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The woman stands on the edge of the forest, a cloak around her form to protect from the Skelligan chill. A full moon reflects off the world around her, bringing light to the moisture in the grass, and shapes and shadows to the trees.
She reaches up, running a hand through her hair, worn loose and long. Messy over her shoulders.
“You should not be out here alone.”
“Oh.” Calanthe turns, a hand rested on her hip. “I believe a queen should be where she damn well chooses to stand.”
“Agreed.” The newcomer bows, before indicating the woods behind her with a nod. "But there is danger in these trees."
The wind chooses that moment to rustle the leaves, creaking the branches, and Calanthe wonders if the Skelligan Jarl speaking to her is a secret mage.
"Well.” She smiles. “My options were to risk the trees, or punch that pompous Nilfgardian advisor in the mouth. One leads to war."
Eist laughs.
"Gaunter can have that effect, I am told. But he has that Usurper’s ear." He winks. "And some say he has more than that."
She scoffs, faking shock while playfully swatting at him with her hand.
"So, Jarl Tuirseach, what makes your trees dangerous?"
“An ancient Leshen prowls them." Eist folds his hands behind his back. "One old enough to have met Freya herself.”
“Well, your Leshen keeps fine company.”
“And a finer collection.” Eist says, standing beside her. “No less than three great Witchers have ventured into these woods, to never be heard from again.”
“Then perhaps we should find mistletoe and beggartick blossom. Make oil for our blades.”
“We mean to hunt the beast ourselves, My Queen?”
“Why to avenge the mighty witchers.” Calanthe opens out her hands, as if her statement is obvious. “And besides, Birna Bran’s baby shower back there has less life in it than a morgue. I’d sooner fight a legendary leshen.” She tilts her head to the side. “Or are you afraid?”
“Something tells me that with you by my side, I should fear nothing.” He raises an eyebrow.
A silence falls between them that is comfortable, each already enjoying the other person’s company on this, their first meeting outside of formalities.
“I can not promise you a Leshen, my Queen, but the moon is full. This is a good night to see the children, if you will let me guide you.”
“The children?”
“Come.”
“Is it safe?”
“The shieldmaidens will hear if we shout.” He offers his hand and, with her curiosity getting the better of her, Calanthe takes it, letting Eist lead her into the woods. They climb a hill to the top, and there he pats a rock, encouraging her to sit and look out.
An ancient tree long ago fell into the spot below them, to be claimed by climbing plants and fungus. And sitting cross legged on the trunk are two young children making flower chains with daisies.
Only they are not children.
“Lutin?” Calanthe whispers.
“Godlings.” Eist smiles. “Harmless servants of nature. A small tribe lives by the lake. The families leave them toys and clothes no longer needed by a last born, and the Godlings in turn keep the farm animals in good health."
Calanthe nods.
“I love to watch them play.” Eist's voice is quiet. “To just sit and witness something be so innocent and unburdened by the troubles of this world. They are childlike from birth until death. And it is said they are born from the laughter of their parents.”
Calanthe smiles as Eist sits on the rock beside her.
“My little Pavetta loves making flower chains like that. They decorate our rooms back at Cintra.”
“Crach, my sister’s son, would bring frogs home. One got loose in the kitchens once, and it...what?”
The forest…shakes. Trees leaning forward as if to bow, birds landing on branches and ground.
The Godlings stand.
Eist pulls Calanthe with him as they hide behind the rock, before carefully peering over.
And Calanthe’s mouth falls open.
A...man? Beast? Dressed in leather wraps, taller than a troll, with antlers like a deer.
Far from being afraid of the newcomer, the Godlings seem excited, dancing on the tree and holding out their chains of flowers ready for inspection.
The Leshen bows, and they dangle the flowers from its antlers. Then it opens its arms, lifting one Godling and then the other onto its broad shoulders. There they sit, clutching the antlers and laughing while it carries them across the clearing.
“Surely…”
“Hush.” Eist puts a finger to his lips, but is also smiling as he watches Calanthe watch the Leshen play with the Godlings, marching back and forward while they clap and cheer.
“Even monsters need joy sometimes.” Calanthe smiles, and together they watch as the Leshen walks into the forest with the beloved Godlings on its shoulders.
“To escape the burdens of the world.”
Calanthe nods, face calm.
“We should head back.” Eist whispers. “Bran will be wondering where we are.”
“Oh? And end our date so soon.”
Eist widens his eyes. “A date?”
“You will call it that, when asked.” Calanthe says, raising a stern finger. “For it was a spectacular one.”
Eist laughs as they stand, him offering his arm for Calanthe to wrap her own around as they turn back towards the party.
“And you said you could not promise me a Leshen.” She says. “You clearly have a unique ability to sell yourself short, Jarl Tuirseach. Odd for a Skelligan.”
“Or perhaps I wanted the creature’s appearance to be a true surprise.” Eist looks at her, and then behind them into the forest, a final check for danger. But there is none.
“A surprise.” Calanthe agrees, their eyes meeting as he looks back round.
They prepare at the camp.
Calanthe hands him his sword.
Eist checks the straps on her armour.
Hand in hand they walk together.
“What are you thinking of?” Calanthe asks.
“How they will sing great songs of the Battle of Marnadal. Of the victory of Queen Calanthe over Nilfgaard.” He looks at her. “And you, my Queen?”
“I was remembering those Godlings on our first date. Watching them with the Leshen, all just playing and unburdened by the world.”
He nods. “We should go back there again.”
“When this is all over. And bring Ciri.”
“Yes.”
Hand in hand they walk.
“Do you think that Leshen is still there, Calanthe?”
“I hope so. Whatever happens to the world around it, let that clearing remain unburdened.”
Hand in hand they remember their first time together, as they prepare to ride towards what will be their last.
Burdened by the world.