilot chapter and a short, follow up piece for an SI Harry Potter story. I aim for something darker than what I usually write. You can check it out here if you are interested, along with my other pilot chapters.

SpaceBattles Link : https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/pilot-chapters-by-samael61.1318219/#post-123369829

AO3 Link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/76255891/chapters/199569101

 

[Samael61]

Hello there,

If you enjoy my stories, you can read up to 15 chapters in advance per story on my Patreon page / patreon.com/Samael61.

Robert is a badass who treats killing gods and slaying demons like just another Thursday. Did you know it was inspired by Thairon, the protagonist of my original story, Arrival : Ruptures, long before I began to write it? Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for : AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.

—
​

Novigrad

Administrative Center

"What exactly would I have to do?" he asked, calmer than he was before. This could be his chance to actually free Temeria. Provided the dragonlord's words were true.

"The prospects of the northern kingdoms don't look good," he said, putting down two sigils, each carrying the banners of the opposing forces. "They can either be ruled by Emhyr or by Radovid. Under the illustrated emperor's rule, you'd have to live with the shame of defeat. The less said about Radovid and his cruelty the better."

"I am aware of both. Before you killed Dijkstra, we were working to negotiate with Emhyr."

A smile slowly crept up his face, reaching his eyes. He reached for the top drawer, pulling out a set of notes written straight by Dijkstra's hand. "Do you mean where he was planning to have you help him kill Radovid and then kill you all so he could rule all of the north while Emhyr runs out of time and the internal strife kills him?"

Roche snatched the papers, becoming more livid with each word he read. "That fucking bastard."

"Now, I won't lie. I considered giving Redenia to Emhyr in return for him to outlaw slavery, as well as improvements to the conditions of the common citizens," he said, circling the kingdom with his finger.

His eye twitched. That would leave them with virtually no bargaining chip with the emperor. "What made you change your mind?"

"Geralt of Rivia said the nobles would not accept the loss of free labor so easily," he said. The internal politics of Nilfgaard were not discussed in detail, except for the significant issue of important figures being unhappy with Emhyr's war. If Geralt, who didn't like politics, knew that much, he would trust the Witcher's words.

And verify them, of course.

"You know Geralt?" he asked. He had heard rumors that a white-haired man carrying two swords had frequented the dragonlord's quarters in the city.

"Why yes. He assisted me in several matters, as did I in return."

He nodded, grateful for the Witcher's assistance. "Then he was right."

"I am inclined to agree with what I managed to pick up on the nobility of Nilfgaard," he said. Since he wasn't looking for a weakness, gauging what the reaction of Nilfgaardian nobility would be was possible.

"Onto the matter of the north. Currently, there is no one fit to rule. One of Foltest's legitimate heirs is a product of incest, which I dislike to say the least. The other is a child, and the Constable of Temeria is nowhere to be seen." Neither Adda the White, Foltest's daughter with his sister, nor Anais la Valette, his illegitimate daughter, had any tangible support.

"You," he pointed at Roche, "however, are still fighting this war even though Temeria is under the black banners. But you are also wise enough to understand the need for compromise. Hence your hamfisted plan for a self-governing Temeria under Nilfgaard." If only that wisdom were great enough to foresee Dijkstra's betrayal, Roche would make an excellent ruler.

He put his finger on the northernmost part of Redenia, dragging it down. "I want you to be the regent of Redenia and all the other kingdoms conquered by Nilfgaard down to the Yelena River."

Roche slid the black and gold token beyond the indicated location. "That would mean someone has to push Nilfgaard to the other side of Yelena."

His laurel, split between scorching flames and lightning, burned brighter. "You are looking at him."

He turned his head slightly to the side, feeling the heat. "You would start a war with Nilfgaard over slavery?" Either he was too idealistic or just enjoyed war and was looking for an excuse.

"Goodness no. I'll simply let Emhyr's internal problems take care of him and then kill Radovid. With the emperor gone, Nilfgaard will have no choice but to retreat due to the chaos. You will be the regent in the meantime." Not that he was against a war. In fact, the only reason he did not already scour Nilfgaard from the north was because of the potential loss in civilian life, as well as the chaos that would follow.

Monsters, bandits, and more would plague the land, and he didn't have the forces to protect everywhere.

"Your plan hinges on the accuracy of your intelligence. If you are wrong, then you might just find yourself in a war." Which worked for him just as well. He didn't care how many Nilfgaardians had to burn before they were repelled from Temeria.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "What I want to know is if you are capable enough to be a regent."

