A Scholar's travels with a Witcher

“Silence fell,” Svein whispered. “The mightiest lords and ladies of the lands gathered at the Queen’s doors to hear the horrors that were going on inside that room. For even in the darkest of nights and facing down the most awful horrors imaginable, still it is the business of men to bear witness to the terrors that would drown the land in blood. Hours it lasted.”

Svein looked at Hjalmar in disbelief.

“Or so it seemed to those of us outside the door,” Hjalmar added without looking at the older warlord.

Svein nodded and returned his gaze to the middle distance.

“We waited,” Hjalmar spoke softly, “Waited for some sign that the two most important women on the continent, most beloved on the isles, were still alive. We waited and whispered with the fear of it.

“There was a stillness in the air then, before an unholy wail seemed to be torn from the throat of the Queen. I heard it my friends and no human throat can make such a noise. It was a cry of pain, a cry of terror and a cry of unbearable, soul-rending sadness. It was as if the air itself wept to hear such a noise.

“The braver warriors, with knee’s trembling, drew their weapons and prepared to make their way into the Queen’s chambers, only to find that the door was barred from within.

“We hammered on the chamber door with the hilts of our weapons but to no avail for that is the last door that stands between attackers and the body of the Queen. It is to that room that people retreat to as the final possible refuge. I considered sending for the ram, or to order the Witcher to break down the door to rescue the people inside when the Swallow’s voice could be heard.

“And what terrible cry, what awful utterance of pain and fury did she utter I hear you ask?”

Svein cleared his throat.

“AND HAVE YOU TOLD HIM THAT?” Svein’s impression of the Empress was actually pretty accurate.

“Another wail was torn from the throat of the soul of the damned that was inside the room,” Hjalmar narrated. “The Empress responded…”

“HE DOESN’T KNOW. OF COURSE HE DOESN’T KNOW. IT’S HELFDAN,”

Svein took a drink and massaged his throat with a grimace of pain.

“This time,” Hjalmar took up the thread again, “There was more of an angry undertone to the formless scream that we can only guess, was summoned up from the very pits of hell.

“But the Swallow’s own wrath grew to meet it.”

Svein cleared his throat again.

“DO YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF YOU TOLD HIM? OR IF SOMEONE TOLD HIM? FINE. THAT CAN HAPPEN,”

“A flash of green, eldritch light was seen from underneath the door.” Hjalmar intoned. “And my dearest sister finally found her voice. I can but assume that she was too busy, holding back the hordes of lost souls that threatened to overwhelm the Empress and her,

“‘No wait,’ she cried and there was the sound of something smashing against the wall. We resumed our pounding on the door and my sister told us that she was unharmed and that we had nothing to fear so we beat a strategic withdrawal…”

“I heard,” Svein offered politely, “that she told you to ‘FUCK OFF’ and that your strategic withdrawal was a headlong dash as four Jarls, the Duke of the Pontar, three Witchers, two Sorceresses, the Nilfgaardian head of confidential agencies and the chief druid of the isles tried to climb over each other to get away.”

His face positively radiated innocence.

“We beat a strategic withdrawal,” Hjalmar repeated in exactly the same tone of voice that he had used before. “To check that the beer hadn’t spoiled in our absence.”

Svein nodded sagely.

“A sound tactical move,” he declared.

“The Swallow and the Queen had been in the chambers for several hours before the Swallow vanished.” Hjalmar declared ominously. Upon learning that she had vanished in a green flash, the Nilfgaardian head of confidential agencies sighed and downed another tankard.”

Svein took a step forward as Hlajmar stepped backwards.

“The first we knew of the Swallow’s arrival at The Rock was the green flash of light. Like all of us, we train our men to notice these flashes, as the herald’s of the spirits of the dead, rising from their graves. This time though, the flash heralded something far worse.

“It announced the presence of an angry woman.”

The crowd groaned in appreciation.

“The Swallow looked around our fortress, her eyes flashing…”

“WHERE THE HELL IS HE?” Hjalmar’s impression of the Empress was not as good, but it carried a certain accuracy of tone that suggested much familiarity with this particular tone of the Empress.

“She asked,” Svein continued his narration. “The nearby guards pointed towards our hall in abject…. And completely justifiable terror. I would say that our guards are the bravest men in the world. Especially as many of them are women as commanded by my wife. Did I tell you that my wife commands Helfdan’s guards?”

“Once or twice,” Hjalmar rolled his eyes.

“Well she does, but even my beautiful wife who towers above the Empress and is twice as wide at the shoulder and with the muscle to go with it, quailed before the fire in The Swallow’s eyes. My wife sent messages to find me and then followed the Swallow into the hall, keeping a careful distance.

“The Swallow stalked into the hall, the first time The Swallow had been to The Rock, but it was as though she knew exactly where to go. In she went and glared around the place until she found the man that she was looking for.

“Then, my friends, she did something far worse, far more ominous, far more…. Terrifying than we could easily comprehend.

“She smiled.”

The audience recoiled in horror.

“‘Oh Helfy?’ she called out into the deepening gloom.

“Helfdan sits at the end of the hall, only sitting at the head of the table when matters are formal. He sits in the quiet so that he can be alone with his thoughts, thinking of the problems that beset the clan and the nation.

“It is well known that he hates that name from his childhood and the hall went still and quiet.

“‘I do not like that name,’ came our Lord’s voice from deep within the hall. ‘It is a childish name from childish times,’

“‘That’s right,’ raged the Swallow, her mood shifting in the blink of an eye. ‘A childish name for a childish man, for you are being awfully childish,’

“Any man that serves our Lord for more than a small span, can recognise the building rage of the black boar. It is in the movements of his eyebrows and the twitching of his nostrils, but mostly, it is in the stillness of his body. My lord often moves, rubbing his hands and his fingers against his trews and against the table. He used to stroke the tiller of the Wave-Serpent when she still sailed and rubs his sword hilt when he is waiting for battle. He only stills in that moment.

“He was that kind of still when The Swallow strode into the hall.

“‘I am sure that…’ he began when The Swallow stopped in front of him.

“‘The Queen is unhappy Helfdan,’ she told him.

“Our Lord stopped and sat back down,”

“‘I know,’ he whimpered. ‘And it’s all my fault. I do not know what I did or what I didn’t do. I’ve upset her and I don’t know how to fix it. I’ve tried to serve her as best as I can, both as Lord, Emissary and husband. I don’t know what else… I don’t know how else…’

“The other thing that those of us who serve the Boar are careful of is to watch for his little episodes. He was becoming agitated. I had arrived by that point and I was watching in concern. I started to move towards him to catch him in case he bounced his head off the table.

“‘Oh Helfdan,’ The Swallow’s voice was tender as she reached out to put her hand on his shoulder. She leant forward and whispered something in his ear.

“The entire hall leant forwards as if we were leaning into a gale in an effort to remain upright. Leaning as though we were listening to see if there was some… clue that we could discern, like raiders waiting in the night for our enemies to walk through the gulley beneath us. We waited, carefully and quietly. At any moment, Lord Helfdan might rear up, drawing his weapons to cut the Swallow down where she stood, after all, touching Lord Helfdan without his permission is one of those things that brings on his rage. He could burst into tears and flee from us, running into the mountains. He could simply pass out, overwhelmed by the emotions that he was feeling. Then he did what we did not expect.

“The Lord of the Black Boar frowned, his distress vanishing. Then he became, if anything, even more distressed as he looked up at The Swallow.

“‘But… I thought she knew. I thought everyone knew. I thought that it was so well known that that was why Hjalmar used to beat me when we were younger.’ His distress got worse and my wife and I moved forward to catch him and contain the explosion of emotion and upset that we knew was coming.

“‘Oh Helfdan,’ The Swallow spoke fondly. ‘Still the same after all these years.’ She crouched so that she could look him in the eye and waited until his gaze found hers. ‘We are not all like you,’ she told him. ‘For the rest of us, there is what the heart feels and what the mind knows. But the heart is more powerful than the mind and it does not have the same memory. It must be reminded and reinforced or it will forget and then it becomes sick with worry and anxiety that the thing that it once thought was true, is no longer there.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘It is like the hull of a ship in a storm tossed sea. Sometimes it takes a battering and needs some patching, new boards, nails and tar. It needs love, or it will sink out of sight, never to be seen again.’

Helfdan stared at the swallow for a long moment.

“‘Oh,’ he said as his eyes moved this way and that, the eyes of a man whose brain is moving quickly. ‘OH’ he exclaimed and leapt to his feet.”

Svein would pause at this point in his story as the joy returned to the telling after the moment of tension he would pour himself a drink and use it to wet his throat.

“Friends,” he would continue, using his mug as a way of emphasising what he was saying. “When he puts his mind to it, my Lord can fucking move. He leapt to his feet with a single bound, catching up his sword belt as he went. Quick as a flash his sword was around his waist with automatic movements and then he was sprinting for the door. And I mean sprinting. Like a thirsty man sprinting to the tavern that is opening its doors.”

“Like the angry woman chasing after her man,” Hjalmar added to much laughter.

“At first,” Svein went on, glaring at Hjalmar for interrupting what Svein clearly thought of as ‘his moment’, we all stood around not knowing what to do. Helfdan literally pushed past me as going between my wife and I was the fastest way to get out of the keep and he just kept going. I turned to look at him and he had never moved that fast. And all we could hear was the sound of The Swallow laughing in genuine enjoyment. I am man enough to admit that my wife turned back towards her first as I was too busy staring after my Lord, my occasionally clumsy Lord… a man who has the surest feet on the continent when on deck but put him on land?

“He was leaping down the stairs and I finally turned back to the laughing Swallow.

“‘You’d…’ she was helpless with laughter. ‘You’d better get after him,’ she laughed and she was laughing with joy when she disappeared in a green flash.

“My wife and I looked at each other in horror. It was the growing horror of two people who were realising that things had the very real danger of getting away from us if we didn’t take certain steps.

“We both moved at the same time. I caught up my weapons next to the door and chased after my Lord who had stolen one of his own horses from the hands of a bemused groom who still had the hand that had been holding onto the horse’s bridle in the air and was looking after the still accelerating Lord of the realm as the horse and Jarl sped out of the castle gates.

“My wife started to shout to assemble the Jarl’s personal guard, telling me that she would catch me up.

“I sprinted to get my own horse. Lord Dreng saw me coming and was looking after our Lord with an expression of confusion. I told him that he was in charge until we got back.

“‘Alright,’ he said, ‘where are you going?’

“‘I have no idea,’ I told him as I threw a saddle on the back of my horse that glared at me. He’s a grumpy sod my horse and he was just getting used to the idea that he would be able to spend a long time in the stable, eating hay and bullying the stable grooms.

“Dreng shrugged and nodded. Having a sometimes flighty genius for a lord means that you have to learn to just go with the flow sometimes.

“My own horse finally allowed me to chase after Helfdan down the road towards the harbour, to where I found my Lord scanning the docks.

“‘No ship will make it,’ he told me.

“‘That’s nice,’ I told him, gasping for breath. The bastard might be younger than me but it sometimes distresses me when he just stands there breathing easily. ‘Make it where?’

“‘We must take horses,’ he ordered, turning and vaulting back into his saddle with such force that he nearly fell off again.

“‘Right,’ I said, ‘take them where exactly?’ But he was already speeding his way towards the road.

“I am not ashamed to admit that I stole a cloak from a passing man. It was still getting onto Winter and my Lord was not exactly dressed for it. Helfdan was getting increasingly far away.”

Svein shook his head.

“We were lucky that the skies were clear that night. Lucky. And luckier still that the moon was large and bright. Luckier again that our horses didn’t break anything or fall in a rut. As a sailor, my lord is without parallel. He can, he has and he will sail in waters and in conditions that no other man would attempt and rightly so but on land, he is… not great. As my Father would once say… ‘he could trip over a flat floor and find a corner of the paving slab to bang his head on in an empty room. It is also true that while his physical fitness is good, he is far from conditioned. He can stay awake for hours and his stamina in certain areas is unparalleled. But walking, or riding long distances exhausts him. He feels the cold, he trusts others to do his seeing for him at night and he allows others to guide him in most matters that are not to do with sailing.

“But that night, he was like steel. So intent was he, so focused and so…”

“Bloody minded,” this time Hjalmar did not make a joke.

“He was harder than iron, colder than ice and more focused than… I don’t know. I give up. But I do know that his personal guard only caught up with us because we had to stop for the horses. And even then, we only stopped long enough to change over which is also when I could wrap him in a cloak. He would have thrown that cloak aside as well if it meant that he could move all the quicker.”

He stopped and stood back so that Hjalmar could take the front again.

“For our part, The Swallow reappeared in the hall again. She had been gone for… I have no idea, minutes maybe. Long enough for the Imperial Lords to get angry at her for leaving without letting them know. So angry that they were angry at me which should give you some idea of just how angry they were at her.

“Then she just appeared in the middle of the hall with a flash and was walking over to the table to pour herself a drink and steal a chicken leg from the hands of Jarl Donar.

“She looked at me and grinned in the same way that she had grinned at me when we had been young together. The smile that told me that she had come up with some mischief that was going to get us all in trouble.

“I am a happily married man now and I would declare that my deceptively fragile wife is stronger and more beautiful than I could have imagined, but I love that smile on The Swallow’s face. The first love is sometimes the hardest love to slay.”

