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Castoff: Bad Blood (ch. 18)
🕑 Added 2023-05-04 16:46:16 +0000 UTCThe more Guts heard Emhyr talk, the less that he liked him. He was made of sterner stuff than Guts initially gave him credit for though. The king that he had fought for was a petty coward -- absolutely everything that Guts imagined a king would be. Weak. Waifish. Afraid. Radovid had been an improvement, but in the end, he wasn't smart enough to get out of his own way. Emhyr was…
Emhyr reminded him of Griffith in the worst possible ways. He was composed, for one thing. Even when he was tied to a chair, one eye swollen shut and lockjaw setting in, he was down right regal. He acted like he was exactly where he wanted to be and like he was in total control of the situation. It was exactly what Griffith would do. It was exactly what Griffith would act like. He… acted like a king, more or less. What a king should be.
Then he began to speak and it was like Griffith was tied to the chair. Hate swelled in Guts chest. Rage surged through his veins like blood. His teeth ground against themselves, his fingers digging into his flesh as he crossed his arms. Guts wanted to kill him. He wanted to cross the room and smash his head in. It wasn’t about what he should do, or cost and benefits. Guts wanted him dead because he couldn't kill Griffith.
"Can you wage a war of ambition?" Emhyr asked, his tone light as he planned to betray his empire. No. Betrayal implied that he had ever been a friend to the empire in the first place. To Emhyr, the Nilfgaardian Empire was the same as the Band of the Hawk had been to Griffith -- a means to an end. A way to accrue influence and power for his true intentions. For Griffith, it was a utopia. Not for the sake of the people that would inhabit it, but for his own ego. To prove to the nobility that he hated that he was better than them. That he should have been king all along.
He didn't know Emhyr's true intentions, but it couldn't be much different. He was making it sound like he was on Ciri's side. That he was doing his duty as a father. It was a lie. People like Griffith -- like Emhyr -- were only capable of helping themselves.
Worse…
There was a long pause after Emhyr asked his question. A telling pause. Geralt and Yennefer traded a look. Dandelion, who was eavesdropping on the conversation from upstairs, also made a face with his lips thinning. The silence was deafening in the wake of the question.
What was he doing? What was he thinking? Did he really learn nothing? Absolutely nothing? He agreed to help Triss because she helped Casca. She helped him. The outcome of the war meant nothing to him. Nilfgaard, the Northern Kingdoms -- world peace? He couldn't care less.
But it was becoming something else. Something very different.
He was helping to create another Griffith. They even had the same damn hair color.
"No," Ciri said after a tellingly long minute of silence. "You and Phillipa aren't half as clever as you like to act. There are a lot more options on the table than you're trying to show me. I'm sure I could find a back alley conman that could pull that trick off better than you."
Emhyr didn't so much as blink. "Oh?"
"You hunted me like an animal for years. Because of my blood. Seems pretty convenient for you that you forgot all about it just now," Ciri accused.
"I'm betraying my empire. I would hardly call that convenient," came the dry response. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Guts almost regretted punching him because the swelling made it that much harder to read his expression. He also noticed that Emhyr didn't deny the accusation.
"That implies the empire means anything to you. We both know that it doesn't," Ciri said, echoing his own thoughts. Guts felt conflicted for a moment. Part of him felt guilty for doubting her so easily. The rest of him still doubted her. "I'm not sure what you're trying to gain here, but I'm not one of your puppets that you can make dance by pulling a few strings." There was a flash of anger in her voice and he saw her glare, her expression twisting.
To that, Emhyr inclined his head. "What I hope to gain is peace. With the North, as well as with you, my daughter. The Nilfgaardian Empire is yours by right."
"I don't believe you," Ciri responded with more anger in her voice. She was losing her temper, spitting the words out like an accusation. "You don't do things for other people. You never have."
"That, my daughter, is untrue. Is it so difficult to believe that I love you? That I want the best for you?" He questioned, his voice so neutral and even that it was telling.
