(Castle Cidaris, City of Cidaris, Duchy of Cidaris, Kingdom of Cidaris, Dragons Coast, The Northern Kingdoms, The North, The Continent, Witcher World, the Witcher-Verse)
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(King Aethan I Jaenerys of Cidaris POV)
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King Aethan sat around his Throne. The actual Throne of Cidaris was a deeply uncomfortable one, it wasn't Grandiose or extravagant. But it was expertly crafted. It was crafted from Sandstone, and aside from a cushion was as hard as it sounded. This Sandstone Chair had been the Throne of Cidaris for generations. There were inscriptions in Elder Speech on the arm rests which - when loosely translated - meant: Let they who sit here, be fearless, but let them be wise and worthy of their people. Surrounding the Throne at various points on the steps below him, were swords locked on place into the ground. The blades were rusted and had barnacles and the like on them.
This was a representation of Cidarian Culture. And it was the exemplar for the first lesson any heir to the Kingdom must know: Everything that the sea can provide, it can take away with interest. The Kingdom's wealth came primarily from the sea, but that wealth and bounty could be taken if one does not respect the delicate balance of nature. Each Sword could be dated back to a particular King who learned this example the hard way. When their arrogance cost them, they'd cast a valuable and richly ornamented sword into the sea. Assuming they were in a position to do so, these rulers would - before they transferred power - have their chosen heir recover the blade. The Blade would then be placed before the Throne and sealed into the stone of the steps.
Aethan looked at the sword at his grandfather. Mathem cast this into the sea before his death. As Aethan's father was there when his grandfather's folly occurred, it was the least damaged blade since it was retrieved shortly afterwards as Mathen died not long after.
He was thinking about an old lesson his father gave him.
One that he'd not thought of in a long time.
You can't save everybody.
That was something he'd understood well enough at the time. But that lesson was driven home just recently.
Adda would survive, but the future royal children were a serious concern. The blade hadn't gone deep enough to hurt the babies, but it wasn't the blade that was the issue.
It was what was on it.
A serious infection was involved now, and despite the serious nature of it, it was not the sort of thing you used a healing spell for. Normally in the case of a magical ingredient-based poison a healing spell would suffice, but the sad reality was that the poison in question would only worsen the wound if a healing spell was used.
It was practically a death sentence.
But the only way for Adda to have a chance of survival was for his wife to be provided daily non-magical potions. These potions would delay the worst of the poison's effects long enough for Adda's immune system to fight back as well as helping her body create enhanced antibodies to the effects of the poison. He wasn't sure it'd work, but he'd been assured that the non-magical potions had been used for centuries to deal with similar poisons.
This means that he had some time to clear his head. Or at least focus on something else for a time.
Aethan had some numbers to go over. He'd neglected other plans, for matters which at the time took precedence. First for his pilgrimage, then the incident with Adda. But he was of no use to anyone distracted. To that end he planned to do two things, firstly he would spar with his wards and his elite guards for several hours.
Secondly - after bathing of course - he'd need to fully mobilize his armies. He wasn't really in the right frame of mind, but whatever grief he had was outweighed by his fury.
''You're a hard man to get alone King Aethan.'' Aethan barely reacts to the visitor. He's never truly alone. The Castle has countless hidden passageways. There was a dozen secret entrances to the Throne Room alone.
''You here for my head?'' Asks Aethan, wetting his lips. He's got four daggers on him right now, three of them in plain view, his Sword was laid beside him.
''I'd like to avoid any unnecessary violence if at all possible. I've been sent by the Emperor. He would like for a dialog to be opened.'' Says the man.
''I'm in no mood for jests. And even if you speak true, my patience hangs by a thread as it is. Do speak your piece and get the fuck out.'' Says Aethan who draws one of his knives in plain view and begins cleaning it.
The blade didn't necessarily need it. But he religiously maintained and cleaned his weapons. A lesson that had been drilled into him years past and a key part of the instruction of the intelligence services and the Army.
''You know what the Emperor wants. Why fight him?'' Asks the Nilfgaardian.
''I'll grant you that a singular ruler would make things simple in the North, and truth be told the Nilfgaardian economy would benefit everyone. However, Emhyr is too ambitious. War is in the air. When you report back. Tell him I know that he knows. Tell him I know Exactly who he is, and tell him that the mage who he thinks is his ally seeks to impregnate the only legacy he has. If he wants to have a dialog…it can be at the peace table.'' Says Aethan wanting the conversation to be one with.
''I'm afraid that my employers need something more concrete. Ideally we'd like to have you stay out of the war, but your allies prevent this. In which case we would appreciate deferential warfare.'' Says the Nilfgaardian.
This was a Nilfgaardian who clearly was not going to bugger off anytime soon.
''I tire of this conversation.'' Aethan warns the man. But he doesn't hear the man retreat, nor does he hear the sound of padded footsteps. ''Your bolder than most.'' Says Aethan with a certain appreciation for the change in his words.
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(POV Shift: Vrernar Aep Gwelydh)
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King Aethan was proving to be difficult to negotiate with. He was highly agitated as well, and was no doubt reeling from the attack on his wife. But King Aethan was alone.
Vrernar wouldn't likely have another opportunity to speak privately with the man. Not so soon at any rate. And time was of the essence. King Ervyll happily agreed to side with them in exchange for an assurance of land when Kerack and Cidaris fell. King Ervyll also made mentions that be desired Queen Adda delivered to him for…"safekeeping".
Vrernar knew well what that actually meant. And he told the vile man he would have to take it up with the Emperor. If it were up to him, Ervyll would be dead already.
But that was not his mission.
''I tire of this conversation.'' King Aethan warns him. But he doesn't move, he has a job to do. ''Your bolder than most.'' Says the Cidarian King, with a certain hint of something in his words that Vrernar can't quite detect.
''I have a job to do.'' Vrernar says. ''But I'm not just here about potential alliances. Some information was taken from us. We suspect you know where it is.''
''And now I've gone past being tired of this conversation.'' The king grunts, before whistling twice. Vrernar is immediately on alert, but it's too late, he grunts as he feels something sharp hit his neck. Pulling it out he finds a dart and not long after he feels himself crashing to the stone floor.
Through his hazy vision he sees a figure approach the King.
''My King?'' He hears.
''Send him to the Foundry. He'll be our first guest….'' He loses consciousness.
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(POV Shift: King Aethan of Cidaris)
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So Nilfgaard wanted their precious Intel back and they wanted deferential warfare.
They could take what they wanted and hang themselves with it.
War…was upon him!
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