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Castoff: The Best of Intentions (ch. 14)
🕑 Added 2023-02-23 15:59:17 +0000 UTCCiri had to admit it -- Guts knew what he was doing. She went into this meeting thinking that she was going to be stuck translating Guts speech and leading the entire negotiation. It was actually incredible to witness, in its own way, how he had the biggest gangers in the city -- the Four, who controlled Novigrad more than any king could hope to -- by the balls in a vice grip. And, better yet, Guts was making sure that they knew he knew how desperate they were.
"You are interested," Sigi returned, his tone of voice just as flat as Guts. "I have a talent for reading people. You aren't someone that wastes their time with things that they can't be bothered with. If you really were completely uninterested, I imagine you'd take that massive slab of iron of yours and cut us through before you bothered with a negotiation." Despite herself, Ciri did find herself impressed with Sigi the most of the four. Francis seemed like a decent sort, Junior was an arsehole, and Cleaver was a straight shooter.
Sigi, however, was smart. Because he just described Guts to a tee.
"Or I enjoy watching morons that think they're powerful squirm," Guts rebooked and he gave the closest thing to a smile that Ciri had ever seen on him. A shiver raced down her spine at the sight of it, and Dandelion outright shivered. Their eyes met, and Ciri tried to convey how sorry she was for the entire mess she was getting him into. The old diplomacy lessons kicked in, the ones that made her extremely aware of the power dynamics of any conversation. She thought that Guts would need the leverage.
"Tha' fuck did you call me?" Junior swore, his temper flashing. "Say another fuckin word and you'll be the one that's squirming!" He spat, but it was clear to everyone that Junior didn't believe that for a second. He was like an animal. A stupid one. He felt threatened and he was trying to puff out his chest to scare what frightened him off. Ciri imagined it was how he managed to climb his way up to be one of the Four. That, and his own terrible reputation. But, all the same, not even he was foolish enough to think that Guts would be scared by empty threats.
"I don't have any reason to fight for the North," Guts stated, outright ignoring Junior, and that set him fuming. It was obvious that he wasn't used to being disrespected. "Much less fight an army for its survival," he continued before a small huff escaped him. "It might even cost me all the goodwill I've earned with Nilfgaard so far." To that, Ciri winced.
It wouldn't be… terrible for Nilfgaard to win. Oh, Nilfgaard was full of faults even without factoring in their habit of unprovoked mass invasions. Still, if it was a choice between who was better… well, Nilfgaard didn't have a habit of burning mages and non-humans at the stake. Yet, all the same, Ciri didn't want them to win. It wasn't for the sake of the North either.
She didn't want Nilfgaard to win for the same reasons that Triss didn't want them to win. That Geralt wouldn't want them to win. Or Yennefer. Or anyone that she knew and cared about.
Maybe mages shouldn't have complete unchecked freedoms considering their power, but what Nilfgaard did was slavery with extra steps. Non-humans were treated better, but they were still firmly second class citizens and there was never any hope that they could rise above their stations in life. It was rare in the North, but at least it was possible. Witchers? Witchers had no place in Nilfgaard. And… and…
And her father. The one that wanted to marry her and put a child in her belly to create the 'chosen' one. All because he read some prophecy.
Perhaps it was selfish- no. It was absolutely selfish. Ciri just didn't care. She didn't want Nilfgaard or her father to get what they wanted.
"But you could do it, then?" Sigi questioned and Ciri stole a glance at Guts, curious to what he would say. What they were asking was downright insane. They were asking him to fight an army, a thirty thousand strong army. That was pure madness. The very idea was laughable. Ciri couldn't do it. Geralt certainly couldn't do it. You would need a small army of mages to fight such a force, and they would need to be supported by a small army.
Guts' expression didn't do much as twitch. "I could," he voiced and despite how utterly absurd the entire idea was, Ciri believed him. And that was terrifying. What did they feed him in his own Sphere? "Cut my way through the command tent and retreat, kill the pursuers. Attack again, retreat -- do it a few times and the army will collapse in on itself. I wouldn't need to kill all of them. Just some." He made it sound so easy. Like it was barely an inconvenience.
