Ciri had woken Geralt far too early in the morning. He stirred in his bed while she excitedly tried to drag him along with her plans to conquer Imlerith and defeat the wild hunt. She’d recieved of the Witches Sabbath, and that he would be there. With all the revelry and drinking, she reasoned it would be their perfect opportunity to strike with the advantage of taking them by surprise. Geralt, in his still-waking state tried to slow her down, figure out where she’d heard all this from, but she had already packed their horses. There would be no stopping her when she had her mind set on something. After he agreed, he stopped her before she left. Emhyr var Emreis, her biological father, had been looking for her for years and entreated with him to bring Ciri before him. Geralt wasn’t sure what to do – it should truly be her choice. As he posed the suggestion to her, she wasn’t quite sure either, pushing Geralt for his opinion on the matter before agreeing to at least hear him out. Neither of them trusted him entirely, but it may be her only chance to get to meet him properly.
It took them a week to ride to Vizima along dirt paths laden with travellers and refugees, monsters and bandits, through forests and ravines. They talked more of their plan and the upcoming visit to Vizima and what Emhyr var Emreis might have in store for them, what he expected of them and what they expected of him. Ciri was more uneasy about visiting her father than she was about the plan for Imlerith. She was certain there was more to it than simply a family visit - there had to be.
Dirt paths turned into muddy cobbled roads as they approached Vizima along its network of trade routes. It wasn’t long before they arrived on the shores of lake Vizima and rode along its paths towards the girthy round turrets that stood as imposing reminders of the empire’s might. Turning north at the tavern they passed tiny homesteads and across the wide stone bridge into Vizima’s trade quarter. Moss and lichen hung from the older buildings in the maze of wattle and daub housing and their horses’ hooved clacked and clattered on the rough stones lining the pathways through the spattered courtyards. Black and gold banners hung proudly from the tops of the buildings, pompously displaying their grey sun emblem as they flapped and fluttered in the gentle breeze. It was a beautiful city to behold, and with the smells of fresh food and flowers blooming all around, the sounds of traders hawking their wares and humming of crowds, even the feel of a proper street beneath their feet was enough to remind them how much they had missed civilisation while they were on the road.
They passed through the Royal Quarter, drawing judgemental looks from the snooty folk wandering about their business displaying all the fineries of their positions. It was obvious neither of them belonged there. Approaching the Royal Palace they dismounted and readied themselves to enter. It seems they were expected. Mererid awaited them with a sour face, sick of seeing the Witcher after the great amount of trouble he’d caused. He walked them through the palace, reiterating how to bow before the emperor and the critical importance of doing so. He directed them through to the cloister at the rear of the castle where his eminence sat beneath the shaded boughs of an oak tree, atop a marble bench. Surrounding him were his courtiers and treasurer with guards posted in their imposing black armour around the corners of the cloister. There was no denying the beauty of the place with its tall pillars and gentle fountains among the quadrants of beautiful flowers and shrubs.
He brought them before Duny, Emhyr var Emreis, who sat casually as he waited. As the leaves of the ancient oak swayed tenderly the sun peeked through and glittered from the gold in which he adorned himself.
“Your Imperial Majestry, Geralt of Rivia and…” Mererid began, displaying them both with a sweeping motion from one hand.
“Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Queen of Cintra, Princess of Brugge and Duchess of Sodden, heiress to Inis Ard Skellig and Inis An Skellig, and Suzeraine of Attre and Abb Yarra.” The emperor began. Ciri seemed shocked that he had taken the time to remember all of her titles, especially since she had barely given them any thought for quite some time. There were more pressing matters than holdings and lines of succession occurring out there in the world. One by one the courtiers all began to kneel, with all eyes on Ciri as her titles went on and on.
“Get used to it.” Emhyr var Emreis opened. “Before long, every soul from Nilfgaard to the Dragon Mountains will kneel before you.” Ciri didn’t know what to reply to that. With her mouth slightly agape she just stared into his eyes. She didn’t want people to kneel, not for her. Despite all the titles, all the territory, this was not her destiny. She was bound to Geralt, she was duty-bound to perform the role of a Witcher.
His glance changed to Geralt with a slow, deliberate movement. “I did not expect you to keep your word, Witcher.”
“Ciri wanted to hear what you have to say.” He replied, eyeing down on the emperor.
“And she will.” He replied with a drawn out tone. First, there was the matter of their deal to conclude. “Your reward.”
At this, the treasurer stepped forward, one foot at a time, holding out a basket of coin while keeping the lid open for inspection. The courtiers rose to their feet and observed the exchange. There was a gleam of sadness in his eyes as he beheld the softly scintillating gold within the basket. He wasn’t here for the gold, he didn’t bring Ciri all this way to sell her out. Cirilla eyed the pile of gold with him, fully expecting him to take it. After all, he was a witcher.
“Didn’t come to collect on a deal.” The words were like a song to her. He wasn’t the type to show his love openly, but passing up on so much wealth spoke to her far louder than anything else. “You asked me to bring your daughter here. I did just that.” Touched, she couldn’t help but permit her face to curl into a warm smile. “Ciri will hear you out. Then we leave.” She folded her arms and stepped forward, safe in the knowledge that with Geralt by her side, unwavering in his commitment to her, that she could handle this.
The Emperor’s face washed over into a mild indignance. “Are you sure? Never again would you need to stalk monsters while wading through sewage.” The money meant nothing to him. He already had more than the two thousand gold on offer anyway, and yet he still needed to wade through plenty of sewage. A moment of quiet passed through the cloister, and Ciri looked over to Geralt in a questioning instant that he was certain he didn’t want the money.
