Chapter Text
To say that Yaevinn was ecstatic would be a strong understatement. The elf had been officially invited to court at Kaer Morhen, home of the Warlord of the North, by said Warlord’s consort, to listen to the stories that would build the legend of this new king, to record history as it had been made, as it was being made. There could hardly be anything more fulfilling, as a historian, and hardly a greater honor too. Everything had been set quickly. The question had been asked silently, the permission given the same way, and a few days later Yaevinn was getting everything ready for the journey which would lead him to Kaer Morhen. Him… And his young apprentice. The elf sighed. The girl could prove to be the best asset, as well as the greatest difficulty. Filavandrel had warned him about it. But what point would there had been in taking an apprentice if not to have them follow in such an adventure? Her help would prove much precious, and it would be quite formative as well. He shrugged. Everything was set in motion anyway. They would leave the next day for what would be their new home for a few years, where they would live as guests of the Warlord. There was much yet to prepare, and no time to dwell on worries of any kind. He was putting together the last of his luggage, as the young girl behind him got their tools ready.
***
To say that Filavandrel was flattered would be a strong understatement. Since the beginning of his conquering enterprise, the Warlord of the North had shown nothing but respect and kindness to his people. Not only elves, but all non-human creatures as well, all have been guarded by the protection the Warlord had so mercifully bestowed upon them all. Now, not only had the Witcher King given them the honor of his presence at their festival, but he and his consort had required the presence of one of his own people as a historian in Kaer Morhen, where they would be tasked with the recording of everything that had happened so far, and that would continue to happen in the years yet to come. The elven king was thrilled.
Except for one minor detail.
One teeny, tiny, small-as-a-thorn-in-his-side thing.
Yaevinn had been adamant that he would bring his apprentice with him. Which, as far as the elven king was concerned, was everything a wrong idea could be.
Frankly, in Filavandrel’s opinion, the young elf was a walking disaster, with an annoying habit of pissing off a lot of people. Generally the wrong people. That she was not really doing it on purpose, he could understand. The result, though, remained unaltered. People got mad. More often than not, Yaevinn took it upon himself to fix the situation. But it was not always a success. And people grew resentful.
So, Filavandrel worried. What would happen when a whole keep of Witchers, when the Warlord of the North himself, got pissed with a young elf? Could he withdraw his protection upon them? Well, maybe that was granting the girl with too strong a power of nuisance. Maybe it would not go that far. Maybe the welcome of the young historian would simply be revoked. Filavandrel sighed. For some time at least, he would have to monitor the situation closely, and he would expect frequent reports on their situation from Yaevinn. He had offered to meet in person with the future culprit, to give her a stern lecture on the importance of one’s behavior in a foreign court, the gravity of the respect due to Witchers and the weight of their protection for the elven, but Yaevinn had dismissed the offer as unwise. Too much pressure would put the young elf at a higher risk of doing something… imprudent. So he had abstained.
The elven king sighed once more. He would just have to hope everything would go… Not too wrong.
***
To say that Shuda was excited would be a strong understatement. Master Yaevinn had been invited, by the Warlord’s consort himself, to a sojourn at Kaer Morhen, where he would be recording the history of the Warlord’s conquest, within the walls of the conqueror. And he had asked, and obtained, for her, his apprentice, to accompany him on this journey. It was such a great honor, she could not believe her luck!
Of course there had been reservation. How could it be any different? Embarrassing as it was, she was very much aware of her irritating tendency to draw hostility from almost everybody that would speak with her. Sometimes, she didn’t even have to speak. She could swear she was not doing it on purpose! It was just the way she was. Master Yaevinn, though, had almost always shown himself understanding, and she was most grateful for it. She was aware she was not the only one like that. Not the only one with… Those kinds of… Quirks… That she sometimes seemed overwhelmed with. But she had yet to meet others. So far, most of her elven kind avoid her, which had not really proved a burden, since she felt so uncomfortable in the presence of most. Solitude worked better for her.
And yet she had shown herself so enthusiastic when Master Yaevinn had announced that they would get to travel North, to the Warlord’s home, where they would live and work for the next few years, to write and document the history this incredible character had started building. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and for once excitement overruled all of her fears, as said opportunity implied living in a large castle full of people. Noisy, brawly people. Rather the challenge, as far as she was concerned. But she would manage. She would not let this be a disaster. She would write history.
***
It had been a long, trying journey. They have avoided humans as much as possible, and the problems they might cause them. Shuda was very much aware of the hostility toward her kind, and neither Master Yaevinn nor herself cared to encourage it in any way. They had traveled through the woods, camping mostly, and before two weeks the trail was in sight. Exhaustion was starting to take its toll on the travelers, but they knew the part ahead would not really qualify as a pleasure trip. The young girl frowned, trying to assess the path, when Master Yaevinn suddenly came to a halt. A rider was coming through the woods.
“Yaevinn, of Dol Blathanna?” He called.
“I am indeed, kind Sir” the elf answered warily. The rider smiled and gave a small bow of his head.
“Then it is my pleasure to escort you on the Trail to Kaer Morhen. I am Coën, of the Griffin school, and the White Wolf sends me to escort you toward him.”
Yaevinn bowed in turn.
“Thank you, Sir Coën, we are much obliged.”
The Witcher raised an eyebrow, his eyes fixed silently on the second elf behind Yaevinn. The historian cleared his throat, but only silence answered him. He refrained from sighing and added:
“My apprentice, Shuda, accompanies me.”
Coën gave another bow toward the girl, who absentmindedly answered with a nod. The Witcher frowned before turning around toward the path he had come from. Yaevinn didn’t contain his sigh anymore as the three horses engaged on the Trail.
