#oc: triss | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

merlot-and-chardonnay · 2 months

Text

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 46

Masterlist

Chapter 45

------------somewhere out in time and space-------------

A young woman ran across the field, not really going towards any particular destination, but gut instinct drove her in the direction she was running.

The ashen haired woman suddenly stopped, coming to her senses, wondering what was out there, what was the point of her running across this endless field. What was out there...who was out there?

It had to be her, the young woman thinks. She had to be out there, captured, waiting for someone to rescue her.

Suddenly the ground began to shake, a crack in the ground where the woman stood. She side dodged right when the ground split open. She misstep, however, and fell through the crack. Anticipating a hard impact, the ashen haired woman braced herself, gathering the surrounding chaos before moving through time and space at the speed of light, allowing her to find herself topside, back on the endless field.

The air turned cold at that moment, and the ground started to become icy. The young woman stood her ground, preparing for the monsters to come after her. Grabbing her sword she turned to fight them off, but before that could even happen, the monsters were suddenly burning as they caught fire. Eyes wide, the ashen haired woman looked to the sky to see a dragon of black and gold flying through the air, breathing fire at the ice monsters, and melting the surrounding ice.

The she-dragon landed as soon as the monsters were slain, staring at the woman, tilting her head as if she knew who this woman was. "...I know you," the woman spoke to the dragon, "You were a lot smaller the last time we met."

"Zireal!"

The dragon, Cirillia, growled and snarled at the person that voice belonged to. The woman, Ciri, turned, sword in hand, knowing who it was that spoke in that deep voice.

She flinched for a brief moment, however, the moment she saw Eredin with his helmet off, holding an unconscious woman in his arms. Eredin himself had a evilly smug grin on his face the moment Ciri recognized the woman.

"(y/n)!"

-----------meanwhile in Vergen--------------

Aemma yelped the moment she felt someone brush against her arm.

"Are you alright?" Geralt questions. "Yeah...I'm fine," Aemma nods, quickly shaking her head.

Just for a brief moment, while she, Geralt, and Iorveth waited outside the house the poisoned Saskia was taken to where Phillipa was working hard to keep the woman's pulse going, Aemma had slipped in and out of some kind of trance...or she thinks it was a trance.

She was seeing through Cirillia's eyes again, or at least she had thought so. She saw the ends of her dragon's wings and had looked down to see her flying through an endless field. There was something familiar about that field, it looked similar to the one Aemma had dreamed about a long time ago. She saw Cirillia flying over, suddenly raining fire down to a group of ice made monsters who were attacking a woman of ashen hair who was wielding a sword, dressed in a similar manner as Aemma is now. The dragon landed and made eye contact with the woman, who approached, ready to pet Cirillia on the snout. The way the woman looked to the dragon, it was almost like she had recognized Cirillia.

But...how could that be? Aemma has never met that woman before...no, she had, she met her in her visions. And she looked like that woman from the Gwent card Aemma saved from during her time in Nilfgaard. Was it her? Was it...Ciri?

At that moment, Phillipa walked out the house, closing the door behind her. Geralt and Aemma both stood up. "Saskia. Is she alive?" Geralt questions. "In a manner of speaking," Phillipa answers with a serious tone. "She's still dying isn't she?" Aemma realized. "I managed to slow her life functions as far as possible. Her condition is stable," Phillipa explains.

"Do you know the poison?" Iorveth asks, not bothering to hide his own concern. "Thaumador. Commonly known as mage pain," Phillipa tells him, "It has a terrible reputation." "An antidote must exist!" Iorveth insists. "Can you heal her?" Geralt asks. "Treatment will require herbs magic...and blood," was Phillipa's answer.

