Chapter 172 172: Father’s Love
A father's love is as selfless as a mother's, it asks for nothing in return. A father's love is a quiet, unseen feeling, something only those who truly pay attention can understand.
A father's love is deep and heavy, like a mountain.
…
Under the moonlit sky above Kaer Trolde Castle, with snowflakes drifting through the night, Victor Corion and Crach an Craite spoke alone atop the battlements.
The jarl looked out at the dark sea. "Why would Cerys do something like this?"
"Because she doesn't believe she's inferior to any man. You should be happy, like father, like daughter."
Crach shook his head and sighed. "Now I finally understand why she wanted to go to Spikeroog, it was to win achievements for herself and gain more recognition. Children become more troublesome the older they get. And yet you, Victor, though the youngest of them all, have already proven both your strength and your maturity through what you've done.
"Ciri's brother, Victor Dovahkiin, I have something I want to ask of you. It concerns my two children. Are you willing to hear my request?"
Victor spread his hands, inviting him to continue.
From the moment he learned of King Bran's death, the boy had been wound tight, turning over old memories and possible changes in his mind. So he had already vaguely guessed what the jarl wanted to say. But these were things he was not supposed to know in advance, so he kept listening in silence.
"In truth, two clans did not attend Bran's funeral and wake feast. The head of Clan Brokvar, Udalryk, did not appear, and neither did the head of Clan Tordarroch, Harald Houndsnout. Neither of those absences should have happened."
Victor nodded to show he understood.
Crach continued, "Udalryk of Spikeroog is said to have fallen prey to a strange illness. His behavior has turned bizarre. He often talks to himself, and seems to be suppressing some urgent fear, afraid of something, or perhaps someone. That change has left the others badly shaken."
Victor folded his arms over his chest. He was fairly sure this was because the hym haunting had only recently begun. The story of Cerys and Geralt working together to resolve it belonged to the main plotline, and it stemmed from a very rare possessing demon that fed on guilt. The way it was resolved had left a deep impression on him.
"Cerys wants to go cure Udalryk?"
"Exactly. She believes Udalryk has been cursed, and she wants to solve the problem so her accomplishments can stand beside Hjalmar's and prove she is qualified to be queen."
"So you want me to help her? Isn't that a little wishful? With Sparrowhawk's stubborn personality, I don't think she'd be willing to accept anyone's help."
"If it were someone else, I would doubt it too. But you are the Dovahkiin. Cerys never listens to me or to her brother, but when she speaks of you, her attitude is completely different from the way she talks about other men.
"I believe she would seriously consider your opinion. So I want to ask you, as the Dragonborn, to persuade her, to make her abandon this idea. Yes, that is my request. I want you to talk her out of this plan. I do not trust Udalryk. I think whatever has happened to him is a kind of madness."
Victor blinked. That was not what he had expected. He had originally thought the jarl would ask him to help solve Udalryk's problem, but instead Crach wanted him to act as a go-between and stop Sparrowhawk directly.
"I'll try to talk to Cerys, but I can't promise any result."
"I know my daughter. If she can't be persuaded, that would be normal."
"All right. You said there were two matters. One concerns Cerys, so the other is about Hjalmar?"
The jarl brushed snow from the battlements beneath his hands. "Yes. Since the beginning of winter, the weather on Undvik has turned abnormal. Last month there was an especially severe frost blight, forcing many islanders to flee. We have recently taken in many surviving members of Clan Tordarroch."
"Even among druids, weather-shapers can only affect the weather over a small area. A frost blight covering the whole island is beyond Hjalmar's power. Wait… 'surviving' members of Clan Tordarroch?"
Crach nodded. "That's right, surviving. The frost blight was already serious enough, but then an ice giant appeared without warning, leading ice trolls and sirens in attacks on the villages and slaughtering people everywhere. Clan Tordarroch collapsed completely. Their jarl, Harald Houndsnout, and the men closest to him vanished without a trace."
Victor thought of the owner of the New Port Tavern. So perhaps the sorrow on the man's face that afternoon had not been for King Bran's death at all, but for the destruction of his own clan.
"Hjalmar plans to gather a band of brave warriors and sail to Undvik to slay the giant, so the island's people can return home. He believes that deed could become his crown. But I'm very worried whether they can truly accomplish it, so I want to ask…" By the end, Crach's voice had grown quieter, as if he found the request a little hard to say.
"You want me to go with him and kill the giant?" Victor remained calm. This request at least brought things back onto the main track of the story, and giant-slaying was very much the Dovahkiin's line of work.
Crach paused slightly, then nodded.
"Before I answer, I really have to ask, don't you want to be king yourself, Crach? There should be a lot of jarls willing to support you."