“I’m sure.” He answered in a growled tone of dismissal. Ciri smiled again and reached her hand down to wrap her fingers into his, bearing him unspoken thanks and quiet approval.
“I understand. Honour prevents you from accepting coin.” He glanced to the treasurer and nodded his head away in dismissal. With that, he closed the casket and turned away, taking the gold with him. Emhyr var Emreis wasn’t content with letting Geralt leave empty-handed for his work in both protecting her and bringing her to him, however. “In that case, a stallion, a thoroughbred Nilfgaardian, awaits you at the stables. Treat it as an expression of my gratitude.”
Ciri and Geralt shared a glance and smile at each other. He was pleased that there was still a reward, and she was thankful that he hadn’t sold her out to the Emperor.
“Now forgive me. I wish to speak to my daughter.” His words lingered. He’d waited for this for a very long time, and at last he would be reunited with the girl he lost so long ago. Geralt stared at Ciri, examining the look in her face to ascertain her feelings about being along with the man but she nodded with conviction in her eyes. She was ready.
Mererid stood firm next to Geralt and motioned him out. “Follow me, sir.” With that, they were alone. She took a few steps forward and folded her arms back into her body.
“How long has it been, Cirillia? Fifteen years, Sixteen? I would have not lost you if it weren’t for your mother. We would not have lost your mother if we hadn’t lost you – how the fates make fools of us all.”
Ciri remained quiet. She hadn’t expected him to start trudging up the past, he had never seemed the type to dwell on such matters.
“I have waited so long for this. You’ve grown into quite the formidable woman, and proven very difficult to track down.” He finally stood up, towering over her. “Walk with me.”
She didn’t care if she’d grown up to be anything in his eyes – he was no father to her outside of the matter of her birth, he had been little more than a name to her for the majority of her life. They began to make their way through the draped hallways of the palace that had been littered with trinkets and ornaments from far across the continent.
“I presume you are aware of elvish prophecy.” He began in a hushed tone in case the walls were listening in. She looked up to him as they walked. “Specifically, the prophecies of Ithlinne. She managed to correctly predict a great number of things that have come to pass, and also things that have yet to come.”
“Her name has come to my attention, yes.” Ciri responded as they began climbing a flight of stairs that reached up one of the towers.
“Then you know of the plagues she has foretold, and the white frost.”
“I’ve heard of them. What does that have to do with me? With us?” She wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at. Having spent so much time with Geralt, she was used to things being forward and to the point, but he appeared to be skirting around the issue before finally showing his hand.
“You carry in your veins the blood of the elders. The sole person within whom it yet remains, after your mother’s sudden departure from this world. It would be calamitous to allow that bloodline to die out.” He searched far and wide, spilled blood, for a conversation about grandchildren? She grew restless.
“So you mean to tell me you brought me all this way, you searched for so long, just to make sure I was going to be a mother someday?” She spat in a tone dripping with vitriol.
He took a deep sigh as they continued walking. “You are being hasty.” They arrived at his chambers and the guards posted outside the door pushed it open as they walked right in.
“I mean to make you more than you are already. It is, as my daughter, your right to accept the role of empress. These lands can all be yours, this title, these walls, all the men and gold under my command, I intend to grant it all to you.”
She didn’t need yet another title to add onto her already extensive list of lands and holdings, even if it did trump the rest. She had no interest in leading the empire, in quashing smaller nations and consolidating their resources and manpower into Nilfgaard. There was the matter of Imlerith and the wild hunt to deal with before anything and the trappings of noble life had never much interested her. The palace to her would be little more than a prison, the robes and finery a weight around her neck, and the balls and dances, the parties and feasts a mere distraction from the realities of the world.
He sat down at a grandiose hardwood chair behind an ornate gilded desk littered with maps and parchments. She leaned on the side of the desk and crossed her arms again.
“But there’s a catch. There’s always a catch. You want me to do something first, isn’t that right?” She protested. He still hadn’t convinced her that this entire journey wasn’t a waste of time.
“Cirillia… every little boy and girl dreams of this. Bards weave fantastic tales of peasants and paupers who rise above their station to become great leaders, tales are spun of this same cloth time and time again. As much as it may seem like something from a fairy tale, I am offering you the real thing.” He leaned back in his seat and raised an eyebrow. “Unless you mean to tell me my daughter, the sole heir of the elder blood, would sooner see herself a vagrant hunter of monsters and men, soaked in pus and viscera than leading the greatest empire this world has seen?”
She was none too pleased with the way he put it. There was a lot more to being a Witcher than roaming from place to place, slaying monsters for money. She was still acutely aware that he hadn’t mentioned the catch, nor denied that there would be one. His political mind was still at work, holding his cards close to his chest.
“That is quite the generous offer.” She pushed herself off the desk and began to pace the room. “But you mentioned Ithlinne and her prophecies, the elder blood, what has this all got to do with me?” Her father leaned forward on his desk now, the chair beneath him creaking slightly. He cleared his throat before getting to the point.
“I speak of Aen Ithlinnespeath, Ithlinne’s prophecy for the world’s end. That the people of this world will die to the white frost, only to be reborn with the elder blood. Your lineage will continue. The white frost approaches, make no mistake about that, but it will be your child that is destined to lead this continent to salvation. It has been foretold that your son will rule half the world – and his son the entirety of it.”
She wasn’t sure which one seemed to matter to him more – saving the world, or controlling it. She thought about the white frost and the wild hunt. She trusted in the prophecies; Ithlinne had been right about so much before. Having children hadn’t been something she’d lent much thought to, of course someday it would be a welcome change of pace, but there was far too much to distract her from matters of progeny for now.