Radovid's death had brought an end to the war. However, he would ensure Radovid lived long enough for Emhyr to die. A lot of people wanted revenge, and he would be all too happy to deliver him to them.

"I am a military commander, not an administrator," he said. He had always been fighting in one place or the other, whether in the shadows or in the light. Ruling a kingdom was not included in any of that.

"If you want a north free from Nilfgaard and Radovid, you will have to be both," Robert said. He wanted to intervene because he considered Emhyr a cunt. If the northerners could not put in the necessary work, then he wasn't going to bother.

Roche lowered his head.

—
​

Novigrad

Var Attre Villa

He stretched his arms, relieving his tense muscles. Sitting inside all day with no physical activity except his morning spars was boring. He didn't exactly trust the clerks enough to delegate the work.

"I thought you did not enjoy these kinds of affairs," Sandor said, carrying a chest with the gifts Robert had bought, mostly jewels and such.

"I had nothing better to do, and it would be rude to refuse such an earnest invite," he said, stopping right in front of the villa. Henry was at Attre; his twin daughters and servants were waiting for him.

Three maids and three male servants stood across while Henry and his daughters were in the middle. The girls, identical twins with wildly differing personalities, were wearing dark and gold gowns, immaculate to the last detail. Hairs were the same, the looks were the same, and even their stances were the same, left hands at the back, right arms staying loose.

On the surface at least.

Edna's cheeks were softer, slightly more round, details that weren't apparent in the game. She held herself with pride and grace, where her sister, Rosa, was ready to strike like a true fencer. Her muscles were tense, poised to act while Edna was more relaxed.

"Lord Robert, I welcome you to my humble home," Henry said, his neck bending down ever so slightly.

"Thank you, Ambassador var Attre. It certainly is a cozy building," he said, giving a once over to the house.

Var Attre's right hand rose, gesturing to the girls on his left. "Allow me to introduce my daughters, Edna and Rosa. They are the pride and joy of my family," he said.

Unaware that Edna wrote letters in Rosa's name to embarrass her while Rosa was prone to disappearing because she was bored, unless it was a one-time matter with Geralt.

"My lord. It is an honor to host you tonight," they replied at the same time, pulling the hems of their dresses up slightly, bowing just as their father had done.

He smiled, noticing the slight blush on their cheeks. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my ladies."

"This is my guard and aide, Sandor Clegane," he said, patting the man on the shoulder. Sandor gave a short bow, moving aside to hand the gifts to the servants.

"I thought it would be rude to appear empty-handed, so I brought a few gifts."

"Your generosity is greatly appreciated. Let us move inside. A feast worthy of this occasion awaits us."

"Of course."

—
​

Given the size of the villa and the occasion, the feast was worthy. By Asgard's standards, it would be disappointing. However, the dishes were more refined due to the wealth the empire could afford to spend for diplomacy. Meat, whether pork, beef, lamb, or chicken, was all seasoned or covered with a sauce. Freshly baked pastries of almost every color graced the table.

The deserts, though, were the more impressive section. Compared to the simpler tastes of Westeros, except for the whole chocolate business, they were leagues above. Small cakes, each carrying a different taste, ranging from chocolate to vanilla to fruits and nuts, weren't even the best part.

It was the souffle.

He actually missed eating it and wanted to get his hands on it as quickly as possible.

"I hope they are to your liking, my lord," he said, gesturing at the chair on the other end of the table. As the guest of honor, he would sit right across the ambassador himself. Sandor was on one side of the table while the twins were across from him.

"Your chefs have done an excellent job. Even a blind man would be star struck," he said.

"Then let us not wait."

—
​

He might actually hire var Attre's cooks.

They knew how to make the meat tender and juicy on the inside and how to bake goods with crunchy outsides and soft, fluffy insides. Most importantly, the desserts were sweet enough to satisfy anyone's cravings but light enough to not overwhelm the stomach.

And of course, the complimentary drinks that would follow the dinner.

The ambassador had brought out his best vintage, serving perfectly aged wine that would match any on Westeros.

"My lord, I wanted to ask, when will you be returning to your home? We are worried that the city might revert to its previous state with you gone," said Var Attre as they sipped their drinks in the backyard. His question was veiled as concern, but Robert knew the emperor must be dying to see him gone at once.

He shrugged. "I managed to contact Asgard. They are preparing a fleet with special ships for the dragons to rest. Until they are finished, who knows?"

"Then may I be bold enough to make an offer?" he said.