He was talking about fighting an army. Of cutting his way through hundreds of soldiers, killing someone important, cutting his way through hundreds more soldiers…
Then doing it again. Several times even. Enough so that an army -- a highly trained Nilfgaardian army -- would retreat rather than continue to face him. Guts was claiming that he could have an army running off scared. It was madness and she had to be insane for thinking that he could do it.
"I just haven't heard a reason why I should," Guys finished, his tone flat. Ciri saw a kindred spirit in Francis, as he looked as alarmed as she felt. His brow furrowed and he looked at Guts with apprehension, as if he just now realized he was within swinging distance of a nigh unstoppable monster of a warrior.
"I don't think it's about what you want," Sigi voiced. "I think it's what Triss Merigold, Ciri, and that woman want." Too smart, Ciri decided, narrowing her eyes at Sigi, whose lips curled into the faintest of smirks.
Junior sputtered, "Wut? You saying if we had sum tits, you'd jump and do it? That dark skinned lass-" Junior stated, not even realizing his mistake before Guts moved. With a hand, he flung the table that seperated them with enough force that it splintered on the far wall, and with a single step forward, he reached out to grab Junior by the face. In an awe inspiring display of strength, Guts lifted Junior off of his feet, making the man kick out at his armor while the rest of the Four took a big step back.
Ciri's blade was out in a flash, locking eyes with Cleaver-
"My table! That- that was imported! Oh, no, it's in ruins…" Dandelion bemoaned, his voice cutting through the tension.
"My associate didn't intend that to be a threat to your woman, Guts. We're here for help and I've found that making threats when asking for favors isn't good sense," Sigi spoke up, talking soothingly, as if he were dealing with a wild animal. Junior's screams was muffled by Guts' palm, but Ciri saw his fingers digging into his flesh. A morbid thought entered her head -- could he crush a man's skull in his palm? "Respectfully, I'm asking you to let him go."
Guts worked his jaw for a moment. He didn't say anything, he just let go of Junior, who fell on his arse as he coughed. The rest of the Four looked relieved.
"Thank you. Now, I know what Triss wants," Sigi claimed, making Ciri raise an eyebrow at the bold claim. "What she wants… is Novigrad," he continued without pause, and… he wasn't wrong. He wasn't right exactly, but he wasn't wrong. "Radovid was all that was holding the North together. Without him, even if we do rebuff this army, Nilfgaard is going to pick up pieces of the shattered alliance. It won't be the whole North, though. Parts, such as Novigrad, can maintain our independence if things go to plan."
"A city for fookin' mages," Junior said, spitting on the floor as he glowered up at Guts, rising back to his feet.
"More or less," Sigi continued. "What she wants is a place for mages to practice their craft freely. Without fear of persecution. Not so much to ask for, really. What I'm proposing is that you deal with the Nilfgaardians and Triss, along with her mages, will be welcomed into the fold. The Four shall become the Five." To Ciri's annoyance, he actually did know what Triss wanted. "She can discuss the fine print with us, but it's a good offer. She gets what she wants, and she doesn't have to go to the ass end of the world."
There was a brief pause as Ciri considered the offer. Triss would take it, Ciri knew. Triss didn't really crave power and influence. Not like she knew Yennefer did, love her as she might. Triss simply enjoyed having power and freedom and refused to let anyone take them from her. Having a place in the Four, the de facto leaders of Novigrad would be enough for her. Might not be enough for the mages under her, though.
"Not enough," Guts decided. At least he knew the price for doing something that was blatantly suicide for anyone remotely normal. "You seem well informed. Where is Yennefer?" He asked, ignoring Junior. Ciri's attention snapped to Sigi just in time to see his eyes narrow a fraction at that. He knew. She could see it in his beady black eyes, he knew. Her grip tightened on her sword and Sigi's lips thinned before he glanced in her direction for but a moment.
