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Chapter Text

Foltest's eyes fluttered open as he lazily woke up. His breath caught as he saw the white haired witcher that had saved his little Adda curled against his chest sleeping peacefully.

A startled thought of something being wrong with this scene passed through his head but like the morning fog he was unable to grasp why. That confused him, Geralt had an open offer to share his bed when his path crossed Foltest's, and the witcher usually took him up on that. So why did this feel off?

Geralt had quietly woken up while he was lost in thought, and was staring at him with a sad smile.

"Why me and not them?" The witcher spoke as if trying to soften a blow.

"What?"

"Why do you see me and mine as equals to humans and not others?"

"I don't understand? Witcher's are human?"

Geralt hummed and glanced towards the doorway. Foltest's heart stopped. Adda in her cursed monstrous form stood there inhumanly still.

"What of me father?" She spoke, her words garbled and raspy as a dusty room.

Foltest gripped his sheets, his face pale. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

"Tell me Father, if I still looked like this would you still love me." Adda crooned in her distorted rasp, "would you still call me daughter?" She slowly prowled towards him, "Present me to court as your heir?"

Foltest rapidly looked toward his Witcher for help, but what he saw made his stomach turn. The witcher had clearly been on the wrong side of a nasty fight. Bright bruises littered his deathly pale skin, cuts, stabs, scrapes, and so many other wounds, laid freshly over his scarred skin, blood oozing out slowly. The witcher's eyes flashed open , an endless void of darkness replacing his beautiful and gentle gold eyes. Geralt ruefully smiled and a cold (dead dead dead, Foltest's mind chanted) hand grasped and guided him to three wounds on his chest. The death blow. (edited)

"Humans did this father" his daughter's voice hissed into his ear, a sharp protruding fang nearly nicking his ear. He flinched, shuddering in the tight grasp of her hand closing tightly on the back of his head forcing him to look. "Humans did this because he was different, because he was not human, not one of them." Her breath stunk, the scent of rotting corpses too long in the sun, and something sickly sweet hiding underneath. He tried not to gag. " They killed him like they wanted to kill me. Tell me father" the title mockingly sung, "what is the difference between those that died at your hands and those that died at mine? What about those that died at our witcher friend's hand? Does it matter if our kills were of humans or elves or dwarves or any other species? Does it matter if they were a too proud noble, a humble peasant, a greedy bandit, or a desperate scoia'tael? Does it matter if they die by our blade, or hands, or orders, or our laws? A quick execution or a slow starvation as we are pushed out and punished for existing? Or do our hand equally overflow with blood?"

Foltest stared at his hand on Geralt's dead chest, hand soaked from the blood endlessly seeping from the wounds, his heart no longer beating under his palm, and his empty dead voids of eyes staring at him emotionlessly in the way of the dead, the differences between the emotionless professional witcher mask he had seen so many times, and this empty face were painfully obvious to him in ways he could not articulate. Foltest's throat tightened in grief.

"I'm sorry" He blurted. Blood started to drip from Geralt's nose and the corner of his open mouth. Adda's clawed hand digging into his scalp as she hissed angrily at him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Sorry won't bring us back." A new voice horse from disuse mournfully decreed. Adda's hand jerked his head to look towards his door. Or what was his door. They were no longer in his castle or even inside, though they were strangely still in his bed. He had no time to question this though as he scanned the crowd before him. A proud elf cradling a small bundle stood in front of a large crowd, an arrow going through the bundle and into him. As Foltest scanned the endless crowd he saw Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Gnomes, Halflings, and others he could not name. Some dressed as soldiers or otherwise dressed for battle, while others were painfully obvious not, whether dressed in noble garb or in simpler peasant clothes. But all from the most expensively dressed noble to the poorest beggar were painfully obviously dead.

"Sorry won't bring us peace" the elf stated, his form decaying as he walked towards him pity and judgment warring on his rotting face. "Words hastily spoken will not fix the past." None of his emotion was in his words, the elf simply stated them as fact. "Oh King, Most Proud and Most Arrogant of all thou Strains of Humankind, tell me what is thy rank in death? When ye die and thou bones decay, will thy bones be any different than mine own? Tell me Oh King of Men, when thou are dust, what will thine importance be? Thou are dust and will trampled under the feet of they who will come after."

"History?" Foltest panickly guessed, pulling himself small, his daughter's dangerous might behind him, and the endless mass of the Dead before him. He closed his eyes and bit back a whimper.

