Kaer Trolde was Castle an Craite, and Cerys was an an Craite daughter. Hiding from Cerys in Kaer Trolde was impossible.
Smack.
Once everything had settled, she cornered Victor in a secluded spot, bracing one hand against the wall beside him. The victorious Cerys fixed him with a sharp gaze, sealing the boy between her body and the stone behind him.
"Why did you choose me?"
"Because I believe you can do it well."
"That's all?"
"That's all."
Sparrowhawk's expression was grave. "As for the knowledge and process behind helping Udalryk, Angoulême said she handled everything herself. Does the prophet Victor take people for fools?
"When you supported me for the throne, was that part of your plan too? How much exactly have you seen, and how much do you know? Have you been plotting for today ever since you first met me?"
Victor knew why Cerys was angry. No matter how pure a feeling might be, once power got mixed into it, it changed. And with her proud temperament, there was no way she would tolerate the existence of some supposed puppeteer behind the curtain.
From Victor's point of view, he was patching up a mess, patching up a hole he himself had torn open. This time, Megatron had truly blown the roof off.
King Bran had originally been meant to die several years later. At that time, her ambition to rule would naturally have begun to sprout, and the matter of Udalryk's haunting would have been solved by Geralt when he later set out on his path to find his daughter. Victor had merely used what knowledge he had learned to let Angoulême and Svani take Geralt's place, and when he told the story of a future queen, he had only been playing to Cerys's tastes.
But from Sparrowhawk's perspective, looking back on it now, all of it could be explained as the young man's deep-laid scheme, a series of steps taken to push her toward the throne. Even if it seemed to carry no malice, the intent behind it was deep enough to make anyone uneasy.
So he explained calmly, "You misunderstand. I swear I never deliberately pushed you to become ruler.
"I did know Udalryk was being haunted by a hym, but I never foresaw that you would become queen. If I truly ever saw a prophetic vision of that, may I be pierced by a thousand arrows and struck dead by lightning.
"Think about it again. If I had known in advance I would be taking part in the royal choosing, would I really have gone hunting drowners after getting off the ship instead of leaving with Hjalmar?"
That counter-question was highly persuasive, and the entire speech sounded completely sincere. Heaven itself could bear witness, Victor truly could not see the future. Even if every sorceress in the world used lie-detection magic on him together, what he had said would still be the truth.
"Then why did you arrange for Angoulême to help me?"
"Because we're friends?"
At that answer, her brown eyes flickered. "Vic, I'll ask you one last time. Tell me honestly, I promise I won't get angry, why exactly did you choose me?"
"No matter how many times you ask, my answer won't change, because I believe you can do it well." What kind of joke was this? No matter how many times she asked a lethal question like that, he was never changing his answer.
"That's all?"
"That's all."
"As ruler of Skellige, I won't do worse than any man, I'll do even better!"
"I believe you will. I truly do."
She lowered the hand that had trapped Victor against the wall, then turned and walked away without another glance. The red hair that brushed past his nose carried the scent of lemongrass.
Victor watched Sparrowhawk's departing back.
"She suspects you because she cares about you." From the shadows beyond the corner, Hjalmar stepped out, grinning mischievously. "I used to think you'd become my brother-in-law. Honestly."
"Representing Clan Tordarroch in the royal choosing, Cerys an Craite was the right choice." The young man answered with perfect calm.
"That's all?"
"That's all."
Hjalmar embraced Victor. "Don't take Sparrowhawk's temper to heart. She'll work through it soon enough. We'll always be brothers and sisters."
"Yes. We're brothers and sisters." The boy patted him on the back.
...
After parting with Hjalmar, Victor asked for directions as he went and entered Crach's chamber. Ermion happened to be there too, and the two of them were discussing the various preparations for Cerys's succession.
"Sorry to interrupt. There are some things I want to discuss with the clan leader, about Birna Bran and a possible Nilfgaardian conspiracy..."
His opening sounded casual, but Crach's smile vanished at once, and Ermion turned serious as well. Though the boy before them looked young,
he was Dovahkiin, the most glorious outsider Skellige had seen in a hundred years. The wisdom, strength, virtue, and courage he had displayed were all worthy of respect, so if he said there was a conspiracy, then there was definitely a conspiracy.
The young man then began by recounting the betrayal they had encountered on Undvik. Crach had already heard the rough outline from Hjalmar, but at the time they had been in a rush to stop Birna's plot and proceed with the royal choosing, leaving no room for careful thought. Now that he heard the full version, a cold sweat broke out across his back.
