Beneath the Winterbane Sigil

GERALT

Rein Winterbane and Geralt Stormrider entered the Great Hall, their footsteps quieting the low murmur of conversation.

At the long oak table, ten high-backed chairs gleamed in the hearth's glow. On the far left sat Eira, calm and observant, with Ansel Stormrider to her right, his scarred face catching the light. Beside him was Lyanna, her regal posture unshaken.

Two chairs remained empty, a gap heavy with meaning. One bore the Winterbane sigil, the other the Stormrider sigil—seats reserved for the heads of the two houses.

To the right of these chairs sat Adeline Winterbane, her presence quietly commanding. Next to her was Ronan, his sharp gaze fixed ahead, with Jareth beside him, restless but controlled. 

Lyra occupied the end of the table, thoughtful and composed, with another empty chair beside her, one that everyone knew would remain unoccupied, a silent testament to loss and absence.

Rein Winterbane and Geralt Stormrider began walking toward their seats, the Great Hall falling into a profound silence. Each step echoed through the vast chamber, the sound of their boots striking the stone floor amplified in the stillness. All eyes turned to them, the weight of expectation heavy in the air.

As they approached the long oak table, the flickering light of the hearth danced across their faces, illuminating the solemn expressions of those gathered.

The empty chairs loomed beside them, a reminder of the stakes at play. Rein took his place at the head of the table, the Winterbane sigil gleaming behind him, while Geralt settled into the chair marked with the Stormrider sigil, a subtle tension emanating from their positions.

The hall remained hushed, the only sound the crackle of the fire and the distant echoes of their footsteps, as if the very walls held their breath in anticipation of what was to come.

Rein stood up and picked up his glass in a toast, his voice steady and commanding as he said, "To the bonds that unite us, to the challenges that strengthen us, and to the victories yet to come. May our resolve be unyielding and our spirits unbroken. Cheers!" 

The room erupted in a chorus of clinking glasses, a moment of shared purpose binding them together amidst the weight of the world outside.

The atmosphere in the Great Hall shifted as laughter and music filled the air. Lyra and Eira giggled as they made their way to the makeshift play area, their youthful energy infectious.

Rein watched them for a moment before turning to Jareth. "Jareth, stay with them. See that they don't get in trouble," he instructed. 

Jareth nodded, rising from his seat to follow the girls.Ansel, his gaze fixed on Jareth, tried to follow suit but was halted by Lyanna's firm grip on his hand. She looked at him with a commanding expression that brooked no argument.

"Sit," she said, and though he initially frowned, he noticed Ronan's presence nearby and relented, taking a seat beside him.

As the festivities continued, the noise of the Great Hall slowly quieted, leaving only a small group gathered at the long table. Rein, Adeline, Geralt, Lyanna, Ronan and Ansel.

Ansel stood up, and Adeline reached out to stop him, but he sidestepped her hand, saying, "I'm leaving."

As he started to walk away, he paused, turning back to ask, "Where's my room?"

Adeline stood as well, gesturing with her hand. "Come, Ansel. I'll show you the way."

Before she could move, Lyanna, unsteady on her feet from drinking, intervened. "No need, Adeline," she said, struggling to stand.

Adeline quickly caught her. "Are you alright, Your Majesty?"

"Y—yeah," Lyanna replied, though clearly having difficulty.

Rein's commanding voice cut through the moment. "Adeline, take Her Majesty to her room. Ronan, you escort Ansel."

Ansel and Ronan exchanged glances, but before they could respond, Geralt interjected firmly, "I don't want to hear another word about it."

As the four left the hall, Rein and Geralt remained alone. Rein glanced at Geralt, memories flooding his mind.

"What do you mean by rebellion?" Rein asked.

"I've received information that Zephyros's siblings are alive and residing in the Republic of the North," Geralt replied gravely.

Rein's brow furrowed. "So?"

"So?" Geralt snapped. "What do you mean 'so'? Those bastards are likely planning to reclaim the throne."

Rein scoffed. "Do you honestly believe those children could take Coldcave, Geralt?"

"No, of course not," Geralt admitted.

"Then what's the issue?" Rein pressed.

"I said rebellion, not war, you fool," Geralt retorted. "There are houses still loyal to the Valnherons. They could betray us."

Rein considered this for a moment before replying, "You're a good king, Geralt. The people of Indagian are content under your rule. No one wants the Valnherons back. No one's calling for Geralt Stormrider's head."