Svein nodded in agreement to that.

“I asked her what she meant of course,” Svein went on, “and she just grinned at me. ‘The boar is coming,’ she told me, sounding ominous.

“‘Do I need to repel an invasion?’ I wondered, only half joking. I love Helfdan and what he is doing in the south of Ard Skellig, but I cannot pretend that relations between us all have been really great over the last couple of years. Better now, thank the Goddess…”

“Or thank the Swallow,” Svein put in. “I certainly do.”

“There is some truth in that.” Hjalmar agreed before he turned back to the audience. “It took him a day to get here and when he got here, I barely recognised my brother by marriage.”

“We had ridden all night,” Svein took up the story again. “All night, using the light of the moon to light us the way. We swapped horses on the road twice. The first time, Yngvild’s guard caught up with us and we assigned one of those men to remain and pay for the horses that we had taken along with Boar’s oath that we would return them in the future.

“I shudder to think what we must have looked like, riding through the moonlit, late winter roads. With a cliff on one side and dark, ancient woodland on the other. It was a miracle of effort, skill and luck that we made it to Kaer Trolde at all.

“We made it to the gate that had opened with the morning business. One of the guards pulled away from the rest and screamed the warning to make way for the Jarl as we thundered past them. I like to think that my lord would have let them get out of the way but in my secret heart of hearts, I am not entirely sure that he would have noticed. He was so focused on the road.

“We made it to Kaer Trolde and the gates were already open and I thank the ancestors for that. We rode up the steps, along the bridge, up through the tunnel, along the second bridge and through the gate, leaping up the steps where our Lord didn’t even bother to use the stairs, he just bounded up and heaved himself up, running through the halls until we got to the great hall.”

Hjalmar stood forward.

“I have never seen Helfdan like it. He is normally so calm and collected. Occasionally distressed but his clothing is generally straight, his weapons well cared for and he moves with calm, quiet collection. This new Helfdan was wild-eyed and wild-haired as he ran up to me on the dais.

“‘Where is she?’ he demanded before he decided that it was taking me too long to answer and he sprinted past me, heading for the Queen’s chambers. Svein and I saw each other at the same time.”

Svein joined him.

“There is a moment at the start of action. Warriors train themselves to overcome this moment. To move past this moment. It is a moment of hesitation. Even though we know that to hesitate means death. But that moment is there nonetheless. We hesitate and in that moment we are lost.”

“We both felt that moment then,” Hjalmar took up the thread. “We raced to follow the Lord of the Black Boar as he charged towards the Queen’s chambers. So fast that the Queen’s guard didn’t know how to react as Helfdan planted his foot on the doors.”

“‘CERYS’ he screamed,” Svein’s vocal power coming to the fore again, “as he charged the door, but he might as well have been charging stone. ‘CERYS’ he cried again as he charged.”

The duo paused for effect.

“The door opened.” Hjalmar whispered, so quietly that his audience had to lean in to hear him. “The door opened and the Lord of the Black Board stumbled in.”

“Hjalmar and I charged forwards, fearing disaster.” Svein yelled before coming to a stop. “But now, the door was shut. And no amount of our pounding on the doors would gain as an entry or an answer.”

“So instead we listened.” Hjalmar said. “At first, there was nothing. Just silence. Then I could hear my sister’s screams of rage.”

“And then my lord answered,” Svein replied.

“And then my sister wept,”

“And my Lord answered her.”

“There was a crashing as things were broken and thrown around the place.”

“The sounds of broken furniture, torn cloth and the ground itself shook.”

“And then… I hear sounds that no man should ever hear his sister making.” Hjalmar’s mock horror always garnered a response of amused sympathy.

“There was certainly some more moaning,” Svein agreed.

“And screaming too,” Hjalmar agreed. “Even your lord joined in that kind of screaming.”

“It was a more…” Svein reached for the words. “Cathartic kind of screaming that time I thought. Less of the potential for eldritch horrors.”

“You haven’t heard those sounds coming from the mouth of your sister,” Hjalmar muttered darkly. “It rent at my sanity my friends. I was horrified and I had to flee from that place. Only to see a grinning Swallow sitting with her feet up on the table.”

“For a day and a night, the pair of them carried on.” Svein would tell the assembly. “Sometimes we would hear speaking. Sometimes yelling. Sometimes some more of those sounds that offend Hjalmar so deeply. We swapped the guards, at some point a bath was sent for, food and drink were pushed through the door which was opened only slightly to let these things pass in.”

“And when they emerged.” Hjalmar could no longer restrain his joy at what had happened. “The pair of them were like every young couple. They held hands, eyes shining and faces flushed. It was as though they were children again and as they walked out into the halls, Kaer Trolde shook with the roars of joy that greeted their sheepish faces and shy smiles.”

The story was told many times. Sometimes the story was told with colder and harder facts and sometimes the story was embellished to ridiculous extremes. When they really put their minds to it, Svein and Hjallmar would be able to tell that story for an entire day and a night, alternating between the two of them so that the other could drink and eat. Hjalmar was once heard to say that he had done many things during his life, but if he was only remembered for the telling of that tale, then his life would be a happy one.

What can be agreed though, is that in the winter of the second passage of the Skeleton Ship after the final voyage of the Wave-Serpent, the Empress of the continent arrived in Skellige and repaired the growing rift that was in danger of overwhelming the islands.

The Empress also took some more practical steps towards repairing the relationship of the Queen and the Jarl of the Black Boar. She took the time to let Helfdan know that he would no longer be required at the Imperial Court and relieved him of his duties as high admiral of the Imperial Navy. She had to work with Cerys and Svein to tell the momentarily distraught Jarl that he had not done anything wrong. It was just that his presence was needed elsewhere and that the people, and the Queen, that needed him the most were in Skellige.

It took him some time to get the point though.

In the meantime, following tradition, the Queen declared her seat to be at the fortress at The Rock, situated in the mountains above Holmstein. Large parties and feasts were still held in Kaer Trolde, but the day to day business of the realm was run out of The Rock.

During her time as Queen, Cerys did her best to drag Skellige into the modern world. It was a constant battle and the only reason she did not lose heart was due to the husband at her side but the success of the progressives over the traditionalists did not occur in her lifetime.

There was always a small faction of conservatives in the Skelligan court. They were loud, vocal and often violent, raiding the lands of the progressives that they now saw as being lesser than them. Helfdan ruthlessly policed the waters around Skellige and although many loved him, still more feared and hated him. The traditionalist cause became desperate when they started to realise that they were losing. The Progressives were getting richer and richer, and because of that, they were getting more powerful. The progressives raided and colonised Vergen and Cidaris during the falls of those nations and the might of the Progressives was so obvious, that the Traditionalists started to appear foolish.

Especially given that the Progressives still did plenty to honour the old Gods and Goddesses and the old ways of doing things. They just did all of that as well as taking on the new methods of working that Cerys and Helfdan proposed.

The traditionalist cause came to a head when a coalition of traditionalist lords demanded that a portion of the wealth that had been taken by the progressives would be handed over in order to redress the balance.

It got quite heated and the Queen made her ruling which was that there was still plenty of land and wealth for the more conservative lords to take and hold, but expecting the progressives to do all the work for them, or stealing that land and wealth from the countrymen when there are perfectly good “non-person Cidarans” to take their land from.

The traditionalists were furious.

The true death of the traditionalist movement came later when Queen Cerys was assassinated.

The Queen and Helfdan had twelve years together and they were as happy a couple as any witness had ever seen. Obviously, hopelessly in love with each other. It was the kind of love that young folk have. The couple had three children, two boys and a girl. They shared their parents' fierce intelligence and occasionally fey nature. The eldest was a boy and in every way that Helfdan was a genius at sea, the boy was a genius on land, and he was leading patrols of his Father’s land by the time his father died. The second, a girl, had her mother’s charm and carried features from both parents that conspired to make her… not beautiful, but when she smiled then men would kneel before her. The youngest felt the calling of the sea and was as close as a son can come to a Father.

Helfdan and Cerys loved their children fiercely and trained them to take over the islands when the pair of them were gone. They worked hard and played hard and the five of them were every image of the perfect Skelligan family.

There was another feast of the Skeleton Ship. The Eighth since the new tradition was founded. The tradition was a huge success. Still drilling the islands against threat, still teaching them rationing and still gathering trade and business to the ports in the spring.

And it gave the Skelligans a way to mourn which was vital.

But it lacked the fear that the old way had, it became a celebration of the old ways… and the traditionalists hated it. Several times there were attempts to sabotage the new rite and these attempts became more and more serious. From attempts to protest the building of the replica ship things moved onto assaulting the horn-blower and efforts to break the replica ship. Later historians would suggest that these actions were what made the Traditionalist cause unpopular with the common folk. But not nearly as much as the assassination of the beloved Queen.

The common people of Skellige almost universally loved the new reforms. More food and more money to throw around, the smaller likelihood of husbands being lost at sea while they fought on foreign shores. Raiding was still a profession but it was no longer a necessity and the security that this offered was a boon that the men, and especially the women, loved.

And then the Queen died.

It was the feast of the Skeleton Ship in Kaer Trolde. The reforms were now being felt everywhere and the town was becoming increasingly wealthy. Foreign sailors abounded and the Queen was in residence along with her husband and the other Jarls of the Isles. All of the clans had felt the benefits now and although some would fight for the traditional values, the traditionalist cause was dying in the face of all of the obvious proof of the benefits from Queen Cerys’ decrees.

The ceremony of the Skeleton ship was fast becoming an important spiritual day for the Skelligans. The feast and the ceremony were supported by the councils of the druids and the skalds while the Priestesses of Freya and the Priests of Hemdall all supported the need to mourn and celebrate those people lost at sea. If there was a sticking point at all, it was that the feast seemed to particularly benefit Clan An Craite. This was a problem that the Queen was taking advice on how to adjust from her Lords at the very ceremony when she died.

It was during the opening of the feast and the festival. The ship had sailed and was still burning as it made it out of the harbour. The High table was brought a ceremonial drink to the Queen. She made a speech, very similar to the speech that she had made during the previous passing of the Skeleton Ship. The speech was about welcoming distant visitors and commiserating with those that had lost friends and loved ones. Every person in the room had their cups or their drinking horns raised and at the culmination of the speech, the room drank.

The Queen had her cup half drained before Helfdan saw something that he later struggled to identify, but said that he saw a look of triumph on a Thrall’s face. He reacted, knocking the cup from the Queen’s hands and going to leap over the table, but by now the Queen’s lips were black and she was falling. Stricken, Helfdan caught her and tried to call for Svein and Hjallmar about what he had seen.

Lord Ermion, although now retired from his official position, ran to the dais, confirmed that the Queen was poisoned and the Queen was carried to the chamber out of the back of the hall for the druid and the chief Priestess to work. Lord Helfdan would not be parted from her.

The poison was magically disguised as another poison and in the process of the cure, the Queen just died. It was not a pleasant death as she died, screaming in agony as her husband held her hand tightly. He would later claim that he held her so tightly so that she could feel him there when she died, even as the Duke and Duchess of the Pontar arrived, stricken.

The Duke and the Duchess would later hate themselves for not being quicker even while Ermion and the High Priestess told them that the poison was too clever for this to be prevented.

The culprit was caught quickly and although he was trying to escape, the opinion was expressed that the man had wanted to be caught. His name or where he came from was not recorded as the council of Jarls seemed to decide that he wanted to be a martyr to a cause. He was taken into the deepest dungeons of Kaer Trolde and his fate was not ]recorded. But it was doubtlessly grisly.

The islands were devastated by the loss. Jarl Udalryk retired from his position and became a priest to the God and was replaced by his son. Holger Black-hand who had benefited a surprisingly large amount from the Queen’s policy of settling the coastline of Cidaris, killed three men in duels by hacking them to pieces and a nation mourned. This was not the cathartic loss of an old man who died hunting a bear, or a warrior king dying in battle, this was a murder committed by a coward. And in the wake of the holy, spiritual and celebratory festival, the blow was particularly cruel.

The seven days of mourning were particularly hard for the islands.

For his part, Helfdan spent the week, supervising the building of the Queen’s funeral barge. In the immediate aftermath of the Queen’s death, he took his children aside and spoke to Lord Dreng and Lord Svein of his clan. What they spoke about was never recorded although later context made it quite obvious as the two men and the children showed no signs of surprise when it happened.

But the islands gathered in Kaer Trolde for the final passing of the Queen and Helfdan built his ship.

After the mourning period came to a conclusion, the Queen was laid into the ship with the weapons of the warriors that her forces had defeated. The clans were told that they could make offerings and the people would lay gifts, often small tokens but sometimes bottles of her favourite mead, or a plate of her favourite mutton.

Helfdan watched it all with a look of pride on his face that made people weep to see it. “That was my wife,” he would say. “She loved me. She could have had anyone but she loved me. I don’t know how, or why, or what she found to love in me, but she did. She loved me. ME.” Then he would laugh.

When the day came men pushed the ship off to that place in the harbour where the lords could lay their own gifts on the funeral ship.

At the last as Helfdan climbed aboard, Hjalmar realised first but the others were not far behind him.

“Helfdan,” Hjalmar called. “You do not have to go with her. You do not have to join her in death,”

Helfdan stopped and turned from the chore of soaking the ship and the body of his wife in oil.

