This is the original first chapter I wrote for my published Witcher fanfic: Silver Tongue.
Wind blew in the tall green grass on the meadow and moved it like a wavy ocean, afraid of breaking the perfect reflection of the sky with white foam. It caressed every flower and treetop on its way making leaves fly like small butterflies every now and then.
Running through the meadow was a girl dressed in a long beautiful and light dress, her frame was small, but not small enough to be a child's however not big enough for a fully grown woman either.
You could see the panic on her face and hear the fear in her shrill screams as arrows narrowly missed her.
Myrcella was never one to run away, she would rather fight, but her dress and lack of a weapon prevented that. The corset was making it hard to breathe too and she could hear the men catching up. If they caught her they would drag her back to their leader and inevitably let her suffer the same faith as her father after they'd had their way with her.
Myrcella looked around for a way out and quickly deemed that she would be most likely to shake the men off if she went through the swamps.
The swamps belonged to Blaviken, and as far as she knew, kikimoras were responsible for population control in the nature surrounding said town, so the men wouldn't dare follow her. Or at least she hoped they wouldn't, since only the dumbest of fools dared willingly picking a fight with creatures like that.
Dodging low-hanging branches and jumping over roots hidden in the forest floor by leaves and moss, Myrcella looked all around herself for a way out or a hiding place as she reached a broad stream that she was unable to cross.
"I got you~."
Myrcella gasped as she tripped and fell on her dress in an attempt to walk backwards to avoid the man who'd jumped out in front of her. The man pulled out his sword and lifted it over his head ready to strike down on her. Myrcella stared her death right in the eyes and accepted her fate. But as the sword was midway in the swing, the man stiffened, a look of pain crossing his face before he fell to the ground revealing Myrcella's saviour.
Her eyes hesitantly fell upon the bloody sword in his hand and he re-sheathed it instantly. His silvery hair moved elegantly in the wind as he calmly stepped over the dead body. He was careful with his movements, almost as if he expected her to scream and run.
"Thank you for saving my life m'lord, I owe you, whatever you want." Myrcella said weakly as he helped her back up.
With all the harm she had experienced in her past, she trusted no man however and made sure to keep a safe distance between them.
"I'm no lord and you don't owe me anything." His flat emotionless tone scared her. Myrcella took another step backwards. "I-I can't thank you enough for doing that, saving my life I mean. Those savages slaughtered my people and my family and burned down the castle and town.. What are you if not a lord? A knight?" Myrcella asked playing dumb.
The way he kept looking at her so intensely, it made her want to vomit. Would he not fall for her lies? "I'm a Witcher." Myrcella furrowed her brows acting like she didn't know what that was, much to the man's confusion. She'd fooled him.
Was she an isolated village girl? No. She was dressed like royalty. He thought.
"I'm Geralt, of Rivia." He introduced himself in hopes of getting her name in return. Normally he could've cared less about some random girl he'd just saved, but upon everything that had just happened with Renfri in Blaviken, Geralt found himself not being able to turn his back on this young woman and go on with his travels for coin before he knew she was at least safe.
"I'm Myrcella Tyrell, first of my name, princess of Highgarden." Highgarden was a pretty isolated kingdom, it made sense to him that she did not know of Witchers, though Tyrells were known for being devils in angel disguises. Geralt was quiet for a while before speaking up again.
"A Tyrell? Highgarden is quite the trip from Blaviken, how did you get here?" The monotone way he spoke made Myrcella uneasy, though she was relieved that he sounded like he knew her kingdom. Or what had been her kingdom anyway.
"Our sorceress opened a portal for me to escape through, I rode most of the way.. but some of the men who managed to follow me through the portal shot my horse, so I ran the rest on my feet." She explained. Geralt looked down probably expecting a pair of shoes, but the only thing there were her bloodied, bruised and bare feet. And with her adrenalin levels falling, Myrcella suddenly became very aware of how much she really hurt and her feet burned, like she was walking on fire and broken glass.
"You need bandages." Geralt sighed exhaustedly in realisation of what he was about to do. Sometimes he really questioned if the logical and emotional parts of his brain communicated at all when he made decisions like this. "-I'll carry you to my horse, there is no need for you to walk and harm yourself further." Myrcella was about to protest against his monotone statement, but Geralt quickly and smoothly, like she weighed nothing more than but a feather to him, swooped her up in his arms and began walking. Too exhausted to attempt to protest, Myrcella decided to relax in this mountain of a man's arms instead. It was better like this anyway, she'd rather have him think she was some helpless princess, than reveal that she was actually closer to a warrior queen, like Calanthe the Lioness of Cintra.
