NOVEL NEXT Chapter 55 : Hunger!
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A Smirk, a grim, determined expression on his face.
Harry staggered into a crowded, smoky inn quite loudly, his movements still a little stiff and uncoordinated. He didn't quite know where he was, only that it was somewhere in the south, somewhere warm.
All he truly knew, with a deep, primal certainty, was that he was absolutely, ravenously, starving.
He plopped down heavily on a rough-hewn bench and waited for the serving wench to come take his order, which, seeing his ragged state, didn't take long at all.
"What can I get for you, lad?" she asked, her voice surprisingly kind.
"Everything," Harry said, his voice a low, raspy growl. "And make it quick, too." He plopped down a heavy, clinking bag of coin he had… "acquired"… onto the table.
It was heavy with coin, more than enough to buy the entire inn's stock for a week.
The wench's eyes widened at the sound and weight of it, before she bowed her head in understanding and quickly scurried away to the kitchens.
Soon, Harry was devouring an entire table's worth of food all by himself, with no clear signs of stopping.
Just because hunger could not technically kill him didn't mean it wasn't an incredibly unpleasant, all-consuming sensation, one he wished to avoid at all costs.
He noticed, vaguely, that almost everyone else in the inn was now looking at him, their expressions a mixture of horror, fascination, and perhaps a little bit of awe, at how much food one man could possibly consume.
He couldn't bring himself to care about the attention he was getting, though. He was just so, so hungry.
The wench kept bringing him more and more food roasted chickens, loaves of bread, entire wheels of cheese, pitchers of ale and eventually, after what felt like an eternity of blissful, uninterrupted eating, he was finally full enough to think about something besides the gnawing emptiness in his stomach.
He began to eat slower now, his mind finally clear enough to think, to plan his next move. The very first thing he had done when he had finally, painstakingly, clawed his way out of the tons of rubble at Stygga Castle was to figure out exactly how long he had been imprisoned there.
He was immensely relieved to find that it wasn't quite as long as he had initially feared, only a little over two years.
The next thing he did was figure out exactly what had happened at Stygga Castle, which he had finally learned the name of.
He had done this by summoning the ghostly spirit of Vilgefortz, which also, quite satisfyingly, confirmed that the man was well and truly dead.
Harry had then, rather gleefully, made the spirit recount the tale of its own painful, humiliating death over, and over, and over again, before finally, reluctantly, allowing it back into the shadowy land of the dead.
That was really the only true revenge he could get on the man now that he was no longer in the realm of the living, which, to be honest, frustrated Harry immensely.
Vilgefortz's death had been far too quick, too easy.
He had wanted to fight him again, to tear him apart between his own dragon claws, slowly, before roasting him alive. Sadly, it seemed that Geralt had beaten him to the punch.
The next thing on his agenda would be planning how, exactly, he was going to kill Emperor Emhyr var Emreis, for unknowingly, but directly, causing him this significant, infuriating setback.
If that incestuous asshole wasn't so damn focused on fucking his own daughter, then none of this would have ever happened.
But first, he would need to talk to Geralt. Sadly, he knew that Ciri was most likely with him and Yennefer at the moment, which meant that he would need to find a way to get the Witcher alone.
He also had the problem of finding him in the first place, but he knew they would most likely be back in the Northern Kingdoms by now, probably somewhere in Temeria or Redania.
He finally finished the last of the giant pile of food that the inn's cook had made for him and laid down a few more gold coins for the hardworking wench to take.
He was pretty sure he had just given them the equivalent of a month's worth of food pay, but he didn't really care. It was the first proper meal he had eaten in who knows how long.
He was still being looked at, stared at, by the other patrons of this fine establishment. They were all, he noted, subjects of the vast Nilfgaardian Empire, as he was still deep in the province of Ebbing, so they seemed to dress a little nicer, a little more uniformly, than the rougher peasants of the Northern Kingdoms. Not much of a surprise there.