Robert smiled. Finally, the man had decided to spill the beans. "By all means."

"Nilfgaard is, without a doubt, the strongest nation on the Continent. It is only a matter of time before Redenia falls to the Emperor's endless legions. Building relations based on trade and mutual respect would be to everyone's advantage," Henry said, beaming with a euphoric smile as he praised the empire.

Nilfgaard's legions might be stronger than Redenia's troops, but one critical factor was not on their side.

Time.

"You are correct. Asgard always welcomes new trading partners. Why, just in the last few years, I spent more than twenty-two billion crowns equivalent in gold dragons to put an end to slavery in Asgard's trading partners," he said, sipping his wine to hide his smile at the dumbfounded look on the ambassador's face.

"You… did?" he said, suddenly feeling his throat dry. Even crown-wise, that was a significant amount of gold. Robert would have to be a fool to lie when everyone on the Continent was already trying to search for ways to cross the ocean. Which meant that the man before him didn't like slavery at all.

Something that was common in Nilfgaard, more so in the industrial cities.

"Indeed." I considered burning them all to ashes, but more innocents than slavers would die," he said, willing his laurel to flash into existence for a second. "Instead, I invested all that gold into the Free Cities, the collective name of several city states, just to erase the need for slaves. We also built an entire ecosystem just to ensure that the recently freed citizens could join the workforce as proud workers."

Simply banning slavery and setting those people free would only lead to rebellions and what not. His rehabilitation and orientation programs ensured those people would find work to live on.

"That is incredible to hear," Henry said, stretching the neck of his dark and gold doublet.

He smiled, raising his drink. "Thank you, Ambassador."

He returned the smile, deciding to change the subject. "Your family must be proud of you."

"They are, when I am not giving them gray hairs," he replied, not saying anything else. The ambassador's lips twitched at the obvious dodge.

"But," he said, dragging the word out, "if you wanted to know my family, you could ask more directly."

"Apologies."

"My father is Steffon Baratheon, the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, one of the territories of the Seven Kingdoms," he began. There was no reason to not give the ambassador information on how the Seven Kingdoms worked. Not only was it all about to change once he returned, it wasn't exactly secret information either.

His grandmother was a princess; his father's line came from kings of old. He was the man who had brought dragons back to the world, who had slain a demon that had destroyed the greatest civilization on the other side of the world. Three gods lay dead at his feet, whether they believed it or not.

He was the strongest man on both Westeros and Essos, as well as probably this side of the world.

"Are you not wed, my lord? A man like you must have an endless line of ladies vying to be your wife."

"You have no idea. I had to create a special correspondence unit to answer all the letters."

"As for marrying, I have yet to find someone that has my interest," he said. Once the information-gathering part was over, they engaged in small talk about wine, Novigrad's underworld, war, and life.

—
​

Administrative Center

Vernon Roche visited him next thing in the morning, ready to try his hand at learning how to rule. Taxes, solving disputes, responding to emergencies, creating a state with an economy, educational reforms, and sufficient production to prop it up were all the subjects he had to know.

Time was limited, so he had to learn quickly.

It was never as straightforward as fighting. You never had enough of all the necessary resources at a time. If the coin was there, qualified men or materials were hard to come by. If you somehow found the workers, then suddenly you ran out of funds.

Roche wasn't a quitter, though. The tangible chance to actually earn Temeria's freedom depended on him. He spent every waking minute learning and learning. Even when Robert was done and left to rest, Vernon Roche worked.

His patriotism was impressive.

His guerilla fighters were moved to Novigrad in the meantime, supplementing the guards. They weren't certain about trusting him, but they trusted Roche. Since Vernon would need loyal and capable people to help him rule—no one man could do everything by himself—they too were included in different lessons based on their aptitude.

Robert never thought he would play the teacher, but here he was, teaching a group of desperate soldiers how to rule.

—
​

In the next chapter:

Geralt sighed, getting Uma off Roach. A week after he had left Skellige and collected the cursed person, as well as explained himself to the emperor, he was finally at Kaer Morhen.

"Well, look who the wind blew in. Been away quite a while," an old but stern voice greeted.

His face eased, a calm, tiny smile on his lips. He grasped Vesemir's arm. "Too long."

Vesemir looked down at the ugly little creature Geralt had brought. It was turning around, muttering gibberish. "And your journey—how was it?"

"Calm, if you don't count the forktail that flew over our heads a few miles back. Passenger got a little restless."



Curious about the next chapter? Please consider supporting me on Patreon.