"And what will history say about thou? A murderous incestuous tyrant whose children were born in secret from shameful unions. Who tortured and killed thouse who were not "good enough" for his protection. Who ignored others who abused their ranks. Who used his power and rank to call his lovers to his bed." The elf sneered at him.

"I have never forced anyone to my bed!" Foltest shouted in horror.

The rotting corpse in front of him raised a barely attached eyebrow. "Did thou? Thou bedded Roche whom owes you his allegiance and loyalty, what would have happened if he said no? Or rather what do you think he feared would happen? Thou could have shunned him, cast him out, destroyed him with ease. Cast back to his life on the streets or worse death at the end of a rope."

The nausa in Foltest's stomach from the stench of blood, death and decay paled to how he felt at the thought of losing Roche, his ever too loyal commander.

"Never" He whispered.

"But thou could, and with ease. Does he know that he is safe with thou."

flash

A memory of Roche laying in his lap napping as he did paperwork, quietly snoring, perfectly at ease. The warm autumn day peeking in through a window, birds chirping and children laughing playing in the falling leaves. Roche had just come back from a mission and the first thing he did after giving his report was climb into his lap and fall instantly asleep, chaperon askew and small brown curls peaking out.

flash

Another memory this time of them cuddling in bed after some slow lazy sex, and someone their talk turned to how Vernon's mother and the other whores he grew up with protected themselves against unwanted advances. Foltest was simitamously impressed, horrified and saddened that there was a need for such measures. Vernon yawned eyes fluttering with tiredness as he curled into Foltest's neck and went on a tangent about his "aunt" Purity who taught him his first knife tricks, both silly ones and deadly ones. The older sex worker was somewhat retired and often instead watched the children of the other sex workers, for a fee. "She made sure no matter who came after us we were safe. Even if that meant being blooded. After all most of the clients that came 'round couldn't tell one whoreson from another. And she taught far enough about dyes and paints that if some idiot did come 'round for pay back we couldn't be found."

Vernon looked deeply into Foltest's eyes. "Guess now I would just go to you if I stabbed someone for putting hands where they don't belong."

Foltest raised and kissed Vernon's hand "of course."

flash

Vernon was already in his bed when Foltest came in. Frustrated and horny he approached the bed hoping for a welcome hand. Instead Vernon groaned and pushed his hand away. Grumpily mutterings, "not in the mood Foltest, ya got two hands just use them." Before rolling over and away. Foltest sighed and decided to relax and take care of himself in his bath.

flash

"Yes," he stated with certainty.

The unknown elf was nearly eye to rotting eye to him. His still intact eye stared deep into him with a sense of Judgement. "We shall see. But for now this is not thou time. Hasten and Awake!" The elf's hand with many extravagant rings slammed into Foltest's forehead palm first, the rotted skin sloushing with the force of the blow. Foltest yelped in pain the felt himself tumble back into nothingness, forced from Adda's grasp like it was nothing he fell

and fell

and fell

and fell

and fell

Chapter Text

Mary howled in pain as one of her attackers harshly twisted her hands behind her causing a popping sound. An old scratchy grain bag was poured out behind her before the laughing men tied it tightly over her head.

"Someone quiet the little bastards" a snobbish voice ordered, voice dripping in disgust.

"Mama!" Anais screamed before a false knight gagged her as he dragged her and her brother away on his horse.

"Piers! Get going before any backup arrives."

The mounted man, Piers, she supposed, snorted loudly. "Back up won't be coming, not for quite a while." There was something in his voice, something very sinister, something that chilled her to her bones.

"Stupid-ass Mamafucker! You! You! You crooked-nosed knave, fucking cumberworld yaldson!" Anais had managed to work her gag out of his mouth. Slightly hysterical Mary internally laughed to herself, in any other circumstances Mary would have been utterly horrified by her young daughter's foul language. Where had she ever picked up such words?"

SLAP

Silence rang out in the courtyard. Mary heard an almost silent whimper from Anais as she fought back tears.

In a moment of strength in a whirlwind of helpless fury over her children Mary shouted out

"Anais! Boussy! Stay strong! Stay together! Remember your father and I love you, and always will. There is nowhere these unruly brigands can go that they can hide forever. We will be together again. I... I... I love you my little ducklings." She whispered a prayer to Melitele to keep her children safe and to return them to her, her throat too tight with emotions to tell them anything else.

The nameless man behind her yanked on her arms tearing a scream out of her, he tied her arms behind her and bound her to the stable post, spitting on her as he let go. "Whether or not their father finds them, be it your cuckholded lord or your incestuous mandrake mymmerkin of a king, the question is will it be in time, and" there excited glee rising in his voice as he stalked circles around her "will you be alive to see them?"