"You're cold." Geralt stated as he sat her down on a stone near his horse before he walked to get bandages from his saddleback. "Well Highgarden is warm year round, so my clothes aren't fit for such low temperatures.. I'll be fine for now though, I can just buy some new ones in the next town, if you don't mind bringing me along with you that is?" The soft 'hm' that left his throat made Myrcella smile. "You are not much of a talker are you Geralt of Rivia?" In response she got a 'hm' and a bored expression.
"Hold this." Myrcella gasped as the bandages were shoved into her arms and Geralt squatted in front of her taking one of her feet into his hands and hereby also spreading her legs just sightly, enough to make Myrcella cough awkwardly at having been put in such a compromising position by a man. "Oh, uhm, I can do that myself. It's fine really." Her small delicate hand rested hesitantly on top of his bigger and rougher one on top of her ankle. He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow. Myrcella felt her cheeks get warm as he kept on just holding her gaze. "–It's fine." She reassured him sensing his doubt that she could in fact properly wrap her feet in bandage.
While Myrcella cleaned and bandaged her wounded feet, Geralt had gone to care for his mare. "I know she's a Tyrell.." He mumbled as the horse nudged him with her big head. Geralt knew very well what the Tyrells were known specifically for; their sharp minds, tongues and swords. "–She deserves the benefit of the doubt Roach just like the others we encounter." The horse only let out a sighing sound as an answer.
"She's magnificent." Myrcella said making Geralt turn around surprised that she'd somehow managed to sneak up on him, without him noticing. "-What's her name?"
"Roach." Geralt answered simply as Myrcella went to pet Roach who seemed to quickly accept the young woman's touch making Geralt sigh at the traitor. "–She's gentle too." Myrcella said as she kissed Roach on her forehead. "Hm."
"So, Geralt, where to?" The way she said his name made him smile before he without a warning grabbed her and lifted her into the saddle. "Posada, Dol Blathanna." He said. Myrcella moved a bit back as Geralt got up in front of her on Roach and kicked the horse into a slow trot as soon as she'd safely wrapped her arms around him. This would surely be an adventure Myrcella would never forget once she'd returned safely back to her spot in the royal court.
-
Myrcella didn't know for how long they had travelled when they finally got to the valley of flowers, as it translated directly to from elder speech. But her arse was sore, her stomach ached for a proper meal and she was in dire need of a bath. "How do you do this for a living." She complained as Geralt helped her down from Roach before tying the horse to a pole near a small patch of green grass. "I don't." Geralt answered as he began walking for the inn on the other side of a long wooden suspension bridge. Myrcella brushed off and smoothed out her dress before she hesitantly walked towards said bridge.
"You coming princess?" Myrcella looked up to see Geralt looking back at her with that self-satisfied grin she'd come to hate in only the few days they'd spent together on the road. "Shut up." She mumbled as she forced herself to move forward.
When they got to the inn Geralt held the door for her courteously, making her give him a sarcastic smile in return. "Can I trust you to get us some food?" Geralt questioned like he doubted she'd ever been in a normal commoner's inn before. Myrcella nodded shortly and headed to the bar.
"Can I get two servings of your best pork and beer please?" The lady behind the bar smiled and nodded. "Which table?" Myrcella pointed in direction of the table in the far corner where Geralt had planted himself looking brooding as ever before handing the lady some coin for her service and the meal.
"Where's the food?" Geralt asked with a lifted eyebrow. Myrcella sighed at his little faith in her ability to do things by herself. "I'm guessing the pork is still roasting. She'll bring it over when its ready." She informed him tiredly.
"We should get a room so you can get cleaned up. You smell like horseshit and your wounds are dirty from travelling." The shocked expression on Myrcella's face made Geralt smirk. "Tell me, are there women who find this coarseness charming? Perhaps in places where the same counts for your coin?" Myrcella spoke back.
"You can cut me with your silver tongue as much as you'd like princess, it doesn't change the fact that you need a bath before your wounds get infected and we have to amputate." Myrcella wasn't stupid, but she cringed at the mention of amputating her feet. "I'll go ask for a room."