 

[Samael61]

Hello there,

If you enjoy my stories, you can read up to 15 chapters in advance per story on my Patreon page / patreon.com/Samael61.

Robert is a badass who treats killing gods and slaying demons like just another Thursday. Did you know it was inspired by Thairon, the protagonist of my original story, Arrival : Ruptures, long before I began to write it? Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for : AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.

—
​

Skellige

Ard Skellig

He hit the ground like a meteor. He decided against letting Obelisk land. The islanders couldn't harm him, but they could make excuses. So it was best to keep him out of sight.

He walked out of the crater through the dust. The Skellige jarls and their new queen, Cerys, only saw two glowing eyes in the dust first.

Several warriors took a step back. The inhumanely tall wall of dark steel became clearer as the dragonlord approached. Once he was in the clear, there was only silence. He stood there, a crystal of flames shaped like a sword at his side.

The rumors couldn't do him justice.

"Lord Robert, welcome to Skellige," Geralt said, breaking the silence.

"Geralt," he simply replied, patting the Witcher on the shoulder. "Heard the isles finally elected a new ruler?"

"Yes," he said, gesturing to the red-haired woman draped in furs and, of course, a golden circlet.

"I am Cerys an Craite, Queen of the Skellige Isles," she introduced herself, standing straight, voice steady.

Robert nodded slightly, flames taking his armor away. He focused on himself, becoming shorter, still towering over everyone. "Robert Baratheon, a pleasure."

"No titles?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Honestly, I have too many, and saying all of them is tiring," he said.

"Your challenge has been accepted, Lord Robert. Each jarl will confront you on their own," she said. The idea of accepting the challenge in the first place was stupid. They only did it because no one knew how they were supposed to defeat two dragons. Even the greatest Witcher on the Continent had said he wouldn't take that commission.

This was the only way they could save face.

"Then let's not wait. I am sure everyone's time is valuable," he said, stretching his arms.

—
​

The first to challenge him was Madman Lugos. Madman he may be called, but he was smart enough to realize he couldn't defeat Robert in a physical contest. So he had chosen a contest based on luck. He would be considered unfortunate at most if he lost.

They gathered in the Citadel of Ard Skellig. A grand occasion like this demanded a proper setting. Spectators, mainly warriors and nobles of the islands, had arrived to watch the challenge.

"Five dice. The lowest number wins," Lugos said, handing him a cup. "May the gods favor the bold." He put the dice in his cup, showing it to Robert as a sign that there was no tempering. Robert nodded, the small breeze he created with his hand going unseen among the crowd.

Lugos rolled the dice in the cup for a few seconds, slamming it on the table. He waited, watching Robert with an expressionless face.

He showed the metal cup to his opponent while memorizing the positions of the dice. A little bit of wind would help him with the winning numbers. Once Lugos was satisfied, Robert shook the cup and slammed it on the table.

They both pulled the cups back at the same time. Lugos had two ones, one three, one four, and one three, totaling twelve. Robert had four ones and two threes, ending up at ten. Lugos groaned, throwing his head back. His men did the same, and it was music to his ears.

"I win."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'll set the thralls free and ban the practice forever," he said, getting up. He snatched a mug of alcohol from a server, walking away.

"Who's next?" he asked.

"I am," Svanrige an Tuirseach said. The young jarl was tired. Robert knew he had to condemn his mother to her death. Her crimes were unforgivable. He could see that the jarl just wanted this over with.

"Let us just cross our blades and be done with this," he said, drawing his sword. Robert gestured at Geralt, requesting his sword. He didn't need to draw his own for this battle.

Geralt handed his steel sword wordlessly. Robert twirled it a couple of times, getting used to the weight of it.

The tables were pushed away, creating an arena, surrounded by the spectators. Once both were inside, Svanrige brought his sword down. There was no need for a countdown, not when they were both warriors.

Robert stepped to the right, dodging the strike. He twirled once, going around the next swing. He was far faster than Svanrige could react to and had his blade at the young jarl's throat. The warriors groaned, long and drawn out, disappointed at how quickly it ended. Svanrige nodded once, sheathing his blade. "I concede. All thralls will be free by night," he said.

He too knew this was all so the jarls of Skellige could save face. He held no illusions he could defeat Robert. Still, he would hold his word.

Robert nodded, handing the sword back to Geralt.

—
​

His next challenger was Udalryk an Brokvar. He too was tired, eyes sunken, gaze unfocused. The separation from the Hym, as well as the ordeal he had gone through, had taken its toll on him. He wanted a simple arm-wrestling challenge to settle the score.

