The Crown That Walks the Path pt.1
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This is a Witcher universe fanfic.
#WitcherxReader #WitcherxOC #GeraltxReader #EskelxReader #LambertxReader #GeraltxOC #EskelxOC #LambertxOC
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The ballroom glittered and flickered with enough enchanted crystal to blind a dragon. Every chandelier sparkled and burned without flame, suspended by invisible spells that painted the marble floor in shifting gold and violet light. Fine silk dresses whispered across polished stone. Jewels caught the glow like captive stars. Somewhere beyond the zercanian dancers, a quartet played a melody that was almost too perfect to be performed by mortal hands and likely if he had to guess, weren’t. Geralt of Rivia wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else. "You look miserable." Yennefer's voice carried amusement beneath practiced elegance, her scent of lilac and gooseberries drowned by the flood of a hundred other sorceresses. Draped in black velvet embroidered with obsidian thread, she moved through the crowd as though the entire palace had been built for her alone. Nobles bowed. Sorceresses measured her with carefully concealed envy. Kings remembered old bargains and older grudges. Geralt tugged at the stiff collar of the doublet she'd insisted he wear. "It pinches." He growled. Yennifer hummed a sigh of disbelief, "It's tailored."
He couldn’t help but scowl, his eyes flickering over familiar and unknown faces within the ballroom "It still pinches."
The violet eyed socresses watched as Triss, a complicated but mutual friend bated away the attention of a fellow mage. "It also cost more than most villages earn in a year. Most would kill to wear what you’re wearing and be where you are now"
Geralt couldn’t help but grumble almost indignantly "I'd rather have the coin."
"I know." She smiled anyway, her eyes once again fluttering around the room. For a fleeting moment, the politics, the glitter, and the endless sea of painted smiles faded into something familiar. Then another member of the Lodge intercepted Yennefer with polite greetings that sounded suspiciously like veiled threats. "I'll only be a moment," she murmured, laying two fingers against his arm. "Try not to insult anyone important."
He leaned back against the column behind him, arms crossed, looking every bit the picture of trouble and unapproachable."No promises."
"I know." She disappeared into the gathering of sorceresses as effortlessly as smoke. Geralt exhaled. At least monsters usually announced themselves. The ballroom smelled of perfume, wax, expensive wine... ...and fear. Not panic. Not immediate danger. The quiet kind, and yet it wasn’t quite just fear almost… unease. The scent drifted through the crowd in faint currents, hidden beneath roses and amber oils. Geralt frowned. Someone here was afraid, and very good at pretending otherwise. His gaze wandered over embroidered masks, jeweled gowns, polished armor worn only for ceremony. Nothing. Then the scent shifted again. He followed it almost unconsciously. Near one of the towering windows overlooking moonlit gardens stood a woman who seemed oddly untouched by the celebration around her. Her gown was elegant, though it did barely anything to cover her, enough to satisfy the court, fine gems of crushed emerald sewn in seemed to reflect off the lightening. Deep green silk fell in clean tight line, two slits flowered up either side of her legs, ending just above her hip bones, practical despite its craftsmanship. Finely crafted gold embroidery traced vines along the sleeves, a neck lined that plunged to nearly her naval with dazzling jewelry adoring her. Truly, if Geralt hadn’t had known better he’d have sworn the divine being before him was a goddess. She wasn't watching the dancers. She was watching the exits. Her eyes shifted, a slight pout upon her plump lips. One hand rested lightly against the stem of an untouched wine glass. The other bore faint calluses that no noblewoman acquired from embroidery. Sword calluses. Interesting. As if sensing the weight of his stare, she turned. Their eyes met across the ballroom. No coy smile. No fluttering lashes. Only a brief, measured assessment, the sort shared between strangers accustomed to judging whether the other might become a threat. Geralt was intoxicated, dark ringlet curls rolled down her back in waves and eyes that sparkled of emerald green. Then someone stepped between them. Geralt blinked sluggishly. When he looked again, she was gone. "...Of course." A witcher could track a ghoul through a rainstorm, yet one mysterious woman vanished inside a ballroom. Typical. From somewhere behind him came the soft clink of a goblet. "I leave you alone for less than five minutes." Geralt didn't have to turn, his golden eyes flickering about looking for traces of where she’d possibly gone. "What did I do?" Yennefer appeared beside him, accepting a fresh glass of wine from a passing servant without so much as looking. "You tell me." "I've been standing here." "So I noticed." Her violet stormy eyes drifted, not to him, but toward the place where the woman had stood only moments before. Then back to Geralt. The smallest hint of a smile touched her lips.