Sigi worked his jaw, visibly reluctant to answer the question. "She's in Nilfgaard. With your father," Sigi answered at last, and Ciri's stomach started to do flips. Yennefer was in Nilfgaard? With her father? That… that didn't make any sense. For one, Ciri couldn't imagine how Yennefer could stand to work with her father and the control he would exert over her. Unless it wasn't her choice at all?
"Her father?" Cleaver questioned, still glowering at the two of them, his axe in hand.
"Emperor Emhyr of Nilfgaard. Perhaps better known as the White Flame," Sigi answered and Ciri decided that he was entirely too well informed for her liking. How could he even know that? There weren't many who could possibly know that. Even if they knew that she was a princess -- as much as you could be for a nation that no longer existed -- there should be no reason for him to know who her father was.
The others sputtered but it was Junior that spoke. "Why we bothering with this mangy cunt, then? We take the girl, lord her over her father, and tell him to get gone if he wants her back. Else we'd bend her over a barrel-" he cut himself off when Guts took a threatening step forward, forcing Junior to stumble back.
"Because Emhyr wouldn't take that deal," Sigi stated, sounding like he also knew her father quite well. On that, Ciri agreed.
Still, it was disquieting to learn that Yennefer was in her father's clutches. She knew he was looking for her. Those Nilfgaardian soldiers said as much, even if they didn't know why they were looking for her. Was he using her as bait to capture her? Was she being threatened? Coerced? Her father was a monster. A vile man that could do anything under the sun and everything that never saw the light of day if it meant solidifying his own power. There was a reason that he was known as ‘He who dances on the corpses of his enemies.’
Guts glanced over his shoulder, meeting her gaze. He offered the smallest of nods and she knew right there, that he had already agreed to whatever she was going to ask him to do. She didn’t even know what she was going to do -- but, no matter what, they needed to get in contact with Yennefer about the Djinn. It may, just so happen, mean that they might need to rescue her from her father while they were at it. And Guts was onboard.
"I don't think we should be makin' deals at all," Junior continued, his lips curling at Guts. Ciri got a measure of him then. As much as he puffed out his chest at whatever scared him, he was also arrogant enough to feel disrespected when someone didn't fear him. And neither of them feared him. Worse, Guts had just humiliated him in front of his fellows and Ciri very much doubted that the four gangsters were the best of friends.
Pride was a terrible curse. Some fools thought it was worth their life.
"Whoreson, don't," Sigi interjected, sounding like his patience was wearing thin with the man. He wasn't the only one. "You'll only be speaking for yourself. And everything that happens next will be on your head." He was distancing himself from the brewing confrontation, making it clear that Junior wasn't speaking for all of them.
"We got options, Sigi. This is why I can't stand you -- No spine at all. You're asking politely when you need to be making threats," Junior scoffed, glowering at Guts. And Ciri saw it. In a normal situation, what Junior was doing made sense. He was disrespected, and he was returning that disrespect with threats. He was trying to save face. He was an arsehole that wasn't used to not being the scariest man in any room he was in. Junior wasn't used to feeling afraid.
Except they came here to ask Guts to fight an army. This was nothing even resembling a normal situation.
"Ya' see, I know your little secret. That blue little fuck that was flying about? He got everyone convinced he was the devil 'em self, he did. But I know the truth. Caught 'em back in Oxenfurt and he busted out of the auction I was sellin' 'em at. Now, I imagine it might be inconvenient for you if that little detail were to slip on the streets, wouldn't it?" Junior threatened, making Ciri's eyebrows climb high. That… was a credible threat. Just perhaps not for the reasons he thought.
The city was already in an uproar. If they learned the truth about Puck, then they'd tear this entire building down to get to Guts.
And Guts would absolutely slaughter them. He'd cut a bloody swath through the streets, he'd be defending himself, but all the same, he'd be killing possibly hundreds of men and women who wanted justice for the murder of their king and the butchery of the Witch Hunters. Mob justice, true, but… well… It wasn't like Guts wasn't guilty. Even if the world was better off. That's what she was afraid of.
Guts didn't react, and Ciri could see him labeling that potential slaughter as a non issue. She didn't blame him for that, but it was an issue all the same.