"Franky? Yes," Ciri spat the words out, openly glaring at him. "I don't know what you feel for me, but I wouldn't ever call it love. You hid yourself away in Nilfgaard after mother died. When you did come back to Cintra, it was at the head of an army. You butchered the people I cared about and you hunted me for most of my life because of some prophecy. I've never been your daughter. At best, I was a tool for you to use."
"Not just a prophecy. The prophecy. The destruction of our world is our fate -- just as it is for the Wild Hunt. Together, we shall avert this catastrophe, but there will always be collateral. In such an event, chaos and ruin will destabilize the planet. The Nilfgaardian Empire will be in a position to endure the chaos and bring stability in the aftermath." He spoke coldly, as if all of it was certain.
He was dodging the accusations, Guts noticed. Every time Ciri got personal, he would switch tracks to the bigger picture. The end of the world, or some such. Guts didn't put much stock into it. People had been predicting the destruction of the world since the very first day on it. Maybe they would be right, inevitably, but until that day the 'end if the world' would just be a pretty convenient catch-all justification to do anything. Because no matter how terrible and vile the act, surely it must be better than the destruction of the world, right? Evil done in the name of good couldn't truly be evil.
What a fucking joke.
"You-" Ciri looked like she was about to strike him, but lowered the fist. "Fine. Whatever. You want to help? Then I'll let you prove it to me. I happen to have a very small army that I can teleport into any fortress or stronghold in the world. You can give me a list of names of all the upper nobility, where to find them, and who would support my claim to the throne and who would resist it." Ciri refuted, revealing her plan.
Emhyr narrowed his eyes, "It will be less effective-"
"I don't care. I'm not going to slaughter thousands of people whose only crime is answering the call to arms of their lords. If I have to kill anyone, it's going to be the people that actually make the decisions." Idealistic. If Guts had to say anything about the plan, then it was idealistic. Emhyr wasn't wrong. People didn't follow blood or legacy. They followed winners. So long as you kept winning -- so long as they felt like they would keep winning -- people would follow anyone.
Targeted attacks across a nation… maybe it wouldn't inspire the same amount of faith, but that was a special type of power. It was just a question if people would fear her more than they wanted to win. Being called a sorcerer king was an insult, after all.
"And if I don't?" Emhyr questioned, his tone flat.
"Then I'll blacken your other eye. And let Guts try out his left hook if that doesn't beat some sense into your thick head," Ciri replied. Emhyr's gaze flickered to him -- or, rather, his metal prosthetic. His gaze flickered up to his face, measuring him.
"Forgive me for not thanking you for your help fracturing the North. Any gratitude I might have held had been spent," he said.
"Keep dodging questions and Ciri won't have to ask me to punch you," Guts growled at him. He was trying to take control over the conversation again. Any time Ciri got a foot up, he picked out a single sentence of a statement or changed subjects. It was annoying to listen to.
To that, Emhyr was silent. His lips thinned and displeasure was clearly written on his face. His lone eye went to Geralt and Yennefer, who had otherwise been silent during the exchange. "Yennefer. You understand the nature of power. Better than most, I will admit. Most mages are completely reliant on their innate powers and think themselves clever. It was how I used the Lodge's interest against itself. But you don't. Which is how I know you understand the foolishness of this plan."
He was digging his heels in. What Ciri suggested wasn't unthinkable. His plan was better all around, but still, it was an odd hill to die on.
Yennefer offered a smile that could be mistaken for kind. "Flattery when desperate does ring awfully hollow," she remarked, sounding like she was taking the compliments anyway. She did seem amused with his predicament, even if she did give Ciri a lingering glance. Emhyr frowned before looking back at Ciri.
"No compliments for me?" Geralt remarked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I'd think on it quickly, father. Who knows how long it'll be until everyone hears that you've been kidnapped?" Ciri said, deciding that the conversation was over. For better or for worse. Emhyr's expression tightened but he pointedly said nothing. Dandelion took that as his cue to descend the steps.
