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Harry smiled briefly to himself at the fact that Eithné could no longer pull off such a convincingly serene look when he was around.
Eithné, he knew, found his very presence to be deeply, profoundly annoying, yet he also knew, with a quiet certainty, that he had, over the many years, grown on her a little, like a particularly stubborn and irritating moss.
He had, after all, placed powerful, complex enchantments all over the vast expanse of Brokilon forest some years ago, at her unspoken request, to ensure that no outsiders could ever navigate its twisting paths unless they were a Dryad, or were personally guided by one.
Eithné knew of this, and he knew she was thankful for his help, though she had, of course, never actually said it out loud.
They had a strange, unique, and often confusing relationship, one that he was sure baffled Eithné at the best of times.
Harry brought his attention back to the scene unfolding before him. Eithné said something else, her voice gentle but firm, about letting the group rest and stay for the night, and so they did.
Harry, however, did not sleep that night. He simply watched over the camp, watched over Geralt and Ciri, a silent, unseen guardian. He didn't feel tired at all.
When morning came, Harry was still up, still hidden, and still watching as Geralt and Ciri once again engaged in a heated, though one-sided, argument with Eithné over Ciri's fate.
Harry continued to stare at the tense group, and watched as Geralt seemed to be arguing harder now, his voice growing more insistent, while at the same time, still trying desperately to remain polite and respectful.
Eithné, however, finally silenced him with a single, stern look. She said something in return, her voice leaving no room for further debate, before she pulled out a simple wooden cup, filled to the brim with a strange, milky-white liquid the Water of Brokilon.
That was when Harry decided to interfere.
He quickly, silently, and expertly cast a powerful, multi-layered spell first, a full-body paralyzing charm, followed immediately by a stasis charm on both Geralt and Ciri.
They froze instantly, mid-motion, their expressions locked in place, completely unaware that time, for them, had just come to a screeching halt.
Eithné looked confused for a moment, her brow furrowing as her two guests suddenly became living statues. Then, a deep, thunderous scowl crossed her beautiful, ancient face.
"Harry," she demanded, her voice low and dangerous, "come out, now."
Harry obliged her demand, stepping out of a nearby, deep shadow, his expression sober and serious.
"Hello, Eithné," Harry said politely, offering her a small, disarming smile, hoping to warm her up a little, though he knew, deep down, that the attempt was probably futile. "You're looking as beautiful and as regal as ever, my lady."
"What have you done, dh'oine?" she demanded, her voice rising, losing its usual calm. "I demand that you release them immediately!"
Harry just shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid I cannot do that, Eithné," he said, his voice calm but firm. "At least, I can't yet, anyway. You and I, we need to talk."
Eithné glared at him, a fierce, protective fire burning in her silver eyes. She made no move to attack him, though for a brief, tense second, she looked as if she was itching to go for the large, powerful bow that was leaning against a nearby wall.
"What is it?" she asked, her voice tight, as she visibly, forcefully, restrained her anger.
Harry, with a casual flick of his wrist, conjured a simple, comfortable-looking wooden chair out of thin air. He sat down in it, crossing one leg casually over the other, his demeanor calm and composed, as if he were just settling in for a pleasant afternoon chat.
"I know," Harry began, his voice calm but carrying the undeniable weight of absolute certainty, "that you want this girl right here," he gestured towards the frozen form of Ciri, "to join your little merry band of villagers for all eternity. I know that you see the great, raw potential, as well as the immense power, that resides within her. I also know," he added, his green eyes locking with Eithné's silver ones.
"That you know her true identity, who she really is. So, you will understand when I say, unequivocally, that you may not have her. That she is not for you to take, not for you to steal away from her destiny."
Eithné did not look pleased at all. In fact, a cold, dangerous fury began to smolder in her ancient eyes. "You have no right, dh'oine, to dictate who joins and who leaves my village, my home," she said, her voice turning as icy as a mountain peak in winter. "I am the leader here, the Queen of Brokilon, and as the leader, I decide who joins and who does not."
Harry nodded slowly, as if he had expected that exact response. "I thought you would say something like that," he said, his expression still serious.
"And I once told you, a long time ago, that one day I would give you a choice, Eithné. I am a man of my word, so here it is. Your choice." He leaned forward slightly in his chair.
"Either you let this girl and her witcher companion go, freely and unharmed, or… I will burn this entire village, and everyone in it, to the ground. Then, I will burn all of Brokilon, this entire ancient forest, down to the last twig, not because I necessarily want to see it gone, but because I will use its ashes as a stark, unforgettable message to all those in the future who might ever be foolish enough to try and stand against me. Or…" he continued, his voice dropping slightly.
"…you could simply let them go, in which case I will leave you and your people alone and, should you wish it, as a bonus, I will never, ever return to Brokilon again. The choice, Lady Eithné, is entirely yours."
As he spoke, Harry let a small fraction of his immense, tightly controlled power radiate outwards from every pore of his body.
It wasn't a hostile or aggressive display, just a simple, undeniable statement of fact. He could see that it had a noticeable, physical effect on Eithné.
The air in the hut grew heavy, charged with ozone, and the ancient Dryad Queen, for the first time since he'd known her, looked genuinely shaken.
"So…" Eithné said, her voice a little strained, though she tried to hide it. "That's what this has all been about, all these years? Your visits, your… interference? You wish to control the prophecy?" It sounded more like a statement than a question, a dawning, horrified realization.
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If you want to read ahead by 15+ chapters from her you can visit my Patre-on.
[P] [A] [T] [R] [E] [O] [N]
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