Naturally, Junior tried to take it a step further. "When they learn about you -- how you're in league with 'em? Oh, they'll whip themselves up into a tizzy. They'd march into that building of yours, and-" and whatever he was about to say would never be heard by anyone because Guts hit him. Given the last person that Guts hit was missing the top of his head, Ciri didn't think that Guts was actually trying to kill him.
He still did, though. Junior's jaw might as well have been made out of glass because it shattered to pieces when Guts' organic hand struck him on the chin. Junior went down, spitting out half of his shattered teeth. What killed him, however, was the broken neck that came from his head snapping so hard to the side, filling the tavern with a loud crack.
No wind up. Just a straight cross.
"Heh. Been wanting to do that for years. Ya' know what? Ya' ain't half bad," Cleaver decided, walking over to Junior and giving him a quick kick in the ribs to make sure he was dead.
Sigi was less than pleased, "Are you physically incapable of not killing people?" He demanded, shaking his head in exasperation.
"Do you want to find out?" Guts growled at him, sounding annoyed that he killed Junior. Seems like it really was an accident in this case.
"I believe," Francis spoke up before the tension could get any thicker. "It might be best for a recess. For us to deal with the aftermath of Junior's death and for you to present the terms to Lady Triss." He offered, glancing at Ciri for a moment.
That actually sounded like a good idea. "Agreed," Ciri decided before Guts could whittle down the Four to the Two. Francis offered a deep and thankful nod before he made a not so hasty retreat away from Guts. Cleaver delivered another kick to Junior's corpse before walking away laughing. It was Sigi who lingered, stealing a look at Ciri for a long moment. Then he turned and walked away, limping out of the door.
It was Dandelion that closed it, "It has been a pleasure and an honor to house you…!" Then he closed the door, "Please never come back again." He leaned on the door, a huge sigh heaving out of him and Ciri felt more than a little guilty for causing him so much distress. But, when he turned around, he looked at them. "Yen's in Nilfgaard? That can't mean anything good. For anyone. I can't tell which thought I find more frightening -- your father controlling her, or Yen controlling your father." He shivered dramatically, earning a weak smile from Ciri.
"What was that about the creature?" Priscilla questioned, looking to Guts. It was at that moment that Puck decided to reveal himself.
"It is I, none other than Not-Evil Puck! Master swordsman, traveler extraordinaire, world-renowned actor, and emergency medical supplies!" Puck introduced himself, making Priscilla's eyes light up at the sight of him. He gave a deep theatrical bow at the waist. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance!"
Priscilla laughed while Dandelion seemed to realize that every rumor he heard was probably the biggest con of the century. "Oh, I believe the pleasure is all mine, Missure Puck," Priscilla said, curtseying in response.
"Ohohoho! You see that Guts? That's respect! You should respect me more! I've got options now," Puck said, flying around near Priscilla, the very picture of smugness. "How many times have I had to bail you out now? Honestly, sometimes you're more trouble than you're worth." He added with a shake of his head, dramatically rolling his eyes at Priscilla, who seemed delighted and fascinated with Puck. Much to Dandelion's immense annoyance.
"Feel free to explore them," Guts grumbled, ignoring the shocked look Puck shot his way in favor of looking at her. "What does this change for you?" He asked, and Ciri was caught flat footed by the concern he was showing. It wasn't like he was a completely indifferent ass beforehand, but before last night, Ciri knew for a fact that he wouldn't have asked that question. He would have just grunted and waited for her to say something, and if she never did, then he would never bother finding out.
It wasn't a bad change. It was a good one. A great one! Just an unexpected one.
"No matter what, we need to get Yennefer first," Ciri stated. "For the Djinn, and because my father will use her against me in any way he can manage. As for running off the Nilfgaardian army… I think it's a right foolish move, but you know your limits better than I do. If you say you can do it and survive, then I believe you."
"Is he right about Triss?" Guts questioned as Puck was being consoled by Priscilla while Dandelion was pouring himself a tall glass of wine. She really did feel terrible about this. She'd have to find a way to make it up to him later.