"Not ordinary blood, I presume," Geralt surmises. "Correct," Phillipa nods," We require royal blood." "We could use Letho right about now," Iorveth mutters. "Wait, royal blood?" Aemma faces the sorceress, "why?" "Not to mention the nearest king is on the other side of the mist," Geralt answers. "You misunderstand me," Phillipa elaborates, "the blood need not be that of a ruling monarch. It is the genotype contained in royal blood that is required. Kings issue from ancient dynasties. Over the ages, to survive, rulers needed exceptional resistance and strength. As royal dynasties rarely admit common blood, the strength in their genes remains great. I shall employ self-healing, genetic therapy that will 'teach' Saskia's to rid the poison." "You'll have her drink human blood?" Iorveth questions with dread. "No," Phillipa says, "I shall inject it directly into her heart."

"Phillipa," Aemma speaks up, "if it's royal blood you need..." Geralt and Iorveth turn to Aemma, making certain looks known. "Aemma-" "I AM a princess, I come from royalty, and one with a strong bloodline" Aemma points out, "before my ancestor Aegon the Conqueror and his wives united the Seven Kingdoms, the Targaryens were dragon lords of Old Valyria. We are one of the few families that survived the Doom. If you require blood with strength and resistance, than take mine."

Phillipa thinks on it, "it is true," she agrees, "your father's family were powerful dragon lords who survived a major historical catastrophe. And, if the surviving accounts of Valyria are to be believed, there is magic in your veins; however, you Silverlark, are only HALF Targaryen, your mother's side-" "my uncle told me he and my mother are of noble ranking," Aemma tells her, "maybe not as strong as my father's blood, but still strong all the same."

"We don't exactly have many options at our disposal, Eilhart," Iorveth points out, "Saskia is dying, and if this princess is willing..." "Alright," Phillipa concedes, "I'll give it a shot. The Targaryens do have a reputation of wedding brother and sister to keep their bloodlines pure, we'll see if that still rings true, despite this slight dilution of their gene pool."

"What herbs will you be needing?" Geralt moves on to the next subject. "I'll need a subterranean variety of purple foxglove," Phillipa answers, "known to the dwarves as immortelle. And an elven rose of remembrance." "Triss has a rose of remembrance," Geralt points out, "She claimed the flowers are exceptional." "Long ago the Aen Siedhe who succeeded in cultivating those roses enjoyed great respect." "Times have changed," Iorveth scoffs. "As have elves," Phillipa counters back. "There are no elven gardens nearby," Iorveth brings up, "We must return to Flotsam."

"Oh!" Aemma says as if she just remembered something. She reaches into her trousers pocket and pulls out the flower she's kept. "Where did you get that?" Iorveth asks, recognizing the flower. "From the elven ruins back in Flotsam," Aemma told him, "I uh, after that skirmish, when uh, you were captured by the Blue Stripes, and Roche rescued me and Aemond from old elven bath, I saw the roses and picked one." Aemma saw the almost scowling look on the elf's face, "I didn't mean any disrespect," Aemma tells him, slight look of remorse, "I didn't know what they were, they just looked pretty."

"It's done," Phillipa, "for better or for worse, we have a rose, there won't be a need to find one." "Where can we get the immortelle then?" Geralt asks. "They grow deep beneath the Earth," the sorceress explains, "which should not be a problem as Vergen lies atop a mine." "How will that help Saskia?" "Magepain attacks the internal tissues. The immortelle will help restore them."

"What else do we need to heal Saskia?" Geralt presses for more. "Thaumador is a self-perpetuating substance?" "Meaning?" Aemma frowns a bit. "Meaning any incursion into a cluster of cells sparks an immediate chain reaction. Each tainted cell that is removed is replaced by ten new tainted cells." "Cells, what I don't-" "You weren't educated at Oxenfurt or Aretuza or any of the other fine Institutions on the Continent, my dear, of course you don't," Phillipa speaks over Aemma, almost condescendingly, "but in order to interrupt these cells, the reaction...it will require an ungodly amount of power."

"Power meaning magic," Aemma realized. "A water or air djinn or one of the twenty Rings of Power would be best..." Phillipa suggests. "One to bring them all and in the darkness bind them," Iorveth snorts in amusement. "And then I'll have to run barefoot to the top of a volcano," Geralt adds to the humor. "I have...no idea what the two of you are talking about," Aemma frowns some. "Alright, alright, let's forget the Rings," Phillipa sasses, "I need a vast quantity of the Power, no matter the source. Find something."