It was obvious now that the whole thing had been a trap, designed to murder Hjalmar, who had been the leading candidate at the time. If the enemy had succeeded, afterward Crach could only have accepted it as tragedy. Clan an Craite could never seek vengeance against some vague thing called fate.
Now, of course, it was a different matter. The two letters inciting the pirates to betray them, bearing the seals of Clan Tuirseach and Clan Dimun respectively, along with that clear, gleaming ruby spell marker, were ironclad proof of deliberate murder. Even though Hjalmar had survived, so many innocent warriors had died that someone would certainly have to pay for it.
Ermion said nothing. He reached out and took the ruby, studying the pattern in the firelight with care, then shook his head. "I can't identify the owner of this sigil. But rest easy, Crach, at least I can say with certainty that it isn't Yennefer's."
The Sea Boar looked uncharacteristically embarrassed. "Why bring up something that old? What nonsense are you talking?" Then he rose from his seat. "I'll go make sure the jarls don't leave yet. This needs discussing, so everyone can be on guard."
With that, Crach strode out of the room like a dragon on the march.
Ermion cheerfully smoothed his beard and looked at Victor. "This gem?"
"I'd better keep it. I'll be heading back to the Continent eventually, and if I run into sorcerers I can ask them about it."
The Great Druid nodded, took out a leather pouch from inside his robe, cast a spell with a flick of his fingers, then placed the ruby inside and handed it to the boy. "This will block magical fluctuations. At the very least it won't suddenly start glowing one day and open a portal right beside you."
Victor grinned and took the small pouch, tucking it into his herbal satchel.
"About you and Cerys..." Ermion suddenly said.
Victor froze and rubbed his nose awkwardly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
The druid's wise smile made the boy feel that his denial was rather foolish.
"Crach was too embarrassed to bring it up himself, so he asked me to speak with you.
"You are a clever and courageous match, an ideal prince consort. But now that Cerys has become Queen of Skellige, Sparrowhawk's feelings are no longer just her own concern, especially after you were the one who put her on the throne.
"So if you are willing, after a few years, once Cerys has firmly secured her crown and built up her prestige, then..."
Victor raised his left hand, palm outward, signaling for him to stop. He drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "Before long, I'm going to become a witcher. I believe that's written very clearly in my personal profile."
Ermion stopped stroking his beard. "I thought that was a joke. What glory belongs to a warrior like Dovahkiin, why would you choose to become a witcher?"
"I thought a wise elder like you wouldn't be prejudiced against witchers."
"I am not. Witchers are a precious balancing force, standing between mankind and monsters.
"But that doesn't mean I want you to take up that trade, especially when you so clearly have greater possibilities ahead of you. Whether as a bard or as Dovahkiin, if you stayed in Skellige a few more years, no one would speak of your birth again. And Cerys is a child I watched grow up. I want her to be happy."
Victor closed his eyes. He could understand the kindness in Ermion's words, but this still wasn't the time to settle down and live in peace. He knew very well that what lay before him now was only the calm before the storm.
It looked as though he had changed King Bran's fate, taken part in the course of Skellige's history, and shaped the legend of a brave Dragonborn. But if one looked carefully, one would see that the gears of history had only been scuffed, they were still a long way from coming loose.
The boy had a clear understanding of himself. He was someone now, not a great figure yet, but certainly someone. And on the future stage of a world drifting toward chaos, there ought to be a place for him!
Which also meant that, from here on, the people who would make demands of him would become more numerous and more powerful. If he still wanted to keep the right to say no,
if he wanted to be able to face anyone at all and still lift his head high and say no,
even if that person was the most powerful being in the world, if he wished to refuse, then he had to be able to say it out loud.
He could not stop moving forward.
"...After the coronation, I'll be leaving," the young man answered softly, his voice drifting in the air.
"I came from Bell Town, east of Zerrikania, crossed the Korath Desert, and came to Skellige.
"I hope that while I remain on this land, I can gain the friendship and help of all of you.
"I will stay in this country of warriors for a few short months, slay monsters, hone my craft, and then return to my homeland."
Hearing that declaration again, Ermion looked at Victor for a long moment, then shook his head without a word.
...
Half a month later, at dusk, great bonfires had already been lit all around. Beneath the sacred oak of Gedyneith, an entire medium-sized longship had been carried into place, and the coronation ceremony would be held upon its deck.
There were several hundred people gathered in the square around the longship, clan leaders and village elders who had all come to attend the ceremony. Dressed in their finest traditional garments, they took advantage of the rare occasion to mingle and exchange words.