The idea that her child would be so critically important in shaping the world humbled her, and she would be around to see the prophecy come into fruition. Who was she to deny the world a ruler? With such a life she would never want for anything, not that she particularly demanded much from life, but with such power she could help shape the world into a better place for all.
She stared out onto Vizima through the stained glass windows and peered down onto the streets below, then out onto the open wilds. It could all be hers, her child’s, for her guiding hand to nurture and grow. It was overwhelming, and no doubt would pose an entirely different set of challenges than those of a Witcher, but she appreciated the chance to push herself.
“You still didn’t tell me the catch.” She muttered.
Emhyr smirked. She wouldn’t be blinded by words, just as he would expect from his offspring and a leader. “If you are to accept this offer, you should know that the prophecy states that I am to be the father of the child.” She turned to him instantly with a face soured by disgust. “I understand your displeasure at the idea. It is not often a girl seeks to wed their father, but I am not the one who toys with destiny.”
That was quite the catch. “A child with you?! Are you out of your mind? You’d have me uproot my entire life to be imprisoned within these walls with my own father as a husband?”
“Cirilla, of all the power I command, I cannot move the fates.” He tried to reason with her. “Perhaps this is why you were taken from me so long ago, that I would be less of a father in your eyes and you less of a daughter in mine.”
“So it’s destiny.” She didn’t seem so sure. “What if Ithlinne was wrong? What if … the bloodline is meant to die out?” She wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but she was trying desperately to reverse this situation, to forget this whole conversation happened. He knew she didn’t want to accept it.
“Perhaps we should wait and find out. If this is ordained as destiny, if you are meant to be my bride and the mother to my child, then it is an unavoidable truth. If the prophecy is wrong then none of it shall come to pass.” He stood and walked to her side, looking out the window with her. “Just know that there is none better suited to ruling alongside me than you.” She turned her head to look up at him. His usual stony expression had melted away in her presence to reveal a warm smile beneath. As she looked at him, she didn’t see the face of her father. Geralt had been the one to fit that title more than anybody else had, but it would take a lot of soul searching before she’d allow herself to openly admit to wanting this.
“Then we leave it up to the fates.” She drew away from the window and walked towards the door. “I need to think about this. The next time you hear from me I shall give you my answer, but just know that I curse the fates for this, and I curse you.”
She left, slamming the door tight behind her. He slumped back into his chair and stared at the door, taking in what had just transpired, hoping that she’d see sense and accept his proposal.
In the coming weeks they would deal with the Wild Hunt and Ciri would scale the tower in her attempt to stop the White Frost herself, only to emerge onto a world of winter. With the wild hunt dealt with at least, she could focus now on other matters.
She met with Geralt by white orchard while she was out oiling traps and preparing snares, hunting for rabbits in the deep cold fields. After a run-in with a young forktail and a bear they collected fish and went for a walk among the snow-covered wilds. They reminisced together about the adventures they’d had, reliving her childhood up until now. She rode around on his back and they lay together in the snow – she felt at peace, free to live her life as a normal person away from the confinement of her role as a Witcher.
As they returned to White Orchard, a caravan of Nilfgaardian troops awaited them with their colours flying. Geralt stopped in his tracks as he saw them. He turned back with a disappointed look on his face. She couldn’t bear to look into his eyes.
“Almost managed to forgot it was today.” She stood by him. “They’re here for me, Geralt. I’m going to Nilfgaard. To Emhyr.” He gave a subtle upwards nod. “I know you didn’t expect this but… In Vizima, my father and I spoke… for long. Argued, really, and parted. He wants me to become empress. I …” She paused, thinking of the right words to say. “Ithlinne made a prophecy about a child, my child, coming to rule half the world and their child the whole world, but in doing so saving it.” She turned to face him, but still avoided eye contact. She eyed the glittering wolf medallion around his neck. “I realised I had to stop fleeing. Realised that if I wish to change anything, I cannot do so hunting monsters round forgotten villages. I must do so from there. From Nilfgaard.”
Geralt looked away. “You could’ve told me, warned me.”
“I wanted to but… I didn’t know how. I’ve been happy here.” It was true, she’d enjoyed her time living like a normal family alongside Yenn and Dandelion more than any other, away from the rest of the world. “I was afraid I’d ruin it. I wanted to make every minute count.”
“So, back at the nest – that was about this.” She’d avoided his questioning earlier as the Forktail encroached upon them, vague about her plans for the coming future. She nodded quickly. After everything he’d done for her, she didn’t want to hurt him, she didn’t want to let him down, but destiny has strange ways of unfolding.
“I didn’t pry, didn’t want to force you to tell me. Thought we had time. A lot more time.” There were few people he truly cared about in his life and with Vesimir gone those numbers were dwindling. After all the time he’d spent hunting Ciri down, travelling half the world to find her, she would now leave him. He wasn’t ready, but neither was she. Geralt looked back over to the Nilfgaardian soldiers and their inky horses, deeply contrasting with the snow. “You make this choice on your own?”
“If you mean to suggest Yennefer had anything to do with this, then the answer is no.”
“Great. She even know?” Geralt grumbled.
“No. And I’d prefer she not get involved this time.” Ciri knew her adoptive mother well enough to understand that she’d try and get herself involved and manipulate things to her own ends. The less she knew about this, the better.
“I’ll let you tell her that.” He paused for a moment. “Is this what you want?” He asked softly.
“Yes… you’ll not try to stop me? Take me to the blue mountains by force?” Her emotions were getting a hold of her now as their time together drew to its conclusion. Her voice grew shaky as he throat grew hoarse from holding back the tears welling in her eyes.