“My people are safe,” he told the other Jarl. “My son is strong and my other children will help him be stronger. And in the meantime he has good lords that will support him. I trust Svein and Dreng to care for them and my people, and to help my children to continue to make the Black Boar proud.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Hjalmar called, his voice cracking. “You don’t have to go with her.”

Helfdan smiled, a little sadly and considered.

“I love you brother,” he told Hjalmar, “but even in this you continue to insult me, just like when we were children.”

Hjalmar looked as though he had been slapped.

Helfdan rose and addressed the onlookers. He had improved his public speaking.

“Were our roles reversed,” he shouted. “Were I the slain King and she my living wife. You would expect her to sail with me on my funeral barge. You would expect her to burn along with me so that I might have companionship on this, my last voyage. You would expect these things would you not? You would say ‘That is the role of the woman’ or words to that effect.”

The Jarls, and Hjalmar had nothing to say to that.

“Then why would you expect less of me?” he asked.

Hjalmar, never one to hide his emotions, sobbed.

Helfdan looked at Hjalmar for a moment and nodded.

“Besides,” he said, looking out of the harbour. “If you had the choice, who would you want sailing your final voyage?”

And Hjalmar laughed.

“A joke Helfdan? Gods but I’m proud of you. Then sail well my friend and brother. We will remember this.”

Helfdan nodded.

“Stand with my children, my Jarl. I would have the relationship between the An Craite and the Black Boar be firm.”

“I will,”

Hjalmar stepped back. Svein and Dreng stepped forward with the three children.

“I love you my children,” Helfdan told them in what sounded like a practised speech. “I am not leaving you and I know that you will make your Mother and I proud.”

“Lord,” Svein was weeping openly. “You took a broken man, and you gave me everything,”

“I was going to say the same to you, Svein.” Helfdan told him. “Stand with my son, and give Yngvild and your children my love. Remember the Wave-Serpent and keep me in your heart.”

Svein nodded.

“I will Lord,” and he took the children back.

Dreng could not look at Helfdan.

“I am sorry,” Dreng said. “I was not a good brother to you, when you were the best I could have asked for. I was nothing without you and now I am to be without you again.”

“Do you dislike me for that Dreng?”

“A little,” Dreng admitted, his voice cracking.

Helfdan nodded.

“It’s a good job you will not be without me then isn’t it?”

Dreng laughed.

“Farewell Brother,” Helfdan said. “I always loved you, even when you hated me.”

“I never hated you Helfdan. Farewell.”

Helfdan stepped aboard and cut the ropes with his axe. He tossed his sword to his eldest son who caught it and tossed his axe to his younger son who caught that as well. Then Helfdan took the torque from round his neck, the gift that the Queen had given to him on their wedding day. He threw it to his daughter who dropped the heavy metal but quickly picked it up and put it round her neck.

As the funeral ship moved from the dock Helfdan stared out of the harbour.

“What is the furthest a funeral ship has ever made it?” He shouted to those waiting on the dock. “I need something to aim for,”

Hjalmar’s laugh had the edge of the berzerker to it. “Get going, you pirate.”

Helfdan looked confused for a moment before he unfurled the sail and sailed the choppy waters out of the harbour expertly.

Svein fired the arrow that set the ship ablaze and Helfdan did indeed, pilot the ship further than anyone else had ever made it before the sail fell. An early spring mist enveloped the ship.

Later on, the flaming funeral ship of Queen Cerys and her Lord of the sea became an omen that the people of Skellige would watch for closely. The ship was seen often sailing this way and that way throughout the islands, sometimes as far as the mainland. It was said that the Queen was watching out for her people and also keeping an eye on them in case they sank towards dishonour and evil.

Always the ship was on fire with a halo of that flame surrounding the ship but at the same time, the ship itself would never burn. Helfdan would always be at the tiller of the ship except when the ship was beached, but he would be staring out towards the horizon with a strange look of hunger on his face, or he would be staring at the woman that he loved with a look of quiet joy and amazement.

For herself, the Queen would always be laughing. Sometimes she would be helping Helfdan with the ship, standing next to him at the tiller as the pair fought against the storm but most often, she would be standing at the prow of the ship, laughing with joy as the pair of them sailed.

As I say, the ship was always an omen. If the ship was seen with Helfdan in his shirtsleeves, unarmed or armoured while Cerys was seen in a dress with trousers under the dress, then the people of Skellige would know that it was a time for working. The ships would sail and great catches of fish would be caught. Game in the woods would be plentiful and the raiders would come back with cargo holds full of wealth and supplies.

If the pair were seen in a storm, then they would often guide Skelligan ships back to port and those floundering sailors would warn the locals about the coming extreme weather. If they were seen armed and armoured with grim faces, then there was a great battle coming.

Indeed, in later centuries, when a Southern force tried to invade the continent, the Skelligan fleet was led by the spectral ship with Helfdan at the tiller and Cerys pointing the way with sword drawn and when the fleet followed, they caught a significant enemy fleet unaware and burned them to the waterline.

And when the ship was seen in a cove with the spectral couple sitting, eating and drinking or making love. Then the Skelligans knew that now was a time of resting and for reminding themselves about enjoying the simple things in life.

But that was for the future.

The death of Queen Cerys had shocked and appalled the people of Skellige and the further death of the Sea Jarl shocked them even further. No-one thought less of Helfdan for doing what he did. Indeed, many people felt rather called out by his words and his actions on the dock as he sailed to his death. But it was a shocked and unhappy crowd that made its way up to the keep of Kaer Trolde.

Traditionally it was after the ship had sailed that there would be the contest of Kings and Queens. But the shocking nature of the death had sucked the energy out of everything. Whereas this wake should be a time of joy and celebration, there was no drive for it.

Svein, Yngvild, Dreng and Hjalmar watched the children of Helfdan and Cerys carefully as the three of them walked by themselves with their heads together speaking fiercely.

The Skelligans went through the ceremonies without passion, hollow eyes watching as Hjallmar dragged the table for selection into the middle of the hall with Jarl Holger’s help but no-one said anything. No-one moved to place their weapons on the table and the hall was silent with grief and thought.

Until the eldest son of Queen Cerys stepped forward and climbed onto a stool in order to stand on the table and he looked around at all the adults in the room.

“The Queen is dead,” he shouted in his shrill nine-year-old voice. “Our Father is dead with her.”

And then he laughed. Hjalmar looked up, at first in worry but then in a strange kind of joy. He recognised that laugh as being the laugh of his sister and his own Father before him. It was a berserker laugh of joy.

“Brother,” called the eldest child of the Queen. “Where is my mead-horn? so that I might celebrate my parents,”

“Here it is brother,” came the much younger voice. “We have it.” The two youngest children of the Queen tottered forwards. Aged seven and five they carried a huge horn that Helfdan had cleaned out for these ceremonial occasions.

“Good,” Replied the eldest. “Uncle Hjalmar, would you help us fill it with mead, Uncle Svein would only insist it would be filled with milk.”

The crowd started to laugh in shock. Hjalmar stepped forward and helped the two youngest fill the horn with mead and lifted it up to the new Jarl of the Black Boar.

“To my parents,” The new Jarl toasted, needing two hands and Hjallmar’s help to lift the huge horn to his mouth. The crowd silently lifted their drinks in salute, not just to the fallen, but also to the young Jarl who lifted the horn to his mouth and although he drank some, he spilled most of it down his face and down his tunic. The crowd roared its approval.

The youngest child, the son of the Queen who had Cerys’ looks with her Father’s serious expression, tottered over to Dreng.

“Uncle Dreng?” He asked, “Will you tell me the story of how my Father took command of the Wave-Serpent?” And then he held his hands wide for a hug. With tears running freely down his face, Dreng picked the boy up and lifted him to his shoulders.

“I will,” he said.

“I want to hear the story of how Father proposed to Mother, Uncle Svein,” declared the daughter to more laughter.

“But first,” the Eldest passed the now, mostly empty horn to Hjalmar who gestured for a thrall to refill the horn. “I would like to hear the story about how Father took the harbour from the Black ones on the orders of our Mother,” he said.

“Then I shall take the turn first,” Hjalmar declared. He didn’t need to stand on the table to be heard.

The night turned into a wake as the men and women and even thralls of the hall told stories about Cerys and Helfdan and as they did, one by one, those men and women that thought they could be King or Queen, began to place their weapons on the table.

Later, when the children were asleep in their rooms, Svein, Hjalmar and the other oldest friends of the departed couple were sat around the Queen’s garden, still drinking and watching the dawn in the strange state of sobriety that comes on the other side of grief, joy and drunkenness. Svanrige, Jarl of the resurgent Clan Tuirseach asked the question that had been going around the hall all night.

“Did you teach them that?” Svanrige the Returned asked.

“Teach them what?” Svein was startled from his own thoughts and he jostled his sleeping wife awake as she lay in his arms.

“Teach them to do that? The kids I mean.”

Svein just blinked at him stupidly.

“No,” Udalryk, the retired Jarl of Clan Tordarroch, said. “That action was beyond Lord Svein.” The dour older man was smiling sadly as he drank, but now a smile cracked his face as he rubbed beneath his eyepatch. “No offence Lord Svein,” he said. “But on a battlefield, Lord Svein is a master without equal. But in the courtroom?”

He shook his head.

“It’s true,” admitted Svein. “I can forge warriors into an army, but to lift a hall out of a gloom? I would not know where to begin.”

“It was them,” Yngvild had caught up with the conversation now. “It was the three of them.”

Hjalmar nodded his heartbroken agreement as he poured drinks for everyone.

“That was a very Helfdan thing to see,” he said. “He would have seen the need for something and my sister would have known what to do.”

“Those children are going to be terrifying.” Lord Udalryk commented with a slight smile.

“To our enemies, certainly.” Hjalmar grinned savagely.

“I will drink to that,” Svanrige agreed.

Jarl Svanrige, the Returned of Clan Tuirseach became King after Cerys’ death. He would later say that his exile to the continent taught him how to be a King. He saw the benefits of the reforms of Queen Cerys and brought some of his own innovations along with him. He was also utterly ruthless with the enemies of Skellige on sea and land. He was known to be loving to his friends and family, and utterly terrifying to his enemies and Skellige continued to grow in importance.

The eldest son of Jarl Helfdan was chosen as the new Jarl without contest as the other candidates, being Lords Dreng, Svein, Roary the Red and Rymer stood aside for the eldest son of the Black Boar. He was a serious young man and as I say, he grew into a serious Jarl and was commonly viewed as unbeatable on the battlefield, he listened to his advisors carefully and ruled his clan well.

The daughter, the middle child, married the eldest son of King Svanrige, binding the two clans together and strengthening the Clan of the Black Boar even further. She was a fierce Shield-maiden and all loved her. It was said of her that she danced like no-one was watching, laughed like no-one was listening, fought like a she-cat protecting her young and loved as though it was the last thing she would ever do in life. She ruled Clan Tuirseach along with her husband and although she was not classically beautiful as the poet described, there were many rivals to the Jarl of Clan Tuirseach that envied the Jarl his wife.

The youngest son took to the sea in the same manner that his Father had. He gathered a fierce crew and built himself a fine ship and became a terror of the seas around the continent. His exploits became as much a feature of legend as those of his Father and his enemies, the enemies of Skellige, came to tell stories of him as they shivered around campfires on distant shores. He became a bogeyman of the sea.

According to those that knew him, he was actually quite gentle. He married one of Svein’s many daughters.

The Jarl of the Black Boar loudly declared that he was too young to be King and he served King Svanrige loyally and so it was for the next several generations. The Black Boar concentrated on building itself, consolidating its position, intermarrying with the other clans of the island and where possible, with the important people of the continent. They sent sons and daughters to the Witcher’s schools, both to become Witcher’s themselves but also to learn the new Physical sciences and they flourished.

The designs that Helfdan learned from climbing aboard the last real Skeleton Ship… although his final vision would not be realised for centuries, it is true that some of his innovations meant that the long ships of the Black Boar were more solid, faster in the water, could carry more cargo, could better withstand storms and enemy attack. Sailors and raiders would fight over the privilege of sailing aboard a black boar merchant ship, or crew a Black Boar Longship. And the only people that shared in those designs were Coulthard shipping. The secrets of these technologies were kept secret for as long as possible and always the sailors of the Black Boar were doing their best to innovate.

Ironically, the poisoning of Queen Cerys was the death of the Traditionalist movement. For all their big talk of returning to traditional Skelligan values, the faction had sent an assassin who had used poison to get the job done. This was seen as an ultimate act of cowardice, even by those men and women that might have agreed with the traditionalist cause. Traditionalism came into the open and they would remind everyone that would listen that one of the traditionalist values was loyalty. And although they fought for their cause in every courtroom and longhouse in the isles, they would do as their lord ordered.

Although no monarch would rise from the Black Boar for several generations, it is almost certain that some descendant of Cerys and Helfdan ruled the isles. But that state would not last forever, the children of the boar were just too capable. In the end, it was Cerys’ Great Great Great Granddaughter that ascended to the throne at the age of Seventeen. Arguably the youngest Monarch to have ever sat the throne. Historians would suggest that she was her two ancestor’s combined. Frighteningly intelligent, utterly charming, good looking enough to draw the eye but not enough to inspire jealousy. She ruled the islands and later, in her seventy year reign, a significant amount of the continent in what would be called “Skelligan’s golden age”.

Emma and Laurelen

I wish I had better news for you here.