"This sacred and solemn oak is worshipped by both druids and followers of Freya. The most important rites on the island are all held here, including weddings, funerals, and royal coronations," Svanrige explained evenly.
Victor shrugged. "Thanks for the explanation. Honestly, I didn't expect you'd still be willing to talk to me. I thought you'd hold a grudge, after all..."
"Intelligent men needn't speak in circles. You know I'm grateful to you, for building me a step to walk onto the stage and ending a long nightmare."
Svanrige was being so blunt that Victor found himself feeling awkward instead. Every family had its own hard book to read, so the boy decided to skip past that subject.
"...What have you been doing since you got back?"
"Taking part in the Fist of Fury, breaking a few idiots' noses, putting my clan in order, and joining the Path of Warriors in autumn. Even a clan chief still needs to complete the proper record."
He smiled with frank, hearty ease, and Victor laughed, shaking his head.
Just then, the bonfires aboard the longship were lit as well, and Donar an Hindar, oldest among the jarls, raised his voice.
"Not long ago, we sent King Bran back to the sea. From this moment on, our grief comes to an end.
"Today, by the grace of the gods and the blessing of the clans, a new ruler will ascend. Let us swear our loyalty!"
After Donar finished speaking, and amid the crowd's eager anticipation, Cerys stepped onto the deck, radiant and heroic in the firelight.
She wore soft armor made of wool, with a full metal shoulder plate slung across one side, a broad leather belt around her waist, and a vivid red plaid sash crossing her chest, the mark of Clan an Craite.
Under the breathless gaze of all assembled, Cerys strode forward to the oak, lifted the crown herself, raised it high, and set it upon her own head.
Then she turned and accepted the cheers of the clans, well... not all of them. At the very least, Clan Drummond was not cheering.
Cerys raised a hand and quieted the crowd. "I know some of you did not want me to succeed to the throne, and I thank those who supported me.
"Here and now, beneath the sacred oak, I swear I will be a good queen. Whether you supported me or not, I will treat you all the same.
"I will bring peace and prosperity to Skellige, and I need your help to make that dream real."
Hearing the new queen's vision for rule, the square erupted.
"Cerys! Cerys! Cerys! Cerys!"
Her name rang up into the sky.
After parting with Svanrige, Victor squeezed his way through the crowd with great difficulty until he finally stood face to face with the queen.
"Congratulations. That was a great speech. You'll be a good queen," he said.
Looking at the boy, Sparrowhawk smiled in reply. "Thank you. Without you, I wouldn't be standing here today."
"Don't say that. Even without me, you would still have succeeded. So what does the new Queen of Skellige plan to do next?"
"Well, listen, learn, then listen some more. I'll take it one step at a time."
"That's a very good approach. Hearing many voices brings clarity, especially when you have an experienced father and a brave brother."
"First I need to unite the clans. I don't want war, but if Nilfgaard insists on attacking, we'll have to stand together to drive them back." The fact that Cerys brought it up showed she fully understood the Nilfgaardian schemes of recent days.
Victor took her hand and patted the back of it lightly. "One step at a time. No matter what, good luck."
She held his hand in return. "Thank you for coming. When are you leaving?"
"Tomorrow morning."
"Safe travels."
That night, amid the crowd, they parted with smiles.
...
Beside the sacred oak of Gedyneith, Skellige's feast lasted until deep into the night. And because the nearest village, Redgill, was far away on the coast, most of those attending the celebration had set up tents nearby and were staying there.
That wild brat Angoulême was nowhere to be seen all evening, and who knew which girls she had run off to fool around with, so after stretching out properly, Victor lay down and fell asleep, sleeping as soundly as a baby.
Then in the middle of the night he jolted awake and realized he had sleep paralysis again. Experienced as he was, asking for help never crossed his mind, especially not when the scent of "lemongrass" was so unmistakable.
He and his attacker tacitly agreed not to speak, and instead began grappling in the darkness, each trying to overpower the other. The one trying to pin him down came at him with remarkable ferocity, but the boy was no weakling either, especially when it came to stamina.
At last, after realizing victory was impossible, the attacker spoke and made a direct demand.
"I want to be on top..."
"?"
"The ruler stays on top!"
"..., as you wish."
...
It is said that when girls enter adolescence, they begin dreaming of many realms that were once forbidden to them. For example, inside a mysterious tower, by climbing a winding spiral staircase higher and higher, they eventually come upon a locked room.
It is a symbol, a symbol of desire beginning to awaken. The locked room represents **, while the mysterious key inserted into the keyhole represents **, and the turning of the key to open the door represents ***.
, The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales, by Bruno Bettelheim
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