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Robert is a badass who treats killing gods and slaying demons like just another Thursday. Did you know it was inspired by Thairon, the protagonist of my original story, Arrival : Ruptures, long before I began to write it? Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for : AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.
—
Novigrad
Rosemary and Thyme
"Geralt?" Margarita asked, stopping, blinking. She didn't know where she was or how she had got here. The events of yesterday were hazy, but the important details were there.
Details she wondered if were nothing more than pain- and starvation-induced hallucinations.
"Margarita, you are awake," Geralt said. He was surprised when two of the resident anomalies appeared, carrying two of the missing sorceresses. Despite being imprisoned in Deireadh, they were in great health.
"I just had the strangest dream," she said, laying a hand on her forehead.
He crossed his arms, eyes opening a tad wider, smiling. "Did it include two dragons, a giant, a warrior with three hound heads, and a godslayer?" Though, she was unlikely to know what Robert claimed to be.
"Yes, at least for the majority…" She froze as Geralt's words registered on her sleepy mind, which woke her up.
She shivered, looking at the smirk on the Witcher's lips. "Then it wasn't a dream."
Geralt nodded.
"Ah."
"How is Sile?" He had not expected to see either of them again. While he and the Lodge didn't see eye to eye much, no one deserved Radovid.
Sile's door slammed open, her gown fluttering in the wind. Thankfully, Dandelion had female friends who could clean and dress the sorceresses. "I was just fine before I was woken up."
Margarita approached her friend, examining her without touching. All the wounds, bruises, and broken bones had all vanished. "Your wounds… they are all gone."
Just like hers.
"Why don't you two come down for breakfast? There is a lot you need to hear."
—
"I feel faint," Sile said, reaching for the wine. It was too early to drink, but she would make an exception this time.
And to celebrate the fact that she was alive.
"Nothing a hearty breakfast can't cure," their dwarf companion said with a chuckle, laying two plates in front of them.
"Forget everything. What do you mean by "godslayer"? Margarita asked. She felt like everyone in the room was either ignoring the matter for the sake of their sanity or didn't believe it in the first place.
The bard's smile fell. His shoulders rose slightly, dropping back quickly. "I asked him how he got his powers. He was very forthcoming. Turns out he slew three gods and took their powers."
"And you believed him?"
"Aye. He didn't have the eyes of a liar," Zoltan grunted. The claim might be surreal, but the power he wielded was genuine.
"What does he want with us?" What could they help a self-proclaimed godslayer with?
"He has this megascope-like device, but Triss says it works even better. Since she left for Kovir with almost every other sorcerer in the city, I assume he wants you to operate it."
"If we refuse?" She was too intrigued to outright say no. Knowing her options was important though.
"He doesn't seem the type to feel insulted. He'll most likely let you go and search for someone else."
Sile gave the Witcher a blank stare. "You are making a lot of assumptions, Geralt."
"Sorry. Judging the character of a man who claims he slew gods isn't in the Witcher manual." Though, he didn't seem apologetic at all.
The door to the tavern opened after three knocks. A man, the same one who had torn the bars of their cage open with his bare hands, stood there. His helmet hung on his waist, leaving his clear, and strangely youthful, face in the open.
Sile leaned forward. The words he had said to her echoed in her mind.
You will live.
"Sandor. Here for the ladies?" Geralt asked.
He nodded, walking inside. "If they are available and feel ready."
Margarita raised an eyebrow. No king she knew, nor anyone just as powerful, would have cared much about their state. "That is awfully gracious."
The warrior shrugged. "Lord Robert isn't a cunt who thinks the sun shines for him."
"Our ordeal was difficult. Would three days work for your lord?" Sile asked, suddenly feeling her stomach make noises she had become accustomed to in her cell.
Sandor nodded.
"Come in, my good sir; join us," Dandelion said, pulling a chair around the table for Sandor.
"Sir? Just call me Sandor," he said, his lips twitching. He took the seat and removed his gauntlets, laying the dark, wavy-patterned armor on his lap.
Even the armor was magical to a degree.
"Does it make you feel old?" Sile asked.
"No. Knights are called 'ser' in Westeros, and I hate knights," Sandor growled. He looked ready to spit but held himself back.
"A hatred of knights?" Geralt raised an eyebrow. While the knights of Toussaint could be irritating with their chivalry, they weren't malicious. "Any specific reason?"