Emma von Coulthard, Lady Coulthard and the Merchant Queen of the Northern Continent never really recovered after the Kalayn rebellion. There were years, even decades where she seemed to be approaching her old self but then something would happen which would send her spiralling down into a pit of depression and anxiety. There were many potential reasons for this and no-one, least of all Emma herself, could come up with a reason as to why this was.

Eventually she just assumed that the problem was that she was expecting her mind to be thinking rationally when in truth, it was behaving anything but rationally.

It was certain that she hated herself and blamed herself for the Kalayn rebellion. Over and over again she would rant that if only she had listened when Sam had come to talk to her about what had happened between him and the older brother, then none of this would have happened.

There is a lot of analysis, mostly unfair and most of it from Emma’s perspective. The most basic of things was that out of her younger three siblings, Sam was just… the one she liked the least. Freddie was the intellectual that she could talk to, the younger brother that needed her protection and her support. She felt sorry for Freddie with all of his trials and tribulations. She saw his pain every time some girl rejected him or her Father talked down to him. She could understand that because she was anything but conventional herself.

Francesca was obviously perfect and being a girl meant that they had more in common than anyone else for a start. But Sam? Sam was the knight, the handsome boy that set the maidservants to a fluttering and it just never occured to her that he might need protecting too.

It is also true that that kind of man was the most frustrating to her. She was not averse to the company of men, providing they didn’t try to seduce her, or worse, expect her to be dazzled by their charms. And Sam represented every man on the face of the continent that had turned up on her doorstep with strong arm, handsome face and shiny armour that expected her to swoon in delight that she had been graced with his presence.

So there was a negative association there which meant that she struggled with Sam.

Freddie and Laurelen both agreed that the problem was simple. She just didn’t like him. The only bond that the two shared was that they had the same parents and although they loved each other as siblings, sometimes they hated each other as siblings too.

But Emma being Emma, that didn’t stop her from hating herself for her self-perceived failings in the bringing up of her younger brother.

“He just wouldn’t listen,” she would moan before sobbing into the embrace of whoever was trying to reach her at the time.

The trip to Angral and down to Toussaint did work for a long time and she returned to work in the Spring with a new sense of vitality and determination. Those people around her started to practise what they would refer to as “A watchful care” in that they would keep an eye on her and ensure that there was always someone close by in case Emma had a relapse of some kind. There were good days and there were bad days of course, the same as there always is for this kind of thing.

She was also more than aware of what her own mental state was and worked to ensure that she was training those people that would come after her.

The Empress contacted her several times and asked her to take up a post regarding helping out with the Imperial Treasury. When she was strong enough to spend time on this, she performed this task admirably and she helped to… cull the Imperial bureaucracy. The sheer amount of corruption that she found, within the treasury alone, was more than a little terrifying and the Imperial Executioner was kept busy for several weeks.

Despite the obvious fact that she had saved many lives, she also saved many lives in the future as well, but it was clear that these executions jolted Lady Emma and sent her back onto a depressive path again. She had saved the Imperial treasury a ridiculous amount of money. Enough that the Imperial Expansionist policy was no longer necessary to keep the Empire turning in the way that it had been doing. The money that she freed up all but paid for the upkeep of two of the grand armies that the Empire kept in the field at any one time. It also meant that all of the positions that had been freed up could now be given to those officers and nobles that needed to be rewarded by the Imperial throne.

It was provable that she had done some great good works there, but it rapidly became clear that although she could be ruthless in the trade sphere of living, she struggled when she saw the growing pile of decapitated heads next to the block in the main square of the Imperial city and broke anew.

In the end, she left the job half done and returned to the North where she spent a year working on recovering her health. Slowly, tentatively and with the love of Laurelen, she returned to that state of health and started working for the Coulthard trading company again, managing those investments.

This was undoubtedly helped by the adoption of three children. Although the lady Laurelen’s efforts towards making it so that she and Emma could have children were unsuccessful, the lady Ariadne’s efforts had borne fruit as it were. Lady Emma and Lady Laurelen adopted three children. Like all of the children that the Duke and Duchess of Pontar produced, they were very similar to the Coulthard family in looks and personal manner.

They were triplets (See the section on Freddie and Ariadne). The eldest was all but a carbon copy of Emma herself. She would grow to be tall, skinny and more than a little bit of a tomboy who took great delight in confounding convention and expectation when she would turn up to the occasion dressed in skirts with her hair and makeup done to perfection.

The only difference between the adopted Mother and daughter in that respect was that the daughter was very much a fan of the male. She married a Skelligan ship’s captain from the clan of the Black Boar. One of Svein and Yngvild’s younger sons and she took great delight in sailing the seas with her rough looking husband and dressing like a Skelligan. But she was also running Coulthard Shipping by this point. Her husband was well aware of how clever his continental wife was and although there might have been some resentment about that, he never let him rule his marriage.

The second, the boy looked very much like what Emma’s Father must have looked like when a younger boy. He was dark haired with an intense, penetrating stare and a large nose that always made you feel as though he was judging whoever he was looking at.

Then he would smile and that changed the entire character of his face.

Emma and Laurelen brought him up to the Land based parts of the Coulthard trading company. His marriage was a political one to the daughter of the new mayor of Novigrad, but he was never unhappy with that choice and worked hard to make his wife happy.

The youngest daughter looked like Francesca down to the last detail, except where Francesca had dark hair, this young girl’s hair was blonde. She had the trick of looking really innocent until some mischievous glint came into her eyes and men would say that she had the devil in those eyes, before the eyes would widen and she looked all innocent again.

She would turn out to have magical talent. Laurelen trained her as far as she was able in order to keep the family unit together as long as possible and maintain Emma’s new family unit for her happiness. But eventually she went to Aretuza and was an innovator in the field of alchemy.

Emma returned to Imperial Service at the request of Emperor Voorhis. The Emperor was convinced that the new Imperial Treasurer Peter Evertson had given in to the greed of his predecessors and had a desire that Emma come back and do the job properly.

She was given more leeway this time, to follow her own methods and despite the objections of Lady Laurelen and her brother, she went South. There she found the proof that the Emperor was looking for and Evertson was quietly removed. This time was much easier than previous efforts to root out corruption as the problem was less labyrinthine and the embezzlers did not have the time to properly hide their crimes.

The conspiracy was rooted out but this meant that the Imperial treasury and therefore, the empire, was without a proper head. There was also a lack of qualified people to do the work. The Emperor, in his wisdom, offered the job to Emma who, in her lack of wisdom, took it.

She was the first high level Imperial beaurocrat to be a woman. There had been other women in positions of power that weren’t from the Imperial family, but Emma was the first woman to be so elevated and so the women of the Imperial court started to lift their gazes and look around.

Emma rebuilt the Imperial treasury from the ground up and was given carte blanche to use her own methods and do it in her own way. The only order that the Emperor ever gave her was to ensure there was no threat to the fiscal might of the Empire and that whenever he asked for money from the treasury, that she would find it for him.

The first threat that she ordered eliminated was the Coulthard trading company.

In reality, she was concerned about monopolies and the growth of countrywide trading companies that would form economic powerhouses that would impact the Imperial one. So what happened to Coulthard trading was an example and proof of her impartiality.

The truth was that she had expected a move similar to this for some years and had been astonished that no-one had done it before.

The divided Coulthard trading company became Coulthard shipping, Coulthard Exports and Coulthard Imports. They still worked closely together but legally, they were separate entities.

She worked as the Imperial treasurer for twelve years before she started to become sick again and she returned north. She had been sick during her time of service but this last one got pretty bad to the point that the Emperor had to order her to retire at the request of Lady Laurelen.

The only significant fight that she and Laurelen ever had was when Emma told Laurelen that she didn’t want to undergo the age-lengthening treatments. She told the woman she loved that she could not face the thought of living forever with the nightmares that she suffered most nights. In the end, Laurlen was forced to admit that it wasn’t the decision that had upset her, but the fact that Emma had not talked with her about it. It was the closest the two ever came to breaking apart.

In the end, much to Emma’s distress, Laurelen stopped using the treatments as well and grew old with Emma.

Laurelen worked in healing. Her long term hope was that she could help to heal Emma from the pain and trauma that she had suffered and although she made many innovations working with Dr Shani, by now dean of medicine in Oxenfurt, she was never quite able to heal her wife and she saw that as a great failure, despite all of the people that she did help.

It was her foundation that built a lot of the alchemical treatments that worked with the people suffering from brain illnesses in the future.

Upon her retirement from Imperial Service, Emma essentially retired. She was never not busy. She would take on the care of various good causes and lift them back onto their feet before handing them over. She gave Lord Geralt and Lady Yennefer some help when Corvo Bianco ran into a season of Grape rot where all their vines wilted from a disease. She helped the Novigradian hospital when it was in danger of closing and there are many small good works that she was part of. She would work intensively for a few weeks or a month before she would need to rest and recuperate.

Her mind and her body eventually gave up and she died, despite Laurelen’s best efforts, at the age of Seventy-Seven surrounded by her friends, her children (and grandchildren) and other Family.

She grinned in triumph when she died. No-one knows why although Lord Frederick and Lady Laurelen exchanged knowing glances.

Laurelen looked like a woman in her late sixties by this point and started using the immortal treatments again. She could not be made younger again but she went to teach medicine and economics at Aretuza where she died defending the students from the latest efforts to destroy the presence of magical people in the Continent. Her body was carried back South where she was interred, next to her wife, in the Coulthard family crypt.

Kerrass and Sleeping Beauty

(Warning: This one gets worse before it gets better but it does get better. CW for domestic abuse and marital rape. I know that some people have said “Poor sleeping beauty” in reference to my version of things before. But believe me, all of that and all of this is nothing compared to what happened to her in the original stories.)

Later on, there would be many conversations about what the learned people of the continent should have learned from the situation with Sleeping Beauty. There were mistakes made and lessons that should have been learned before things were taken to the very brink of disaster.

But they weren’t and it is easy to look back on what should have happened and what did happen and see those same mistakes and those same lessons with the benefits of hindsight.

In this case, the assumption was that the sheer effect of Sleeping Beauty’s presence would be lessened when the original curse was lifted. People assumed that men wouldn’t be driven mad by her beauty. People assumed that she would not be scarred by the darkness in the world in contrast to her “goodness and grace”. And as a society, especially in the South, people always assumed that she was not as clever as they were. And because she was good and graceful, she would often choose not to expose her rivals because she didn’t want to embarrass them.

But nevertheless these effects were in abundance.

Kerrass and Sleeping Beauty, now the Queen of Dorn, Briar Rose or just Rose to her nearest and dearest, met in Toussaint for the first time in several years and they finally, finally had their conversation. The conversation lasted several days and involved many tears on both parts, much laughter and more than a little joy. Nothing sexual happened other than the two spending time in each other’s company.

The Duchess of Toussaint herself assigned chaperones from among her own ladies and companions but no-one could find any fault with the way that the pair of them behaved. They acted like old and loving friends and although it was clear to anyone that might have been watching that the two of them were in love, it was that courtly kind of love that would never be consummated. Instead, they rode through the countryside, ate picnic’s in beautiful glades and talked about many things.

It was touching, sweet and very very innocent. After the tournament was over, Kerrass went onto Skellige with the Duke of the Pontar and was there when the Empress knocked the heads of Queen Cerys and Jarl Helfdan together. For the next few years he would travel the path, lecture and help out with the new and growing Witcher schools, winter with Lord Frederick, travel with Lord Frederick and generally live his life. Men and women that have known Kerrass for any length of time would suggest that he was happy.

He would tell anyone that he spoke to that the matter with Queen Rose of Dorn was resolved. That they would always care for each other but the infatuation of the sixteen, seventeen year old girl had matured into the affection and friendship of a young woman in her early twenties who knew that she had a duty to perform. He would say that the Queen knew where he was and that he would always be there, should she need him. Pressing him for further information after that was historically a good way to get your face slapped or your balls kicked.

After that conversation, a sense of peace settled over Queen Rose as she returned to her Kingdom. Historians would know a lot of what happened in the Kingdom of Dorn due to the diaries of Lady Marion of Leaford, the closest confidante to the Queen herself. Lady Marion wrote that the Queen felt as though a chapter of her life had been concluded and that she now felt free to move on.

The Queen threw herself into the governing of her country and Dorn prospered under her sure, but gentle guidance.

But one of the duties of the royal family is to provide an heir and Queen Rose of Dorne made it known that she was open to the prospect of being courted.

It was not a simple process. She needed someone that would be satisfied with being called “Prince Consort” rather than King as the Queen’s people made it clear that they would not accept some foreign man being placed above their beloved Queen. There was also a need for a man who was not upset by the fact that Queen Rose was obviously not a virgin, which was still a problem for many noble families in the continent.

There was also the problem of genetics. In that many of the nearby families had previous generations that were descended from people that had forced themselves on the Queen of Dorn for one reason or another and the children from Kerrass’ story were not the only children that had been born of Sleeping Beauty’s body.

Eventually though, a young man was chosen. He was a year younger than Sleeping Beauty’s 21 years of living age and he was everything a young man of that type should be. He came to Dorn as a younger son of a Duke from the South Eastern parts of the Empire. He was gallant, handsome, charming and as intelligent as a man could be without academics being his primary focus. He enjoyed riding, hunting and music. He was quite happy with what his position in life was going to be and he had that gift that was not widely spread in that he could make Queen Rose laugh. There was certainly an element of physical desire as to why he wanted to marry the Queen and there was also the social benefits of being the man that married Sleeping Beauty, but he treated such things with humour and a gentle kindness that was lacking in other candidates.