It had gone as expected.

Holger Blackhand, who had thought Robert was simply an overblown main lander, began to rethink. The rumors didn't seem like rumors anymore. If he backed off from a physical challenge, he would lose his face. But an idea came to him at the last second.

—
​

Robert sat on the seat of the boat. Blackhand, notorious as a sailor, challenged him to a race in the sea. It required physical strength but also knowledge of sailing. Unfortunately for Holger, he had control over the wind.

There were no druids among the spectators. Only Geralt and Yennefer would be able to tell he was cheating. He had a feeling they wouldn't say anything about it. Holger had started to row. He followed suit.

By the time he reached the rocks where they would turn around, Blackhand was barely halfway there. Winds had not favored him at all. He winked at the fuming jarl on the way back, watching him row without a single breeze in his sails.

It was just another easy victory.

—
​

As they were already on the docks, Crach an Craite challenged him next. He wanted a fishing competition. It was a respected occupation in the isles. No islander would ever dare to belittle a person over fishing.

Each would catch one fish. The victory would go to the biggest fish.

Admittedly, he preferred hunting to fishing. Crach did specify they had to stay above the water and on the boat while fishing. It limited his options, but he still knew what to do. He closed his eyes, extending a small bolt of lightning around his fishing pole. He made certain to turn his back to the crowds.

The lightning followed the line, acting as an extrasensory apparatus. Through it, he could feel the surroundings. It required a lot of focus, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

Both he and Crach caught a sturgeon. His was the size of his forearm, twice the length of Crach's. The jarl simply hung his head, conceding defeat.

—
​

Donar an Hidar was old. He was also pious. There was no challenge offered by him. He wanted to let the gods decide the winner. The two of them stood before a shrine dedicated to Freya, waiting for a sign from the gods. Unfortunately for Donar, he wasn't willing to wait that long.

He couldn't be obvious about it, though. He needed something subtle, a move that they couldn't pin on him. The sign he waited for came in the form of a cat. One of Freya's sacred animals, a pure white cat, approached the party through the path. It rubbed its head and body around Robert's leg.

Donar's eyes almost popped out of their sockets. His face turned red and he swayed on his feet. From the twitches, Robert thought he was having a heart attack. Fortunately, he was fine.

—
​

Citadel of Ard Skellige

"Fair is fair. You won, and as such, we will hold our word. Thralldom is henceforth forbidden in the isles with the wise jarls and brave warriors as my witnesses," Ceryse declared in front of the islanders, raising her cup high. With so many in attendance, no jarl would ever try to talk about foul play.

She knew Robert had cheated in at least one of the challenges. She simply didn't want to provoke him. Not when his beast alone could lay waste to the isles. Forbidding slavery was worth achieving peace.

The jarls met her toast. There weren't any cheers, of course. No one was in the mood to celebrate the victory. Not when the victory had defeated the finest warriors of Skellige without even trying.

"Well, I'd love to stay and celebrate, but I have to make sure neither Radovid nor Emhyr tries anything in my short absence. You know how those two are better than me," he said. The competition, as he expected, was disappointing. He didn't want to stick around.

Even though he wanted to do some sightseeing.

"Aye. Like two rabid dogs in a cage," Lugos said.

"Anyway, now that slavery is outlawed, traders from the isles are welcome at Novigrad. I wish you all a good day," he said, giving a wave with the back of his hand as he walked away. It was an olive branch, one that would give them something else to talk about.

All in a day's work.

—
​

Novigrad

Administrative Center

Three hours later, he peeked through the door into the office. Roche was still slaving away with the paperwork. He had come a long way in two weeks. He wasn't a stranger to administrative work, only to this scale.

"Hey Roche. How's it going?" he asked his regent. It felt wonderful to dump everything on Roche and laze around.

"Better than I feared, not as good as I hoped. Are you already done with the jarls of Skellige?" he asked. He looked out the window, seeing it was past noon. It wasn't even half a day since he left. At least half of that was the travel time.

"Of course. They had no chance against me."

Vernon sighed. "I wish this work were that easy."

"Nothing worth having is ever easy."

"True."

"Anyway, let me know if something you can't handle comes up. I'm off," he said, giving a two-finger salute, leaving.

—
​

Rosemary and Thyme

He sneaked into the tavern, walking up to his room. Roche had his men to protect him. With how hard they were working, he had given Sandor and Wun Weg the day off. He wanted to spend his time by lazing around a bit.