Ciri hesitated to nod, really thinking about it. As it would turn out, she didn't need to answer at all because the back door opened. Ciri half expected to see Triss striding through the door, and who it really was… well, Ciri would have preferred it to be Triss by a wide margin.
Philippa Eilhart. Ciri had only met her once, briefly, but Philippa had certainly made an impression on her and, looking at her now, that impression still held strong. Philippa's dark hair was pulled into a set of twin tail braids, flowing down to her open dress that clung to her body. She was beautiful, as all sorceress's were, but that beauty was obscured by a blind fold over her eyes. Ciri had heard the rumors. She just hadn't really believed them.
But you never would have thought that Philippa had had her eyes carved out by how she gracefully entered the room, the faintest of smirks playing at the edges of her lips at her suitably dramatic entrance. "I believe I can answer that question. Triss sent me. She's currently babysitting," Philippa informed, her voice could only be described as haughty. The kind that made sure you knew she was talking down to you and she wanted you to know it.
"Philippa! I'd say it's good to see you, but I'm afraid we'd both know that's a lie," Dandelion sniffed, none too pleased to see the sorceress.
"Bard," Philippa returned, coming to a stop in the middle of the room. "And you must be Guts. You killed Radovid. He was my prey," she remarked, her tone as cold as winter itself.
"Then you should have gotten to him before I did," Guts returned, unimpressed with her. That killed the slight smirk on Philippa's face for a second. She seemed to think on that, and despite missing her eyes, she inclined her head to Guts. She could still see. Magic was the obvious answer, but it was a question of how well.
"I suppose you are right. I waited for an opportunity -- one that Dijkstra and his band of collaborators were meant to provide. I would have preferred he suffered, but there is something special about killing a king like he's just another man. For that, I thank you, Guts," Philippa decided, and the words sounded foreign to her. Ciri got the impression that she didn't say thank you very often.
However, Ciri's attention caught on something. "Dijkstra?" Ciri echoed, recognizing the name. If only because she recalled Geralt cursing the man for being too clever by half. "The Redanian spy?"
"Formerly, my dear. Cirilla, it is lovely to see you again. I am glad you're doing well, even in these most trying times," Philippa addressed her, and Ciri thought the words sounded fake. They wouldn't be out of place in court, but in a run down and shabby tavern -- sorry, Dandelion -- they felt out of place. "It is that 'formerly' that has rather soured Dijkstra to the monarchy. Naturally, as with all arrogant fools, he seeks the crown for himself, believing that he could steer the North in a better direction. Which is why he is rather cross with you, Guts. You didn't just ruin his plans. You stole his crown."
Ciri expected the answer to that. Guts just grunted, uncaring.
"Are you working with Triss? She said she couldn't find you," Ciri pointed out, taking a moment to process what was said. Dijkstra wanted to be King of the Northern Kingdoms? That was… a lot. Could he have even done it? No- that wasn't what was important. What mattered was that he thought he could. And now he was trying to use Guts to get his hands on the crown. If nothing else, it certainly was ambitious.
"Because I did not want to be found. Given my… weakened state, I dared not to reach out to anyone. They could be found by the Witch Hunters and Radovid wanted nothing more than to get his hands on me. It was for my own protection," Philippa stated, and that made enough sense to Ciri. "But, seeing as they are no longer an issue, I made contact with Triss and she asked me to oversee the meeting."
"And?" Guts prompted.
"What Dijkstra is offering is within what Triss -- the Lodge -- would want. Self governance, political power, and a base of operations. Novigrad would suit quite well to our needs,"
Philippa stated, but how she said it made Ciri's eyes narrow.
"But?" Ciri prompted, knowing that couldn't be the end of it. And in response, she got a ghost of a smile.
"However, this offer is a feint. A cover. He desires Triss to be blinded by what she wants so she doesn't see the opportunity before her for more. Because, quite simply, the Lodge has no need for rivals within Novigrad," Philippa started, sounding pleased that she heard the unspoken but. "And that is all because of you, Cirilla."