“Travelled half the world to find you, but I never intended to force anything on you.” His eyes were calm, soothing, with a fatherly understanding that she could only expect from him.
“I know.” She sputtered.
“You’ll be fine, you’re a Witcher.” He knew that she had been prepared well for anything. She had her father’s political wit and his sense of human decency and after everything she’d been through, she was prepared for anything left to come.
With her eyes wide and glassy with tears, she whined - “We needn’t say goodbye.”
“Course we don’t.” He smiled.
“I don’t know when we’ll see each other again.” Her voice still shook, even her hands began to tremble slightly at the idea of being without him once more.
“You know where to find me.”
“You can’t possibly stay at Kaer Morhen all the time.” She protested, folding her arms. He had work to do and with the way he travelled, she worried she’d never be able to find him.
“Makes no difference. You’ll find me.” He knew that with or without the resources of the empire at her disposal, she’d find him all the same. Even if her destiny was with Emhyr, they had a destiny together too.
She knew he was right and found succour in his words. With a sniffle, she simply agreed. “True.”
“Remember what I taught you. Never know – could be useful there, too…”
A moment of silence cut through the air. Neither of them knew what else to say, or what else there was left to say between them. Slowly, Ciri unbuckled the clasp of the leather strap holding her sheath to her back and pulled it away from her body, presenting Geralt her sword with both hands outstretched. For took one long final look at him with a face swallowed by sadness and salty tears biting at her cheeks before embracing him in a tender embrace. She walked away, turning her head to look at him one last time, but couldn’t do it. She couldn’t linger on this any longer for fear she’d never leave. She made her way over to the caravan awaiting her arrival and readied herself for the westerly ride to Vizima.
As they arrived, the streets were lined with crowds awaiting their return. Hundreds of faces, all staring up at Ciri as the caravan made a slow procession along the roads of the merchant quarter and through the royal quarter. This wasn’t just a journey through the city, she was on full display for all of her subjects. The caravan had formed in such a way that she was proceeded and flanked by soldiers in a pattern that set her aside from the rest of them, riding alone in the middle of her guards. The people cheered as the news preceded her, old and young alike screaming her name as she rode past them. She gave an uneasy wave to the ambiguous crowds that seemed to have no end. Finally, she came upon the palace and dismounted. She wouldn’t see Emhyr until the following day, as according to the plan, where grand festivities had been scheduled.
The next morning she was roused by palace servants who fed her a breakfast the likes of which she’d never even thought possible – the sheer volume of food and variety of it all was overwhelming. They bathed her and pampered her in the early hours of the morning before fitting her into a beautiful olive green gown with silver brocade detailing and a black cloak with more gold detailing, lined with mink fur on the inside. She’d never worn anything so fine before, so detailed. As she gazed at her reflection she fully intended not to like it, resolving that it wouldn’t suit somebody like her, but she couldn’t deny that she looked beautiful, powerful.
When she was ready she was directed downstairs by Mererid, but not after a hasty lesson on decorum. ‘Keep your back stiff – one step at a time – chin high – say nothing until you are instructed to.’ From outside she could hear murmuring crowds plaguing the steps and grounds, desperately cloying to catch a glimpse of the new empress. She was made to wait outside the entrance to the great hall which had been decorated with all manner of flowers and banners, proudly displaying ornaments from every corner of the empire.
As the music came to a close she heard a loud speech muffled through the heavy oak doors, two guards on either side ready to open them. When that, too, came to a close, the doors were opened in synchronisation for her to step through.
“Are you ready? Remember what I told you.” Mererid muttered in a hissing whisper. She had slain monsters and stopped Imlerith, climbed the tower and faced unspeakable odds – why did fear stir within her now?
She took her first step into the hall, lined with row after row of packed pews. The wings up above were filled with clamouring people leaning over the side to get a better look, and priests crowded the dais at the far end. Among all the people here, she focused on just one – Emhyr. He sat in his finest vestments, cloak and crown, at his throne atop the dais. Now, an empty one sat beside him.
Rigid step after rigid step she strode down the long carpet that had been laid out for her all the way to the end. Each row of spectators she passed turned their heads to behold her accompanied by hushed whispers. She’d never felt so visible.
Emhyr had a smirk about his face when she arrived at the throne. She took a seat and scanned the rows of people for faces she recognised, but everything blended into a sea of skin and silk as everything overwhelmed her. He turned his head to her.
“For years I have awaited this. Let us never be apart again, Cirillia.” He uttered from his seat beside her. She didn’t feign to grant him a reply and just looked back at the scene before her.
The priests began their ceremony, first addressing the crowd, and then addressing Ciri herself. After her introduction to the Gods, they asked questions of her – if she would defend the holy faith, the empire, stand up for the laws of the empire and deliver justice, and more things that she hadn’t truly agreed to herself. With a vacant expression, she simply repeated ‘I will’ to each, as instructed, all the while nervously fiddling with the glossy pearls around her neck.
For each of the questions they’d asked, they presented her with an item – a sword to protect the empire, a rod to uphold its justice, an orb for the faith, a ring for her perpetuity, until finally the glittering crown fell into the hands of Emhyr. He stood, nodding to her to stand. The priests led lengthy speeches, enunciated in between its verses by a choir waiting in the wings and agreeing crowds. Before she knew it, Emhyr himself was placing a dainty bejewelled crown atop her head. It was heavier than it aught have been given its size, but she likened that weight to the responsibility given to her through the process.
There was one last thing – a ring came across from a pillow one of the priests was holding. She rose to her feet and he placed it upon her finger. His smile changed from a victorious smirk to one of pride.