"Curious." Yennefer's single word lingered between them, tense and unsettling.
Geralt raised an eyebrow. "About what?"
"The fact that you've spent the better part of the evening trying to avoid everyone." She took a measured sip of wine, pausing and frowning slightly. "Then, for the first time since arriving, you looked genuinely interested."
"I was looking."
"You were staring."
"I don't stare."
"No," Yennefer said, amusement dancing in her eyes and something else, something just below the stormy surface.. jealously perhaps. "Witchers conduct investigations."
Geralt grunted, attention turning back towards the ball room full of glittering guests.
"Who is she?"
At this he frown led slightly, confusion settling in "I was hoping you'd tell me."
That gave Yennefer pause.
She turned, scanning the ballroom with practiced ease. Every noble, mage, and ambassador occupied a place in the intricate web she carried in her mind. Faces became allegiances. Smiles became negotiations. She knew everyone, her life did depend on it most days.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then, quietly, "Interesting."
"You know her?" Geralt asked, glancing briefly at Yennefer, eyes searching her expression.
"I know of her."
Geralt looked at her questioningly, there weren’t many who Yennefer didn’t know in attendance tonight and the answer had briefly caught him off guard.
"That isn't the same thing."
"No." Yennefer's gaze remained fixed on the crowd. "Very few people can honestly claim they know the famed Aeloria Thalindria Vanyara Shiadel."
The name carried an old rhythm, its syllables flowing like an ancient song.
"Elf?" He hummed, perhaps that was what had peeked his interest.
"Not merely an elf."
Yennefer lowered her voice.
"Very old, very powerful royal blood. Blood from before even Lara Dorren"
That explained the bearing.
Not arrogance. Not pride.
Certainty.
Geralt had seen kings who tried to command a room through sheer force of personality. Aeloria hadn't needed to. The space around her had simply... shifted to accommodate her presence.
"She keeps no court," Yennefer continued. "Accepts no throne. Though it’s said she has the right to many, but travels instead."
"The Path?"
A small nod.
"Village to village. Kingdom to kingdom. Healing plague victims. Mediating disputes before they become wars. Teaching hedge mages who have nowhere else to learn, those who cannot afford Aretuza. She has even treated humans wounded by Scoia'tael raids... and elves injured by human soldiers."
"Sounds inconvenient." Geralt huffed, his interest piqued further.
"For everyone." Yennefer's smile was fleeting. "She refuses to choose a side."
That was hard to believe, Geralt had come to this painful conclusion before. "People usually choose one for you."
"They've tried." Yennifer said, swirling the rest of her wine.
"And?"
"They're still trying." She stated, “It’s why they’ve asked her here tonight”
Geralt noticed the way several members of the Lodge glanced toward the council room doors where he suspected the mystery woman had vanished to.
Waiting.
The doors opened.
Conversation slowed.
A hush spread and spanned through the ballroom, not commanded by magic, but by recognition.
She entered without fanfare.
Dark brown curls rested against emerald silk, each loose ringlet catching the chandelier's light. Her skin was pale as polished ivory, untouched by cosmetics. Green eyes surveyed the hall with quiet attentiveness, neither searching for admiration nor attempting to avoid it. Whatever fear and unease she’d held earlier had evaporated into annoyance.