Her eyebrows shot up, "Because of me?" She blurted, not seeing where this conversation was going. Or liking where it was going for that matter.
"You forget who you are, Cirilla. What you are. Being raised by monster hunters in the middle of nowhere would do that, I suppose," Philippa sniffed, displeased with the mere thought of it. "Dijkstra was right about one thing -- Radovid managed to unite the North with military might and fear. He had the noble lineage and he was the one of the few remaining kings of the North, making him the natural choice in a power vacuum. For the common folk, he directed their fears and uncertainties toward the non-humans -- a minority group to rally the humans around a single message. It was rather crudely done, but I suppose the results speak for themselves. If his head hadn't been squished because he couldn't obey an order, he very well might have won the war."
Philippa sounded displeased, almost nauseated by the very idea. "He was a unifying figure and what the North needs right now is to be unified. Dijkstra would have you believe that there is no figure in the North that could hope to achieve that. That is simply not true. You are Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, princess of Cintra. A Northern Kingdom, and one many recall fondly. You are the natural choice for the North to rally around."
Ciri's jaw dropped, and she really hoped that Philippa couldn't actually see her because she stared at the woman with a stupefied expression. "What?" The word blurted from her, tumbling past her lips before she could hope to stop it. "Me? I- that doesn't make any sense- Guts is going to drive off a whole sodden army -- wouldn't that make him the natural rallying point?!" Ciri shamelessly tried to shove the idea into him, and based on the scowl he wore, he wasn't any more enthused about the prospect than she was.
"For the common folk? Certainly," Philippa agreed with a small nod. "However, I doubt that Guts has a drop of noble blood in his veins. Or perhaps I am mistaken?"
Guts huffed. It sounded like a laugh. And that was answer enough, Ciri supposed.
"The idea of rallying the common folk is a lovely fantasy, dear, but it's no more than that -- a fantasy. If you want to rally the Northern Kingdoms, you need the nobility. Such as it is, they will only accept one of their own -- noble blood. A princess. Cintra has fallen, but that matters little in this case. It's your blood that matters." Philippa stated, and Ciri scowled. That. That right there could summarize her entire life in a single sentence. The blood of a princess, the Elder Blood -- what ran in her veins seemed to cause her no end of trouble.
"What would even be the point?" Ciri said, her tone defensive. Angry. "So long as the army gets run off, what does it matter?"
Philippa started to say something, but thought better of it. Ciri could see her switching tact, "Because the North will fall into infighting as soon as Nilfgaard is beaten. The war won't end with their defeat. With no unifying figure or enemy, there will be no end of ambitious dukes or counts that seek to elevate their position because there will never come a better time to. The bloodshed in coming years will make this war look like drops next to an ocean." Ciri saw what she was trying to do. She wasn't stupid. Philippa saw that she had no interest in power for power's sake, so she was appealing to her better nature.
Worse, Ciri thought she might be right.
That small smile returned. "Guts shall be the sword, and you shall be the wielder. With blood and deeds, you can unify the North beyond petty kingdoms. It can be ruled as you see fit in accordance with your ideals -- equality for non-humans, the protection of sapient monsters. Whatever you believe is right shall become righteous. I know you don't covet power, Cirilla. I do respect you for it. However, you can not change the world without it… and you are in position to take it. All you must do is reach out your hands and take it."
Ciri clenched her jaw. How many times did she want to change the world? How many times had she fought against injustice and cruelty? How many times had she visited a wonderous world and wished that her home Sphere was a little more like it?
Damn it.
Ciri summarized her thoughts rather aptly.
"Fuck."
Comments
Bellerophon
I mean I dislike her as much as the other guy but she’s being pretty logical here. Without a figure like Ciri to unite the North, Nilfgaard will walk over everyone.
serguzzle
This is a great take on Ciri. And philippa, for that matter. But Dandelion has been amazing.
Boyo
Holy shit. If guts doesn’t rip Philippa’s head from her body in this fic, your dead to me. I really don’t like most of the lodge, and Philippa is the worst. She is already trying to get her hooks into the North