There was a wide smile on his face, "A room, fit for an Emperor. Street kings and now royalty -- my tavern is already off to a great success!" He said, grabbing Emhyr by the back of the chair and starting to drag him down to the cellar with the help of Zoltan. Emhyr tried to seem dignified as he was lowered down, but everyone could see the fury simmering underneath at the blatant disrespect. So, he wasn't just a cold fish. Good to know.
As soon as he was gone, Yennefer rounded on Ciri. "What are you thinking?" Yennefer asked, and there wasn't any anger or confusion in the question. Just curiosity and a faint echo of approval.
"It's… a long story, but… Guts -- what do you think? Could my plan work?" She asked, clearly trying to avoid the conversation. She bit her lip, chewing on it nervously.
Guts had to close his eyes for a second. She wasn't Griffith. She wasn't. They seemed so damn similar, but the clear uncertainty that she wore on her face was a stark reminder that she wasn't Griffith. Griffith never let anyone see him nervous. Or angry. Or even sad. He would laugh and cheer with everyone else, but the messier emotions? The ones that conflicted with his image of the perfect leader? Those he hid.
"His plan is better," Guts told her, opening his eyes to see an expression close to betrayal flickering across her face.
She glared at him, "It'll be a slaughter. Thousands of people are going to die."
"Soldiers. Thousands of soldiers will die," Guts corrected. "Armies rampage and rape through the country side because it's easier to gain supplies that way. Keep a tight leash and most of the dead will just be soldiers." It was a lot easier said than done. Looting was how most soldiers made their pay. Their lord might give them a tax break for military service during a war, but it was looting that made a random peasant a rich man. It didn't have to be gold or silver -- a good plow? Seeds or grain?
War was the chance to take the things that you could never afford in a lifetime. A way to save costs for the year ahead. And everyone knew it.
"Peasants who were given an order to march," Ciri shot back, her tone bitter that he wasn't agreeing with her. Her ideals were nice, but ideals had little in common with reality. "They didn't have a choice in fighting."
"That's where you're wrong," Guts told her, his voice stern. "They have plenty of options-"
"Dissention? That'd make them an outlaw or see them killed if they're caught. It could cost people their homes and livelihoods," Ciri interjected, but she swallowed the rest of what she had to say when he leveled a look at her.
"It's still a choice. When they pick up a spear or a sword and march off to war, they make a choice. They decide that they're willing to fight and kill to secure their quality of life or enrich it," Guts told her, trying to get her to see that. Being a soldier was a choice. It was a series of choices and decisions. It was a statement that they were putting their self interest over the lives of people that they have never met.
As well they should.
"I don't know if it's different in the wider universe or some other Sphere, but that's how it was in my Sphere. And it's how it is in this one," Guts continued. "Your plan could work, but Radovid made sure that everyone in the North is terrified of magic. To the point they're burning their neighbors at the stake." To that, Ciri winced. She was so focused on defying her father, she didn't seem to consider that. The truth was often ugly, and she had to face it. "Sometimes all you have is shit choices. You'll never change anything if you keep thinking that you can always make a better option."
She was annoyed. Visibly frustrated that he had poked a hole in her plan.
"He's not wrong," Yennefer pitched in, though she sounded reluctant to admit that fact. "It merely means that the magic involved will need a feather touch," she added, her gaze sliding to him and narrowing ever so slightly. Hm. She noticed.
How badly did Ciri want this utopia that she talked about?
How many corpses was she willing to pile up to create it?
Guts had to know.
He didn't think Ciri had it in her to add Geralt and Yennefer's corpses to the pile. Or Dandelion, Zoltan, and whoever. But, at the same time, before the Eclipse Guts had never imagined that Griffith would have done what he did.
"I-" Ciri began, her lips thinning.