But business first.

"Ladies," he called, knocking on Margarita's and Sile's room. "Are you available?"

Margarita opened the door just as he lowered his hand. "My lord."

"I wanted to thank you for your assistance in Skellige," he said. Margarita smiled before hiding it with a cough. The look on the face of the islanders as the cat approached Robert was amusing.

"It is the least we could do. We are still in your employ after all."

"Eh, it doesn't hurt to be grateful. Unless something comes up, you two are free to do as you wish," he said, heading to his room. He didn't have anything to do for now. The assassination on Radovid was on hold. Without Dijkstra and his cohorts, Philippa didn't have an opportunity to benefit. Unless Emhyr could send assassins directly after Radovid, he would live for now.

In that vein, Emhyr's time was shortening with each day. From Geralt's choices so far, he wouldn't hand Ciri to the emperor. Without an heir and a way to take the heat off his back, his death was close.

The problem was how to take over Redenia peacefully after killing Radovid. The choices that led to Dijkstra ruling the North were only possible because he was a duke. Not a real one, but most people didn't know it. With the king dead at the hands of Temerian rebels and sorceresses, he would stand out as the man who had avenged Radovid. Combined with his legitimacy, there was nothing to stop him from taking Redenia's throne.

Legitimacy neither he nor Roche had.

Which meant violence. Men in Radovid's army reflected their king for the most part. Cruel, greedy, and cowards. He couldn't earn their respect, so he would have to terrify them into compliance. Roche would have to purge the hardliners and commanders to control the rest.

He turned to his right, closing his eyes to get some sleep.

—
​

Kaer Morhen

Geralt sighed, getting Uma off Roach. A week after he had left Skellige and collected the cursed person, as well as explained himself to the emperor, he was finally at Kaer Morhen.

"Well, look who the wind blew in. Been away quite a while," an old but stern voice greeted.

His face eased, a calm, tiny smile on his lips. He grasped Vesemir's arm. "Too long."

Vesemir looked down at the ugly little creature Geralt had brought. It was turning around, muttering gibberish. "And your journey—how was it?"

"Calm, if you don't count the forktail that flew over our heads a few miles back. Passenger got a little restless."

Vesemir bent down, inspecting Uma closer. "Hm, what have we here? Multiple deformities. Eyes, ears, nostrils. A hare lip. And is this?" he said, extending his hand. That startled the creature. It started to scream "Uma," repeating it over and over again.

"Now now, calm down," he said, moving back to give it space. "Yennefer was right on one count. Things sure aren't pretty."

"Yen's here already?" he asked before realizing what a stupid question it was. Of course she was here with her portals.

Vesemir's face became colder. "And how."

"Did she tell you about what's been happening at Novigrad?" he asked, trying to change the subject. At the least, Imlerith's fate would amuse the old Witcher.

"I did hear something, but Yennefer, well, she's a… How do I put this? Emancipated, strong-willed woman. But do manners count for nothing? She teleports in, not even a 'nice to see you.' It jumps right into 'We've a curse to lift. There is this to do and that—so Eskel and Lambert, get going.' Then she went into the guest room to rearrange things… threw the bed off the balcony," Vesemire said with an irritated edge.

Geralt winced.

"Shame, that was a good bed," he said offhandedly. He knew why she had done it. He was also stuck between keeping silent and bringing it up to her.

"Said the same thing myself. Solid oak frame, down mattress. Triss always said," Vesemir stopped, blinking. "Ah, now I see," he said, lowering his head.

"It's either that or Yen really hates oak furniture," Geralt replied. "Anyway, you are going to want to hear about the latest news from Novigrad."

"She said something about a dragonlord but didn't explain anything. "Too busy, you see," he said. He was busy with the wall as well, so he didn't have the time to ask more.

Geralt pulled Uma along. "Let's gather together, and I'll tell you all about it."

—
​

In the next chapter:

Weird thing though, I kept dreaming about dragons and a man riding them. He was helping you," she said.

They were resting near the fire after Geralt finally found Ciri, catching up. She told him of her journey so far, first appearing in Skellige. After escaping the Wild Hunt while Avallach was cursed by Eredin, she landed in Velen. Making her way to Novigrad, she tried to find a way to repair the phylactery to revert the curse on Avallach. When it failed and she had to escape once more, she returned to Skellige.

"That's Robert, the new ruler of Novigrad," he said.

She stopped sharpening her blade, raising her head. "What?"



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