Chapter Text
“It is telling of him, both as a man and as a ruler, that Emhyr var Emreis choose to attempt to abdicate the position of emperor on the exact same terms as he had ascended to it: his.” - extract from “The White Flame - a biography of Emhyr var Emreis, emperor of Nilfgaard".
The von Everec estate had been described by the Vivaldi bank agent as "somewhat rustic but charming, if a little bit run-down, with a beautiful view of Millers lake". It was in fact, thought Morvran as he gently stepped around an overgrown flowerbed, better described as one step above a ruin, a ruin that may or may not have been on fire at some point or the other and certainly not the estate worthy of a noble lord or lady. It was also, in his professional opinion, military indefensible and far to small to house something as important as the court of the Viceroy of the northern territories.
None of this appeared to faze the current incumbent however. Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Queen of Cintra, Princess of Brugge, Duchess of Sodden, Heiress to Inis Ard Skellig and Inis An Skellig, and suzerain of Attre and Abb Yarra as well as of course heir to the Empire of Nilfgaard and, most recently, the appointed viceroy and regent of the Northern Territories by his majesty Emhyr var Emreis, emperor of Nilfgaard was already scrambling up the front stairs, as curious as a cat. The princess was dressed in her usual traveling attire, black armored vest over a red shirt with her riding pants tucked into thigh-high boots, dagger at her side and sword slung over her back in the witchers manner. The only sign of her imperial status was the ruby inlaid golden chain around her neck with the sun of Nilfgaard inlaid in black and gold.
Morvran cleared his throat: "Are you certain about this place your grace? Surely there are more suitable accommodations to be found closer to the city itself? Why, I saw at least two very suitable estates just on the way from Novigrad to here."
"Those are not for sale Morvran and I do not" the princess paused as she tried the door handle "bloody things stuck, could any of you help with this" Two of Morvrans men scrambled forward and could with a bit of effort pry the doors open.
"As I said, I do not believe it to be suitable for the Viceroy to live either as a renter or on the charity of a Novigrad noble house. Sets a bad precedent." The princess dusted of her gloved hands and took her first steps into the hallway. Morvran, somewhat less enthusiastically, followed her inside.
"Surely we could requisition more suitable lodgings?"
"You are thinking like a soldier again Morvran. We are not going to persuade anyone of the authority of our rule if the first thing we do is to start confiscating people’s country manors. And as for the distance, this is just close enough to Novigrad to keep an eye on the city and just far enough to keep the city and its temple from keeping to close an eye on us." The princess put her hands on her hips and balanced back on her heels "Why I think this will do nicely!"
Morvran was less enthused. If the outside of the building had been shabby and run down, the inside was positively falling apart, a cold moldy smell filling the rooms and the only sound being the draft moving around dust and ashes. The upstairs floorboards seemed to creek on their own accord and Morvran could swear he heard voices in the rustling of the leaves outside.
"Your grace, are you certain it is properly safe?" Morvran continued as he gingerly followed his lady up the stairs "Old abandoned houses like this may be haunted, have ghosts or other specters live in its walls, no? Not to mention what other foul creatures may have taken up residence."
"Oh not to worry Morvran" said Ciri while turning the staircase corner "I spoke to Geralt about this place, he has already banished the ghost and its demon familiars months ago" Morvran stumbled on the last step as the princess happy extolled that the house had indeed been haunted but was, apparently, no longer so. Morvran was far from a coward: he had faced and dealt in death since he could don armor and swing a sword but the otherworldly and monstrous was something he tried to think as little of as possible. Morvran dealt with men and women; statistics and intelligence reports and left the mysterious, magical and consequently deadly to those either wise or foolish enough to deal with such matters. Witchers, in his admittedly limited experience, tended for somewhere in the middle.
"I see" said Morvran as he followed his sovereign-to-be into what had perhaps once been a drawing room and out onto the balcony that circled the upper floor. "I suppose I have no ground to question the esteemed master Geralt of Rivia then if he says that the house is safe."
"No grounds whatsoever Morvran. Sweet Melitele you truly can see the lake from up here."
Morvran pretended not to have heard the use of the name of the northern goddess instead if Nilfgaards holy sun. He was not what one could call especially pious but he did make a mental note of reminding the princess of certain political realities as they pertained to religion. Which was one of the reasons why the next sentence out of the princess mouth almost caused him to stumble once more.