A gold circlet rested lightly against her brow.
Simple.
Old.
The sort of craftsmanship that belonged to another age.
She carried no visible staff.
No jeweled purely decorative wand, that had been the rage amongst mages as of the late.
No ostentatious display of magical power.
Yet every mage in the room felt it.
Magic gathered around Aeloria the way mist gathered around a forest lake at dawn; calm, ancient, and impossibly deep. It did not press against the senses as many sorceresses' power did, that those who dabbled in chaos felt. It settled over the room with effortless restraint, pulsating and always there.
Geralt noticed several younger mages unconsciously straighten their posture.
One elderly sorcerer actually bowed his head.
She acknowledged neither reaction.
Instead, she thanked the servant who handed her a glass of something bubbly, likely alcoholic, perhaps champagne.
The servant blinked in surprise.
Most nobles and even less mages never noticed servants. To them they were as meaningless as the furniture, there to serve a purpose.
Aeloria, however, did.
Her gloved hand brushed the old servant man's wrist for only a heartbeat.
His expression softened.
The ache in his shoulder, one he'd carried for years since boyhood, simply... vanished.
No words.
No spell spoken aloud.
No dramatic flourish of chaos magic.
She smiled, and he whispered a stunned thank you before realizing what had happened.
Geralt frowned, the interact was so simple and clean. Something one would miss had everyone’s attention not been trained on her from the start."I didn't see her cast."
"You weren't meant to," Yennefer replied, annoyance catching in her tone.
"A trick?" His brows furrowed
"No."
There was something approaching respect in her voice, though the annoyance was still there.
"Control."
Aeloria moved through the ballroom at an unhurried pace. Lords inclined their heads. Sorceresses offered practiced smiles. Ambassadors watched her with careful interest, each wondering whether she might be persuaded to support one cause or another. Each debating on whether they should test their luck now that she had emerged from the Lodge meeting room..
She accepted none of their invitations beyond polite greetings.
Her attention drifted elsewhere.
To the musicians. To the dancers.
To the enchanted ceiling.
To a frightened page balancing a tray far too heavy for his trembling arms.
The tray tipped.
Crystal goblets slid.
Before anyone could react, Aeloria caught the edge of the silver platter with one hand.
The motion was impossibly smooth.
Not magic.
Training.
Years, decades, or even lifetimes of it.
She steadied the young servant before the boy lost his footing.
"Easy," she said gently, her voice caressing the air like silk "You've done nothing that cannot be recovered."
The page's face burned scarlet, as he stammered. "My apologies, Your Highness."
"No apologies are needed."
She helped him gather the fallen goblets herself.
Several nobles stared in open disbelief, fellow mages that had caught sight appeared to sneer slightly at the altercation.
Geralt watched the movement of her shoulders, the balance in her stance, the instinctive placement of her feet.
Not just a traveler.
A swordswoman.
A capable one, he’d been correct in his earlier assessment.
As she rose, her gaze lifted.
Once again, it found him.
This time, she did not look away.
Instead, she inclined her head in the slightest gesture of greeting.
Not to the famous White Wolf.
Not to Yennefer's companion, as soon many had done already this evening.
Simply to another traveler who understood what it meant to spend more nights beneath the stars than beneath a roof.
Geralt returned the nod before he had time to question why.
Across the ballroom, Aeloria smiled, a small, genuine smile that reached her green eyes.
Then the music swelled and the musicians changed to a slower measure, the ballroom settling into a rhythm of measured conversation and carefully choreographed diplomacy. Servants flowed between clusters of nobles carrying crystal flutes and silver trays while the Lodge's members drifted from one delicate negotiation to the next.
Aeloria had scarcely taken three steps before another delegation intercepted her.
A Redanian lord.
A Nilfgaardian envoy.
Two elder mages.
Each greeted her with polished smiles that failed to reach their eyes.
Each received the same patient courtesy.
Each left with remarkably little but a dazed gaze as she moved on.