The only person that was against the match was Lady Marion.

Lady Marion was the last of the old companions that had worked on the edges of the Kingdom in the years of the curse, that still served the Queen directly. Most had retired to a gentle life of farming and working the lands elsewhere. But Lady Marion still had the companion’s eye and as she looked at the future Prince Consort, she advised against the match.

She wrote to the Duke of the Pontar who she maintained a distant friendship with until she died, in the letter, she gave the opinion that the young man looked “hungry”.

But even though the Queen might have wanted to listen to the advice from her longest lasting companion and advisor, the courtship was now well along and there was little that could be done to avert it. The soon to be happy couple would ride through the countryside together, inspecting the land clearance efforts, speaking to the farmers and the shepherds that were beginning to settle the countryside and being the absolute image of the young couple in love.

The wedding itself was fantastic and plenty of people were in attendance. Most of the Imperial Court, The Duke of the Pontar and his wife who was also serving in the bridal party as The Duke gave her away in the absence of a Father and the Duchess was one of the bridesmaids. The Ladies Coulthard were there and many of the other high families of the Continent. The Groom looked handsome and charming, the bride looked radiant enough that even the renowned beauties of the Duchess of the Pontar, the Lady of Corvo Bianco and the Empress herself seemed drab and ordinary in comparison.

The only person that was missing was a certain Feline Witcher. And again, many people look back with curiosity as to why that might be the case as up until a couple of weeks before the event, he had made it well known that he absolutely intended to go and be the loudest one to cheer the happy couple on.

But then he did not go and he never told anyone why. Not even the Duke of the Pontar who remained his closest friend.

The marriage started to go wrong almost immediately.

The wedding night was not observed, but the Prince Consort complained, loudly, the following day that “the wench was far from enthusiastic” and that he had hoped for something more from his wife while the Queen herself was walking around, pale as though she had seen a ghost. The Queen’s hands were seen to tremble and after all of that, she would not look anyone in the face. She had come down that morning wearing gloves for the first time in many years.

She shrugged it off when this was pointed out to her by her husband, brought a smile out from somewhere and returned to her chambers to wear something more fitting for the day. At first, people hoped that it was just a one off but this was to turn out to be far from the case.

Every night, the Queen would go to her chambers with a growing look of trepidation while the Prince Consort would bound from his chair and charge up to his marital chambers with increasing joy and increasingly lascivious jokes to his friends and companions.

Lady Marion tried to sound the alarm when she was walking through the royal apartments late one night and she heard the Prince Regent making passionate noises while the Queen whimpered in pain and horror. Marion arranged to have the Prince Consort ride out on a hunt that day against some elusive prey for the feast that night and she took some time to insert herself into the Queen’s day.

The Queen avoided her but Marion persisted and several days later managed to be there while the Queen was changing for dinner that night. What Marion saw made the otherwise expressive and emotional woman’s face go still. The Queen was obviously injured. There were bruises around her neck, around her wrist and around her waist. Scratch marks on her breasts and further bruising as well.

Marion was furious and forced the Queen to tell the full story.

It seemed that on the wedding night, the Queen had been more than a little scared. The Queen had enjoyed the courtship as far as it had gone. Enjoyed the flowers, the poems and the time spent with each other. She had even enjoyed the chaste kisses as they came and the feeling within herself of something building that she had wanted to explore.

But come the wedding night, rather than gently exploring her growing passion with the man that she was convinced that she loved, it had been like a dam had burst in her husband. She had been left feeling overwhelmed and terrified by his passion and all that she could think of in the heat of the moment was of all the times that she had been assaulted while she was under the influence of the curse.

The Queen told her friend that she froze rather than try to get her husband to stop, telling herself that it was a matter of duty for a wife to care for her husband’s desires. Later on, as the days progressed, she kept waiting for her new husband’s passions to work themselves out on her so that she could regain the man that she was still convinced that she loved.

Marion informed her friend that it was not going to get better, indeed she warned that it was probably going to get worse.

Marion was furious but the Queen ordered her to say nothing as a Queen’s command which of course Marion obeyed. She would later hate herself for this error of judgement.

As Marion predicted though, the situation only got worse.

The first time the Prince Consort struck the Queen in public, he was instantly apologetic. He humiliated himself publicly and prostrated himself before his Queen in a dramatic display of grief and self-loathing.

She forgave him and Lady Marion, who had hoped that this might be a tipping point towards the Queen petitioning the Imperial Throne for a divorce, was heard to swear “Goodness & Kindness. Fucking Goodness and Kindness. What use is that to a Queen?”

The Second time he struck her, he was called out for it by a nearby courtier. The Prince Regent accepted the duel and skewered the courtier handily. He apologised to the Queen, this time more perfunctorily and once again, the Queen forgave him. But where before, the Prince Consort had seemed genuinely apologetic, this time he had seemed as though he expected the response.

Once again, Lady Marion went to the Queen demanding action and once again, the Queen refused. “It will all be alright when I am pregnant," she declared. Marion lost her temper then and informed Queen Rose that her morals and determinations were over a hundred and fifty years out of date. She was instantly sorry when the Queen burst into tears but again she was proven right.

The Queen got pregnant, but the Prince Regent’s temper and desires got the better of him and the Queen miscarried. Her doctors ordered her into seclusion for rest and with his desires stymied, the once charming, happy, and intelligent Prince Consort began the road to becoming a tyrant.

Marion was banished and Marion being Marion, she built a cottage at the very limit of her banishment so that she could return to the Queen’s side as soon as she was summoned, which she had no doubt that she would be. Those older friends of the Prince started to leave him in increased disgust telling him that they didn’t recognise him any more but this only made his temper worse and opened the door for others, who would encourage and build up the Prince Consort’s appetites.

The Kingdom of Dorne became an unpleasant place. The older locals retreated to those parts of the Kingdom that only the locals could get to. But this, in turn, was also a mistake as the Prince Regent could bring in more people from his homeland and started to consolidate his power.

Quietly at first, he started to call himself King.

The Queen returned from seclusion and luckily for everyone, she became pregnant again almost immediately. The doctors made it clear that the Prince Regent should control himself if he wanted the baby to come to term and luckily, the Prince Regent listened.

The Queen summoned Marion back to court and gave birth to a healthy baby boy who was the apple of his parent’s eyes. For a while, hope flared in the small Kingdom that the presence of a child would make things alright. But again, not long after the birth of the young prince Stefan, Lady Marion heard her Queen’s screams of pain coming from the royal quarters.

By now, things were pretty dark in the royal palace of Dorn. The Prince Consort’s displaced lusts and hunger meant that women, whether maid servant or noble, had to go around the castle accompanied or ran the risk of assault, either at the hands of the Prince Consort himself, or one of the increasing numbers of like minded companions that followed him and enabled him at every time.

The subjects of Dorn also suffered. The Queen was retreating further and further into her own head in order to hide from the abuses that she was suffering, shielding herself from everything. She became reclusive and insular, all but a ghost in her own castle, the image made more and more fitting because her wails and her moans could be heard at night.

In defence of their beloved Queen, the locals attempted to stage an uprising, but this was brutally squashed by the Prince Consort, his companions and the soldiers that he brought with him.

Only Lady Marion walked un-hindered throughout the realm. This may be something to do with the large hunting knife that she carried on her person at all times along with her proven ability to use it and an utter lack of fear as to the consequences if she did use it. When one of the Prince Consort’s companions tried his luck with Lady Marion, she pulled the knife and stepped in so that the companion could feel it. When the companion threatened the Prince Consort’s wrath, she told him that he would still be without balls.

He backed down and the Prince Consort was too busy enjoying his own pleasures to care much about the issue.

The Queen was lucky enough to get pregnant and instantly, at the insistence of her doctors and Lady Marion, she went into seclusion on the outskirts of the Kingdom in one of the many old watchtowers that had been rebuilt in the meantime.

Marion was not a constant companion to her friend. She would often visit court to ensure that her friend and Queen’s interests, and therefore the interests of the realm, were being observed.

They were not.

The Prince Consort’s Father had heard his son’s complaints that his wife was not properly fulfilling her wifely duties and had sent men to govern the realm properly. And by govern, he meant that they would strip the realm of Dorn for resources while his son would enjoy the spoils of his conquest.

Both literal and figurative.

In the meantime, the Prince Consort was holding parties where he would tell everyone as to what he planned to do to his wife when she had given birth in lurid detail. He was openly calling himself King now and any that tried to argue the point were dealt with severely.

As in they were put to death. Horribly and often with dark and sexual overtones.

The Prince Consort would regularly take other women to his bed to provide the duties that his wife was not able to and he promised his friends that he would hold a grand soiree the night of his wife’s return where there would be much debauchery that would last for several days. He promised them that the women would be passed around and that he would make it a law that no woman was allowed to say no on threat of a painful and degrading death.

Some wag called out as to whether or not this would include the Queen who was still renowned as the greatest beauty in the land and the Prince Consort laughed.

“Of course,” he said. “Is it not the duty of a Queen to serve her subjects.”

There was much laughter.

Lady Marion went back to the Queen who was too catatonic by now to fight this matter. Marion wept at the state of things and recorded the matter in her diaries expressing the sentiment that life had been better when the Queen was still the Sleeping Princess.

For a long moment, Marion of Leaford despaired of her friend the Queen, her realm and the people in it.

Then one morning as she watched her friend’s belly start to swell, day by day, and dreaded the moment that the birth would come, Lady Marion’s face went still and dreadful. She went to her desk and spent an hour writing a long letter. She wrote quickly with large letters, Ink splatters and many uncharacteristic mistakes. She folded and sealed the letter before rising and she took her cloak from the peg and rode out into the night. The doctors and the nurses believed that Marion was deserting the Queen and complained loudly. The Queen, when she was awake and talking, refused to believe that of her friend and returned to her stupor.

Marion travelled to the village of exiles and stopped at the inn where her aunt still stayed and the two spoke. Marion did not spend the night but instead went to an old cottage out in the woodland. There she found an older man. Old but still wiry and strong. She gave him the letter that she had written and they spoke for a long time before the man nodded and the two shed some tears.

For all that she was an accomplished diarist, Marion never wrote what was in the message that she sent.

The old man immediately packed some supplies and rode off into the gathering gloom as Marion returned to the Queen’s side.

A month later, as the Queen’s due date got closer, a small package was delivered under the Imperial Seal for Lady Marion. Given that it was under the Imperial Seal, that meant that it was carried by a member of the Imperial Guard on behalf of a member of the Imperial family, who delivered it directly into Lady Marion’s hands while the messenger waited for a response. Lady Marion read the papers carefully and nodded before talking to the Prince Consort who was watching hungrily.

She told him that the Queen of Dorn had been invited by the Duke of the Pontar to his annual celebrations of his marriage. This time he planned some celebrations of special magnificence and as such, he wanted all of those people that had been instrumental parts of his journeys to attend, to the point that even the Empress herself was going to attend with her husband and on. The Duchess of the Pontar in particular had asked that the Queen be able to attend.

The Prince Consort ridiculed the idea and doing the maths decided that the Queen would be too busy pleasuring him and his friends after she had given birth to attend such an event.

Lady Marion asked if she should throw the papers on the fire and the Prince Consort agreed that she should do so.

The messenger nodded as though he had been given his reply and left.

Interestingly, the messenger carried a large double headed battle axe on his back. He went into the woodland that surrounded the castle and those men that the Prince Consort sent after him to “escort” him to the borders of the realm could not find him.

Planning for the Queen’s second child to be born began in earnest. Women of particular beauty soon learned that they must either flee or run the risk of being rounded up by the Prince Consort’s men ready for the “festivities”. The men soon found that they could not hold such a large number as the women of Dorn were still known for their physical beauty as there were far too many of them. The men of Dorn were still somewhat slow witted and had a tendency to think with their muscled arms rather than any kind of brain. But even they began to object to this kind of behaviour to the women that they loved and blood was shed more than once.

In the end, Marion stepped in to prevent bloodshed and warned the populace that the orders had been given and as such, the orders should expect to be obeyed telling the people that they had nothing to fear and that everything would be alright.

Wine, ale and food was stockpiled from many places although noticeably not from Toussaint. The Toussaint stocks had already been commandeered by the Duke of the Pontar’s festivities and the agent from Toussaint was rather dismissive of the offer made by the Prince Consort.

In the meantime, other preparations were made.

The older people of Dorn started to leave. This was not considered too surprising really given the efforts that had been made by the Prince Consort to bring in his own kinds of people and to demean and reduce all of the people that might once have been supportive of the Queen over him.

Those that remained started to find work on the outskirts of the realm. In the meantime, those new settlers that had come from around the Empire, even those early settlers that had come with the Prince Consort who had been good, honest and decent people, were gently persuaded to be elsewhere. The warnings were careful. Nothing that could not be dismissed as idle gossip but the warnings were rather insistant.

The Prince Consort was not shy of what he wanted to do on the day. He would still ride his realm, demanding that people refer to him as King. He would still notice a pretty girl and order her taken for his pleasure where she would be thrown into those buildings that would come to be called “Pleasure prisons.”