"There are however a number of people buried in the backyard that I would have you remove Morvran. With care mind you, I will not have your engineers disturb their rest more than absolutely necessary. There is a chapel on the other side of the lake, see if the men can fetch a priest from there."
Morvran, who´s natural distaste of the house had risen once again at the thought of its garden also containing a graveyard of all things, was hesitant to answer. "I see your grace. May, ehh, may is ask to whom the bodies belong?"
"I have absolutely no idea Morvran. Thieves, vagabonds, poor folk who hoped this house contained sufficient valuables to give them a better life. Unfortunately, the caretaker of this place took offense at their presence and killed them." The viceroy sighed "If I could but know their names I would have their bones returned to their families but I´m afraid this will have to do."
"The caretaker your grace" Morvran was confused for a moment "but the papers from the bank did not mention any caretaker?"
"A creature summoned by the previous owner to tend to and protect the estate and its inhabitants from any threat. Also tended to the flower beds apparently." The viceroy briefly wrinkled her forehead "A relict or some sort of golem made of flesh perhaps? Or another kind of summon, maybe from another dimension?" the viceroy turned around to see Morvrans already pale face grow paler. "Oh not to worry Morvran! Geralt took care of that one as well. Its witchers work, professional interest only. Though more of a hobby these days I suppose."
Morvran slowly shook his head "Your grace, if there are any other occult phenomena associated with this house, please do not tell me."
***
Imperial Palace of Nilfgaard, one month earlier
"Your Viceroy? In the North?" Ciri stared incredulously at her father. The now (almost) undisputed ruler of the continent was standing at the window of his private study in the imperial palace, staring out at the flowing Alba below.
"Yes. The North is still restless and I fear some of our governors have exacerbated the situation. To heavy demands of taxation and corvée labor, to little understanding of local customs. I need someone to hold the entire government in hand. That person needs to be someone I can trust completely and that at the same time the nordlings can accept. Someone with an understanding of the local customs and a title of a northern royal house." The emperor turned around. "That means you."
Ciri crossed her arms across her chest "Is that the sole reason?"
"Hardly. A ruler should never do anything out of pure expediency. You could also say it’s a test, a trial."
"A trial?"
"Is that not what the witchers call it? The final test before one assumes one’s proper role, one's station in life."
Ciri smiled with the corner of her mouth "The witchers trials are somewhat more complicated. It involves magic, alchemical substances, physiological changes to the body: it is what makes them witchers rather than highly trained hunters." She paused "I do hope you do not have similar plans for me."
"In a way I do." Said the emperor "Oh, nothing as drastic as mutations but in its own way as much or even far more far-reaching. I´m molding you into a ruler Cirilla. The guilds and nobility are growing weary of me and only my promise of eventual abdication has sated them and kept the knives from our backs thus far." The emperor returned to his desk and sat down while Ciri remained standing.
"That and what you did when you returned from the North." Ciri had not been there to witness it herself but had heard the stories, of guilds-men and generals hanging from the roof beams of houses along the market streets, of imperial assassins hunting down entire families, of bloody public dismemberments and silent garroting in the imperial dungeons. Rumors had followed the blades and daggers of the emperor’s executioners north until the imperial countercoup had reached all the way to the Pontar. Such had been the way of politics in Nilfgaard for almost as long as the empire had existed but when she had first heard of it the disgust she felt almost made her turn down her father’s offer cold. In the end it had only ended up galvanizing her in her decision.
"You disapprove? Well its well that you do I suppose, every ruler has to develop their own style of ruling. And by eliminating the worst of the plotters I have left the field open for you to take the throne as the merciful one. But time Cirilla, time is of the essence. Normally a ruler would have half a lifetime to prepare to take the throne but we only have this short period."
"As I remember, you did not spend your preparations to rule particularly diligently either. Or was the role of ne'er-do-well husband of the heir to the throne of Cintra truly such an education?"
"Careful daughter." Something gleamed in the emperor’s eye. "Do not presume your idle childhood memories can teach you of what my time at your grandmothers court were like." The emperor stood. "Come, I wish to show you something."
On a table of Mag Turgan hardwood a map of what had once been the northern realms lay. The old borders were still shown, although someone had taken the liberty of not to subtly filling her father’s conquests with red ink.
