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"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.
Harry shook his head once again. "I could give two shits about the prophecy, Eithné, and what it says, what it foretells," he stated flatly, his voice cold.
"I care nothing for it at all. The girl is all that matters to me. Her, and her happiness. There will be many, many people in her life who will seek to control her, to use her, to take her happiness away from her. And I…" he said, his eyes blazing with a fierce, protective fire.
"…will be the one to make absolutely sure that all who oppose her, all who try to harm her, will eventually become nothing more than maggot food. None shall stop me, Eithné. No one will stand in the way of this one, single goal of mine."
Eithné stayed silently for a long moment, her silver eyes dark with thought, as she processed what he had told her, what he had threatened.
She looked very, very displeased at the impossible options she was being given, but Harry already knew what choice she would make.
He knew she loved her people, her family, far too much to ever put them at such an undeniable, catastrophic risk by standing against him.
"Fine," Eithné finally spat out, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. "Take them, and be gone. And never, ever return to Brokilon."
Harry surprised her by shaking his head. "That's not how this works, Eithné," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"See, I can't let them know about me interfering just yet. It's not the right time. So, here is what you're going to do. Instead of giving them your little brainwashing juice, your 'Water of Brokilon,' you will give them this."
Harry held out his hand, and a simple wooden cup, identical to the one Eithné had been holding just moments ago, appeared out of thin air, filled with a liquid that looked exactly the same.
"You will give them both this," Harry instructed. "It will cause them nothing more than some vivid, confusing hallucinations, but it will ultimately leave them with their minds, their memories, and their free will intact."
"And it will leave you with the convenient excuse that fate, or the Water, or whatever you want to call it, simply… interfered, that the girl was not meant to stay. You will do it exactly as I have instructed, Eithné, or our deal will be off, and I will kill you all."
He hated playing the bad guy, the threatening, tyrannical sorcerer, but he also wouldn't feel too bad about it in this particular case.
Eithné and her little forest band, for all their talk of nature and balance, had killed many, many people over the centuries, and lots of them were innocent of nothing more than accidentally stepping into their forest, some not even on purpose.
Eithné was not someone he would ever describe as a "good" or "nice" person, but rather someone who fell firmly into the deep, complicated shades of grey that permeated this world.
That wasn't even mentioning the fact that she routinely destroyed the minds and memories of the young women she "recruited" into her fold, just so she could mold them into something more to her liking, into her perfect, eternal "daughters." Had this been Britain, had she committed such acts there, Eithné would have been given a one-way ticket through a different kind of archway, a death sentence, for all that she had done.
As much as he had grown to, in his own strange way, like her, Harry knew she was getting off lightly.
Eithné took the cup from him, her hand trembling slightly, and stared at the contents for a moment before looking up at him, her face a mask of grim resignation. "After this, you will leave?" she asked, her voice a low whisper.
Harry nodded once, but said nothing more.
"Fine," she said, her voice filled with a cold fury. "I will give them this, and then I will send them on their way, with no mention of you or your… involvement. Now, be gone from my village. And I shall pray to the ancient spirits of this forest that I never have to see your face again." She stood there, regal and defiant, waiting for him to leave.
"Goodbye, Eithné," Harry said, his voice surprisingly soft. "I hope, for your sake, that our paths never have to cross again in this way." And with that, he once more stepped back into the deepest shadows of the room and disappeared completely from her view.
He then, from his unseen position, released the powerful paralysis and stasis charms he had placed on both Geralt and Ciri.
He did not actually leave, of course. Not yet. He would remain, a silent, invisible observer, to make absolutely sure that Eithné honored their… agreement. And he would, without hesitation, make good on his threat otherwise.
Luckily, there seemed to be no need for any further violence. Eithné, true to her word, did honor their agreement, though she certainly didn't look happy about it.
He had a feeling that Geralt, with his sharp Witcher senses, had picked up on her strange, tense mood, but had wisely decided to say nothing for his own safety and for Ciri's.
Eventually, Eithné gave Ciri the cup Harry had provided, and Harry watched as it had little to no discernible effect on her.
This was on purpose, of course. The concoction he'd created was magically potent, but designed to be dulled, almost neutralized, by a strong, innate magical source.
And Ciri, even as a young girl, had spades of Elder Blood magic coursing through her veins.
Geralt, however, was not so lucky. Without Ciri's innate magical resistance, the potion hit him hard, and he went through quite a violently unpleasant hallucinatory experience, collapsing to the ground in a twitching, groaning heap.
Ciri rushed to his side, looking over him with wide, worried eyes, but she could do nothing to help him. Harry was not concerned. He had made sure there would be no lasting physical or mental effects for Geralt, just a very, very bad trip.
He watched as the Dryads, on Eithné's command, took both the unconscious Geralt and the very concerned Ciri and deposited them unceremoniously in the forest, semi-near the border of Brokilon, where Geralt finally, groggily, awoke.
Harry then lifted the complex, disorienting enchantments he'd placed over the forest years ago, just for them, allowing them a clear path out.
He watched them walk out of the ancient forest and, once more, set off down a dusty, uncertain road, together.
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If you want to read ahead by 15+ chapters from her you can visit my Patre-on.
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