He stood up from his table and walked out of the inn, feeling a lot more satisfied, and a lot less homicidal, than when he had come in.
Now, all that was left to do was to go and vent some of the remaining steam. He had seen a small, isolated Nilfgaardian military outpost on his way to this town, one that looked ripe for a bit of… burning.
He supposed he could go there next. A little bit of destructive stress relief was long overdue.
….
Harry stood outside the city of Rivia, hidden in a small, dense forest, as he watched his favorite Witcher, Geralt, as he expertly tracked something through the woods.
The tracks, of course, were fake.
Harry had carefully, and very convincingly, planted them himself, just to lure Geralt away from any prying eyes and ears. Geralt, he knew, thought he was tracking a particularly large and dangerous Basilisk.
When Geralt had finally gotten deep enough into the forest, far from any roads or settlements, Harry approached him. "Hello, Geralt," Harry said, as he appeared, silently, a few yards behind the man. "It's been a while."
Geralt spun around smoothly, his hand already on the hilt of his sword, but he didn't seem too surprised to see Harry. "And where the hell have you been?" he questioned, in his usual gruff, no-nonsense manner. "I haven't seen you since that chaotic night on Thanedd."
Harry frowned slightly at the unpleasant memories of that night. "I didn't know you were awake when I had arrived, but yes, it has been a while. That night," he began, his voice turning grim, "I was captured by Vilgefortz. Or at least, by an accomplice of his. I had foolishly, arrogantly, believed that I had won our little duel, that I had him right where I wanted him, only to completely ignore the accomplice sneaking up behind me and knocking me out cold. Quite the embarrassing blunder, to be completely honest."
Geralt was silent at this admittance, but Harry had a feeling he was surprised by the information.
"I was then put into heavy chains of Dimeritium," Harry continued, "and left in a dark, forgotten cell deep under Stygga Castle, where I stayed until it was, rather conveniently for me, destroyed by a powerful, catastrophic magical blast."
"Wait," Geralt said, his eyes widening slightly. "So, you were there, when…"
"When you and Yennefer stormed the place? Yes, I was," Harry confirmed. "I had hoped you might find me, but it seemed it was not to be."
Geralt looked slightly, and uncharacteristically, apologetic at that. "I'm sorry, Harry. Had I known you were there—"
"It's fine," Harry interrupted him. "I don't blame you, and in hindsight, it was actually better that you left me there. It would have brought a certain kind of unwanted attention on me that I didn't particularly want at the time. But enough about all that. I have come to ask you what has happened while I have been… gone. As well as what happened after your rather eventful siege on the castle."
With that, they both sat down on a fallen log, across from each other, as Geralt began his long, detailed tale of everything that Harry had missed.
Harry listened raptly to every word, but by the end of it, he ended up breathing a quiet sigh of relief. So far, the major events of the timeline didn't seem to be too different from what he knew was supposed to happen, which was good.
With Ciri leaving this world soon, as he knew she would, he could finally stop messing around in the shadows and start taking a much more… active role in shaping this world's future.
"Hmm," Harry mused, once Geralt had finished. "You mentioned the emperor, Emhyr. What was your, and your companions', opinion of him at the time?"
Geralt looked at him for a long, thoughtful moment before continuing on. "The man was a very serious type," he said, his voice a low grumble.
"He definitely had a strategic mind, you could see that. And he had a strange, almost cold, notion of mercy, though it was still, I suppose, better than some of the other, more barbaric rulers I have seen."
Harry nodded. He knew that Ciri never cared much for her biological father, and he just needed to confirm that Geralt didn't have any particular loyalty to the man either.
"I see," Harry said. "Geralt… this may seem like an odd, and perhaps even a loaded question, but what do you truly think of the Northern Kingdoms, and their various rulers? Do you like the way they're run? Or do you think they would, perhaps, benefit from a more unified, orderly, Nilfgaardian rule?"
Geralt looked at him suspiciously, his yellow eyes narrowing. "Harry…" Geralt said, his voice a low, warning tone.
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