Geralt let out a knowing 'hm' as Myrcella soon returned with a key and a defeated expression. "They had only one room left." Geralt lifted an eyebrow clearly waiting for her to tell him what the problem was.
"One room, one bed." Geralt had an amused look on his face. Myrcella was not weak, knew how to wield a sword and she did not scare easily, but clearly she was too accustomed to the luxury and formalities of her castle back home, cause the thought of sharing a bed, and with a man nonetheless, made her want to cry.
"Here's your food." The bar lady said as she put down their plates and their big cups of ale. Myrcella thanked her politely before the woman left while Geralt just instantly dug into his food instead.
"Geralt. Why are people staring at us?" Myrcella finally found the courage to ask subtly before biting into a piece of bread. Geralt looked up sending a firm glare at a couple of men who was specifically looking at Myrcella.
"Because you're dressed like a princess." Myrcella looked subconsciously down at her dress. "That doesn't explain why they're looking at you though?"
"I already told you. I'm a Witcher." Myrcella furrowed her brows. In Highgarden Withcers were respected for the work that they did for the kingdom.
But of course Myrcella couldn't just tell Geralt that, she had to keep up her act of a helpless princess far away from home. "I don't understand? What is a Witcher."
"Mutants, created to hunt monsters." Myrcella pulled an excited expression. "You're a vatt'ghern." She said, her pronunciation of the elder speech pretty much flawless Geralt noted.
"So you do know."
"My apologies I didn't draw the connections, you're called something else in Highgarden, and you look different. Do you all look like this here? In Highgarden our vatt'ghern are fairly tan, their hair is black and their pupils are thin like a cat's." She spoke, now acting fascinated by Geralt's appearance. Geralt sat like a statue as Myrcella moved up close to examine his face. "-And your eyes are amber.." She mumbled not minding that she'd completely broken into Geralt's personal sphere, not that he minded it either..
"You want to take this elsewhere?" Geralt said clearly satisfied with himself as Myrcella quickly sat back down as her else rather pale cheeks began blushing embarrassedly. "My apologies." She said flustered as she silently began eating her food, her eyes landing everywhere but back on him for the rest of their meal.
-
"I'll be in the bar if you need me." Geralt said before closing the door behind him, leaving Myrcella to take her bath in peace and change to the new clothes she'd bought.
It was weird, Myrcella thought as she scrubbed herself clean in the tub. In Highgarden everyone lived in luxury and harmony, they didn't have poor people like they did here. Everything lacked colour too, the clothes, the houses. Even the weather confused her, and the diversity of landscape and nature. She wondered if she'd be able to see snow before she returned home. She would have to ask Geralt to show her.
A knock on the door pulled Myrcella out of her thoughts. "Just a minute!" She announced as she quickly got up from the tub and put on her new clothes and undergarments.
A high waisted pair of pants which was made of leather, and a black tunic shirt with a corset looking design, which she to her horror found was rather revealing in the chest area, at least considering what she was used to.
"Hm." Was all she got from Geralt as he finally walked into their room. "You know, it wouldn't hurt for you to be a little more vocal."
"–And it wouldn't hurt for you to be less." Geralt looked at her with that same emotionless expression he so often carried as he sat down in the reading chair by the window. "Less..?" Myrcella asked confused, wanting him to elaborate.
"Vocal." The annoyed growl that escaped Myrcella's throat sparked a certain light in the Witcher's eyes, like he was trying to get a reaction like that out of her.
"What's wrong? Trouble controlling your anger?"
Myrcella huffed at the man's words quickly regaining her calm and collected exterior."Your lack of etiquette is not enough to get a rise out of me, I'm surprisingly calm and level-headed in contrast to the rest of my family." She replied simply. She knew that he had figured her out. He probably had the moment she told him her name. But just like she'd played him, he'd played her.
"–though I suggest you don't hesitate if you're going to kill me."
Geralt lifted an eyebrow, his face still pretty much void of any emotion. "And why would I kill you?" Myrcella's eyes drifted to the sword resting against the chair he was sitting in. "Your hand has rested on your silver blade since you sat down. I assume you know of my heritage. That the royal Tyrell-bloodline carries a hideous curse. We are monsters, and you are a Witcher. Witchers kill monsters."
"I am a Witcher, but you have yet to prove to me that you are indeed a monster. And until then, you have nothing to fear from me."