"My brother was a knight. It didn't stop him from being a murderous, cruel bastard."
"Sandor, then. We are curious. What does your lord want with us? While we are grateful, I don't think he saved us only out of the goodness of his heart."
Margarita didn't mean any insults. She simply knew there weren't that many altruistic people out there.
"He has a Valyrian glass candle. His magic is too strong, so he needs someone with less power."
"Could you tell us more about your lord? At least what you can share," Sile asked. Sandor swallowed the bread, taking a sip of water before he began to speak.
—
Administrative Center
When the three of them walked past the giant guarding the door three days later, it was to the sight of Robert mediating a dispute between two other people.
"Master Cianfanelli. Your bank is a respectable institution. However, that doesn't give you the right to take the money from accounts simply because you heard rumors that the owner was dead. You should have confirmed it and reached out to family members, and unless there was a will, the amount should have been handed over to the government," he said, glaring down at the dwarf. Cianfanelli looked down, avoiding eye contact.
"Since there wasn't a singular ruler before me, the bank taking the money is understandable." His words brought a glimmer of hope to the banker, but the following ones destroyed it.
"From now on, the administration will be informed of all the accounts without an owner. As for this gentleman, the amount taken from his account, in addition to all the revenue generated from its investment, will be paid to him in full."
"But… but…," Cianfanelli stuttered, searching for words.
"But?" He raised an eyebrow, head tilting to the left ever so slightly. "Master Cianfanelli, that money wasn't yours to take or invest."
The dwarf swallowed the bile in his throat and bowed. "I understand."
"This goes for all the accounts your bank took over because you believed the owner was dead. The money in the accounts of confirmed cases of no ownership will be handed to me."
Now he looked ready to faint.
"Anything else?"
The grinning elf bowed, almost bending in half. "No, my lord. I thank you for your fairness."
"Then you two are dismissed."
The dwarf and the elf left the room in completely opposite moods.
"Ladies, I hope you two are in good condition. As I said, you didn't have to come otherwise." He gestured at the chairs while Sandor left the room.
"We are well, my lord. Though we are curious as to how," Margarita said. Sile was busy examining the jovial man, leaving her to do the talking.
He fished the crystal out of his pocket, throwing it to Margarita. "I took this from the necromancer of Shadow Lands, Xolani. It is the life force of thousands crystallized to be used for whatever dark spells he had going."
Her magic stirred. She felt something respond to her, but it fell silent. "Fascinating." She handed it back after a second.
She would have loved to inspect it more.
"Anyway. What do you say about my offer?" Sandor had already explained everything. There was no need for him to repeat it.
"It will be our pleasure to work with a man of your class." The only place they could go was Kovir. Most of the Northern Kingdoms were united under Radovid to resist Nilfgaard.
Both sides still endorsed the witch hunts.
Being there, under the protection of the dragonlord, was the safest bet.
"Wunderbach," Robert said, clapping his hands once.
Sile and Margarita shared a look but didn't comment.
"For now, we are hunting the four criminal heads of the underworld," he explained. They were better informed in regards to the political climate than he was.
"Sigismund Dijkstra, Francis Bedlam, Carlo Varese, and Cyprian Wiley," Margarita recounted the names. She wasn't surprised by the idea. While the Hierarch, who was dead now, officially ruled Novigrad, it was those four who had the true power.
Robert was smart to want them gone, even if his stay was short-term.
"Yes."
"They have tight control over the city. Any attempt to kill them might result in a scorched-earth policy, especially by Dijkstra," Sile said. Even she knew how ruthless Sigi Ruven was. He would rather burn the city than let anyone else have it.
Robert leaned forward, his smile growing. "Which is why we are going to kill them and as many of their men as possible in one coordinated attack. " I simply want you to use this to find them, their strongholds, the number of men, and possible escape paths."
Margarita reached for the obsidian glass object. "Then we better get to work."
—
As the sorceresses spied on the four head honchos of the underworld, they had another, more political agenda.
Henry var Attre.
The Nilfgaardian ambassador to Novigrad had finally requested an audience. He saw no reason to deny it since there was nothing else for him to do.
He raised his hand to his chest, curtsying. "Lord Robert, allow me to introduce myself. Henry var Attre was Nilfgaard's ambassador to Novigrad. It is my duty and pleasure to bring you word from our exalted ruler, Emperor Emhyr var Emreis."
"Thank you, Ambassador." He wondered when Nilfgaard would send someone to meet him.