Geralt still watched from across the room.
"Still investigating?" Yennefer asked, slightly irked now.
"They're circling her." He grumbled
"They've been circling her for decades." Yennefer stated flatly, brushing a hand through her hair.
He observed how delicately she let down each diplomat "And she lets them."
"She lets them think they have a chance."
As if on cue, another noble attempted to monopolize Aeloria's attention.
She excused herself with such effortless grace that the man smiled, thanked her, and only seemed to realize several moments later that she'd declined whatever proposal he'd been making.
Geralt almost smirked.
"Impressive."
Yennefer caught the expression, a nagging fleeting feeling of jealous blooming. "I've seen that look before."
"What look?"
"The one you wear when you've found something that doesn't behave as expected."
"I was admiring the technique, Yen" He sighed, eyes glancing briefly back.
"Mhm."
Before Geralt could answer, Aeloria's path carried her toward them.
Not deliberately.
Simply because the flow of the evening demanded it.
She stopped a respectful distance away and inclined her head. "Lady Yennefer"
"Lady Aeloria."
There was mutual respect in the greeting, though neither woman surrendered an inch of ground. Aeloria gaze flittered over Geralt,
"And you must be Geralt of Rivia"
Her voice was softer than he expected, carrying the quiet confidence of someone accustomed to being heard without needing to raise it. "I've heard the stories of the White Wolf, though I never expected to encounter him here of all places" She smiled softly, almost teasingly.
"They're exaggerated." Geralt gruffed, leaning to push off the wall and stand straight, it felt almost disrespectful to slouch in her presence.
"I assumed most stories are."
For the first time that evening, Geralt allowed himself the ghost of a smile.
"I've heard a few about you." He could recall few and had put together this was likely who the stories of the Lady of Fortune, Lady of the Path had likely been about.
"I hope you’re not disappointed then." Aeloria’s eyes flashed mischievously
"Not at all, if anything they don’t do you justice."
A flicker of amusement warmed her green eyes. She swirled the bubbly liquor in her glass, not often did she drink but when she did it was never champagnes.
Silence settled comfortably between them.
Not awkward.
Measured.
The kind shared by travelers who understood that conversation did not always require filling every pause.
Yennefer observed the exchange over the rim of her own glass.
"So," she said lightly, "have you decided whether you'll accept the Lodge's invitation?"
Aeloria's expression remained serene, her eyes shifting to the sorceress. "I have."
"And?"
"I thanked them for their hospitality."
Yennefer waited, the paused almost electric.
"I also declined."
Several nearby sorceresses pretended not to listen in. Their ears turned towards them their faces of disbelief betrayed them. Yet she had no reason to keep this a secret the prying ears where of little concern, after all she’d turned them down many times before. Though the Lodge’s recent tactic of using mass casualty reports as a way to lure her here was new. Simply asking her to come wasn’t enough, telling her mass amount of lives where hanging of by a thread that apparently was.
"The Continent has enough councils and people rife with want for power," Aeloria continued. "It has rather fewer people willing to walk its roads."
Geralt found himself answering before thinking.
"The roads aren't particularly pleasant."
"They rarely are." She smirked, her face held a look he was unable to distinguish "But they tell the truth, they are honest."
Her gaze met his again piercing him deeply, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, he believed she meant that.
A herald announced the next dance.
Several nobles approached Aeloria at once.
She offered Geralt the smallest nod,
"It was a pleasure meeting you, White Wolf. May the Path be kind to you”
"And you."
She disappeared once more into the crowd.
Geralt watched her go.
Only when she had vanished among silk gowns and candlelight did he notice Yennefer watching him instead. "You like her."
He frowned. "I don't know her."
"You find her interesting." Yennefer bit, the champagne leaving a bitter taste on her tongue.
"I do." Geralt said honestly
Yennefer looked toward the ballroom whether Aeloria had vanished once more.
"So do I."
Her words were calm.
