Chapter Text
Geralt decided that he deserved at least a little rest and recreation before setting out to deal with Radovid’s necrophages. Besides, if there was one thing he had learned from all those shah games with Emhyr, it was that considering the strategy and tactics would actually make the fight more fun, as well as more effective. Not that actually planning worked: no plan he ever made survived an encounter with Emhyr, but the time spent considering made it easier to adapt to the whole game changing under his feet. And while fighting various monsters, undead or otherwise, was something he could do in his sleep (and pretty much had), there was the issue of the rest of the war to consider: he would need to coordinate at least to the extent that he did not win the wrong fights and end up losing Emhyr the war.
So he decided that a few weeks staying in Novigrad, to gather information and to figure things out with Emhyr, Ciri and Morvran before rushing off into battle, really was not in the slightest bit self-indulgent. Also, his armour needed repairs, and he himself needed some feeding up and some training. The fact that Emhyr appeared only slightly less starved for sex now than when he’d been under the influence of misethere was simply an added bonus.
They still hadn’t actually talked about the whole thing, which, as he insisted to himself, suited him fine. It wasn’t as if he actually expected Emhyr to apologise or anything; but he was still pissed off, in a sort of dull aching way, and some minor sort of acknowledgement would have been... nice? However, expecting Emhyr var Emreis to be nice was somewhat less realistic than expecting the same from a drowner, so he did his best to give up on that whole line of thinking.
Still, there were some things that rankled: the memory of Emhyr saying, with a straight face, “you may safely assume that every consequence that results from anything I do is intentional. You will not be far wrong.” He did occasionally find himself considering how large a distance “not far” could be stretched to cover, but that generally didn’t last very long; at least not once they were in bed. Or in the bath. Or, well, anywhere else, for that matter.
#
After about ten days, Morvran being out on some Guild of Merchants thing gave Ciri the opportunity to join Geralt and Emhyr for a quiet dinner. After, she brought out a shah set: not brand new, it carried the scent of both Emory and Ciri already, so apparently she and Emhyr had gone on playing during the last year. Geralt reasoned that joining in on Ciri’s side didn’t really count as him playing Emhyr: he was simply assisting her. The trick of happening to brush Emhyr’s knee under the table worked to their advantage twice, but the second time Ciri noticed and kept trying to not smirk, which apparently occupied her to the point that she was of very little help and Geralt pretty much lost the game on his own: so there was that back to usual, as well.
The next morning, Emhyr went off to some meeting. On his way out the door, he glanced swiftly towards the side cupboards: for him, basically a shout. Geralt’s brewing equipment was already set up, a few days ago: he hadn’t needed to clear anything away to make space for it, this time.
Next to it, there was a packet of letters. Geralt stared at them: whose? Yennefer’s? Emhyr’s own? No, both were unlikely: he couldn't picture Yennefer writing anything to him at all, not since he'd left Emhyr behind and not gone to her, and even less so could he imagine Emhyr sitting down to write love letters he would never send.
He shrugged, and went to pick them up. The uppermost letter, presumably the newest, had faint traces of... river water? But not from the Pontar, and something else, something he couldn’t place at all. Intriguing. The ink, too, had its own smell, distinct from the one all around the palace, also carrying traces of something unknown. He opened it: if Emhyr had placed it here, at the work space the servants were forbidden to touch, there would be no other reason.
My dear Emhyr,
Senior red knight three squares to the left.
My sincere congratulations on the return of your witcher. I trust that having the man come back to you, of his own free will and so forth, will return your tactical skills to their customary state.
I do not, however, this time write merely to send you my felicitations, finding myself now in a position to further clarify some of our previous interactions.
You may recall that last year I refrained from commenting on the part of your message stating that you found the misethere easier to resist than you would have expected. At the time, my response would have served no purpose other than to cast doubt upon your strength of will, thereby possibly decreasing that very resource at a time when you most needed it. However, no such reason remains, and I will endeavour now to offer what clarification I may. Indeed, for your possible benefit, I will even be blunt.