This was so far detracted from the life she’d left behind, roaming the world from village to village, sleeping out in the woods, rolling in blood and filth, that none of it felt entirely real. In the coming days and weeks there would be plenty of time to reconcile her past with her present, but she just had to make it through the day.
With that, she was made an empress. The afternoon continued into a banquet and festivities that lasted throughout the night complete with horse racing and jousting, dances and mummers, bards and all manner of entertainment brought from every corner of the empire. No expense was spared on any facet of the day, from her jewels and dress to the flowers and ornaments, frivolous as it all may have been.
As the revellers began to make their way out of the palace steadily, the two of them retired to their chambers. Everything had happened so fast – the time in White Orchard before making her way here had seemed listless in comparison to this torrential whirlwind of festivity and lavish gluttony.
Emhyr allowed her into the room first, closing the door slowly behind her with a click from the latch. It had been a long, taxing day, and she immediately flopped face-first down onto the crimson silk sheets of the posted bed, groaning into its plush balminess. Candelabras had already been lit in anticipation of their return to the room, her second time within its confines, and a fresh bottle of mead placed atop his desk with two ornate glasses at the ready.
“So.” He began, pouring them both a glass. “How does it feel to be the most powerful woman in the world?”
She dismissed the notion of being the most powerful woman – she didn’t feel like it. Truth be told, she felt exactly the same as she did before she came back to Vizima. Things had changed, but who she was had not.
“I don’t feel any different. I’m absolutely worn out though.” She grumbled into the duvet. He approached slowly and placed the glasses down on the hardwood table beside the bed.
“You aren’t any different. You have always been the most powerful woman around; the only difference is that it has now been officiated. People far and wide will acknowledge that and revere you, as well they should.” He sat down on the bed beside her and placed his hand atop her head. She turned it to face him, still buried up to her nose in the fabric.
“I don’t want to be revered.” She countered. “Respected, yes, but I’m no Goddess.”
He stroked her silken hair with the back of his hand. “You’re a Goddess to me.”
She wasn’t accustomed to being touched in such a way, nor such closeness with somebody. The fact that it was her own father, that he was so much older than her, more experienced, didn’t seem to frighten her any more than it would have with somebody else. She couldn’t help but picture him doing the same thing with her mother. As odd as it was, it was as though he was drawing the spirit of Pavetta out of her.
“Come, let me help you out of that dress.” He suggested, standing up beside her and leaning down to untie the lace and silk, unhooking the eyelets and untying the ribbons that bound the heavy mass of fabric together, sheet by sheet. He carried the heavy dress over to his desk and folded it over the back of his chair before returning to her. She still lay on the bed staring up at the ceiling, her eyes heavy from the strenuous events of the day in nothing now but her smallclothes, a delicate, ornate combination provided to her earlier that morning. It made a change from the linen wrappings she had been accustomed to out in the fields and was far softer and less chafing. Again, he sat beside her on the bed.
“You performed wonderfully today.” He spoke softly as he eyed the milky skin that lay bare before him. He trailed a few fingers along her side as he eyed every softly sweeping curve on her immaculate body.
“Did I? I barely even remember, it all happened so fast…” She fiddled with the ring around her finger, moving it left and right with her pinkie and middle fingers. She admired the way it gleamed and glistened in the candlelight, the feeling of his trailing fingers lingering in the back of her mind.
“Everybody seemed to be quite taken with you. The people have heard of you, of your … adventures, your lineage. They seem to be looking forward to what you might have in mind for their futures.”
She remained silent for a moment, contemplating her own future. She hadn’t envisioned this to be the future for herself, but her life took a path of greater importance than she ever could have realised. Everything she had planned for herself would have to be rethought.
“How can I decide their futures, when I have no say in my own?” She muttered through the fatigue.
“No say? You decided this for yourself, did you not?” He answered. “Your position only opens up more opportunities that you would not have had before.”
“The fates decided this. It was destined.”
“No more so than everything is. The illusion of free choice is an arbitrary imposition by the Gods. Even they cannot escape destiny.”
Perhaps he was right, she thought. That free choice was merely an illusion to make people believe they are in control of their own destinies, their own choices, when everything has already been decided long before anyone was even born. Every person from their life to their death, merely actors on a stage to entertain the fates, puppets made to believe that they are pulling their own strings.
He leaned down and pressed his lips against the curve of her waist. His warm breath tickled her nerves and awakened her senses as his gasps drew along her body up towards her neck. Surprise crept in when he bit down softly, repeatedly, until he was licking behind her ear. She was sensitive – the sensation danced on her skin and tingled its way along her extremities like a crackling fire. She looked across to him and saw him leaning over with a lustful gleam in his eyes. A sense of disgust paralyzed her at the thought of what he was planning – her own damn father. She had to remind herself that this wasn’t for him, this wasn’t even for her, this was for everybody – for Ithlinne’s prophecy. He wasted no time in removing his jewellery and his shirt, showing disregard for their value as he tossed them to the floor.
With hooded eyes he looked up as he made his way back down her body along her front, biting away at the cloth that bound her breasts and pulling it from her flesh. She offered little resistance outside of the sour look about her face, hovering between anticipation and realisation of what was occurring. Her mounds were exposed with puffy pink nipples peeking out at their tips. He worked his tongue around them, coaxing them into action, and they grew erect and needy. She couldn’t help but notice his body as he moved around atop her, he wasn’t as muscle-bound as Geralt but his body was toned to a point that every band and cord of power beneath his skin showed through as gentle shadows in the candlelight.
