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It started with a simple skirmish. An incoming wave of elves from Aedirn not being turned away, but definitely being robbed for all intents and purposes by the border town for just passing through let alone needing help. And they were willing to get stabby over being told to stop by a patrol.
Percy is there, picking up travelling bags to help out some of the servants, he really isn’t used to being a higher rank than anyone.
He mentions that letting someone less powered but still authoritative fight, win, and give mercy makes the beginnings of loyalty, it’s what worked on him. Ciri wouldn’t hear anything else about him being a kid at the time, she wanted to try her hand at diplomacy.
Geralt capitulated that it was a guaranteed situation and would establish Ciri as a responsible and open ruler like Jaskier was working so hard to make him. She was growing up, he didn’t have to like it, but this was as safe as he was getting to give her the practice she craved.
So Percy offers to come along and be her personal guard to support the non-witcher aspect of authority and skill that Ciri is giving them and that his ability to protect her without armour will give the people less of a sense of conquering. Yennifer doubles down on it, Percy gives a little twitch like she sounded more familiar than she was to him, he got sad and romantic smelling about it all. Maybe Jaskier could safely probe later.
Later turns into much later when a few elven hired assassins runs into her one on one fight for the community and hold knives to her throat. It’s unfair to have 3 adults on one child, no matter how well trained that child is.
It’s the smell in the air so thick that even non-witcher’s choke on it that makes everyone pause after unsheathing both silver and steel.
“Let. Her. Go.” Percy’s voice got stronger, deeper, darker.
“What the Fuck?” one tightens their knife on her neck, Ciri is just looking at her brother-figure in awe.
“I. Said. Let her go. Now. Or you will die.” The lethality has entered the teen voice more than any nightmare they’ve ever witness from him, it sends shivers down even witcher spines against even the most emotionless training.
“NO!” one of the side assassins’ shrieks, trying to not show his fear.
Percy raises his eyebrows in acquiescence, then his arms.
Water suddenly pulls out of the nearby lake. Holding the attackers by their legs with freezing water to the point they release Ciri in shock.
There is more shrieking, more of that particular Percy/Half-blood scent, and the water pulls arms up.
With three bodies spread open like on an examining table, on the mutagens table, Percy’s sword opens in his hand.
“I told you. To let. My sister. Go.” He walks up to them without breaking eye-contact, his arms going around Ciri until he passes her back to the Witchers.
“Now you pay for it.”
His eye’s glow like bioluminescent algae and other sea life. The leaf-like blade slashes across a gut, not deep enough to kill if treated. He steps to the next one, leaning down to make eye-contact with this one before slashing him as well. He finishes the third before pulling more blood out of them to everyone’s horror, then controlling the water around the wounds like a corset almost.
“May you suffer the slow death of infection from the same lake those you work for polluted for the people of this town.” Percy turns away, walking back to the witcher’s and Ciri.
“You okay?” Percy hugs her close, “You good to go home?”
“Yeah,” Ciri sheaths her own sword.
The people from the town flinch at his eyes as he looks around again, more than they do the witcher’s which is saddening.
“What are you?” A lone child asks trembling from curiosity or fear Ciri didn’t know.
“I am the son of the sea god, and I love those he loves, like Ciri, she protects animals.” Then he thought about the elves being called anything less than the people they were, “and people, and everyone.”
Oh, he’s going to have to answer so many questions of Kaer Morhen, but at least the kid looks wonder-filled and appeased.