-fade to black-

Mary laid limply on the ground; she was just empty of all tears. She felt a faraway echoing chill as the wind nipped her skin, her ruined and torn clothes fluttering off her form. The men had laughed as they tortured her, mocking her, covering her in mud and a variety of things she didn't even want to think about. They left her just lying there in filth, her breathing hampered by the clogged holes of the grain bag over her head.

Thud

Mary barely noticed the men's shocked silence as they reacted to... to something, she didn't know or care. Screams of anger and pain rained out throughout the courtyard, it felt muffled and far away, and not just because of that cursed bag.

"Lady La Valette?"

Someone was talking to her, but no no no, she didn't want to come back yet, it hurt.

A rough hand covered touched her skin, leaving something sticky behind. It gently untied her bounds and slowly lowered her to the ground. There was a part of her that understood that recognized that the touch was simply checking her wounds. There was another shout, and a pair of smaller rough hands replaced the man's. They talked together, anger in their hushed whispers. She registered a coat being placed over her, wrapping her up like a blanket. The man picked her up causing her to tense, preparing for more pain. The man hummed a tune under his voice, something soft and relaxing. "It's going to be alright Lady La Valette, your safe now."

"...children..." The strained words forced their way out of her mouth.

"We will get them back, I swear it."

She sunk back into the darkness and let herself pass out.

----line break---

Mary stared up at the stone ceiling. Breathe in, breathe out. She knew what had been done to her, the... torture (breathe in, breathe out) she had gone through as those foul men (breathe in, breathe out) had tried to break them. (Breathe in, breathe out) She knew she should want to get up, be strong, prove them wrong (are they? no, breathe in, breathe out) get back to normal and show a proud face to the world. (breathe in, breathe out) But there was a quiet voice inside her that told her to wait, (and just keep breathing, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out) and just stay here, laying in a (too) quiet room, healing herbs being burnt nearby, leaving her lightheaded (yes yes, that is the only reason why, breathe in, breathe out) almost covering the sickly sweet sticky scent of the salve coating her wounds seeping through her bandages. (Breathe in, breathe out) Mary picked at the corner of one of her wraps, focusing on the stained thread, anything to keep her mind occupied. Staying here alone, and small, she doesn't think she can be strong yet.

A knock shook her from her thoughts (breathe! breathe in, breathe out) "May I come in? I have food for you Lady La Valette." Roche. Foltest's loyal pet dog of a man. Foltest trusted him with full conviction.

"Enter," her voice was horse. (Breathe in, breath out)

The normally gruff-looking man looked absolutely exhausted. He was awkwardly carrying a platter with a steaming bowl of food, some porridge and a small jar of honey?

"The, uh, honeys for your throat. Mom always told me to keep some around, it's got a bunch of medical uses, helps with wounds, and well in your case should help your throat. Screaming takes a lot out of you, and this will help to soothe the soreness.

She eyed him warily. "Why you?"

He stared her dead in her eyes. "Well between some of the more hush hush things I do for Foltest and what I witnessed growing up..." He trailed off, "You may not like me very much, but if anyone around here understands what you went through, it's me. And I swear on my service to our king, no one will ever pry what happened to you from my lips."

She kept eye contact with him as she sat up, the tension building in the air, (breathe in, breathe out)

"Okay, not now, but thank you."

Roche nodded as he set her food down.

As he headed towards the door, he paused and turned to her with a thoughtful look on his face. "Not all the men were killed in our attack. We captured some for their intel. Once we're gotten what we've needed, could always let you have at them. Might be cathartic or some shit." He gave a half shrug and headed out the door. "I left one on hold, sometimes backing off what they need to break, and he's about ready to spill where the others went, so I'll be heading out after them."

Mary bit her lip, pushing down the memory of her mother scolding her for the "unlady-like habit", (breathe in, breathe out) "Get some rest between now and then. You look even more like shit than usual."

Roche looked at her and barked out a laugh, "I'll probably sleep for a fucking once this is all over, until then though there's too much shit to wade through to stop for a rest."

"There always is." Mary laid back down, the stew would need a few minutes to cool, so it shouldn't hurt to rest for just a little bit longer.

"I'll do what I can to bring the kids right to you when we bring them back." Roche promised as he closed the door behind him. Mary held on to that word like a lifeline. When, when, when. Not if, when.

(Breathe in, breathe out.)