Her expression was not, and Geralt couldn’t help but think briefly he’d made a mistake in admitting that.
Morning arrived beneath a blanket of pale mist. The Lodge's estate, so dazzling beneath enchanted chandeliers the night before, now stood quiet beneath a grey sky morning. Dew clung to the gardens, and only a handful of servants had begun their day's work. None of the guests from the night before had seemed to stir.
Geralt tightened Roach's saddle one final time.
Yennefer had already gone by the time he’d awoken.
No note.
No farewell.
Only an empty room carrying the fading scent of lilac and gooseberries.
It wasn't the first time.
It probably wouldn't be the last.
Roach snorted impatiently.
"I'm coming."
He led her toward the stable yard.
Another horse shifted nearby.
A mare.
Coal black from ears to tail, her coat shining even beneath the clouded morning.
Her tack was practical.
Well cared for.
Travel-worn.
Beside her stood Aeloria, fastening the final buckle of a weathered saddlebag. Gone were the jewels and emerald silk.
She now wore sturdy riding leathers, beneath a forest-green cloak, a longsword resting comfortably across her back beside a plain travel staff.
She looked less like royalty.
More like someone entirely at home beneath an open sky. Yet entirely enchanting, Geralt halted watching her move,her riding leathers fitted firmly around her silhouette, blouse beneath the cloak unbuttoned to expose whispers of cleavage.
She glanced up as Geralt approached.
“Leaving already?" He asked, she’d caught him looking, staring even
She looked at him knowingly almost teasingly, perhaps her elven heritage was what attracted his gaze towards her. Elevens had been known in the past for enchantress beauty "The Lodge will survive without me”
"Barely I’m sure." Geralt quipped back.
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, yet she said nothing.
He cleared his throat, "I was afraid they might keep you another week."
"They tried." She stated simply, adjusting the rein bit in her mare’s mouth. "And you?"
"I've never been very good at staying where people expect me to."
Geralt nodded toward the road beyond the gates, the Path calling him forward now that he’d been once again abandoned by the sorceress Yennefer. "Heading north?"
"Eventually." She answered, placing a foot into the stirrup hauling herself onto her mount.
"Eventually?"
"There are reports of drowners appearing unusually far inland." She tightened one last strap across her mare's packs. "Griffins abandoning traditional nesting grounds. Forest creatures moving before the seasons change."
She bent forward, cleavage spilling forward slightly, and rested a hand against the mare's neck, petting it. "I've spent years healing the aftermath."A thoughtful pause.
"I've decided it's time I better understand the cause."
Geralt frowned slightly. "Monster migrations." He’d never heard of a mage, much less an elf interested in the migrations of monsters. Then again he’d never heard of one also living on the Path.
She nodded."Patterns tell stories."
"They also get people killed."
"Which is precisely why I'd like to understand them."
He considered that.
It sounded sensible.
Dangerously so.
He swung into Roach's saddle.
"Safe travels."
"You as well."
He nudged Roach toward the gate.
Behind him came the steady sound of hoofbeats.
Then her voice, soft
"Geralt."
He looked back.
Aeloria guided her mare alongside him, morning mist curling around both horses.
"I have a question."
He waited.
"Would you object to another traveler sharing the road for a while?"
His brow lifted. He’d not expected this."I tend to attract trouble."
She chuckled, "I've noticed."
"It isn't usually the interesting sort." Roach almost seemed to snort in laughter at him, as he said this
"I suspect our definitions differ."
She smiled not persuasive, not flirtatious, simply open. "And, you know where monsters are found."
"And you?" The path before them was beginning to diverge into multiple routes as they approached the cross roads.
"I know where the wounded are."
For a moment, only the birds disturbed the silence.
Then Aeloria added quietly,
"It seems to me those paths have crossed for a very long time."
Geralt looked down the road stretching into the waking Continent.
Then at the traveler waiting beside him.
For reasons he couldn't yet name, the prospect no longer sounded like solitude.