With every lick and nibble she felt her body activating in ways she was unfamiliar with, never having before truly had the time or inclination to pursue a relationship. The change from Witcher to wife had come in haste, marking with it huge changes to her life and many new experiences to bear. He began to move lower, trailing down her sides again, nibbling away at the soft flesh of her ribs and waist, moving painfully slowly towards her thighs. The anticipation built in her, demolishing bit by bit the objections she might have had about doing this with her father, forcing her body to take over the moral, logical part of her mind. Her eyes closed and she pictured somebody – anybody else, making up a mixture of her previous suiters in her minds eye to be the ones touching her, robbing her of her decency.
Her thighs were softer than any of the finest fabrics he’d owned, smoother than the sheets upon which they lay, and he took great pleasure at working his way around them. He pushed himself deeper and deeper into her space, driving himself upwards now until his nose rested atop her entrance. He pressed himself against the fabric of her undergarments and she writhed beneath the slightest touch. He couldn’t wait, as much as she’d rather he did – he slid them down over her legs and resumed his positioning. With a long motion he rode his tongue from the bottom to the top of her slit, teasing her outer lips and making her wish that they weren’t in the way.
Her body burned with an unfettered desperation, needing him to continue, but she couldn’t compensate the fact that this was her father. As he explored every inch of her, she cursed Ithlinne, she cursed him, and she cursed the damned White Frost.
With a grin and a satisfied grumble he parted her lips with his nose, his arms wrapped around her thighs, and gave another long lick deeper this time, invading the moist region beneath. She could feel every flick of his tongue, every small motion and breath from his lungs, even the slightly rough texture of the hair growing on his face – everything roused her senses in different ways, sparking a lustful need within her. He began to push and circle the ring of muscle at her entrance causing it to tense without her intent or permission as her body acted of its own accord.
He continued for what seemed to be an age – time was no longer relevant to either of them as the world melted way around them along with the pretence of their titles and fineries, they were nothing more than two bodies and two minds merging into one. She wasn’t sure if minutes had passed or hours, but he finally shuffled his way out of his trousers and positioned himself between her legs. A feeling of resigned submission overtook her. She closed off her mind and tried to zone out to distance herself from what was being done to her – to close her body off to him, as much as it screamed and begged for more.
At last, he crossed the final threshold into her. That small entrance widened, stretched, accommodated his length and girth as he slid inside. She was ready, unintentionally welcoming, and gasped as he passed into her inch after inch. She felt every bump and ridge, every throbbing vein that was part of him with each slow stroke. Amidst the lingering scent of flowers from her dress and smoke from the candles, a heady, thick scent of lust filled the room, joined by their gentle gasps and moans.
As he took what he wanted from her, conquered her as he had the north, took with absolute impunity, she felt robbed of something intangible. Any innocence left within her that hadn’t been marred by slaying men and monster alike was now his. Her consent was delicate and brittle having been based solely upon the prophecy. Part of her hoped for this calamity to result in a pregnancy so that it could be over and done with, never having to repeat this again. The other part hoped that she would never get pregnant, simply to spite him and save the child from having to lead a life born of incest.
He hastened his pace and repositioned her to get a deeper angle, thrusting into depths she wasn’t even aware that she had. She tried not to think that this selfsame man was critical in the orchestration of her birth, that she in part had come from him, from the beastly rod that was now within her. He clambered off, narrowly avoiding climax but riding out the feeling as long as he could. He lay on his back and guided her atop him with a hand, to which she begrudgingly complied.
She hovered atop him, staring down at his face as she gripped his cock between her small digits. She was taken aback by the size of it but nonetheless aligned it with her opening and sank down with a breathy moan as if it were replacing the air in her lungs. With slow, deliberate movements, she began to move back and forth, rubbing herself against his torso. Mewling moans escaped her and she closed her eyes to focus on the feelings shooting through her body, leaning forwards to hold herself up on his chest.
The two bodies heaved and shuffled together in the inky night, the vague candlelight glowing against their sweaty skin. As she reached her own climax every nerve in her body ignited into a fizzling weakness, her inner walls clenched tight and pulsated around him. It drew him close and he finished himself by gripping her waist to hold her steady and wildly propelled from beneath her. His head leant back as a grumbled moan clawed its way out of him.
They collapsed into the sheets into a sweaty pile of exhausted limbs, panting to recollect their composure. She could feel his warm, sticky seed seeping from between her legs, dribbling down her thighs as he tried to hold her. The arms he placed around her body, thick and muscular, felt like a prison. She was trapped by the prophecy in this relationship, in the role of empress, but she reminded herself again and again that her suffering was nothing in comparison to the eradication of mankind.
Ciri awoke during the night, hazily surprised by her new surroundings momentarily until the memories of the day returned from the aether. Quietly, she snuck out of their bed and toed her way over to the window. The cool air felt soothed her hot skin and refreshed her as she spied out across the walls separating the various quarters of Vizima, watching her new subjects stumbling out of the various taverns and brothels after the revelry of the day. She watched her new emperor sleeping soundly, breathing in deeply through his nose as he slumbered.
She wondered how many of them might have objections to her father wedding her, intending to produce an heir with his own flesh and blood, and what they might make of having a Witcher as an empress. Those in the north might think poorly of her elder blood, as the public image of witches and magic grew more dire with each passing day. Her mind turned to the girls of the city, hoping that none of them had to go through the same thing she was going through. At least for her, there was more to it than the father’s pleasure and control.