"There would indeed be many who support me, but the ones who oppose me would be even more willing to resort to anything. I do not wish to see that happen. Madman Lugos, for instance, might prefer to let a Nilfgaardian take the throne. Knowing when to step aside is what makes a ruler magnanimous. Bran and our generation are gradually leaving the stage. It is time for the young to take up the mantle."
With a light chuckle, now that his doubts had been answered, Victor stretched. The Dovahkiin feared nothing.
"I accept, Crach. Just as you once made me a promise, I now make one to you. Hjalmar and Cerys are my family, and I'll gladly help them. For that reason, I need to ask something of you in return. I'll need quite a lot of materials to prepare. Ermion may already have told you, I'm a rather capable alchemist."
Crach looked at the Dragonborn with honest pleasure. "Thank you, Victor. I'll instruct Arnvald. If Kaer Trolde has it, take whatever you need."
Victor bowed farewell to the jarl and left the castle.
…
He returned through the falling snow to the New Port Tavern, only to find, to his surprise, that Hjalmar was standing on a table inside, giving a speech and calling for warriors to join him on a voyage to Undvik to kill the ice giant.
Standing below and watching the young an Craite, Victor had to admit that Hjalmar truly had a distinct kind of bold, heroic charm, exactly the kind of leader Skelligers loved.
The atmosphere inside was blazing hot. Perhaps because the owner came from Clan Tordarroch, food and drink were being served without end, and a bard had been hired to perform stirring music. Yes, they were playing The Return of the Dragonborn.
This was Hjalmar's stage. Victor had no intention of stealing the spotlight. He grabbed the eager Vigi at his side and told him to find a chance to privately inform Hjalmar that Victor intended to join him, and to prepare the Thousand Sunny in advance.
After that, Victor returned to his room to sleep, brushing off the deeply moved rascal, who had somehow gotten it into his head that Victor was marching to war for the sake of his homeland.
…
Lying in bed, Victor meditated with complete sincerity, hearing but ignoring the noise and revelry below.
A father's love really was like a mountain.
Through his conversation with Crach and all the things he had seen during the day, it had become clear once again that reality was subtly different from memory. The game had emphasized heroic deeds in order to give the witcher a chance to shine.
But in truth, Sparrowhawk had been right. What primarily decided the kingship was the exchange of interests between jarls behind the curtain. So-called accomplishments were not nearly as important. Whoever became king only needed to have a respectable reputation.
In other words, from the perspective of competing for the throne, Hjalmar did not actually need to go deal with the ice giant. He had already proven himself, and Clan an Craite stood firmly behind him. The fact that he was still willing to lead an expedition to Undvik could only be explained by courage and a sense of duty.
On the other hand, Cerys, despite helping Clan Heymaey get rid of Morkvarg and being close as sisters with Svani, still needed Clan Brokvar's support, because an Hindar had its own candidate in Otrygg. That was why she needed to help Udalryk.
Tomorrow, he absolutely had to have a proper talk with her first…
With the next day's plans settled, Victor closed his eyes in the darkness, ready to sleep like a baby, when someone suddenly sat down on his stomach without the slightest politeness.
Though the time and place were both unexpected, the experienced boy had long been mentally prepared, and the scent that slipped into his nose only confirmed his guess.
Rosemary, dew from the sea, her unique fragrance could be described as warm and intense, like a breeze carrying pinecones and woodsmoke, bringing a touch of fresh comfort to people in this winter wrapped in haze.
With a snap of his fingers, he lit the candle. In the flickering light, the petite figure sitting cross-legged on his firm abdomen with her arms folded, looking down at him with regal disdain, was exactly who he had expected, Keira Metz.
"Good evening, madam. You're as beautiful as ever."
"Heh, you've changed quite a bit yourself."
The straw-blonde, straight-haired sorceress was small and slender, and today she was actually dressed properly, in a blouse and a pink chiffon dress. Looking up at her from below, the imposing authority of those magnificent curves put Victor under immense pressure.
"Uh… did you come alone?"
She reached out and poked his hard chest. "Yes, alone. Or were you hoping there would be three of us?"
"Oh, no. Absolutely not."
"Heh. So you do know who they are?"
"There aren't many people who can speak on behalf of the esteemed Keira. Among the famous sorceresses, I know a few."
"Exactly. The one doing the talking was Philippa of Redania, and the other was Síle of Kovir."
Her voice was sweet, and hearing it, Victor could not help smiling. After such a long time apart, she no longer seemed frightening. If anything, she even felt a little charming. Victor knew that was because his own mentality had changed.
After weathering so much and growing stronger, he was no longer an unknown nobody, and he even had anti-magic gear prepared. If they truly turned hostile, winning might still be difficult, but he certainly would not be left helpless in someone else's hands. Naturally, that gave him the leisure to appreciate beauty.