Aemma looked to see Iorveth, Geralt, and Phillipa were looking at her. "What?" she scoffs. "You did manage to bring us two of the four items before we even needed them," Phillipa points out, "is there any chance you came across something unusual during your travels. A Djinn perhaps?"

"No, not a djinn," Aemma admits, "but maybe...if it's a vast amount of this power...maybe I might have something to offer in that regard. I don't know what it is exactly, Triss was supposed to help me in that matter before she was taken by Letho."

"I see..." Phillipa says, having remembered the conversation she had with Triss via the megascope prior to Letho abducting her colleague.

"Immortelle, a rose of remembrance, blood and magic," Geralt interjects, "sounds like a fairy tale." "A poor one at that," Iorveth adds, "no prince's kiss to top things off." "I wish it were a fairy tale, especially a poor one, as a happy ending would be inevitable," Phillipa huffs.

With that, Geralt set off to find Immotelle, while Iorveth went into town to search for whatever it was that poisoned Saskia in the first place.

Phillipa meanwhile, had Aemma follow her so as to draw some of her blood for the antidote.

"Do you really think this will work?" Aemma inquires of the sorceress as she takes a bottle of spirits and pours it onto a cloth to soak the material. "Not for certain," Phillipa admits, having Aemma stretch her arm towards her. The sorceress wipes the cloth under the elbow, "but it is the only choice we have to save Saskia." Phillipa then motions for her uh, assistant Cynthia to approach, carrying a syringe with a needle attached. "Wait, what are you going to do?" Aemma starts to panic a little. "Relax, my dear, it's alright," Phillipa assures the young woman, "Cynthia is well trained in this, she's done this many times before." "I still don't know what that is." "It's a syringe and needle, we will use it to draw your blood for the antidote," Phillipa tells her. "Couldn't you use leeches instead?" Aemma suggests. "Oh that's right, Westerosi medicine, that is what you are used to," Phillipa realized, "leeches will only contaminate the blood. It will be better to do it this way."

"You mentioned something about cells," Aemma decides to change the conversation as Cynthia taps under her elbow, seeking out the vein, "in Saskia. Is that something...we all have?" "Cells in the body, in the blood and just about every organ you possess," Phillipa nods. "The maesters have never talked about such things." "I don't imagine they would know of such things," the mage tells her, "the Seven Kingdoms, don't quite have the academic advancements that places on the Continent have. Much to their detriment, I'm afraid. Think of how many lives could be saved with the knowledge possessed in places like Oxenfurt."

"I've known scholars come visit King's Landing before," Aemma tells her, "they mostly talked more about cultures and geography." She flinches when Cynthia brings the needle to her vein, "is this going to hurt?" "Only a pinch, you'll hardly feel it as long as you stand still."

Aemma sucked in her breath the moment the needle pierces her skin. As soon as it hit the vein, her blood left her body and slowly filled the syringe.

While waiting, Aemma looked to Phillipa, hoping maybe the mage could offer some kind of distraction. "You said you were in the Redanian court when my father's family came to visit. I don't suppose they left in an impression on you. My father, stepmother, and my sisters?" "Your father was...probably one of the more unique individuals I'd ever met," Phillipa answers, "before meeting him in person, I heard of him, the Rogue Prince, who crushed the Triarchy in the Stepstones where he was later dub King of the Narrow Sea. He was quiet at times when, but could carry one rather interesting conversations during supper. Your stepmother, was fairly engaging herself in conversations; charming, clever, quick witted to boot. And possessed an air of grace and femininity, which was...somehow further accentuated in times she flew on her dragon."

Aemma made a small smile. "...I heard what became of her during your stay in Nilfgaard," Phillipa says with a sympathetic tone, "it was a sad day for all of us." "I appreciate the condolences. And my sisters? You mentioned Rhaena was an admirer." "More of less. She clearly took after her mother, while you other sister Baela took more to her father. She had a rather stubborn streak about her, a certain wildness, like that of a dragon, I suppose."

