Reincarnation ➵ The Witcher

xlix.

Edith was broken out of her state once again, not by her own thoughts, but by a man dressed in multicoloured clothing attempting to address the Queen. She had noticed the music had came to a halt, Jaskier now making his way over to her with his instrument by his side. He offered a sarcastic smile, and she attempted to regain her bearings.

"Swine." She greeted, and he rolled his eyes at her banter, crossing his arms and placing his instrument leant against the wall beside them both, "Looks like you're having a great time as well."

He scoffed in reply, watching as the man, Lord Peregrine, attempted to introduce himself to the Queen, "Mhm, it seems so. At least I don't look deathly pale like some women around here."

"Some women? Excuse you, this woman has a name." Edith sassily dejected, finger pointing to herself as she felt the colour to her cheeks slowly return to her face. The bard paid no mind to her sassiness, his own coming to the forefront of his brain.

"Yes well, not all women especially have the title 'idiot', either."

It was Edith's turn to roll her eyes, clicking her tongue slightly in annoyance as her attention was no longer held by whatever was occuring with the Queen, "Shut up, Jaskier, if anything you're the epitome of idiocy."

"Why are you using fancy words to win an argument?"

"Point proven."

They quietened as soon as the sound of bagpipes blared throughout the hall, and Edith's gaze narrowed at the other obvious type of idiocy. Men. Always trying to prove who's carrying the bigger load and have egos taller than the eye can see. Lords counted especially. She debated whether or not excusing herself from the hall, if not to serve her own sanity, until the Queen finally spoke her peace towards the nonsense.

"Make another sound, Draig Bon-Dhu, and I'll have your guts sewn into pipes and sent to your mother." The hall's laughter quietened immediately, a silenced fear rushing over Draig's face as he regarded her words.

Jaskier let out a small, whispered snort next to her, hands reaching forward towards a serving man with alcohol situated on a tray, "Gotta like a lady with balls." Edith shook her head, also reaching for another pint of ale to hopefully wash the memory of the night away.

"It would balance you out. Considering you lack those prime accessories." She retorted, bringing the ale to her lips as the Bard was silenced was replying to her retort. Instead, the man stood at the bottom of the stairs dressed in all black, attempted to address the Queen for a third time without senseless interruption. Edith hid a smirk of triumphant, instead deciding to listen into the ramble in front of them both.

"Queen Calanthe, my marriage to your daughter will unite the jewels of the north and south, forging an unbreakable alliance that none would dare to cross." He attempted to stand proud, voice echoing across the expanse of the hall, but as a result of the earlier interruptions, he almost seemed like a small mouse surrounded by a den of lions, "And.. I am one of five brothers with no sisters. My potent seed inside Pavetta will produce the strongest of male heirs."

Charming. Edith diverted her gaze to the raised table, noticing the mild indifference across Geralt's face and a silenced annoyance whipped across the Queen's. She seemed to attempt to regain her train of thought, an air of false professionalism shrouding her figure despite the uncomfortable atmosphere.

"Cintra is indeed the jewel of the north, yet Nilfgaard remains the shit rag of the south, and that's saying something!" She bit, and the hall erupted into laughter and jeers at her words. Edith held back a cringe for the man, borderline failing at the unrestricted anger coating his face as he looked around at the surrounding nobels. The Queen continued her inpollite jesting, "Tell me, is it true you drink piss water and feast on your own young? Nilfgaardian kings don't remain kings for long. Who will take the Usurper's crown? You? How long will you last? A year? A month? A day?" The crowd continued to cheer, applauding their Queen without a care in the world.

The man looked ready to bite back at her words, but before he could, he decided to storm off, his cloak following behind him like a bad omen. The two men stood at his watch followed closely behind him, like two shadows awaiting the chance to strike at a beck and call. Edith watched the trio sit back down, the mouse-like man grabbing a pint of ale with a scowl written across his face with a quiet promise of revenge.

Another man attempted to step forward into the lion's den, bowing in respect as his title was announced to the rest of the hall.

"Lord Steergart of Kaedwen."

Cheers and insistent stamping followed after his introduction, and Edith sighed in annoyance. This whole ceremony was a waste of time - a boring social gathering, if anything.