She contemplated the events that had brought her to this juncture in her life, and how things could have gone differently. Had her mother not bought her back to land, had she married Windhalm of Attre, Kistrin of Verden, become a dryad as was intended, of perhaps had her way and married Olaf Stigvason, or been forced to bow to Calianthe’s whims and married Radovid V. Then there were her travels with Geralt and Avallac’h and the odysseys she’d bared. If so much as one thing had fallen differently, if so much as a few words spoken had come out differently, then her life would have taken an entirely different turn. This got her thinking back to what Emhyr mentioned earlier about the fates, and how it may be that free will is nothing more than an illusion – in which case the events of her life would only ever have come out like this. If it was her destiny to be with him, then it must have been her destiny for all else to fall into place as it had. She didn’t know how long she had stood there thinking about her life, but to her surprise he approached quietly from behind her.
“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it.” He uttered peacefully. “The responsibility, the power, the mixture of adoration and abjuration – it does take getting used to.” He put his arm around her waist and watched out the window alongside her.
“I was thinking about how different life could have been should a few choice events had turned out even slightly differently. The actions I take now… I won’t be able to foresee their consequence, but… what does it matter if I have no choice in making them?” She couldn’t take her mind of the sensation of his touch on her waist. She wanted nothing more than to peel those dry fingers away from her and remove his hand for it, then take his cock for everything else.
He grunted his approval. “We simply have to trust in the fates and in ourselves. There is no point in fighting against the tides of our destinies, but you can direct yourself if you flow with it.” He looked over to her. “You must always keep trying to play the best hand you can with the cards that have been dealt to you.” Her father, pulled at her waist with a gentle tug. “Now come back to bed, you have another busy day ahead of you.”
The next morning she was brought to a great bathhouse constructed of marble pillars and gilded frescos. Whisps of steam clung to the surface of the turquoise waters that rippled gently, rising into the beautifully ornamented domed roof. The area dripped of luxury, and handmaids were waiting to clean them. They were scrubbed down with oils before washed off in the baths. The maids left them alone so that they could be together in peace.
She caught him eyeing her naked form and her breasts bobbing at the water’s surface. The thought of her own father objectifying her in such a way turned her stomach and ignited the nerves along her back with disgust. She couldn’t help but stare in kind, eyeing the muscles that adorned him and the masculinity of his face. There was something attractive about the power and wealth but she wouldn’t ever allow herself to give in to those feelings. She knew how disgusting this situation was and wished for nothing more than her mother to be here to help her stop him.
They spoke of the decrees she would make as Empress, of the changes she wished to see come to pass in the city and beyond. He wanted to talk more about international affairs but held back, deciding to start things close and educate her on the nuances of ruling so many different peoples with different ideologies and beliefs. As their heavier conversation dried, they turned to the situation of their union.
He drew closer to her, gliding across the waters like a swan, his eyes fixed upon hers. He swam straight into her lap and held her jawline in his hand. Her face fit almost entirely in his palm, his fingers spanning behind her ear. With deft movements beneath the water she felt his other hand atop her thigh, gliding up between her legs. With a squeaking gasp she jumped slightly at the sudden sensation and her stress response activated – she either wanted to run as far as he legs would take her or punch him in the throat. The sensation itself wasn’t unpleasurable but coming from him every scrap of her being denied it. He bit down onto her neck and worked his way around to her lips, locking her in a deep kiss as he explored her.
Instinctively, her legs widened. Her body had betrayed her once more. Now, the hand from her face found its way to her breast and toyed with her nipple that responded with intrigue, expanding and inflating, firming itself at his touch. Water splashed and rippled as he shuffled his arm back and forth, taking what was his with impunity. It didn’t take long until her head rolled back onto the marble floor of the bathhouse and her cries echoed around its ceiling.
He wasn’t the type of man to stop when he was close to getting what he wanted. He used the buoyancy from the water to raise her legs, pushing her back against the side of the bath. She felt his member prodding at her, nudging and poking, informing her primal brain of his intentions and provoking a response from it.
With ease he slipped inside her and spread her once more. He held her legs up, her knees pushing against her shoulders and her feet beside his head. He was deep – taking everything that belonged to her, penetrating her puffy insides with all the freedoms an emperor expects. As always, she closed her eyes to distance herself from the image of her father’s red face scrunched up in a hideous bout of exertion as he grunted and groaned. The water splashed around, drenching her face and her hair, getting in her eyes – he probably thought it a spontaneous, erotic display of passion and didn’t even realise the discomfort he had put her in. He perhaps didn’t even care.
As he lay into her his final, deep, longing thrusts he pressed her even harder against the back of the bath, pushing her painfully against it. She could feel his turgid cock swell and squeeze as it pushed out glob after glob of semen within her. To her, that was the most violating part. That she had to carry around this proof of their sin, the abomination of consummation between father and daughter. She hoped that nobody would smell it on her, but she felt every glance and stare as a judgement for the disgusting acts that were forced upon her body.
She spent the next few weeks receiving him inside of her in every place around the palace to the point that she actively tried to avoid him at all costs. After meetings with his advisors he would move her atop the table and toss aside the parchments and books, during banquets he would drag her away into a back room and hope desperately that nobody would come looking, he took every opportunity he could to fill her with his disgusting seed. At one point he felt particularly bold, reaching beneath her dress during a council meeting. She’d closed her legs to try to say no, but he’d squeezed her thigh hard. She had no succour or respite from his advances, no option in refuting them. Any autonomy she had over her body now belonged to him.
They Discussed their histories both together and apart, debating her mother and the events that led to her death although he maintained his innocence on the matter. Emhyr and his men began to teach her the ins and outs of her new role as empress, and she’d been introduced to so many new people that she knew she’d struggle to remember all their names. Of the ones she held a greater trust in, she wanted to ask them for help in relieving herself from the glittering gilded prison she now found herself in. She dreamed of Geralt turning up atop roach holding out his hand and pulling her up to ride away to Kaer Moren, or Yen opening a portal and snatching her through it.