The one blight on his preparations was when the word of what was happening in Dorn started to leak out into the wider world. Merchants stopped dealing with Dorn, travellers stopped coming there, the small tourist trade that had once supported the realm died out. Even the Prince Consort’s father appealed to his son to stop with this lust driven madness.

But the Prince Consort refused. The denial of what he saw as his “husband’s rights” to the most beautiful woman on the continent had driven him mad. Many declared that the works of Frederick the Scholar had warned about the threat of the Queen’s beauty. Others declared that the Prince Consort had always been a little mad and as such, this was the natural progression of the kind of man he had always been.

The Empress ordered a division of the Imperial Guard to march towards Dorn in the same way that they had once marched towards the Kingdom in order to secure it after Sleeping Beauty woke up. But it takes a long time for an army to travel that way and mad though the Prince Consort might be, his followers and friends were far from stupid in their own cruelties and lusts. They ensured that nothing certain could escape Dorn and as such, it could all be dismissed as rumour and dismissed as such.

The common sentiment of Gender politics was still in the early days of changing in the south of the continent and it was generally agreed that the husband of a woman could do whatever they liked to her.

Things built and built. Even the pretence of subtlety was stripped away from the face of the prince Consort. He all but drooled when news of his wife’s pregnancy was brought to him. He ignored his son and snapped at others.

And then, the dreaded day came.

The Queen went into her chambers. The Prince Consort had not permitted her to go into seclusion because that would have led to a delay between when she had given birth and when he would be able to have her again. So instead, she had been an all but exile in her own home, moving between the gardens and her chambers. Staying out of sight, working towards being ignored by all the other people that were in attendance. She would be seen weeping with the spirit all but driven out of her.

She was in her chapel when the baby started to come. She would never tell anyone what she was praying for and it never really came up. There was nearly always a midwife and a doctor in attendance around her now and Marion rarely left her side over the last month or so. Marion ushered the doctor, the midwife and the Queen into the Queen’s chambers along with the young Prince who she gave something to drink and he went to sleep on the small bed that was still kept in the Queen’s room.

What happened next is far from certain.

Those locals that still stayed in the local town, the women held captive in the Pleasure prisons and those servants that could still stomach working in the palace in an effort to preserve the innocence of the Queen that they all loved had different stories and none could agree with each other as to what actually happened.

It was a massacre.

The servants of the castle essentially fell down into a swoon and when they woke up, they woke up in the servant’s quarters in their own rooms that they appeared to have locked from the inside with their own keys still in the lock.

Lady Marion had insisted that the servants, especially the female servants, should all have lockable doors on their quarters.

They emerged slowly and carefully, holding onto each other for support with the sheer horror that they found.

Everyone was dead and dead horribly. It was as though monsters had emerged in the middle of the party and had just massacred everyone. There were wounds that looked as though they had been delivered by the sharpest claws whereas some looked as though some huge, massive sharp limb had sheared through flesh and bone as if it was nothing. Some looked as though they had literally been torn apart. But they were not the worst. Some had been struck by huge things so that their insides were all but liquified. Others were bloated with insects and spiders crawling all over them and bursting from the diseased corpses.

The servants searched the place in a daze. The Prince Consort was dead. He had been made a mockery of and had obviously died in agony. He was slouched in front of the royal throne in a position as though he had fallen to his knees in supplication before he had finally been allowed to die. Many of his fellows were around him in similar states.

Still others were burned. Some had clearly frozen. Some had been cut in half with the most precise of precise blade strokes as though the body had been sliced in half by a razor blade.

The only other survivors of the massacre in the palace were in the Queen’s chambers. Lady Marion was praised for her heroism in that she had barricaded the doors and the windows into the Queen’s chambers with the various bits of furniture. The Midwife and she were armed but it took them some effort to remove the barricades so that the rescuers could move into the place to liberate the Queen who they found snoring gently with a baby girl folded in her arms and her son sleeping beside her.

The servants emerged from the castle to find that the massacre had not been confined to the castle itself. Those soldiers that had stood guard over the Pleasure prisons and had licked their own lips at the prospect of being allowed into the prisons themselves had all died, hacked to pieces by axes from the looks of things. Those settlers that had come, attracted by the cruelty and the corruption of the Prince Consort had also all died. The further the matter came from the palace, the more it looked as though conventional weapons had been used to kill them but that was no kindness.

There were still blade vines near the palace that the Queen insisted be maintained as a reminder of times gone by and one of the fleeing soldiers who had been ordered to stand guard that night on the promise of being given access to the Queen when his duty was done, was found having been tied so that he would be slowly impaled on one of the blades.

Others were found to have been shot down by crossbows and arrows as they fled.

The prisoners in the Pleasure Prisons were wakened when the servants got the door open. One servant said that it was almost like an enchantment had been placed on the doors so that when someone opened said doors, then everyone within would slowly wake up.

And as the people of Dorn started to climb towards wakefulness, looking around themselves in a daze at everything that happened. The division of the Imperial Guard arrived.

Critics would later joke that it almost seemed as though the entire thing had been timed accordingly.

It took the Queen a few days to recover her strength. According to the midwife it had been a difficult birth and the Queen had been dreading what was going to be coming afterwards. She was exhausted and her nerves were fried. Lady Marion was declared as a regent in all but the most important of cases.

The first few days after the massacre were involved in cleaning up after everything that had happened. The identification of the bodies and the messaging the nearest family members was not a small task and was far from an easy one. As well as that, Marion had to invite back all of the people that the former Prince Consort had driven away in an effort to keep the Kingdom running.

The Prince Consort’s father also arrived with an army at his back. He rode through the Kingdom like a conquering hero and started demanding that the Queen be brought forwards to answer for her crimes. He declared that she was to blame for everything that had happened and demanded that justice be done.

He did not get very far with that. Whatever else could be said about the entire situation, it was undeniable that the Queen had been in the throes of childbirth while the massacre had been carried out. Couple that with the fact that the Prince Consort had provably prevented any kind of communication between the Queen and the outside world. Witnesses started to line up to declare just how evil the Prince Consort had been during his marriage to the Queen but the Father had the scent of blood now and was not going to let go of it. He declared that anyone who tried to besmirch his son’s good name was clearly doing so under the instruction of the Queen and as such, their testimony could be dismissed.

He summoned a Witcher to come and inspect the ground and decide what was going to happen. The nearest Witcher at the time was Witcher Lambert. Why he was so far in the south no-one knew as it was well known that his common-law wife Lady Metz was in the North at the Duke of the Pontar’s party. When asked, he said something about collecting some rare herbal things for the lady of his heart. He only performed the service as he was in the area, had some affection for the Queen of Dorn and “needed some drinking money”.

He went to the scene and spent a few days looking around, speaking to the witnesses and collecting samples. After a couple of days he walked into the throne room, summoned the Queen and the Prince Consort’s father and told them that the Prince Consort must have angered something truly powerful and that the survivors of the event should be grateful to be alive. He expressed gratitude that the thing, whatever it was, had moved on and that he intended to follow its example before opening his hand to collect his fee.

The Father was unamused by this and openly accused the Queen of summoning some dark monster to rid her of his son. The evidence that she had been under the watchful gaze of several people and the evidence of the baby proved that she could not have had anything to do with it was ignored despite Witcher Lambert’s professional opinion that summoning a demon during the throes of childbirth would be rather tricky and if she had, then surely she and the other people in the birthing chamber would have suffered the consequences.

The Lord accused them all of being in on it and demanded that the Witcher do his duty.

Lambert finally lost his temper and informed the Lord that in his opinion, the monster had already been slain, along with all of its minions.

The Lord took the point, denied it and demanded that there be an apology for the implication that his son was a monster.

The Queen woke up then.

It was not pretty. She had been sitting on the throne, all but catatonic and staring into space.

“You say that he was not a monster?” she hissed. “Not a monster? Would you like to speak to those women that he took and passed around his men for his own amusement. Would you like to see their scars, listen to their tears. Would you like to see my scars? The scars on my back when he would flog me with his belt. The scars round my wrists when he would tie me in place and do…. Things to me. Would you like to see the marks around my throat? Around my wrists?” She started to untie her own clothing to demonstrate before a horrified Marion stopped her.

“How dare you say these things? You lie. Your sick perversions…”

“You do not listen,” the Queen growled. “Neither did your son listen when he was told that he was not King and would not be King. Nor did he listen when he was told the word ‘No.’ I wonder where he got that from. You do not listen to me when I tell you the monster that your son was. You do not even listen to the Witcher that YOU SENT FOR.”

Her sudden fury seemed to sap what little strength she had left and she slumped back into the chair.

“I do not know which power it was that your son angered in his perversions. But I am grateful to it for delivering me, my children and my realm from his depravity and greed.”

“I demand recompense. I demand…

“Monsters,” Lambert said with a grin. “It seems that monsters give birth to monsters, don't they highness?” he said before his tone became more formal and just a touch feral. “Monster-slayer for hire, reasonable rates?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” the lord declared.

Lambert laughed at him.

“You have no further business here,” the Queen declared, rubbing at her head. “Be gone and do not come back.”

“I have the right to see my grandchildren and have a right to have a say as to their education and their wellbeing? I will be taking them with me as is my right as a Grandfather.”

“No,” the Queen told him. “You cared little for your son when he was alive and you will not turn his children into other versions of yourself. Whatever else is true, I am still Queen here and your son was merely consort. Wiser heads than mine wrote that marriage contract. I suggest you have your lawyers read it to you and help you sound out the longer words. In the meantime? Master Witcher?”

“Yes, your Majesty?” Lambert could bow really deeply when he wanted to.

“I have a long term hire for you although I appreciate that you might be tired after recent travels. Say… after two days' rest, would you rid my lands of monsters? Fifty crowns a head.”

The lord left at the sight of Lambert’s grin.

He challenged the Queen’s declaration in the Imperial court and was legitimately astonished that he was denied. He tried to exert command over his grandchildren and even tried to argue that he was now the rightful King of Dorn given that he was the father of the dead King. Again, he was defeated. The marriage contract was indeed, rather well written.

Rumour as to what happened spread through the Empire like wildfire. Who and what it was that had been responsible for the deaths of the Prince Consort and all of his men was a riddle that occupied many from the highest courts, all the way down to the fireside chats in the various inns throughout the Empire. Even the Empire of Zerrikania asked the Imperial ambassador if there had been any news.

Naturally, the primary suspects of Witcher Kerrass and the Duke of the Pontar were questioned but both men pleaded ignorance although they both expressed their pleasure that the matter had been suitably dealt with. Many, including the Prince Consort’s father, refused to believe their claims of innocence.

But these protestations were largely dismissed as the jealousy of people that had not been invited to the Duke’s party.

It really was a party of some significance. Lasting for over a month. Specifically, the party began a week and a half before the Queen of Dorn went into labour and ended three weeks later.

And there were many powerful, important people at this party that were able to testify, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that neither the Duke, nor his friend the Witcher had ever left the sites of the festivities.

Knight Commander Syanna of the Knights of Saint Francesca arrived with a company of Knights who wanted some training in areas outside of Toussaint. Sir Gregoire and Sir Guillaume accompanied her along with their wives.

Baroness Tamara Strenger attended with her husband and two full companies of Vergen Rangers. Queen Cerys of Skellige attended along with Jarls Helfdan of the black boar and Jarl Hjalmar An Craite who all arrived with large honour guards who unloaded their goods at Oxenfurt docks with surprisingly grim faces given that they were going to a party.

They also came with two dozen Yukki-Onna that looked around themselves with curious eyes.

Chireadean was seen in the local area with a small group of Elves, the lord and Lady of Corvo Bianco attended, as did Lady Eilhart and Lady Maleficent. The Empress herself was there for a couple of days.

So it was absolutely certain that the Duke of the Pontar and Witcher Kerrass were nowhere near the Kingdom of Dorn on the night of the massacre.

Nowhere near.

There were duels fought on the subject.

In the end though, people subsided and accepted Witcher Lambert’s proposal that during his debauchery, the Prince Consort had angered ‘something’ and that the same ‘something’ had taken its vengeance out on the Prince Consort and his followers.

“After all,” Witcher Lambert once said when challenged on the matter, “the Kingdom of Dorn is a land of sorcery, witchcraft and the rest isn’t it. And where Toussaint itself is the land of fairytales, Dorn IS a fairytale. In the flesh so to speak. It’s only natural that the villain of the piece comes to a bad end.”

After her various ordeals the Queen sunk into a long depression and period of sickness. During this time, her only joys were her two children that she loved dearly. She did all of the things required of her. She took the medicines that the doctor gave her and did the exercises but it was clear that her heart was not in it and she retreated from public life, naming Lady Marion to act as regent.

Marion was having none of it.

Marion had a long meeting with the Queen. And it was a meeting, there were notes and witnesses. Marion left that meeting like a woman on a mission.

Too many of the old courtiers of Dorn had been driven away or killed by the Prince Consort but the Queen had developed a fear of… well… everything but especially strange men that she didn’t know. So Marion brought those back that she could and the other positions, she chose women to fill those roles. Sometimes she had to go quite far afield to find qualified women to fulfil the role in question. The General of the army was a Skelligan by the time that Marion was done, but find them she did. Men served, but they had to do so away from the royal court.

Marion’s feeling was that she needed to bring the Queen back to life and remind her of all of the aspects of life that were worth living and so she did.