Besides, just as Victor regarded her as not quite an enemy and half a friend, Keira probably regarded him the same way. She might even think she had treated him rather well, and that he ought to be grateful for it.
By sorceress standards, moody and unpredictable as they were, Keira had indeed been quite lenient with him. Even the last time they met, when he had not accepted her goodwill, she had not really gone too far. From that angle, Victor did feel he owed her something.
If it had been Philippa Eilhart or Síle de Tansarville who had gone that day instead, they would never have given Victor any chance to speak at all. He would have had only two choices, submit, or suffer horribly. Keira, by contrast, at least showed some respect for ordinary people, or perhaps still retained a little naïve humanity.
Her hips rested atop his stomach, and his solid eight-pack supported her steadily. From a strictly ergonomic perspective, if she sat a little lower, both of them would be more comfortable. But Victor wanted to live a long life, so he said nothing.
"You really were hard to track down. I thought you'd be staying in the castle."
"I thought after being rejected today, all of you would just head back home. Skellige is that closed-off. Sorceresses don't have much of a market here. I honestly doubt you managed to get much information. Even the wise King Foltest probably wasn't expecting much, was he?"
Skellige had druids of its own. The supernatural factions kept one another in check, and the Northern Kingdoms were still technically allies, so even overbearing sorceresses had to think about consequences.
"As you said, the king did not really demand much. So Philippa and Síle both returned to their own countries. No point wasting time on these barbarians. And the reason I stayed," Keira said, then bounced down heavily twice, thankfully Victor's hard abdominal muscles held firm, "was because I wanted to know what exactly happened to you. I really didn't expect this Dovahkiin business of yours to be going so well. You've caused quite a stir on the islands."
"As people on the Continent like to say, Skelligers are all pirates who spend all day telling ridiculous stories. So there's no need to take all this Dragonborn talk seriously."
"Hmph. Don't you think saying that makes you sound a bit fake? I've practically watched you grow up, so I know what kind of person you are. You're not that simple, are you, Batman?"
Victor's expression did not change. "Much as I admire the Dark Knight, I really am not that man."
Keira leaned down and studied his face closely. From this angle, looking up at her from below, it was far more than just pressure, it was like a mountain pressing down on him.
After a long while, she shook her head and straightened up. "Why are you so annoying? Can't you just let me read your mind for once?"
"My apologies. I'm not in the habit of opening my heart to sorceresses."
"I'm noticing that you don't seem all that respectful toward me. Was the lesson I taught you last time not enough?"
Thinking of Keira's brass knuckles from last time, Victor promptly chose the wiser course and humored the beauty a little. There was no shame in that.
"No, I respect you very much. I'm just not afraid of you. After all, you wouldn't hurt me, would you?"
She ran a contemptuous gaze up and down him for a while, then finally reached out and pinched his cheek. "For Triss's sake, I really wasn't planning to do anything to you. But I want your help. Since I'm returning late, I can't go back empty-handed. Tell me honestly everything you heard at the banquet. Otherwise I'll punch you a few times and then leave."
A sudden thought flashed through Victor's mind. He realized he might be able to use a sorceress's power to solve quite a few problems.
"If you're not in a hurry to leave, there's something I'd like to ask your help with. If you're willing to help me, I'll tell you every bit of information I know."
Keira blinked. First her face showed amusement, then an expression that said she had seen through everything already. She hopped lightly down to the floor.
"Forget it. Do you really think you can offer me anything worthwhile? At most it'd be some inside details about the royal election, and I already know all of that. So just stay here and live your life on these islands. I'll tell Triss that you're doing very well in Skellige."
Failing to wrangle some free muscle out of her left Victor speechless yet again before the pride and fickleness of a sorceress.
The portal opened with a thunderous sound, spilling milky-white light across the room. Her golden hair shining brilliantly, she turned back toward him.
"Come to think of it, it's rather amusing. Every time I meet you, your identity changes. The first time, Siegfried introduced you as a witcher apprentice. The second time, you had become a bard. The third, you were a fugitive in Thaler's eyes. And now, the fourth time, people call you the Dragonborn. I don't think you'll die so easily, so the next time we meet, what title are you planning to wear?"
Victor answered irritably, "Maybe Prince Charming."
At that answer, Keira Metz first let out a peal of girlish laughter, then burst into loud, unrestrained laughter, as if Victor had told the funniest joke in the world, and then her graceful back vanished into the portal.
He snuffed out the last candle, and the room sank back into darkness.
There was a trace of regret in him, and a trace of relief as well. It had to be said, sorceresses were truly dangerous. There had been several moments just now when, if Keira had really sat any lower, Victor would have had no way to resist her. She was undeniably captivating.
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