The witches whose assistance I requested in creating the reversal informed me (at some length) that misethere is unique amongst so-called “love potions”. The normal nature of such items is that they cannot create an attraction from nothing, nor can they override a person’s innate inclinations. Thus, in order for a “love philtre” to work, at least a modicum of pre-existing attraction is required. To put it bluntly, a man who does not have any interest in women will not be affected by a woman giving him a love potion. One who at least has a modicum of such interest may, and the stronger the pre-existing inclination, the greater the effect.
Misethere, however, is not actually a love potion or philtre. It is a curse, and the nature of curses is to work against the victim rather than with them. Thus, misethere can and will completely override any previous lack of inclination or attraction - indeed, the more distasteful the liaison would otherwise be to the victim, the more strength the curse will have.
According to the witches, misethere is also unique in that, when used on a victim who already feels a genuine affection for the object, its effect will be easier to withstand. While one of the ladies proclaimed that “true love” is a protection in itself, I find it more likely that the already ingrained habit of resisting the inclination will work in the victim’s favour. However, I must admit that this supposition fails to account for the possible case where it is used on an already successful lover. Though the issue is interesting, I find myself disinclined to put it to the test - you know my position on unnecessary cruelty, and also, I see no positive outcome for either of us should Mistress Weatherwax find herself obliged to look into the matter of my actually testing the drug on anyone.
But back to the matter in hand - had I not been convinced, by every message in which you ever mentioned the man, that you already did love him, I ought not to have given you the antidote which solely enabled you to go forward with the plan. In such a case, the curse would have had a far worse effect upon you, and therefore your situation would have had to be far graver than it was, for the risk to be worth the benefit. Indeed, had you been completely your own master, you would have used another method to bind him to your service; we can both think of at least five ways that involved less risk for, politically speaking, essentially the same result.
While I must admit to finding it interesting, and somewhat discouraging, that a mind such as yours could be so emotionally afflicted as to lie to itself about its purpose and reason, I am confident that there will be no recurrence; indeed, this is the only time in our long correspondence that you have ever given me reason to doubt your own evaluation of your intent or your complete understanding of the ramifications and consequences of your actions.
May I now make a suggestion that I believe you have already considered: it may be time to be truthful. While you have never actually uttered a false word to the man, you have deceived him as well as yourself. I have found that having one person available, to whom I may say exactly what I think, has been of some significant value. Indeed, I sometimes consider that to be of more importance than the inventions he produces.
I thank you for your tactical suggestions, and am now preparing for the sea voyage, which will necessitate some small interruption in our correspondence. The timing may be said to be opportune; I believe you may easily find some way to idle away your time other than playing shah by letter.
(I should expect a maximum of two weeks until your Geralt resumes the shah games with you, for the obvious reasons.)
Yours sincerely,
Havelock
The date given by the writer was in no form Geralt had ever seen, but Emhyr had noted down the date of receipt: two days after Geralt’s return.
More curious, now, he kept glancing through the pile. Apparently the correspondence had been ongoing for years, Emhyr and this Havelock playing shah by letter and discussing tactics of rulership. Geralt went back to last year, to the misethere time, and skimmed the letters: “Rewriting history by means of popular culture is of course the most effective solution. I believe you will bring about that most desirable situation, that the very idea of any one other than your daughter succeeding you is not only undesirable, but unthinkable. I congratulate you upon finding the right tool.” ... “Castle Vraden by all means, but the idea should come from one of the sorceresses - I believe Eilhart will be quite happy to take Yennefer away from the witcher; she should need very little prompting to believe it her own idea” ... “all men can be bought; those who believe they can’t have simply not yet met the right currency. I have found other men’s compassion and sense of duty to be a surprisingly valuable one.” ... “Yes, my watchman is highly useful and usable (and, it must be said, entertaining). But I believe your witcher would be the better shah opponent; Vimes is good enough at thinking around corners, but sadly unwilling to accept the relative value of the pieces. Of course, this is the very quality that makes him useful.”...
Well. There it was: Emhyr ’s declarations of love had only once been in what you’d call a usual form. No reason to expect his apologies to be any different.