The Queen was reintroduced to art. The first new male to be introduced to the Queen was Lord Dandilion who strode into the courtroom and with his common law wife and the pair of them had the court of Dorn laughing, in tears, cheering and then laughing again before they left the castle to sleep in the local inn.

The Queen had a good night.

After that, Marion brought in a new male chef to prepare all of the Queen’s meals along with her family. After that, the general of the Queen’s armies chose a male Captain of the guard.

The Kingdom was still a meritocracy and so where a better candidate was found that was male, the female stepped aside unless the Queen herself declared that she preferred the original woman.

The idea was to get the Queen passionate. Marion wanted the Queen to be making decisions and thus slide back into the role of rulership..

It took her a while but the Queen started to become interested in the running of the Kingdom again and Marion was able to return to the role of advisor rather than Regent. But the Queen was now a grave, solemn woman. She no longer cried herself to sleep but instead she would rarely show any emotion. She could enjoy a nice meal but she wouldn’t notice that it was nice until someone pointed it out to her. And it was still the case that the only people that she allowed anywhere near her were her children, Marion and her doctor. But even for the doctor, she would screw her eyes shut and clench every muscle until the ordeal was over.

Two years after the death of the Prince Consort, Marion decided that her methods were done. The Queen had reached a plateau on her way towards recovery and that she would need an alternative to get her over the last obstacle.

Once again, she took her cloak and rode to a small cottage on the outskirts of the Kingdom. This time she didn’t write a message but instead told the old, gnarled man what the message was and that he could deliver this message free of guilt and that there would be no blood on his hands.

The old man wept with relief, saddled his horse and rode away, still laughing.

Marion watched him go with a smile before returning to her duties.

Some weeks later, a tired and very dirty Witcher rode into the outskirts of the Kingdom of Dorn. Uncertain of his greeting, he went and stayed in the old inn on the outskirts where he was greeted with warmth. He bathed and cleaned himself up, paid his respects at the great graveyard of the Kingdom before he took to his horse again and rode the rest of the way.

No-one really marked his passing. A few people waved, a couple of farmers nodded in passing and a troop of guards saluted as they were going past. The roads were still being cleared and the Witcher was forced to detour on a couple of occasions to get past the obstacles before the Witcher rode into the Palace grounds.

He used a side entrance.

It took a small while for someone to notice him as he was still trying to stay at the edges of things, not really wanting to put himself forwards before somebody finally brought the presence of this vagabond Witcher to the attention of Lady Marion. She greeted the Witcher and explained the situation with the Queen.

She welcomed him home.

He would not let her give him any guest quarters, instead he stayed in an empty servants room before being introduced into the Queen’s presence.

Prince Stefan was a diarist himself, Aunt Marion had told him about Professor Coulthard of Oxenfurt and how she had met him when he was much younger. He would later read the Professor’s edited diaries for children before proceeding onto the real deal when his tutors allowed and one of the things he remembered was the importance of those people that took proper notes and kept a diary. So he did precisely that.

“I was just under three on the night of the massacre and the night of my little sister’s birth so I don’t remember much of that time. I do not recall being afraid although it was clear that some of the others around me were. Mother was too busy giving birth and if there was one person who would tell me when it was time to be afraid, it was her. Her and Aunt Marion.

“Aunt Marion was never afraid. But she would always tell me when it was time to be afraid. She told me that fear teaches us caution. ‘It lends speed to our limbs and focus to our eyes. Fear is good and healthy and to ignore it is foolishness,’ she would say. So I always knew when to be afraid because she would start moving quickly. She would not answer questions as she would normally, nor would she tell me uncomfortable truths. She would just… do things.

“She was not like that on the night of the massacre. I remember her being very calm and collected as she lifted tables to block doors, pushing draws in the way and shuttering windows. She took her time about it and then sat down to do some paperwork while mother gave birth.

“It was not the attitude of a woman that was afraid.

“But it was years later. I don’t remember when although castle records would probably tell me. I will have been five, maybe six when the Witcher came.

“I knew about Witchers by that point of course. Not as much as I know now or as much as what Professor Coulthard would teach me through his works. I knew that they hunted monsters for coins and that the people of the countryside both hated and loved them. I found that confusing, but I can’t remember my young boy reasoning.

“So here comes this tired looking man, being brought into Mother’s gardens by Aunt Marion. He didn’t look very different from a normal person. I remember being surprised. I didn’t know what the word ‘mutant’ meant but it sounded very close to the word ‘monster’ when other people said it so I was kind of expecting some kind of…. Weird man with three eyes and tentacles.

“He just looked tired. A bit sad really.

“I have never seen Mother move like that. Never that fast. She was up and out of her chair so fast as she hurled herself at this new man. As I say, I equated people moving quickly with people being afraid so at first I thought that this man was something to be afraid of. Then I noticed that Mother had thrown her arms around this new person and buried her face in his chest as she sobbed her heart out.

“It always used to surprise me how small my mother looked in comparison to other people.

“At first, the Witcher looked massively uncomfortable. I couldn’t have told you why or how I knew that but he tried to escape from Mother’s arms. She wasn’t having it and just held onto him tighter.

“I remember being worried for Mother but Aunt Marion wasn’t afraid and I took peace from that. Aunt Marion came and picked up my sister and hoisted her onto her hip before taking me by the hand and leading me out of the gardens and we went to the nursery. At first I was afraid that there were going to be more lessons but instead, Aunt Marion just sat with us and we played games.

“It took me a while but I finally plucked up the courage to ask what monster the Witcher had come to slay. Aunt Marion told me that he had come to slay our Mother’s demons. I asked which ones of course. I didn’t know that mother had any demons and it sounded suitably scary and exciting. Aunt Marion smiled at me and told me that at least one of them was my Father’s ghost.

“Heh. The truths that can be found within the lies that we tell children.”

The Witcher just started to spend time with the Queen. The plan was carefully worked out with Lady Marion. It became part of the Queen’s day. They would ride out and speak to the people. They would go out into the woods with the children, occasionally Marion went with them and occasionally they went by themselves. There was no longer any need for a chaperone after all. He taught her to fence and use a dagger in self defence. He taught her falconry, a skill that he himself had picked up from Lady Emma Coulthard. He got her drunk for the first time and took her to a local village harvest festival where they danced.

Before people get too lascivious, nothing happened.

When the Queen was busy or when his presence might have caused problems for all concerned, the Witcher would make himself useful around the place. He still knew how to wield an axe when it came to the land clearance. Many monsters had taken up residence in the local area with humanity having gone elsewhere and now that the Kingdom was reclaiming their territory, the Witcher was in need.

He also took care of certain castle tasks in that he was the Queen’s personal bodyguard on several occasions, and champion on others. Not because the Queen needed another, but more because Kerrass got there first and the regular champion needed a night off.

Kerrass just became a part of Kingdom life. He did the things that he needed doing and with his presence, the Queen gradually seemed to return to herself. He still wouldn’t let them move him into a guest room though, he was quite happy in his little servant’s room and he spent most of his time out and about though. In the end, they had to force a title on him in order to keep him around. The title that they eventually all agreed on was “Royal Huntmaster” which, to be fair, he was playing the role of.

At some point… It was at least after a couple of years, the friendship between the two of them, Queen and Huntsmaster, became romantic. Back to the diaries of Prince Stefan.

“I couldn’t tell you when it happened, even as I smile when I remember it. I remember one thing though. I have a distinct memory. I was… not quite ten. I woke early because I was excited by… something. I’m not entirely certain what the thing was, but I was excited by it. One of those small things of childhood. But I ran through the royal apartments to wake Mother up about something and when I went in I found my mother just waking up having been woken up by Kerrass when he heard me approaching.

“I remember being unsurprised. I certainly wasn’t unhappy at this turn of events and it seemed to fit into my view of the world quite easily. Sort of… ‘Of course my mother and Master Kerrass would be sleeping naked together, I mean why wouldn’t they?’ I seem to remember that most of the other servants were also aware of the situation and Aunt Marion seemed happier than she ever had.

“I was not angry at Master Kerrass. I was never given the impression that he was stealing my mother away from me. Indeed, I rather felt as though he had brought my mother back to me. My earliest memories of her were of a quiet woman who always smiled as though the smile came from a long way away and she had to drag it towards her face. I felt a constant desire to hug her and tell her that it would be alright. But now that Kerrass was there… I don’t know, she laughed more and smiled more.

“Looking back, Kerrass was very careful not to overstep his bounds. He and my mother never married because he didn’t want any blame to fall on her. She tried a couple of times and I sometimes wonder if they married in secret in some kind of… rural pagan ceremony. It’s possible, I suppose, although I never found any record of it. But Kerrass once explained to me when I asked him that, although he loved my mother, my mother would then be criticised for marrying so far below her station. Single, she was powerful, but married she would be weak and would have succumbed to some machination of Northern Lords.

“He also once told me that Mother had already been married once and the experience had been far from pleasant. And that he didn’t want to put her through that again. I never understood that bit and I told him so whenever I got the chance.

“No… There was never an attempt to hide just what kind of man my father was. And Grandfather tried as well but by then I was old enough and… I suppose I was experienced enough in identifying bullshit to see what he was doing. I have no memory of my real Father and I have never felt the lack.

“To me? Kerrass was my Father. Even before he was sharing my Mother’s chambers he was behaving as a Father does. He taught me all of the skills that go with being a man. He taught me to ride, to fence and to fight which are two different things. He taught me to shave and care for a horse. He taught me how to drink, how to be drunk and how to stop when you’ve had enough. How to pretend that you’re drunker than you are and how to pretend that you are more sober than you are. He taught me how to treat the people that you meet and that you should always always look further than what the person presents. He taught me to see what was there and hear what was actually said rather than to see and hear what people wanted me to see and hear.

“I still use those lessons today.

]“He taught me that a man keeps his word and that he never says anything unless he means it. A lesson that he admits he has not always kept to. I remember thinking that it didn’t sound like much and he smiled that small smile at me and told me that he was proud of me for thinking that. And experience has taught me that it is not a small thing.

“He also arranged for me to meet another tutor that my mother didn’t find out about until much later. When we visited Toussaint to attend the tourney there and to meet Uncle Freddie and Aunt Ariade, he took me to the Belles of Beauclair where he passed me into the care of a very nice lady called Ceridwen who taught me how to please a woman. I, rather foolishly, asked why I needed these lessons and Kerrass laughed. ‘So that on your wedding night,’ he said, ‘you do not disappoint the lady in question, or yourself for that matter.’

“He was right.

“He was not always a perfect man, he had a temper with everyone other than Mother and with Mother he always had this kind of look. In a more poetic moment I once said that it was like a man who realised that he could gaze upon the face of the sun and that it didn’t hurt, he could just admire the beauty of the thing. He was often morose and had long periods of depression and a distance between him and everything else. But even then, he taught me. He taught me that it was alright to feel this way. He taught me that anger, fear, rage and hate are not bad emotions. He taught me that it is only in the way we use those emotions that can make things bad. If we let them cripple us, or overwhelm us or guide our actions in ways that we wouldn’t otherwise..

“He taught me that nothing beautiful is ever crafted with speed. Including in the bed chamber. He taught me the value of money and the strange kind of honour that people of other ranks can enjoy. And on my wedding day, he stood next to me. The only thing he would not let me do was call him Father. But he was.

“He was and I hope that he knew that.”

Under Kerrass’ care and with his love and the love of her children, The Queen of Dorn became the Queen in full again and her people rejoiced to see the Queen return back to them. Under her guidance, Dorn grew and although it was only a small Kingdom, she built the foundation on which it was built. Dorn became a proud client Kingdom of the Empire and the Queen ruled well and fairly.

The people of that Kingdom became experts in treating different kinds of wood in order to turn it into new things. The blade thorns, when properly treated and laminated with other substances made for terrifyingly sharp daggers that could make mockery of chainmail. The twisted wood of the blade vines became highly sought after by furniture makers, the grain of that wood being used to add extra artistic flair to tables and doors especially.

The Queen became something of a power on the world stage. The Emperor recognised the resource that he had and would often send the Queen to foreign dignitaries that were getting uppity. She would kill the problem with kindness and was known to talk several rebellions down by virtue of turning up and smiling at them sweetly. Men who had been demanding concessions that they did not deserve would be faced with the small, smiling, astonishingly beautiful woman who would enquire as to why they were so upset and suddenly, under the glow of that radiance, those same men would forget why they were angry and concede.

Even the Emperor was not immune to this and found himself bowing before the Queen on subjects where she thought he had been acting unfairly.

And that weaponised niceness was backed up by steel. The Queen led her armies to war three times. Once when a neighbour invaded, possibly goaded by her father in law. Her surrender was demanded and the beauty of her smile became cold and hard.

The second time was to defeat the Ofieri expeditionary force that was later disowned by the rulers of that far away land. The third was when a group of North Eastern Lords rose in rebellion against the Empire. Military witnesses described her presence as being like a living standard. When she would arrive, the men of the armies, whether her people or not, would fight harder and her presence would dismay the enemy as they would see her, feel her sense of goodness and they would find their will to fight leave them. One survivor claimed that seeing her there made him feel like the bad guy from the stories. He thought of his own wife and child and no longer wanted to fight.

And everywhere the Queen went, the Witcher followed. He was her guardian and champion as well as her lover. It was the worst kept secret in the world. Everyone knew who the Witcher was to the Queen but no-one ever said anything when he locked her chamber door from the inside or when the two walked in public, hand in hand, gazing adoringly at each other in a way that embarrassed those that looked but no-one mentioned it.

