ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ (Geralt of Rivia)

ᴠ.

ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ: ᴠ.

It had been a long time since Thazina had ascended. Over forty years. Thazina looked as if she hadn't aged a day. King Dagorad was long dead, leaving his daughter, Calanthe, to rule as queen. It was lucky that Thazina had arrived when she did. Calanthe already had had a dislike for mages as a girl, but with Thazina there to help her through her formative years, the new queen's opinion had softened just a bit.

That didn't stop her from letting a druid named Mousesack to perform magic when needed. He was from Skellige and often accompanied the royalty of the place, befriending Calanthe in the process. It annoyed Thazina to no extent. Druids didn't have the training that mages did, but she at least formed a friendship with Mousesack. He was kind enough once you got to know him, solemn otherwise and almost always burying his nose in a book. Unless it was a party. Then, the man was insatiable.

Calanthe had a daughter, Pavetta, and she was a sweet girl. Thazina cared for her deeply.

In the news of Yennefer, her queen, Kalis of Lyria and the newborn princess, had been assassinated on Kalis's husband's orders. And Yennefer had gone rogue. No one had heard much from her in ten years. She was roaming, looking for something, a purpose.

Thazina didn't suppose she could blame her, honestly.

News of a white-haired witcher spread quickly. He had saved King Foltest of Temeria's daughter who was born a striga.

He had also murdered Princess Renfri of Creyden, earning himself the title of the Butcher of Blaviken.

Geralt of Rivia was his name, and Thazina became quite convinced that he was the man from her first vision. Calanthe was for certain the queen, and so now she dutifully waited for the vision to come to pass.

Pavetta was to be married soon. Calanthe was throwing a betrothal feast to keep up appearances, though she had already arranged with Eist Tuirseach, her longtime lover after the death of her first husband, for Pavetta to marry his nephew, Crach an Craite.

The feast was full to the brim with people. Thazina navigated among them, giving kind nods and smiles to anyone who caught her gaze.

And then she heard someone, Mousesack, it sounded like, shouting, "Geralt of Rivia, the mighty Witcher!"

She raised an eyebrow at that, moving in the direction of the voice.

Mousesack was indeed right. Accompanied by a man with a lute was who could only be Geralt of Rivia, with his silver hair and amber eyes. The man from her vision, there could be no doubt.