"But there are houses that want yours," Geralt replied sharply. "Never forget, there are many in Indagian who hate you."

Rein paused before asking, "What about the Stormriders? Do they support the Winterbanes?"

"I don't know," Geralt answered bluntly.

"What?" Rein's frustration flared. "Then what are you even doing here?"

"Look, I'm not the head of House Stormrider as long as my father's alive," Geralt explained.

Rein gave him a look of disbelief. Geralt, sensing it, added, "That won't be a problem for much longer. He's not got much time left. You and I are still together, just like before. We handled things back then, and we'll do it again."

Rein looked at him, irritation clear in his voice. "We're twice the age we were back then."

Geralt quickly responded, "But we have our sons."

"Who? Jareth?" Rein scoffed. "The boy doesn't even know how to properly swing a wooden sword, Geralt. How is he supposed to lead in battle?"

Geralt shifted tactics. "What about Ronan and Ansel?"

Rein went silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Before he could respond, Geralt continued, "They've both shown a lot of promise."

Geralt turned his back, then, after a pause, slowly looked back over his shoulder. "And what about your nephew?"

Rein's face grew emotionless. Geralt pressed on, "I hear he's being trained by Lucan. And word is, he's been seen with Lady Ravenshade."

Rein shook his head firmly. "No. Let him live his life. After everything he's been through, I'm not going to drag him into this."

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "And Lady Ravenshade?"

Rein gave a dismissive wave. "Let him bed whoever he wants. It's none of my concern."

Geralt took a moment, weighing his options, before finally nodding in acceptance. "Alright, if that's your decision."

Geralt took a deep breath, his voice steady but urgent. "Rein, I need to share something with you. I had a vision while riding back. I glanced back, but my group was nowhere in sight. Then, a chill swept over me, and no matter how far I rode, there was nothing in sight. After what felt like ages, I saw a vision of my battle with Vyreth."

Rein's brow furrowed, concern flickering in his eyes. "What did you see?"

Geralt continued, "In the vision, Vyreth spoke to me in the ancient tongue of High Velqaar. He said something I couldn't fully grasp, but it felt significant."

Rein absorbed the words, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "A warning of what?"

"I'm not sure, but I fear it has something to do with our enemies and the darkness closing in around us," Geralt replied, urgency creeping into his voice. "We can't afford to ignore this."

Rein shook his head, pulling himself back into the present. The Great Hall was eerily quiet, the fading echoes of laughter and conversation now replaced by a heavy silence. 

He glanced around, the emptiness amplifying the weight of his thoughts. "Do I really need to call you?" he murmured to himself, grappling with the silence that surrounded him. Memories flooded back—of those who had stood by his side and the choices that lay ahead. 

"If I summon you," he pondered, "will you come back? Or will it only serve to open old wounds?" 

With a heavy sigh, Rein felt the burden of leadership settle on his shoulders. His gaze fell to the empty chair at the end of the table, marked with the Winterbane sigil, a haunting reminder of what was lost and the path he must take in a world growing darker by the day.

CEDRIC

After Geralt's expedition to Frostspire Keep, he appointed Cedric, his devoted right hand, to govern in his stead until he returned. Despite Cedric's intelligence and ability to lead, he was painfully aware of his position as second choice in Geralt's eyes.

The king had always envisioned Rein as his ideal confidant, believing that selecting him would create an insurmountable divide between them, even as Cedric remained fiercely loyal to the crown.

Despite his awareness of being second best, Cedric had always remained fiercely loyal to the king. However, after Geralt's journey to Frostspire Keep, a flicker of suspicion began to creep into his thoughts.

Cedric sat alone on the throne, the moonlight casting long shadows across the chamber. His legs were crossed, and his eyes were closed, lost in thought as he gazed upward, seeking solace in the darkness above. After a moment of strained silence, he exhaled softly, breaking the stillness. "Geralt, my king, if only you had always been by my side. I would have given you everything—my life, my time, my very thoughts." 

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle in the air. As he opened his eyes, tears began to spill down his cheeks, glistening in the dim light. "And my love," he added, his voice trembling with unspoken longing.

Suddenly, a figure draped in a black cloak emerged from the shadows, his face concealed, adding an eerie presence to the room. "But he chose Rein Winterbane," the figure remarked, his voice a low whisper that seemed to echo in the stillness.

Cedric's jaw clenched, rage igniting within him as he responded, "Yes, and he will pay for that choice."