Witchers became romantic leads in stories and poems again based on all of this which helped the early recruitment of the new and still forming Witcher schools. The couple didn’t care, they were so far above, and so far beyond the attempts at scandal that no scandal ever seemed to stick. Anyone that tried to throw dirt at the couple in an effort to undermine the Queen’s popularity, soon found themselves as the villain of the story and would always back down.

When the Queen had recovered, Lady Marion found a nice, simple huntsman and retired to a log cabin in the high hills of Dorn. She had four children named Petrus, Rose, Freddie and Kerrass. She died at the age of 98 having fallen asleep next to the fire with a book in her hand.

The Queen and Kerrass lived happily for thirty seven years after Kerrass’ return to the Kingdom. The Duke of the Pontar and his wife visited often, as did Maleficent and all of the Queen’s friends But in the winter of that year an illness caught into the Queen’s lungs and it took her months to recover. Doctor’s were mystified until Lady Maleficent arrived and told the doctors that it was a Dragon malady for which there is no cure. Something that can be caused by old injuries resurfacing.

The Queen did recover but it weakened her considerably. She became frail and delicate and although there were times when she would return to her old strength, the periods of illness became longer and harder, especially in the winter. She started to prepare her son to take over power in the Kingdom of Dorn.

Sure enough, four years after the first bout of illness, the Queen died with Kerrass holding her hand and her two legitimate children being there with her.

Her son wrote:

“It was not a moment of sadness. I remember telling jokes and old stories and my mother laughed and when she was too weak to laugh, she would smile. She told my sister and I that she loved us and that she was proud of us before she turned to Kerrass.

“I knew him better by then. He was stricken by what was happening even as he knew it was inevitable and was putting a front on it for Mother’s benefit. She looked up at him and told him that she was sorry and that she loved him. That she never doubted that he loved her and then she told him to kiss her.

“He did,

“‘See,’ she said. ‘True love’s kiss lifts the spell.’ she smiled and stroked his cheek. And then my mother was gone.

“Damn me but it still hurts,

“Kerrass lay her back down with swift, gentle movements and arranged her hands, clasped together like he had done it a thousand times before, which I suppose he had, and then he stood up and looked down at her. Grey haired and her face a little more lined now than it used to be. ‘She looks like she did when she was still Sleeping Beauty,’ he said before turning and leaving.”

The funeral was a fairly grand affair, everyone wanted to be there for the funeral of Sleeping Beauty. Kerrass attended of course and played the ceremonial role that he needed to play. But he was not in the position of husband and it seemed to those that watched him and were concerned for him, that this was the first time he was hurt by that, even as he admitted that he had done it to himself.

The Prince wrote further.

“We tried to get him to stay. He was still fit and looked much the same as he ever had when he had taught me to decapitate Dandelions with a kick when I was smaller. Maybe a bit more of a lined face and his hair was iron grey now rather than black. We told him that he deserved his retirement but he would just smile sadly and shake his head.

“He stayed for the funeral and the wake and I think he tried to stay afterwards. But no-one was surprised when he packed his bags. I remember watching him go from the palace walls with Uncle Freddie. Uncle Freddie had offered that Kerrass go with him when it was time to leave but Kerrass insisted. So we watched him go, the Witcher, riding tall and with his swords on his back.

“‘Show off,’ Uncle Freddie muttered fondly as he watched Kerrass go. Then he sighed, ‘Won’t be long now,’ he said unhappily and I knew exactly what he meant.”

The Queen was buried in a vast and ostentatious crypt that her people built for her. Kerrass told them that she would hate it and it would seem that she did. An earthquake broke the building in half. The second attempt too. In the end, they buried the Queen in the old Graveyard that had commemorated all of the people that had died while she was asleep. She had a simple headstone that read “Sleeping Beauty. Our Queen.”

Both the Duke of the Pontar and the new King of Dorn were wrong. Kerrass walked the path for eight years after the death of Sleeping Beauty, although he never went back to Dorn, greeting the King of Dorn when they saw each other on public occasion, but he never went back alive.

Kerrass would winter with the Duke of the Pontar and visiting old friends, before he would return to the path. He spent a bit of time teaching at the new Witcher schools and he spent a year with the Black Boar clan, living in the house that they built for him in the hidden village while hunting the monsters in the area.

But sooner or later, he returned to the path. He worked hard and diligently, but it was clear to everyone that knew him that his heart was no longer in it. The Duke once wrote that it was as though his friend was fading, shrinking and becoming less. He couldn’t save his friend, even while he waited for news of Kerrass’ death every year, only for the Witcher to turn up at Coulthard Fortress every year with a sad smile and a hug. And then he would depart again in the spring.

Eventually though, this wouldn’t last.

Kerrass took a contract to deal with a Royal Wyvern. A huge old beast that had come out of the mountains to terrorise a group of villages. He hunted it for a week and the villagers huddled as the sounds of the beasts roaring carried on. Then it stopped and the terrified villagers ventured out to find out what had happened.

They found the signs of the struggle and the trackers said what had happened. Kerrass had trapped it and had fought it, but the Wyvern picked him up in his jaws and tried to fly off with him. During the flight, Kerrass had killed it and had fallen. Not very far but the combination of the fall, the bite and the other lesser injuries conspired to make his injuries fatal.

But even then he fought. They found him some distance from the corpse of the Wyvern. He had started off by staggering towards help. The fall had broken a potion bottle, and there were some signs that he had used a potion on himself to begin the healing even though it was obviously too late.

When he could no longer stagger, he had fallen to his knees and he had crawled. When he could no longer do that, he had used his working limbs to drag himself across the ground.

It was fruitless and eventually he just… died. Still trying to get towards help.

The villagers found him by his guardian. A small black cat was sitting on his back weeping, bellowing its obvious grief at anyone that came near it. A grief so profound that those villagers wept to hear it. The grief was only banished when they tried to move the Witcher and the cat hissed and growled at them with such a promise of violence that grown men fell back from the relatively tiny black cat.

The cat guarded Kerrass until The Duke of the Pontar arrived with his wife, at which time it seemed to calm down a little and climbed to The Duke’s shoulders. The Duke scratched it behind the ears and under the chin which it seemed to enjoy for a bit until it growled a little and the Duke subsided.

Kerrass’ body was recovered, preserved magically until the spell was released. There was a funeral and a wake held at Fortress Coulthard and a headstone was placed in the Coulthard family crypt with a picture showing the mythical Witcher sitting on the back of his horse on the hilltop, looking down at the carving viewer. Through the carver’s artifice, it gave the suggestion that Kerrass was smiling.

But Kerrass’ body was not there. Instead, after the wake and the funeral, another wake and a funeral was held down in Dorn.

The people of Dorn had many problems keeping the Queen of Dorn buried. No skeletons rising from the dead, but certainly a combination of earthquakes and natural accidents combined to make sure that wherever she was buried, she would need to be moved shortly afterwards.

The Duke of the Pontar smiled when he was told of the problem. In the end, Kerrass was buried in the casket next to the Queen. They were the last to be buried in the old graveyard. There was one headstone. The headstone read:

Here lies

Briar Rose

Sleeping Beauty

Our Queen

Still Sleeping.

With her lies

Kerrass

Her Love and Guardian

Our Witcher.

For their part, the two children of Sleeping Beauty went on to live their lives and spread the legitimate bloodline of Sleeping Beauty. They made a great fuss of this when other people claimed to be descended from the line of Sleeping Beauty they would smile sweetly and kind of condescendingly. They would never need to point out what it meant that the offender’s ancestors had done.

The daughter, the younger of the two grew to be the very image of Sleeping Beauty herself only with slightly darker hair. She married the King of a neighbouring Client Kingdom in the South of the Empire and the two lived happily, having many children until she died from complications arising from a riding accident at the age of thirty nine.

The Son, the Elder, grew into a handsome man. He did not inherit the good looks of Sleeping Beauty but he was far from ugly. He certainly inherited her intelligence, wit and charm though. His first wife gave him two daughters before she died in childbirth of a third that did not survive the birth. His second wife gave him three sons and a daughter.

From there Sleeping Beauty’s dynasty was assured. Her children and her children’s children still ruled the small patch of land until the continent started to lose the needs for Kings and Queens.

Even then, they played a prominent part in the politics of the region and remarkably, they managed to keep the love of the people in all of that time.

In the aftermath of the death of both participants, two books appeared. The first was a written biography of Sleeping Beauty and the Witcher Kerrass. Clearly meant as an academic work, it became quite successful in popular circles as well, although the popular versions lacked the academic references and appendices.

The book concentrated on the relationship between the two. Meticulously it painted the history of both the Queen and Kerrass. It described in lurid and meticulous detail every man who had sought to take advantage of the Queen during her years of sleeping and indeed afterwards. It described Kerrass’ acts of vengeance since he took the role of Sleeping Beauty’s avenger.

The book was scandalous. Not only did it name every man who had ever abused the Queen while she was asleep but it also carefully named every noble family that was based on those villainous acts. Entire noble and merchant families were destroyed all but overnight. Sons and daughters disowned their parents. Amends were offered by distant relatives. There were even two executions of several older men that were still alive that had committed some of these acts.

Of course these accusations were challenged in court, but the publisher had all of the sources carefully noted down, the research behind it all was impeccable, the witnesses were unimpeachable and the proof was undeniable and every single one of those challenges were dismissed and thrown out from court.

So they tried to pursue a vendetta against the researcher and the witnesses. But the writer was credited as anonymous. The publisher was guarded by independent mercenaries who took their job VERY seriously and he never admitted who it was that had contacted him about the work.

Naturally, suspicion fell on the Duke of the Pontar. Critics cited his friendship with the two people and his academic background. But the Duke denied it and when pressed he simply ignored the accusation. He was powerful enough and famous enough not to fear reprisals. But anyone that accused either Kerrass or Sleeping Beauty of wrongdoing? The Duke saw to it that person was annihilated.

The other book was a children’s book and although it took a while, the story it told lasted for longer than any of the events that it depicted. The book was titled “The Princess and her cat.”

The story was that the Princess lived a happy life. She did all the things that young princesses enjoyed doing as well as a few things that Princesses shouldn’t do such as learning to fence, ride, climb trees and so on. One day she adopted a large, fearsome tom cat. The old thing was ragged, scarred and ugly to look upon. She went everywhere with this cat either sleeping next to her while she worked on her school studies, playing with her or wrapped around her neck like some kind of ugly but adorable murder scarf.

At first the King and Queen would try to prevent so ugly a cat from being in the Princess’ presence. They suggested disease, fleas and dirt and the like. But when they tried to physically prevent her from being near the cat, the cat would find a way to break into the room and the soft hearted but loveable parents allowed it.

Until one day, the parents died in some unspecified accident as parents are wont to do in children’s stories.

An uncle came to look after the Princess and he was much stricter and more unpleasant than the parents. There was an underlying suspicion that there was some older falling out.

The Uncle saw to it that the cat was thrown out. When he arrived he made to become physical with the Princess in an attempt to get her to contain her grief. He shook her, telling her to pull herself together and get in line behind him. The cat did not enjoy this and swiped at the Uncle, scarring his cheek. The, now King, was outraged and had the cat thrown out when the Princess threatened to harm herself if the cat was killed.

All of this was wrapped up in children’s story wrappings. But the adults that read the story for their children could easily read between the lines.

The cat was thrown out into the cold.

The Princess was outraged and tried to protect the cat but the uncle was stronger and more powerful and wouldn’t allow that all to happen. The cat was cast away and went out into the rain to starve and freeze to death where it shivered uncontrollably.

The Princess tried to send food out, including throwing it out of the window for the cat to find. But the Uncle, now the King, found out and had the Princess beaten.

So the Princess came up with another plan. She refused to sleep. She started a passive resistance where she would complain loudly and uncontrollably. No negotiation of the King was dealt with without the Princess making a scene and pointing out the Uncle’s cruelty and neglect. She would claim that her bed was uncomfortable and still couldn’t sleep. The Uncle brought multiple mattresses to counter the claims of cruelty and would take the visitors to the room so that they could see the piles of mattresses and prove his generosity.

But the Princess still couldn’t sleep. The bed was never comfortable enough for her. She would smile sweetly and just explain that the bed was uncomfortable and she could not POSSIBLY behave unless she got a good night’s sleep. She wept and carried on.

In the end, a kinder aunt, the dead Queen’s friend and sister rallied people, using the Princess’ plight as a goad. The Uncle was thrown out and the cat was returned to the Princess. Just as ugly, and baleful as it had ever been. The Princess grew up to be a wonderful Queen and was well known for her wisdom, kindness and beauty. But also for the strange cat that never seemed to age, that slept on her bed and that wrapped itself around her neck as she lived. And when she died, the cat died two days later, being placed inside the Princess’ coffin.

Everyone knew what the book was about. Enemies of the Queen of Dorn were angry. Friends of the Queen of Dorn wept to read it and told everyone that this was their friend as they meant to be remembered.

The King of Dorn read the book and wept. Then he read it to his children and they, in turn, read it to theirs. The legend of the Princess and her cat was a story that outlasted the events that inspired it. Indeed, many never knew that sleeping beauty and the princess with the cat are the same person.

But she is remembered.

As is the cat.