***
The first time Coën set eyes on Shuda, he found her frankly ugly. She seemed a rather dull person, and her face had nothing of the usual grace of the elves. Furthermore, she exuded an undeniable morosity that he found pretty irritating, for a reason he couldn’t fathom, and didn’t really care for. He quickly lost all interest in the elven girl, caring more about the polite yet cheerful conversation of the historian.
But when the high walls of the fortress were finally standing, proud, before their eyes, he didn’t miss the gasp coming from the silent creature, and it was a reflex of surprise that got him turn around toward her. But it was awe that kept him looking. The young woman was staring at the keep with a sort of reverence in her sparkling eyes. Her cheek had colored a light pink as excitment animated her traits. A rush of passion had replaced the unpleasant morosity in her scent, and it seemed like every ounce of her being radiated with life and eagerness.
The voice of the elder elf brought him back to his senses.
“Now, Shuda dear, I know this place is impressive, but we must not let that hinder our manners, must we?”
The young woman lowered her eyes to him, and she seemed only now to realize she wasn’t alone. Her eyes traveled toward Coën, whom she seemed to see for the first time, and her blush deepened, as a subtle note of shame tinted her scent. For a reason he didn’t fully understand, the Witcher found that charming. The girl turned her head towards her master and nodded vigorously, eliciting Coën to bite his lips not to smile as he lead them inside.
If anything, the young elf seemed even more impressed by the great hall, and Coën couldn’t help the puff of pride that swelled his chest. Yes, this was their home, and it was magnificent. Even though he never exactly bothered to consider how. To see a stranger so full of admiration for a place he was happy to call his abode, it seemed a good reason to rejoice.
It was not long before a joyful young voice called.
“Ah! Yaevinn! I’m so glad you’re here! How was your journey?”
The young happy man came toward them, closely followed by an impressive mass of muscles, and caught the older elf in a warm embrace.
“Consort Jaskier! Such a pleasure to be here. We are, again, most grateful for the invitation.” The elf extended his arm to the young girl behind him, clearing his throat. This time, the sound seemed to recall her to the mortal world. "Allow me to introduce Shuda, my apprentice." The young girl curtseyed deeply in respect, and received a polite bow in answer.
“Welcome to Kaer Morhen, Shuda. I hope you’ll find yourself at ease here”
Shuda opened wide eyes at the words, but she clenched her lips, as if to refrain to utter more words than would be appropriate.
“Geralt sent Coën to meet you, he will show you your rooms. You must be exhausted by your long journey. If you don’t feel like dining with us tonight, just let us know, a tray will be brought to your rooms.”
Yaevinn thanked the bard most profusely for his warm welcome, before following the Witcher, who hadn’t lifted his gaze from the elven girl during the whole exchange, and was now preparing to lead them through corridors and stairs.
***
The room they had been given was large. It was one of the guest rooms, and they were expected to occupy them for quite some time. Probably years. Maybe forever. It was modestly furnished, as the whole keep was rather Spartan in its accomodation, fit for warriors. But everything that could be useful to their work was here. There was a canopy bed, and behind a curtain, in an alcove, another one had been placed, of smaller dimensions, but that still looked quite comfortable. Chests, a wardrobe, a wide table with drawers that was set in the middle of the room and would work as their desk was indeed all they would need to live and work among the Witchers. On the floor, an Ofieri rug with an intricate and colorful design gave the room a lovely touch of luxury and comfort.
While Shuda had set herself on exploring the place, Yaevinn thanked Coën profusely for the care that was put in their lodgings.
"It is the White Wolf you'll have to thank. Should you wish to go now, I will be glad to lead you to His Lordship as soon as you are ready." Answered the Witcher.
"And if we don't wish to go?" came a slightly quivering voice. Coën frowned at that, as he caught a whiff of anxiety. Yaevinn closed his eyes and sighed.
"Now now, Shuda, where are our manners?"
The girl startled and blushed heavily. She gave a small curtsey.
"I apologize for my rudeness." She seemed to recite a well-rehearsed lesson. Yaevinn gave her a nod, and an apologetic smile to the Witcher.
"My apologies, Master Witcher, if it would be alright with His Lordship, and as Master Jaskier has already guessed, we are quite exhausted by the long journey, and would rather postpone our meeting to tomorrow. Would it be too much to ask to have dinner brought here to us?" He quickly glanced at his apprentice, whose eyes were cast on the floor, and added after a pause "I think it would be better for everyone."
Coën was still frowning, but he nodded. it was a very reasonnable request, especially if one tired elf was to utter such rude words in the face of the White Wolf.
"I will see to it, Master Yaevinn." And with one last nod, he left the newcomers to their devices. But shortly after closing the door, he couldn't help overhearing what very much sounded like some chastising was done for the younger elf.
***
"I know very well you are not doing it on purpose, and I'm sure it will get better in the weeks to come, but in the name of everything that is holy, Shuda dear, mind your tongue before opening your mouth! I really didn't think I'd have to warn you about it, especially regarding His Lordship!
- I'm sorry Master Yaevinn!" The girl all but whined. She was on the verge of tears. "I really didn't mean to--
- I know, dear, I know." He sighed. "It's alright. No harm was done, and you apologized like you had to. You will have this evening, and the entire night, to calm your nerves and prepare, alright? We are going to have a nice meal, and afterward, what do you think about rehearsing our meeting with His Lordship?"
The young girl nodded frantically. Yaevinn smiled, fondly. She was pretty clever, but sometimes she really reminded him of a small child.
"Would you care for a hug, now?"
More frantic nodding answered him, and he opened his arms to welcome the young elf.