Though, he had no idea what to do with the empire. Slavery, something he was vehemently against, was widespread in the empire. They were unlikely to simply give it up. He considered offering North to Emhyr in return for outlawing slavery. It fell apart when he had a clearer look at Nilfgaard's state.
His investment in the Free Cities offset the potential loss, which was the reason they even agreed to the offer. The same was not possible for Nilfgaard. He didn't have the coin to invest, not that he would, nor did the Black ones have any reason to agree.
The North needed a new ruler, one that would stand against Emhyr without the cruelty Radovid displayed, both in life and in the game.
"I wanted to appear earlier, but the chaos of the city made it difficult."
"Totally understandable. Though, did you just come to greet me?
"Your arrival was a curious matter, as are your dragons. I was sent to learn more instead of putting stock in rumors."
"Well, Ambassador, feel free to ask."
—
His answers were basic. He was from another continent that lay on the other side of the world. The existence of Westeros and Essos, his city, dragons, and power—these were all things he was willing to answer for.
Questions regarding the finer details, which were the empire's attempts to gain intelligence, were kindly denied.
Once var Attre left, not before inviting him to dinner on his estate, he considered what to do with the future. Tyrion's reports were as expected. It would be a while before a proper fleet could be readied to sail an unknown distance from Westeros to the Continent. Until then, he was stuck here.
Which gave him time to save some people, such as Papa Vesemir.
He liked the old Witcher when he was playing the game. His death was saddening. He could prevent it, though; he would have to somehow draw Imlerith out of his world. There were two things that could achieve that.
The sabbath of the Crones or Ciri herself.
The former would take place after Vesemir's death. The latter, well, only one person knew where she was, and he was in no condition to speak.
He would have to hunt some witches himself.
"Sandor," he called out. The door opened immediately, and his right-hand man stood there. "I am off to check something out. Hold the fort while I am away."
"When will you be back?"
"Shouldn't take long. Tomorrow morning at the latest. I'll leave Ra here."
He bowed and left.
Robert jumped out of the window, landing near the obelisk. The blue dragon rose to his feet, stretching his wings to the fullest. "Come on, we have somewhere to be."
—
"Father, where exactly are we going?" he asked once they left the confines of the city. It certainly wasn't for sightseeing.
His father was on a mission.
He hummed. "There are those little crones I need to hunt."
He bent his long neck back, glancing at his father with one eye. "How did they even cross you? We've barely been here for days." He certainly hadn't seen any.
"Let's put that on the list of things better left unanswered."
Obelisk turned ahead. He had quickly come to learn the inconsistencies in his father's knowledge in several matters. This seemed to be just another example.
"If the maps are correct, they should be this way."
"Do we just kill them?"
"No, I need at least one of them alive. You'll be my eyes in the sky. They are really ugly, so you can't miss them." If they could somehow invite Imlerith for the sabbath, then the Crones could reach the Wild Hunt.
The rest was a matter of negotiating.
"Whatever you say."
—
Rosemary and Thyme
"Geralt of Rivia?" the woman at the door asked, holding several papers and a pouch.
"Yes?"
"I am here on behalf of Cianfanelli Bank. There was an account opened in your name by Matteo, a vineyard owner. As our bank believed you were dead, the coin has been taken and reinvested. By the decree of Lord Robert Baratheon, the initial amount, two hundred crowns in total, along with the one thousand three hundred crowns earned through investment, are yours. Please sign here to acknowledge you received the aforementioned amounts."
"Uhh, sure," he said, taking the quill and signing his name.
The clerk held out a large pouch, brimming with coin. He took it, still not sure what the hell had happened.
"Good day to you, and we hope you will continue to use the services of Cianfanelli Bank."
He loosened the knot, whistling. There was easily the promised amount here. Along with the jobs he had taken, he wouldn't be short on money for a good while.
Fortune had just smiled on his face for the second time because of Robert.
Maybe he should get him a nice gift.
—
In the next chapter:
His luck had turned around. When he landed outside the Crone's abode, he came across quite the interesting sight.
"Well, well, well. Would you look at this? I was going to kill two of you," he pointed at the Crones, "and torture the third to lure this bastard out," his finger slowly turning to the elves, "only for you all to be gathered here. Lady Fortune must be smiling at me."
"Who is this dh'oine?" Imlerith asked, anger seeping into his harsh tone.
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