Nevertheless, she worked tirelessly to familiarise herself with the things expected of her. She worked alongside her father, and while he worked on consolidating the continent into Nilfgaard she worked on repairing the damaged perceptions of the empire. People had to know that the empire was here to stay, but they were a force for good – modernising infrastructure and building roads, enhancing trade and improving the day to day lives of its citizens. Of course it wasn’t perfect and enemies and detractors would appear with any type of governance, but she quicky became a favourite of the people. It might have inspired jealousy in Emhyr if he were a lesser man, but he preferred to be left to do his work without having to put on a show to win the hearts of the people. They formed a leadership unseen in the continent since history began being put to parchment, solidifying their rule with haste and winning the hearts of the people alongside new realms.
Every time she was alone with him, left by their guards and courtiers, that same dreadful fear overcame her. She felt helpless, knowing full well that he would be coming to take her again. She’d decided that once she had given birth to a male heir that she would reject his advances, reject him, and make fully known her feelings towards him. For now though, she would comply for the sake of the prophecy; for the sake of mankind.
As the months drew on, Ciri grew fat with child. She had first noticed when her breasts began to grow tender at his molesting touch after missing a period. With the amount of semen she’d taken in the time she’d been empress, it was unsurprising. He was greedy for the next stage of the prophecy, hoping he would get to see Nilfgaard come to rule the world in his timeline. She was thankful for the pregnancy so she could get a break from her father’s advances.
The baby within her was undoubtedly his and they were both expectant of a male heir, though the prophecy never mentioned it being their first child. It was advised as a public relations stunt to parade her throughout their realms that the people of the empire could witness their rulers in their expectant state, glowing with happiness that they might spread some cheer to their people. Emhyr had his people begin to spread the rumour that this child of theirs was divine – given the expectations for what was to come in their life, the lofty goals they were ordained to achieve, if all came true then it would lend credence to their claims. Not everybody believed the rumours, some seeing through their claims and recognising the child as an incestuous abomination.
They were in the final stages of their tour in the freshly conquered Redania, camping along the roadside along with their caravan of guards. The tent in which they stayed was fitting for their opulence with guards posted outside. It was a hazy evening with drizzling rain that formed a constant mist, emitting a soft, constant wooshing as the droplets reached the ground. They had eaten and retired for the night, closing the curtains of the entrance and changing out of their clothes, readying themselves to bathe before sleeping for the night.
They were both nude, the chill from the rain outside breezing its way into the tent nipped at their skin. Emhyr approached from behind her, gripping a breast in his hand while holding her swollen middle.
“The people love you, Cirilla.” He whispered into her ear. “Your help has been indispensable, more than you likely realise.” His hand rubbed against her skin, feeling for the child inside.
“We do make an excellent team.” She said, turning her head back and forcing a smile at him. He held her closer to his body, passing the warmth from his skin to hers. “There’s a lot more to all this than I thought. I always figured it would be audiences with one boring sod after the other, sending men to their deaths on battlefields, cavorting with the well-to-do…” she turned completely to face him, holding her stomach herself. The child within her kicked against her hand. “But … and I don’t say this lightly, I’ve actually been enjoying it.” She hadn’t been enjoying his company nor his very presence – but the work of an empress had grown on her. She could help more people than she had before, and better the lives of every citizen of the empire.
His smile grew. It was something he hid from so many people, something that only she had been privy to. Seeing him like that was so intimate, that the façade he wore as emperor was taken off before her and he could be his truest self around her. She still wore hers, the fake smiles and pleasantries constant had been laid on thick enough that he wouldn’t suspect her anguish at the situation she found herself in.
“I’m glad to hear that. There will be no end to the work, so it’s better that it brings you joy.” He looked down at her naked form. Her breasts had expanded in preparation for her child, and he now cupped his hands around the bump in which it lay. “Have you given any consideration to its name?”
“Perhaps Alvin, if it’s a boy. I’m not sure, though. Maybe Duny would be a better moniker?” She smiled painfully, almost recoiling at the fact she’d suggested that. Stroking his ego was an easy way to keep him satisfied and off her case. “Or there’s always Geralt, or Vesemir.” She still missed the both of them, but there was no bringing Vesemir back. She could still honour his memory through her child that his name might live on.
“And if it’s a girl?”
“Janka, Jenny, or Modron.”
He nodded. “You seek to honour those who have led you here. Understandable, and commendable.” She shied away from him placing a kiss onto her forehead and his fingers along the back of her head, but forced herself to hold fast as best she could. “We must never forget where we came from and the people who rose us up to where we are.”
“It needs to be a name befitting a ruler. We can decide when we see the child, together.” She wasn’t sure about the name, but in the time they’d spent together she was certain that she’d never speak to Emhyr again once the child was born. She had mind to take it to Kaer Morhen – as the prophecy never stated that the child need be brought up in the empire, nor distinctly part of it. Her faith in the prophecy had grown, but now she sought ways to bend its meanings and free herself from the entrapment her father had placed her in. After everything she’d seen and done, it was down to her child now to outshine her, and their child them. She wondered in that moment if they’d ever understand the sacrifice she was making to bring them into this world, to give them the opportunity to put right the wrongs of the world.
“Perhaps, it has already been decided by the fates.” He added, moving in to kiss her neck.
“Perhaps.” She echoed, staring out towards the door, thinking of all the ways she could simply escape then and there. “They’ll be sure to put on quite the show.”