"Sounds like Baela alright," Aemma smiles once more, thinking about her sisters. She had thought to inquire Phillipa about Radovid himself, remembering in her sisters' letter when they overheard their father speak to the Redanian king of the possibility of him marrying Aemma. "Did...did the king of Redania, Radovid...did he ever mention about wanting to form some kind of alliance with House Targaryen? In the form of a marriage perhaps?"

Phillipa gave Aemma a rather strange look as Cynthia pulled the needle out, placing pressure over the area. "...I don't quite recall, actually," the mage answers with a straight face, though she actually did remember Radovid implying that he had plans to take Aemma to wife, but not for the reasons anyone in and out of court would have imagined. "That girl is Jaskier's niece...he must miss her terribly, him and his sister...surely they both would want to see her once again."

Phillipa took the blood filled syringe from Cynthia, studying the contents rather intensely. There was something about this blood, the way it was exuding a strange power from the substance. It was invisible to the naked eye, something that only be detected by those who had the gift to sense and control chaos. It was similar to what Phillipa sensed years ago...when she met Ciri for the first time around.

"Is there something in my blood?" Aemma asks with concern. "I'm...not sure," Phillipa answers, making eye contact with Aemma, "Triss spoke with me prior to her abduction at the hands of the witcher Letho. She...mentioned you had a special gift. Is this true?"

"I think so," Aemma tells the sorceress, "I...I told Triss about it when we first met. I was told it was...an accidental gift. It happened back in Kaer Morhen."

Aemma gave Phillipa the short story of how it happened, or what she was told what happened, which included the part where Ciri tried to stop Aemma's mother and father from leaving, and Triss casting a spell to stop Ciri when she lost control, that same spell was redirected towards Aemma.

"Can you describe this gift of yours?" Phillipa inquires, "Anything specific?" "...I can look into the past of people, sometimes, when I stare at them," Aemma explains, "But not always, it's...it's very inconsistent, but sometimes I guess if I make eye contact, or physical touch I get a brief glimpse into their past." "Interesting," Phillipa says, "Ciri's gift allowed her to look into the future, yet, you can look into the past." "There's more," Aemma continues, "There were times when...well I'm not quite sure what it is but...I saw things, events, take place, wherever my dragon Cirillia was at. I could see what was happening through her eyes as they occurred presently. I saw through her eyes just recently actually. She...she was flying in the sky, and I could see what she was seeing from the sky. It...it was almost like when I would look down from her saddle when we would go flying, but at the same time it wasn't. I could see the ground more clearly through her eyes compared to when I would look down myself."

"...is there more?"

"Yes. I...I've seen Ciri herself before, in my visions. I don't know if those events are in the past or the present. It's almost as if we share some kind of connection and..." Aemma was about to tell Phillipa about that thing that happened that night on Driftmark, but decided against it.

Phillipa was silent, taking all this information into consideration. "Does this mean anything to you?" Aemma asks impatiently. "I don't know for certain," Phillipa answers, "your gift, the blood, it all does feel similar to what I saw in Ciri when I met her first time, but it all, if you'll pardon the expression, but for lack of a better term, the gift she had passed onto you has...become distorted."

"Distorted? How?" "Could be from the spell itself, perhaps something from the original gift was lost when it was passed to you, distorted from Triss' spell...perhaps it is from your own blood. Your ancestors practiced blood magic, the Targaryens have often claimed to have magic running in their veins, perhaps Ciri's gift mutated as a result of your Valyrian blood. Perhaps it is all of the above. Either way, it hardly matters. Our main concern at the moment is finding a way to properly tap into this power, harness it, control it, especially if we are to use it to save Saskia."

"And how are we to do that? I don't even know how to access this power."

"Hmmm," Phillipa thinks on this, "if this is anything like what Ciri possessed, perhaps there is a way we can teach you the basics in harnessing and controlling chaos. It's not perfect, but it could be a start."