"I think we better get some fresh air," Geralt decided, sending Yennefer a look. Her expression pinched, but she said nothing as Geralt started to head up to the rooftop. Ciri offered a hesitant nod before following him up, casting a glance at him before they disappeared up the stairs. Geralt seemed clever. Clever enough to tell Ciri what she needed to hear rather than what she wanted.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Yennefer turned her focus to him. "Guts was it? What exactly are your intentions towards Ciri?" She asked, looking at him with a reproachful gaze that told him that there was a correct answer to that question -- that he had no intentions.
"She's my ride back to my Sphere," Guts told her, his tone blunt. The way she carried herself reminded Guts of high nobility -- how they expected their orders to be obeyed without question. At the very least, she wasn't a useless blue blood that couldn't do anything on her own. She had her magic. She was just mistaken to think that would change anything for him. "Something brought me here. Me and another."
"Casca," Yennefer ventured, making Guts narrow his eyes.
Did anyone say Casca's name?
He grunted, "The wish is to restore her mind, and helping defeat the army at Oxenfurt is repaying a favor. After that, I'm going back to my Sphere. Something Ciri said you could help with. On both accounts."
Yennefer tilted her head ever so slightly, her violet eyes burning a hole through him. "I can. I suppose I do owe you for protecting Ciri from the Wild Hunt. And perhaps I can tempt you into continuing to protect her?" She asked, and the tone she used told Guts that there was a correct answer to that question too.
"I have business to settle in my Sphere," Guts deflected the question. It didn't sit well with him, he could admit quietly to himself. Ciri was a… friend, sort of. She was someone that he could tolerate. Most of the time. It didn't at all settle well with him to leave her being hunted like a rabid dog for that power of hers.
"Truly? What is it exactly that ties you back there?" Yennefer questioned and his lips thinned at the probing question. Before finding her, Guts would have said Casca. Now…
"That's not your concern," Guts responded, his tone terse. He didn't care about the probing. "Can you help or not?"
"I can. And I shall," Yennefer admitted with a noticeable amount of reluctance. "However, Ciri trusts you. A great deal," she continued, sounding like she'd rather be pulling teeth than to admit as much. "The Wild Hunt has been after her since she was but a girl. They've targeted her relentlessly, often dragging those close to her into the mess to become targets. This is the very first time I've heard of them abandoning the chase. She trusts you and values your opinion because you are strong enough to endure those that come after her, if not drive them away."
Guts wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. It felt like he was hearing something that he shouldn't be. It made old memories start to surface despite his attempts to shove them down. His Raiders -- they had that same type of trust. No matter how dangerous or outright overwhelming the odds were, they trusted him -- their leader -- to cut a path open for them. And he did. Every single time. Until the Eclipse.
How many had searched for him that night? Shouting for him? Begging him to appear to carve through the hell that surrounded them? Only for their prayers to go unheard as they were damned to an eternity of suffering… all because he abandoned them to rescue Griffith. The perpetrator of that night. The one that brought them to that hell and inflicted it upon them.
Yennefer's lips twisted into a small frown as she regarded him. "Will you consider it? You seem to have some concerns with this plan of hers. And you aren't afraid to tell her the truth. If she is intent on doing this, I would prefer it done with you at her side." How annoyed she seemed with the admission convinced Guts that she was being genuine.
"That's a lot of trust to offer a stranger," Guts pointed out, trying to see what her game was. But the only answer that revealed itself was the one that she admitted to. She wanted to protect Ciri.
"Perhaps," Yennefer replied. "But you have earned a degree of it. Should you ever betray it in any form, I'll make sure that you don't live to regret it." She warned, standing tall, completely unafraid of him. Which was a great deal more than most could claim.
Guts saw where Ciri got it from.