"Temeria is still restless but I believe the local junta we put in place under its child queen have the situation in hand at the moment. Redania, Aedirn and Kaedwen remain restless but there is as of yet no clear focal point for resistance. Skellige, Lyria, Rivia remain out of our control but are unwilling to entertain hostilities on their own. And Kovir retains their neutrality." Her father put his finger down on a single point on the map. "There, Novigrad. Novigrad is the key. He who controls it controls the Pontar and he who controls the Pontar controls Redania, Temaria, Aedirn and Kaedwen all. All trade throughout the north flows through its ports and warehouses. Control Novigrad and you control lifeblood of everyone and everything north of the Yaruga."
"Not to mention the church." Her father smiled slightly at her interjection.
"You learn quickly. Indeed, the church of the eternal fire. Possibly the largest religion of the North, certainly the most organized. The power behind Radovids throne, whether they admit to it or not. It was their believers that manned his witch hunters, their rabble-rouser's that stirred the people against his enemies and in the end it was their followers who made up the most enthusiastic parts of his armies. And it is they who can form a center of resistance to our rule, not some third cousin to Radovid or Henselt."
Ciri narrowed her brow at her father’s analysis. He was not wrong, not directly but perhaps, as she thought it, not quite right either.
"The Church of the Eternal fire has held a stranglehold over the north since Radovid took his throne. They were hunting down sorcerers, hedge mages, village witches and wise-woman. When I left Novigrad they had started to turn on non-humans." Ciri recrossed her arms over her chest. "They seem to be missing from your equation father."
Her father smiled his humorless smile again. "Yennefer of Vengeberg, Geralt of Rivia and even a touch of Triss Merigold in that answer. Your compassion lends them, and you, credit but never confuse compassion with wisdom Cirilla. As rulers we do what we must to keep anarchy at bay, only after that may we consider what we want or believe. Nevertheless, if such are your motivations I shan't be the one to stop you. Rule as you will daughter, that is the point of this exercise." Her father turned his back to her and returned to his desk, laden with correspondence.
"I have already made the suitable arrangements. You will travel in the manner which befits a princess of Nilfgaard and an imperial viceroy. I will send Morvran Voorhis and a detachment of the Impera brigade with you, as well as a large enough set of clerks to man your administration. Nevertheless, part of your task will be to build your own court: the nordlings will not consent to be ruled by foreigners. Your ship will leave in two days, in the meantime I suggest you get familiar with the latest intelligence reports on your future demesne."
Seeing her father’s last words as a dismissal, Ciri gave a curt nod and turned towards the door.
"Cirilla." Emhyr said. She turned around to face her father again. The candlelight played with the shadows on the emperor’s face and his tired eyes stared back at her. "You may or may not trust me or my intentions but all of my hopes go with you. Good luck daughter."
***
And so it was that only a few weeks later, three Nilfgaardian galleys skirted the Pontar delta and pulled into Novigrad harbor. Their arrival was of course no surprise: the ships had made their way in full view of the coast and the cities lighthouses had signaled their approach. Crowds had gathered, the temple guard stood on parade attention in their white and crimson armor next to rows of black armored Nilfgaardians. Priests of the Eternal fire chanted their blessings across the waters while crowds of Novigrads highest and lowest filled the piers and the rooftops as the imperial galley docked (those cynical or superstitious noticed that the ship did in fact dock at the same pier as had been used by the late king Radovid for his last docking). Hierarch Hemmelfart himself stood beneath a crimson and gold canopy, surrounded by the cities Chancellors and representatives of noble families decked out in splendid silks and satin.
As the boarding plank descended the good citizens caught a first glimpse of their new viceroy. Erect and slender, her white hair held back by a simple golden diadem and the sun glistened on the golden chain symbolizing her rank as it lay on bed of black velvet. She was unarmed but for a dagger of a strange and alien design lodged in her belt studded with sapphires and agates. She descended the gangplank slowly but surely, her head held aloft. Behind her strode the might of Nilfgaard. Some would say that the lioness of Cintra, good queen Calanthe, long gone, strode in her shadow. As she met and ceremonially bowed before the hierarch he took up his priest’s chant. A deacon held up a chalice filled with holy ashes, some of which the hierarch gripped with fat, bejeweled fingers and sprinkled some on the viceroy's brow. She raised her head and, together they faced with the crowd, lords spiritual and temporal. It was, all would agree, a highly successful ceremony and an auspicious moment that perhaps peace had finally, at long last, come to the north.
It was also the beginning of a battle that would shake not just the city of Novigrad, but the north and the known world to its core.