Phillipa extends a hands, to which Aemma accepts. Getting on her feet, Phillipa holds her hand, "I'm going to speak a couple incantations," the mage explains, "you will repeat them. You are fluent in the Elder language, yes?" Aemma nods and does as Phillipa says, repeating the words.

As Aemma repeated the incantations, she felt a strange force begin to surround her and Phillipa. She felt a sense of panic, but for what, she didn't know, or...she wasn't sure how to describe what it was she was scared for.

"Concentrate, Aemma," Phillipa demands, "keep focus. Do not let the chaos control you, you control it."

"I'm trying, I'm trying," Aemma insists, shutting her eyes tightly.

-------------------

Next thing she knew, Aemma felt light as a feather, almost all her body weight was gone in an instant. How could this be? She suddenly felt heavier.

Aemma opened her eyes, vision similar to when she what she saw the night she saw Aemond claim Vhagar. "I'm seeing through Cirillia's eyes again," Aemma realized, feeling herself move her arm...no, not her arm, her wing, "...I'm in Cirillia's body." "Cirillia? Cirillia, can you hear me?"

"Let her go, Eredin!" a voice caught Aemma/Cirillia's attention, "Let (y/n) go!" "Ciri?" Aemma says, or at least tried to. Speaking as Cirillia, it sounded more like a surprised grunt.

"I will gladly let her go," Eredin sneers, "only if you come quietly with me." The elf king began to approach Ciri, but Cirillia growled and snarled, forcing the elf to back away. "You are in no position to make such threats," Ciri says with confidence, sword pointed at her adversary.

"Am I now?" Eredin makes a smug grin. A snap of his fingers and the body of the unconscious woman suddenly levitated, a magical barrier surrounding her as she floated in mid-air. "Sick that attack dog of yours on me, and she will be harmed in the process. Now, what it was you were saying, Cirilla?"

"(Y/n)..."

Through her dragon's eyes, Aemma took a close look at the woman who was being held hostage by the king of the Wild Hunt. Short, stout, copper skin, long dark hair, with a streak or three of grey.

Aemma was quick to recognize the older woman right away. "Mother...mother....Mother! Mother! MOTHER!"

---------------------

Overwhelmed by the power surrounding her, Aemma felt herself pull back away with great force from Phillipa, much so that she actually hit the wall against her, causing a crack to form. "Ow..." Aemma groans as she shakily got back to her feet.

Phillipa got back on her own feet as well, feeling weariness settle in from trying to help Aemma control her gift. The mage had a look of shock and almost fear in her face when she saw Aemma stand back straight, "...impossible. Who...what are you?"

Right on cue, Geralt had run in, along with several of the Scoia'tel elves. "What happened?" Geralt demands, looking at the dazed and confused states of both women in the room, "is everyone alright?"

"We are..." Phillipa assures, "I think." "I'm okay," Aemma assures, rubbing the spot on her back that made contact with the wall. "I...Phillipa was trying to harness the power inside me, that was what she needed for Saskia's antidote after all." "Indeed," Phillipa agrees, masking the shock she still felt from what she felt from the power that was inside Aemma a moment ago, "however, it seems, I had...underestimated how much of the Power she possessed. That was on me, I'm afraid." "Maybe we should try and find another source," Geralt suggests.

"No, no, there's no need," Phillipa assures, "we'll try again, this time I know what to expect. I trust your quest for the immortelle was successful then, witcher, you would not be here if that were not the case."

"I have the herb in question," the witcher assures.

"Excellent. We have a chance at saving Saskia."

A commotion coming from outside got the trio's attention. Sounding something akin to a riot, Phillipa has Geralt and Aemma follow her so as to investigate.

Chapter 47

#hotd #the witcher #geralt of rivia #oc #ciri #iorveth #phillipa eilhart #triss merigold #eredin breacc glas #eredin #wild hunt #radovid #saskia

5 notes · View notes