The impromptu stare down was interrupted by the door opening. Guts' hand went to Dragonslayer, glancing at it before letting go when he saw it was Triss. Unlike last time, she didn't hide who she was underneath a cowl or sturdy but forgettable clothing. She stood in a fine gown of deep green with gold accents, but far more importantly, she was leading Casca into the tavern by the hand.
Her hair had been trimmed, Guts quickly noticed. Her untamable locks were smoothed out and cut shorter, though not so short that Casca couldn't chew on the end of a lock of hair. Her gaze was vacant as her gaze landed on him, the sheet that she wore was replaced with a blouse and some trousers. It looked like it was a fight to get them on. "Beeh!" Casca greeted him, crossing the distance. She offered a lock of hair for him to chew on, a clumsy attempt to share. Like a child.
"What is she doing here?" Guts asked, looking to Triss, who seemed half frozen at the doorway. Not because of him. Because of Yennefer. The two women locked eyes and the tension swelled in the tavern until Guts was sure he could cut it.
"Wheah?" Casca questioned, also sensing it. That brought Triss' attention to her and she carefully, almost regretfully, closed the door behind her.
"It didn't seem wise to leave her alone at the villa between the riots and my ingredients. My highly poisonous ingredients that she insists on eating," Triss said, keeping an eye on Yennefer as she spoke to him.
Hm. They had both fucked Geralt. Or Geralt fucked both of them.
He might be a stranger to romance, but he saw this often enough. A man with a wife and lover who then goes off to war, but upon his return, he discovers that the two had spoken to one another. Only this tension was laced with a sharp anger -- the two were both friends, if he had to guess. At the very least, they both meant something to Ciri. And one of them had fucked Geralt behind the other's back.
And given how Triss looked like she was in a room with a hungry lion, it was pretty easy to guess who was who.
He didn't particularly care. It was a family squabble and he wasn't family.
"Triss," Yennefer greeted after a very long delay.
Triss tried not to flinch, but she winced. "Yennefer. How was Nilfgaard?" She questioned, sounding like she was trying to break the tension. There was a telling pause.
"Acceptable, for the most part. I doubt many of your compatriots would feel the same," Yennefer admitted. "How was the North?"
"Fine. Until Nilfgaard started assassinating kings," Triss responded, finding her spine. There were the barest hints of an accusation in her voice. "A warning would have been nice."
"I do believe I gave you several. The Lodge was always going to collapse underneath its own arrogance. Too many large egos for anything else. Though, perhaps you are right. I should have at least extended you a warning about what was going to happen. To help you escape." Yennefer offered and Triss picked at her fingernails.
A habit that Guts recognized from someone that had them ripped out at some point. A reassurance that they were still there.
Both of them were avoiding the subject, Guts saw. They were tip-toeing around it.
At least they were until Geralt began to descend down the stairs. He didn't seem surprised to see Triss downstairs, but he did have the look about him of a rookie stepping foot on his first battlefield. Both women looked to him with sharp gazes and if the tension had been thick before, it was damn near suffocating now. All three of them were silent as Geralt reached the bottom of the stairs, and a heavy silence fell over the ground floor. Until the squeaking of the steps revealed Ciri, who seemed much happier after a short conversation with Geralt.
Her eyes lit up when she saw Triss. "Triss! You're here!" She said, quickly hopping down the steps and sweeping Triss up in a hug, completely oblivious to the tension in the room.
This… was annoying, Guts decided. "Vyesh," Casca muttered, looking up to him. Guts met her gaze and his scowl softened.
Now wasn't the time to deal with this. He was so close. So very close to getting her back. So, he swallowed a sigh. "The Djinn. You know where it is?" He asked, making everyone look at him. Yennefer paused before offering a shallow nod.
"Then let's go," he decided.
Today would be the day that he got Casca back.
Comments
serguzzle
I appreciate this story so much. Super down with Geralt and Guts just kind of vibing and not getting in each others' way as they watch the fireworks from the other's respective interactions go off.
Code_187
Really good works,I can't wait for more of this .
