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✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.
|Word Count: 12,806|
𝐀𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐆𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫. Already there was a lot of noise going around the tournament grounds as the servants and workers were busy getting the area prepared for the upcoming Melee. No doubt most of the knights and warriors involved were active, using the last few hours to steel themselves for the challenges ahead.
Despite the building tension he felt for the coming battle, Geralt's thoughts lingered on the mysterious information he had overheard between Cersei and Pycelle. Between the fact that the poison that had killed Jon Arryn had been stolen along with the queen seeming to be taken medication to prevent pregnancy from her husband. He wasn't certain if the two clues were linked together, though there must be some distant connection. What he needed was to question Pycelle further or speak to Cersei even for other clues.
"Have to watch every step from here on..." He muttered as he'd change into his armor, strap his swords on his back and slip Dragon Fang onto his belt. Heading outside, he'd see it was a quite welcoming morning with a cool overcast having crept in from the nearby sea. His sharp nose could pick up the city stench off in the distance, the surrounding field and light woodland countered it to a degree. Moving across the small sea of tents, he headed to one of the private pavilions set up for the knights and nobility to eat and relax. The smell of fresh food had his stomach grumble, realizing he had missed out on dinner yesterday after his hasty retreat from Pycelle's tent.
Walking around the large shaded area, his gaze was set on a line of tables were cooks were busy getting spiced chicken, roasted pork, fresh bread and much more laid out for the nobility. Getting a plate, he'd fit as much food as possible before finding an empty table, although the whole time everyone nearby gave glances and muttered in low excited tones. He paid no mind as he began to eat, needing all the energy he could get for the day. While his mutations pushed his body beyond normal human limits, it, in turn, required more energy to perform more incredible feats. A few of his specialized potions did vitalize himself, though such mixtures were unpleasant to drink and left him hungry still.
"Space for another white-hair?" Someone chuckled out, making Geralt glance up from his plate to see a familiar face from yesterday. Thoros gave a big grin, a quite friendly one even if his teeth were a light red from over-drinking wine. Like yesterday he wore his mix of red robes lightly stained with wine, chainmail and plate leggings.
Geralt shrugged. "I see no harm."
Giving a pleased laugh, the boisterous man sat down across from the Witcher, setting his own plate along with a large goblet of red wine. "Many thanks then. We drifters must stick together after all...us few vagabond knights and roaming mercenaries." Quickly he'd dig in, being a bit sloppy with his eating as he took apart his whole chicken.
